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a-mad-scientists-writing · 4 months

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A New Era (4)

Chapter 4: Playing With Air

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Valkyrie’s bending is proceeding excellently. She trains hard and learns fast. Air is the element of freedom, and there is no one with a clearer idea of what Valkyrie’s freedom ought to be than Valkyrie herself. Every step of her training has her personal seal of judgement on it, and Skulduggery doesn’t object when her decisions don’t align with the stages he has in mind. He trusts her to know what she needs better than he does. Lessons progress at the pace she dictates, and anything she doesn’t want to do at the moment gets rerouted to being taught sometime in the future.

Of the things Valkyrie wants to learn, flinging objects around with the wind is a yes, as is sensing changes in the air, learning to follow air currents into fantastic gymnastic feats, and all the physical exercise she and Skulduggery can fit into one day. Valkyrie quickly decides that meditation is not for her, although Skulduggery does get her to practice a kind of mindfulness, as some form of spirituality is necessary for becoming more deeply involved with bending. Vegetarianism is not though, and the traditional garb of the Air Nomads is definitely not happening.

The Air Temples have not yielded the secrets of bending they hoped they would. What knowledge she and Skulduggery have gained of the airbenders has mostly been half-remembered stories from nearby villages. The journeys have been far from a waste, however. They go back and forth between the Air Temples and Ba Sing Se, meaning Valkyrie has seen a great deal of the Earth Kingdom by this point, and even some parts of the Fire Nation. She is excited by anything new that comes along, and these days, that’s almost everything.

Skulduggery’s arbiter duties mean that state messages are sent to them by hawk as to any unlawful activity in the area that requires dealing with: this person must be arrested, this town needs help, these bandits are trouble, etc. Local law enforcement always accepts Skulduggery’s authority. While they are more dubious of Valkyrie, Skulduggery has been training her not to rely on her bending all the time (though he does stress that at her age, bending is far more advantageous in a real fight than any punch), so she’s coming along nicely in hand-to-hand combat. This is useful in both proving her mettle and surviving the occasional bandit until Skulduggery can get to her.

News of the new airbender spreads, as well as the news that Skulduggery Pleasant is training her. This deters a great deal more people than either of them know from trying to track her down.

All in all, she’s having a blast. Skulduggery is a great teacher, despite being a firebender. He challenges her, and he knows exactly how to get her to understand concepts and lessons. He is unbothered, patient, and often amused with anything she has trouble with, such as facing a long drop off a tree branch to ‘see if you can cushion yourself.’

Valkyrie thinks he’s adapting moves from his own firebending for her to try, but it’s hard to be certain as Skulduggery’s own bending style is so quick and subtle. When she asks him about it, he tells her that during the war he tried to avoid painting more of a target on his back than necessary, which often meant not advertising the fact he was a firebender to enemy soldiers who might form a vendetta for assuming he had deserted their ranks. She has to admit, she doesn’t think anyone else has self-taught experience like she needs, so he is definitely the most qualified person to teach her.

It’s while they’re escorting some guy called Scapegrace to prison for multiple counts of annoying people with attempted murder that they receive an urgent communique from Ba Sing Se.

Baron Vengeous has broken out of prison in the Northern Water Tribe. Skulduggery is needed to track him down and re-arrest him.

Valkyrie never gets tired of the sight that greets them on their return to the Impenetrable City. The one-hundred-metre-tall Outer Wall is an awe-inspiring sight by itself, made even better when viewed from above as earthbending soldiers ferry them on a moving platform up the outside and then down the inside.

In the Agrarian Zone beyond, lush farmland stretches for kilometres, providing enough food for all the residents of the inner city to live on. And the inner city: every time the monorail passes through the Inner Wall, Valkyrie is blown away by the sheer number of houses crammed together. It is a vast change from the sparse little town she grew up in.

Valkyrie and her parents live in the Middle Ring, in a villa her uncle left them in his will. In their letters, her parents always tell her about the requests they still get from nobles in the Upper Ring inviting the esteemed parents of the First Airbender to parties and dinners. After close to a year of politely declining the offers of nosy insinuation into their lives, Desmond and Melissa Edgley nevertheless still receive them fairly frequently from Lord This or Lady That. Melissa works in the financial district. Desmond supervises construction projects. High society is not their scene.

Skulduggery also has a house in the Middle Ring. Like the Edgleys, he prefers to put some distance between himself and the palace. As of the past year, Valkyrie can see why…

Thurid Guild, the Earth King, doesn’t like Skulduggery, and beyond Valkyrie’s ability to make him look good, he doesn’t like her either. The first thing he brings up after the briefing on Vengeous is Valkyrie’s training.

‘You arrested him once, Arbiter. I’m relying on you to do it again.’

‘I’ll do my best.’

‘Do better.’ Without waiting for an answer, Guild acknowledges Valkyrie’s existence by turning to her and saying shortly, ‘The Administrator has compiled a list of the most renowned Air Nomad scholars and historians in the world. Let us know who you would like to meet for the continuation of your training, and interviews will be arranged.’

There is a thick silence. Once Valkyrie has pieced together what the Earth King is implying, which, due to the sheer unbelievability of it, takes some doing, she eloquently responds, ‘What?’

‘I’m sorry?’ says Skulduggery, equally disbelieving.

Guild is trying to find someone else to instruct her. It has been no secret that he and Skulduggery don’t get along, but Valkyrie had thought all this was settled. Apparently not.

‘What?’she says again. ‘No. What? I’m already being trained. By Skulduggery,’she adds, in case this isn’t evident. ‘I don’t need another instructor, especially not some scholar. The Air Nomads are extinct. Trying to resurrect their teachings from half-remembered stories is only going to be counter-productive. It’s better to just invent new ways of airbending; trust me, we’ve tried both ways.’

‘Regardless,’ Guild says, all but ignoring her again, ‘You’re a firebender, Arbiter Pleasant, and-’

Skulduggery is having none of this. His arguments are thus:

Firebending is the closest form of bending to airbending. Presumably.

He is the only one with the experience necessary to teach her. Who else is as effectively self-taught as him?

Thinly-veiled threats. ‘Caisson won’t be pleased.’

(From Valkyrie) ‘I’ll refuse to learn from anyone else.’

‘See? I’m her favourite.’

The Earth King shut down, they leave the palace before he locks them in the catacombs or something.

‘Caisson?’ Valkyrie asks. ‘As in Fire Lord Caisson?’

‘The very same.’

‘Wow. Why does he want you teaching me?’ She cocks her head in disappointment. ‘Is it for the PR value? The same as Guild?’

‘It had better not be. Anyway,’ Skulduggery adds, ‘He didn’t order me to train you. It’s my own decision, so he can’t order me to stop.’

‘Yeah,’ says Valkyrie doubtfully. ‘It’s not like you’re his special envoy or anything.’

‘Well, I suppose he can. But you can be assured that he won’t because of the large fuss I’ll kick up if he does.’

‘Aww, you want to keep teaching me?’

‘Want is such a strong word…’

‘You want to keep teaching me.’

‘I remember being coerced into taking you along.’

‘You want to keep teaching me.’

He grumbles incoherently.

Back in Ba Sing Se for the first time in weeks, their first stop after the palace is Valkyrie’s parents for a welcome home dinner. The sight of the floor cushions around the low table set for four is among one of the best scenes Valkyrie can remember. Despite how much she loves the adventure, she is relieved to be back home for a little while. Homesickness has been on her mind as of late, ever since the last Air Temple failed to give the answers they searched for. When her parents bring up their dissatisfaction with the amount of time Valkyrie has to spend away from home, she isn’t inclined to brush it off too much.

This being Valkyrie however, she does anyway, leading to a bit of tension in the room.

Their daughter has just expressed a definite feeling of relief at being back home, and although her half-hearted protestations as to not being bothered about having to head out on the road again are there, they are significantly more tempered than they know her dramatic complaining bouts can be. The difference between those and now is, what do you know, the presence of Skulduggery.

‘Mum, it’s fine-’

‘Yes, we know you are Valkyrie,’ Melissa snaps. Valkyrie closes her mouth. Her mother sighs and rubs her forehead.

‘You’ve always had a remarkable streak of resilience, Valkyrie,’ her father rephrases in a milder tone. ‘We just want to make sure that it’s not being brought out unnecessarily.’

‘We all want the best for you,’ agrees Melissa, before turning to Skulduggery. ‘Don’t we?’

‘Of course,’ Skulduggery says smoothly, continuing without any particular inflection, ‘And we also know that you are entirely capable of voicing what you think are the best courses of action for yourself.’

The adults are all talking in measured voices and observing all the politeness a conversation over dinner warrants. But. Two sides are clearly being drawn and they want her to pick one. All of a sudden everything seems much more confrontational, and the illusion of conflict simmering below the surface of the discussion only serves to put Valkyrie on the defensive.

Her parents warn her not to answer what she thinks she’s expected to answer, not to put anyone else’s needs before her own. Valkyrie hotly replies that she never does, she wants to keep touring the world, she wants to continue taking on the duties of an arbiter. But she does pause, and takes a moment to consider her words. Speaking to Skulduggery, who’s listening to her intently but doing that thing where his face suddenly goes into unreadable mode so as not to influence her one way or another, she admits that… she doesn’t want to do that all the time. It’s nice spending time at home too. Maybe they could do a rota of a few weeks on, a few weeks off?

Skulduggery says that sounds perfectly reasonable to him. He’ll talk to the Earth King and the Fire Lord and get his travelling duties as arbiter adjusted.

The tension in the room dissipates, her parents and Skulduggery are friendly again, and they congratulate Valkyrie on the maturity of her response. She’s made a big decision, and they are very proud of her for wanting to help people and continue her training. Skulduggery smiles warmly and she knows he isn’t disappointed or anything.

‘Speaking of…’ Skulduggery says suddenly and briefly exits the room, returning with something in his hands.

He picked up a parcel from the palace while they were there. Now, he hands it over. Inside is an arbiter’s badge just like his, as well as the accompanying documentation. She is officially his partner, if she chooses. Valkyrie Cain goes to bed that night beaming.

The next morning, before Skulduggery comes to pick her up, Valkyrie and her parents go for a picnic in a nearby park. They ask her about what she’s been up to on her latest trip. Valkyrie eagerly tells all- minus a few of their more dangerous escapades. She doesn’t want them to worry unnecessarily. She’s perfectly safe now.

She feels the air shift and rolls aside. A man attacks Valkyrie. He doesn’t use any bending, but Valkyrie has learned that that far from detracts from a person’s ability to cause harm. He is fast and graceful, moving lithely like Tanith. When he grabs her from behind, pinning her arms to her sides, she can’t twist out of his grip.

Her father launches himself at him. The man stuns him with a solid blow.

‘DAD!’ Valkyrie screams.

Furiously, she kicks out her legs and a blast of air sends her rocketing backwards, bowling over the man and forcing him to release her. They roll, and he comes up first, re-orienting himself much quicker than Valkyrie.

A blast of fire razes the ground at the man’s feet. They both look around.

‘Dusk,’ says Skulduggery, one smoking fist still held out. ‘Been a while.’

‘To you too, Arbiter.’

Skulduggery flicks his wrists, two daggers of fire flaming in his clenched fists. Valkyrie gets to her feet. Her mother is helping her father stand, and they are both pale-faced as they watch the tableau. The park isn’t empty either: the commotion is bringing more people over. The Dai Li or the police or both won’t be far off.

Calculating his position, Dusk abandons the assault and disappears into the streets.

This is an entirely unprecedented situation and needs to be contained. Even more worryingly, very few people knew of Valkyrie and Skulduggery’s late-night arrival back in Ba Sing Se, all of them Earth Kingdom officials. Whoever leaked the information came from inside the palace.

Skulduggery decides to take Valkyrie somewhere safe until he can get a handle on things, and asks Desmond and Melissa to let the palace know what’s going on while he does.

The family, for their part, don’t want to let each other out of their sight. Valkyrie never considered that her parents would be in such danger, and seeing it up close has shaken her much more than she cares to admit. It’s much easier to deal with these things when it’s only her and Skulduggery. This is what ends up convincing her that it is better if they split up. The palace will be a safe place for her parents to go- there’s Dai Li, and soldiers, and guards, all of which have been doubled since the previous year’s attempted coup.

Her parents won’t accept this reasoning. Was this what it was like for their daughter last year? Did people hurt her then? Does she have to fight for her life often, when she is travelling? This isn’t the time or place for that conversation, and despite knowing this, they can’t accept that either.

‘Vengeous doesn’t care about either of you. You’re safe from him,’ Skulduggery says. ‘And he wouldn’t have sent someone after Valkyrie unless he was trying to send a message: in this case, a message for me. Believe me, I know- I know- that you want to keep Valkyrie close; I used to be a parent too. I understand. But if I bring all of you along on this it’ll only increase the danger. Until we know who is feeding this information to Vengeous, Valkyrie and I have to stay away, and you have to be the only people above suspicion inside the palace.’

‘You want us to be your eyes and ears,’ says Melissa, catching Skulduggery’s angle much quicker than Valkyrie thought she would. Skulduggery confirms.

Desmond says, ‘We’re trusting you.’

Skulduggery nods.

The undisclosed safe location they go to is China’s library. They send a message to Tanith, who is elsewhere in Ba Sing Se at the moment, and Skulduggery leaves to do ‘sneaky things’ that he won’t elaborate on.

Valkyrie and China pass the time in conversation about China’s past, and some of Skulduggery’s. The reveal that China was once part of the Diablerie is a shocking one. Now though, Valkyrie can see why everyone has a hard time trusting her.

Much more interesting are the stories about Skulduggery; he was the one who took Vengeous down in that battle: the Fall of the Fire Nation Capital. China tells her how desperate the situation at the time was, and hearing the account firsthand from someone who was there is much more gripping than learning about it in her history classes back in Léi.

The attack was a last desperate effort, an all-or-nothing attempt with the fate of the world hanging in the balance. Mevolent was ready to torch the Earth Kingdom using the power of a comet, and it was Skulduggery who brought them the information that unless they struck they would lose everything. He marshalled the remnants of the armies that were left, gathered every last ragtag fighter who could hold a weapon, and most importantly, found China and Caisson.

‘You and Caisson?’

‘Yes,’ China confirms, with a faint smile of reminiscence. ‘Before he was Fire Lord he was a banished prince- no, not even that, just the lowly son of courtier, his heritage not being common knowledge back then. He was only a little older than you, in fact. He’d lived his whole life in the Capital up until his exile. I don’t think I’m overstating myself here when I say that if it hadn’t been for me, he would never have survived to see the Capital’s Fall. And if it hadn’t been for Skulduggery’s training, Caisson never would have defeated Mevolent.’

Valkyrie takes this in with an open mouth. She knows Skulduggery is high up in the Fire Nation ranks, and known to pretty much everyone they meet who possesses any influence in the world, but from what China says, he played a much bigger part in the war than he’s let on. Odd, considering that she can only recall a couple vague mentions of him in the history books at school, and those only came to mind after she’d met him. China says that it’s kings and fire lords and the people they defeated who the Earth Kingdom chooses to remember. Besides, he isn’t proud of some of the things he did during the war- none of them are. He doesn’t mind being left out.

China’s library is then attacked.

They hear China’s assistant delaying someone- a very violent someone- for several vital seconds, which China does not waste. Valkyrie gasps as her coat seems to come alive, dragging her forcibly into China’s bedroom, like the buttons and clasps have been suddenly magnetised. China commands her to stay within in the tone of voice that once made the Diablerie bend at the knee, just as-

A man blasts down her door, dressed in a sharp war-era Fire Navy general’s uniform. He has a strange eye-like tattoo on his forehead, and, rather counter-productively to his entrance, he is looking to recruit China.

Baron Vengeous.

He is accompanied by Dusk and a blind man with sure steps, who commence the fine art of flanking China while not appearing too overt about it, and still managing to instil an aura of creeping menace into the room. The tinted, opaque glasses of the blind man glint in the light from the lamps, clearly well-made and made to look it. The rest of his clothes are in shades of what appear to be undyed greyish, tan and brown cloth, a choice at odds with the clear quality behind the custom cut; hanging around Skulduggery has given Valkyrie an eye for these things. But while he is dressed smartly, something about the fit and form give subtle hints of a certain streamlined efficiency, like the clothes are made just as much for function as fashion. A clue as to what that function may be is given when he draws a straight razor and flips it idly between his fingers.

‘Time to drop the façade and return to your old rank, China,’ the baron says with much grandiose. ‘Now tell me, where is the girl?’

Valkyrie’s heart thuds as China weaves lies as easily as breathing. The blind man cocks his head. Just as Valkyrie is wondering how he even fights without seeing, he interrupts the baron’s interrogation with an amused drawl.

‘Like you said baron, she’s good. But she’s still lyin’.’

The baron’s face contorts in displeasure, yellow-shot eyes focused poisonously on China, who tenses.

‘Kid’s in there, by the way,’ the man adds, nodding casually at the bedroom concealing Valkyrie. She freezes.

‘You’re proving yourself to be quite useful, Sanguine,’ the baron says, and turns back to China, breathing deeply through his nose in a way that Valkyrie would bet anything means something bad is about to happen.

Cover apparently blown, Valkyrie is about to step in and help… and then she witnesses metalbending for the first time.

China fights, and she is good. The reason for all the ornate metal creations adorning her residence is clear: it’s not just for show, it’s so she can rip entire sections of wall out of their bearings and flatten people with them.

Valkyrie sees combustion bending for the first time as well when Vengeous blasts apart China’s trap with an explosion straight from his forehead, throwing China back. Dusk moves swiftly in China’s brief moment of disorientation, drawing the dao slung across his back as he restrains her and puts the blade to her throat. Fire flares in the baron’s fist. China still refuses to give Valkyrie up.

So Valkyrie bursts out of hiding to save her, demonstrating her exemplary talent for giving the people she is in the care of aneurysms.

Apparently this is what Sanguine, who had remained unmoving throughout the fight, is waiting for.

Without turning his head in her direction, Sanguine slices with his hand, shifts his foot, and suddenly the stone floor disappears beneath Valkyrie. Instinctively, she pushes down and a blast of air propels her out of the hole. She rides out the momentum into a forward flip, but as soon as she touches down Sanguine is there reaching for her. She drops into a slide, skidding beneath his arm, and narrowly avoids the boulder that erupts out of the floor into her path by rolling. She comes up on all fours, ready to push herself back up, and is yanked to a halt. The floor has spat out restraints encasing her hands and feet. She looks up, releasing her first breath since entering the fray. Sanguine grins at her.

Something sharp and metallic that has a shape like one of China’s bracelets scythes through the air with a deadly hiss. Sanguine side-steps it, but it claims his attention enough that he misses when Valkyrie’s restraints crack open with a flick from China.

‘Go!’ China commands her, before returning to her own blurred fight with Dusk and Vengeous.

Valkyrie doesn’t argue, sprinting for the door to the main library. Sanguine is right behind her. She leads him down the stairs, their footsteps echoing off the tiles. He’s an earthbender, he has the advantage here, so when Valkyrie starts to feel the ceramic shift she is ready. They are rounding a landing, so she leaps and steps off two walls, boosts herself with the air to soar over his head, catches the railing over the open stairwell and swings over the side.

They are only one story above the ground; Skulduggery’s told her to fall out of trees that are higher. She cushions her landing with a vortex of wind, and takes off again, heading out into the daylit street. She notices she can’t hear Sanguine behind her as she darts into an alley, and she doubts he’s just given up. The quiet kicks her brain into high gear, her breathing and heartrate quickening along with it. Sanguine doesn’t earthbend like anyone she’s ever met. It’s like he can feel the earth itself. He listens to it. He knows where she is by sensing her in the ground.

Valkyrie lightens her tread, the air ensuring each of her footfalls are as weightless as feathers. Slowly she comes to a stop, and turning to face the alley entrance, she waits.

It’s not long before the bricks on the left buckle and crack, and Sanguine steps out. His head is tilted like he’s listening. Valkyrie waits breathlessly.

‘Clever,’ he remarks. ‘But I also got ears, little darlin’. I don’t need earthbending to catch you.’

He pulls out a straight razor and advances. Valkyrie readies herself. The ground swallows him, and her stomach drops. She jumps for the alley wall and kicks off, reaching for a roof to pull herself up, but the wall cracks open. Sanguine grabs her wrist and pulls it inside, then steps out and closes the wall around it, holding the razor to her throat.

‘But,’ he admits, ‘it is easier.’

The odd sensation of cold stone completely enclosing and immobilising parts of one’s person is an unpleasant one that Valkyrie considers she has experienced entirely too much of today. She can’t move her hand, and even if she could get away, the slightest pressure on the sharp blade at her throat makes her afraid to try.

Which is why the arrival of Tanith Low is so welcome.

Judging by Sanguine’s reaction to her, he isn’t too upset about her arrival either, despite being severely outclassed.

She makes an impression, to say the least.

Less welcome is the arrival of China, who blocks off the alley’s exit with a slam of brick walls and then releases Valkyrie’s trapped hand. The earth shakes as Mr Bliss drops into the alley. Least welcome of all is Valkyrie stealing his razor. Surrounded, Sanguine disappears into the ground.

Once Skulduggery has rushed back from his sneaky errand, made sure Valkyrie’s okay, and they’ve all helped right most of the overturned furniture, China tells them about the information on Vengeous she has, namely that he is going to try to awaken the Grotesquery.

The Grotesquery is a slumbering spirit of great power, claimed in legend to serve a greater evil: Vaatu, the Avatar Spirit Raava’s nemesis. During a lunar eclipse, when the world is held in balance between the elements of fire and water, the Grotesquery’s power could increase, and it would become able to open a doorway into the Spirit World. It was the only being apart from the Avatar able to do this, but its function was primarily to release said greater evil from its imprisonment in the Spirit World. In order to prevent the Grotesquery from freeing Vaatu, a long-ago Avatar sent it to sleep in the material world. It is unknown how this was accomplished, but apparently Vengeous has found a way to wake it up again.

China smiles without humour. ‘The next lunar eclipse is in two days.’

‘Which would explain why Vengeous is in such a hurry to act,’ nods Skulduggery. ‘Subtlety was never his style, but I only got back to the city yesterday and already he’s tried coming for Valkyrie twice. He’s desperate to distract me.’

‘Fortunately, the Grotesquery can only open a portal that already exists. It can’t create a new one,’ Bliss says. ‘There are only two portals in existence, in the North and South Poles. Vengeous won’t have time to travel all the way to the South Pole before the eclipse, so we know his eventual destination. I’ll alert the Northern Water Tribe.’

‘His plan sounds familiar,’ says Tanith, frowning. ‘Didn’t Mevolent try something like this?’

‘It never succeeded,’ Skulduggery dismisses. ‘Mevolent did want to release Vaatu and create a Dark Avatar, but the experiment was a failure. The spirit never fused with Vile, and both he and Mevolent died soon after. Now there is no Avatar. Vengeous’ plan won’t succeed.’

‘But Vaatu does not necessarily have to fuse with the Avatar,’ China reminds him. ‘Vengeous is more than capable of accepting the spirit and becoming a Dark Avatar himself.’

‘So we still need to find the- the Grow Thing before he does,’ says Valkyrie grimly. ‘Anyone know where to find a nasty old spirit?’

The Torment is a nasty old spirit able to shapeshift between the appearance of an old man and that of a great spiderlike being. He and his followers, the Children of the Spider, reside in a small, creepy Earth Kingdom town west of Ba Sing Se in the flatlands before the Taihua Mountains. The forest enclosing the nameless town was where the Torment resided for many years, until Vaurien Scapegrace offered him lodging in his basement, which the spirit accepted for reasons of his own. He might know where to find the Grotesquery.

As Valkyrie and Skulduggery go to the jail to collect Scapegrace, Skulduggery fills her in on his sneaky activity earlier: he and her parents broke into the Earth King’s office.

‘Wait, my parents?’

‘Yes. They were quite eager to help. Your mother was lookout, and your father was a surprisingly effective staller. Quite a capable couple, you’re parents. When it comes down to it.’

To Valkyrie, it seems that Skulduggery is being unreasonably casual about recruiting her parents for this mission. She herself doesn’t know how to feel about it; they’re her parents, they’re supposed to be safe, and out of danger, and not involved. She’s surprised Skulduggery thought using them would be a good idea, honestly, they’re just normal people. What had he been thinking? What if something had gone wrong? Well, Skulduggery would have gotten them all out of there of course, but what if something had gone really wrong? He wouldn’t have been that careless with her parents, would he? They aren’t meant to be anywhere near this kind of stuff! It’s dangerous, and they’re normal people!

Normal people, one of whom spent his entire life lying about and hiding his identity, and the other who married him in the knowledge she might be signing her future death warrant. And they both grew up in the shadow of Fire Nation attacks. Maybe they’re tougher than you think.

Valkyrie isn’t pleased at this whisper of her subconscious.

‘That was sneaky,’ she says instead.

Vengeous could only have received word that they were back in Ba Sing Se so quickly if he had an informant, and all the suspects were high-ranking Earth Kingdom officials- of which, Skulduggery trusts Guild the least. Unfortunately, the search of his office yielded nothing.

The revelation that the Earth King might be a traitor gives Valkyrie enough food for thought to occupy her for the entire cart ride.

The little town is grey, unfriendly, and sparse. On an old wooden sign on the outskirts, half-disintegrated, Valkyrie can just make out characters reading Roarhaven. The rest of the writing is illegible from disrepair.

Of all the villages she’s visited, it is by far the least welcoming. Scapegrace leads them through, pointing out the many uninteresting features of his home. The corner he used to sell cabbages on; the old stall that used to be his cabbage-selling headquarters; the bar he bought, renamed The Cabbage Patch, and sold drinks brewed from fermented cabbage at. The enterprise stank (of cabbage) so he branched out to amateur serial killing, which he also stank at.

After a barfight, a chase through a secret tunnel, and a pursuit by many spiders, Valkyrie and Skulduggery come face to face with the Torment. He is currently in the form of an unpleasant old man with long scraggly hair.

Valkyrie doesn’t know how a dinky little town like this one managed to become supplied with state-of-the-art crossbow technology, but somehow it did, because the Torment is levelling one right at her face.

Moving slowly and carefully and stopping when the old man fingers the trigger warningly, Skulduggery asks what this is about. The response is not ideal: the Torment doesn’t like airbenders, apparently. Valkyrie assures him the feeling is mutual.

The Torment tells them the only way he will give up the Grotesquery’s location is if Skulduggery kills Valkyrie.

It would be very convenient right now if Valkyrie had a doppelganger they could dispose of in her place. Unfortunately, there’s just the one of her.

If Skulduggery refuses, the Torment might just decide to kill Valkyrie himself. If they wait too long, Vengeous will find the Grotesquery and awaken it, very possibly dooming the world. They are boxed into a corner.

But killing Valkyrie is not an option. Right?

Fear tugs on her as Skulduggery goes very, very quiet.

‘Skulduggery, you’re not actually considering this, are you?’

He looks at her.

She turns to run, and flames surround her.

Valkyrie has known that Skulduggery was a good fighter from the moment they met. He doesn’t often use his bending, being skilled enough at hand-to-hand combat not to need it. At her inquiry, he’s told her that bending fire can easily spin out of control and cause a vast amount of unintentional damage. As such, he is often subtle in his moves: maybe he’ll temporarily blind someone with a sudden flash, or distract them by setting fire to their clothes, or light a campfire without matches. The most impressive thing she has seen him do thus far is redirecting a bolt of lightning, a move he invented.

She gathered that he has been spoken of with such respect/awe/fear because of his status as an arbiter of all nations, and because of the things he achieved during the war. His firebending isn’t a big part of his legend.

So, sure, she knew he was good at fighting. But she’d never thought of him as a particularly powerful bender.

That changes now.

Flames roar up and sweep around and between the three of them. Somewhere at the outer edge of the inferno is a shriek from Scapegrace.

Valkyrie loses sight of everything except the fire swirling around her. She is enclosed on all sides, unable to move from her searing position, but on the bright side, no giant spiders are going to come eat her. In fact, judging from the sounds, things aren’t going at all according to the Torment’s wishes.

She clears a path through the flames, parting them with blasts of wind, trying to find her way out before the air fries her. In doing so, she comes to the centre and witnesses through a haze of smoke and heat the far from inconsiderable efforts of Skulduggery Pleasant to fake her death by incineration.

The Torment is a spirit for whom the dark, cold and quiet spaces of the world hold no fear; he is the fear in them. He is also quickly finding out that none of that means anything in the face of a powerful firebender’s anger, and it has been vehemently established that Skulduggery is indeed a powerful firebender.

The Torment has no proof of Valkyrie’s death, no assurance that his terms have been met. Regardless, the foremost thought in his infuriated, afeared mind is to get the firebender and his pervasive light and heat away from him. He tells Skulduggery the location of the Grotesquery, and the blaze retracts. The girl isn’t there, and the Torment refrains from questioning it, even though the disappearance is far from conclusive. But this slight against him will not go unanswered, and he glares as Skulduggery takes Scapegrace and leaves.

Scapegrace was having a bad day. Then it got fantastic when Pleasant killed the girl. Then it got bowel-droppingly terrible as the Torment made no move to stop the Arbiter of All Nations, who was recently made to kill his student, take him back into custody. The hand gripping Scapegrace’s arm is still hot from the firebending display, and he distantly realises that this is it, this is the end, the Fire Lord’s own special envoy is about to burn him to a crisp and there is no one who will even protest- OH GOD SHE’S ALIVE?? She’s alive!

Scapegrace was going back to prison, but his day was unbelievably better than he thought it’d turn out to be. Valkyrie meets them by the ostrich horses.

‘You know, every spirit we meet doesn’t like me. Every single one,’ muses Valkyrie as they set off.

‘Surely not every one?’

‘Every. Single. One,’ she maintains adamantly. ‘Do you remember having any encounters that actually went well? Since I joined you, that is?’

‘…I suppose not,’ Skulduggery admits.

‘It’s because none of them like me. Which is barmy, according to my family legends.’

‘You have a lot of those.’

‘You remember the one about my spirit-tainted blood? Or airbender blood, whichever. You’d think that would mean the spirits would see me as one of them, right? The Sceptre did, after all.’

‘That it did.’

‘But no.’

‘No?’

‘It’s just my luck they like me even less.’

‘Hmm.’

‘Are you even listening?’

‘Hmm? Oh, yes. Spirits don’t like you. Personally, I thought you just smelled bad or something.’

‘Oh, cheers.’

‘Anytime.’

They drop Scapegrace off at the nearest Earth Kingdom law enforcement outpost. When they have travelled so far into the mountains that they can hear the distant roar of the Northern Ocean echoing through the crags, they disembark from their ostrich horses and creep forward on foot. Sounds are coming from over the precipice of the cliff they are walking on. Below, the night is held at bay by torches, which cast large shadows over the scene.

Vengeous has found the Grotesquery. From what Valkyrie can see from her perch on the ledge high above, the old spirit is motionless, wrapped in a shroud and appearing more dead than slumbering.

Skulduggery says he has a plan. It is vitally dependent on her staying right where she is. Then he vaults off the ledge and lands at the rear of the evil expedition party. He takes out Dusk with a stranglehold before anyone notices, but the subterfuge ends there.

The first thing Vengeous does upon seeing Skulduggery, aside from express his intense desire to kill him, is ask where Valkyrie is.

‘I would say that it’s a school night, but if you knew how to find her you probably also know that she’s never attended school in Ba Sing Se, so let me think… aha! Yes.’ Skulduggery straightens and nods happily. ‘She’s sick.’

Many explosions ensue, with some more displays of Skulduggery’s firebending prowess. Explosions doing little besides threatening to bring the ridges down on top of them all, the baron snarls and unsheathes his wickedly sharp cutlass. Skulduggery draws his own saber.

While old, it has nevertheless been maintained, the imperfections in the blade only serving to enhance the silky sound of it being drawn. Valkyrie has never seen him fight with it before: hand-to-hand and hand-to-fire are Skulduggery’s go-to methods. He doesn’t need a sword.

The drama of the moment is only slightly undercut by Valkyrie remembering the one time she’s seen him take it out, which was during a particularly frustrating camping session one night, where he used it to hack up some ham.

Sword fighting, Valkyrie realises quickly enough, is just a cover for normal fist-fighting, at least when Skulduggery is involved. For every clash and ring of steel, there’s a knee, a headbutt, a handful of flame, or an insult. The baron has a nobleman’s form and precision, coupled with all the experience of a lifetime of surviving battles. He’s older than Skulduggery, but nevertheless moves with the litheness and strength of a man ten years younger. Skulduggery’s blade switches hands often; it’s easy for him to escape any of Vengeous’ locks. He’s evasive, favouring sweeping strikes and slashes, and makes use of the sword hilt too.

There’s a shriek of metal sliding on metal as the swords whirl in a circle. A flick of the baron’s wrist brings his weapon up but Skulduggery catches it in an overhead block and his right hand presses on Vengeous’ blade. The metal glows red, then orange, then Vengeous disengages and Skulduggery spins, his saber blurring, and hits the glowing section of sword.

It breaks.

The top half flings into the cave wall point first and sticks, vibrating. The moment gives Vengeous room to concentrate however, and an explosion fires from his tattooed forehead.

Skulduggery just manages to avoid the worst of it, but loses his sword as he’s thrown back. The baron, still with half a weapon, is on him in an instant, pinning him to the ground, the remains of the jagged, half-melted blade at his throat.

‘I still win best out of three,’ Skulduggery groans, but Valkyrie’s not sure whether he’s dazed or being smart.

Vengeous, as he is wont to do, says something disturbing about slicing him up. He draws back the shard to do exactly that… and a gale of wind hurls him into the wall.

Valkyrie cushions her fall perfectly. This is stupid. Vengeous’ eyes lock onto her. This is stupid. Skulduggery finds enough breath to curse quietly. This is stupid. Dusk, coming back to consciousness from Skulduggery’s stranglehold, stands up behind her.

‘You want me?’ she challenges. ‘Come and get me!’

This is so stupid, she maintains internally.

Everyone’s attention upon her, she sprints out of the cavern entrance, using the air to boost herself over Dusk’s head.

The woods sprawling over the steeply sloping ground outside provide cover, but Dusk catches up, somehow managing to sprint over the treacherous ground while Valkyrie virtually flies, steadying her steps with the air. Dusk’s hand closes on her jacket. She pulls Sanguine’s straight razor out of her pocket and completely ruins not only his face, but his day. She keeps running. She has no idea where she’s going. There’s a sliding noise above and to her left, and Skulduggery drops from a platform of rock with a shower of gravel. He grabs her hand and they take off again.

The ostrich-horses are right ahead.

Sanguine, on the other hand, is right below.

He can sense every one of their footsteps through the earth, their positions down to the whip of their clothes in the wind. It’s far too easy to track them.

Less than a minute later he’s dragging the kid down and away from the arbiter’s grip, feeling her go rigid with terror, her heartbeat pounding through the rocks. He supposes it must be hell for her, down here. It’s probably the first time she’s ever been unable to airbend.

She’s in the hold of a ship now. The metal of her cell is old, but unfortunately not weak. In the opposite cell is the Grotesquery, motionless but for the sway of the vessel.

Valkyrie almost escaped three times before they locked her in, but Sanguine proved to be a match for her each time. It was like he could sense her thoughts. Realistically, she knew he must have just felt her micro-movements through the ground, but still, it seemed that as long as he was close she wasn’t going anywhere.

The air grows colder. She shivers and thinks.

They don’t want her as a hostage. As was triumphantly revealed when they locked her in this cell, instead they want her to awaken the Grotesquery.

Vengeous thinks that the Grotesquery can be awakened by spirit-touched blood, which would mean the Avatar, if there was an Avatar. Since there isn’t, the plan would have been impossible- had not Dusk and Sanguine received word of a new member of the most spiritual culture of people ever, who the Sceptre of the Spirit World itself was unable to destroy.

As soon as they reach the North Pole she will die.

Valkyrie’s teeth are chattering before the ship even makes berth. She is not dressed for a visit to the North; her clothes are light and easy to move in, and normally if she gets cold there’s a firebender with her who can act as her own personal heater.

There’s no chance of such comfort now. Dusk double-checks her hands are still cuffed behind her back before he leads her out of the cell; there’s no need- she couldn’t find anything to pick the lock with, and her hands are too numb and shaky to try anyway.

The wind is piercing outside. It’s still night, so she can’t be any more specific about how long they’ve been travelling than several hours. The air hurts to breathe in, and ten paces off the boat Valkyrie is already beginning to stumble in the deep, bone-chilling snow. Dusk practically lugs her the rest of the way to the circle of firelight where Sanguine and Vengeous have carted the Grotesquery.

Sanguine’s head cocks slightly at their approach, but rather than come and take her off Dusk’s hands himself, he waits for them to come to him, one hand on the cart. He seems grimmer, much less self-assured than before, stamping down impatiently to flatten the snow. The only words he utters are short responses to Vengeous’ orders.

The thought strikes Valkyrie that he mustn’t be able to ‘see’ like usual, what with the only earth around being buried far under the snow and ice. Any thought of escape is quickly dashed from her mind, though: it is dark, freezing, and any direction she tries to run in- if her legs even hold up with how much they’re shaking- leads to deserted tundra.

Sanguine uncuffs her and takes hold of her wrist. The baron and Dusk unwrap the Grotesquery. The old spirit is half-wrapped in bandages, misshapen, and huge. It seems pieced together from all sorts of animals and monsters.

Valkyrie tries to twist out of Sanguine’s grip but he’s got her arm in a tight clamp, her hand palm-up in front of her, fingers forced open. His razor glints in the torchlight. Her skin is so cold she wonders if she’ll even feel anything when he cuts her- but she does, and clenches her teeth to stop from crying out, feeling hot blood well up and begin to drip down. Red splashes over the Grotesquery’s bandages. Valkyrie waits with bated breath, but nothing more happens. The Grotesquery remains motionless.

Vengeous nods to Sanguine. ‘Spill the rest.’

Right now would be a really good time for a skeleton to show up and save the day.

One doesn’t.

Because he’s not a skeleton here.

Skulduggery strides in from outside the circle of firelight, one hand full of flames and a keg handily labelled ‘DANGER – EXPLOSIVE’ hanging from the other.

‘Don’t mind me. I just came here to drop this off.’ He plants the barrel nonchalantly on its side and gives it a gentle kick to roll it nearer to the cart. Vengeous steps forward with a snarl but stops when Skulduggery raises his fiery hold.

‘I wouldn’t. As you know, I have rather good aim.’

‘Somebody’s gonna have to tell me what’s goin’ on,’ says Sanguine irritably.

‘I have a keg full of dangerous explosives and I’m threatening to blow you all up if you don’t hand over Valkyrie,’ Skulduggery informs him helpfully.

‘See? Was that so hard?’ Sanguine throws a dirty look at the silent Dusk, or rather, at the patch of snow where he last heard Dusk.

With narrowed eyes, Vengeous tells Sanguine to release Valkyrie. She snatches her hand away and forces her legs into action. Skulduggery draws her close as soon as she’s near.

The warning sign on the keg has been hastily written on. The barrel is empty. Valkyrie’s mouth goes dry.

‘When I say so,’ Skulduggery says quietly into her ear as they back away, ‘blow the Grotesquery out of the light.’

Skulduggery closes his hand, extinguishing the fireball and all the torches. Black closes in.

‘Now!’

There’s pitch black all around. Valkyrie hazards a guess at where the cart is and whips out a current of air. Judging by Sanguine’s cut-off shout, followed by the thump of a body hitting snow, she misses. Skulduggery dives on her and they roll out of the way of an explosion from the baron.

There’s a rapid crunching of footsteps and Tanith races by, lit by moonlight as Valkyrie’s night vision returns. She takes a running leap at Dusk, and a furiously fast fight of sword against dao begins.

Shaking snow out of her hair, Valkyrie blinks the last of the firelight out of her eyes. She shoves out a blast of wind that carves a deep rut in the snow and sets the Grotesquery’s cart rolling.

She and Skulduggery run after it and leap on board as it trundles rapidly away, Tanith joining a moment later. The snow threatens to bog them in, but Valkyrie breathes in as deeply as she can, gathering as much air as she can take, and blows it out in a burst of propulsion, repeating whenever they start to slow. Wind stings their eyes and freezes their faces as they are blasted faster and faster.

Behind them the site dwindles rapidly until vanishing behind a drift, leaving only starlight in the sky curving overhead to guide them. Admittedly, this isn’t much, and Valkyrie numbly- wearily- thinks that they’re just going to get lost until she sees some little points moving: those aren’t stars near the horizon, they’re distant pinpricks of torches- the Northern Water Tribe.

Everything feels numb and Valkyrie is so tired. She can’t feel the wind very well anymore, and it’s so difficult to keep the cart moving. Shifting her balance, she trips on the Grotesquery and can’t get back up. The lights are getting bigger- closer? Skulduggery bothers her with a lot of questions all at once and then takes off his heavy parka to wrap around her. He hugs her too, which is nice, and Tanith is on her other side rubbing her up and down, which is also nice, but her fingers are icy cold on Valkyrie’s neck and Skulduggery’s fire dazzles her eyes. She closes them and goes to sleep.

Escorted by incoming water tribe warriors, they make it to Agna Qel’a, the Northern Water Tribe’s capital city, before Valkyrie dies of hypothermia. She wakes up relaxed and warm in a steaming indoor pool. There’s a hand supporting her head, but the pool is shallow enough that she lies flat on its smooth bottom. As her eyes blink open, she swears the water was actually glowing for a moment there.

The healer treating her, a grumpy old waterbender who brusquely introduces himself as Kenspeckle Grouse, nevertheless takes an instant shine to her, despite having his night disturbed. He likes Tanith, too. Skulduggery is a sticking point.

The Grotesquery is locked away in Kenspeckle’s morgue. The healer reasons that Vengeous’ theory was wrong. The Grotesquery never awoke because Valkyrie’s blood was not that spiritual after all. Skulduggery agrees: she won’t even meditate. Tanith agrees: she won’t even wear monk clothes. Valkyrie is offended.

‘How did you know where to find me?’ Valkyrie asks, accepting the thick blue garments Kenspeckle offers her and shrugging them on over her tunic and leggings. Also provided are some sturdy leather snow boots, much more effective at keeping her feet dry than the cloth shoes she normally wears. Her desire to be warm far outweighs her usual preference to be unrestricted by heavy, unwieldy clothes.

‘I sent Tanith a message by hawk as soon as I reached the law enforcement outpost,’ Skulduggery tells her. ‘I knew she was at the palace with Bliss, so I knew I could also let someone trustworthy in power know the situation at the same time.’

Tanith, also wrapped much more warmly than her usual form-fitting lightweight green robes, nods. ‘Bliss was organising Earth Kingdom reinforcements when I left. It took longer than I’d have liked, but I managed to meet Skulduggery at the northern harbour before he left. We took a boat and set off.’

Valkyrie raises an eyebrow. ‘You just took a boat?’

‘It may have been more like stealing a boat,’ Skulduggery admits. ‘Not the first time I’ve had to do that though, so I knew what I was doing.’

‘You’d been kidnapped Val, we weren’t going to waste time considering other options,’ Tanith says.

‘Fair enough,’ Valkyrie grins. ‘How’d you catch up to us so fast?’

‘I have friend from here who once showed me all the dangerous shortcuts between the isles and currents,’ Skulduggery answers with a shrug.

‘It was pretty amazing,’ Tanith agreed. ‘You were hours ahead of us. Skulduggery worked a miracle.’

‘After all these years I have yet to stop outdoing myself.’

Kenspeckle re-enters the ward carrying Skulduggery’s now water-free parka, looking even grumpier than before. This may have something to do with the sour-faced woman standing behind him with an attitude of incredible dissatisfaction.

‘Your methods are almost as questionable as your student’s dress sense, arbiter, but you did well warming her until you arrived here. She’ll be fine. Now I’m afraid we’ve all been asked to vacate this Healing House, as spirits forbid I actually get to treat patients on my own graveyard shift!’ He tosses Skulduggery’s coat at him and stomps off, incensed.

When Valkyrie asks what that was all about, the healing woman sniffs and tells her that men should be warriors, not healers. She directs them to the Northern Chief’s palace, where they are expected, and assures them that the Grotesquery will be in safe hands at the Healing House. The crisis is over now.

Psych! The Grotesquery wakes up and terrorises the place.

The attack takes the still-waking city by surprise, sending waterbenders and warriors scrambling. It escapes Agna Qel’a with ease, flattening all who stand in its path, and heads for the centre of the land.

The Northern warriors restrain themselves from giving chase. The damage done to the city is substantial, and heading off after the Grotesquery before sufficient forces have mustered would be unwise. They have until the lunar eclipse that night to stop Vengeous, who is undoubtedly waiting for the spirit at the portal.

Chief Dragunov raises his warriors to arms, eager to recapture Vengeous and imprison him once more. Earth Kingdom reinforcements arrive. With them is King Thurid himself, and Mr Bliss. Valkyrie thinks hard about what could very well be her last night alive, and decides to write a letter back to her parents. It’s something that has become a habit every time she visits a new place.

They’ll be worried about her, and that’s the last thing she wants. Tanith was able to tell them what was happening before she left, and Valkyrie knows they must be sick with anxiety. They were supposed to be having a big family reunion tonight with the rest of the Edgleys. Valkyrie can’t say she’s entirely sorry to be missing that, though.

After spending a great deal of time describing the massive icy walls enclosing the city, and the tiered levels all made of compacted white snow, and the way warmth can be so easily trapped despite the apparent lack of it, and the gondolas that serve as transport, and all the waterbenders, whose motions are so flowing and deliberate, so different in her eyes to the earthbenders (although she thinks she can see some similarity to Skulduggery’s style)… after all that, she moves on to the difficult stuff.

She knows they want her to be safe, and she wants the same thing for them. They are who she fights for. They are who she needs to protect. She couldn’t face herself if she didn’t try her absolute hardest to do what she can to save them. And right now, that means that this thirteen-year-old airbender needs to go to battle with an ancient dark spirit.

While she sensibly explains this, the Earth King argues very loudly with Skulduggery. They are accusing each other of treachery. She’s pretty sure Guild just tried to fire Skulduggery, despite not being his boss. He’s very angry (‘he’ referring to them both).

Eventually, they get themselves together enough to head out across the tundras for the Spirit Portal. By the time they approach, night has fallen, which the forces have waited for as per Chief Dragunov’s recommendation; waterbenders are stronger in the moon’s presence.

The sealed portal is a pulsing red sphere half-submerged in the rocky ground at the centre of a dense, dark forest lying at the heart of the North Pole. No snow has fallen nor ice grown here. The air is warmer, and a buzz seems to caress Valkyrie’s skin the closer the marshalled forces approach the red-lit scene. No one is waiting in ambush.

The Grotesquery stands by the closed portal. Vengeous and Dusk are nearby, but Sanguine is nowhere to be found, and neither are any reinforcements. The good guys have the overwhelming advantage in numbers.

Despite this, literally everyone gets their butt kicked.

Vengeous’ explosions take out upwards of three people every time he focuses. Skulduggery makes straight for him.

Tanith and Bliss head for the Grotesquery. Soil and bedrock undisturbed for centuries erupts and batters the old spirit again and again; Bliss never believed in subtlety. Tanith flits across the rumbling earth with the balance of cat, her sword flashing and slicing, but the Grotesquery’s hide is thick and its rebuttals swift in the same way a train is.

Valkyrie sprints straight into the middle of it all. Dusk and his cut-up face make a beeline for her. She twists out of the way of his twin dao, ducks under an arm, kicks his knee with a lucky shot and blows him head over heels with a veritable windmill of air. He lands and rolls, but is quickly swamped by water tribe warriors before he can pursue her.

As many hits as they deal, they take. Just as Valkyrie reaches Tanith and Bliss, the Grotesquery punches right through one of Bliss’ rocky walls and he goes flying back, leaving Tanith and a few Earth Kingdom soldiers to defend alone. She shouts at Valkyrie to keep back, but it’s at that moment that the Grotesquery knocks her sword out of her hand. Valkyrie distinctly sees her wrist snap, but she isn’t finished yet. She retrieves the blade and switches hands even easier than Skulduggery did yesterday.

Valkyrie remains out of range of the Grotesquery’s tentacle arm for Tanith’s sake: a sword master can’t be expending some of her attention looking out for Valkyrie while she fights injured. Her teeth are bared, her face splashed with black blood. Valkyrie decides she never wants to go up against Tanith.

A screech of rage heralds the arrival of an old spidery spirit, whose rage is fixed on Valkyrie.

The Torment is included among said butt-kicked people twice over, appearing unexpectedly to rampage in giant spider form. It takes a special kind of grudge to carry someone over an ocean, but the Torment is a special kind of guy. He is at home- terrifyingly so- leaping between the trees she tries to lose him in.

Skulduggery is busy. Valkyrie buys time with a blast of air that knocks the Torment into his own web, but he escapes quickly. There’s no one who can save her. She stops running and concentrates, knowing what she wants to do, but never having attempted something of this scale before… her hands move in a circle like she’s stirring a pot. The wind picks up. It roars, gusts, and the approaching spirit is caught up in a tornado and dumped on his back, legs thrashing in the air. She grabs a discarded water tribe pike, holds it to where she guesses his neck is, and offers him a deal. His life for his help.

Unfortunately, he has very little to contribute in the end. The Grotesquery takes him out even quicker than Bliss, Tanith, and the other earthbenders, becoming enraged (as much as can be told from a shrouded face) as the injuries add up.

The fast, furious swordfight between Skulduggery and Vengeous pauses abruptly as Vengeous’ sword bites deep into Skulduggery’s arm. Skulduggery yells out in agony, drops his saber, and falls. The rest of the water tribe warriors have also fallen to various fireblasts and explosions. Vengeous bends over Skulduggery to gloat, not noticing Skulduggery’s other hand straining to grab his weapon again.

It stabs through Vengeous’ chest. The baron’s shock is palpable, like it never occurred to him that he might actually be beaten. He stumbles over to the Grotesquery. It gazes at him sightlessly, and breaks his neck.

Skulduggery is unconscious and bleeding out on the ground, just as Tanith, Bliss, Dusk, and the Earth Kingdom and Water Tribe forces all are. Somehow, Valkyrie is the only person left standing, and even she can barely do that, exhausted after all the running and fighting. But the eclipse is beginning. She can tell by the way the Grotesquery upturns its face to the heavens before heading back to the portal.

She stumbles over, scooping up Tanith’s sword and forcing both hands to hold onto it tightly. She darts between the Grotesquery and the great glowing orb, and resolves past her fear, her doubt, her exhaustion and hurt, that she will not let it pass.

It swipes at her, she cuts it. It lashes out and rips the sword from her hands, but thanks to her reflexes it doesn’t catch her too. It reaches past her, reaching for the portal, reaching to open it, reaching for the very thing that it is up to her to keep closed. She tries to intercept and grazes the glowing red surface.

The next thing she knows, she is flat on her back on the earthy ground, staring up at the swirling northern lights arching above her. The portal is still closed. The Grotesquery is a motionless shape on the ground nearby. Skulduggery, bleeding profusely from a deep cut on one arm, is leaning over her, asking if she’s alright.

At her inquiry, he says he doesn’t know what happened. He came to just as the portal flared, and then both she and the Grotesquery just dropped, unconscious. It, however, didn’t wake up again. Once more, it was asleep, and will remain that way until another airbender comes along and wakes it up. Hopefully that won’t be for a good long while. Like, at least a year.

Valkyrie looks at the portal and thinks the faint swirling of light inside looks like water smoothing out after a severe disturbance. There are no clues as to how, or why, the Grotesquery failed to open it, but she won’t complain that it did. And for all intents and purposes, it looks like she was the one who stopped it.

Sanguine never appeared during the fight, but Dusk is arrested while everyone is being revived by the waterbender healers who arrived soon after the bright flash from the portal. Sanguine is a problem for later, Valkyrie decides. For now, she’s due back in Ba Sing Se for a picnic with her parents.

#skulduggery pleasant #fanfic #avatar au #fusion #we in book 2 now #and the lore is coming UP

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xskyll · 3 years

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The BNHA x Chobits AU that no one, not even Mineta, asked for.

The ramblings of my mind under the cut. Warning, it’s loooong.

Okay, so bear in mind that I only watched four episodes of Chobits and it was probably about 14 years ago, and also I didn’t really like it, lol

-Todoroki finds Midoriya laying on some bags of trash next to a dumpster.

-First he’s like “oh no, I need an adult,” because for all his “training,” dad never actually told him what to do when he found a dead body, (this is the summer before he starts U.A., so he’s still living at home). Endeavor is away for a week, and Fuyumi doesn’t count to him (sort of an Aristocats, “she’s not [an adult,] she’s just a sister!” thing). While he’s trying to remember that the police exist, he notices this dead body has very strange ear-like things. He comes closer to investigate. There are lots of weird body types in the world, because of quirks, but these things look metal, which isn’t unheard of, but something about these ears just strike him as unnatural.

- Good news, it seems like a robot, not a dead body. The ears open easily, and there are buttons inside. A power button (that’s right CHOBITS!! It’s in the ear! My love story isn’t going to start with molestation), some USB ports, an aux port, a slot for a microchip or SIM card or whatever, some sort of safety switch (he flips that on)…what really convinces him this is totally a robot are the blutooth and volume buttons (that’s right, Midoriya in this au can charge phones AND he’s a speaker, although the volume buttons’ primary function is to control the volume of his voice).

- He has no good reason for taking this thing home. It weights a ton, it’s awkwardly naked, except for some bandages wrapped around it, which do nothing to hide how anatomically correct this robot is, and he already has a phone charger, so he really has no use for it.

- He feels weird about it though. While he was checking out the ears, he touched its face and the skin was soft and warm. He checked for a pulse, just out of curiosity, and found one. It looks like a person, aside from the ears, and it feels like a person. He feels bad leaving it in the trash. So he takes it home.

- Cue comedy routine where he gets this thing, not just in the house, but to his room without Fuyumi noticing.

- Once in his room, he hits the power switch. Nothing happens. He holds the power switch. Bingo. Robo-boy powers to life, bright, adorably large green eyes open. He’s holding it in his arms, and it’s still all tied up. It looks up at him and says hello.

- He drops it.

- He apologizes as he picks it back up, tugging at the wrappings to try to get its arms free. He realizes he needs to get pants, or at least boxers, for it, because it’s awake now and very much naked.

- For the very first time, he realizes that this adorable, thin-yet-lean-muscled, between 14-16 looking robo-boy might have been someone’s weird sex doll. They probably threw it away because they found a real person to date and they didn’t want them to know about their underage sex robot. This also sort of explains the pulse; the mystery pervert person probably programmed a fake pulse and did something to make his skin warm, to make him feel more real. Gross.

- He’s broken from these thoughts when the robot speaks. It says, “Please insert memory bank files or turn on base memory.” Todoroki is already freaking out, because this thing wants its memories, and he doesn’t have them. He opens the ear again and investigates. Next to the empty slot, there’s a small button labeled BM. Base memory? Sure, why not. He pushes it.

- The robot goes blank faced for a few seconds. When he comes to, he looks at Todoroki, then the room, then down at himself. He flexes his arms, trying to break the bands around him, but stops, saying, “Safety mode is on.”

- Todoroki finishes helping unwrap him, awkwardly doing so while pointedly looking away, once he gets to his lower half. Once he’s free, he goes and gets a pair of boxers and throws them in his direction. “Can you put them on?” He’s curious if the robot can do something like that unaided, and also he doesn’t want to cloth it himself, because even though this is a robot, it looks like a very cute boy his age. And it has a pulse. He can’t stop thinking about that.

- The robot puts on the boxers, after inspecting them for a second. He honestly does struggle to figure it out for a moment, cause he has zero common sense, but he does figure it out. It probably takes him about a minute. Once they’re on, he stands and starts inspecting the room.

- “Do you have a name?” seems like a dumb question, but he asks anyway and the robot answers, “I’m Project Midoriya.”

- Background info time. Midoriya is not fully a robot. He was kidnapped just seven months ago, coming home from school. It was the day of the sludge villain attack, but he got nabbed before they could cross paths. AFO wanted a quirkless person to experiment on. He did his research and found Midoriya Izuku, a quirkless boy with no friends and little family, who wouldn’t be missed very much. He’s confident enough that he won’t get caught that he titles his new project by its name: Midoriya. Midoriya’s memories are still in his mind, but they’re suppressed. AFO found it easier to backup his memories to a chip, so he could remove them as needed. When they were installed, Midoriya responded best to his own name anyway, so calling him that was also the easiest thing. Without his memories, AFO found him a bit annoying, because he had no social skills or common sense. He needed to be taught, which he didn’t have the patience for, so usually he just left the memories in. He was a timid boy anyway and easy to intimidate, especially if he threaten to hurt his mom.

- The cops figure his disappearance was maybe a runaway situation, but given his track record and the profile on him they’d compiled from listening to his mom, classmates, and teachers, they figure it’s more likely a kidnapping or murder. Fun fact though, he got kidnapped the day Bakugou told him to kill himself. Obviously no body is found, but he knows people go to forests to hang themselves, or put weights in their pockets and drown themselves. Those bodies can take years to find. So while all of this is happening, Bakugou is out there just every day, “what have I done, what have I done, what have I done?” When they finally see each other again, Bakugou freaks out and Midoriya’s suppressed memories are triggered. Bakugou demands answers, Todoroki is confused and defensive, and Midoriya is just, “System overload. Shutting down,” and then face plants to the floor.

- Anyway, back to Shouto. He asks Midoriya if he remembers anything. Midoriya has exactly one memory (or at least, one easily accessible memory), and it’s this: “A man. He looked like this.” He put his hand over his face. “He said, ‘Sensei put so much work into you. Why are you so useless (Deku)?’”

- More bg info, AFO gave Midoriya to Shigaraki, telling him to try to make him useful, and Shigaraki DID try for a couple of months, but he was over the whole situation after basically one day. With his memories, Midoriya was scared and traumatized, had morals, cried a bunch and sometimes tried to escape, and was just UGH. He could mute his voice, but even that didn’t help, cause this kid was just sooo annoying. Without his memories he was awkward and boring and still annoying. Eventually he just yeeted him into a trash heap, but took his memory chip, since it technically contains LoV information.

- Midoriya considers his only memory and thinks being called Deku feels sort of normal, so he says as much. “Deku might also be my name. You can call me that, if you want.” Todoroki says he’ll stick with Midoriya, because Deku isn’t a nice name for his new robot friend.

- So the first section of the story after this is fairly light-hearted. Todoroki has to keep Midoriya a secret from Endeavor and Fuyumi (I feel like she does find out eventually, but agrees to help hide him, as she sees it’s good for her little bro to finally have this (maybe?) living thing/person to talk to and take care of.) Speaking of care, Midoriya is very easy to care for. He can eat, drink, and sleep, but doesn’t need to. He has some sort of self-charging system. Most of his “care” involves teaching him social skills (which oof, blind leading the blind, but they say teaching is the best way to learn, so this is actually good for Shouto too). Embarrassing stuff happens. Fluffy stuff happens. It’s a good time.

- Shouto spends the summer with Midoriya this way. Most of their interactions are fluffy and light, but not all. The first time he comes back to his room after training with his dad, he learns two things: Midoriya has first aid knowledge programmed into him and he’s capable of crying. As the trainings continue, Midoriya eventually reveals that he has over a hundred fighting styles programmed into him and knows over 70 ways to kill a person, but he can’t access any of that information while his safety is on. Todoroki is just like, “Uuuuuh, that’s really good to know…but we’re gonna keep the safety on for now, okay? I hate my dad but also please don’t murder him. He’s famous so we wouldn’t get away with it. Also murder is bad, don’t kill people.”

- Midoriya wants to know if all heroes are like Endeavor and Shouto is like, noooo and shows him the debut video of his personal favorite hero: All Might. Watching this video is the first time Midoriya has a “System overloading. Shutting down” moment. Shouto has an absolute panic attack, because if Midoriya reboots and his memories are wiped, then he’ll have lost the best friend he ever had. But Midoriya restarts and he’s fine. He explains that sometimes he shuts down, to prevent a system failure, which would damage his…idk, hard drive or whatever. He quietly admits that the All Might video is very familiar, and he thinks maybe it used to be important to him. Shouto questions him about his memories and Midoriya theorizes that perhaps he has them backed up, but he isn’t sure how to access them.

- This is exciting for Shouto, because he thinks maybe if Midoriya experiences more “triggers,” like the video, he might regain his memories and be able to shed some light on the general mystery of where he came from/who made him/what his purpose is. Whenever Endeavor is away, he tries to sneak Midoriya out, so he can see the real world. He isn’t too concerned about his ears, because in a world of quirks, there are plenty of odd looking people around. So far he’s been wearing Todoroki’s clothes, which a little too big on him, so they go shopping and get him clothes. None of their outings seem to trigger anything, except one time when they pass a park where Midoriya and Bakugou used to play as kids. Midoriya grows quiet and seems far away for a moment, but he doesn’t overload and shakes off the familiar feeling.

- Whenever they see All Might stuff he’s just !!!!!!! He can’t remember why he likes All Might, but he remembers how he feels about him. The more All Might stuff he sees, the more his old feelings return. One day they pass a large All Might poster and Midoriya says, “I think maybe I wanted to be like him, once.”

- Eventually Todoroki starts school. He feels bad about leaving him, but Midoriya is content to stay in his room and occupy himself until Todoroki comes home. He’s part computer, so he’s a total boss at helping with math homework. He likes doing homework with Todoroki in general, because he likes learning. This is great for Todoroki’s grades because again, the teaching thing helps everything stick better for him.

- The attack on USJ happens and Todoroki sees Shigaraki, who has a hand on his face, and he’s like, “Shit, shit, shit, this is the guy who threw away Midoriya,” and he has NO idea what to do with that information. Midoriya belonging to the LoV does explain the “70+ ways to kill” programming though. He tells Midoriya what happened and Midoriya is kind of whatever about it. He says, “Maybe I belonged to villains, but I belong to you, now.” And Shouto is like, “No, no, no, no. You do not. You belong to yourself” and Midoriya is just ????

- I think for the Sports Festival, Midoriya convinces him to use his fire. It’s sort of like, “It’s your power, even though its origin is Endeavor. Just like how everything I can do is my power, even though I was programmed by villains. Being made by villains doesn’t make me a villain. Using the resources they gave me doesn’t make me a villain. Being Endeavor’s son doesn’t make you Endeavor, and using your fire doesn’t either.” Todoroki turns off Midoriya’s safety, confident he has nothing to fear.

- Midoriya watches the Sports Festival on tv (using his blutooth, he can actually just hear the volume in his head, so he can watch silently). He sees Bakugou. Seeing him on screen doesn’t have a huge impact on him, but he does feel something. Fear, unease, admiration, and affection. He’s confused and uncomfortable, and ends up looking away from the screen whenever he’s shown for too long.

- Shouto actually starts making friends at school. Being with Midoriya has taught him a lot about being kind and the joy having other people in your life can bring. Still, he doesn’t trust anyone enough to tell them about Midoriya. He’s terrified of losing him.

- For the Hosu incident, Midoriya is home alone, probably doing something on Shouto’s laptop. He sees the breaking news and is just, “Welp, that’s where Shouto, the official best person in the world, is, so guess I’m going to Hosu to make sure he’s safe.” He leaves the house alone, for the first time ever, and just runs to Hosu. Idk how far away Hosu is from the Todoroki residence, but Midoriya doesn’t fatigue and he’s also outrageously fast, so it’s fine. Also he can see in the dark, but only if he activates his night vision, which makes his eyes glow. Not good for sneaking, but very pretty and cool. I’m not sure how he finds Shouto, or how Shouto found Iida, but I imagine Stain is like, seconds from skewering him and then Midoriya comes out of nowhere and collides with Stain (which is a big deal, cause remember, Midoriya is filled with metal parts and is super heavy). They fight together and at some point Stain cuts Midoriya and he bleeds, which for Shouto is like !?!??! And then he licks his blood and the paralysis works and Shouto is just !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

- Later, after the life threatening stuff is over, Todoroki has some seriously thoughts about this, because what if Midoriya is human? Or part human? That would be a huge development, and also kind of relief for him, because he sort of feels like he’s been falling in love, but he’s been desperately stomping down on those feelings, because he knows falling in love with a robot probably isn’t healthy. But falling in love with a half robot? I mean, Iida could be called part robot, with his legs, if you want to get technical about it. And Todoroki does want to get technical about it, thank you very much. If Iida is dateable, then so is Midoriya.

- Back to Hosu. They beat Stain and, after securing him, Todoroki tells Midoriya to go home, before his dad arrives. Once he leaves, he begs Iida not to tell anyone he saw him and promises to explain later. For ease of narrative, Native was unconscious the entire fight.

- Endeavor shows up, as does the Nomu. It takes Shouto but Stain rescues him. At the hospital, Todoroki explains the Midoriya situation to Iida, revealing that this incident was the first time he realized Midoriya had blood in him. Iida agrees to keep the secret, but urges Todoroki to tell someone. Maybe Aizawa. He agrees to consider, but he doesn’t want Midoriya to get taken away and like, locked up to be studied or something. He and Iida become better friends, bonding over almost dying together and sharing the secret of Midoriya.

- Midterms! Shouto scores higher because he has an awesome robot tutor. He doesn’t actually care, but good for him regardless.

- Summer field trip time. Midoriya can’t come, obviously. I’m thinking during this time, he decides to sneak out of the house and explore on his own. He feels guilty, because Shouto would worry if he knew, but he just feels this draw. He feels like maybe his old memories were important, and he’s becoming curious. He keeps thinking about the boy from the Sports Festival and about All Might. He ends up in his old neighborhood. He sees his middle school and he doesn’t remember anything, but seeing the building makes him feel lonely and sort of bad about himself. It reminds him of Shigaraki calling him Deku, and the familiar feeling that gave him. He leaves and finds himself on his old street. He isn’t close at all to his old home - he can barely see the apartment building - but he can still see it. He almost shuts down, but turns away quickly and starts back the way he came. He doesn’t remember anything, but seeing that building fills him with overwhelming emotions. The strongest one reminds him of his feelings for Shouto, but it’s different. He can’t place it, but he knows he’d die to protect Shouto, and he feels like maybe he once knew someone in that building that he would also die to protect. Once he gets home, he realizes he’s crying. He decides to sleep and he dreams of green eyes and a smile that looks like home.

- Shouto is injured during the villain attack and goes to the hospital. Once he’s released, he agrees with Kirishima that they’ll go rescue Bakugou. That whole thing pretty much goes at it did in canon, except All Might never found a successor, so he’s more powerful. He defeats AFO and does not have to retire, though he’s feeling an overwhelming pressure to find a successor now, because he knows he’s hanging on by a thread.

- Dorms!! Shouto is bringing his boy with him. He figures he can hide him just as easily there as he can at home. Getting him in is a little tricky, but he manages. From there, it’s smooth sailing.

- Except not really, because living with 18-19 other people (19 if Hitoshi is in the class, which, maybe) is way different than living with 2. Midoriya is discovered in like, a week and everyone is freaking out, most of all Bakugou, who basically breaks down. He tries to hit Midoriya and screams at him, about thinking he was dead and going to his funeral and how it was his fault and having to face his mom and did Midoriya even think about his mom??? As previously mentioned, Midoriya just shuts down and face plants to the ground.

- Shouto finally learns Midoriya’s full name. Midoriya Izuku. A+ name. Very cute. He plans to use it immediately.

- Bakugou’s insight changes the situation completely. Now they know Izuku was once 100% human and something awful happened to him. They end up bringing him to Aizawa and explaining the situation and everything they know. Todoroki gets scolded, cause Izuku could have been dangerous and he should have known better, but he doesn’t even pretend to have regrets. Endeavor would have made him throw Izuku back into the trash where he found him. His best friend isn’t trash.

- Now the name of the game is helping Izuku restore his memories. Bakugou is a huge help, but patience is required, to keep Izuku from overloading. He remembers bits and pieces at a time, all centered around Bakugou. Aizawa agrees to let him attend classes, so they can keep an eye on him. He’s also hoping a school setting might trigger more memories. He meets All Might and he doesn’t even get to announce his system malfunction before he’s out. He sees him, starts smoking at the mouth and hits the floor. All Might is very alarmed.

- Tsukauchi is made aware of the situation. He wants to keep things under wraps though. If the LoV is aware Midoriya is out and about, they may target him. If they can restore his memories though, they may gain insight into the group’s plans. That being said, he thinks it’s only right that they tell Inko. They tell her they have information on her son and make her sign a contract, agreeing not to release any information. Once she agrees, they brief her on what they know and, at the end, bring in Izuku.

- Izuku has been talking with Bakugou about his mom, to prepare for this (he usually wants Shouto with him for these conversations, and Shouto and Bakugou sort on inadvertently become friends). He can’t remember her at all, but he remembers the face in his dream. He knows it’s her. While talking, he’s shut down a few times (which drives Bakugou up the wall, and also scares him a little, cause he kind of looks dead when it happens), but he thinks he might be ready to see her now. He’s brought in and he does not shut down, not fully, but he comes close. He definitely glitches a little, maybe doing a quick reboot, quick enough that he doesn’t even fall, and his voice comes out cracked and metallic when he speaks, and there are sparks in his mouth, but he manages, “Mom?” They both cry and she holds him while he tells her, voice wavering between sounding normal and sounding robotic, that he doesn’t remember her, but he loves her, he knows he loves her so so much and he knows he’s missed her, even though he didn’t know who she was. It’s very emotional, and extremely hard for both of them when they finally have to separate, because Izuku can’t go home with her. She’s allowed to visit though, and each visit helps him restore little pieces of his memory. Between her and Bakugou, he starts making enough progress that he stops shutting down when he gains a new memory, and he starts remembering his old hopes and dreams. He doesn’t remember what AFO did to him, but he remembers enough of his past to feel self-conscious now, about his body. He breaks down one day and Shouto holds him while he grapples with his identity, his humanity, and his future.

- I’m picturing a scene where he’s crying and Shouto takes his face in his hands and explains all the beautiful things about him that make him human, and he finishes up with something corny like, “I know you, Izuku. You’re human. You have to be human, because I’m in love with you.” And then they KISS and it is ROMANTIC!

- He decides he still wants to be a hero and he becomes a real member of 1A, instead of just a visitor. The whole class helps him design a costume and come up with a name and in general are just like, “Cyborg Hero, yay!!”

- And that’s all I got. I think eventually he would fight the league, and probably retrieve his chip, giving him 100% of his memories. There’s a LOT of trauma to deal with there, because he was basically torn apart and put back together several times by AFO, but they do gain all the information they need to take down the LoV for good. And the Overhaul arc is in there. Izuku might still intern with Nighteye, because All Might is like, “Robot successor? Maybe???” and he wants Nighteye’s opinion. Nighteye can’t see his future, because he’s not fully human, but eventually he gives his stamp of approval. Eri is rescued and that’s a very personal fight for Izuku, because he identifies with what she’s gone through. And of course she loves him and thinks his ears are cute and his glowy eyes are pretty.

- Oh, and the School Festival. I honestly don’t even know what to do with him. He can learn any instrument just by like, downloading some YouTube tutorial videos. He can learn any dance by watching it once. He’s really strong, really fast, and can also operate as a speaker (though that can be awkward, cause it’s through his mouth, so he’d just be standing there with his mouth open). They might keep his role same as canon, idk. They’d probably all fight over him.

- I’m sure none of this was anything like Chobits. Sorry. I just think the ears are neat, really, and liked the idea of Izuku being a cyborg (Chobits isn’t even about cyborgs, lol).

Sorry this is outrageously long! If you want to write this into a full fic, feel free to use my ideas! Just give me a shoutout, maybe? And tell me about it, so I can read it!

#skylldraws #skyll rambles #tddk #tddk fanart #tddk au #tododeku #tododeku au #bnha #bnha x chobits #todoroki x midoriya #shouto x izuku #todoizu #tddk ficlet #tododeku ficlet #todoroki shouto #midoriya izuku

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giggles-and-freckles · 3 years

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Okay woohoo some fic recs incoming!!!! These will probably be all over the place, but I’ve just got to scream about them for a second!!! PS gonna try to do these more frequently because this is fun!!!

Click below the cut if you dare!

Declarations by Nny11

Summary: A series exploring Obi-Wan and Ahsoka's relationship as Grandmaster and Grandpadawan.

Okay, so this is one of the first fics I can genuinely remember reading with a heavy emphasis on the relationship between Obi-Wan and Ahsoka where I was like 'hey oh my god I love them?’ It was a monumental moment for me because now I am so obscenely ride or die for them and I truly do think back to this fic often with utter fondness.

A moment I loved:

“From a certain point of view,” he finally conceded, motioning her to start again. “At least I know you’ve learned something from me!”

“Well I couldn’t learn the secrets of your hair routine!”

the flood comes rushing in by @kenobilovebot

Summary: "I have done this for you. I have put you first." Or, Anakin finds out.

A little bit of sith!Obi-Wan? As a treat? Hm, well...all right!!!!! I don’t want to say too much here because I would really prefer you read it than read any more of my mindless babbling but–it’s good.

A moment I loved:

He can hardly think around the smothering darkness that has so wholly encompassed his master, so effectively destroying the light that has always been. He’s always been able to reach for it at the worst of times. Now he can’t feel it at all.

a time to say goodbye by Sokaless

Summary: Ezra isn't the only one facing the temptation of change in the World Between Worlds. Just minutes after facing Vader, Ahsoka falls through a portal seventeen years into the past and must relive her final encounter with Anakin and Obi-Wan without drastically altering the future. But Anakin Skywalker taught her many things. How to push her luck was one of them.

This is a short and sweet time-travel fic that finds Ahsoka back in that moment in the hangar with Anakin right before they unknowingly have their last goodbye. She knows more now than she did before and struggles not to say it all. But the theme of learning from loss is really special and powerful and I feel this sad sort of closure when I finish (I say that actively because I have...read this fic several several times). Painful, poignant–all the best things.

A moment I loved:

One last thing she learned from Anakin- teaching a lesson often requires holding your student to higher standards than you hold yourself.

With the knowledge that she’s holding him to a standard she herself might never reach, Ahsoka tells Ezra, “I’m asking you to let go.”

good morning, sun by @katierosefun

Summary: “You look miserable.” Ahsoka dropped her hand, spun around. Obi-Wan stood behind her, one arm carrying a cloak and the other half-extended to Ahsoka. [or: After she leaves the Order, Ahsoka has one last encounter with Obi-Wan.]

Let’s see how many of Caroline’s fics I can get away with posting before someone reports me. This one-shot is full of all the good post-wrong jedi stuff. Soka and Obi have a conversation at Dex’s that hurts a lot but also feels real and I will never not respect Caroline for understanding the nuances of the disaster trios intricate and intimate relationships with each other and how they shift and mold around different circumstances. This feels so authentically them that it hurts.

A moment I loved:

What came out instead was a small, half-choked sound.

When Obi-Wan opened his arms, Ahsoka fell right into them. “It hurts,” Ahsoka said, her voice cracking. “A lot.”

“I know,” Obi-Wan replied thickly. “We’ll take care of it.”

You Haunt All My What-Ifs by @kckenobi

Summary: But then she saw the way Obi-Wan’s lip was quivering, and his eyes were shining, and she realized— He hadn’t called because he needed to tell her. He’d called because he needed her. “Obi-Wan,” she breathed. “Oh, Obi-Wan…” And she wanted to reach out, to hold him. To be his refuge, his shelter, his home. Instead she just watched as he shook his head, palmed at his eyes, apologized. She reached out. Touched the hologram. It flickered. — [Satine and Obi-Wan—then, now, and every echo of what if between them.]

One of the first fics that got me on my Obitine grind!! Just the right mix of angst and angst to create the perfect recipe of absolute sorrow. These characters feel so real I could reach out and hug them–and oh, how I want to after this incredible little fic.

A moment I loved:

And then suddenly she was thinking of every little what if—the other paths they could’ve taken, the millions of ways they could’ve ended up here. She imagined a future where he’d stayed. She saw white weddings, crying infants, painting nursery rhymes on a pale bedroom wall. She saw herself rolling over in the middle of the night, bumping shoulders, feeling his warm breath on her face. She saw family dinners, rushed breakfasts as they hurried the kids off to school. She saw laughter. She saw a lifetime. And at the end, she saw herself old and gray, holding his hand, his eyes the last thing she’d ever see.They had arrived at the end now. But she was not old and gray.

Dying Words by @cloudyskywars

Summary: Anakin is trapped beneath a collapsed building, and has one final conversation with Obi-Wan.

One of my favourite febuwhump contributions from within the mountain of wonderful fics that the second month of the year created!! Some good ol classic Obi & Ani pain. Hint of a deathfic...but mostly just the moments leading up to it. And they...hurt. Also!!! Melanie took the care to make Anakin’s final words be about Obi-Wan, which is very special to me for the reason she includes in her author’s note.

A moment I loved:

“And,” he said, “if you ever see Ahsoka again, tell her she was the best padawan I could have asked for.” His breaths were coming in rapid pants, now, and the room was spinning out of focus. “Obi-Wan?” he asked, voice barely audible. “Yes, Padawan mine?” he responded, his own voice shaky as well. “Thank you for being my Master,” Anakin said.

i’m only me when i’m with you idiots by @renegadeontherunn

Summary: who let Obi-Wan pick the holo? and where's the remote? they might need a bigger blanket.

[or, Anakin, Ahsoka, and Obi-Wan have leave on Coruscant and holo night is the perfect excuse to all squeeze onto a couch together, bicker, and be, well, a family]

Fluff, fluff, fluff! Yes, please! My dear Fiona does a wonderful job wrapping these three up in a blanket and plopping them in front of a holo for a night of witty banter and so-cute-I-could-melt platonic cuddles. I love these three, I love this fic!

A moment I loved:

“You met a civilized Padawan? Couldn’t have been ours.”

get home by @curse-of-men

Summary: After a mission goes wrong and Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker goes missing, it is up to Obi-Wan Kenobi and Ahsoka Tano to bring him home.

[or: a Grandmaster and a Grandpadawan go on a road trip to rescue chaos personified]

What? Me? Rec’ing another Obi-Wan and Ahsoka centric fic? HUH? Hehe, I love that Lou says this is the missing Obi & Soka arc in their author’s note because um, did they look into my heart and know that’s what I most desire? Anyway, this three-parter is incredible from start to finish and I demand you all go read it immediately. :-)

A moment I loved:

Making their way to the cockpit, Ahsoka tilts her head into Obi-Wan’s general direction and says: “You know, Master, Anakin would probably think things so far have gone excellently.” Obi-Wan returns her look and sighs.

“Now you surely must get why I am so worried about this.” Ahsoka grins and gestures back and forth in the empty space between them with one hand.

“For what it’s worth, I think we make a good enough team.”

we stand here, together by @nightdotlight

Summary: Master Depa Billaba and Padawan Caleb Dume.

Windu worries for them, out in the wider galaxy. Waging war, while he and Anakin sit here, waiting.

But he trained Billaba, and Billaba is training Dume. Anakin once took lessons from her, when he himself was a Padawan, and he knows she is skilled enough by far, to ensure that both she and her student make it back to Coruscant safely.

It’s ironic, that when cut off from the Force he can understand other people better than he has in years.

ZOWEE!!!! This fic made me ugly cry on my conference period at school!! Ha! Another fic that culminates in, er...death. But!!!! The lead-up! Ooh, baby! The writing style of this one is also very fresh and unique which I appreciate as someone who essentially reads the same thing eight million ways (by choice, mind you!!!! and loves it every time!!!!). This is just an absolute gem of a fic. Queue: your best crying playlist.

A moment I loved:

Depa, her Padawan braid hanging from her shoulder, hugs him around his middle and drags him to the training salles. The whole way, her laughter follows them– warm, like summer rain. Like the smallest, most ephemeral moments of happiness.

Her smile feels like a sunset on his back, and Mace smiles back even as they spar, as green and purple clash over and over again in a dance unique to teacher and student.

He does not need to reach out to know the galaxy is at peace. When they take a break from their own spar, Mace feels a light tap on his presence in the Force; when he turns, Ahsoka Tano stands there in training robes, her own Master a few paces behind– and beside him, Obi-Wan Kenobi, face lighter than it has been in years.

Her Padawan beads hang from her headdress; when she smiles at the banter behind her, turning to retort, they catch the light, and the half-formed impression of those beads torn asunder and held in gloved hand is dissipated by the glare.

Only Hope by @tessiete

Summary: The infamous "Year on the Run".In the wake of her father's death, Satine is assigned two Jedi to escort her safely back to Mandalore, but in the chaotic aftermath of a civil war, there is more at stake than one person's survival. Together, they work to unite Mandalore, overcome ancient grudges, and bring peace to a world ravaged by bloodshed.

Man, oh man, do I love a good year on the run fic! And man oh man am I loving the heck out of this one. It’s in progress so go ahead give it a bookmark and a subscription while you’re at it!!!! But the banter! The sass! The (I assume soon to come) pining! The Qui-Gon third wheeling! READ IT! Cannot recommend highly enough.

A moment I loved:

“...and you’re bound to be hungry.”

“I assure you, I’m not.”

“Well, Obi-Wan is,” Jinn asserts. His back is to his apprentice and so he cannot see the mutinous glance which darts his way. “And as you’ve seen, he’s trouble when he isn’t fed. You have five minutes.”

Goes to Ground by jerseydevious

Summary: Obi-Wan has a question for Anakin following his experiences on Zygerria.

Silly Jedi boys trying and failing to communicate, gosh dang it!!! They get there, eventually, though. :’) Some post Zygerria angst and some tough discussions. HERE. FOR. IT.

A moment I loved:

“You are a bad influence, padawan mine,” Obi-Wan said. He gave Anakin that smile, the one that made Anakin feel like he shared a secret with his Master, something only for them.

In Sacrifice, Peace by @ilonga

Summary: “Shh. . .” Anakin says, gathering the younglings around him, reminding Obi-wan of all those whispered arguments where he had insisted to Anakin that yes, he was good with children, he’d be just fine teaching Ahsoka. He can almost feel the terror rising off Anakin from the hologram; Anakin doesn’t know what’s happening either. But he isn’t letting the younglings feel it. “You need to listen to me very carefully, okay? This--” his voice breaks, “--this is going to be scary. But you have to be calm, and strong. Just like Master Yoda taught you.” [Or, the ROTS au where Obi-wan finds a very different type of pain while looking through the Temple's recordings of Order 66.]

PAIN AWAITS YOU HERE! But that is exactly why you should click, kudos, comment, bookmark, and let this fic live in your head rent free like it’s living in mine. Truly couldn’t get it out of there if I wanted to! AND I DO NOT! Yet another deathfic and angst with The Team (TM). Read it, peeps.

A moment I loved:

“And then?”Obi-wan closes his eyes, pretends he can’t feel the weight of the body in his arms, pretends it’s really Anakin he’s talking to and not some worrying coping mechanism. “And then we fight.” he says.

to hold by @katierosefun

Summary: “What—” Ahsoka looked up and, where she had expected to find a mumbling drunk, she found instead—

“Master Kenobi?” Ahsoka asked, stunned. She straightened, already swinging her backpack around herself again.

“Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan managed. He was breathing hard, just barely bent over because he was supporting, Ahsoka realized dumbly, Anakin.

Anakin, whose head was lolling against Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Whose face was two shades too pale and eyes fluttering and lips parted in a soundless groan that brought Ahsoka right back to battlefields and med bays and other places that she hadn’t been in a long, long while. [or: after leaving the Order, Ahsoka runs into some familiar faces.]

Caroline at it again with the post-wrong-jedi disaster trio angst comin’ in hot! Some platonic bed-sharing, some confused Anakin, some conflicted Ahsoka, some pained Obi-Wan. Well–strike that. They’re all in pain. But what do we expect, honestly? What do we want, honestly? Pain. We want pain.

A moment I loved:

“Only another dream,” Obi-Wan said. He looked at Ahsoka, his face just barely shadowed. “Seems that it’s passed.”

Another.

Ahsoka’s stomach twisted. She looked at the hand she was holding. It was strange—she couldn’t remember if she had ever actually held onto Anakin’s hand this tightly before, but now she could feel the familiar callouses, make out just the faintest of old scars. Ahsoka squeezed it once.

Not near as many as I planned to do or have saved and ready to rec, but...this already got, er...quite lengthy. So! Same time, next week! I’ll have some more! (Well, probably not same time and maybe not even next week...but soon.)

#fic rec #how is this only thirteen fics hahahahahaha #I literally just cannot shut up #go kudos and comment and reblog their stuff PLS I beg you!

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entertainment · 4 years

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Entertainment Spotlight: Genneya Walton, #blackAF

Genneya Walton came to acting through a passion for dance and performance. Once on screen, she starred as Bryden Bandweth on Project Mc², as well as taking on roles in The Resident, 911, Criminal Minds, School of Rock, and Extent. Up next, Genneya will be playing the role of Chloe Barris, daughter to Rashida Jones and Kenya Barris, in his new mockumentary #blackAF. Loosely inspired by Barris’ irreverent and honest approach to parenting, relationships, race, and culture, #blackAF uncovers the messy and often hilarious world of the fictionalized Barris family. We had the opportunity to chat to Genneya about her character on the show, experiences on set, and what it means to be a young woman of color in the world of film and television. Check it out:

You wake up tomorrow as the character you play. What do you do first?

If I were to wake up as Chloe, I would freak out first but I think that’s a given. Secondly, I’d go through her closet and try everything on because her style is incredible and I can only imagine what her full wardrobe looks like.

In #blackAF, you have a lot of siblings. Do you have a large family IRL? If so, were there any similarities to your rapport with your on-set family? If no, did the experience make you glad or sad you don’t?

In real life I only have one older sister -- far less than the 5 siblings I have on the show! My parents' style of raising kids is not at all the same as Kenya and Joya’s, so I can't say there are really any similarities between my real and tv family in that aspect. Although with both of them I am lucky to be able to share my honest thoughts and feelings with them even if it’s hard at times. Even though growing up I did want a baby brother, I wouldn’t want to change anything about how my family functions now, but it was definitely an experience to almost live another life in a household that’s run so differently.

Describe the premise of #blackAF to a five-year-old?

#blackAF is about a teenager that is filming her family’s everyday life to send in to her favorite college in hopes of getting in. With parents like ours and six kids, things can get crazy at our house. We act a little more “out there” than a typical family so I don’t think it would be appropriate for a five year old, but you can tell your parents to watch it ;)

What’s the first thing that you remember being a fan of?

The first thing I remember being a fan of is Barbie. It was one of my favorite toys growing up and the movies are actually what inspired me to perform. Second, I think it would be Usher’s Confessions album. I had no business singing his songs as a child, but those songs are certainly timeless!

Can you tell us about a funny experience you had on the set of #blackAF?

When you’re working with Kenya and Rashida something funny is bound to happen everyday. We had a moment of downtime on set and Kenya was showing off some dance moves and Rashida hopped in and it turned into an impromptu dance battle. All I’m gonna say is they both can do a mean robot. Certainly a sight to see and I’m happy to say I’ve witnessed it in my lifetime.

You began your career dancing before you moved on to acting. Has dancing taught you any valuable lessons for your acting career?

Dancing has certainly shaped who I am today and I’ve been able to apply those lessons to everyday life. I used to be the most sensitive person on the planet, and although I still have my moments, the tough love from teachers gave me a thicker skin that is necessary to have in this industry. Particularly from being a competitive dancer I learned the value of teamwork and trust. A scene is a collaboration, not a solo, and when you have a scene partner you have to put your full trust in that person in order to let go and be vulnerable. Also, in competition you can’t win them all, and that’s certainly the case with this industry, and I learned from a young age to come to terms with things not always going as planned and to push on and work harder. The long rehearsal hours and high expectations to perform well every time prepared me for work days on set that could sometimes be 14+ hours. All of the hard work that goes into finally performing a 2 minute dance piece is similar to the endless preparation before a new project only for the final cut to be x amount of minutes long and that’s all people get to see. After all it’s about the journey not the destination right? Being a dancer instilled a lot of important lessons within me and I owe my current position to dance aka my first love.

Without spoiling anything, did you have a favorite scene in the show that was fun to shoot?

While on vacation things got a little heated between Chloe and Drea and we really had the opportunity to take it there. Both Iman and I have sisters and were able to relate to our characters in that moment. We were both completely understanding of the situation and each other's emotions that it almost made it feel as though we were truly sharing that moment together as sisters. It was a special moment for myself and it definitely brought us closer. It was a very fun challenge and I’m so happy to have been able to share that with her and portray the ups and downs that siblings have.

How do you embody the mission of #BlackExcellence365 in your everyday work?

I think that black excellence is our drive and ability to go for, and accomplish the great things we do despite the boundaries that have been set in front of us. We have so much power within ourselves and such a great ability to impact lives. As a kid, I only had a handful of young women of color to look up to and I am grateful that they have paved the way for young actors like myself. I am now in the position to possibly be that for today’s young girls, and it is truly a dream and a huge responsibility that I am thrilled to take on. I hope to take part in roles that can positively impact and inspire young girls to be the best versions of themselves that they can be. Representation on screen is so important and the media has the ability to shape young minds. So far I've had the honor to play a past role of a teenage genius who is a master at coding and is not afraid to be herself or speak her mind. I now get to play a young adult who attends a great college and is setting up her future. Those characters within themselves are what I believe to be some great representations of black excellence and if they positively affect at least one person I am proud of that. I’d like it to be known that it took almost two years of being unemployed before I landed my current role. At times it was tough and I honestly had a fleeting moment where I considered giving up, but I kept pushing and would have never gotten to experience being Chloe if I didn’t hold faith in myself! As my career goes on, I intend on using my platform to be vocal about things that matter most to me and inspire and pave the way for those after me. This is all bigger than myself and each accomplishment and even failure on the way to success that we share is an embodiment of #blackexcellence.

Do you have any advice for young women of color who are looking to get into the acting business?

When wanting to accomplish anything in life it requires hard work, resilience, and genuine belief in yourself. You will get more no’s than yes’s, but you cannot let that discourage you. When you know you have something special to share with the world, you have to keep pushing on. I’d highly recommend surrounding yourself with people that are like minded so you can uplift and push each other towards your individual goals. An African Proverb that I think describes this well is, “If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.” So finding a strong support system whether that be within your family or your friends, I personally find to be helpful during the journey. When things get tough it is easy to get lost or caught up in this all, but remember to stay grounded and true to yourself. There is no one else like you, and that alone holds so much power!

Thanks for taking the time Genneya! #blackAF is now streaming on Netflix.

#entertainment spotlight #blackexcellence365 #genneya walton #blackaf

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vickylamore · 3 years

Text

Enemy Of The Wolves [1]

TW: Language, Violence, Misogyny, Underlines of Sexisms

Pairing: [slight] Mark Lee x Female Reader, NCT OT23 [Mostly platonic] x Female Reader

Genre: Action, Military Style AU, Organized crime AU, Mafia AU.

(1/?) Part 2 Part 3

Word Count: 5k

[Main Masterlist] [Enemy Of The Wolves - Mini Masterlist]

Summary: Not only were you one of the few females to be apart of Neo Culture Technology’s underground organized crime association, you were also the only and top ranked female captain in the entire industry. Even if you worked in a majority male industry, you earned respect from nearly every one of your male counterparts. All but one. That one not only exposed your name to one of NCT’s worst and most vicious rivals but signed NCT’s entire demise. Only one group will prevail, the other left in ruins with no chance of recovery.

Notes: Happy 200 followers! This was in my drafts for so long, it’s embarrassing. Technicallt speaking, it’s suppose to be a oneshot and has 22k words to it be I know yall won’t read it LNAOSJA so I’m dividing it in parts hehe. This is more of a corrupt military turned into an undeground organized crime association :)

Disclaimer: Please remember that this is a work of fiction and solely fiction. Any of the idols written and mentioned in this series would never take part in these actions, let alone stand by/condone them. The idols mentioned are merely used as characters and in no way am I saying that this is how they act in real life.

“If you even try pointing that damn pistol at me, I will kill you.” You pulled off your hoodie so you aren’t attacked and mistaken as an intruder, noticing that two of your men already had their hands on their pistols. Your lips crack into a smile as you walk into the academy’s teacher’s lounge. You had just come back from a mission overseas in Canada, arriving in Seoul only a couple of hours ago. You wanted to visit the D.R.E.A.M.S most efficient team before reporting back to Taeyong.

You had been recruited in Neo Culture, a once high ranked military facility who went off the grids when they started getting involved into illegal activity, at the age of fifteen when you were spying on them multiple times for a man (who is now dead, not because you killed him or anything) who paid you a hefty amount of money for the information you were feeding him. It was happening for a couple of weeks until a soldier in training in D.R.E.A.M.S, a person you are currently training, found out about you. Long story short, they reported you to the higher-ups and they made (as they, you mean Johnny, Taeil and Taeyong) them talk to you.

By talk, you truly mean kidnap you and force a deal; work with them/recruit you or you die.

Obviously, you wanted to live. That’s why you’re where you are right now; the co-head alongside Mark Lee and top female captain at Neo Culture.

D.R.E.A.M.S are a unit made by Neo Culture as a way to recruit youth with no home, an unstable life or on the run and offer them a home in exchange for full loyalty to the organization. The teenagers and young adults are trained to become soldiers before graduating from the academy and then are relocated either in the 127 unit or the Japanese base with Yuta, who just recruited a new . Soon, however, they’ll open a base in China for more soldiers to be relocated there. As of right now, only WayV is there.

The D.R.E.A.M.S is composed of ten levels (also known as tiers), ten being the lowest level and one being the highest. Each tier had a specialty that tests your knowledge, physicality, communication, comprehension, real life-like simulations on the battlefield etc.

The the first tier students who are apart of the only squad of D.R.E.A.M.S but are highest-ranked students are called the Dreamies composed of; Huang Renjun who specialized in negotiations and investigations, Jeno who specialized in close-range fighting underground boxing, Haechan in weaponry and long-range fighting/combat, Jaemin in the art of escaping, Chenle in explosives and chemicals and Jisung in coding. Note that they’re still students, just the best of the best and are used to fulfill missions and tasks… and graduate. They all learned from the best; you.

This was all made by the General of Neo, Lee Taeyong.

Taeyong’s family, one of the top military families, was involved in an incident that forced them to turn their military base into a secret hideout for men and women who practiced illegal activities. After three generations of doing so, Taeyong’s father decided to build the academy, created one of the top grossing underground criminal facilities that practiced a military style regime and named it Neo Culture Technology.

“Ew,” Haechan complained while turning to you, “not you being back.” You scoffed under your breath as you hugged Jisung, the first to come to greet you.

“What do you want me to do? Leave?,” you asked while hitting him across his head, “It’s not like you could magically make my body disappear.”

“We could bury you six feet under,” you turned to the second oldest of the Dreamies, a smirk on his face as he sat in a chair reading a book, “slow death as you run out of oxygen.”

“You just gave me flashbacks from when I was 17,” your skin crawled as you sent Renjun a disgusted glance, “never again, thank you.”

“PTSD type beat.” You turn around to roll your eyes at Jeno. He only shrugged, a smirk tugging his lips, “what? Did I lie?”

“Alright, alright,” Mark got up from his seat to give you a hug, one that was longer than usual. You didn’t blame him though, you haven’t seen each other nor called in nearly two months. You melted into his touch, smiling softly in his embrace. You rolled your eyes at the Dreamies in front of you, some of them making kissing faces.

“The hug never happened,” you mouthed. “I will hunt each and every one of you down if anything gets out.” Jaemin chuckled under his breath but quickly threw his hands in the air at your raised eyebrows.

“How was it? What happened?” Mark, who was completely clueless at what just happened, asked while pulling away.

You ran a hand through your black and silver hair, a light sigh escaping your lips, “it was fine, a bitch but it was fine.” You responded, shutting down any possibility to talk about your information. “Plus, it’s classified until I talk to Taeyong.”

The Dreamies looked at you in slight worry. Usually, you’d tell them everything that happened on your mission, it was a report thing you will do since one day, they would be going on month-long missions of their own; they’d gained information on what to expect. Yet, this time, you didn’t want to talk about it.

“You good?” Asked Mark, his hands holding yours.

Do you mention that you and Mark were rather close, especially as captains in one of the deadliest and dangerous industries in the world? Of course, no one knew about this with the exceptions of the squad in front of you. You would rather cease to exist if word got out that both heads of the academy frequently flirted with each other.

You nodded, though hesitantly and sent him a small smile, “but how are my students? How are the classes going?”

You quickly changed the subject and the youngsters didn’t question it. Mark did look at you skeptically but you only shook your head when you caught his glance and he finally let it go. “Your students are a lot nicer than I remember. Though some of them haven’t changed.”

You nodded at his response, knowing exactly who he’s talking about. Even if you were the head of the D.R.E.A.M.S unit, you still had classes you had to teach. It was your choice and it’s not like Taeyong wanted to refuse, so instead of being cooped up in your office, he let you keep teaching the students. Because most of your specialties were already being taught by other instructors, you decided to teach strategies on the battlefield as well as fighting and defense with Mark, who also taught at the academy. You taught those classes to the tenth and second-tier students, their ages ranging from thirteen to nineteen. Even if you were rather lenient with your tenth tier students, the second tier was really where you were a lot harsher and blunt towards the students.

A lot of students respected you, especially the female students. Of course, they were a few that got on your nerves but it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle. A small group of people who didn’t respect you were the students in the second tier, the people who were friends with the male who found out about you when you were fifteen.

“You’re talking about Jihoon and his friends huh?”

Jeno rolled his eyes and nodded his head. “You could hear Mark screaming at them at least once a day, especially Jihoon.”

“He had the audacity to talk shit about you while you were away and Jisung almost fought him.” you snapped your head at the younger, who was on his phone during Chenle’s report.

“Correction,” Renjun added, clearing his throat, “we almost fought them and he did fight him, blow to the nose.”

“He deserved it.”

“No, he didn’t,” you huffed out and closed your eyes, already feeling the annoyed look from Jisung.

“Yes, he did-”

“Maybe he did but you’re still my student and so is he and the rest of you,” you said bluntly, sending him a disappointed look. “He gets on my nerves all the time but I rather deal with him than fighting him. You probably proved whatever he tried to point out.”

“What did you say?”

You snapped your head at the Mark, who turned his laptop towards you. On the device was a video playing of your squad practically on fire while glaring at your group of mischievous second tier boys. The film was recorded on a top notch hidden camera in the field outside, you only knew this because of the amount of times you’ve seen the cameras. The video was from a few weeks back, long before you were supposed to come back.

“You heard me, Jeno.” One of the boys, Chris, smirked in the video, cracking his knuckles. “Or do your ears not work?”

“Maybe they don’t,” the leader of the Dreamies shrugged, a deep glare crossing his face, “if you say it again motherfucker, I’ll actually pay attention and knock your teeth out.”

“As if,” another, Chan laughed, “you won’t do shit.”

“You forgot that he’s a boxer dumbass,” Jaemin snarled, “and that he gets most of his power from anger.”

Renjun cut in, “go ahead, make him mad. Won’t be hard to bury your body six feet under.”

“Or burn it, dissolve it, amputate your dead body limb by limb,” the second youngest of the Dreamies deadpanned from where he was sitting on the grass, “again, won’t be that much of a challenge.”

“Guys, let’s just leave them alone.”

“Shut up Ezra,” Hyunwoo snarled, running a hand through his hair, “you won’t do shit.”

“Especially with that brat of a captain you have.” Jihoon laughed, “which reminds me, didn’t she sleep with the General so that she could be ranked captain or did she ask with her perfect princess little ass and they handed it to her like a lollipop?”

“What the fuck did you just say?”

“The rest is basically them going back and forth before Jisung through a punch.”

Were you surprised? No, not really. Upset? Yeah. A lot, actually.

Jisung sulked while leaning against the wall, mumbling under his breath, “well Taeyong said that what I did was justified-”

“You weren’t supposed to say that you idiot-”

“I’m sorry, Taeyong said what?” You cut Haechan off with your hand while looking at Mark. “He said it was justified?”

“He only said that ‘cause he witnessed it,” the co-head of the academy crossed his arms, “wanted to talk to the Dreamies for whatever reason then stumbled onto them fighting.”

Your eyes widen while looking at Jisung. “You did not punch my student in front of my boss.” You scoffed under your breath, irritation rising in your chest. You weren’t as disappointed as you previously were since Taeyong said that it was okay (more or less) but you still were frustrated that this happened while you were gone. “Can’t say I’m disappointed, not even surprised since he had it coming.”

“Told you she wouldn’t be mad.”

“However,” you looked at Jaemin to shut him up before glancing at Jisung again, “I don’t condone fighting among my top tiers, you out of everyone should know that, especially since you’re not only my student but in the only D.R.E.A.M.S squad to exist.” You saw him sigh and look at the floor, upset that he was scolded by you. “Just don’t do it again alright?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Just please tell me you broke his nose,” you asked with an eyebrow raised as a smile tugged his lips. “Yeah, I did.”

“Don’t tell anyone I’m proud.” You gave him a fist bump and rubbed his head, dishevelling his hair. The rest of them chuckled under their breaths as you walked towards the exit. You turned around while glancing at Mark, “anything else I should know?”

The co-Captain shook his head, “other than that, nothing really happened. Your tenth tier class is progressing rather well and quickly too; in a couple of weeks, they should be ready for their passing exam to get to tier nine. Your second-tier class is doing great as expected and is excelling as well. The only thing you should check out Jihoon’s group of friends and himself, they’ve been getting more and more destructive in class lately.”

You raised a brow, your head slightly tilting in confusion, “destructive? How so?”

Jeno answered for him, “a lot more arguments with the teachers than usual, they’ve been disrespecting the younger students as well.”

“Can you guys stop cutting me off-”

“Not to mention the fight he and I had; saying that you did nothing but exist and people gave you what you wanted. Explaining to his friends that you were probably a traitor and you didn’t deserve your position as head of the D.R.E.A.M.S, our captain and the top captain in the association.” Jisung smiled sarcastically, picking at his nails.

“But other than that, it’s great,” Renjun concluded while shrugging his shoulders.

You nod your head with a bitter chuckle escaping your lips, “did not expect them to act out while I was away…” you snarled under your breath, almost expecting more from the boys. You sigh before opening the door, “alright thanks guys, I’ll see you back at the dorm.” Some of them smiled at you while the rest waved.

“Oh, and just because I came back today doesn’t mean I’ll postpone training,” you reminded, “tomorrow morning, five am sharp, don’t be late.” You laughed when you heard them groan, closing the door behind you.

It didn’t take too long to reach the main hall where most students were. You needed to pass through the living space in order to get the other building where Taeyong’s office was; it was easier than going outside. The living space was huge, it basically occupied an entire floor. It was basically a dining half with various rooms such as lounging rooms, study rooms, a library and mini-training rooms. This is where all the tiers commune before they go to their respective buildings for classes and dorms. The buildings were connected, which were blocked by heavy-duty doors and a handprint passcode that only unlocked for the Dreamies, WayV and 127, the symbol of wolves branded on each door.

“Ms. Song!” You turned around and was met with a hug from one of your youngest students. Lia hugged you tightly and started giggling out of happiness. You usually don’t hug your students yet Lia was one of your many exceptions. She was the youngest female in tier ten, therefore making her the youngest female trainee in the D.R.E.A.M.S. Although her age, she was very intelligent and agile for a fourteen-year-old. You knew that if she continued as such, she’d be top of her classes in no time. “I missed you so much! How was your mission? What happened? What information did you gather? Who did you meet?”

You laugh at her excitement, “alright Lia, I missed you too but you know I can’t tell you that. Though, I can ask about your well being, how are you doing?”

She pushed her glasses up and pushed the hair out of her face. Her light brown eyes shined as she quickly explained everything that happened in the last two months. “...and then Ms. Kim taught us how to make a fire out of electrical wires and it was really interesting. Captain Lee also told me that my agility gives me an advantage when I train with him and other trainees. I almost took him down too… almost but Captain is really strong so it was really hard! But I tried even harder and next time I’ll get him!” You laughed at her enthusiasm and ruffled her playfully.

“I’m glad you’re doing great Lia, I’m proud of you.” Her eyes lit up at your compliment as she quickly nodded her head and soon, more students surrounded you at the sight of your presence.

Most of them were your current tenth tier students (some of them were in class with other teachers), glad to see their mentor back and safe at Neo Culture. They told you about what happened in each of their classes and their own experiences in their dorms and how they progressed as individuals. Some who came towards you were your older students, some of them in tier four and five, expressing how they were glad to see you.

“Yo Ms. Song!” you turned your head towards the voice and your eyes quickly landed on the group of problematic students; Jihoon, Chris, Chan, Hyunwoo and Ezra. You nodded at the students as they came forward, the lower-ranked students moving aside to make room for them. Lia moved behind you, joining her friends on the sidelines.

“Captain Song to you,” you instructed, your arms behind your back as you straighten your posture.

“Ah, don’t be like that,” Jihoon sulked, his gaze landing on Lia. “Ms. tenth tier just called you Ms. Song, what’s the harm if we did it?” You lifted a brow at his tone which was a lot less playful and more irritated than anything.

Your once happy and less strict expression quickly turned cold as you took a few steps towards him and his little friend group, “you must understand that you and your fellow classmates are in one of the highest-ranking tiers. Therefore, you do not have the same privileges as your younger peers. You will address me as Captain Song since you are older and therefore, more prone to listen to orders or am I mistaken?” You lifted a brow as you questioned him and he quickly got quiet.

“No, Captain, you are not mistaken.” His friends answered for him as he clenched his jaw.

“Good,” you nodded while clearing your throat. “I’ve also been informed that you five have been causing more trouble than usual… mind explaining?” you glanced at each of them but they looked away. Though, Jihoon looks at you dead in the eyes, almost testing your authority. You scoff under your breath, finding him extremely disrespectful. “None of you have nothing to say?”

“That’s because we don’t need to.”

It was now dead quiet in the lounging area, every student who wasn't in their classrooms or dorms were now looking at you and the group of boys. It was a heavy silence since it was rare for you to be so serious in a usually happy setting such as the lounge. As you said before, a lot of the students were under your care when they first got here and are currently second-tier students. Only a handful have tested you and most of them haven’t stepped over your authority.

Until now.

“I beg your pardon,” you said coldly, almost daring him to repeat what he said.

“I said we don’t need to answer you,” one of your eyebrows raised as you stared at him for a few seconds before chuckling slowly.

“And why is that cadet?”

“Jihoon-” Ezra, one of his friends, tried to stop him from continuing further, “stop, you’re embarrassing us.” But he continued anyway.

“We- I don’t need to answer to someone I’m older than, to a potential traitor, to someone who didn’t even train as long as most of us here and let you alone you… a female.”

His words cut through the air like glass; like silent gunshot echoed through the tense atmosphere. You heard the students gasp in shock, some of them whispering amongst each other. You maintained eye contact with him as his chest heaved in what you presume was anger. You waited a few seconds before asking,

“Are you done?” You didn’t even bother saying his name since you are so close from lashing out at him in front of all of your students. You sigh as you walk towards him as he doesn’t say anything, “I’m going to take that as a yes.”

You inhale softly, calming your irritated nerves and looked at the second tier student with all the coldness and hostility you could muster, making him take a step back from you. He was taken aback from your gaze, having never seen it before; to him, you were looking at him as if he was the enemy.

“You being an entitled, misogynistic, rude and disrespectful student will get you nowhere in Neo Culture, especially with me as your Captain.” Your voice was calm yet cold, gentle yet held so much fierceness that it felt like you could set it on fire. You turned your head to the students who were still talking but it quickly ceased as your gaze fell on the upperclassmen.

Turning back to Jihoon, you continued, taking small and steady steps towards him, “it does not matter if you are older than me, it does not matter if I am a female and my past certainly doesn’t involve you. My training time has been accomplished faster than your time taking an entrance exam to the next tiers. My training time involved severe physical and mental training which is why I’m not bothered by a little boy who decided to disrespect one of the heads of D.R.E.A.M.S., captain of the Dreamies and highest ranked female captain in all of Neo Culture.”

You heard many of the students ‘ooing’ at your words but you shot them a quick gaze to prevent them from continuing.

“Just because you’re older than me doesn’t mean you’re stronger, smarter and faster than me, which is why you are still a student. As for me being a traitor; you’re still hung on the incident that happened six years ago, are you not?” You asked with a hint of mockery in your tone. “Of course, if that’s the case, that’s still a grudge you hold. Over what? I don’t know.”

“And don’t you find it a bit embarrassing that another person, younger than you in fact, is currently serving in the 127 unit only months after arriving at the academy?” You knew he thought of Sungchan, the younger male that literally ran his way up the tiers and was working in the association’s strongest unit. “And you’re still here? Six, nearly seven years later.”

You send him a small smirk before it falls completely, “now listen to me very, very carefully.” You whisper yet it felt like a scream from how piercing it was. “If you think that I wiggled my way to the top, you are very, very wrong.” Your voice held venom, the poison dripping from your words. “I made my way to the top, I fought for it and I earned it. It wasn’t handed to me, it wasn’t wrapped in a preppy white box with a ribbon on it. I’m where I am today because I fought for it because I wanted it. Don’t let your little grudges and delusions blind you from hard work and determination.”

“And one last thing,” you said, and turned to the rest of the students. “This goes for all of you too. Pass the message on to your peers; respect, especially in Neo Culture, will get you where you want to be if you fight for it. We rather have a hard-working, respectful and determined student as a soldier rather than an egotistical male who thinks his abilities will get him to the top. It might be a head start, of course, but it won’t get you anywhere if you are selfish and arrogant.” You directed the last part to Jihoon, whose hands were balled into fists.

“Neo Culture is a team and more importantly, a family. I rather see all of you help each other strive than one of you thinking their above another. What’s our motto?”

“Never leave a soldier behind.” The students spoke in unison, the motto practically engraved in their heads.

“That’s our motto, it’s not just a saying but a rule we live by.” You glanced back at Jihoon who wasn’t looking at you anymore. “I suggest you fix that little attitude of yours because if it doesn’t get you in trouble with me, it’ll certainly get you in trouble with the General.”

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” you snarled, standing right in front of him and watching as the twenty-two-year-old looks at you with envy. “I will not tolerate any kind of disrespect from you or anyone else. Refrain from any attitude or rudeness you want to use when talking to me. If not, I invite you to talk to Taeyong the same way.”

“Is that a threat?”

“I don’t need to mention Taeyong to make it one.” You simply state, lifting your head a bit to notice Yuta at the very end of the everlasting hall, watching you handle everything from a distance. “Do I make myself clear?”

You turned to the students, all of them agreeing at the same time, even the four boys who are Jihoon’s friends. “Do I make myself clear, Jihoon?” You asked again, waiting for the male’s response.

“Yes, Captain.” You hummed after hearing his answer. You look behind him and stare at the rest of his friend group, “I expect you all in my office in thirty minutes to discuss a proper punishment after the little report I received from multiple people, including the lack of respect for your peers and the altercation between the Dreamies and the rest of you. Understood?”

“Yes, Captain,” they said anonymously, their voices loud enough to be heard. “I expect you there as well, Jihoon.”

You took a step back from him and looked at the rest of the students. “You all are dismissed.” And just like that, the students scurried like birds approached by humans. Only a few lingered back, including Lia.

“Captain?” you turned around to see her shaken up by the whole ordeal. “Um-”

“Lia,” you sighed, your arms landing on your sides, “you can still call me Ms. Song, it’s okay.”

“Really?”

You nod your head, “Everyone in tiers five and under can call me Ms, everyone above refers to me as Captain. What was it you wanted to ask?”

Her face lit up again and asked, “I don’t want to bother you or anything but is it okay if you give me extra fighting classes? I want to get better.”

You smiled softly at the girl and said, “it’s definitely possible, I need to check your grades and how you’re advancing in class before coming to that decision. Tell you what,” you say, “I’ll talk to your teachers and see with Mark before coming back to you, give me a couple hours and pass by my office. I'm not promising anything but I need to make sure it won’t interfere with your current training. Alright?”

She nodded her head and smiled brightly at you, “of course, thank you, Ms. Song!” She turned her head to her friends calling her to hurry up. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You nodded your head as she smiled again, running towards her friends. As soon as she turned the corner, you turned around and started walking towards the door all the way at the end of the living lounge, down an everlasting hallway.

You let out a sigh, the entire ordeal upsetting you to no extent. Of course, it was the male who ratted you out to Neo Culture who’s giving you a hard time. You didn’t care if he disrespected you, what you mainly cared about was him picking a fight with Jisung, who’s one of the top students, and used you to get on your nerves and started picking on the lower-tiered students.

It didn’t benefit him at all, if anything, he was creating a bad image for himself, setting himself up for disaster in the future. Until he’s ready to drop his attitude and ego, you weren’t going to help him, not with the way he currently is.

You finally made it to the end of the hallway, where Yuta was waiting, leaning against the door, an amused look on his face. “I personally think that was a beautiful welcoming gift.”

You rolled your eyes at his attempt to lighten your mood and quickly mumbled, “oh, shut the fuck up.”

He only chuckled under his breath and scanned his hand on the scanner, the once red light turning green as he cleared the authentication. He opened the door and nodded his hand for you to walk into the hall where multiple staircases lead up and down and another door leading to 127’s building.

You and Yuta walked down the ever grey hall leading to the next building. “When did you get back from Japan?”

“A few days ago actually,” he ran a hand through his blond hair, “came back for the monthly report, I’m going back tomorrow. I should be fine here since there’s no tensions between anyone right now and Shotaro’s there so I’m not worried.”

You hummed at the mention of the male, “settling well I presume?”

“Yeah,” Yuta nodded, “a lot better than I thought. He only started a few months back but he’s following, listening to orders and has one hell of a personality.” The man chuckled dryly to himself, as if proud of the younger male despite not admitting it. “How about you?”

You only let out a puff of air, a headache creeping up on you. “Apart from that whole thing? The mission in Canada was an absolute horror house, I don’t think I’ll be going back on an overseas mission in a while.”

Yuta didn’t even question your response as he planted his hand on the scanner once more. He only looked at you with curious eyes, “that bad, huh?” When you only nodded, he opened the door and waited for you to walk into the building. “Kids?” You sent him a solemn look, one you wish you didn’t need to share. You let out a heavy sigh as you walked through the door.

“Kids.”

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writingsbychlo · 4 years

Text

below the surface | sam taylor

word count; 9022

summary; sam admires your fire, the two of you are good friends, and he just wants to help free you live to your fullest potential.

notes: there is some slightly odd themes here, but it was the norm for those times, so you’re just going to have to accept them, it really makes the story, so go with it.

warnings: smut, some misogynistic themes, verbal abuse.

Sam Taylor liked the 1920’s, far more than he ever liked the prospect of the 2020’s. He liked the simplicity of his life, he liked the friendly atmosphere, he liked watching history unfold, but most of all, he liked the woman he had first become acquainted with two years ago.

It had taken him a little while to settle down, to find a home and build a business for himself, and the ‘roaring twenties’ that he was oh-so-fond of were definitely picking up their speed. It all felt very Gatsby-esque to him, and a year after his arrival in the time, he’d returned to the speakeasy he’d once visited with Evelyn. It had taken time for that wound to heal, and he felt that being able to return to the place he once treasured with her might be the final step for him to be able to close that chapter of his life, and move onto another one.

The speakeasy itself wasn’t actually where he had met you. Actually, it had been a few roads over, when he’d been drawn to the sounds of shouting and laughter, and he’d found you shouting at a group of younger men, who couldn't have possibly been more than their late teens, who were leering at you and trying to grab onto you. He hadn't even had to do anything, he had arrived to help but you had taken care of it yourself, shaking your head and mumbling about stain removing when the blood of a now broken nose stained your white glove, the group looking shocked, and then appalled, before running off with their bleeding friend and spitting insults at you.

“Well, go on then!” You had spun to face him, eyebrows raised and one gloved hand, one bare hand, sitting on your waist as you waited for him to speak, and he merely raised an eyebrow at you. “Tell me how unladylike I am, how I shouldn’t be out alone, or how I’ll never find a husband with an attitude like mine? I’d bet you a half dollar that you couldn’t tell me anything that I haven’t heard before.”

“I was going to say I think that was rather impressive, actually.” You had stared at him, eyes narrowed for half a second, before you’d been opening the clutch purse in your hand, shoving both gloves inside of it and producing a small silver coin, held out to him in the palm of your hand. “Nobody has ever told you how impressive it is that you can stand up for yourself before?”

“I’m not sure if you noticed, sir, but women are supposed to be seen and not heard.” You spat out the words distastefully, and he let out a small laugh, ducking his head and taking you hand in his, curling your fingers back around the coin in refusal to take it, but he could already see another argument building back up within you at the rejection of the token.

“Well, if I hadn't have heard you, I wouldn’t have gotten to meet you, and I’m rather glad I did.” He held out his hand, introducing himself formally and waiting as you studied him once again, before offering your name in return. “How about you use that bet to buy me a drink, hm? I know this great little spot below the surface.”

“You’d let a woman buy you a drink?”

“I’d let you buy me several, but I do believe in equality, so if you’d let me keep your company for longer, I will be insisting that we take turns on the purchases.” That had earned him a genuine smile, and he took your hand in his and placed it into the crook of his elbow, guiding you down the streets towards the only little store with the lights still turned on.

“I suppose you’ll know somewhere that sells a real drink, do you, Mr Taylor?”

He flashed you a cheeky grin in response, insisting that you call him Sam, even with all the formalities of the time, because clearly you didn’t play by your own eras rules, and he liked that a lot. Holding open the door to the shop, you stepped in ahead of him, the owner looking up at both of you cautiously, a brow raised as he paused in his movements for wiping down the counter.

“We’re closed, what are you looking for?”

He cleared his throat, sparing you a glance before he was stepping forwards. “Cabbage.” Some dead silence hung in the air, and a slight warmth rose to his cheeks form the very moment the ridiculous codeword had left his mouth.

“I’m sorry, you’re looking for what?”

“Y’know, cabbage?” He nodded his head towards the door he remembered from last time, and the shop assistant looked between him, back to you, before him once again, and you sighed, your hand landing once again on his upper arm as you came up to stand behind the counter by his side.

“Do you have any red linens?”

The man seemed to catch on, his lips flicking up at the sides, and Sam’s cheeks only grew darker in colour as the two of you were guided away toward the stairwell hidden in the back of the store, the speakeasy concealed below. Once the door was closed behind you, your forehead had pressed to his arm, a series of small giggles leaving you and he let out a playful huff as you did.

“That’s an old phrase, it’s changed every six months to keep it from spreading too quickly.” You confided, and he hummed, pushing the coding to the back of his mind to be remembered until it was changed once again.

“You’ve been here before, then?”

“I can be found at this bar every Thursday, my father likes to spread the word about having a daughter of age with a dowry to boot, ready to be married off.” Your words had turned bitter at the end, and Sam had sighed, shaking his head and offering you a frown, but he wanted to keep the mood lighter, as he was enjoying your company.

“So, if I happened to be here on a Thursday evening, I might find you here, too?”

“You just might, Sam. Now, how about that drink?”

Meeting you at the bar on Thursday nights had rather rapidly become a constant in Sam’s life, he counted down the days and hours until he could see you again, to listen to you excitedly talk about your week as you sipped on gin at the bar and let you ramble about the book you had been reading, or the story you’d heard from your friends, or simply the new and fleeting hobby you had picked up and dropped in the last few days.

You were wild, and interesting, and you made the transition from the 21st Century to the beginning of the 20th so easy for him that he barely noticed anything different when he was with you. You were like a little drop of home in his week, and he couldn't help the easy flow he’d taken from friendship to something a little flirtier with you, and he liked the way you joked back, cheeks rising with red and jaw dropping when he whispered in your ear and held you in a way that was just a little risky for the time period he had found himself in.

He liked it when you’d dance with him to the music playing, and he liked it when you’d hum along to the songs being sung. He absolutely loved it when you rested your head on his shoulder and let out little sighs of tiredness when they night moved on and you let him hold you a little tighter to keep you on your feet as you waited for your brother or father to be ready to escort you home when they were finished posturing and proving themselves to the other men in the club.

Spring had bled into Summer, into Winter, and your friendship had only become stronger. He had met your father, and your brother, and he was never approving of the scowls they wore when you let out loud and obvious huffs of indignation when you were called over to meet a possible new suitor, or when you were shown off by them as some kind of prize to be won, only to mouth off and prove that you were far more than a pretty face.

You were stubborn, and strong-willed, and you didn’t conform to the stereotypes that your time had laid out. He saw you during the feminist rallies in the town, holding handmade signs high and shouting for equal rights at the top of your lungs, with absolutely no idea that your movement would be something that children would be learning about in their history lessons a century from now, taught by a female teacher with independence and equality, and he watched on proudly each time.

He had met your mother on the days he had been fetching his groceries from the farmer’s markets, rolling your eyes at the older woman as she tried to tell you recipes to remember and tips to make you an agreeable wife that you had downright refused to commit to memory.

Two years passed, and he watched as the new decade was ushered in, everything from the 10’s being swept away as old news as the 20’s came barrelling in, and style from the notorious New York City had taken over. You had a wardrobe full of tasselled dresses that fell around your knees and rode up when you crossed your legs to reveal the softer skin of your thighs, and you had pearl necklaces that fell down into lower necklines, and lips painted red with curled hair, and fuck, Sam really did love the twenties.

He loved going home and finding the print of your red lipstick printed on his cheeks from where you had bid him goodnight each Thursday in the early hours, and he liked the tint your cheeks got as your slightly tipsy form wobbled when you tried to pretend you hadn't been drinking, acting the good girl in the streets to follow the laws of the oncoming prohibition.

Two years in had brought a lot of changes since the night Sam had met you. The prohibition had made the speakeasy an even more lucrative spot to be included within, poker tables and cigars with whiskey glasses clinking below the streets, passers-by completely unknowing as to the activities that were taking place below. It had brought a wealthier crowd, elites and upper-class, only those who could afford to pay for the right to know the password at the door, and your father had only put more pressure on you to find a husband.

You were two years older, moving towards your mid-twenties, and of a prime age to bear a child for whichever man your father chose to give you away to. He was happy with the crowd that the speakeasy brought around, gambling from men with a lot of coin to throw down onto the table and options that would undoubtedly bring a high price for your hand in marriage.

In turn, you were acting out more and more, causing every option your father had found for you to end up turning their nose up and sneering as they muttered about finding a girl who could make them a home and raise a child, never bothering to look at what was underneath, never bother to get to know the incredible person below the surface of a woman to be given away.

You were seen less and less, from every Thursday to one Thursday a month, your father choosing to leave you at home in favour of talking you up in order to confirm a deal before you had a chance to ruin it, and yet Sam attended faithfully every Thursday, just in the hopes of seeing you. Your flame was being dulled, the rallies were quieter without your voice shouting out with the rest, his shopping trips were duller when he couldn't catch sight of your playful faces and rolled eyes as he moved between the stalls near you, and his days were empty without ever getting to catch glances of you, or talk to you late at night after your family had gone to bed and you called him on the telephone attached to his kitchen walls.

Your smile wasn’t as bright, your shoulders were slumped and your fashion sense had reverted back to that of the dresses he knew of mother’s to wear, but he never missed the longing looks you gave to the girls who would flounce about in tassels and pearls and sequins, dancing and singing and having fun, and he hated that you no longer told him excitedly about your day, instead forced to stay by your father or brother’s side as the night progressed on. Each time you were questioned by another man, he got to see a brief glimpse of your slowly drowning personality, his lips flicking up at the sies when he heard your sarcastic and snippy retorts, soon quieted by your father’s growling voice over the top of your own.

That was how Sam had found himself peeking at you from his seat at the table, watching you subtly as you stood off to the edge of the bar with you brother, picking at the uncomfortable edges of your corset dress as you pulled it out each time you wanted to take a deep breath, your eyebrows pinched as a fake smile sat on your cheeks and your hands formed fists as your kept them held in front of you like a lady always should.

Your father was angry, he was talking about the latest tantrum you’d had, having caused such damage to your car by driving when you weren’t permitted to and had no idea how to, that he had to fork out to have it prepared, almost as much as the car had cost him in the first place when he’d won it on an auction, new parts having to be brought in to fix it, and he was fuming, even as he laid down yet another stack of notes onto the table for betting with.

He felt your arrival before he saw you, the hairs on the back of his neck rising as the dragging of your almost floor-length dress between the chairs sounded and your arm brushing his shoulder oh so lightly, the kind of friendly greeting you gave him now, as he was certain your family had forbidden you from being seen with him in fear it would drive away other men. He risked a glance up, your back to hi as you approached your father, but you offered him a fleeting smile when you turned, your eyes meeting his for barely a second before you were facing your father once again, gaze flicking over the lusting gazes of the other men around the table, before clearing your throat.

All you had asked for was another money to buy another drink, but your father having just lost yet another hand and more money, seemed to reach the end of his tether.

“You would ask me for even more money, as though you haven’t already drained me of enough simply by being born into the godforsaken world?” His glare was fixed on you, cold and icy, and your jaw dropped, eyes narrowing on him as you prepared to fight back, but he was already pushing on with such rage that your mouth had snapped shut and your eyes had widened as you swallowed thickly, and Sam felt his own free hand clench into a fist as the cards in his other bent a little from the force at which he was gripping them. “You disappoint me, time and time again by refusing to act like a woman, by failing to find yourself a suitable husband, and now you want to take even more from me?”

“I just wanted a dri-”

“You just want everything, you selfish brat! Be quiet, stand still, and look pretty and let’s just hope that you can do something right for once, and find yourself a husband soon, so that you are no longer my responsibility to care for!” His nostrils were flaring and cheeks heated, face so red he resembled a tomato, and his shouting only came to an end due to being shushed by the owner in fears that he was actually so loud that people above in the streets may hear the commotion.

The room had been deathly silent for almost a minute after, all eye son the little table Sam found himself sitting at, and your head was ducked down from embarrassment, your fingers anxiously tapping at your leg, before the gazes seemed to move on and the band continued with their singing once again, the room taking it’s chatter back up and returning to normal after witnessing such an outburst.

“Your daughter is out of control.”

It was the first word spoken, and Sam’s own angry glare shifted to that of the man two seats down form him, yours and your father’s following, and Sam swore when he turned to look at you, he could see the last bit of yourself breaking within you s you were worn down further and further by the oppressive nature of the men surrounding you.

Floodgates had been opened, and before he knew it, Sam was sitting at a table full of jokes about your chances of never settling down, men picking fun at you and continuing to leer at you, stuck somewhere misogynistic comments about your body being all you were good for, and he felt sick as he watched your father chuckle and comment how he wished one of them would take her off of his hands even if that was all they wanted, and anger swelled within him as each and every one continued to deny that they would ever risk marrying you, fear of your boldness making them reject you, and he couldn't take it anymore, your father’s ramblings about never finding someone to take your hand being the final straw.

You may not have been the picture-perfect wife for any of these men, but you were absolutely perfect in his own. You were loud, and opinionated, and not afraid to argue with your own knowledge and facts when the two of you had debates. You were educated, and well-read, and had a sense of humour to match his own. You liked to adventure, and take risks, and you weren’t afraid to get angry when you needed to be. Your soul wasn’t one that was supposed to be dampened, but should instead be allowed to flourish. You were his best friend, his only real friend, and you were everything that mattered to him in this world, everything he had here with him.

You reminded him of his family and friends that he had lost when choosing to stay, you reminded him of everything he had once dreamed of in a woman, and he refused to let you be lost to the mainstream of dull women who were more like possessions than people, because he would be damned if he let one more comment about how you would never have a truly happy marriage or fulfilled life fly by, just because they were unable to appreciate how truly brilliant you were.

It was derogatory and rude, and borderline verbal abuse as he watched you curl in on yourself more and more with each comment, and he just couldn't take it anymore. Not the unhappy look on your face or the frown on your lips, or the way your eyes were cast downwards because even though you acted strong, he was certain you were breaking a little more with each unkind comment thrown your way.

He slumped a little in his chair, letting out a deep sigh and swirling the glass in his hand a little. “I would marry your daughter in a heartbeat.”

The table fell into a dead silence around him, and he raised the glass up to his lips, holding his face neutral and steady as he looked at his cards, enjoying the burn of whiskey sliding down his throat as he finished off the glass and placed it on the table.

“Can you repeat yourself there, son?”

“I said-” He didn’t intend for his words to come out growled and as menacing as they did, but he couldn't help it, and some of the other men around the table even had the good graciousness to look a little startled at his response. “I would marry your daughter. I think any man would be lucky to call her his wife, so I repeat to you, that when you made a claim that no man would marry your daughter, you were wrong, because I would marry her without hesitation.”

He shuffled the cards in his hands, arranging them better to suit him as he looked at the game, and the man looked positively taken aback, somewhere between horrified and ecstatic, before clearing his throat in a scrabbling attempt to seem dignified. “She has no dowry, and she would not make an agreeable wife.”

His tone read clearly that he was desperate to hand her off to the first bachelor to offer even a shred of willing, and yet with all the other eyes of the gentleman at the table around him, he was trying to hold his respect, unknowing that Sam had absolutely none for him at all, but he liked the pressure your father was now feeling to try and gain the bargain, as though you were a possession to be exchanged.

He took a long moment, finally moving his gaze up to you, his lips flicking up at edges in a hint of a smile to ease your nerves. Your eyes were wide and lips pressed into a thin line, your expression seemingly unreadable, but those creases of worry between your eyebrows were gone and the pinched expression from trying your best to keep your thoughts to yourself had slipped away, despite offering him no reading of how you felt about it all. He could see the way your posture had slumped a little as you relaxed, your palms smoothed out against your sides instead of clenched in fists, and your shoulders were rising and falling in steady rhythms instead of jerky breaths.

“She doesn’t need a dowry, she has more than enough to offer on her own. I don’t need to be bought to want to know her.”

It was another few minutes of rigid and tense silence, whispered comments going around the table between the older men as though they were teenage girls on a schoolyard, before loud and jovial laughter was released from your keeper, his palms slamming down on the surface so forcefully that the table wobbled and poker chips clinked and tumbled from their stacks, but he continued to sit unfazed, staring forwards, as you now looked between himself and your father in shock.

“All me to buy you a drink, and to thank you, despite not knowing why you would take on such an unruly woman.” Your father fished into the leather of his wallet to hand over a few coins to you. “I’ll buy you one final drink, and you can fetch one of the man who is taking responsibility for you.”

You stood stock still for a moment, before setting yourself into jerky movements, stepping away from your father and offering him a quiet ‘thank you’ before making your way to Sam’s side, normally warm and kind eyes peering down at him cautiously and calculating, and he rolled his head back to look at you, trying to give you the most reassuring look you possibly could as he spoke his preference to you, nodding as you stepped away from him and towards the bar, but not before reaching for the empty glass on the table in front of him and taking it with you.

You were quiet the when you returned, barely responding to the thanks he had offered you when you hold your drink out to him, choosing instead to quietly sip at your own gin and stan behind him, one hand rested delicately on his shoulder as you studio behind him, shielding yourself from your father and watching on wordlessly as the men gambled and played cards for a further few hours into the night.

Sam was on a winning streak, a lot of chips sitting before him, stacks of notes and coins sitting in the centre of the table that he had such a large hand out of that he would barely be able to count it, more in one night than he would earn from his little company in over three months, the kind of money that made his gut twist and his head spin, and the game was being called to an end while he was still sitting wealthy, before the inevitable pride of having so many chips got to his head and he lost them all.

As he gathered up the money being split out to him, ignoring the drunken complaints of the men around him and taking his winnings, he knew it would be a while before he was invited back to the tables, and a while before their bruised egos healed over losing such sums to someone so young. He’d been playing since he was about twelve, and he was incredibly good at the game, what could he say?

You were still suspiciously quiet, even when everybody was milling out of the small shop for the night and standing in the cold night air, breath billowing around them in the cold air, and his fingers found your wrist carefully, pulling you aside, your lips still sealed shut as he watched you imploringly shuffle from one foot to another, itching uncomfortably in your corset.

“Are you okay?”

“I am perfectly content! I am to be married, to a respectable man, and I am just grateful that it is someone I know, I am just dandy.” You offered him a forced smile, that to anyone that didn’t know you as well as he did may believe it to be real, but that was the problem. He did know you, and those weren’t your words, or your attitude, and that certainly wasn’t a genuinely happy smile on your behalf. He was prepared to question you on it, to ensure you that it was okay, but your eyes were flicking fearfully over his shoulder, before moving back to his, a slight glisten in them as they narrowed, and he turned his own head to look.

A sigh left his lips, and his jaw snapped shut out of irritation, your father standing only feet away, clearly listening in to the conversation, and Sam let an arm snake around your waist like he had done so many times before, this time trying to shield you from the drunken elder that was looming over the pair of you. “I see you and my daughter are already growing acquainted.”

His eye dropped down in a wink that made Sam’s stomach twist with nausea, and you moved slightly further into his side, a thought that made him preen a little internally, knowing that at least you trusted him, to keep you safe and to try and do right by you.

“She may go home with you, she should know the house she will be living in and maintaining. Tomorrow at noon, we will meet to discuss the details of your wedlock, but I’ll be going home now.” He waved a hand to silence of the pair of you before either of you had even spoken, leaving you to back away from Sam and tremble on your own, both of you watching slack-jawed as he walked away, leaving you both alone in the street.

“Sam..”

He was only torn from his staring of the man’s retreating figure when your voice, lighter and shakier than usual, drifted to his ears and pulled his focus to you. Your face was scrunched up in a scared expression, something he never wanted or see again on your face, and he swallowed thickly before nodding, and setting a hand on your lower back, trying not to startle you as you began to process everything that had happened or you in the last few hours.

The walk was quiet, your feet scuffing the floor, and he spared the occasional glance over at you as he allowed you time to take in all that had occurred. Your face flicked between shocked, to sad, to angry, and back to neutral, keeping every single one of your thoughts locked inside yourself, keeping everything quiet.

The only noises were the occasional brush of your feet beside his on the floor, the drag of you shoes on the stones as you made your way up along the long and winding path to the renovated house he was proud to call his home, and the jingling of the bundle of keys that he pulled from his pocket, your foot tapping anxiously on the ground as he undid the several locks on his front door, before holding the heavy wood out to him.

You had never seen the inside of his home before, it had never been appropriate for him to invite you inside, and now, it was where you were going to live. Maybe he hadn't quite thought this through, but he didn’t have a chance to follow that thought across before the door was closing behind him, our hands clenched by your sides as you watched him bolt them back up for the night, and finally, you snapped.

“What gives you the right, Sam Taylor? To step into my life and decide to take charge, hm?” You barely missed a beat, his brows raising at you, and while he knew all of this anger was entirely directed at him, he was willing to let you get all you pent up rage out of your system, even if it did involve you screaming at him. “I will not be your property, and you should have known me well enough to understand that! I don’t want to be a housewife who cowers in submission! This is the 20th Century and women should have rights, I don’t want to be a chattel for you to use as you please!”

He had to bite his cheek at your phrasing, hearing a girl shout ‘this is the 20th Century’ while talking of rights was something he may never get used to, but he waited until you were huffing out a breath and crossing your arms over your chest, cheeks red and eyes filled with a raging fire. It was a fire he had missed seeing in you, one he wanted to let roar instead of extinguishing, and when he was certain that you had finished, he let out the breath he was holding.

“I don’t want to own you, or force you to be something that you aren’t. You can be whoever you want to be with me. You don’t have to wear these ridiculous corsets that clearly make you uncomfortable, and you don’t have to bite your tongue when you want to speak, and you certainly don’t need to be anything less than a proud and strong woman of the 20th Century.”

His lips flicked up at the edges as he said the words, a very slight smirk on his face, and your entire body seemed to sag out of relief when you looked at him, checking him to see if he was really telling you the truth, and finding that he was.

“I want you to have your freedom, and you always have with me.” You were quiet, but nodding slowly and taking slow and deep breaths, before averting your gaze from his, picking at your nails as you suddenly seemed to find the wooden floors much more interesting than him. Instead, he busied himself with kicking off his shoes and hanging up his coat, taking out the stacks of money from his pockets, sifting through it all to count how much he had actually claimed. “How much was your dowry?”

He’d hear you following behind him, neatly taking off your heels and placing them tidily on the shoe rack beside his front door, hanging your thin coat up beside his, but you didn’t speak to him again until he had asked you the question, your throat clearing and voice stumbling over your words in stuttered and broken sounds when you spoke. It was in mumbles, an amount he barely caught before processing the noise you had made and he thought it through. It was almost as much as his winnings, and he made a proud and sure noise in the back of his throat as he pushed the collection of papers and coins across the counter towards where you were idling, your eyes following the pile but you never once moved.

“This is approximately that much, and it’s yours. I don’t want you to feel like you need to rely on me, you can go where you want and do what you please, I’ll just be here if you need me.” He took a tentative step toward you, smiling to himself when you didn't step away from him, before he ducked his head and brushed his lips to your cheek in a soft kiss, bumping the tip of his nose against your temple as he pulled away. “There are two guest rooms, you can choose either that you like, and you can wake me if you need anything. Goodnight, darling.”

It was at least a half-hour before Sam heard the soft knock at his door, and he had been pulling back the several layers of blankets sitting on his bed, the robe he’d been wearing already hung back up, only a pair of pyjama pants were clad on him now, a single candle lantern flickering on either side of the bed.

He had to resist the urge to tell you just how modern you looked when you stepped into the room, smiling at him gently around the door, your feet now bare on the cool wood slats and your legs exposed, all the way up the soft and flimsy shorts he owned, almost swamped by one of the off-white undershirts he often wore for warmth, the sleeves covering your palms.

He offered a smile, taking a seat amongst his pillow and tucking his sheets around himself as you stepped further into the bedroom, the door falling shut behind you with a soft click, and he took a moment to take you in. Your hair was taken out of its up-do from earlier in the day, sitting around your shoulders in loose waves and tangles, marks in the hair form all the pins that had been used to hold it up, and your skin was cleaned of eyeliner and red lipstick, looking far more domestic than he’d ever had the privilege of seeing you in before.

“You know, you are just terrible at doing your washing. I think this shirt and this pair of shorts may have been the only clean items in that basket that were also dry.” Your joke was immediately enough to break the tension, and he huffed out a laugh, settling back a little further and slumping down into his pillows.

“I’ve never been any good at my washing, I just accept it however it turns out.” You made your way across the room to him, standing by the side of his bed and avoiding his eye as you instead took a few moments to take in the simple detailing of his bedroom. There was nothing judgemental about your look, instead, you were simply observing, committing it to memory, before your gaze was flicking to the patch on his top blanket that he picked at anxiously, loose threads hanging from it.

“You don’t know how to sew, either?”

“I always poke my fingers with the needles, and it always turns out a mess. When it gets bad enough, I will just buy a new one.” That answer made you frown, and you took a seat on the edge of the bed beside his legs, dropping your hands down into your lap and staring at you bundled fists intently.

“I may not be as much a lady as men would like, but I do know how to do stitch, and wash clothes. I can also cook and clean.” Your shoulders sagged a little, but the smile you offered him may have been small, but it was at least genuine, he could tell from the honest way you met his eyes as you did, exposing your soul to him easily. “I’ll try my hardest to be a good wife for you, Sam.”

He slipped his hand across the sheet, resting a large hand over your smaller one, and squeezing reassuringly, causing you to look up from your lap and hold his gaze. “I don’t want you to be what you think everyone else wants, I want you to be you. If there’s one thing I can do, it’s cook. I’m good at that, I make a very good meal out of very little, my mother taught me.”

“But, it’s my job t-”

“It’s not your job to do anything that you don’t want to. We can split the jobs between us.”

You stared at him, for a good few minutes, and he almost felt himself shrinking under your stare, before you were getting to your feet and smoothing out the creases on the bed sheets where you had been sitting. He thought you would leave, that you would be moving away from him and back out into the corridor, but instead, you were rounding the bed and lifting the sheets carefully, settling yourself beside him and moving away from the edge of the bed, closer to the warmth his body provided. “Is this okay?”

“This is okay.” He nodded at you dumbly, watching as you fluffed your pillows and blew out the lantern on your side of the bedroom, the smell of wet candle wax and smoke filling the air as only the one flickering candle kept he room alight, a soft glow that left only this section of the room illuminated, almost everything else cast into darkness.

“I like to make clothes, so I don’t mind doing your sewing too, you don’t have to buy new garments each time they tear. I also like gardening, I noticed that your front garden didn’t have many flowers, and it was rather untidy.”

“You can do anything you want with the gardens, I think anything would be an improvement.”

“Can I plant flowers?” You were looking up at him through your lashes, anticipation clear on your features, and he grinned, lifting a hand to tuck some hair back behind your ear and cup your jaw, running his thumb over your cheekbone tenderly.

“You can do anything you want with the gardens.” You were happy now, he could feel it in the way you leaned into his touch a little, before you were moving onto your side to face him, and he simply rested both of his hands on his stomach, linking his fingers together and waiting for more of your questions.

“Do I have to wear corsets?”

“No.”

“Do I have to clean for you?”

“No, we’ll share the cleaning.”

“Can I sleep in the bed with you?”

He paused, looking at you and swallowing the lump in his throat, before nodding at you and trying to relax from the way his body had stiffened. “If you’d like to.”

“I would.”

You shuffled a little closer, taking one of his hands in yours and moving it away, before linking your own fingers with his instead, resting your body down beside him on the mattress and pressing your head against his pillow, the two of you falling into a comfortable silence as your body pressed up to his side, and your heartbeat began to match his as it thumped against your chest, pressed or his ribs.

He liked it, and he could get used to the feeling of having your body pressed up beside his in the bed, keeping him warm in the winter, and giving him the company he had missed for so long. You were his best friend, one of the best friends he’d ever had - in either era - and the thought of getting to have you by his side in any way, was more than enough to make him happy.

He didn’t care what became of your relationships, he had done what he did in order to liberate you from the oppressive nature of your father, to help you find freedom and live the life you wanted while being happy.

If he got to leave his family to gain the life he wanted and live happily, then you deserved the same, and he would do anything to make it happen.

He was just reaching for the little cup to extinguish the candle when your hand caught his wrist, pausing his actions and bringing his hand back toward you, your body sitting up once again, and he waited, your jaw opening and closing as you tried to find your words. You faced him more fully, sitting up and letting the sheets fall away, shuffling toward him until your knees were brushing his leg, and he sat himself up a little further, confusion beginning to seep into him as he took in the nervous expression on your face.

“May I ask you to do something for me?” He offered a silent form of his affirmation, and you moved a little closer, shaking hands coming up to hold onto his cheeks. “Nobody has ever kissed me before, and if we’re going to be married, you will be the only person who ever has. I would like to know what that feels like.”

“You want me to kiss you?” This time, it was your turn to give a silent form of understanding, nodding you consent to him and his lips tilted up at the corners. “You’re sure you want that?”

“Sam, I’ve always found you attractive, but tonight you sacrificed everything just to make me happy, and you are like no man I have ever met. I would very much like for you to kiss me.” You were nervous, colour crawling up your cheeks, and he licked over his lips, feeling his own skin heat up as he watched you. Your eyes were wide, lips a little parted and face flushed a charming colour, and in this minute you looked so pretty that Sam swore you may be the angelic woman he’d ever seen.

Placing a hand on the bed beside you, he leaned over, lowering himself down until he could drag the tip of his nose across yours, your breath washing over his lips with each small and shallow breath you let out, your eyes fluttering closed and lashes brushing his skin as he copied the motion. Your forehead was pressed to his, so close now that he could taste the gin still lingering on your lips, and with that, he closed the distance between you both.

Softly at first, his mouth pressed to your own, lips sealed in a sweet peck, and he felt the intake of breath you took in a gasp through your nose, before he was dragging his lips with your own in delicate patterns, feeling you press back with hesitation, unsure in your movements but eager to learn, and your hands fell away, one slipping into his hair as the other came down to press to his chest, and you were kneeling up into him.

He wasn’t sure what had happened, or when. He had been intending to keep the kiss brief and chaste, never wanting to push you on anything, but it wasn’t until his back met the bed again and his head was pressing into the pillows that he realised you were now kneeling over him, a leg on either side of his lap and his hands on your waist.

You were letting out little whimpers into his mouth each time the kiss grew a little messier, his lips parting a little further and his tongue flicking out a little more frequently to tease at the seam of your lips, but then your tongue was daring to peek out to play with his own, and he couldn't hold back the deep groan he let out as your tongue dragged across his. The grip he held on your hips only tightened, and your body fell down to press further into his, you nails scraping against his scalp.

“Sam, thank you.” You pressed your lips back to his own, frantic and needy and each time you came back in it was making the heat in the room rise, his palms slipping down to grip at your thighs before he knew what he was doing, but then your hips were rolling down into his, and he was bucking up to press against you, anything to draw out the squeaky little moans and sighs of pleasure you let out into his mouth every time your clit dragged over the growing bulge in his pants. “You saved me, thank you, so much.”

“I just wanted you to be happy.”

You hummed against his lips, rocking down into his hips particularly harshly, both you and him letting out drawn out sounds of pleasure at the feeling, and he had to bite down on his own lip when you pulled back just to stop himself from flipping you over and pressing you down into the mattress. “I am happy with you. You make me happy.”

“I'm glad to hear it.” Your hands were pressing to his chest, your hips rocking down into his, and his eyes fluttered shut as you rode up and down over his cock, even through the layers of clothing, and he let out a weak and breathless laugh when a thought about the situation crossed his hazy mind. “You know, this isn’t very gentlemanly of me. We've only been engaged for a couple of hours. What would people say?”

“I don’t care what people say, it feels good.” You whimpered, pushing down firmly and he cursed under his breath, jutting his hips up into you and smirking at the face you made, your jaw dropping down and forming an ‘o’ as silent pleasure left you. He watched you bounce above him, hair framing away behind you as your head tipped back, and he took the chance of your distraction to flip you over, pressing you back oot your side of the bed and caging you in with a hand on either side of your head. “I want to feel good, Sam.”

“I can make you feel good.”

You nodded fervently, and he dragged a hand down over the bare skin of your midriff from where the shirt of his that you were had ridden up, and he dipped his head down to press his lips to your own, catching you in a sweet kiss that made you hum happily at the affections, pressing back just as lovingly.

The tips of his fingers dipped underneath the loose waistband of the shorts you wore, finding that there was no buried the further down he travelled, and he let out a ragged sound against your mouth upon realising that you had discarded of your one underwear when changing into his clothes. The idea of your dripping cunt brushing straight up against his clothes, the idea of you wearing only his belongings to clever yourself, the image of you walking around with him on a lazy Sunday morning and wearing just one of his tops, it was all everything that he wanted with you.

The pads of his fingers brushed over your clit, your hips jerking up into his hand as you cried out at the simple pressure, and he took the chance to slip his tongue into your mouth to play with your own, a finger swirled through the wetness that had built between your folds, and he growled into your mouth, nipping on your lower lip until you let out a whine, before sucking at it and licking over the patch to soothe the low sting, distracting you as he pushed a single finger into your dripping core, and your eyes shot open, body going stiff at the intrusion.

“How you doin’, sweetheart?”

“It feels weird, but good, I’m not really sure.” He nodded, peppering your cheeks with kisses and he moved the finger within you slowly, twisting and stretching you out as carefully as he could, and soon your slick was coating that digit and flowing form you each time he pulled out, your juices covering your skin and making it easy for him to slip another finger into you. It was a stretch, and he felt you tense up once again as your eyes screwed shut, but he worked you through it, slow and steady, kissing along you jaw and mumbling reassurances into your ear.

He felt you loosen up, your legs widening for him to settle between and your lips found his again as you let out a happy sigh. A loud and unashamed cry of his name left you, and it may have been the sweetest sound Sam had ever had the pleasure of hearing, you walls clenching around his fingers and hips bucking up, before a sharper and louder sound fell from you. It was almost a scream, and he smirked into your mouth, his whisperings turning to praises as he tried to find that spot again, only a few strokes and he had located the spot, rubbing it surely each time he thrust his finger back into your wet core.

“That’s so good, what is that?”

“Mh, that’s your g-spot, sweetheart, and now that I know where it is, I know exactly how to make you feel good.” He pushed down on the spot roughly, your body trembling as your eyes rolled back and your fingers twisted in the sheets. The material of the shorts was rubbing uncomfortably against his wrist, and he wished he could see his soaked fingers sipping in and out of you greedy hole each time, but for now, this was enough, just watching you reach heights of pleasure you’d never been to before and knowing he was the one taking you there was making his heart race and head spin. “You’re so good for me, honey, so good.”

He was cooing down at you, mouthing at your jaw and neck and licking over your skin in ways that made you squirm and moan, your walls tight around his fingers as you neared your peak. He felt it coming, and slipped his thumb up to toy idly with you neglected clit as an unspoken encouragement to cum, that it was okay for you to let go, and so you did.

Your back arched up, something that almost sounded like a sob leaving you as you core clamped down around the two digits, so tights he could barely get his fingers in and out of you anymore, and he settled for wiggling them and twisting them as he prolonged your peak, choosing to drag it out as long as he could for you. You were panting, skin shining with a thin layer of sweat from the exertion and your chest rose and fell with every gasping breath you took.

He lifted his fingers up to his lips, sitting back on his heels and sucking them into his mouth to clean them, letting out an approving sound as your taste washed over his tongue, addictive and sweet, something he knew he would be craving more of soon, and he just hoped you’d let him.

“How do you feel?”

“I don’t even know. That was amazing.” He beamed, feeling full and prideful as he listened to you talk, and he settled your shorts and top back into the correct place, laying over you and propping himself up on his arms as not to crush you, brushing hair from your face and pecking your nose. “Do you need me to..”

Your gaze left his eyes, moving down to his hips, before coming back up, and you were nibbling on your lower lip, prompting him to duck his head and chuckle, kissing along the clothed shoulder that was within his reach. “No, I don’t. This was about you, there will be a whole lifetime for that.”

“Yes. Yes, there will be.” Your words were spoken with nothing but joy, and he rolled off of you, blowing out the candle and sending the room into darkness, before wiggling himself back under the blankets and making sure you were tucked in securely. He felt you shuffle up, pressing against his side and he wrapped his arms around you, feeling your nose nuzzle into the crook of his neck, his cheek brushing the top of your head when he twisted his body further toward you. “Why are you like no man I have ever met, Sam Taylor?”

A laugh bubbled in his chest, despite the yawn he let out only seconds later, and he rubbed a large hand up and down your back, his eyes sliding shut in tiredness. “You won’t believe the story I’ll tell you over breakfast in the morning.”

“M’kay.” The response was muffled as it was mumbled into his neck, and he barely caught it, choosing instead to soothe himself with the tangle of your legs with his and the steady thumb of your heart in time with his own, the two of you drifting off with only positive thoughts of the future you would soon be sharing to still linger on your mind.

#sam taylor #sam taylor amazing stories #dylan obrien sam taylor #sam taylor x reader #sam taylor x reader smut #sam taylor/reader #sam taylor/reader smut #dylan obrien #dylan obrien imagine #dylan o'brien imagine #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien x reader smut #dylan obrien/reader #dylan obrien fic #dylan obrien au #dylan obrien/reader smut

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hilli98215 · 3 years

Text

I am confused. I am hurt. I don’t know what to think. This is a long post. A very long post that is personal but I’ve had it in my head for a while to write. You don’t have to read this. This post has no real meaning. It’s more of a rant of how I feel in the world of fandom, my experiences, and why this posts exists.

Again, you do not have to read this.

You have been warned.

DO NOT REBLOG THIS POST!!!!

When I became an English major in college, I did so knowing several things. One of those is the fact I love literature and I love discovering why authors, creators, and artists wrote what became their most well known work.

Where am I going?

My first fandom was when I was in Junior High (about 13-14 years old) that I was a part of, meaning I read fan fiction and discovered fan art of, was either Naruto or Pokémon. To me these works were escapes of my real confusing life. Especially when I moved states and schools. I had no one. Through this, I discovered what I liked and didn’t like in the world of fiction and was introduced to fandom words/slang such as shipping, fan fiction, lemons (which I don’t think is used as often now), different types of writing, yaoi, yuri, and a few more I can’t remember. This also included the all important phrase Don’t like don’t read. This was when I was in my early teens.

But I was in a phase where I could find what I found interesting and that was that.

When I got to high school, I was still this awkward quiet kid with no friends. But I did have marching band so that was something.

At this point was was interested in Ouran Highschool Host Club, Death Note, a series called Beauty Pop, Fullmetal Alchemist, and a few others. This was also around the time where I began writing fanfiction for OHSC and even began buying manga. Anyway, this was my introduction to fandom as a teenager. And this is before Tumblr.

All I had were my friends, videos on YouTube, and my own interests. No one really understood why I loved all these things.

Then came the very first fandom I became fully obsessed in my sophomore year: a small series called Hetalia Axis Powers. I was completely invested in this fandom. So much so I wrote fan fiction, bought merch, and read a lot of fan fiction myself. I think it was because, at the time I thought it was because the art style was cute, the voice acting wasn’t half bad and it had to do with history. But this is where things got interesting for me and learning about fandom as a whole.

As a teen, I hadn’t known about AUs and this series had a lot of them. From the usual school AUs to odd ones. I usually stayed in my bubble and kept up the mantra Don’t like Don’t read.

But why talk about it?

Well, let’s just say a lot of the content later on became weird and new. I learned a lot about new terms like de-aging and ABO. But this leads to interest which once again let me know what genres of fan fiction I like.

I continued on with this fandom for about 3 years. And what broke it was the drama and how people were finding a sudden moral compass for personified countries. I mean there are other problems with that show that I recognize now as an adult and didn't see as a kid but that’s for another time. But I quietly left because I was beginning to understand that the drama wasn’t worth a tv show.

I would say the next fandom I was invested in and loved and I think had the least amount of drama was Fairy Tail. Now I fell in love with this series because of the story, characters, and the welcoming fandom. Overall there was rarely any drama because I think we all knew that we had to be civil with each other and respect our ships. While I’m not part of that fandom anymore a lot of people on Tumblr and FFN were very welcoming. The main series kinda fizzled out but that was one of the few positive fandom experiences I had.

I was at that point in my life where I was in college, created my Tumblr and posted regularly to escape life.

Coming off that fandom, I was part of the Yuri on Ice! fandom from beginning to the end. I mean it’s a sports anime that’s about men's figure skating and how it can affect athletes just to get a gist of it.

That’s when my experience with fandom became interesting because these characters were being paired in a way that made me feel like they can’t be paired with anyone else. Like, there was a pairing we were all cheering for to happen by the end.

This is the first series I was highly interested in as an adult where the ages of the characters were defined. There were a few in their teens, some in their early to mid 20s, and a couple in their 30s. Now this was a historic anime for several reasons. The main being there being a gay relationship being shown in a positive light and mental illness being shown in a way that wasn’t patronizing and negative. I loved this show for those reasons. But I also quickly learned how people would take these characters (especially those with huge age differences) and pair them up. That was my first introduction to criticism of how ‘gross’ it would be for a 15 year old to be paired up with an 18 year old. But I saw a problem that made me second guess my thinking. When I was in high school, I knew someone who was a sophomore at 15 and dated someone who was 18. Why was there a problem?

I knew if I voiced this that I would be shamed and told that I was disgusting. Eventually I had enough and left shortly after the series ended.

Then came the Voltron: Legendary Defender series. Oh boy.

Now that series came out while I was in college and I often viewed it in a critical perspective similar to one would a piece of literature because my major was in English and that was what I was taught. Like YOI I was part of this fandom day 1 because it was so different from the original Voltron series from the 80s. I loved how the fandom dissected everything in every episode. There were watch parties, analysis videos, and even skits at conventions. It was a fandom I knew I wanted to be a part of. But then there was fanfiction that I found odd and knew that I never wanted to read that. People were writing about topics that made me uncomfortable and I didn’t know how to deal with it. After a while, I questioned why I was forcing myself to read them in the first place. So, I stopped reading them. This was also around the time where I discovered AO3 and their amazing tagging system. Because if the tagging system was not there, I probably would have stopped reading fanfiction all together.

But then there was drama, shipping wars, morality wars, and I had enough. I was there until it ended and left quietly. Which is sad considering I loved the experience but it was ruined by what people thought was right for fictional characters.

Now you may be asking “What was the point of this post?”

To answer your question, I don’t know.

I have loved reading since I was a kid. And when I got to high school, I had this AP teacher who told us something that has stayed with me to this day.

‘As a reader we are detectives. We want to know why the author wrote this book. We want to know what influenced them.’

I took that saying to heart and approach everything through a critical lens. Which is difficult in a fandom. It’s hard to have a critical approach to a series that everyone takes for a grain of salt.

I have been exposed to a lot of books and pieces of literature that have been considered controversial because of their content. When I left high school, I began to realize what genres of books I like in the YA genre and in literature.

I experimented.

And when you think about it, that’s what you do with fan fiction and fandom. We are always experimenting. We are always finding what we like and don’t like.

But recently I’ve noticed a new fandom term that makes me wonder where I fall in all of this craziness we call fandom.

Pro-Fiction/Pro-Shipper

It wasn’t until last year I saw this word thrown around in a new fandom I am in. I tried to do some research but I couldn't find anything. Nothing. And then I learned it’s a new term in itself.

I won’t go into detail but it reminds of the ‘video games are violent so that makes so-and-so violent’ argument parents made when Mortal Kombat came out.

Well you still didn’t answer the question.

And you’d be right. I saw a post from a follower that saddened me and honestly freaked me out. Why announce that you hate a specific group? It felt like a call out post without saying any names. A warning that states: Block me or out yourself. Or rather: Block me or else.

Do I identify as this? To tell you the truth, I don’t know. I think critically and see things differently. In fact everyone does.

We are always going to be influenced by the media whether it be a movie, television, a book, or a video game. We will always love these storylines and characters. We will always take the messages to heart. We will always cheer for the hero and maybe the villain too.

I do want you guys to remember this, make your own fandom experience. Block those who make you feel uncomfortable and make you feel like you don’t matter. You do.

You are your own person. No one can tell you otherwise. If you feel uncomfortable, then maybe you need to leave the fandom. Or find a space in the fandom that you can be yourself. Or don’t care what people think and do what you always do.

It’s all up to you.

#rant #long post #sorry for those who decided to read this #i just cant stay silent anymore #fandom #fandom toxicity #fandom discourse #fan fiction #personal #i mean #this is getting out of hand #where do i fall in all of this

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harryskalechips · 4 years

Text

Too bad I’m attracted to you

A/n I know I said this was going to be up in two weeks but believe it or not, I’ve been so excited about this one. I’ve been writing it for three days and it is one of the biggest pieces I’ve worked on. Overall, some references such as places and the school system refer back to Canada because I am Canadian LOL. It’s easier to write about something you’re familiar with so in this case, we’re set in the true north.

word count: 6884 (I told you it’s very big 😉)

Please enjoy and give it a like or something, it means a lot xx

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Autumn

Harry’s POV

The school bell rings announcing that school was finally in session here at St. Clements High school. The year had just begun with the leaves breezing through the air and the sound of joyous laughter in the streets from children who had just begun school.

It’s my fifth year teaching here at an all-girls school. During my first year, students and even teachers would constantly hit on me and I would like to say that stopped but it hasn’t. Many of the students may think I don’t hear them whispering or murmuring in the hallways but I do. I definitely do.

I look up from my phone to see twelfth graders entering my classroom. I lock my iPhone and stand up in front of the board, observing the girls as they chose desks to sit near their friends. I offer a small smile to the girls who greet me and give a slight nod, waiting for the girls to be seated so I can start my introduction.

“Good morning girls, I’m your English teacher Mr.Styles.” The girls wait silently as I see friends make eye contact with each other, probably communicating with their eyes. “This year, you girls will be graduating so throughout this course, we will be looking at three main ideas.” I roll up the sleeves of my black polo and grab a piece of chalk to write on the chalkboard. “Now, I’m sorry we’re jumping right into the ocean. I promise I will properly introduce myself and let you girls introduce yourself to each other, right after this.”

I face the board and write a list...

1. Format

2. Author’s choices

3. Clarification of ideas

I put the chalk down and rest my hands on my hips, facing the girls. “Okay, so I’m going to explain these points, if you would like too, you can write down what I say but I also have a syllabus for you girls that will be ready at the end of this week.”

After 30 minutes of explaining the course, I lean on the front of my desk, finally looking at each of the students so I can remember what they look like when I learn their names. “Okay so let’s start the introduction.” I laugh a bit at the idea of introducing myself every year. “Should I start or would someone like to volunteer?”

“I would!” A girl speaks up. She had natural ginger hair with slight freckles on her face. Just from the way she stood up, I knew she was the student in class who would participate the most. “Hello, I’m Cathy. A random fact about me is I love to watch Netflix. Say any show and I can guarantee I’ve watched it.” The class of 17 girls clapped enthusiastically, supporting one another.

After a couple more turns, and Jazzy was done stating her random fact about being obsessed with Nutella, a girl with light brown hair and pale skin stood up. She smiled sweetly and looked around the classroom before looking at me. I give her a slight nod to continue and she coughs in her sleeve before standing up straighter to continue.

Now, I never looked at my students and debated whether they are pretty or not but for some reason, when this unfamiliar girl spoke I became way too interested in what she was saying than I have ever been with any students I have taught.

“Hi um, my name is Adeline. A weird fact about me is I love to eat the chocolate part before eating a KitKat.” Her friends gasp while some called her out for eating the chocolate wrong but I laughed as I crossed my arms and watched her sit back down, shaking her head.

As class came to a finish, I learned a few interesting facts about these seniors. I learned that a few hated English and loved math, some didn’t appreciate or care much about their education and some of these girls are really hard workers who want the best mark. Of course, I see these types of students every year but it’s nice to know which one these students are in my class so I can predict their course mark for the rest of the year.

I wait for my next class and repeat my routine. This year I was teaching 12s, 10s, and 9s.

——

Adeline’s POV

“Oh my god. Adel wasn't Mr. Styles so hot in class today? Did you see his back muscles contract when he wiped the board?” Mya leaned against the locker beside me while rolling her eyes in the back of her head. Mr. Styles is definitely going to be her crush this year. Last year, it was Mr.Belmonte and the year before that was Mr. Sanchez. “Don’t give me that look, Adel. If you don’t think Mr. Styles is hot then maybe you’re lesbian!”

“Mya as much as gay people are cooler than you, I’m sadly as straight as a raw spaghetti noodle.” I laugh it off and shut my locker as we walk together to Biology class.

“He’s our first period for the rest of the year. He’s going to always start the day off. I’m really excited.”

“That’s nice to know. I mean I’m excited about his class too, I really love English I hope he isn't a hard marker.”

As I spoke to Mya, my best friend, I truly began to wonder how I can improve more in English and see if I wanted to pursue it in University. So a month into Mr. Styles's class, I decided to stay after to ask him a question.

“Hi, Sir. I just have a quick question I was hoping you would be able to help me out with.” I approach him as he has a pen cap in between his teeth as he marked our commentary assignment from a few days ago. He looks up at me and sits up while focusing all his attention on me.

“Sure Addy, what’s up?” No one has ever called me addy before. I know it’s surprising but usually, all my friends called me by the nicknames Adel, laine, or what my parents call me, delly.

“Well, I truly love English but I don’t know if I would want to major in it. I was wondering if you know any opportunities I can try during my free time so I can think about it. I really have a passion for teaching and English but how do I know what to expect?” He genuinely looked really interested as he watched the grade 10’s enter his class.

“You know I’ve seen your work Addy. You have real potential. I don’t know if you would like this idea but I would love to be your mentor and help you with this skill you want to pursue. I know when I was in University being a TA, truly led me to this passion of becoming a teacher.” I nod my head and clench my binders tighter to my chest because it felt weird talking to a teacher for too long.

“If you would like too. I’ve never done this before actually but would you like to be my own assistant? I can ask Mrs. Raisell to verify with her. I think you can help me with marking younger students’ work and work on the outline of my lessons. At the end of this, I can write you a reference letter and give you hours if you need it for a special program.”

“Wow sir, no yeah I would be really honoured. It would mean a lot if I got to work side by side with you.” He smiles and stands up, probably a signal that I should go to my next class because he’s about to teach his.

“Obviously during your class or anything to do with that class, it will not have to do anything with what you do with me but yeah, I would love to go over things with you to see if this career path is right for you. Let me just start my class and maybe I can get back to you by the end of the week?”

“Perfect. Thank you, sir.” And with our final remarks, I left his class with the biggest smile on my face.

It’s been two months working with Mr. Styles after school. After Mrs.Raisell, my principal, accepted his idea, Mr. Styles and I began working alongside each other. Every Tuesday and Thursday, I would come back to his class after Calculus since it was the end of the day. His last period was a prep period which meant he had a period for himself to mark work and prep his lessons. When I come to his class, usually we focus on whatever he has left to mark. Some late nights, we would drown in a whole deep conversation about life when we get off topic about another conversation.

“Mr.Styles, I have a few more papers to go through but I was going to uber some dinner, are you hungry?” I ask him as I sit at the desk in front of his very own.

He looks up at me and stretches his arms. “You know, you’ve been helping me out a lot. How about I buy us some dinner? I know a really tasty Italian bistro a couple blocks from here.”

“Yeah, sure. Let me just text my mom so she knows I’m not at school anymore.” He nods his head and stands up, collecting my work and the papers he has on his desk. He shoves them into his side leather bag and waits for me by his door so he can lock it.

He turns off the light and we walk together to his car. “Wow, nice car. I’m guessing you’re a bachelor?” He unlocks his car and smirks while putting his bag in the back. He takes my backpack as well and puts it behind the passenger seat.

“Yeah, bachelor you’re very much correct.” He opens my door and gestures to me to sit inside so he can go to his side of the car and get in.

“How are you still a bachelor?” I joke as I watch him shift the car into drive. We zoom out of the parking lot and with a few bumps from the speeding bumps, we’re on the main roads. He looks at me and laughs.

“What do you mean? I’m 25.” He gazes at me while his elbow rests against his door and his hand is on the wheel. His other hand rests on the gear shift.

“Well, no I just- I know it’s weird to say it but a lot of the girls in our school have a crush on you and not by students. I mean actual teachers. My history teacher was talking about how cute you were today.” His cheeks redden and his eyes widen just a tiny bit.

“Oh, Sandra. Yeah, I had a feeling she liked me. She would always make me coffee when I’m in the staffroom marking.”

“Woah.” I laugh. I can’t believe I’m having such a casual conversation with Mr. Styles. Especially since he’s my teacher. I guess it’s natural for us though since I’ve been with him for two months now.

“So do your friends know you’re with me after school on some days?” He asks after he parks in the restaurant's lot.

“No actually.” We pause the conversation for a quick minute as we walk out the car together. He holds the door for me as we enter and the waitress directs us to a booth secluded in the corner.

“How come?” He takes his jacket off and looks at the menu while I flip through the pages quickly, scanning everything on their menu. “My friends would think about weird scenarios of me working with you. I don’t know. I’m scared some of the girls in the class might become jealous about the opportunity you gave me.” He listens to me and watches me while I talk.

“Oh wow. Yeah, I get why you didn’t tell them.” He closes his menu, probably knowing what he wants. “And to be honest, I’ve never done this before. I wouldn’t offer it to any student. I think after reading your work and your interest in the career. It would be nice to mentor you. Plus, as much as high schoolers are. I’m pretty sure nothing weird will come out of this. Mrs. Raisewell has been checking on us quite frequently to make sure no boundaries are crossed.”

“Yeah, I think that’s good. My parents were really happy you gave me this opportunity too. So once again, thank you.”

The next day went pretty smoothly during the first period. Ever since I started working with Mr. Styles, he would call me out during class in a teasing manner. For example, he would use me as an example when he was teaching us a lesson. He would also ask me to read out loud with the rest of the class. I never gave much thought to it since after school when we were together and I would always tease him too. Like a couple of days ago I called him out for eating things with his tongue out. I guess you can say he and I truly became closer than a regular teacher/student relationship.

“Addy, stay after class today. I need to talk to you.” He comes by my desk and tells me as the rest of the girls began getting ready for class.

The class went by very quickly in my mind as I kept thinking of what Mr. Styles had to talk to me about it.

“Hey, sir.” I smile softly as I approach his desk. My eyes sparkled a bit as I checked him out briefly. He was wearing light brown khakis and a tight white long sleeve polo. He zooms out of the window he was looking at on his computer and focuses his attention on me.

“Addy, hey.” He smiles at me and brushes his hand over his hair. “So, my friend from uni is a professor at Windsor university. I was wondering if you would like to come with me and go to the provincial writers’ gala. It’s basically this event where we listen to authors and composers of different genres.”

“Yeah, I would love to go. Is there a specific dress code?”

“Yeah, it’s formal. Can you write down your address here, I can pick you up and drive you home. It's also in January.”

“How about I call you so I can give you my number and I can get yours too.”

After we exchanged numbers, I went on my way to my next class.

----

Winter

It’s been five months working with Harry. Throughout these past couple of months, We began sharing more about ourselves. We were on first name bases. I was calling him by his first name when we were not in class and he was driving me home from our late nights. Mrs. Raisell was frequently checking upon us as she promised and everything was going well.

My friends and I had a few fun memories over the winter break. We were at Rachel’s party and we all got drunk. I spent time with my family and my older sister finally brought home a puppy-like she always wanted to. I bought Harry a Nike sweater for Christmas since I remember him telling me a night while we worked that he wanted to invest more in casual wear. Harry, being very nice. He bought me his favourite book when he first started university which was Emma written by Jane Austen.

Tonight was the gala. After many months of finding the perfect dress, I found it just a week ago. It was this pretty pink long dress that was off the shoulders and with a slit through the leg. As much as I wasn’t Harry’s date, I would be with him all night long. I didn’t want to look like an 18-year-old student of his but more of his actual friend who came out with him tonight.

“Wow, Adeline.” He smiles at me as I leave my house and step out. He had a single red ombre rose in his hand for me. “You look very pretty tonight. I would think you’re trying to get yourself a boyfriend from the event.”

“I don’t think I’ll be looking for one tonight especially since I have my teacher beside me the whole night.” I tease.

“Hey.” He drags the word out and laughs. “I asked you to be my date so you’re right. No looking for boys tonight.” Oh, so I was his date. I took in his outfit he had his hair nicely gelled as he had just gotten a haircut and he was wearing a classic black suit.

As we made our way into the fancy venue, we sat at a table with people we did not know. There were many people here tonight with cameras everywhere. Throughout dinner, we made small talk with the others and by the time I knew it, we were facing the front of the stage listening to a composer who wrote a one-hit-wonder. I had my second glass of wine tonight, feeling the need to destress. Harry only had one and stopped there.

“Harry,” I whisper in his ear. We were sitting very closely together as we listened to the 4th speaker of the night. He kept an arm around my chair after fidgeting for the past couple of minutes.

“Yes, Addy.”

“Can we walk out a bit, I’m just feeling really sleepy from listening to them talk.” He nods without another word and helps me stand up. We try to walk out of the hall without causing much attention. He leads me outside into the cold air and leans against the pillar.

“You okay? I brought you out here, maybe the cold air can wake you up a bit.”

I smile at him because he looks so cute being concerned about me. “Thank you. I really appreciate you bringing me here tonight. I’ve just been exhausted hearing them talk for two hours.” He laughs and stands up straighter. He takes his suit jacket off and hangs it over my body. “Trust me, I was daydreaming in there.” I laugh at his thought.

“Wow, my teacher daydreams while another one talks too? huh.” I grasp onto his shoulders as I feel myself almost about to fall.

“Okay, I think it’s time for us to go home. What do you think?”

“No! I’m not drunk I promise.” I smile and pull on his arm to try and get him to stop us from walking to his car. “Please Harry. I really am enjoying this night with you.”

“Okay fine but can we go inside my car and go somewhere else if we’re done with this event?” I nod my head and with his hand still in mine, he brings us into his car.

We sat quietly in his car for a couple of minutes. Until he turned his head to look at me. I had my body facing him already as my head rested on the seat’s headrest. I was admiring how good he looks.

“You tired?” He asks me gently as the warm air blows on my cheeks. “You have those cute lil red cheeks because of the cold weather. I should have told you to bring your jacket tonight.”

“It’s alright.” I smile. “Thank you for tonight. I know it’s weird having your student as your date but you truly made my night. People may think how weird we are because of how close we are but I just wanted to let you know that I appreciate everything you have done for me. You believe in me and only want the best for me.” He smiles and mimics my exact position.

“Adeline, I can definitely say out of all my years teaching. I have never gotten close to a student before like this. I don’t regret anything with you. First time I saw you, you were just a pretty girl and a smooth voice but now I know how funny you think you are, how passionate you are, and just how genuinely smart you can be.” and without another thought process in my mind, I kiss him because I’ve always wanted to. The moment I saw him in the halls last year, my heart truly did skip a beat and it hasn’t stopped since. He pulls away from me as quickly as my lips touch his. He looked into my eyes for a couple of seconds and I was about to apologize for being so rash except he pulled me in again with his hand on my cheeks. His lips were full and soft. His lips were on mine and they fit so perfectly that I had no other thought except the feeling of his soft palm on my face. We kissed for a couple of minutes and by the time I knew it, he was driving me home with his hand placed in my lap as I played with his rings.

He stops in front of my house as all the lights are turned off, meaning my parents went to bed as did my sister.

“Thank you, Harry. You know I had a great night.” He pulls his hand away from me and turns off the radio.

“Addy, about what happened in the parking lot. I’m sorry I kissed you. The moment was just very overwhelming.” He looks at the wheel in front of him.

“I don’t regret it, Harry. Do you?” My heart beats fast, scared of the rejection that is seeping through his soft lovable lips.

“Yes. I promised you and I that I would not let us cross boundaries.” I look out into the deep night, seeing my street completely empty because it’s 1 in the morning.

“We crossed boundaries the moment I started calling you by your first name, Harry. Why did you kiss me anyways? Maybe, it is inappropriate having your student as your date. Why did you ask me?” I feel so vulnerable after being rejected by him. I feel so embarrassed that the 18-year-old student he thought wouldn’t throw herself at him, actually did.

“Adeline.” He looks at me as I look away, getting ready to leave his car.

“Thank you for this opportunity, Mr. Styles but I think it’s my time I take a step back and focus on a different career since this one does not seem right for me.” I leave his car without another word and run up my driveway, crying. All I wanted to do was hide in my sheets.

After this night, I didn’t go to Harry’s class for three days. The first day, I stayed home but the other two days, I came to school after the first period was over.

“Addy, oh my God. Why aren’t you at homeroom anymore?” Mya spots me locking my locker. “Mr. Styles has been in such a bad mood ever since the beginning of this week. He yelled at us because we didn’t understand a layout he taught us not even 15 minutes prior.” I let my hair fall behind my uniform and carry my binders to my chest. Mya was frustrated, rolling her eyes at the thought of our English teacher.

“I don’t know, I keep waking up late,” I answered very shortly.

“I’m starting not to like him anymore. He’s been such an ass! As much as he’s really hot, I can’t deal with him.” We turn the corner and I spot Harry coming out of the English department office with papers in his hand. He looks at me quickly then keeps his head straight to continue walking back to his class. Ouch.

“Okay.” I murmur in response to Mya, after seeing him again.

“Hi, Ms. Olsen, is it okay if I pull Adeline out of your class for a quick minute?” Mr. Styles appears at the door of my history class. Ms. Olsen smiles sweetly and agrees. All the girls in my class look at each other while I stand up from my seat and meet him outside the hallway. They probably thought I was in trouble for skipping his class for the past few days

“Yes, Mr. Styles?” I reply with a cold tone laced in my voice. He was wearing a grey collar t-shirt today with black slacks.

“Have you been purposely avoiding me, Adeline.” He asks seriously as he whispers.

“No, It’s been a coincidence. I have not been feeling well and I’ve been waking up late.” Not true.

“See me in my class after school like usual.” and with that, he opens my classroom door, gesturing me to go inside. As I walked past him, his scent clung to my nose and I have missed it.

As I entered his classroom, his class was empty. He was resting against the classroom’s bookshelf reading over a book. I close the door and approach him, with my bag being held by only one of my shoulders.

“Mr. Styles, You wanted to see me.” He puts his book back into a spot on his bookshelf, my eyes catching the book of his favourite that he gave me last Christmas.

“Addy, you have to understand why I regret our kiss.”

“I do.”

“No you do not,” He moves to his desk and sits on it, he brings me closer to him so I stand almost in between his legs. “I love my job a lot. I’ve always been attracted to you the moment you stepped in my class but my aim was to never seduce you or take advantage of you.”

“I’m eighteen. I-”

“Baby, don’t talk while I’m speaking.” baby. He just called me baby. “ I know you’re eighteen but you’re still my student. I know the age gap is 7 years but that’s not the point. I wasn’t supposed to act on my feelings, all I ever wanted to do was help you. So, I just want to tell you, I’m sorry because of what happened and I’m sorry I’ve hurt you. You deserve a whole lot better than I because as much as you’ve interested me out of all the girls I’ve ever known, I can’t give you what you want.”

“I really like you, Harry.” I walk into him, trying to be comforted.

“I really like you too, Addy. I haven’t been in a relationship for eight years but for some reason the more I got to know you, the more I wanted you to be my girlfriend.”

“Take me home please,” I whisper into the crook of his neck as he wraps his arms around me. “Take me to your home.”

I walk into one of my neighbourhoods near my school, where Harry would pick me up. I spotted his car just ahead of me so I ran and opened the door to the vehicle that I’ve grown so familiar with. The moment I’m inside, I place my hand on his jaw while he grasps onto my hip to kiss me. His kiss felt so more affectionate as his thumbs rubbed circles on my hips. He kisses down my neck and onto my collar bone, sure to leave a hickey while I pull onto his hair.

“Okay Addy, let’s go home.”

His home was a small townhouse 40 minutes from school. It was very beautiful though and very well decorated. His living room had bookshelves everywhere filled from top to bottom.

“Would you like anything to drink?”

“No, I’m okay. Can we watch a movie and cuddle though.”

Spring

“Hey, how are you?” Harry smiles at me as I enter his classroom. It’s May now, so his windows are open so fresh air can breeze through the room.

“I’m good, what about you?” I approach him and give him a quick peck on the cheek. “I bought you some cookies from the cafeteria.” He smiles at me and kisses me on the forehead as he hugs me.

“Thanks, baby.” He sets up our usual set when I help him with marking. Usually, we act professionally at school, maybe a little cuddling occasionally. We try to finish early though so we can make it to his house so we can spend actual time together. “Does it still hurt?” He rubs my leg.

A couple of months ago, I had sex for the very time and it was with him. He was very gentle with me and I spent a whole night at his place. In the morning, we had sex over and over again until going somewhere a bit out of town for some breakfast. Last night though, we had it pretty rough that this morning, while I was walking to his desk during class to ask him about a literary device, he smirked at me while I tried not to limp in front of everyone.

“Yeah, as you care.” I roll my eyes at him and take out my 5th red pen since October.

“I do baby but it’s nice to know that you’ve physically been dick down by me huh.” He sits in his chair and opens the bag full of cookies and taking a bite.

“No one knows you’re dicking me down except for us.” I bite on my pen and laugh.

“I think that’s what makes it hotter.” He offers me a cookie but I shake my head.

“I’m graduating soon,” I smirk. He nods and swallows what he’s chewing.”

“University of Toronto Addy, I’m happy you’re pursuing English.”

“Thanks, daddy.” I joke with him as he raises his eyebrow. “I’m sorry I know the rules.”

“Yeah, don’t try and make me fuck you right here on my desk.”

“But maybe you should.” I blurted out loud. “I mean I’m graduating soon and I want you too.” I bite my lip and put down my pen. Without a word, he takes the papers and put them on the desk Jazzy sits in near the front. He pulls me out of my chair and onto his desk.

“You want me to bend you over in the class where you sit every morning, talking to your friends.” I nod my head. He pulls off my grey blazer that is part of my uniform and throws it on the floor. He walks over to the door and locks it. He goes to the window and shuts each of them tight and closing the blinds. He stands in front of me again and unties his tie, then rolling it up. “Guess, where I’m putting my tie today baby?” He holds onto my hips so he can rub his growing self on me.

“In my mouth?” He smirks and whispers in my ear, a quiet no. He unrolls it and wraps it around my head so I can’t see. His fingers slowly take off my panties and he rolls them into a ball with a small murmur of him saying open, which I do. He shoves them in my mouth and pushes me more onto the desk. He pulls my skirt down and unbuttons my white polo shirt. He takes it off leaving me bare. “Not wearing a bra, I see.”

He places his mouth onto my wet center and I moan. He wraps his hands around my inner thighs spreading them open, as I grip onto his hair. He leaps his tongue on my clit a couple of times, sucking onto it making my hips press onto his face. His growing facial hair tickling me. He takes my hands and adjusts them behind my back as he uses his other hand to take off his pants and boxers. From the way, he started rubbing his dick on me, I could tell his pants were probably down to his knees. He makes me stand up and he turns me over, pressing my tits to his cold wooden desk. As I moan, he inserts himself into me very quickly as I cry because of how good it feels. The frustration and the lust running in my veins making my heart want to burst. He keeps his hand holding onto mine as his other one gathers my hair into a makeshift ponytail. He bends down and starts kissing me, whispering the dirtiest things that always get me going.

“You like that you little slut?” “You feel me deep in there baby?” “You’re doing so well for me, I love how tight you are, always trying to make daddy feel good.”

By the time I knew it, he comes in me and stays for a little while, trying to catch his breath. He unties his tie around me and the first thing I see when I open my eyes are his clear beautiful green eyes. He carries me on top of his desk after wiping me off and putting my blazer on me. He fixes himself up first then helps me get dressed. He then carries me to sit on his lap in his chair as we nap for a bit.

I think I’m in love with him.

Summer

“Okay girls, You’ve done so well this semester. You’ve had your fun time at prom but next week you girls are graduating. Thank you for trying hard in my course, I really wish the best for each and one of you because I solely believe that women are our future.” He smiles as we come to our last class of the year. I truly am going to miss Harry as my teacher. Of course, I’m going to miss how he gave me special extensions on assignments and his extra help on my work but what I really am going to miss is his presence. I’ve seen him every day for the past 9 months. I also can’t ignore the fact I’m so in love with him.

He makes eye contact with me and smiles wider. He makes a fish face at me for a second and I blush to return one back. He then proceeds with his conclusion of the course and what we can expect in university. This is the room where I fell in love with him and it will also be the room where I leave him as I set my pathway in University. Of course, I’ll still see him every day since the apartment my parents bought me is close to campus and his place but it’s different because we won’t be at school anymore.

...

The day arrived and here we are at my graduation. After the long ceremony, My friends and I all took our pictures. I took some pictures with Mya and her family and with my family as well. After Harry was done having pictures with girls from my English class, he approached me. He greeted my parents, which they responded enthusiastically, knowing he and I are very close. They always teased me about having a crush on my teacher, what they don’t know is that I’ve been dating him for 5 months. My sister knew though, I needed someone to cover me up.

“Hello, Ms. Chastain. I was wondering if I could take a picture with my favourite student?” I roll my eyes and ask my sister, Marla to take a picture of us. He wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me close as we smiled widely together. We also took some selfies on my phone with kisses to each other when we were more separated from the rest of the big crowd. “Will you come to my house tomorrow night, for your celebratory dinner?” I squint my nose and pretend to act all iffy.

“I don’t know Mr. Styles. Don’t you think it’s weird that a student will come to your house for dinner?” He pulls my hair a bit and pokes my hip.

“Shut up.” He laughs as his eyes crinkle. “Come to my car with me.” I walk with him to his car and I lean a bit on his hood as I watch him take something out of his car. He pulls out a huge bouquet of red roses and a teal bag from tiffany and co. The parking lot was empty because either everyone was in the hall or have already left. He hands me the gifts and kisses me on the lips. “Congratulations my baby. I’m so proud of you.

He helps me take out the necklace from the bag. It was this beautiful diamond on this thin chain that rested perfectly in between my collar bones. Underneath the pendant, the letter H&A was engraved. I kiss him one more time, knowing tomorrow will be the day I tell him that I love him.

“Wow, I can definitely smell the storm you’re cooking up in here.” I smile as I enter his house. I was wearing a nice blouse and white jeans with his necklace. He was wearing his casual attire, that I’ve grown to see more often as he bought more while we were dating. He was wearing this I heart new york knit sweater and tight black jeans.

“Just for you, Love.” He helps me sit at his dining table as he sits in front of me. The dinner went overall really well, as we spoke about his experience in University not long ago. By the time, we were finished we were cuddling on his couch watching the fireplace tonight. “Isn’t it crazy how I’ve known you since September and you were my student? I just never really thought I would go for a student.” I rub my foot against his leg and snuggle more into his chest.

“I never thought I would date the hottest teacher at my school nor get dick downed by him.” He pokes my hip and I cuddle more into him trying to hide. “Harry, I have something to tell you.”

“Yes, my beautiful girlfriend. What would you like to tell me, Baby.” He combs my hair out of my face.

“I love you.” He stays silent for a bit as the crackling of the wood became louder in my ears, I was trying so hard to distract myself from hearing my heartbeat.

“Thank you.” I sit up a bit to see his reaction. He didn’t seem pleased that I love him.

“Are you not happy?” I pout and sit up so we can talk. “I don’t expect you to say it back but you just don’t look like you want me to love you.”

“Baby, it’s not like that. I just-, I don’t know. You knew we weren’t going to last long. Why did you have to develop such strong feelings?”

“I’m sorry Harry, what? My fault?” I stand up, getting off his couch.

“No, it’s not your fault. I’m trying to say, do you really think we’re going to last while you’re in university? It’s difficult Addy, I don’t want to pressure you into this relationship that seriously yet.”

“You didn’t have a problem bending me over in your class the other month ago.”

“Adeline. Listen to me. You’re my girlfriend and I feel deeply for you, a lot but I don’t want to take that step yet when you’re just about to enter University.”

“Harry, I can love you whenever I want to.”

“You don’t understand. You went to an all-girls school, now you’re going to a university filled with thousands of men. I’m not saying you’re going to cheat on me but that’s just another example of how different this environment is. What if you do start falling in love with another guy? You’re going to leave me and I’m just going to be heartbroken. I just-, what you said to me means everything to me and I don’t think you’re really committed enough to say that to me right now.”

“Fuck you, Harry.” I grab my purse, getting ready to leave.

“Addy, don’t leave we need to talk about this.” He holds onto my arm.

“No Harry, I’m not dealing with your bullshit. It’s not me who is not committed enough to say those words it’s you! You’re not committed enough to admit it. You can’t genuinely believe that you can fall in love with one of your students. Just fuck you, Harry. I’m leaving.” “Adeline.”

“I’m giving you five seconds to tell me why you can’t accept me saying I love you right now, Harry or else I am gone for good.” I cry as he watches me. As I begin to count down, his hands on my waist tighten. “5...4...3...2...1” and with that, I take his hands off me. “It’s not that I’m mad that you can’t love me or anything. I’m just disappointed in you because you’re the first man I have ever loved and you rejected the love that I offered you. I trusted you so much this past year and you threw my feelings back at me.”

“Don’t...leave me, Adeline.” He whispers as he grips onto his hair.

“I’m sorry.” As I walk out his door, I hear him smash things to the ground but he doubted if we were still going to be together next year, I guess he doesn’t...anymore.

#Harry Styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles oneshots #harrystylesimagines #teacher!harrystyles #harry styles moodboard #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harrystyles fluff #harrystylesfanfic #harry styles fine line #one direction #one direction one shots #I love this ahh #too bad I'm attracted to you

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maigetheplatypus57 · 3 years

Text

Some headcanons for hws/aph Philippines part 5

Fighting

(My submission for @cupofkey’s wtiys. I wanted to do something based on the post that made me discover them and the first ask that I ever sent them.)

Fighting is something that Corazon has known for as long as she could remember. Such is the nature of being a personification, especially a personification of warring islands.

She doesn’t remember who taught her, or even if she was taught by a specific person. She learned kali from her maharlika, she learned it from her timawa, she learned it from her people.

Being under Espanya made things difficult, but she adapted. She switched out her bolos for rattan sticks, snuck out from under the watch of her yayas and practiced when she could.

(When she was younger and naïve, when he still allowed her to call him Kuya, she asked why she couldn’t fight. Back then, he told her that it was because it wasn’t proper for a lady, especially one of her position. She’s older now, and knows that the real reason why was because he didn’t want her to become too strong.)

(Good for her then, that he was never around enough to catch her)

She learned arnis from her common people, and learned how to turn her strength into an art. She learned how to be fast with both her hands and feet, to strike so fast her opponent doesn’t even notice before it’s too late.

She learned eskrima from her upperclassmen, from the men who were able to study abroad and teach it to her when they came back.

And when she really missed the feeling of her blades in hand, she went south, to the people who were never fully controlled by foreigners the way the people of the north and middle of her lands were, and she learned even more techniques with her blades.

Her fighting style is heavily influenced by her people, it always has and always will be. She learned how to fight from her people, and promises to only fight for her people.

Some notes:

Maharlika - the warrior social class of pre-colonial Philippines

Timawa - the freemen aka commoner class of pre-colonial Philippines

Espanya - Spain

Yaya - term for nanny

Kuya - older brother, can also be used to address an older male person within the same generation

Eskrima/Kali/Arnis refer to the same martial art and all three can be used interchangeably. However, I chose to use them in each context because of the origin behind each name, which can be found in the arnis Wikipedia page.

Most of the information was taken from the Wikipedia page for arnis, so please tell me if there are any inaccuracies!

I don’t know much about the actual fighting part of arnis, so forgive me if it’s a little vague. I tried to make this similar to Left Blank, but I couldn’t find a specific teacher who would have taught Corazon. When I did my research I found out it was because a structured mastery system was something that was only introduced fairly recently, and that arnis was informally taught from person to person, so it made more sense that she learned it from her people rather than a specific person.

#cupofkeywtiys #hetalia #hws philippines #aph philippines #hws #aph #hetalia oc #maige's posts #maige's ramblings #i based the too strong line off of something i read but i cant find the source #i also based it off *ahem my personal issues with being strong #anyways key i hope you like it youve been a really nice and mutual to have so im happy to be a part of your 100 followers #i might do an additional thing but this is cutting it close so we'll see

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enthusiastic-nimrod · 4 years

Note

Hey I'm Fred's fourth daddy anon! I sent that to you, and what felt like five minutes later you came in with that gorgeous sketch. Do you have any art tips or videos that have taught you cause I've been stuck draw trying to draw anything not resembling a lump for two years. Also yeah it was whirlwind episode, f*ck Rose, and Fred should have turned that loon in.

Hey FD Anon, thanks so much! I don’t draw a lot of “horror” art so I’m really happy with it’s progress so far!

While I do agree with you that Rose is The Worst, I think she added in an interesting dynamic and I’d be happy if she became a recurring character in the Scooby mythos at large. As for Fred not turning his dad in... I agree, but I also understand why he didn’t.

The episode went out of it’s way to show off how frightening and weird he is but Fred made it very clear that when he wasn’t wearing the mask he was a good parent, and that all of his crimes were shown as nonviolent. He didn’t seem to steal anything (unless I missed that line?) he just liked messing with people by confusing them.

As for art tips, I... honestly never expected anybody to ask for advice from me? That’s super flattering wow.

Okay, so I’m still pretty much a novice, but lemme give you some of my best tips and tricks:

1) Notice how my last sketch had a grey background? This wasn’t just for that sketch, this is how I use ALL of my digital canvases. I do this because the grey causes less strain to my eyes, and allows me to work longer and more easily. Being so close to a screen, especially a blue or white one, can make it harder to work for long periods of time.

2) If you want to do digital art, you need to learn “traditional art” (pencil and paper) first. It makes transitioning to digital more easy and it’s pretty much what any art teacher would recommend, for good reason.

3) Using one method of art not only limits you, but stops you from learning other techniques which can be incorporated into what you typically prefer. Not only that, but you can also discover a medium you really love that you never would have thought of before!

4) Whenever you get the chance, work in black and white or monochrome. This is a great way to help yourself learn about values and intensity, and just looks cool in general.

5) Piggybacking on that last point, if you’re ever worried about your shading, values, etc becoming muddled either A] take a picture and use a filter to make it black and white, or B] create another, pure white layer on top of the others and change it from “Normal” to “Hue”. Doing this can really help change your approach to coloring (black and white effect may be different for every art program).

6) If you want to get better at realistic faces, I was taught using the grid system. You have squares on your reference picture, squares on your paper, and then match up the body parts to the squares. I personally didn’t like this method, but it’s a really solid style of learning.

7) Start with the torso instead of the head. what you start with the head, the body may end up becoming wonky and having the neck stretched out at an odd angle or having a too small cranium. This is easier to fix in digital art but I suggest just remembering the importance of that rib cage (this is something I’m still training myself out of).

8) Asking for feedback can be an invaluable tool. For example, last year I had this really weird thing where I drew my eyes way too close together- I never noticed until I had it pointed out to me, and it took MONTHS to break this habit.

9) References are very useful, and one fun technique I’ve found great use in is to draw a pose, first with no reference, and then following that reference very strictly. This can be helpful when you want to see where you are developmentally.

10) Every now and then while drawing, you want to put the pencil down, prop up your paper, and walk away so that you can see the full image from a distance. If you’re working digitally, you zoom out a great deal so that the image appears smaller. This is a GREAT tool for seeing which sections of the piece need the most attention and how those smaller details hold up.

11) If you have the opportunity, you REALLY want to participate in an actual art class. Having a teacher that can see what you’re doing in real time and knows where you’re at skill-wise is an INVALUABLE thing to have- these people were specifically taught how to teach you these skills, recognize your problems and how to fix them. Don’t be afraid to talk to them and ask for advice about non-classwork art, either! You can’t receive help if you don’t ask for it.

12) Flip your canvas! I know you’ve probably heard this before, but this is one of the best ways to check for anatomy inconsistencies.

13) When it comes to youtube artists, I don’t really actively follow any, but I do know of some!

Mark Crilley: While I don’t watch his videos much now, I used to follow his videos RELIGIOUSLY. He’s got some really solid advice on how to map out comics and mangas, and he taught me the importance of silent scenes and keeping your work from getting too wordy. He mostly does the soft anime look, but he also does some pretty stellar realism.

mikeymegamega: I’m not going to lie to you, anon- this man likes his cheesecake. This guy is all about the cute anime girls, so if you’re not looking for that, skip him, but I really can’t recommend his videos on hands, feet, and faces enough.

Proko: Has a video about best drawing exorcises and is the guy you turn to when you want to know about figure drawing. He tends to focus on the more realistic anatomy, and while his videos may be long he’s got some good advice. I’d say to check out his studying anatomy correctly video, and then just kinda scroll through his pages.

Ethan Becker: THE KNIFE MAN. The first time I clicked on him I thought he was making a troll video- but then he Got Into It and my dudes, my guys, he has some CRAZY good advice. The way he words things and shows you examples in his videos are amazing and I really can’t recommend him enough. He did a video called “Fixing PROKO's LAZY Drawings“ and while you’d think it would be a bash fest his advice on shading in it is just so incredibly useful. Click on pretty much any of his videos and you’ll be entertained and learning.

I'd also suggest watching speedpaints. Even if it was unintentional, I’ve learned several really solid art hacks from speedpaint and storytime videos- so always be aware that you have an option for that.

…. Oh! And also, practice! I know you’ve probably been given this advice from everyone already, but it’s worth remembering.

Sorry if this got a bit long, I just figured I’d try to give you some good hacks- and even if you have already heard of most of these, I hope I could at the very least entertain!

#ask #response #anon #art advice #art tips #scooby doo #fred jones #professor huh #bcsd

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softboyscully · 4 years

Text

Public School Stuff I Wanted to Share

public school is both beautiful and horrifying am i right

so ill just go by the grades i guess

Kindergarten, first year

i did kindergartden at a catholic school in a relativly big city so this one’s got some shit

we went to church every wednesday, me and best friend (lost track of her when we moved, wish we’d stayed in touch, she was awesome) would giggle the whole time, pretty sure we made fun of jesus once, can’t remember why, possibly the hair

i had the nicest teacher, she was (as i remember her) young, blonde, and super sweet, that was the first and last year i ever had naptime

SPEAKING of naptime

i never slept during it

once i found what i remember being a nut of some sort on the ground, probably came off someone’s shoe

i grab it, turn to sarah (my best friend), say something about putting it up my nose

sarah, apparently having common sense, says, “no dont do it!! we’re supposed to be sleeping!!”

i put it up my fucking nose

try to get it out, just push it farther in

im crying a little bit now, that shit hurts

go up to my teacher

“you’re supposed to be asleep!”

“i have a nut up my nose and it wont come out”

teacher tries to get it out, but it wont budge

just. sends me back to my mat

that was it

the art room was tiny

like re-purposed broom closet tiny

there was a copy of the mona lisa in the hallway, someone had drawn ray bans on it with a pencil, never got replaced

there was a creepy-ass basement i went down to after school, we ate cheeseballs and sandwiches with some kind of meat, mayo, and that kinda yellow bread

someone broke his leg down there once, think an older kid threw him at the ceiling or something

we learned how to play Silver Bells with actual bells in music class

Kindergarten, second year

i remember these two teachers as the evil step sister-type look, but it might be my little kid imagination

but seriously they were horrible

we learned stuff in a room that was more middle-school styled, except everything was green or black and it was v dark

me and sarah attained a new friend, john

honestly i think we would’ve stayed friends for a while if i didnt move away

i have two vivid memories

one is of me really wanting to go home, so i walked by the teacher’s desk and did a fake sneeze

they laughed at me and told me to go sit back down

the other is john leaning his chair back and then falling, so me and sarah went to help him back up

it was funny, so he did it again

and again

me and sarah were laughing, had the time of our lives

after the maybe fifth time the teachers said “john can get back up by himself. sit down and stay there.”

one of the reasons we moved was bc i got sent a letter from my fourth grade buddie

most of the words weren’t spelled correctly, many letters were backwards

my mother was horrified

ofc now we know it was probably a learning disability

1st grade

this is when i moved

beginning of school i was ASTOUNDED we didnt have uniforms, one of the best things ever to happen to me

nothing wrong with this teacher, she was cool

thing is i was a little shit

told everyone my dogs died (they did but i was maybe three when it happened, i remember it not)

all my personal narratives were bullshit (only one sticks in my memory, wrote it about celebrating christmas AND hanukkah with my dad’s friends who were jewish, i have never even met those friends)

had a crush on this kid, best friend (she was terrible and helped wreck me emotionally) told me to kiss him in music class. me being a stupid ass bitch, i did it, aND HE GOES TO THE TEACHER AND CALLS ME OUT. at the end of class she gets both of us to stay for a bit, AND I DENYIED EVERYTHING. i walked across the fucking classroom, kissed him on the cheek, ran away giggling, told my teacher i didn’t do anything, AND GOT AWAY WITH IT. i’ve embarrassed myself further with this child but thats another story

2nd grade

i loved this teacher but honestly he was absolute shit

like. all he did was play the guitar and sing with us

never actually taught us stuff???

middle of the year, my mom goes in for a parent-teacher conference, he tells her i dont pay attention is math.

“what do you mean?”

“she doesn’t listen, she just takes out a book and starts reading.”

“........have you.... tried taking the book away?”

“sure, i could try that.”

“o....kay”

he also told her i’d be a girl who’d grow up to love spellcheck (which i do lmao)

like ???? why not just??? teach me to spell????

there was this one dude who one day showed up, gave me a pink stuffed cat, and then asked me where i lived

funniest thing was he lived on the same street as me

something that is vivid in my memory is showing up to class one day and realizing that i was wearing my regular clothes over my pajamas

also we had fish

every day someone else was in charge of feeding them

one of the times it was my job, i grab the fish food and walk over to the tank only to find all of the fish floating on the top

i screamed “THE FISH CAN FLY?!?!?!?!?!”

everyone ran over, all of us scarred for life when Mr. G walks over and goes in the most normal voice ever “no theyre dead”

we held a funeral

the cause of death is still undetermined

3rd grade

this year just draws a blank for me

all i know is that whoever the teacher was, they neglected to teach me how to tell time from a clock

also we learned the Cotten Eyed Joe dance in gym around here

4th grade

i had two teachers this year

one was the same one from 1st grade, the other one was a total bitch

made a girl named hannah ball her eyes out once, never apologized

i was (and am) and avid reader, so my reading skills were high above average

instead of being proud of me she told me i was weird, not normal, and too smart for a 4th grader, so i MUST be cheating.

she was the start of a lot of self confidence issues for me ngl

this was around the time i went and got tested for ADHD (me and my grandmother almost broke down on the highway but thats another story), Mrs. M (the nice one) was super supportive when i told her why i was leaving early but Ms. S (bitch) told me ADHD wasn’t real and i just wanted to be special for once

she sucked, Ms. S

5th grade

this is getting super long so this’ll be the last one i do

but my teacher..... Mr. F was A+++++

he legitimately taught me math

we had i guess like,,, a buddie class we switched with sometimes

the teacher of that class was Mrs. R, who had crazy red hair and many freckles

at one point she referenced a meme and my entire class started screaming

also there was another Mrs. S (to differentiate this one will be called Mrs. Su)

she was kind of crazy

she was the astronomy teacher and she told us many times that the moon landing was faked

once she handed out sunscreen and had everyone put it on their whole body (this was in december, fyi)

Mr. F also hosted an ‘archeological dig’ which sounds cool but in reality he had a bunch of arcade prizes from his childhood buried in little flower pots we dug into with plastic spoons

also heres some stuff i cants pinpoint the time of/happened in multiple grades:

someone held a who-can-scream-the-most-like-a-goat contest

a guy named Makenzie won

remember we planned it while the teacher left the classroom so the teacher walks back in and one by one everyone in the room starts screaming, there was some applause, a few kids got a standing ovation

we cleaned out our desks in the middle of the year, i found 3 socks and a dog treat in mine

like how the fuck did any of those things get there

and where’s the fourth sock

b o t t l e f l i p p i n g

but no seriously there were at least five water bottles stuck in the ceiling in the cafeteria

my sorta friend charlie was obsessed with paper airplanes

one time he might’ve broken the world record for longest time in the air but he was counting in his head and it was at recess so there was no video

four square and gaga ball would be played no matter the setting, time, or conditions and it was super competitive

like if you could get to king in four square you got the everlasting respect of everyone

and everyone was super educated on four square special rules, special plays, that kinda shit

no but guys i grew up with bus stop, candy store, haunted house on mondays, haunted mansion on fridays, zombies was fair game unless it was Zach, Ryan, Chrissy or Vee

me and one other guy named andrew were the only known pjo fans, had the time of our LIVES making refrences

“HEY ANDREW IM NOBODY”

“I HAVE WAITED YEARS FOR YOU, NOBODY, COME HERE AND FACE YOUR DEATH”

“hey annabeth, i thought you looked like a princess when i first saw you. i printed out a picture you sent me casually and kept it with me. i snuck along on a quest so i could save you, endangering myself immensely. i held the sky for you. when you talk about your crush on luke, i get jealous. beckendorf understood, but hes dead.”

“ikr we’re literally the best of friends”

“RIGHT”

also the first time we finished mark of athena we were in the same classroom and we individually dropped the book, stood up, looked at each other, and screamed “WELL FUCK YOU TOO RICK RIORDAN”

#public school #percy jackson #percabeth #my childhood #you dont have to read this but i felt like posting it lol #if you've read this far #i applaud you #thanks for listening to my meaningless shit #im gonna be a comedian #school #school stories #adhd #kind of

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threeletterslife · 4 years

Text

Nothing a Lil Green Can’t Fix

→ summary: Imagine having a best friend so crazy you have to have 911 on speed dial. Turns out that you are that friend. And it's up to Park Jimin to keep you from facing disaster.

→ pairing/rating: jimin x reader | PG-15

→ genre: i love bittersweet stories 🥺 so this is basically fluff all the way but angst lurking in the background | coming of age!au

→ warnings: profanity, mentions of death, divorce, heartbreak (like pretty fucking sad shit), implied sex

→ wordcount: 19.2k

→ a/n: i had so much fun writing this! a HUGE thank you to all of my friends & beta readers who helped me not make a big embarrassment out of myself LOL. a round of applause and special thanks to @aaugustlee, @fangirlfeelz, @bangtansgalaxie, @byuncaa, @yunjikim021 for putting up with my unedited writing! (: ALSO a huge HUGE thank you to @justastar for this BEAUTIFUL mood board 🤩

♫: Who by Lauv (feat. BTS) | Say Something by Pentatonix | Inner Child by BTS

cr.

When Jimin was younger, he knew superheroes existed. After all, his own mother was one of them. She cooked, washed the clothes, taught Jimin the alphabet, ran the grocery errands, worked from home, read Jimin a bedtime story and tucked him into bed—which was her daily schedule. She was strong, loving and caring. The things every mother should be. She handled problems better than she handled her emotions, that woman.

Which was probably why she cheated on Jimin's father. Jimin was only five when he heard the shouts and screams coming from downstairs. He remembers how frightened he had been, gripping his pillow and trying to drown the sound of yelling with his blankets. Only shortly after that night, his mother had packed her bags and left. Jimin never saw her again.

But life wasn't too bad after that. You had shown up, after all.

Even though Jimin's once perfect family was ruined, he didn't mind too much. When he's with you, he forgets about all of his other problems.

You'd first waddled up to him in his kindergarten class with a green marker in hand. "Can you please color me green?" you'd politely asked.

If Jimin's mother taught him one thing before she walked out of his life, she'd taught him manners. So when you, a complete stranger, had been so polite about a request that didn't look like it'd do much harm, Jimin complied.

He helped you color yourself green. Halfway through the process, he'd said: "Why are we coloring you green?"

You'd laughed out loud, grinning as you announced emphatically, "BECAUSE GREEN IS THE BESTEST COLOR EVER!"

You hate it when Jimin teases you of your first encounter with him. Mainly because you had yelled out 'bestest' at the top of your lungs that day and 'bestest' is most definitely not a word. (You're kind of a grammar freak.) Not to mention, both of you had gotten into huge trouble for coloring you green that day. Jimin had cried when the teacher had scolded the two of you, but you had shrugged, patted Jimin on the back and boldly asked the teacher, "Would you like to be colored green as well?"

You were banished to the time out chair and your star got moved down two slots into the angry orange section instead of the happy green. Jimin had felt sorry for you, but you didn't seem like you cared that much. Your skin was your favorite color. How could you not be happy?

Later that same day, you'd declared Jimin your best friend. And then you had taught him your secret language so no imbecile could eavesdrop on your private conversations. Jimin thought you were the coolest human being alive.

Jimin still thinks you're the coolest human being alive.

He's thirteen and waiting for you outside of your house so both of you can walk to school together. Walking to school side by side has been a tradition ever since you were little, too. It was also a tradition that you were always a few minutes late.

You suddenly bust out of the door with half a bagel in your mouth and your hair a frenzied mess. "Bye Granny!" you yell as the door slams shut. "Let's go!" you exclaim to Jimin in your secret language as he nods in agreement. The two of you begin to walk to school.

"What are you today?" he asks as he looks over at your outfit of the day. You're wearing black cargo pants, a black mesh top with a black tank top underneath, big, black boots and metal chains around your neck. You like to keep your fashion choices interesting by having a different style every day. You've already tried prim and proper, goth, princess and tomboy. But this... Well, this was something definitely new.

"I'm a bad girl." You grin, chomping down on the rest of your breakfast and brushing your hands together to get rid of the crumbs.

Jimin frowns. "You're gonna get dress coded," he says but upon your disappointed look, he sighs. "You're gonna get dress coded," he says in the secret language.

"Am not."

"Are too."

You roll your eyes, flipping your messy hair over your shoulder. "They can dress code me. Fine. I'll go to school in my underwear the next day, then."

Jimin laughs, shaking his head. "They'll send you to juvie."

You snort, throwing your head back in a fit of laughter. "Oh, Jimin, I—" You suddenly gasp, hand flying into your pocket to fish out your favorite green permanent marker. Its name is Gilbert.

"Grammar error?" Jimin asks.

"Yeah," you sigh, shaking your head in disdain. "Over there."

There's a sign in front of a local coffee shop that painstakingly reads: free cakes everyday after four!

"They forgot the space between 'everyday,' " you huff, so disappointed that you forget to speak in the secret language. "Wait right here."

Jimin stops walking, watching you quickly stroll over to the sign and circling the word, 'everyday' with Gilbert and marking in all caps right next to it: NEEDS SPACE.

You make your way over to Jimin again, sighing. "When will people learn?"

"Not everyone is good at grammar, Y/N," Jimin reminds you. "I think you're being a bit of a grammar Nazi."

You scoff. "So what if I am a grammar Nazi? Do you think it's acceptable to parade around town using the wrong 'everyday?' " You throw your hands in the air for dramatic emphasis.

"I mean, everybody makes mistakes," Jimin tries.

You huff, crossing your arms. "Yeah, like your outfit," you grumble. "You forgot to hook a strap of your overalls over your shoulder."

"Hey!" Jimin says. "It's fashion!"

"It's ridiculous," you counter. "It's like you're trying to show off your man chest."

"Well, you're trying to show off your girl chest."

You gasp, gazing down at your black mesh top before realizing Jimin's actually right—this stupid top does expose a lot of you to the public's scrutiny. "Don't look there, idiot!" you say. "Perve."

"What am I supposed to do? Not look at it?"

"Yes!" you say very indignantly. "A true gentleman would not look!"

"But it's right in front of my face!"

"You know what, Jimin? You can walk to school alone!" You start dashing away from Jimin, your heavy boots thumping on the concrete.

"Wait! Y/N!"

Though you might've won the fight at that moment, Jimin becomes the real winner when you come out of your house the next day wearing a turtleneck that covers your whole upper half and modest boot cut jeans with white sneakers.

"What are you today?" Jimin teases in the secret language.

"Shut up," you mutter. "Let's go."

Jimin happily obliges, skipping his way to school as you grumble, following right behind him.

Sometimes Jimin wonders what he would do without you. You were the angelic figure that had swept him off his feet when he needed a good distraction from reality. You had stepped in when his mother had stepped out. And he loves you no matter how weird you are.

"Jimin?" you ask, your head propped against his chest as his arm wraps around you. Both of you are staring up at the blue sky with sunglasses on.

"Hmm?"

"I think I can speak to the weather," you confess in the secret language, grinning wildly as you watch the clouds shift in the blue sky. "It was probably my fourteenth birthday gift from the universe, you know?"

Jimin loves how you never grew up. You were the same Y/N he knew in kindergarten with a big imagination and overflowing creativity—only smarter, taller and more beautiful.

"You can speak to the weather?" Jimin asks.

You nod. "I'm making it sunny right now."

"Really?"

You snuggle into his chest, clinging to his warmth as you laugh. "I control it with my emotions. I'm so happy right now that the sun can't help but shine upon us."

Jimin's heartbeat quickens as you clutch onto his t-shirt, but he tries to play it off. "And why are you so happy right now?"

"It's summertime!" you exclaim, suddenly jumping up and out of Jimin's arms. "We'll be in high school this year!! And you know how much I love hanging out with my best friend."

Jimin smiles, though he wonders if you'll ever love him the same way he loves you.

"You know," you sigh as you trudge down the steps of your apartment building in a large green raincoat and white boots with a glazed donut in your hand. "I'm feeling pretty horrible today. I think it's going to rain."

Jimin nods as he looks up at the sky. Sure enough, the rain clouds are settling in, painting the sky a dark gray. "That's not a good way to start off the first day of high school."

"It really isn't," you sigh.

"Is it your granny?" Jimin whispers in the secret language as both of you begin to walk to your new school.

You flinch. "She's just... she's not feeling too well, you know?"

"I'm sorry," Jimin says. "Do you know what it is?"

"She won't fucking tell me," you groan, handing your donut to Jimin. "I don't want it. Do you?"

It's Jimin's favorite food: a glazed donut, so he takes it and munches on it. Something tells him that you saved it just for him. "Thanks," he says. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No..." You shake your head, your lips that had been set in a stern lip suddenly curving up to reveal a bright smile. "Sorry, I'm totally killing the mood. We should be excited! High school, right?? Oh my god, do you think we're all going to dance in the gym like we're all in it together??"

"That stuff only happens in the movies," Jimin chuckles as he finishes the last of your donut. But upon seeing your disappointed face, he offers: "No, we'll definitely dance around in the gym singing songs from High School Musical."

"That's more like it!" you exclaim.

Crazily enough, by the time the two of you reach the new school, the rain clouds have disappeared from the sky. Jimin looks over at you, who had taken off your raincoat to reveal a rather summery green t-shirt dress. Maybe you really can control the weather with your emotions.

Jimin admires how you don't give two flying fucks about social standards. You're brave enough to be yourself, to stray from society and not conform to stupid high school stereotypes. You're everything that he isn't. And in sophomore year in high school, you're wilder than ever before. Frankly, he thinks you're what everyone wants to be but is too afraid to be.

"Did you study for the AP chem test?" Jimin asks as he fidgets with pages and pages of notes in his hands.

You snort, tugging your favorite green jacket around yourself. "No. Why would I? It's just a test."

"But it's an important test," Jimin insists, eyes glazing over as he half listens to you and half crams last-minutely. "Last test to raise your grade before the final."

"My time's important too," you laugh. "I don't regret those six hours I spent reading yesterday. You know, I woke up so late today that I had to wear my pajamas to school."

Jimin glances down at your sweatpants and looks up at your tousled hair.

"Yeah," you say, "only had time to put on the nearest jacket. But it's kind of hot, isn't it?"

You're right. Ever since you helped nurse your granny back into top-notch health, the weather was perfect—always sunny and just slightly breezy. It matches your mood.

You shrug off your green jacket, folding it away. When Jimin notices your shirt underneath, he gasps out loud.

"Y/N!"

"What?"

"You're wearing those pajamas!" he exclaims in the secret language, frantically. "Do you wanna borrow my t-shirt or something?"

"What? No!" you cock your head. "What's so bad about my t-shirt right now?"

"Y/N, you're literally wearing a shirt with the periodic table on it. We're taking a chem test!"

"Oh, you're so funny, Jimin," you say, shaking your head. "It's just a t-shirt. No one will care."

Fast forward ten minutes later when your AP chem teacher calls you up before you sit down with your test and tells you that you need to put a jacket over your shirt.

"But Mr. Levitt!" you protest. "I don't want to be in a stuffy jacket when I'm taking a test!"

Mr. Levitt sighs, but after an intense one-minute staring contest in which you claim victory, he agrees to turn on the air conditioning. Silently, everyone thanks you (it's a hot day, after all) as you return to your seat with your jacket covering your shirt and your eyes sparkling with their usual mischief. Jimin thinks you might've elaborately planned this whole scheme out. Mr. Levitt is infamous for being a total tightwad on the AC, so maybe you thought you had to do something about it instead of studying for the test.

Naturally, you proceeded to completely bomb the chemistry exam.

"Ugh," Jimin groans the next day as you step out of your home with an apple in your mouth. "The scores are out. I got a 92%," he huffs. "That's barely gonna raise my grade."

You laugh out loud, tossing Jimin another apple that he gratefully catches. "I got a 43%. Deal with it."

"You're serious."

"I'm always serious," you giggle, twirling around in your rather nice-looking outfit. Jimin notices you took extra time to curl your hair and apply a sheer lipgloss on your lips. "Besides, you know, that test had so many grammatical errors that I couldn't possibly focus on the problems!" You scoff, shaking your head disdainfully as your eyes gloss over to remember the horror you saw the day before. "I had to whip out Gilbert and fix all the errors, you know? I didn't even get to look at half the questions on the test. But I'm pretty sure I got everything else right, though," you confidently announce. "Totally worth it. Mr. Levitt needs to learn a thing or two about dangling modifiers."

"But Y/N, you can't fail a class!" Jimin protests. He doesn't have the guts to tell you that you earned your 43% after a 13% curve—that in reality, you'd really gotten a 30%.

"I'm not failing," you giggle, "yet."

"What am I gonna do with you?"

You shrug, biting at your healthy breakfast and chewing slowly. "Anyways, do you like my outfit?" you ask in your secret language, totally changing the subject.

Jimin warily eyes your pretty skirt and button-down top. His face heats up just a little bit, but he forces himself to look away. "Why'd you dress up so much? You're going to fall down wearing those heels."

You roll your eyes so hard Jimin can see the whites of your eyes. "Google Earth always takes pictures, my friend," you sing. "If people see me walking down this street on that app, I want to look fabulous."

Jimin's learned a long time ago from experience to not believe everything you say. (One time when the two of you were six years old, you told Jimin if he waited in his garage at night without falling asleep, he'd see his father's old, battered Hyundai turn into a chivalrous robot—this was after you had watched Transformers with him at home—and Jimin had stupidly believed you. What followed was him staying up for three nights in a row, waiting for the car to morph in Optimus Prime. He was almost going to stay up for a fourth night until you had to put an end to his madness by telling him you were joking.) And there were many, many more times your large imagination had convinced Jimin something that wasn't real, was. But now, he knows when to take your words with a grain of salt.

Even so, the next day, he dresses up extra nicely. Just in case Google Earth is taking photos.

You pass sophomore year with mediocre grades, but by now, Jimin knows you don't really care much about your transcript.

Junior year is rumored to be the hardest of all in high school, a rumor that turns out to be quite true. Well, except for you.

Jimin's reading for his huge physics exam on his bed while you're propped up against the headboard, legs tangled absentmindedly with his. The two of you had been in that position for hours. Normally, you can't sit in one spot for more than forty-five minutes, but you must be concentrating on something because you'd been way too still and quiet for way too long.

"Hey, Y/N?" Jimin calls in the secret language. "You good?"

"Hmm," you hum. "Mhm."

When Jimin looks up, he sees you sewing. You must've gotten that sewing kit splayed before you from your granny. It's really endearing how much you love her and how much you're willing to do for her. She's the only family you've got left around here, and she's the one that has taken care of you since you were very young. Your granny is a lot like you, too. Jimin's heard from you that she likes watching extreme sports and hopes to become a three-time gold Olympic medalist snowboarder by the time she's dead (though she hasn't won a single snowboarding contest in her life). She loves fashion and enjoys taking you out to shop. She likes to preach that grades do not define intelligence. (It seems as though you've had that soaked in your brain for a very long time.) Her husband, Gilbert, was a grammar freak like her, but he passed away before you were born. You named your permanent green marker after him.

You don't like to talk about it, but your granny hasn't been in great health in the past few years. Jimin knows how much it's putting a strain on you, yet you insist that everything's completely fine before suggesting to embark on another wild journey.

"Are you sewing something on your favorite shorts?" Jimin asks, setting down his physics book.

You nod, tongue poking out of your lips as you concentrate. "It's a QR code."

"Oh, really?" Jimin becomes interested as he scoots closer to you so that your arms are touching.

"Yeah, so when I wear these scandalously short shorts and guys are checking out my ass, they'll see this QR code instead and dare to scan it, you know?" you smile proudly at yourself, setting down your sewing project as you lean again Jimin's shoulder. "Wanna know what comes up when you scan it?" you ask in the secret language.

"Yeah."

"Information about colorectal cancer."

"What?"

"Colorectal cancer. Colon cancer, Jimin." He notices the way your lips tremble slightly as the words spill out of your mouth. You're struggling to keep a straight face.

"Oh, Y/N... Your granny—"

"Yes," you cry out, tears starting to well up in your eyes. "Stage four, Jimin. Fucking stage four. She has about a year left."

"Y/N..."

You move in to hug Jimin, crying into his shirt as he wraps his arms around your waist, letting you cry in silence.

You don't like to cry. Jimin's only seen you cry one other time in his twelve years of friendship with you—when your granny had her first cancer scare a couple years back. To see you breaking down in front of him like this hurts him more than words can describe. You're usually so resilient; you wear a fierce smile on your face even when times are tough. But you'd have to take off your happy mask at some point.

He lets you sob into his chest, warm hands tracing circles on your back in hopes of soothing you. He never knows the right thing to say, unlike you, so he stays quiet.

It takes a few minutes but your sobs dwindle to soft sniffles, then to complete silence. Jimin holds you in his arms without complaint, savoring your warmth, hoping that just embracing you can help.

You pull away, wiping off the residue of your tears on your face with the back of your sleeve. "I'm so sorry, Jimin," you whisper, your hands tracing the wet patches of your tears on Jimin's shirt. "I think... I need to go home."

He doesn't stop you when you pack up your sewing kit and leave without another word. And he hates himself for being so cowardly.

But the next day, you come out of your house with a bright smile on your face. You're wearing the shorts with the QR code sewn on the back, proudly flaunting them to Jimin. He does everything so his eyes don't linger around your ass; in the end, he just looks away entirely.

You laugh when you see him blush, linking your arms together as you march to school. The sun's shining brightly today, but the streets are wet with the hard rain that had poured last night.

All too soon, senior year rolls by with summer just around the corner. You and Jimin make use of your lax time, no longer needing to worry about grades or academic productivity.

"You know, everyone has one deep fear," you confess, snuggling up against Jimin on the sofa in your room. "You know what mine is, right?"

Jimin nods. "Losing your granny."

"Good. Well, I think I know what yours is."

"Really?" Jimin asks, letting you rest your head on his chest as he plays with your hair.

"You're afraid of being left alone," you whisper. "You're especially afraid someone you love will leave you."

"Hmm..." Jimin hums. "Like my mother?"

"Yeah. But me too."

"You?" Jimin asks, bewildered, suddenly sitting up and moving away from you to stare into your eyes. "You're leaving?"

"Hey, relax," you giggle, shaking your head. "I'm not leaving forever. I'm just... I didn't tell you but... Granny passed away a few days ago. You know when it was raining really hard that night? Yeah, well that was because I was crying nonstop. She'd always wanted to be buried in Hawaii because that's where she met Gilbert. I'll be in Hawaii for a week—"

"Why don't you tell me anything until the last minute?" Jimin sighs. "You could've told me your granny passed away the day it happened. Why are you telling me now?" He struggles to keep his voice from trembling too hard. I didn't even get to say goodbye to her...

You shake your head, biting your lip to keep a straight face. "Because I knew I'd break down if I told you the day it happened."

"Y/N, it's okay to cry..."

"No, Jimin. It's not. I'm supposed to comfort you. I'm supposed to be the strong one that doesn't bat an eyelash when trauma comes her way. I'm supposed to be resilient, Jimin," you sigh. "I refuse to cry."

Jimin doesn't know what to say.

"I know," you say, leaning forward to grasp Jimin's warm hands. "I'm so sorry. I told you we'd go to the senior prom together. I'm so, so sorry, Jimin." You're smiling to reassure him, but your façade isn't fooling anyone—thunder clouds boom outside of your house, then the rain begins to fall. "I'm sorry, Jimin," you say again. "I want to make it up to you somehow."

Jimin had completely forgotten about going to prom until you had brought it up. You'd made those plans during freshman year, and both of you had been excited about it for all of high school. Now, it looks like those plans will be ruined. But Jimin knows how much you love your granny. She means way more than a silly prom night to you. He'll have to figure something out for himself. "You don't have to make anything up to me, Y/N," Jimin says. "I'm not going to prom, then, I guess."

"But you've been waiting for it since we were in ninth grade," you protest, shaking your head. "You were going to wear a green suit to match my green dress, remember?" you say in your secret language, a small smile playing on your lips. "I can get someone to go with you."

"It's fine, Y/N," Jimin says, shaking his head. "My dad wants me to start thinking about my future, anyway. I don't think he'll appreciate me going out without knowing what I want to study in college."

You nod. "Oh, okay, then."

"You're not going to college, are you?" Jimin whispers.

"I can't, Jimin," you shrug, a fake smile plastered on your lips. "I got a job at a restaurant as a waitress. I think I'll manage financially. You know, I think you should go into engineering or some pristine shit. You're too good at math and science."

"I'll keep that in mind," Jimin says as you cuddle into his chest again. He's known you for thirteen years now and he's never seen you this let down in his life. You're struggling to hide the gargantuan amount of pain you're feeling, but the weather is reflecting your emotions too well. Jimin never knows how to comfort you—partly because you're rarely upset, but also because he's scared you might leave him if he says the wrong words.

You're right.

Jimin's terrified of losing someone he loves. He's scared that you'll leave him one day.

Your senior year in high school is the last time Jimin sees you sad. It takes you a few months to adjust to a life without your granny, but after that, you jumped right back up and out of your misery. The years rolled on through delightful days and unforgettable nights. Both of you are 24 now and it seems like nothing has changed.

Jimin waits for you to come out of your house in your work uniform, and you do just a few minutes after he arrives.

"Hey!" you beam at him. "Hope you didn't sleep too late studying or whatnot."

Jimin laughs as the two of you begin to walk to your workplace. "I actually pulled an all-nighter studying for the mid-term," he shrugs, pointing at the dark circles underneath his eyes.

"Aww, Jimin," you coo. "I'm kind of glad I never went to college. Much less try for a master's degree. After your classes, wanna meet me during my night shift?"

"Sure," Jimin agrees. His eyes glance at your petite figure, admiring the bright look on your face and your sparkling eyes before realizing what you were wearing. "Oh, Y/N!"

"What?" you giggle. "Do you like it?"

"The manager isn't going to be happy about that, Y/N," Jimin sighs.

Your work uniform was black and red—a modest black dress with a cinched-in waist and short sleeves and a red waist apron. It was a uniform that Jimin thought made you look gorgeous, but he knew how much you hated it. You'd complained several times that the outfit was too dark and gloomy and that it made you look like a sexy vampire. And you do not like sexy vampires. (Jimin thinks that's because you always rooted for Jacob the "sexy werewolf" in the hit book series, The Twilight Saga.) But what could you do about it? The black and red uniform matched the colors of the logo of the restaurant you worked in: The Black Dress.

Yet it seems like you do not give a fuck.

You're now wearing a bright green skirt with a green fanny pack around your hips, and the white pirate blouse you bought on a shopping spree sale last Halloween. Your red waist apron is tied around your neck so it flows behind you like a cape. And to top it all off, there are green clips in your hair.

"I think I look outstanding!" you chirp, twirling around. "I'm still wearing my apron so I think I'll be fine."

"Y/N... You work at The Black Dress... You can't not be wearing a black dress!" Jimin cries. "You're going to get fired!"

"Nah, I'm not," you snort. "I think the new manager has a soft spot for me. He'll really like my rather innovative work uniform!"

"What if I come over during your night shift to find out that you're no longer working there?" Jimin protests. "How are you so sure he'll be fine with you not following the dress code?"

"Oh, Jimin," you giggle, shaking your head. "Live a little! Break a few fucking rules, will you? The manager and I are good friends. I'll be fine. We're still on for tonight, right?"

"Yeah," Jimin scoffs, "if you still have your job by then."

"I will!" you protest. "Do you wanna bet?"

"What? No!"

Jimin knows when you threaten to make a bet, you're always 100% sure you're going to win. He had lost a lot of money before he’d figured that out.

"See? I'll be fine, Jimin," you say, stopping your walking when you come in front of the restaurant. "Good luck on that mid-term, all right?" You give him one of your best grins, hitting his back encouragingly as you begin to walk backward towards the entrance of the restaurant. "You're going to ace it!" you yell in the secret language.

Jimin smiles brightly. He knows that your words of encouragement will do wonders to his score like always. "Thanks!" he calls. "Bye!"

You wave your arms frantically, nearly tripping on a rock as you do so (walking backwards is not your thing). With final grins exchanged, you head into the restaurant. Jimin watches as you leave, unable to hide the fierce blush of his cheeks. It's been almost two decades and he's failed to tell you that he loves you.

Meanwhile, you sashay into the restaurant, twirling around in your modified work uniform. "Hello, everyone!" you announce in your best singing voice.

"Good morning, Y/N," your manager offers, smiling at you as he walks up to greet you.

He's a handsome man, you must admit. In his early thirties, intelligent, good with his words and rather caring.

"It's just me for now," he chuckles. "I guess the others will come later."

"Wow, I can't believe I'm the first one here, Namjoon," you laugh. "I'm literally always the last. Isn't this the first?"

Your manager laughs as well. "This is a special day then, isn't it?"

"Every day is a special day. Is it not?"

"That's very true," Namjoon agrees. "Is that why you decided to ditch your work uniform, Y/N?" he teases. "I must say the modified version looks quite nice. Someone has a penchant for the color green doesn't she?"

"You caught me!" you exclaim, raising your hands up in mock guilt. "My best friend thought I'd get fired or something. He's such a plain Jane," you giggle. "But I love him though. He's coming over later during my night shift. Is that okay?"

"Of course that's okay," Namjoon smiles. "I thought he was your boyfriend. Doesn't he walk you here every day?"

You laugh so hard you snort. "Boyfriend? Boyfriend?! God, no! We've been friends for nearly two decades, Namjoon! I think one time we even showered together. We're literally best friends."

"Good," Namjoon grins. "Because I've been wanting to ask you out for a while."

Your eyes widen. "Wait, really?"

"Yeah. When are you free?" he asks.

"Hmm..." you think. "Well, I'm supposed to have a movie night with Jimin on Friday. On Saturday, Jimin and I are supposed to watch the water fountain show we bought tickets for like seven months ago... On Sunday I'm supposed to sleep over at his place so we can wake up on Monday at the same place, you know, so it'll be easier for Jimin to walk me here... I think I'm okay Sunday. As long as I get to Jimin's home by 8!"

Namjoon laughs at your long explanation, looking at you fondly. "I'll take you out on a cafe date. Then we can watch a movie and have an early dinner. How does that sound?"

"I like it!" you giggle. "I haven't been on a date in... damn, I've never been on a date."

"Really?" Namjoon asks, slightly bewildered. "No one's taken you out on a date? You?"

"Yeah!" you blush. "Why? Am I date-worthy?"

"You're very date-worthy, Y/N," Namjoon laughs. "Maybe everyone thought you were already taken. You know, you spend a lot of time with your best friend."

You snort. "Jimin and I hang out all the time but I never once thought of anything as a date. He probably thinks of me like I'm his sister!"

"Good, good," Namjoon grins. "So he won't be mad that I'll have to steal you away for a day."

You giggle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Jimin never gets mad. The last time he got slightly irritated with me was in senior year of high school."

"Great!" Namjoon says. "I'll see you at the cafe next door at 2?"

"Sure!" you exclaim.

"Everything's planned, then," Namjoon smiles. "Well, we have fifteen minutes left until the restaurant opens. Why don't you get dressed in your actual uniform? We have extras in the back, okay? Maybe I'll see you around today! I'm going to go check up on our chefs."

"Okay!" you nod. "Bye!" When he's out of view, you have to duck your head to hide your blushing red cheeks. When was the last time a man was interested in you? Never. You're not going to mess up on a perfect chance to date Kim Namjoon who's tall, handsome, intelligent and diligent. You don't think you can wait to meet Jimin during your night shift to tell him such good news. You might just accidentally text him right now! But you can't. Jimin's taking a test and you would be evil to distract him like that.

You've awaited your fairytale romance for 24 fucking years. Maybe you've finally found the Gilbert to your granny. Something about Kim Namjoon feels right.

You squeal giddily as you flee to the back counter of the restaurant, finding the extra black dress there as Namjoon said. You skip to the bathroom to get changed, folding up your modified uniform and stashing it somewhere in the back counter. Your radiance is obvious during your day shift—you get three times the amount of tips than usual. Namjoon even notices and compliments you on your diligence!

Usually, when your day shift is over by 4 p.m., you like to sit in the corner of the restaurant with a fresh magazine in hand and use Gilbert to correct all the embarrassing grammatical errors until it's time for your night shift. But today, Namjoon sits down across from you (because his work for today was over) and he asks what you're doing.

You spend the next two hours until your night shift explaining to Namjoon the intricacies of correct grammar. He seems to enjoy every minute of it. When you have to go back to work, Namjoon promises to see you tomorrow, which was Friday and wishes you the best on your night shift. You let out a dreamy sigh when he leaves.

How did you not notice such a great man like Namjoon was right in front of your face? Granted, it's only been a few weeks since he started working here, but still.

You're usually just a little bit tired (crazy, right? for such an energetic person like you) by the time you start your second shift, but you feel more energized than ever. By the time Jimin comes into the restaurant, you're serving the last customers and cleaning up the tables and pushing in the chairs.

"Hey!" you cry, rushing in to hug your friend. "How was the mid-term?"

"It was great!" Jimin beams. "You've been in a really good mood today, haven't you? The sun was out the whole day. Huh, and you're not fired, I see. Someone made you put on the uniform?"

"Yeah, Namjoon," you say dreamily. When Jimin makes a blank face, you clarify, "my manager."

"Oh? He wasn't mad?"

"No! He wasn't!" you giggle. "He asked me out on a date, Jimin! And then he told me to change into my uniform, but that's beside the point! We're supposed to meet on Sunday at the cafe next door at 2! This is my first date! You have to help me with what to wear!"

Jimin plasters on a giant grin for you, though his insides crumble. "That's great, Y/N! Maybe I can come over later and help you choose what to wear. Are you thinking of making it official? It sounds like you really like him..."

"I don't know yet," you hum. "But I know he's a great guy! You know how well I read people, right? He really likes Gilbert too! God, I think he's already gonna be my prince!"

Jimin nods. "Wow," he mumbles. "Do you know him very well?"

"Well, I know that his name is Kim Namjoon. And he's the day-time manager for The Black Dress," you say, furrowing your eyebrows as you try to think. "He has blonde hair... uh, he's tall and he likes to wear all black!"

"You don't know him very well, do you?" Jimin accuses, crossing his arms over his chest. "Y/N, how do you like him so much if you barely know him? Is it because he expressed interest in you? You can't just go liking people back just because they like you... You need to make judgments for yourself."

You pout, shaking your head. "It's not like that," you say. "And I made my judgment already! I like Kim Namjoon, Jimin. Besides, I will get to know him. Now, I'm gonna go close up the restaurant so sit tight, all right?"

Jimin nods, grumbling under his breath about how quickly you were moving on to like someone you barely gave a second look at. He does admit that he's a bit jealous... Who was this Kim Namjoon who just decided to waltz into your life and steal you away from him? Who was he to ask you out just based on physical attraction? Jimin can't believe you were falling for a guy you basically just met. But he does admit that you've always wanted some sort of fairytale romance. Is it too late for him to confess now?

"Why are you thinking so hard?" you giggle, making Jimin jump away from you from the suddenness. "I closed up the restaurant. Shall we go home?" You hold out your hand for Jimin to take, which he does after just a bit of hesitance.

"I was not thinking very hard," Jimin says.

"Oh, really?" you snort, swinging your intertwined hands back and forth. "You were thinking so hard, a vein popped out in your forehead! A penny for your thoughts?"

When you hold out an actual penny for him to take, Jimin laughs, shaking his head. You huff, putting the penny back in your pocket. "It was nothing, Y/N."

"Wow, I didn't know nothing made you think so hard you looked angry," you tease. "You can tell me anything, you know."

"Yeah, of course," Jimin sighs, squeezing your hand and struggling to hide his actual feelings.

Damn. If he could control the weather with his emotions, it would be raining right now.

Jimin knew you would never be one to put your dates over your friends. That fact was confirmed for him when even though you got Namjoon's phone number, you never texted him when you were hanging out with Jimin—which was practically all the time.

Your Friday movie night was a blast, as usual. The two of you cuddled up on the couch and completely lost it over a hysterical comedy. And the Saturday hangout was even better with the majestic water fountain show. When the two of you separated that night, you ended up FaceTiming in each of your houses. Like Jimin had promised, he helped you pick out a cute but modest outfit for tomorrow—something that enhanced your best features (which Jimin thought is everything) and something that would make it very obvious that green is your color. You went to bed smiling because you were excited about your date with Namjoon tomorrow. Jimin went to bed smiling because you were the last person he saw before going to bed.

On Sunday morning, Jimin woke up, texted you to have fun on your date and began to study for his advanced thermodynamics class, which was a whole fucking pain in the ass. He skipped lunch, got a snack around early evening and waited for you to come over while he watched some kitten Youtube videos.

You were supposed to be back from your date by 8 p.m. It is promptly 8:07 and Jimin begins to get a bit nervous. Should he text? Call? 8:07 is such an ambiguous time. If he calls now, he'll sound clingy, like he's trying to interrupt your date with Namjoon. Well, Jimin wouldn't mind doing that, but he doesn't want to hurt your feelings and burst your idealistic bubble. Perhaps he should wait.

You're always late to everything, anyways. If Jimin wasn't in your life, you would've been late to every single day of school from kindergarten to high school. Hell, if he hadn't banged on your door for you to come out on graduation day, you might've never graduated high school. Maybe Gilbert fell out of your flimsy dress pocket and you're looking for it? (It's happened before so it could surely happen again.)

Alas, the door of Jimin's small apartment swings open and you practically skip through, giggling and twirling around. "Sorry I'm late!" you say, rushing over to where Jimin was slouched on the couch and cuddling up next to him.

You smell faintly masculine. Jimin struggles not to make an unflattering face—that was no doubt Namjoon's cologne. He wonders what base Namjoon took you to tonight. Did you kiss him? Did you make out with him? Have... sex?

He shudders thinking about it.

No. That couldn't have happened. They were in public places the whole time. Unless...

He glances over at you who's stripping off your jewelry, socks and jacket. You're too busy tying up your hair into a messy bun to notice Jimin staring at your lips. Had Namjoon kissed you goodbye?

Jimin shames himself for having these thoughts. He should be happy for you. Besides, you weren't even that late. It's only 8:10.

"You wouldn't believe why I was like, ten minutes late," you giggle, stretching out your legs and sitting in an unflattering position that hikes your dress up to your mid-thigh. Jimin struggles not to look down.

"Really?" he asks. "What happened?"

You snort. "Okay, so—wait do you have my makeup remover wipes here? And can I borrow some sweats? I totally forgot to bring a change of clothes. Sorry!" you say.

Jimin nods. "Yeah, the wipes are in my bedroom where you last left them and um, you can find some of my t-shirts in the first drawer of the cabinet next to my bed."

"Okay, thanks, Jimin!" you giggle, quickly bouncing up from your spot. When you see that Jimin's still glued to his seat, you laugh. "I can't tell you the story when you're that far away from me! Get up! I'll tell you the story while I change."

Jimin flushes at the thought. "Y-Yeah, okay," he stutters. You tug him into his own bedroom, snatching the makeup wipes from the nightstand and beginning to wipe off your light makeup. Jimin sits down on his bed, cross-legged, attentively waiting for you to start your story.

"Okay, anyways, Joon—"

"Joon?"

"Yeah, it's like my little nickname for Namjoon, isn't it adorable? Where was I? Right!" you mutter to yourself as you furiously scrub off the remnants of your mascara. "We were coming out of the movie theater, right? I found out Gilbert wasn't in my pocket! And I was just about to turn around to tell Joon my misfortune but he was already facing me and yelling, 'I FORGOT MY PHONE!' "

You take a moment to skillfully aim the wipe into Jimin's trash bin, squealing when it goes in completely clean. Jimin claps politely for you.

"Thank you," you bow dramatically. "Oh yeah, where was I?" You begin to make your way towards Jimin's bedroom cabinet, pulling out the first drawer and inspecting your choices of nightwear and sticking your hand in the neatly folded clothes to rummage through and pick your poison. "So, naturally, Joon and I went back into the theater and—ooh, Jimin you have a few condoms in here! Are you getting it on these days?"

"Y/N!" Jimin shrieks, scrambling over and snatching the condom you were teasingly holding out before chucking it into his closet and slamming the door shut. "T-That's private."

"Oh, really?" you ask, wiggling your eyebrows. "Who's the lucky girl?"

"Come on, Y/N. I'm a virgin, you know that."

You raise your eyebrows. "It looks like you're tired of being one though," you tease.

Jimin can't look you in the eyes. His face burns with humiliation. He can't possibly explain why he had bought those condoms. Back when he was an undergraduate, he had been desperate to get over his feelings for you—so desperate, in fact, that he had purchased his first batch of contraceptives to have sex with other women and completely forget about you. But he never had the guts to try. How could he? When he was so hopefully in love with you that he couldn't imagine himself being sexually active with someone else. Er, not that he sees himself being sexually active with you. But—

I need to stop thinking about this.

"Aw, Jiminie," you coo. "It's okay to be a virgin," you say in your secret language as you sit down on the bed with one of Jimin's favorite black t-shirts in hand. Jimin believes you must've thought he was pissed off at you for teasing him about being inexperienced. "I'm a virgin too, right?" you say. "I'm waiting for my prince!"

Jimin breathes a sigh of relief. So you hadn't had sex with Namjoon tonight. For some reason, he feels much better after hearing that. "You know what, Y/N?" he smiles. "I'm waiting for my princess."

You smile so bright it lights up the room. "Good," you say. "Let's get married on the same day, then. A double wedding in a castle far, far away!" you place a dramatic hand over your forehead. "Now! Where was I for the hundredth time? Oh, yeah! Joon and I went back to the theater," you say, starting to unzip your dress.

Jimin's eyes turn wide and he quickly turns his back towards you, making you laugh.

"I'm not putting on a strip show," you giggle. "You don't have to be so embarrassed about it!"

"I-I, uh, I'll just give you some privacy. Tell me when you're done," Jimin manages to choke out.

"So gentlemanly. How do you not have a girlfriend yet?" you chuckle to yourself, sliding the sleeves of the dress of your shoulders and dragging the fabric off of your body. "Okay, okay, okay. I need to focus. Anyways, Joon and I went back into the movie theater and the first thing we did was to go back into the room where we watched the movie—great film, by the way—and we literally scrounged around everywhere for my poor Gilbert and Joon's phone! But to no avail! It was as if both of them disappeared!"

You toss your dress on the floor, unclip your bra and tug Jimin's shirt on in smooth motions.

"Jimin, you can look now," you say.

He turns around, ears slightly pink and eyes averted. Quickly, Jimin sits down on his bed, across from you. "You can continue your story," he offers.

You grin. "So, Joon was panicking at this point because he lost his phone. And I was about to burst into tears because I lost Gilbert, you know?"

Jimin nods in response.

"Yeah, so I figured I'd have to be late coming to your apartment because I can't just leave without Gilbert! When I reached into my purse to get my phone to tell you of my misfortune, guess what happened. Guess! Guess!"

Jimin pouts. "Can't you just tell me?"

You roll your eyes. "I was building the story up just so you could literally guess what happened with no problem," you huff. "Fine, then. I reached into my purse to get my phone and I pulled out Namjoon's instead! Turns out, before the movie, Joon was holding all the snacks and he dropped his phone. So, you know, I picked it up and couldn't give it back to him so I just put it in my purse!"

Jimin smiles. "And you forgot you put it in your purse?"

"Well, yeah!" you giggle. "I was so worried about Gilbert!"

"Did you find him?" Jimin asks.

You snort. "Is that even a question, Jimin? I wouldn't be this happy right now if I hadn't. You'd never guess where Gilbert was, Jimin."

"So there's no point in me trying, right?" he responds, teasingly. But when he sees your death glare, he sighs. "Fine. Was Gilbert in Namjoon's purse?"

"HA!" you exclaim. "Good one! But no, it was in my right pocket."

"Oh, Y/N," Jimin says, leaning back on his bed. "You only checked your left pocket before you declared Gilbert missing, huh?"

"Yessir!" you laugh. "Joon and I got a good laugh out of it. He told me I'm really silly! And, get this, he said I'm a natural!"

"Really?" Jimin says. "A natural at what?"

"Dating!" you squeal. "He told me I'm naturally cuddly and adorable and kissable and—god, my heart exploded in my chest!!!"

Kissable???

"But I told him I don't kiss on first dates—not that I've never been on another one... You know? Like you need to give them something to long for!" you laugh, spreading out on Jimin's bed while looking up at his ceiling. "I read that from a romance novel somewhere. And it worked! He asked me out on our second date during our first date! Am I amazing or what?"

"Oh, Y/N," Jimin sighs.

"Oh, Jimin," you mock right back. "Anyways, shall we go to bed early? My princess beauty sleep is waiting!" you sing, making your way to Jimin's bathroom. "I'm gonna wash up, okay?"

"All right," Jimin answers, getting up to turn off the lights of his room. He crawls back into his bed, waiting for you to join him. A few minutes later, you do, tucking yourself in on the left side of the bed and snuggling Jimin's blankets as you sigh out.

No matter how many times he's slept beside you, Jimin feels like his heart will beat out of his chest every time. It feels wrong, to sleep in the same bed as adults when you're in nothing but a platonic relationship with him. Yet something about it feels so right... And you've been doing it since you were kids and upholding tradition is pretty important to both of you.

Jimin double-checks to make sure he isn't pulling the blanket covers too hard. He doesn't want you left with anything to stay warm through the night.

"Goodnight, Jimin," you whisper.

"Goodnight, Y/N," he whispers back.

And he drifts off to sleep. Only in his dreams can his longing to be with you come true.

Jimin is always your priority. You have a lot of friends, but when it comes to who you're willing to spend the most time with, it's Jimin. And it's always been like that—since that one fateful day in kindergarten to now. Er, kind of.

These days, your priorities may have shifted just a tiny bit.

It's been like that ever since Namjoon took you out on that stupid fifth date, which was the date that marked the official start of your romantic relationship with him. Jimin had sulked in his bed that whole day when you'd first texted him the news. But later, he forced himself to get up and have a cup of coffee with you in the cafe next to your workplace. He feigned a smile for you and told you that Namjoon was one lucky man.

And he was.

Now that Namjoon is officially your boyfriend, Jimin had to share you with him. It's unfair. Jimin's known you for nearly two decades, but Kim Namjoon decided to waltz into your life one day and win you over in less than a month. What did Namjoon have that Jimin didn't??

But no matter how bitter your relationship with Namjoon made Jimin feel, he hid it away from you. Besides, you are practically glowing these days. Whatever Namjoon tells you makes you absolutely radiant. And Namjoon must be a good man because you come over to Jimin's apartment after every date happy and bubbly like it was your first. So he's definitely treating you right.

You don't get to spend as much time with Jimin anymore, too. Sometimes, Jimin asks if you're available for lunch or dinner but half the time you've already made reservations with your boyfriend. Yet you always make sure you see Jimin at least five days a week (two days less than what was before, but it's a small price Jimin's willing to pay for your heightened happiness).

Since your birthday is coming up, Jimin's been putting the finishing touches on your present—the one he's been preparing since the day after your last birthday. This year, you've already made him a short little flipbook (that you drew yourself) about the first time the two of you had first met for Jimin's birthday. The gift was rather nostalgic and it had almost made him cry. Jimin hopes the present he makes for you this year will make you cry. In a good way, of course.

You and Jimin share every single one of your birthdays. It's been an ongoing tradition since Jimin turned six before you did. This year is no different. You had to tell a very bummed Namjoon that you already made dinner reservations with your best friend so he'd had to give you your present when you ate lunch with him earlier that day.

Jimin doesn't really think Namjoon likes him that much. He always eyes Jimin with some sort of suspect as if Jimin was going to steal you away from him. Hmph. The feeling is reciprocal.

When you came to your favorite restaurant wearing your favorite green dress, Jimin had already ordered the food and was patiently waiting with his hand-made present.

"Hey!" you cry as you slide into the seat.

"Happy birthday, Y/N!" Jimin smiles. "You look great!"

"Right?" you giggle, tossing your perfectly curled hair over your shoulder. "I felt like for my 25th birthday, I'd have to wear something cute. I'm halfway to the fucking 50 years old, Jimin. I'm aging too quickly," you huff, crossing your arms over your shoulder. "Did you order already?"

"O-Oh, yeah," Jimin says. "Why? Did you want something different?"

"No, I just wanted to check if the menus had any grammatical errors," you laugh, shrugging. "Oh well, when we get dessert menus, I'll check out RM."

"RM?"

"Oh! It's part of the gift Joon gave me," you exclaim, pulling out a—

"Red marker?" Jimin scrunches his eyebrows. "For your birthday?"

You nod, placing the marker on your desk and rolling it towards Jimin so he can pick it up and examine it. Jimin does, scrutinizing the marker that was most definitely not as great as Gilbert.

"Well, Joon always saw that I was correcting grammatical errors with Gilbert and he thought that something red would be more emphatic, you know?" you explain, taking out Gilbert from your left pocket. "Of course I love Gilbert more, but I thought I'd give RM a try. Besides, Joon said red serves as the better color for correcting. He said the color itself brings alert to the problem and that green is too passive. I guess I can see that."

Jimin frowns. "But you like green because it's 'passive,' " Jimin sighs as he makes air quotes with his hands. "And it doesn't make the corrections seem as rude and aggressive."

"I know, Jimin," you smile. "I'll try RM out once and keep it on a shelf somewhere. Gilbert's not going anywhere. You know that. Besides, Joon was really insistent that I tried it out, you know? He was so thoughtful too! I think it's a great gift! And I think it's endearing that he named it RM for me. Did you know RM used to be his nickname when he was back in college and in an acapella group? The man can sing! What can he not do?" you gush.

"He named the marker after himself?" Jimin snorts. Typical.

"Well, yeah, I guess he did!" you laugh. "It's like I'm always carrying around a mini him!"

Bleh.

"Yeah," Jimin agrees without much heart. "Oh, wanna see what I got you for your birthday?" he asks, hoping to steer the conversation away from your boyfriend.

"OH MY GOD, YES!" you exclaim. "I've been waiting for this moment since my last birthday."

"Good," Jimin grins as he whips out a box with pretty, green wrapping. "Here."

You take it from him, shaking the box wildly and with wide, happy eyes. "It's kinda heavy!" you comment, beginning to rip the wrapping off. You skillfully force the box open with the butt of your fork. When you finally see your present, you gasp. "Oh, Jimin, you fucking didn't."

"I fucking did," Jimin smiles proudly. "Open it."

You carefully take a photo book out of the box, your eyes glued on the beautiful front cover. "God. I'm tearing up just looking at the front," you laugh. "Where'd you even get these photos?"

He shrugs, smiling. "Here and there, you know?"

Jimin had made sure the cover of the photo book would be littered with childhood photos he and you had taken when you were younger. The rest of the book is filled with little memories the two of you shared growing up with captions and comments underneath. There are a total of 392 photos in the book. And Jimin had spent seven months accumulating them—mostly from his father's old camera and Jimin's old Nokia phone he dug out from his garage. You'd always wanted a photo book, so Jimin thought it was time to gift you with one.

You're excitedly flipping through the pages, spending more time to stare at the more sentimental photos. Even when the food arrives, you can't put the book away. You're so distracted with Jimin's present that you don't even try to correct the grammar errors on the dessert menus. So Jimin grabs Gilbert and makes corrections himself. He puts the correct accents on crème brûlée and corrects a rather obvious spelling error. Then, he proceeds to order two strawberry cheesecakes. Surprisingly, even when the dessert arrives, you don't put the book down.

It's rare when something entrances you so much that you don't speak for long periods of time. You haven't spoken a single word to Jimin ever since you'd started flipping through the photo book, and Jimin finds that he doesn't mind at all. He loves watching how your face relaxes and contorts again as the memories of your childhood flood through you. The last photo in the book is the one your granny took of you and Jimin fighting over the last glazed donut when the two of you were in first grade. Spoiler alert: you'd won. But you had also felt bad after watching Jimin sulk so you'd broken the donut in half and handed a piece to your best friend.

When you finally catch sight of the last photo, you gasp, putting a hand over your lips.

"Granny," you whisper. "She took this photo. I remember..."

You're practically clouded with nostalgia and Jimin swears he sees tears welling up in your eyes. But you won't cry over something as simple as this. It's the fact that you loved his gift so much that you almost cried that counts.

"Gosh... Jimin," you breathe, fanning your eyes. "I'm not crying, by the way. Something's in my eye, I don't know," you mumble.

Jimin grins.

"I don't even know what to say, Jimin. I love it. I'll cherish it forever. Thank you. God, it's perfect," you say. "Wow. You're leaving me speechless, Jimin. And it's very hard to shut me up. You're something special."

Jimin practically beams. All the time and effort he'd spent on your birthday gift had really paid off. He loves seeing you so happy that you can't even describe what you're feeling in words.

You carefully shut the photo book, setting it off to the side before staring right into Jimin's eyes. "I would totally fucking say I love you right now but I don't think Joon would appreciate it."

"What?" Jimin breathes as his heart flutters in his chest. "But he's not here right now."

"He doesn't like it when I do 'romantic' things with you," you sigh as you lean back. "We had a long discussion about it a few days ago."

"Romantic things?" Jimin makes a face. "What the hell is he talking about?"

"Oh, it's not a big deal!" you exclaim, waving your hands. "He just thinks, well, he thinks that some of the stuff that I do with you... um, is not really, uh, platonic."

Ah. Jimin sees where you're going with this. And now it's obvious why Joon always looks at him so suspiciously—Namjoon feels threatened by Jimin.

"How so?" Jimin asks but he already knows the answer.

"Like um, he doesn't like it when I sleep over at your place, you know?" you say, fidgeting in your seat. "And he really put his foot down when I told him we sometimes share a bed. He said I shouldn't really do that with you anymore."

Jimin understands where Namjoon is coming from. But at the same time, he feels as if Namjoon had violated his rights. His rights to be with you.

"I can't hold hands with you either," you say, looking down at your uneaten strawberry cheesecake. "I'm so sorry, Jimin. I know we've been doing it for so long and I swear, I didn't know it was strictly a relationship thing. But apparently it is, and it made Joon uncomfortable that we were holding hands when I'm really dating him and just—" you stop yourself from rambling, sighing as you take a sip of your ice water. "And I really love him, Jimin," you whisper. "I don't want to lose him."

"You love him already?" Jimin says with a slight tremor in his voice that you completely look over. "It's only been a month, Y/N."

"Love has nothing to do with time," you smile wistfully. "He's my prince, Jimin. If I let him go, he'll find someone else."

Jimin's silent, unable to think of anything to say that wouldn't hurt your feelings.

You take his silence as a bad sign. "Jimin, I didn't want to break all of this to you on a celebration night but I felt like you deserved to know earlier," you say in your secret language. "I'm sorry. It was all part of our tradition too."

"It's fine," Jimin sighs. But it's really not. Yet Jimin hides his pain by shoving a forkful of cake into his mouth. He chews slowly, swallows. "What Joon's suggesting is pretty justified. Don't worry about it."

The rest of your birthday dinner is somewhat awkward. Of course, you try to save the mood by cracking a few jokes here and there, but Jimin finds it hard to laugh. It's the worst birthday he's ever celebrated with you.

You and Joon have only started dating for a month, but so much as changed already. Jimin doesn't even want to think of the drastic changes that might follow as your relationship with your 'prince' deepens and blossoms into something even more serious.

When Jimin arrives at your home to walk you to work on a Monday morning, he does a double-take because he finds you already waiting outside, shivering from the chilly air in nothing but your plain work uniform. Never in the twenty years that he's known you have you ever been on your doorstep before him.

"Y/N?" Jimin asks, bewildered. "What happened?"

"Hey!" you exclaim, waving at your best friend enthusiastically. "Nothing happened. I'm just trying to get into the habit of being early. It's not a good habit to be late all the time."

"Your face is red, Y/N!" Jimin says, shrugging his thick coat off and handing it to you and you take it gratefully. "How long have you been waiting?"

"Eh, just a few minutes," you say, sniffling your runny nose and grinning. "I'm as red as RM! Besides, the sun's shining. You know what that means? I'm fine."

Jimin shakes his head. "You should've waited inside. I'm okay with waiting. I've done it for twenty years so I wouldn't mind doing it for more."

"Joon told me I should get into the habit of being early," you giggle. "I've been late to every single one of our dates so far, you know?"

"Well, you've been late to every single one of our hangouts but I never said anything," Jimin scoffs.

"It's different with you," you say, smiling.

How? Jimin so desperately wants to ask. But he's afraid of your answer.

You wrap Jimin's black coat tighter around yourself as you skip down the porch steps. "C'mon! I wanna get to work super early!"

It takes only a week later for Jimin to realize you like going to work early because your boyfriend's already there, waiting for you.

You've been with Namjoon for about three months now, and the effects are starting to impact Jimin's life rather largely. For starters, you're spending way less time with him than before. The daily routines you had established with him for years are broken as you mold your lifestyle in the way that Namjoon wants you to. Jimin hates change more than anything. You should know that.

And you do. You apologize profusely—any chance you get—about the little changes in his lifestyle because of you; Jimin never blames you, though.

When you missed his grad school graduation because Namjoon bought you expensive vacation tickets to an acclaimed resort in Hawaii, Jimin didn't blame you.

It was Namjoon who had bought the tickets and it was Namjoon who told you the trip wasn't refundable. It was Namjoon who wanted to take you away from Jimin for a week. You promised you would FaceTime him.

And you're the best promise-keeper in the world.

"How is it there?" Jimin asks in the secret language as he lounges on his couch. "Is the weather nice?"

"It's beautiful!" you exclaim, moving out of the screen to show Jimin the sparkling blue-green oceans behind you. "We went snorkeling a few hours ago and we just had lunch so we're waiting to digest our food before we dive in again! I wish you were here," you pout. "I'm sorry I missed your graduation, by the way. Was your father there?"

"Yeah, he was. Don't worry about that," Jimin says. "I'm glad you're having fun."

"Aw, thanks!" you giggle. "Joon really outdid himself with all of this. Oh, how's your job status, by the way?"

"I got the job," Jimin smiles. "I didn't go through with those extra few years of school for nothing."

"HA!" you snort. "If I actually went to college, I would've been kicked out for literally failing every class. Remember when I got a 32% on that physics test? God, I hated Mr. Chung. Look at that! After all of these years, I still remember his goddamn name!"

Jimin shakes from laughter. "Of course I remember! Mr. Chung told me to tutor you or something."

"And then you told Mr. Chung that—"

"Baby?" Namjoon calls off-screen, interrupting you mid-sentence.

You turn around to look at him. "Yeah, babe? Oh, wait, sorry. I mean, yeah, babe?"

Jimin can hear Namjoon sighing. "Baby, can you please, refrain from using that secret language of yours in public?" he whispers. "I'm so sorry, but it sounds a bit like a chicken is being repeatedly run over by a car and people are starting to stare."

Jimin's about to give Namjoon a piece of his mind when you cut in before him.

"Aw, I'm sorry Joon," you giggle. "I made the language when I was really young. Explains a lot, doesn't it? Sorry, Jimin," you tell the camera. "I guess we'll have to stop our encrypted conversation."

"And baby?" Namjoon calls. "We're on vacation! Technology should be off when we have such beautiful scenery around us."

Jimin grits his teeth.

"Right!" you laugh. "Silly me. Sorry, Jimin," you say again, not even looking into the camera this time. "I have to go! I'll talk to you later, okay? Bye!"

Before Jimin can even answer, you end the call. Jimin's left staring right back at his own frustrated face. He chucks his phone across his couch and covers his face with his hands.

At first, Jimin didn't like Namjoon because he was jealous. But now, it's come to more than that. Namjoon's been trying to change the little quirks and habits that made you, you; he's trying to mold you into the same society you rebelled against for all of your life. He's trying to take you away from Jimin. He's trying to strip you of everything you were before you met him.

But what can Jimin do about it?

You're too head over heels in love with this Kim Namjoon. That man is the self-proclaimed prince to your princess. Jimin can't help but think he's the ogre. A handsome, successful ogre who strikes slowly, so slowly that the damage cannot be detected until it's too late.

If Jimin tries to warn you about Namjoon and his dubious intentions, you might not believe him and hate Jimin for life. If Jimin says nothing, he might not be able to recognize you in a few years' time at the rate the changes are happening now.

Jimin doesn't know what to do. He hates confrontations—that had always been your job, not his. So he does what he always does: nothing.

Being with you every day is a mystery. You have something new up your sleeve every single day without fail. Whether it be a new fashion style or a new gadget you made, you're always flaunting something that others wouldn't dare flaunt. And that's what made you so special.

But the crazy color schemes that had once been in your closet have been reduced to dark, muted colors. The Halloween costumes you kept every year to wear as everyday clothes were sitting on a rack in some Goodwill store. You dressed... plainly now.

Of course, there is nothing wrong with that. It's just not you. It is Namjoon though. Besides from Jimin, Namjoon is the plainest man he knows. And so far, switching out your wardrobe was definitely not your idea, though you seem to believe it is. That Kim Namjoon. He's planting these stupid ideas in your head and you're absorbing them like a sponge, too kind and docile and a bit too naive to disagree with your boyfriend.

Jimin's heard the way you talk about him. Your eyes gloss over with complete adoration and you giggle at everything Namjoon does. You're madly in love with him, and Jimin can't do anything about it except watch.

But no matter how many of your habits and physical lifestyle Namjoon can change, he can't touch your personality. You're the same girl Jimin's known and loved for years and years of his life. And he's not going to let you go anytime soon.

"JIMIN!!!" you yell, almost knocking your friend over by hugging him the moment you open your apartment door to see his face. "You're two minutes late!" you pout as you drag him over in front of your television. "I already picked a movie!"

Jimin can't deny Friday movie nights with you is the only thing he looks forward to these days. Though you don't cuddle with him on the couch anymore, you like to lean against his shoulder. And that's enough contact for Jimin to be satisfied.

"Really?" Jimin grins. "What movie?"

"Interstellar!" you say, collapsing on your couch as you aggressively pat the empty seat next to you. "Hurry up! Hurry up! I'm excited!"

"Y/N? Are you sure?" Jimin asks as he sits down next to you with a confused look on his face. Usually, when you choose a movie, you always end up reverting back to your classic favorite Disney princess films. "I know you don't really like sci-fi..."

"Yeah, but I told Namjoon I already watched that movie, but I haven't. So now I need to watch it," you explain quickly. "You like sci-fi, though, so you can explain all the things I don't get! Which would be half of the movie."

There Namjoon goes again. Making you watch movies that literally lull you to sleep.

"Okay," Jimin sighs. He doesn't have the guts to tell you that he's watched this movie hundreds of times.

By the time the roll credits are playing on the screen, you're completely knocked out. Well, you've been knocked out since the first twenty minutes of the film. Jimin's been watching you sleep for the rest of the two hours and thirty minutes of the film. (Not in a creepy way—an endearing way.) He had to stop himself multiple times from reaching out and tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear and away from your face.

God. Jimin needs a drink of water. Is it just him or is the room getting hotter?

He stands up slowly and quietly, making sure he wouldn't disturb your peaceful beauty sleep. Jimin's known your home since he was five; he could walk blindfolded to the kitchen if someone made him. He finds refuge near your water dispenser, fanning his face and taking his own cup from the cupboard. Your granny had bought that blue cup for him years ago, gifting you with a separate green cup. It's the only cup you use at home.

Jimin fills his cup with water, downing all of it in one large gulp. The water helps him cool off just a tad bit. He moves to place his used cup in the sink, his eyes habitually glancing over at your trash can.

You never remember to put a plastic bag inside it, which makes the gross remnants of your waste stick to your trash can. And Jimin can definitely say that that stench is horrendous. Jimin sighs as he finds an empty Walmart plastic bag rolling around your kitchen. He approaches the trash can, holding his breath just in case. But when he checks inside, there is nothing in it except for—

"GILBERT?" Jimin gasps loudly.

"JIMIN?!" you shriek. There's a resounding thud in the living room and a small "oof," from you as you lay sprawled on the floor.

"Y/N!" Jimin yells.

You dash over to your kitchen, rubbing your eyes and trying to adjust to the bright kitchen lights. "Jimin?" you say, your brows furrowed as you approach your friend who's pointing aggressively at your trash can with wide, angry eyes. "Oh," you say softly when you realize what he's talking about. "Right..."

"Why is Gilbert in the trash, Y/N?" Jimin asks, running his fingers through his hair as he grips the kitchen counter for stability. "Was it Namjoon? Did he do this?"

"No!" you shout. "I did it, Jimin. I tossed Gilbert in the trash."

"Why?" Jimin whispers, taking a step away from you. "That marker's everything to you."

"I know, Jimin, I know," you groan. "It dried out. It's ages old, you know?"

"But you take such good care of it, Y/N." Jimin shakes his head. "And you're just tossing it away like that because it dried out? What about your grandfather? What about your granny?"

"Jimin, it's fine. I'm fine," you say, shrugging. "It's time I let go, you know?

"Let go of what, Y/N? The only family you've known?" Jimin sighs. "What happened to saving the world by correcting their grammatical errors?"

"Its," you reply.

"What?" Jimin says exasperatedly.

"Saving the world by correcting its grammatical errors," you say, a slow smile emerging on your face as Jimin shakes his head to hide his own grin beginning to manifest on his face. "I'm sorry, Jimin. You're right. I don't know what I was thinking," you say. "Well, I wasn't. Joon and I had our first fight today."

"Oh..."

"No, don't you 'oh' me, Park Jimin!" you laugh. "It's really not that bad! He told me I had a premature taste in films and an immature outlook on life, but I mean, he's not wrong, you know? I tried to stay awake watching Interstellar. I really did. But Joon's right. I can't like anything that's advanced. And I realized that it's a crime to vandalize, too..."

"So you threw Gilbert away because of that?"

"Well, yeah," you say. "It's a crime, Jimin. I didn't even know until Joon told me! He's so wise!"

"Oh, god," Jimin groans, burying his face in his hands.

"Ah, c'mon, Jiminie," you say, grabbing his wrists and trying to pry his hands away from his face. "He's helping me move on, you know? He's helping me become a better person!"

A better person.

The words sting. If your definition of a 'better person' is losing the spark, the color of your life, then fine. You were already a better person than before. But all Jimin can see is the monochrome you. The you without color. Which doesn't really seem like you at all.

But it hasn't rained in a while, so maybe you were truly fine with losing your color. Either that or you had also lost the ability to control the weather with your emotions. Jimin wouldn't be surprised if that were the case.

Jimin is a patient man. Not only has he waited twenty years for you to love him back (which you never did), but also he never outwardly expressed his frustrations with your change in lifestyle to you.

Besides, if Namjoon's making you that happy, then there really was no problem, right?

Wrong.

You call Jimin on Sunday with the worst news ever imaginable.

"I'm moving!" you squeal and Jimin can hear you jumping up and down on your bed from the other line. "Joon asked me to move in with him!!"

You've only dated him for four months.

"H-He did?" Jimin stutters, cursing himself for sounding so pathetically off-guard. "What about your home? Your granny's home?"

You've lived in that house ever since you were born until now.

"I can't live in that house, forever, Jimin. I want to move on!" you say. "Plus, I think Joon and I are ready to take our relationship to the next level!"

"That's ridiculous," Jimin mutters, raking his fingers through his hair in pure frustration.

"Sorry?" you say.

Shit. Jimin had forgotten you were still on the phone.

"Nevermind," he sighs.

"Jiminie," you say with that characteristic lilt in your voice. "You can tell me what you're thinking you know! I haven't been your ride or die best friend for twenty years to not know what's going on with you."

"I know," Jimin says. But he can't tell you that he absolutely despises your boyfriend. It'll break your heart. And Jimin doesn't want to be the reason for your unhappiness. "Congratulations, Y/N," he says. "I hope you like your new place, then."

"I love it, Jimin!" you squeal. "Joon remodeled his bedroom recently and damn it's just so beautiful! I'll finally be living in a castle with my prince!"

"That's great, Y/N!"

"I know, right?" you exclaim in such a voice that Jimin can tell you're absolutely beaming on the other line. "You have to come over when the move's finished! You know what? Come over this Friday for movie night! I wanna give you a tour of my new home!"

"Namjoon won't mind?" Jimin asks.

"He's going out with friends that night," you giggle. "We'll have the whole place to ourselves! Did you know Joon has a flat-screen TV?? It's humongous!"

The offer sounds very tempting. Watching a movie on a high-end television with you on a Friday night? Hell yes. It almost makes up for the fact that you're moving out of the house you and Jimin had practically grown up in.

God, Jimin can't wait for Friday to come.

It's Jimin's turn to choose the movie when Friday night finally rolls around. Since he knows you nearly idolize Rapunzel, he suggests the two of you rewatch Tangled for probably the millionth time. But before the movie had to come the house tour, of course.

Namjoon's home is rather spacious for a guy who was single for a long time. You parade around the home as you've already lived in it your whole life. Jimin silently tags along. He has to admit that Namjoon's home is, indeed, better than your granny's old house. But he nearly bursts with jealousy when you show him around the big bedroom that you supposedly share with Namjoon.

"Isn't it great?!" you say, twirling around the commodious room with a bright grin on your face. "Joon even bought new sheets for us! I wanted green and he wanted white, so we went with light gray," you giggle. "Compromise of the century, huh?"

"Still looks white to me," Jimin mutters under his breath. But you're so hyped about showing your best friend around your boyfriend's home that you don't hear him.

"C'mon, let's go watch Tangled, now!" you say, dragging Jimin back to Namjoon's expensive leather couch and switching on the flat-screen TV.

Both of you collapse on the couch, leaning against each other by habit as the movie begins to play on the screen. Jimin's watched the film with you so many times that he's basically memorized the whole script.

You like to silently mouth Rapunzel's lines and Jimin mouths Eugene Fitzherbert's lines. You also like to sing when Rapunzel does, and you've been trying to convince Jimin for years to sing with you. But Jimin does not sing. And that was that.

No matter how many times you've watched Tangled, you cry when Eugene Fitzherbert 'dies.' Before you were dating Namjoon, you'd always bury yourself in Jimin's arms, waiting until the climax of the scene is over. Nowadays, you limit yourself to placing your head on Jimin's shoulder, burying your face in Namjoon's couch pillows. Jimin doesn't mind. He likes that you take comfort in his presence.

Just as the tension of the scene is about to lift, the front door of the house opens and Namjoon walks in. But you're so engrossed in the movie that you barely notice, instead, digging your face harder into the pillow.

Jimin's head jerks towards Namjoon and their eyes meet. Namjoon doesn't look very happy. For just a split second, Jimin fears his life. He takes the time to scoot a bit away from you so Namjoon doesn't come for his neck. You whine when Jimin pulls away, trying to tug him back as your eyes are glued to the TV.

"Y/N..." Jimin whispers. "Your boyfriend's here."

"Oh, what?!" you say, breaking from the trance that the movie had put on you and finally turning your head to see a frowning Namjoon. "Joon! You came back so early!"

"Why is he here?" Namjoon asks, ignoring your enthusiasm. He doesn't look at you when he speaks, his eyes trained on Jimin, instead. Jimin gulps.

"It's Friday movie night!" you laugh. "We're watching Tangled! Oh, Jimin can you pause the movie? Damn, we'll have to rewind it. Wanna watch with us?"

"No, Jimin," Namjoon says through gritted teeth. "Turn the TV off. Y/N, this is not your home. It is ours. You're to tell me if you are to have guests over." He glares at Jimin again. "Then we can talk if they are welcome here or not."

"I-I, uh, I have to go," Jimin stutters, desperately, standing up from the couch.

"But we didn't even finish the movie!" you protest, grabbing Jimin's wrist and looking at him with puppy dog eyes. "We always finish the movie."

"Y/N, we need to talk. Let him go," Namjoon says, crossing his arms.

"I—" you sigh, letting go of Jimin's wrist. "Okay..."

It hurts to watch you look down at your feet like Namjoon was scolding you. You look so small, powerless up against him that just for one, small second, Jimin contemplates staying. Maybe give Kim Namjoon a piece of his mind.

But who is he kidding? Jimin could never compare himself to a man like Namjoon.

"I'll uh, talk to you later," Jimin quickly says. He doesn't look back when he leaves and you watch him go with a certain emptiness in your heart.

The moment Jimin's out the door, he runs. He runs from your boyfriend, your obvious pain... He runs away from himself. But he should know. No one can outrun cowardliness.

You're really the only significant figure in his life; the only person he's loved for twenty consecutive years. Yet he can't do anything to save you from the obvious monster that is your boyfriend. Jimin hates himself for that.

He crash-lands on his bed, burying himself in his pillows and drowning in self-hatred. He lays still for what seems like hours in the darkness, the silence. He tries to numb his thoughts. But when his vision is nothing but a black screen, he cannot do anything but think.

He thinks of the fight you might be having with Namjoon. He thinks of how sad you must be inside. He wonders if you genuinely like being with Namjoon. He wonders if you're genuinely happy. But most of all, he wants to know if you miss your old self.

Jimin groans when he hears his phone ring next to him. He doesn't want to get up nor move, but something inside tells him that it's important. That it might be you.

And it is.

Hurriedly, Jimin answers the call. "Y/N?"

"H-Hey, J-Jimin," you wheeze.

Jimin freezes. You're crying. And everyone knows you don't cry.

"Y/N?!" Jimin panics, sitting up. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"Of course I'm okay!" you yell, making Jimin wince at the harshness of your voice in his ear. "Joon and I just fought! I'm fine!" you sniffle. "You said to talk to you later so I'm calling you!" you try to laugh but it comes out like a broken sob. "I'm not crying, I swear!"

Bullshit.

This is the third time Jimin's heard you cry. The first two times had been because of your granny. This time? It was because of that bastard, Namjoon.

"Did he do anything to you?" Jimin says, his hands slightly shaking as he waits for an answer.

"No! Joon would never," you say. "We just talked. You don't have to worry, Jimin."

"He looked angry when I left..."

"He was..." you sigh. "Listen, Jimin... this is going to sound bad, but um... Joon... He, well, he doesn't want you coming over anymore."

"What?!" Jimin blurts out. "At all?"

"It's okay! It's okay!" you say, though you sound far from it. "I can always come over to your house!" You sigh deeply. "It's just that I don't think Joon's very comfortable around you."

No, he's just not comfortable when I'm around you.

"This is ridiculous," Jimin mutters.

"Sorry, Jimin, what did you say?" you ask. "I didn't hear."

Jimin closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He tries to stay calm, tries to keep from bursting out and yelling, but he can't help himself. It had to be said. "It's fucking ridiculous!" he shouts suddenly, standing up and starting to pace back and forth in his room with a crazed look on his face. "He's being fucking ridiculous!" he yells.

"Him? You mean Joon?" you say.

"Yeah!" Jimin throws up his hand in frustration. "He's acting like he fucking owns you!" Jimin snaps.

God. He's done it now. There's no going back.

"He's not, though!" you protest. "Don't get mad, Jimin. He's only voicing his rightful opinion. There's nothing wrong with that."

"He's trying to separate us!" Jimin yells. "Don't you get it?"

"No!" you say, starting to raise your voice. "Joon wouldn't do that!"

"Like he wouldn't fucking convince you to throw away Gilbert? Like he wouldn't convince you to clean out your closet and replace it with clothes that he finds sensible? Like he wouldn't fucking convince you to keep your distance from me?? He wouldn't fucking do any of these, huh?" Jimin shouts, his voice interlaced with anger and sorrow. His throat feels raw in his neck, but he continues on with the thoughts he's held in for months. "You're blind, Y/N! He's ruining your fucking life can't you see? Where's the Y/N who used to talk to me for hours before going to sleep in our secret language? When's the last time you've spoken that, huh? And when's the last time you pretended to control the weather with your emotions? Where's the real Y/N? What happened to her?"

"Joon doesn't like her!" you yell at the top of your lungs. Your voice rings in Jimin's ear.

"Why do you want Joon to like you? What are you trying to prove to him?" Jimin cries, his voice quivering.

"I'm following my path to love!" you shout. "It's something you'd never understand. You don't even know what that is! I've never, ever seen you pine for anyone in the fucking twenty years I've known you! You can't be talking about love if you've never fucking felt it!"

Jimin collapses on his bed, his head numb and hands cold.

You take his silence as defeat. "I fucking thought so," you say. "Joon says you're too dependent on me. You need to go out and make another friend other than me. The world changes, Jimin. People come and go. Stop being just so—just so fucking stuck in the past. Goodbye."

You don't wait for a response, ending the call right away.

Jimin's phone slips from his ear, falling face down on his bed. He's frozen into shock. If only you knew why he had never chased after love for twenty fucking years. He didn't need to. Because his love was right in front of his face the whole time.

Aside from the occasional bickering as kids, you and Jimin had never fought. This is the first time both of you had exchanged nasty words with each other.

You had used to call Jimin a peaceful soul because of his extreme hate for confrontations, unnecessary drama and fighting. Not once in his life had Jimin ever said something that he knew could damage something significant to him. Not once in his life had Jimin ever initiated an argument. Not once in his life had Jimin ever really argued, in fact. It had always been you yelling and Jimin nodding if anything.

But when things had stacked up, Jimin couldn't take it anymore. He'd cracked. He'd yelled. And he'd finally fought with his words.

Yet the fight doesn't symbolize anything except a double loss for Jimin because you had ultimately chosen Namjoon over him. Then, you'd proceeded to completely crush his heart by failing to recognize his love for you.

Jimin never had to worry about heartbreak. He and you had always been best friends, nothing more. No matter how much he loved you, he never acted upon it, which meant you never rejected him. So, yeah, no heartbreak.

But this... that fight... When you'd accused him of not knowing love... when he had loved you for years. That was heartbreak. And it is still heartbreak.

Jimin found it extremely hard to get out of bed every morning after the fight. Sometimes, throughout the day, when something even the slightest bit amusing happens, he whips out his phone to inform you of it. Then, he realizes he and you are not quite on speaking terms at the moment. Jimin also realizes if he can't text you, he has no one else to text.

Maybe you were right. Jimin needs more friends.

It's almost been a week since the fight on the phone; it has also been almost a week of constant rain. It pours down hard and steady, only slowing down for light drizzles in the afternoons. It's the only reassurance that Jimin can get. That you're just as sad as him. That some part of you misses him as much as he misses you.

The weather forecast said the rain was supposed to clear by tonight. But Jimin waits by his window, where the thunder clouds boom over the roof of his lonely house and the rain pounds against the concrete. It's a storm.

He worries about you.

Maybe he should text you? Call you? What if you're all alone in your room, crying profusely and that bastard of a boyfriend, Namjoon's giving you the silent treatment? It's like Jimin can feel your pain through the weather.

A lightning bolt flashes through the sky and four seconds later, Jimin hears the booming thunderclap. It wasn't supposed to rain today. You must be crying all alone. You must be missing your granny. You must be missing him.

Another sharp thunderbolt pierces through the dark rain clouds in the sky and the thunderclap rings louder than the last. That's it. Jimin picks up his phone.

It's sad that you're still the only person in his favorites contact 'list.' He taps on your icon and presses the phone against his ear, looking out the window as if you were out in the rain all by yourself. The phone rings. Once. Twice. Three times. Usually, by then, you pick up the phone. But it occurs to Jimin now, that this is not going to be a usual conversation. His phone is heavy in his hands and he rests his cheek against the cold window, wondering if you're ever going to pick up.

Maybe you're crying so hard that you can't hear your phone ring.

Jimin lets out a shaky sigh, just about to disconnect the call to avoid hearing the all-too painful dial tone when you finally pick up.

"J-Jimin?" you breathe, groaning. "God, Jimin."

"Y/N?" Jimin exclaims. "Thank god, Y/N!" he breathes a sigh of relief.

"Mmm," you groan again.

"That's right, princess. You're mine all right?" a hushed, masculine voice whispers.

"Joon," you whine, urgently. "Please..."

Jimin can hear the soft slapping of skin in the background, Namjoon's heavy grunts and your whimpering. Immediately, the hairs on the back of Jimin's neck stand up straight. It's then when he realizes that you're moaning from pleasure. That Kim Namjoon's fucking you right now. And that you had still decided to pick up Jimin's call.

Tears blur Jimin's sight as he fumbles to end the call, chucking his phone halfway across the room afterward. He crumbles up in a ball, digging his face into his arms and sobbing.

Did you disrespect him that much? To pick up the call so he could hear you having sex?

It's the first time Jimin's ever questioned why he's in love with you.

Maybe, in the beginning, he had good reasons, but that had been because you had good intentions. You had been boisterous, unafraid to go against the current, wild, rebellious and had this my-way-or-the-high-way kind of character. That's the person Jimin had fallen in love with. The girl who carried around a green marker in her pockets to correct others' grammatical errors. The girl who invented a secret language when she was young just because she felt like it one day. The girl who convinced herself and others that she could control the weather with her emotions. The girl who didn't give two shits about what anyone thought of her. The girl who wore whatever the fuck she wanted because she could. The girl who never showed him when she was sad because she wanted to be strong, resilient. That's the person Jimin had fallen in love with.

But who the fuck are you?

Jimin had used to think it was Namjoon's fault you were so different. But you'd let him change you. You'd become docile, tedious, plain. All the things Jimin was and is. It's your fault. You could've stopped everything if you wanted. You could've broken up with Namjoon. But you didn't. Because you wanted to change.

Jimin can't love the new you. He doesn't even know if he can see you again.

His body shakes hard with fear and rage.

He's definitely not going to see you again.

He was never your prince; you'd ultimately chosen Namjoon. And you were never his princess; he had been delusional to think so.

He's going to walk out of your life. He needs to leave. For himself.

Jimin had already spent a week without your company and that had been enough. Now he wants to cut off all contact with you. He's already blocked your number, switched apartments and stashed away everything that reminded him of you—which was fairly a lot of things. He was so determined to be independent, to forget what it felt like to be dependent on you.

But without your presence, his bland life was even blander than before.

Waking up every day and not walking you to work felt foreign to him. Friday nights felt lonely without you. Weekends were dull. Weekdays were even worse.

He missed having to hear your bright, cheery voice. He missed talking about the craziest things with you. He missed waking up in the morning and wondering what you would be wearing today. He missed Gilbert. He missed your granny, too. Most of all, he missed you.

But you'd hurt him. Whittled away his heart little by little over the many years just by never loving him back. You'd humiliated him by choosing the man you knew for four months over the man you'd been best friends with for two decades.

Jimin figures he'll miss you for a long time. You'd been a large part of his life, after all. He'd already broken off contact with you, and that was already a giant leap. The next step would be to stop thinking about you, and the step after that to stop missing you. And when that's all over, he can stop loving you.

Looking back, Jimin realizes he struggled to get his life back on track for nearly eleven, long months. He'd seen winter come, spring pass and summer leave. But just as winter was making its presence on the weather again, frosting the leaves of plants and chilling the morning air, he'd finally come to his senses.

The past eleven months had been mournful. But as the days passed, he'd allowed himself to think about his current life more than his past. It had occurred to him that now, he was living a life of no-nonsense. Of no silly, childish imaginations. He was living in reality. Where he should've been in for all of his life.

Sure, he spent his birthday alone and without you for the first time since he was five years old. But it was something he could get used to. Celebrating the day he turned one year older just didn't seem like such a big deal anymore.

Maturity suits Park Jimin well.

He'd always preferred things that were tangible, anyway. Things that could be proven. Things that made sense. It was time to say goodbye to the foolish things of his past: secret languages, weather-controlling, naming markers...

It took him eleven months, no, 25 years, but Jimin finally became an adult.

He's 27, now.

He likes to drink black coffee in the morning like his co-workers. He likes vanilla ice cream the best just because it's the most simple. He likes to tell women that he's a civil engineer to impress them on first dates. He has an adequate number of friends. He goes to work five days a week, eight hours per day. He drinks on Friday nights, watches the news and goes to bed early. On the weekends, he spends his mornings reading articles in the science section of the paper and he hangs around bars at night with his friends.

It's a humble, normal, plain life. But Jimin likes it. It suits him.

He has thoughts about you from time to time; he would never forget what it felt like to love you. But he never again gets the urge to call you. You're a figment of his past, and Jimin's moved on.

The early spring breeze caresses Jimin's cheek as he walks steadily, staring at Google Maps on his phone and glancing up every once in a while so he doesn't run into a pole like last time. He was supposed to have a Sunday brunch with Jeon Jungkook but that silly bastard had canceled last minute on him to take his own girlfriend out on a date. Typical. But Jimin actually appreciates the alone time.

Jungkook had promised to take Jimin to a great cafe that was walking distance from Jimin's place. Since Jimin had nothing better to do, he decided to have his brunch there alone.

"You've arrived at your destination," the monotone voice named Karen drolls.

When Jimin looks up, he sees a small cafe sitting at the corner of the block, surrounded by towering trees shading the area and lots and lots of verdant green bushes. Something about the place seems homely. Familiar, even.

Deja vu, maybe? Jimin thinks.

He doesn't think much more and walks in. The inside of the cafe is decorated mainly with wood, green yarn and healthy vines twisting around the furniture. Jimin's hit by a cordial, oaky smell that instantly calms his nerves and clears his mind. The place is completely empty, too. His footsteps pad against the wooden floor as he admires the little cafe. The ordering counter stands in the corner, fairy lights and green paper lanterns dangling from it to illuminate its surroundings. Jimin walks towards the lights as if he were in a trance.

Something about this place seems so damn familiar.

Jimin hasn't felt this connected with nature, with this much creative liberty since—

"Jimin."

He whirls around, eyes widening and mouth dropping open when he recognizes the owner of that voice. Sure enough, he sees you, wiping your hands on a bright green waist apron. You're wearing a white pirate blouse that could've passed for a Halloween costume and a skirt with layers and layers of different shades of green fabrics—it looks like you'd made it yourself.

"Y/N," your name leaves his lips in a breathless whisper.

"Hey," you smile, waving awkwardly. "It's been a while, huh?"

A while? Two whole fucking years, in actuality. "Yeah, I guess," Jimin nods. He glances at the door, contemplating just leaving, but some instinct inside of him urges him to stay. "You work at this place?" he asks as he walks up to the counter where you're getting ready to take his order.

"Yeah," you giggle. God, Jimin had missed that smile of yours, but of course, he doesn't want to admit it. "Well, I own this place."

"Really?" Jimin asks. "It's beautiful."

"Thanks!" you say. "I decorated it myself. What can I get for you? Do you want me to recommend our best dishes? Look, we have a separate menu just for brunches!" you say excitedly, showing Jimin a neatly laminated menu laced with green yarn. "I recommend the Gilbert Special. Eggs, toast, bacon and hash browns. But, the Jimin Special is our house favorite!"

"The what?"

"100% off for the person it was inspired by," you smile. "That's you, by the way."

"W-Wow, Y/N, I'm—"

"No! You have to take the offer!" you say. "You can't even say you won't like it because it's literally all your favorite breakfast foods combined!"

Jimin smiles, shaking his head. "It's really the house favorite?"

"You bet it is," you laugh.

"Then I guess I'll have a Jimin Special," Jimin says. "Any chance it comes with a glazed donut?"

You shoot him a knowing look, a grin spreading across your lips. "It wouldn't be a Jimin Special without one."

Jimin ends up having brunch with you.

The icy, awkward barriers in the beginning slowly melt away into the friendship Jimin had known for more than half of his life. He dines on the best breakfast he could have ever asked for while getting to talk to you again after nearly two years. He can't imagine a better way to spend his Sunday.

Small talk with you is fun because you spice everything up with loud gasps, wide eyes and extroverted reactions that make even the dullest stories exhilarating. But it's suffocating to speak of such shallow things with a person he'd been best friends with for twenty years. Jimin's dying to know how you've really been, not what you found hilariously funny last week.

"So," he asks, "how are things with Namjoon?"

You snort, shaking your head. "God, that was fucking ages ago," you say. "We broke up a while back."

"Sorry," Jimin says. But he's not really.

"You're not that sorry, aren't you?" you laugh as Jimin's face morphs in shock when you call him out. "It's okay. I know how you feel about him. And I agree with you now. That idiot had the audacity to tell me to grow up. And he called you a good-for-nothing-awkward-ass-wimpy-child." You roll your eyes. "I knew it had to end when he said that. Besides, there's a certain highly endearing thing about innocence, don't you think? We should all be a little more childish."

"Wow," Jimin breathes.

"Wow, indeed," you smile wistfully. "That bastard could've said anything he wanted to me, but he shouldn't have dared to bring you up like that. I can't fucking believe I thought he was going to be my prince! I was so scared I'd lose him so I did everything he said, you know? God, in retrospect, I was just a really, really, oblivious and desperate idiot."

"You were just in love, Y/N," Jimin says. "Love makes you blind."

Your face twists for just a split second before you smile, shaking your head and sighing. "Jimin, I feel like I have to get this out before we become life-long best friends for fucking ever again."

"Hm?"

"I never apologized for what I told you like, two years ago," you say. "That fight we had on the phone? I told you that you didn't know love. And god, I've regretted saying that for every day, every hour, every fucking minute and second of my life. It was wrong." You shake your head, looking extremely disappointed in yourself. "At least what you told me was right. God, I was so angry, so terrified of losing my first love that I spit out words without thinking. How could I say you didn't know love, Jimin?" you say. "Of course you did—of course you do. You wouldn't have stuck by my side for years if you didn't. And Jimin, fuck. I love you too. I never said it enough. But I'm saying it now. I love you and I missed you. And I'm sorry I picked up the phone when I was having sex."

Jimin laughs. Around two years ago, that day had definitely not been a laughing matter. But only time can tell if the most depressing matters can morph into rather laughable memories. "I love you too, Y/N," he says. "And you shouldn't be sorry. I think we're all past that now."

"C'mon, I wanna show you how I redecorated my granny's home!" you say, bolting up and taking Jimin's cleared plates in your hands. "Meet me at the front of the cafe in two minutes!" you holler as you dash to the kitchen.

Jimin can't get rid of the smile on his face. He adjusts his jacket and stands up, taking another look around the cafe before he exits with a light skip to his step. He'll have to buy Jungkook dinner sometime for recommending this cafe to him. What was the name of this place, anyway?

Jimin steps back and squints at the big, capital letters placed on a banner in front of the cafe. He can't help the laugh that bubbles out of him.

"Nothing a Lil Green Can't Fix!" you exclaim as you come bounding down the steps of the cafe to stand next to Jimin. "Isn't that true? Green fixes like, everything."

"Lil's not a word, Y/N. I thought you knew better," Jimin jokes.

"Oh, spare me," you say, placing a dramatic hand on your forehead. "It had to be done. The stupid company had a character limit for the logo. It was either Nothing a Lil Green Can't Fix or Nothing Green Can't Fix," you huff. "And the latter is completely disgusting."

"I agree," Jimin snorts. "Then, in that case, I believe you made the right decision."

You smile. "I sure did. So, shall we go now?"

"Definitely."

Your granny's apartment looks exactly the same on the outside, but on the inside is an abundance of green. From plants to paintings to posters to silverware, everything is green.

"Nothing a lil green can't fix, indeed," Jimin breathes as you drag him around the whole place.

"Right?" you giggle. "Look! I even made a separate cabinet with all the birthday presents I've ever received from you!!"

The tour nearly takes five hours because the two of you get distracted every other minute, indulging yourselves in past childhood memories. And when Jimin's been tired out, the two of you lay side by side on your dark green sheets, silent but comfortable.

"Hey, Jimin?" you whisper, breaking the silence momentarily.

"Hm?"

"Remember our senior year in high school?"

"Of course I do," Jimin says. That year was the hardest (arguably) in your life. It was the year where you learned of the fatalities of death. It was the year you had lost your granny.

"We had the conversation about our true fears that year," you say with so much nostalgia in your voice that when Jimin closes his eyes, he can see the events of that day unfold before him. "Turns out, I didn't have just one fear. I had two. One was losing Granny. The other was losing you. And you know? For two years, I thought I lost you both. It hurt to think that my best friend hated me so much he had to dissociate himself from my life."

"I didn't hate you," Jimin says, opening his eyes as he turns to his side to look at you. "I swear. I just figured it was a good time for me to self-improve. You know, become independent for once. And maybe I didn't like who you had become, but I never hated you."

"Really?" you say, turning to face your best friend. "I was so scared that you'd shit talk me if I ran after you when you left that I didn't do anything. I thought it would've been better if I let you go. But I mean, I think the time apart was needed. We've self-improved."

"Yeah," Jimin agrees.

"So..." you say, a silly grin appearing on your face, "are we reunited now? Best fucking friends forever?"

"Of course we are," Jimin says.

"Okay, good," you say. "And before you say anything else, I have to ask you something, Jimin."

"What is it, Y/N?" Jimin asks, sitting up as you start to rummage in the pockets of your skirt.

"I just—" you're unable to finish your sentence, smiling. "Will you color me green, please?" you politely ask as you hold out a green marker in your hands.

"Oh my god," Jimin breathes. "Is that—"

"I pulled him out of the trash, Jimin," you say, eyes watering with emotion. "As soon as you left that night, I pulled him out. And then I kept him with me for years. I even recently got the ink replaced so it works fine, now." You let your tears fall down your face and you blink rapidly to see your best friend's softened face. "Did you really think for a second that I'd throw him away?" you ask in your secret language.

Jimin almost sobs right then and there. He'd never thought he'd hear that language again, and even after two years, he's able to understand you fluently. He hopes he doesn't sound too awkward when he replies, "I mean, you did have him in the trash can," he laughs, wiping away his tears with the back of his hand. "You really want me to color you green again?"

"It's the bestest color in the world. What did you expect?"

Jimin's never been happier in his life. Tears streak your cheeks but you are unbothered by them, holding out Gilbert for Jimin to take. He takes note that you do not try to hide your tears anymore. In a way, you've become more beautifully confident. He realizes that you want to take him back to the start—the very beginning of when your friendship had commenced. With those simple words, "Will you color me green?" you've transported the two of you back to a place of innocence, of childishness, of thoughts of staying young forever, of avoiding maturity at all costs.

Outside, there's a slow drizzle of rain, indicating another spring shower. But above the soft gray rain clouds is a double rainbow. The colors are so vibrant, they wash away the monotonous hues of the clouds heavy with rain.

Romantic love makes people suffer. Jimin should know. He's been in love with you romantically for nearly two decades. He's felt feelings such as pain, experienced experiences such as heartbreak and dealt with the understanding of the wretched concept of unrequited love. But now? Two years later?

He realizes that you may never love him the way he had loved you. But that's okay. Because maturity is when you accept the way things are. Being childish is refusing to let go, which is what Jimin is too—he refuses to let go of you. But that goes the same for you, for you refuse to let go of Jimin.

You still love him. And for once in his whole fucking life, Jimin loves you in the same exact way that you love him.

a/n: find my behind the scenes thoughts and original endings here!

masterlist

#btswritersnet #btswriterscollective #bangtanfairygarden #btswritingcafe #bangtanidx #jimin #park jimin #jimin fluff #jimin angst #jimin fanfiction #bts fanfiction #jimin ff #bts #nothing a lil green can't fix #nalgcf #i didn't even know what a simp was when i was writing it #but apparently #subconsciously i knew what it was #yikes

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emy-loves-you · 4 years

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Sanders Sides AU-gust Day 13: Rock Band

Patton is the most popular boy in school, yet he can’t get the attention of his three crushes. When he learns that they’re all starting a band together, he becomes determined to make their dreams come true. Patton POV, endgame LAMP

TW: Use of homophobic slur

Day 12 | Masterlist | Day 14

Patton Picani liked to think that he had superpowers. He could sway almost any person to be kind with just a smile. He could ask one question and topple an entire social norm. He could transform a nobody into a somebody with just a few words. It was his superpower, the ability to effortlessly sway the masses.

The truth was… complicated. Or rather, it was a series of scenarios and lessons that gave Patton this ‘superpower.’ The people who gave them to him? His parents, Emile and Remy Picani.

Emile and Remy loved their son very much and taught them everything they knew. This wasn’t a bad thing; Patton soaked up the lessons like a sponge. But the parents each had different things to teach him. Emile taught Patton everything he knew as a therapist so he could avoid conflicts. How to tell what someone’s feeling, what to say when someone’s upset, etc. Remy taught Patton how to grow up in a world turned against him. How to tell the difference between real and fake friends, how to lie with a straight face, how to spot a bully, etc. Emile helped Patton be confident in expressing himself with pastel colors and skirts. Remy helped Patton never lose a game of poker. So before Patton even started elementary school, he knew how to use his ‘superpowers.’

Patton also learned things on his own throughout the years. He learned that bullies were feared but not trusted. He learned that teacher’s pets would tell on you at a moment’s notice. He learned how to control the rumor mill, and which friends would stab him in the back. So in their tiny town with only three elementary schools, two middle schools, and one high school, Patton rose to power quickly. But Patton wouldn’t abuse his power. No, Patton tried to make a difference. He offered teacher’s pets protection and popularity in exchange for getting bullies suspended. He kept the rumor mill focused on the popular kids and away from the nobodies that couldn’t protect themselves. He ruined the lives of violent jocks and snotty rich kids with a few words and a disapproving frown. Bullying reached an all-time low, and by the time Patton was in high school he was the ‘friend’ of almost everyone in the city under the age of 21 (and all their parents. Patton was a model citizen, no one could dislike him).

But there was a cost for Patton’s power. Even though he was technically ‘friends’ with everyone, he didn’t have any actual friends. Everyone thought they were his friend, but after a while, everyone’s faces started to look the same. And even when they did catch Patton’s attention, they were usually too far down the social ladder for Patton to be more than casual acquaintances with.

There were exactly three people that caught Patton’s attention, and they just so happened to be his three crushes.

The first crush came in the form of Roman Prince. Like the name implied, Roman was a Disney Prince in terms of charisma and charm. He was in every school theatre production, and almost always the lead role. He would have been a popular kid, if not for his rivalry against Janice Mayberry. Janice had been at the top of the social ladder just as long as Patton had. She was extremely pretty, and a cheerleader to boot, so not even Patton’s influence could top the sheer power she held. So outside of the theatre group, Roman was a nobody. But Roman was also daring, and just, and drop-dead gorgeous. Patton attended every single play and musical, just to see Roman on stage. But beyond giving Roman a brief ‘congratulations’ at the end of each production, Patton couldn’t talk to him.

Patton could interact with his other crush a little more. Logan Berry was the definition of a nerd. He was in all advanced classes, he wore ties, he never got below 95% on any test. But he wasn’t a teacher’s pet. Actually, most teachers here hated Logan, for the simple fact that Logan would not let mistakes slide by. If a teacher said something wrong during a lesson, Logan spoke up. If a teacher graded something unfairly, Logan spoke up about it. The teachers always tried to report Logan for his ‘attitude,’ but the truth was he didn’t have an attitude. Logan only stated facts, and he kept his hand up politely while never having any sort of inflection in his tone. There were only a hand full of people that could make him show emotion, hence the nickname ‘robot.’ Patton wanted to speak up about the nickname, but he knew it would only draw more attention to Logan. But Logan wasn’t emotionless. He was kind, and patient, and helpful. Patton had needed help in his math classes, and his parents paid Logan to be his tutor. Patton ignored the fact the Logan was being paid to interact with him. Logan was extremely good with explanations, even when Patton couldn’t wrap his head around a concept. After a few weeks of math tutoring, Patton asked for help with English. One thing led to another, and they were basically study-buddies (with, you know, one of them being paid). But outside of study sessions, Patton couldn’t talk to him.

Then there was Virgil Storm. Virgil had transferred to their high school halfway through Freshman year. He was a loner, never seen hanging out with anyone. But something about him immediately drew in Patton’s attention. Maybe it was the (confirmed) rumors of Virgil getting kicked out of other schools due to fights. Maybe it was the way that his lips quirked every time he got a question right in class. Or maybe it was the way he looked in gym class, hoodie off and muscles exposed. Whatever the reason, Patton had been drawn to Virgil. Even if they had never spoken to each other. Well, until now.

It was September of Sophomore year, and Patton had been strolling down the hallway, minding his own business. He normally didn’t eat lunch at school, so he used this time to interact with teens outside of classes.

Crash!

Patton’s head whipped around, seeing a student shoved into the lockers. Now, that wouldn’t do at all. Patton quickly made his way to the fight, quickly recognizing the two teens. Virgil was on the ground with a bloody lip, while Jacob Smith stood over him. Jacob was captain of the football team, if Patton remembered correctly. Patton frowned as he noticed several of his ‘friends’ stand in the background but not help Virgil.

“Jacob!” Patton stepped between Virgil and Jacob, effectively pulling everyone’s attention towards him. Patton put on his best ‘disappointed’ expression. “Why are you hurting him?”

Jacob frowned. “He deserved it, Patton!”

Patton tilted his head slightly, making sure he kept the wide-eyed, innocent look. “What did he do?”

Jacob growled. “He’s a faggot that deserves to rot in Hell!”

Patton used all of his self-control to not show any of his shock. He didn’t know Jacob was such a homophobe. To use slurs and hurt a kid for being gay? That won’t do at all. Patton kept his curious look. “What does ‘faggot’ mean? Does it mean he’s a meanie?” Poor, innocent Patton wouldn’t know what that word meant. And Jacob Smith just sullied poor Patton’s mouth with those words. At least, that’s what everyone else thought.

Everyone stood in silence before someone spoke up. “It means he’s gay!” Patton couldn’t figure out who said that, but he mentally thanked them for giving him the perfect opening.

“So he got hit because he’s gay?” Patton hunched over slightly, pulling out all the stops for his ‘innocent, defenseless little lamb’ look.

Jacob smirked, glad to see that Patton was catching on. “Yeah, he deserves to be beat until he learns his lesson!”

Patton let his lip quiver as he summoned his crocodile tears. “B-but I’m gay!” While this wasn’t extremely common knowledge, it was extremely implied through Patton’s mannerisms and style of dress. Patton let the tears pour out. Several students started to approach as they caught on to what Patton was implying. “A-are you gonna b-beat me too?”

Jacob seemed to realize his mistake. “Pat-” He moved in to wrap his arms around Patton.

Patton flinched in (fake) fear, throwing his hands over his head. Still, what he yelled was loud and clear. “NO, PLEASE DON’T HURT ME!” Several students grabbed Jacob by the arms and dragged him away.

Janice approached Patton now, making sure to put some distance between them. “Are you okay, Pat?”

Patton let out a shaky sigh before lowering his arms. He gave Janice a wobbly smile. “Y-yeah. I’m gonna go wash my face in the bathroom. Can you go make sure Jacob doesn’t try this again?” Janice nodded, slinking off to wherever Jacob was dragged to. Now that all of the crowd was focused on Jacob, Patton turned his attention to Virgil. He was staring up at Patton with a mixture of awe and… fear? “C’mon, let’s go get cleaned up.” Virgil nodded mutely, getting up on his own. He grabbed his bag and a case of some sort (he probably dropped them when Jacob attacked him) before following Patton to the nearest bathroom. Patton grabbed some paper towels and got them wet before handing them to Virgil, who sat on the counter of the sinks. “Here, for your lip.” Virgil accepted it silently, dotting his lip to stem the bleeding. “I could take you to the nurse if you want.” Virgil shook his head no and Patton shrugged, moving to fix his makeup.

“Is it true?” Patton’s head shot up and Virgil looked away with a blush, hiding his face in his hoodie. “That you’re… um…”

Patton finished the question. “That I’m gay?” Virgil nodded, still blushing. “Yeah, I am. Are you also gay, or was Jacob accusing you of being gay for no reason?” Because if Virgil wasn’t gay, then that was an entirely different can of worms to deal with (one of which being Patton’s crush on him).

Virgil nodded. “Yeah, Jacob had seen my phone screen with me and my boyfriends.”

Patton tilted his head. He didn’t know that Virgil had boyfriends. “Can I see?” Virgil nodded, slowly taking out his phone to show Patton the lock screen. Logan, Roman and Virgil all stared at him, huddled under a mass of blankets. Patton felt his heart constrict at the fact that all of his crushes were dating each other so Patton didn’t have a chance, and smiled. “Awe, you look so cute together!” He moved to resume working on his makeup and accidentally bumped Virgil’s case with his foot. “What do you have in there?” He asked, genuinely curious.

Virgil blushed. “It’s a guitar. Me and my boyfriends were gonna practice after school.”

Patton let his eyebrows raise in shock. “You guys play guitar?”

Virgil turned even redder. “I do. Roman does bass and Logan does drums. We have a small band called The Sides. It’s nothing really.”

Patton’s eyes lit up. “You have a band? That’s so cool! Do you play at parties?” Patton hadn’t been to many parties lately.

Virgil sighed. “No, not yet. I don’t think we’ll ever be good enough for that.”

Patton shook his head. “I bet you are! Do you know how awesome it would be to have a live band at your party instead of some lame DJ? I promise, once you start promoting yourself, people will be begging to hire you!” Suddenly, the bell went off, signaling the end of lunch. “Oh, I’ve gotta go. See you later!”

Patton made a note to bring up playing instruments with Logan during their next study session. Even if Patton could never be romantically involved with his crushed, he could still make them happy. And if that meant pulling a few strings to make them the most popular music group in school?

Well, Patton was willing to pull a few strings for them.

#sanders sides #AU_gust_2020 #rock band au #LAMP #patton sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #Janus Sanders #fem janus

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ibtk · 3 years

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Book Review: Amber and Clay by Laura Amy Schlitz & Julia Iredale (2021)

(Full disclosure: I received a free ARC for review through Edelweiss and Library Thing's Early Reviewers program. Content warning for child abuse, animal abuse, and sexual assault.)

The children I spoke of before were like that. They weren’t alike, but they fit together, like lock and key. The boy, Rhaskos, was a slave boy. Unlucky at first. A Thracian boy—(Thrace is north of Greece) —redheaded, nervy, neglected. A clever boy who was taught he was stupid. A beautiful boy whose mother scarred him with a knife. The girl, Melisto, started life lucky. A rich man’s daughter, and a proper Greek. Owl-eyed Melisto: a born fighter, prone to tantrums, hating the loom. A wild girl, chosen by Artemis, and lucky, as I said before— except for one thing: she died young. This is their story. When it's over, if you like, you can tell me what it means.

"I want to tell you the things I never told anyone, in case this is my last chance. When I was alive, I didn’t talk much. So much of what I felt was a secret. I think that’s what I loved about the bear. Neither of us had any words."

Again we walked and talked. I never talked to anyone like that. No one ever talked like that to me. I talk to you still, Melisto. I’ve been talking to you ever since.

The red-haired boy variously known as Rhaskos, Thrax, and Pyrrhos is many things, though few of his masters care to know. He's Thracian nobility, with the scars to prove it - and also a slave, belonging to the wealthy Alexidemus and his soldier son Menon in Thessaly, and then to a humble potter named Phaistus in Athens. He loves horses and is as adept at handling them as he will one day become at drawing and sculpting them. He is a contemporary and friend of Sokrates, though he is powerless to stop his execution. He is an orphan, with a dolphin for a mother; a mother who loves him so fiercely that she curses a ghost to help set him free. He is like clay: common at first glance, but also not; capable of transmuting into creations lovely, clever, and full of value.

The owl-eyed girl called Melisto is seemingly as lucky as Rhaskos is not: the only child of a wealthy Athenian, Melisto wants for nothing. But she is a wild (read: untamed) girl child in a rigidly gendered society that has already predetermined Melisto's future for her: marriage, motherhood, a life of quiet domesticity. When, at the age of ten, Melisto is chosen to serve the goddess Athena as a Little Bear, her life opens up before her at Brauron; this is who she was meant to be. Like all good things, it cannot last.

Rhaskos and Melisto's destinies collide when Melisto frees a bear cub that is to be sacrificed to Athena. Or maybe their paths met even earlier, when Meda/Thratta was ripped from her toddler son. Perhaps the gods nudged them towards each other from birth. Alternately, the gods have nothing to do with it. Who can say? (Hermes, maybe. He has a lot to say and loves to hear himself talk!)

AMBER AND CLAY is ... not what I expected. Normally I'd steer clear of a contemporary (or any!) book styled after the ancient, epic poems (I positively labored through THE ODYSSEY and THE ILIAD in high school!), but the visual element sucked me in. I was under the (mistaken!) impression that AMBER AND CLAY would be heavier in illustrations than it actually is, almost as though part graphic novel. As it turns out, the illustrations - of archaeological artifacts - are a little sparser than I hoped, but they tie into the narrative quite nicely and add another layer of wonder and surprise to the story. The "exhibits" are really well done and do not disappoint.

Additionally, the synopsis had me thinking that this would be a supernatural romance; and while AMBER AND CLAY is indeed a love story, Rhaskos and Melisto are entirely too young to hook up, even by the time they finally meet near the story's end. (It's hard not to envision them - especially Rhaskos - as older than they are, both because the story seemingly stretching across years, and so much happens to these crazy kids to last several lifetimes.) Instead, this is a different kind of love story: AMBER AND CLAY tells of the love between a mother and her son; a father and his daughter; a teacher and his students; a girl and a bear; a ghost and her tether to the earth.

And despite my reservations about those epic poems, Schlitz both honors the form and breathes new life into it. While Melisto tells her story in prose, Rhaskos speaks in verse; and the gods sometimes address us commoners in turn-counterturn, occasionally using more complicated linguistic techniques like elegian couplets (which I barely recollect from HS English). This all sounds incredibly tricky and complicated (and undoubtedly is), but Schlitz pulls it off without a hitch. AMBER AND CLAY is fun and engaging, with a surprising sense of humor and expert sense of dramatic flair.

“Oh, Phaistus, look at his hair! He’ll be beautiful once he’s healed. We’ll call him Pyrrhos!” As if I were a dog. Pyrrhos means fiery. Half the red-haired slaves in Athens are called Pyrrhos.

It is, dare I say, exceedingly readable.

Honestly, I let out a little groan when I saw the "Cast of Characters" on page one, complete with various households and multiple monikers for the same people; but the story, the characters, their relationships to one another - all are easy enough to follow.

Schlitz's characters, both those based on historical figures and those spun from imagination and whimsy, are so full of life that they practically jump off the page. Rhaskos and Melisto; Meda and Lysandra; Phaistus and Zosima; Menon and Lykos; and, of course, Sokrates. Likewise, her descriptions of Greek life and customs left me hungering to learn more. Naturally, the most fascinating custom - that of the Little Bears of Brauron - is also that which we know the least about.

The scenes featuring Melisto and the bear cub are among my favorite in the book. In a story filled with animal sacrifice, this little slice of compassion and respect is life-affirming; to wit:

It turned in slow circles and collapsed with its rump pressed against her thigh. Melisto put one hand on it. It seemed to her that she had never touched anything more real than the bear cub.

For a moment her mind slipped back into the past. She recalled the bruises she had carried from her mother’s pinches, and the sore patches on her scalp from Lysandra’s hair-pulling. She remembered the loathing in her mother’s face that struck terror into her soul. She had never been afraid of the bear like that.

and

On the nights when she waded into the bay and watched the moon, she was barely conscious of the fact that it was she who saw, and the moon that was being watched. In the same way, she did not measure how much she loved the bear. She was the bear.

Likewise, Rhaskos's interactions with Grau/Phoibe are so wonderfully tender, my heart aches just to think back on them. From the moment he renames her (grau means hag) - a change of name that's much more respectful than those Rhaskos was forced to accept - Rhaskos treats his donkey charge with decency and kindness. The same kindness that he himself longs for.

Animals know when things get better. People might not know, but animals do. That very first day, Grau knew I was going to be good to her and I swear to you, she was glad.

Cue the "what is this salty discharge" gifs.

AMBER AND CLAY is such a beautiful story, and I'm glad I took a chance on it. Iambic pentameter be damned.

https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/3861642614

#books #reviews #amber and clay #fiction #historical fiction #Laura Amy Schlitz #Julia Iredale #ancient greece #novels in verse #ghosts #animal sacrifice #child abuse

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ohwereusingourmadeupnames · 4 years

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Our Road is Long

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark Rating: Mature (M) Warnings: closeted!Tony, self-doubt, internal homophobia Word Count: ~13k Notes: thanks to @mrsluttystark - the harry style’s prompt caught my eye and I just kind of went with it. i changed a few things here and there, but here’s hoping it’s what you were kind of picturing! Summary:

Pepper and Tony are divorced, but not before they have a gorgeous baby girl named Morgan. She is the center of Tony's world - even when it's melting down little by little. Having been in the closet most of his life, Tony is struggling to come to terms with the wants and needs that keep making themselves known - especially after he meets a particularly handsome kindergarten teacher, Peter Parker.

He's bad about picking Morgan up from school, but he's forced to when Pepper and her new husband go out of town. What ensues is the hilarity and vulnerability that comes with coming to terms with who you really are - Tony Stark style!

There's a lot of Tony/Morgan scenes - hang on tight for the cuteness!

Read it on AO3 here!

The divorce was the easy part.

After finding Pepper in bed with an admittedly handsome blonde with great pecs and one of the nicest asses Tony could remember seeing, separating felt like the only rational thing to do. Pepper played the part of his beard for long enough – and despite how it happened, he didn’t feel bad that their marriage was over. A part of him felt like it might be time to finally be himself – let the world know what the real Tony Stark liked, who he actually was. His father’s voice was still too loud, though – even after all these years, Howard’s “you will not tarnish our name with your unnatural behavior,” dictated his actions.

The best part of his marriage to Pepper came from their daughter – a little girl who had Tony’s hair and eye color, but the beautiful round eye structure of her mother. She made Tony feel like a hero – like he could do no wrong in her opinion. No one else in his life gave him that much benefit of the doubt. It felt good to have someone looking up to him, even if that only happened on the weekends.

Pepper was tactful in her requests from the divorce – something that Tony felt grateful for. She kept the CEO position of Stark Industries; which Tony was happy to keep in her name – he liked getting to tinker on his own projects too much to worry about the business side of things at this point of his life. It gutted him a little when Pepper demanded Morgan stay with her most of the time – that little girl was one of the only things he liked about his life.

He conceded anyway, though – in the end, he figured having some stability from Pepper and Steve was better than what he could give her. He had trouble remembering to pick her up from daycare – a kid deserved more than that.

When the whirlwind of it was over, Tony kept his tower and all of the cool things in it – he got freedom he hadn’t wanted, and a huge split between himself and his daughter. He didn’t love Pepper, that was never a part of the deal. Having someone by his side went deeper than that. The idea of loneliness sat in the pit of his stomach for a while – the emptiness of the place a little haunting after so much laughter, so much time spent watching Morgan grow up. All wasn’t lost, of course – he got to see her on the weekends and the occasional holiday.

To make up for being away from her throughout the week, Tony made every time they were together a production. When she was younger, they went out to playgrounds and played until the girl practically fell asleep standing. He fed her whatever he decided a little kid should eat – their favorite being peanut butter and jellies with the crusts cut off.

The older she got, the more Tony started to incorporate her into his work in the lab. No Stark would fall behind the learning curve. Luckily, she took to it the same way Tony did, like the naturals that they were. Tony felt some of his best memories in his entire life were the weekends with Morgan, the two of them fixing Dum-E, building new little toys, and playing around with all the gadgets Stark Industries developed over the years.

For Morgan’s presence, Tony was grateful. He could never regret his time with Pepper because of her existence, so he kept things civil. They weren’t sharing Christmas dinners, or anything, but he got a hug from Pepper and a handshake from Steve every time he walked to the door to pick his daughter up. The idea of his little girl growing up away from him still shook him to the very core – he hated every second he knew he was missing; but they’d done a good job coming together to give her the stability she needed. It was much easier to be a family this way – no matter how bitter Tony wanted to be, he couldn’t deny it.

As long as Morgan was happy, Tony knew he could get past his hang-ups and make the most of whatever came his way.

Outside of his time with Morgan, Tony did not feel as optimistic. Things with Stark Industries were booming, he felt more than grateful for that fact. He couldn’t imagine an added stressor to the inner turmoil he dealt with on a daily basis. The mind he prided himself on couldn’t find a place to teether, the detachment of the routine he grew so accustomed to kicking him on his ass. Without Pepper, Tony didn’t have the buffer of someone telling him to go to bed or keeping most of the things in his life perfectly in order. He felt embarrassed to admit that it took him way too long to find where she put his belts in the closet after moving her own stuff out.

Not having that buffer also meant unlimited opportunity to spend all of his time consumed in the lab – so he let himself do just that. Aside from the alarm on his phone Friday night and Sunday afternoon, Tony didn’t think much about time. There were 72-hour stints in the lab that were quickly followed by an entire 24 of them in bed, dead to the world. It wasn’t healthy, he knew that – but it filled the gap.

There were so many things he needed to deal with in his personal life, lots of them topics Tony had been disregarding for most of his life. Having never learnt to deal with anything head on, Tony ignored it. Maybe that’s why he worked so hard – or maybe that’s why he decided to settle for something that wasn’t going to make either people a part of it happy. It felt easier to turn his head the other direction than actually face the fact that nothing would make him straight – not a single thing in this world.

He’d been taught from an early age to feel nothing but shame about it, too. If nothing else, Tony consciously understood that they were now in a totally different time of the world – that some things would need to change, but overall, there wouldn’t be too much detriment done. His insecurities, however – they were much louder than the literal facts he knew and understood, but obviously could not process – at least, not fully. A part of him thought that the right person – the right man – might change his mind and make it all worth it. He just never allowed himself to be in a position where he could find that man.

Between all of his time in the lab – there didn’t seem to be any change in his current position, either. No matter how solitary it felt when his little girl wasn’t around, Tony did nothing to change it. It felt like there’d been enough complicated in his life to really try and pursue anything else. That didn’t satisfy any of the thoughts in his head, or the yearnings within him – but it sure as hell kept him out of the news and focused on something that could be profitable.

For the most part, Tony didn’t get called out for it, either. Without Pepper there to literally pull him out of his chair and back onto whatever path he needed to be on – well, it was a lot easier for people to not see Tony for days on end. It didn’t matter, as long as he picked up Morgan and spent every second of the time he could with her – that’s all he was worried about.

Then, his little girl wasn’t so little anymore, he waited with Pepper and Steve as she turned around and waved at them one last time when they dropped her off for the first day of kindergarten.

“On Friday’s, you should pick her up from school, Tony,” Pepper said to him once Morgan was behind the sealed doors of the school’s entrance. Swiping off his sunglasses, Tony squinted at her, a brow raising. It wasn’t often that Tony got offered to spend extra time with his kid – so he didn’t think about how hard it’d been getting to pull himself out of his lab and out of the haze of nothing but relevant formulas and equations running through his brain.

“That sounds good, Pep. Thanks,” Tony finally replied, his eyes pointedly missing hers. He didn’t want to deal with whatever pitying look she might throw his way. Rubbing his chin, he let the silence linger for a second, then he turned around and started walking the other direction. “Always a pleasure,” he threw over his shoulder as a way of saying goodbye to the two of them. If he stuck around any longer, she’d be able to see the dark circles under his eyes and the collection of stubble on his upper cheeks he was usually so meticulous about taking care of.

There were gadgets and gizmos calling his name back in the lab, anyway.

He didn’t realize how fucked he actually was until he missed picking up Morgan for the fourth week in a row. The first couple of times he dealt with Pepper, she radiated hatred towards him. The fact that he spent time with Morgan was so important to her – despite the situation they were in, Pepper knew how much Tony loved their daughter. His slumps hadn’t been that bad in a while, but he couldn’t seem to pull himself out of this one. The lack of anger towards him this last failed attempt simply meant she moved past madness and into disappointment. It still smarted a little, having Pepper ever feel that way about him.

The next week, she didn’t give him a choice – her and Steve were going to Florida for the weekend and there was nothing he could do about it. Other than be on time to pick up their daughter, of course. Her rather blunt demands were clear; all Tony needed to do was get her at 3 from the carpool lane and the rest of the weekend was history. There were cartons of ice cream and a custom-made hot wheel car racing track waiting for them. He planned to let her use the entire living room, some of the modifications he made to the pieces would allow the cars to zoom around faster than the pure physics of the track would.

He got so caught up on a couple of the cars and fitting the wheels to run on the track that he let the snooze on his alarm to pick up Morgan go off more than a few times. When the annoying blare of the alarm finally managed to get through, it was already time to be there. Tony looked around panicked, his hands still covered in oil, some of the pieces he’d been working on spread out before him. Biting down on his lip, Tony dropped what was in his hands and got himself cleaned up – the clock ticking down ten minutes while he mucked around.

Disobeying the road signs got him to the school in less than eight minutes – his clock reading 3:21 when he threw the car into park and ran into the building. There were still plenty of people walking around, so he couldn’t be that late. Luckily, he didn’t have to get very far into the building, Tony recognized Morgan’s brown hair without the girl even having to turn around. The waves cascading down her back matched Tony’s when he let his own hair get a little longer. He felt himself smiling – his eyes moving from her over to the person squat down next to her, talking with kindly spoken words and wild hand gestures.

His daughter’s giggle had him stepping forward – the thought of her not even realizing his slip up something he felt grateful for (guilty, yes – but grateful nonetheless.) Tony almost stopped dead in his tracks when he finally managed to catch sight of the person’s face. The man was alluring – the skin of his cheeks pale and covering sharp cheek bones. His eyes were like diving into a river full of chocolate, delectable and overwhelming – Tony almost felt like they were pulling him in. It took a second to register that he was smiling – those pale cheeks coloring, the slightest crinkle at the corner of his eye making the man’s whole look pretty close to irresistible.

Morgan was too smart for her own good and followed the man’s eyes, her own lighting up when they met Tony’s for the first time in a week. “Daddy!” she exclaimed, her little feet carrying her over until she could throw her arms around him, her little nose pressing into his leg.

“Hey, sweet pea,” Tony replied, his hand running over her hair, then tugging at the little bow there, his tongue poking out in her direction. “Ready to go, stink face?” he asked her, his face in full blow smile mode now.

She grabbed his arm and pulled him over to the man, who was now standing tall – they were the same height, though Tony’s hair stood a little taller. He almost out right chuckled at the thought – his vanity ludicrous. “This is Mr. Peter, daddy.” Morgan looked up at him, her eyes wide, the excitement of introducing her favorite people to each other so evident there. Fuck, he loved the hell out of her.

“Hi, Mr. Peter,” Tony spoke softly, his hand sticking out on offer between them. Their gazes locked, the zing of it almost enough to drop his hand and send him to his knees. He kept himself upright, though – his teeth digging into the side of his cheek to keep his thoughts right there, in the here and now. “I’m Tony Stark.”

The warm grip that encased his hand almost brought him to his knees again – he didn’t think he ever felt something so – magnetic. Tony let his fingers squeeze Peter’s lightly, both men holding onto the shake for a couple seconds too long. “Oh, Mr. Stark – I absolutely know who you are. It’s great to meet you in person. Morgan has been talking about you for weeks, nice to know I was thinking about the right guy,” They finally let go, and Peter’s hands moved to rest in the back pockets of his dark jeans.

Tony looked down at his daughter, the man’s words hitting him in the gut. Okay, so maybe he needed to get his shit together – maybe it wasn’t all that okay that he hadn’t been there when she expected him. That was shit his own father did and more than anything, Tony wanted to be so much better than Howard could have ever dreamed. “I hope she told you all about Dum-E – we’ve been replacing his interface the past couple of weekends.” His voice was proud, the young girl’s intelligence something Tony took great stock in.

Watching Peter light up with a laugh shouldn’t have been as nice as it was – it shouldn’t have sent a shock to his very core. Never before, he thought, his hand tightening ever so slightly on Morgan’s shoulder. Morgan broke in before the other man could speak, her face turning red from how hard she tried to keep the words inside.

“I did, daddy. I think a lot of the kids don’t believe me when I talk about things with you – but I told Mr. Peter all about how you made him wear the dunce cap because he hosed you down for the hundredth time that day.” Morgan’s hands were going wild, her excitability coming from Tony – a trait he hoped she kept forever.

Tony saw Peter nod his head, the smile on his face growing. “She did – in fact, she told me all about your long history of bad interactions with the robot.” He looked at Morgan with affection, the man obviously very good at his job – very in tune with the children he taught. “We’ve got show and tell coming up, maybe you can bring him?” Peter shot him a smirk, his eyes twinkling.

Morgan didn’t waste any time jumping on board, either. “Oh, can we please, daddy? No one will have anything nearly as cool as that.” Her smile broadened and her eyes started to well a little – the patented puppy dog gaze doing its best to melt him.

Who the hell was he to deny anyone that looked that cute anything they desired? Tony cupped her cheek and grinned, his head nodding. “We absolutely can, baby girl.” The squeal he got in return made up for the fact that getting the robot to the school would be an absolute pain in the ass. Regardless, Morgan’s interest in all of his tech and the building process needed to be nurtured – even if that meant hauling an ancient science fair project to a kindergarten class filled with young, impressionable children.

His little girl thrusting her backpack at him brought him back from his thoughts, her big brown eyes looking up at him. “Can we go now, daddy? You promised we could play with the track and it’s going to be bedtime before I know it!” She looked at him seriously, her lips in the slightest pout. It wasn’t necessary, Tony was aware that Morgan knew that just as well as he did. Shouldering the bag, Tony nodded at her, a wink being sent her way.

“Well, it’s nice to have met you, Peter. Thanks for taking such good care of Morgan,” he ruffled her hair again, the girl’s hands coming up to try and stop him. His feet didn’t want to move, though – Tony’s eyes were once again locked with Peter’s and the few feet of distance between them felt like too much. A compulsion to close the distance rushed through him – each of his fingers physically aching to touch.

The big grin spreading across the other man’s face didn’t help, either. “It was nice to meet you too, Tony.” He gripped his bottom lip between his teeth for a few seconds, Tony’s instinct to touch growing steadily by the second.

It took every ounce of self-control to keep his entire body from launching across the space between them and narrow it down to nothing.

Instead, he put his hand down to his side, Morgan grabbing it by default. She glanced up at him and smiled a toothy grin – she’d lost her first tooth over the summer, something that was quite the feat for the five-year-old.

He shot Peter another smile before tugging at his daughter’s hand, his skin suddenly crawling with a feeling he couldn’t describe. “See you next week, Mr. Peter,” Tony tossed over his shoulder as they walked out – the younger man’s eyes not leaving him the entire time. A squeeze to one of his fingers had Tony looking down at the small girl next to him.

“Did you get the mint chip ice cream?” Morgan asked, her voice all of the sudden higher pitched, her eyes wide with worry. He fucked up one time and didn’t replace the stash and this was the treatment he got. Rolling his eyes, Tony kept her on edge until they got to the car. He dropped her hand and made quick work of putting her in her seat.

When she was all buckled in, Tony tickled her tummy, the squirms and giggles totally worth the shoe he took right in the bicep. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her head when their laughter died down, his heart full for the first time throughout that entire week. “I got mint chip ice cream and chocolate sauce. How’s that for sundae night?” Tony asked her, his pointer finger pressing against her nose in a very boop-like gesture.

The soft hand on his cheek surprised him for a second, Morgan going from laughter to total seriousness in the matter of a second. She totally got that trait from her mother, he thought – his eyes moving until he caught glances with his daughter. “I love you, Daddy,” Morgan said softly, her small fingers brushing his cheeks lightly. “Don’t tell mommy this, but you’re much better at sundae night. She tried to make me eat those bright red cherries – yuck!”

It felt a little easier to breath after that – he got in the car a whole lot more lighthearted than before, at least. Her babbles coming from the backseat were much better than anything Tony could have put on the radio – he loved learning more about Truffles the turtle and his adventures around the fish tank. One day he’d get her a dog and he couldn’t wait to see how she’d react to that – all of the stories she would tell.

Walking into the penthouse, Tony almost lost his shit right along with the little girl – her eyes lit up and her feet were carrying her over to the track he built before the rest of her body got on board. The trip and stumble she did added to the inability to keep a straight face – he slapped a hand over his mouth to continue to observe her silently. She walked around the track and inspected all of the different areas she knew Tony planned to change last weekend. “It looks like my red car is definitely going to win this time,” she mumbled, her hands skimming along the edges of it.

Despite loving the heck out of her, Tony felt determined to teach Morgan about reality and the ins and outs of navigating it. He never let her win and took lots of slack from Pepper about it – yet, it made her a smarter game player. She thought things through – she looked at the entire picture. If it made him an asshole to teach her that being the best was the only way to do things – well, he didn’t really give a shit. Tony already knew he was an asshole, anyway.

The few steps between himself and the living room were easily taken, his chest filled with excitement. Her reaction was exactly what he’d been looking for, the girl’s smile the single best thing Tony had in his life at present. He smiled in her direction, his eyebrows quirked, “we’ll see.” He swiftly picked her up, small arms wrapping around his neck without any hesitation. “Why don’t you go get changed into some lab clothes and we can find out,” Tony suggested, a kiss being placed on her cheek as he did.

Morgan giggled and kicked her feet, her hands pushing against him. “Put me down and I will.” He did exactly that, her legs moving the second she touched the ground. Getting to the end of the hall, she turned back and faced Tony, a mischievous glint in her eye – “you’re going down, daddy.”

----

Tony sat leaned against the island early the next morning – the dream he fell into last night still so very vivid, like every single touch he experienced within it was the real thing. His hands tightened around the mug in his hands, eyes slamming shut. It didn’t make sense, to feel so guilty – dreams were nothing, totally personal – no one had to or even got to know what was in them. Yet, he couldn’t stop himself from playing it over and over again. Maybe that’s why he felt so dirty about it.

It wasn’t surprising when he fell into bed and immediately went to sleep the second his head hit the pillow. Between the races, copious amounts of ice cream, and the big game of tag they played right before bed, Tony was exhausted. He didn’t do a lot of sleeping during the earlier part of the week, either – so the rest was much needed. It wasn’t often he went through his sleep cycle enough to dream, he jumped awake at almost any sound or movement. Not last night, though – no, he’d gotten to live out the dream what felt like the entire night.

In it, he found himself on his knees. That made a lot of sense, actually – he liked that position and couldn’t remember the last time he found himself in it. His work-roughened hands were trailing along pale thighs, the skin there unblemished and slightly hairy – the muscle settled under the skin just right against his fingertips. His mouth was preoccupied with the expanse of a trim waist, tongue and teeth making a trail from one hipbone to the other.

It felt like the start of something very, very good.

Then, he looked up to catch the eye of the person above him and noticed chestnut curls, dark eyes, and pretty pink lips – the name Peter wanting to fall from his lips. Fingers were thrust into his hair and before he could think any more on it, Tony’s lips were wrapping themselves around an irresistible length – the tip already weeping with wetness, the tang of it pulling a moan from his chest. He set a vigorous pace and enjoyed every single second of it.

Right before what he assumed was a load of cum dripping down his throat, the hand in his hair gripped tightly, pulling his head back until Tony felt his lips slip off perfect, velvet heat – his eyes wide in confusion. “I want to cum with you inside of me,” Peter purred. Tony could do nothing other than get to his feet, his head being taken between two palms and brought forward until their lips were pressed together.

When he eventually bottomed out, Peter’s legs were on his shoulders, his knees pressing into Tony’s neck as their skin finally settled together. Because it was a dream, it went on forever. Tony could still remember the way the sweat trailed down the side of his face, his arms heavy and sore from holding his body up and thrusting with everything he had left. His stomach clenched tightly until there was nothing left but to jump off and give into the delightful pleasure of the free fall.

Even if was just a dream, Tony hadn’t ever cum that hard in his life and the result in his boxers when he jumped awake was something new, too. The last time he had a wet dream, he’d been under the age of 14 with no clue as to what in the hell was happening. Now, it felt a little shameful, like he couldn’t control his urges. In truth, that kind of seemed like the case. There weren’t even twelve hours between meeting the man and having a vivid fantasy about him.

Tony tried not to think about how very much his type the man was – or how Tony pictured a someone just like him in all his fantasies, long before he ever met the man.

Blinking, Tony brought his coffee cup up to his lips, the coldness of the bitter liquid a straight shock to his system. He spat it back into the cup and rolled his eyes – he must have been sitting there a lot longer than he initially thought. It shook him to the core though, how easily the other man affected him – how much Tony wanted, craved, hell – how much he needed. Hiding away from the world came with some downfalls – this one obvious enough. Suppression didn’t change the facts.

There wasn’t any use dwelling about it in that moment, however. Glancing down at the watch on his wrist, Tony figured he had 20 more minutes of silence before the sound of little feet barreling down the hallway engulfed the place. The thought brought a smile to his face, Tony very glad to have the distraction of fun times with his beautiful daughter. Especially after last night – a little quality time doing absolutely nothing other than having a good time was exactly what he needed. With that in mind, he got up from his slumped over position and strode further into the kitchen, the intent to make breakfast fresh on his mind.

Like he figured, Morgan sprinted into the room right around the time the bacon finished cooking – her eyes still muggy with sleep, but a soft smile on her face. “It smells good in here,” she eventually said, her bunny still in her hand as she climbed into her usual chair. “Did you do French toast, too?”

The spatula in his hand easily flipped the last couple of pieces of their breakfast while she spoke, his mind a lot clearer than just a few minutes earlier. He looked over at her, the spatula coming up to point in her direction. “Is it really breakfast without French toast?” Tony shot back. Her giggle was everything, a direct shot to the heart. Turning back to the stove, he dumped both pieces onto a plate and turned off the burner. It took a little constructing, but he had a nice-looking plate of cut up French toast pieces and two strips of bacon smothered in warm maple syrup in front of her within a couple of minutes.

“Bon Appetit,” he said with a flourish. Morgan clapped for him, though her eyes were glued to the food in front of her. Placing a kiss on her cheek, Tony walked back over the stove and put together his own plate before joining her. They ate in a companionable silence, which suited Tony just fine. He loved her never-ending commentary on everything – her brain was beautiful and was quickly starting to shape into something he couldn’t wait to see come to life. He also appreciated the times he got to watch her in silence, the way she stuffed several pieces of French toast into her mouth so endearing, despite being silly, too.

She even helped him clear the dishes – which blew him off his feet every time it happened. Tony knew they’d been trying to teach her manners and the rules of the land for the past five years – it was something completely different when the tangible example stood in front of him, her reaction genuine and without hesitation. “How do you feel about the zoo today, sweet pea?” Tony asked her, his hip hitting the dishwasher door to close it all the way.

“The zoo sounds perfect. As long as we can spend some time in the lab later. I want you to show me what you did to the wheels of your car,” Morgan responded immediately, her hands brushing some of the stray hair from her face. Tony couldn’t stop the laugh that slipped from his lips – her determination to beat him so goddamn cute.

Turning, Tony picked her up, his arms wrapping around her tightly. “Alright, that sounds like a deal. How many times should we feed the giraffes?”

A couple of hours later, Tony had a tuckered-out Morgan in his arms, the girl passed out after all the excitement of the zoo. Since they were up so early, they caught all of the animals during feeding time. Tony donated frequently to the city zoos, so it didn’t take anything other than mentioning of who he was to get them a little closer. As usual, the elephants and giraffes were a favorite amongst the two – Tony hoped the photographer at the exhibit got the big animal licking Morgan’s face, the whole scene absolutely priceless.

It was mutually decided to vacate the premises when the sun started to make the day really hot – the place was starting to get crowded, anyway. Walking back from the elephant exhibit, Morgan asked to climb into his arms and promptly fell asleep against his chest. She was growing up so fast – each week between visits making it seem like he missed so much of her life, of the beautiful process of watching her grow. Moments like this were ones he felt determined to cherish. He managed to get her back to the car and into the seat without waking her up – something he didn’t often accomplish. Her sleeping habits matched his in a lot of ways, being a light sleeper amongst them.

He knew she was tired when Morgan didn’t protest against the nap he suggested when they walked into the house. She simply grabbed her bunny and settled into the makeshift bed on the couch. Sitting down next to her, Tony stroked her hair while she slept for another hour – Amazing World of Gumball providing him comfort while the princess snoozed.

The total wind down brought energy back with a vengeance, though – the second she woke up, the rest of the day moved by in a whirlwind. They snacked on hot dogs and mac and cheese before tucking into the small area he made for her in his lab – all of the tools safe for the young girl to actually handle. Tony took apart his blue hot wheel car and showed her the modifications – her eyes roaming over everything his pointed to, her entire being focused on his words. When they made the same modifications to her car, she looked up at him triumphantly, a smirk on her lips. “Now I’m really going to beat you, daddy.”

And she did – a couple times, actually. The little dance she made up to rub the fact in his face made the couple extra modifications he made while she wasn’t looking worth it. Maybe letting her win every now and again wasn’t too terrible, especially when she learned so much throughout the process. He got to listen to her talk about her win the entire time they ate the pizza he ordered and well into the rest of the night, her mind still there when he settled her under the covers – his own fatigue wearing his patience down a little bit.

Tucking her in, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, a chuckle leaving his lips. “If you don’t stop rubbing it in, I’m not going to want to challenge you to a rematch tomorrow,” Tony whispered to her, his tone conspiratorial, like he was sharing a secret with her. “You have to go to sleep right now, or we’ll never know who the best winner out of three is.”

The soft gasp that escaped her lips almost cracked the serious façade – her worry tangible in how still she got on the bed, in how fast her little eyelids closed, the typical faking sleep thing coming into play. Rolling his eyes, he pressed another kiss to her forehead. “Sleep for real, okay? We’re gonna see if Uncle Happy has gotten any better at driving his go-cart since the last time.” He swiped his thumb against her cheek bone, a soft smile on his face. “Love you, peanut.”

Morgan turned her head and pressed a kiss against the hand still near her cheek. “I love you 3000, daddy.” Her response was immediate, the words always a kick right in the heart – making him melt just a tiny bit more.

When he peeked in on her later, he grinned at the way she was completely passed out, her bunny on the floor by the head of the bed. He picked it up and placed it within her reach – there’d been a time when she couldn’t do a damn thing without that stupid bunny. Shaking his head, he took one more glance at the small human he’d been gifted before walking out and heading to his own room.

Exhaustion took him under quickly again, the dreams so far from his mind throughout the day, he didn’t think about what a second night worth of them might be like. The desperation and neediness in his mind was manifesting into something Tony couldn’t control and for the most part, didn’t really want to, either. At least in his dreams, he could be himself – enjoy the hell out of the things he didn’t often let himself have. Things that – with each passing night and each sexier dream, he didn’t want to stop himself from having any longer, either.

Soon enough, Tony was taking Morgan into school on Monday morning, their epic weekend elongated a couple days because Pepper and Steve got caught in a storm that delayed their flight. The idea of getting a couple extra days with her daddy had Morgan running around the room, her hands clapping loudly. To stop the noise, Tony reminded her that she still needed to go to school and their weekend time would not extend into the week – he knew Pepper’s routine was strict and planned to keep to it.

Dropping Morgan off came with the extra perk of running into the gorgeous Peter, the young teacher in grey slacks and a navy-blue polo when Tony encountered him that first day of the week. Morgan didn’t bother sticking around, there were already a group of four other kids looking in her direction expectantly. Making a soft noise of hurt, Tony turned to walk out of the room when a voice stopped him.

“Mr. Stark – I’m surprised to see you again so soon,” Peter said, his long legs putting him in front of Tony before he could even process the words. His eyes betrayed him, the muscles firing to move them back and forth, the miles of the younger man’s skin being unconsciously catalogued. Blushing, Tony tore his gaze away for a second.

The long locks of Morgan’s hair over Peter’s shoulder calmed him immediately, his focus returning back to the gorgeous man after a moment. “Her mom is still out of town – so I’ve got her for the next couple of days. The extra time is greatly appreciated,” Tony replied, his cheeks slipping into a smile on their own. “It’s nice to see you again.”

The words were out before he could siphon them through the filter, yet – he could see Peter’s cheeks spread into a smile on their own, his chocolate brown eyes sparkling. How in the world did someone look that stunning? He shifted a little, trying to lessen the pressure of the building heat within him. Another person never affected him like this – especially with just a smile and a look.

“It’s nice to see you again, too. Morgan loves her mother; you can totally tell. The way she feels about you, though – it’s something else. The way you are with her is – it’s nice. Really nice,” Peter stuttered out the last couple of words, his cheeks taking on a scarlet blush. It was an endearing color, the red coordinating well with the darkness of his hair and the smooth pale skin encasing it.

The pressure he’d been trying to relieve built some more, his insides feeling like they were on the verge of explosion.

“She’s a miniature version of myself. That’s hard not to love,” he got out immediately, his eyes breaking from Peter’s to look over his shoulder again. All of the kids waiting at the door for her were gathered in a circle around her, the girl’s hands gesturing wildly as she told them a story. Probably the one about their race on Sunday where her car slid past the finish line a couple milliseconds before Tony’s did. Glancing back, he noticed Peter’s smile softened, face still covered in that delicious blush.

“She’s also the coolest person on the planet. But I know you already know that.”

They both laughed at that, the truth of it pretty undeniable. Peter shook his head, the obvious attempt to clear it making the longer hair on the front of his head fall into his eyes – the look of it even more stunning – disheveled looked good on the young teacher. The look they shared went on a little longer than should have been appropriate, a little arm grabbing Peter’s leg the only thing that brought both of them out of the haze. Tony sucked in a breath, his eyes going wide for a second.

He’d been so comfortable trapped in the fog of shared connection – for the first time in his entire life, Tony didn’t feel ashamed by the fact that another man was the reason for the big smile on his face. That thought was scary and sent him in the other direction quickly. “I’ll get out of your hair. Have a nice day, Peter,” Tony offered, his feet already carrying him out the door.

----

Fortunately for both Tony and Morgan, Pepper and Steve remained stuck in Florida for the rest of the week – which meant they got to hangout after school every day. It didn’t hurt, either, the fact that Tony got to drop her off and pick her up – each time he did, his interactions with Peter got better and better, the man interesting and seemingly interested in Tony, too.

Rolling into Friday, Tony was excited to head into the weekend – they were planning on heading to Central Park the next day, Morgan excited to see all of the puppies and run around the green, green grass. Her enjoyment of the little things never ceased to amaze him. Regardless, he felt great, his daughter’s presence a huge part of that. A very, very huge part of that.

Waking up to take care of her before school made the day start on a good note – the time between dropping her off and picking her up, Tony let himself obsess over the work on his desk in the lab. The act of stepping out and doing something else broke up his concentration and made leaving the lab so much easier. It seemed crazy, how much a couple extra days with his favorite person could change things up for him.

And, okay – Tony had to admit that being open in his flirting with Peter during their brief conversations felt pretty good, too. For whatever reason, the man made him feel like he could be himself – like the fact that he smiled too big and looked too long wasn’t a bad thing. In fact, Tony could swear he found Peter glancing at him, staring when he thought Tony wasn’t paying direct attention. He always made sure to stop and talk to Tony when he came to pick Morgan up, his cheeks stained with a now recognizable (and stupidly attractive) flush.

It was so obvious that Tony found himself speechless when Morgan practically shouted – “I think Mr. Peter likes you, daddy,” from the back of the car on the way home Thursday afternoon. Like many things with Morgan, the bluntness of her actions felt like a punch to the gut. A needed one, maybe – but a punch to the gut, nonetheless. He glanced back at her in the rearview mirror, the little girl’s attention never straying from the bunny in her hands, despite the words coming from her mouth.

She turned out to be right, though – Peter caught his eye before Morgan did when he went to pick her up on Friday. Tony watched delicately long legs bring Peter towards him, that smile he liked so much plastered on the other man’s face. “Hey, Tony,” he started, a determined look on his face. “It’s probably a little unorthodox – me just coming up to you like this. But uh – I was wondering if you’d like to go out with me, uhm – this weekend?” The way he sputtered through the question made Tony’s heart quake, the muscle working overtime in the moment.

Smiling wide, Tony could do nothing other than nod – his throat a little tight from the range of emotions running through him. Most of the exchanges he had with men in the past happened in the darkness of night, not in the middle of a kindergarten classroom. He couldn’t find it in him to be mad about it, though – this felt much more right, more wholesome and real. Like maybe, if he went about things the right way, it could be more than just once – that concept so foreign to Tony, so different than the settling he’d done in the past.

“Yes – I would like that very much. I have Morgan all weekend, though – she’ll have to tag along,” Tony replied – he wasn’t going to feel bad about including the girl, they’d probably have a great time simply because she was there, anyway.

Peter didn’t bat an eye; his smile grew at the mention of Morgan – the man had an obvious soft spot for her. “I already figured. I thought maybe we could go to the park, or something. I usually spend Saturday morning out and about with Gracey, my dog.” His smile was huge, the prospect of spending time with him and Morgan something that seemed to truly make him happy.

Tony’s eyes lit up at the mention of a dog, his heart skipping another beat – the entire situation got better and better as the seconds past. “A dog? Oh, squirt is going to shit her pants. I can’t wait to see that,” Tony said nonchalantly, his eyes sparkling. “We were going to go to Central Park – is that a fine enough establishment for the lovely Gracey?”

Morgan ran towards them as they spoke, her light up shoes flashing with each step. Her arms reached up, the universal signal to be picked up. Leaning down, Tony swept her up, her small frame tucking against his side easily. He reminded himself to soak in the moments like this one, the smallness she had now wouldn’t stick around forever. He bit down on his tongue to chase that thought away – things were going well; it’d be stupid to bog them down with stuff that didn’t matter.

“Central Park sounds great. Is 9 too early for you guys?” Peter looked between the two of them, the man obviously including Morgan in the decision, too.

“Morgan, Peter is going to join us for our walk through Central Park tomorrow with his doggie Gracey, does that sound okay to you? Is 9 too early?” He bounced her on his hip slightly, the movement making her giggle.

“Yes, daddy. That sounds like fun. Mr. Peter, will I be able to play with your dog?” Morgan asked innocently, her head tilted in curiosity – her mind spinning like a pinwheel, the girl so much like her daddy.

A soft laugh left the other man’s chest, his lips tugging into that patented smile. “Gracey loves new friends, she’ll be excited to make one out of you, Morgan,” Peter replied softly. “I even think she’ll let you walk her if you’re extra good.”

Morgan’s face became serious after that, her jaw set in child-like resolve. “I’ll be on my best behavior, I promise,” she said, holding out a pinkie between them. She waited patiently, a smile on her face the entire time.

“I’m going to hold you to that,” the other joked, his pinky flying out to join Morgan’s in the pinky swear handshake she’d taken to doing. He even knew to press his thumb against hers so they could stamp it – the promise now made and not able to be broken.

Shaking his head at the two of them, Tony used his free hand to reach into his pocket to grab a business card. Their fingers grazed when he handed it over, a smirk on Tony’s face. In that moment, he felt confident – happy with the way things were going for once. “Text me later, we’ll figure out somewhere to meet.” Tony didn’t say he wanted Peter to have his number just in case he wanted to talk, or for emergencies – little things like that.

Tony watched Peter pocket the card, a satisfied feeling settling in his chest. Looking up at Morgan, he used his fingers to tickle her stomach – the action never failing to get the exact reaction he was looking for. Her laugh brought him pure joy and always would. “Tell Mr. Peter we’ll see him tomorrow,” Tony prodded, the two men sharing a look when she turned her head towards him, the promise she made obviously still fresh in her mind.

“See you tomorrow. I can’t wait to meet Gracey,” Morgan added, her smile cheeky – the trademark Stark smirk slowly starting to slip into her repertoire. “Can we go now, daddy?” Her words sounded familiar, Tony heard them every day this week, his flirtations with Peter digging into her social life, apparently.

Chuckling, Tony pressed a kiss to her cheek, any irritation he felt melting the second it entered his brain. She was too damn cute for her own good – the damn kid had him wrapped around her finger. “Sure thing, squirt. See you tomorrow, Peter,” Tony said, his eyes meeting the others for a few seconds, the gaze warm and a little heated – their promise not coming in the form of a pinky swear.

It didn’t take much for either of the Stark’s to get moving the next morning. Partly because Tony promised donuts for breakfast if Morgan didn’t give him any hassle at bedtime – which she did not – not a single bit of it whatsoever. He knew her sugar high later in the day would kick his ass, yet – the idea of watching her bounce off the walls made his heart race a little. Having fun was easy with the little girl around, even if it meant that fun came from watching the little girl enjoy herself.

At the donut shop, they stood with their noses pressed against the glass, each trying to decide what the best selection would be. “Do you think Mr. Peter is a glazed guy? Or a filled donut type? Or should we just get a bunch of different ones and cross our fingers?” Tony asked her idly, the little girl looking up at him with a shrug.

“You should just get one of everything. Especially that big chocolate one back there,” answered, her eyes glued to the biggest donut in the case. Shaking his head, Tony followed her advice and grabbed one of everything. Between that a chocolate milk and the two coffees, they were pretty much set.

He let Morgan run in front of him when they got closer to the park – they’d been there enough for the girl to know where they were and to be aware of where he was. She didn’t seem to think it prudent to stray too far, anyway – she came babbling back to him every few steps with the next observation. It went on until they finally got to the point where they were meeting Peter, the younger man already standing there with a gorgeous blue bull terrier, the dog already straining at the leash as they approached.

“Hey, Pete,” Tony greeted, his hand already moving to hold the cupholder out between them. “Morgan got this crazy chocolate donut, but there’s a ton of other sugary goodness in there, if you’re interested. Cream and sugar, too,” he let Peter take the second coffee, then held the bag up. Peter took the coffee and most of the cream and sugar – his face sheepish for a second before going all in. Tony grinned at that, his taste for black coffee never coming in handy more. Tony got the bag back with a plain glazed donut missing and a soft smile.

“Thank you, Starks. You guys are clutch – I was just telling Gracey how hungry I was,” Peter started, his words cut up a little by the bits of donut he was chewing in his mouth. Tony watched transfixed, the human in front of him getting cooler by the second. “We did our morning jog around the park already, so she’ll be ready for a casual stroll now.”

Looking at him, Tony could see running shoes on his feet and long joggers – they sat delectably on the man’s ass, the fabric just on the right side of tight. It took him a second to pull his gaze away and when he did, he took a couple of clearing breaths, each one only slightly loosening the clench in his chest. “Sounds like you’ve had a productive morning. Want to walk a little and find a place to sit down? Morgan is practically bursting at the seams to pet Gracey – who is absolutely beautiful, by the way.”

The smile back at him had the clenching tightness in his chest coming back – Tony realizing in that instant that it was just Peter making him feel that way. The feeling was foreign, something that shouldn’t make sense or feel the way it did – at the same time, Tony felt himself giving into that clench with every second that passed. Maybe this is what it felt like to actually like someone – to feel nervous and apprehensive and elated to freely be enjoying every second.

Tony returned the glowing grin with one of his own – his heart stammering in his chest in the best of ways.

“I’m surprised they haven’t jumped each other yet, to be honest. Gracey isn’t usually all that patient. I like your idea, though – I saw another donut in that bag I might like to try, too,” Peter spoke in such a calm way, his demeanor relaxed, the other man seemingly lacking the nerves coursing through Tony.

They set a slow pace, both Morgan and Gracey way out ahead of them, the little girl trying to bend down and pet the dog’s flank every few steps. When they passed a trash can, Tony threw away the drink carrier with his now empty coffee – the freedom of his hands something he appreciated when he and Peter started to drift a little closer. “Tell me a bit about yourself,” Tony murmured after a while. The silence between them was nice, but Tony was interested – he figured there was more beyond the surface of the man standing next to him.

Peter stayed silent for a couple of minutes, the man obviously formulating his answer. From the beginning, Tony noticed that Peter didn’t jump into anything, he thought about his words and delivered them with meaning. Tony forced himself to be patient and wait to hear what the other man said – his natural instinct to ask another question becoming easier to tamper down with every single exposure to Peter. He let his arm swing between them, instead, his attention slipping between their matching steps and the slight brush of Peter’s hand against his own as they took them.

“When I’m not Mr. Peter, I create code for websites and watch an abundance of Bob’s Burgers. I grew up in Queen’s, so New York has always been home for me. Gracey and I have been living that single life together for about four years now- oh, and I’m deathly allergic to honey,” Peter finally replied, his head turning ever couple of words to catch Tony’s eyes as he spoke. “What about you, Tony Stark? What makes you tick?” the words were low and accompanied by a head tilt towards a bench a few feet ahead of them.

There wasn’t a lot of room on the bench, so they needed to sit pretty close to each other – which, for Tony, felt like a precious gift. Their shoulders settled together, the warmth radiating against Tony’s right side absolutely staggering – everything about Peter felt that way. Watching Morgan for a second, he saw her and Gracey getting to know each other – the easy way the dog let her in and started to play meant they’d have at least a few minutes of distraction.

With the donuts between them, Tony let his free hand run along the length of the bench, his fingers just a few inches shy of ending up on Peter’s shoulder. He relaxed into the seat, the general goodness of the scene too good not to enjoy. “To be honest with you, I’m kind of a boring guy. I spend way too much time in my lab, which is completely covered in nanotech at the moment, so there’s many hours to be wasted. I like old rock music and great whiskey. And Morgan. Being her dad is one of the best bits of me,” he turned then, catching eyes with Peter. The man shifted a bit while Tony spoke, his knee now pulled up onto the bench.

He looked at Tony with such an open expression, his entire body seemingly willing to take in all the facts thrown his way. With a quick breath, Tony let his biggest shame slip from his lips – the idea of having someone understand him making it easier than it should have been. “I’ve also been closeted for most of my life – so there’s a lot about me that I don’t really know about.” He felt his face color as the words sounded between them – an embarrassment embracing him simply because he admitted something like that.

A knee hitting his thigh was not the reaction he expected – though, Peter wasn’t at all what he expected, either – so maybe he should get used to that feeling. Shifting a bit, Tony let Peter’s knee press a little more firmly into his thigh – the touch comforting, despite the mortification running through him from his little confession.

“None of that sounded boring. Especially the nanotech. You may need to show me that sometime soon,” Peter started, his body moving until the arm Tony had around the back of the bench could easily fit around his shoulders. There wasn’t any expectation in the move, just reassurance of understanding, a silent confirmation that Peter did in fact get what Tony was going through. “Are you going to stay there?” The unspoken ‘in the closet’ wasn’t missed, its implication as clear as the attraction between them.

With Peter so close, Tony gave in a little, his fingertips trailing along the edge of Peter’s shoulder, the touch barely there. Thinking about it, Tony knew that he couldn’t – stay in the closet. Not any longer. Not after taking several years from another human’s life, just to keep a secret that, for all intents and purposes, didn’t mean shit to anyone but himself and himself alone. So many things warred inside of him, but he knew he wasn’t – not when there were so many parts of life he missed out on already.

“No – definitely not. It’s kind of a lonely place. One I don’t think I really need to be in any longer,” Tony said, finality and determination in his voice. He didn’t want to run down the street shouting about his love for cock, he might never get to that level, but he liked being out with Peter – he enjoyed the casualty of being with someone that made him feel good. And if Morgan taught him anything in the last few days, it was that he deserved to be happy – things in life went a lot better when a resounding feeling of joy overtook the dread of always being tucked away.

Peter’s free hand patted his thigh softly, his shoulder pressing into Tony’s side. “Good, the grass is definitely greener on the other side,” he said softly. Tony felt himself smile, the hand on the bench closing the last few inches and wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him close. Green on the other side, indeed.

The rest of the morning went by in a haze of laughter, too much sugar, and the constant babble of one Morgan Stark. They walked around the park for another hour or so – Morgan’s sugar rush hitting right around the time Peter offered to let her walk Gracey. By the time they were walking back towards their cars, Morgan was walking sluggishly with the equally tired dog – Peter and Tony sharing a grin over their heads. “Do you want to come back to ours? I can get these two set up with some lunch and a place to crash for a little while,” Tony asked, the hilarity of how close they actually parked by each other wearing off when they collected to say goodbye.

Tony wasn’t ready for the day to end – and by the way Morgan kept herself close to Gracey’s lead, she wasn’t ready for it to end, either. Like they were running on the same wavelength, Tony and Morgan both looked over at Peter with puppy dog eyes – the Stark looks working in more ways than one.

It seemed like they managed to melt him in his tracks, Peter’s face softened, and a hearty laugh fell from his lips. “You two are going to be quite the pair, aren’t you?” He shook his head, his smile growing. “I don’t have anything else planned for the day, so I’m down. As long as you give me lunch, too. Six donuts aren’t even close to being enough,” Peter rubbed his stomach, his eyebrows arching.

The possibility of spontaneously combusting washed over him for a second, his face heating up, cheeks burning with a certain sort of fire. What in the actual fuck was happening to him? Biting down on his lip, Tony reined himself in, his head nodding. “You got it, dude,” Tony responded, his hand reaching down to grab Morgan’s, her face once again happy now that her time with Gracey wasn’t coming to an end yet. “I’ll send you the address, but we’re going straight back – if you want to follow.”

After getting Morgan into the seat and onto the road, Tony turned the AC/DC they’d been jamming to early down and looked over his shoulder. “How was that? Seems like you had a lot of fun with Gracey,” Tony remarked, his lips tugging into a soft grin.

“Gracey is my new best friend, daddy. Peter said he had a ball for her in his car. Can we play with it back at the house? I’ll try not to break anything,” Morgan’s words came out in one clump, her excitement and inability to control it spilling out all over the place. Her feet were kicking, and the bunny was back in her arms.

He snorted, his hand clenching around the steering wheel to stop himself from laughing outright – there was no denying that she was his child. “As long as you try not to break anything. You can go into the big guest room without the bed – you guys can run around all you want in there.” Keeping his eyes on the wheel, he reached back to pat her knee lightly. “Glad you had fun, pumpkin.”

A while later, Tony and Peter were tucked onto the couch in the Stark living room, the race car track now put away (and by that, he meant fully functional in one of the other guest rooms) to give a clear view of the tv once again. Peter’s surprisingly good cooking skills came in handy when they made fresh tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches.

Watching Peter show Morgan how to crunch up Goldfish into her soup made his heart skip a couple of beats – and any delusion of not being totally smitten with Peter was out the window. His kid meant the world to him, the simple fact that she didn’t miss a beat with Peter around spoke volumes.

Morgan and Gracey were snuggled up together on the floor of the little girl’s room. The excitement of the morning and purposeful heartiness of the meal had her down for the count pretty quickly – the dog following her not long after that. Which left Peter and Tony with the illusion of some time alone together. Tony put on one of the movies within reach, which turned out to be Wreck It Ralph, and joined the other on the couch. A part of him hoped the choice of movie wouldn’t matter – there were other, better things they could be doing.

Other than the little chuckle when the menu popped up, Peter said nothing about what flashed across the tv screen. Tony settled into the couch the same way he did earlier on the bench, with his arm across the back of the chair. Peter didn’t beat around the bush, though – he settled into the warmth of Tony’s side, the intoxicating smell of his curly locks apparent now that they were so close. With a soft breath, Tony wrapped his arm around Peter, his lips pressing against his forehead.

“Thanks for hanging out today. I haven’t had this much fun in a while,” Tony whispered, his lips still pressed against Peter’s skin. And that was the total truth – Tony couldn’t remember the last time he enjoyed himself so much – when his happiness did not depend solely on Morgan and how she was feeling. In a moment of clarity, he thought about how much pressure that was for such a young kid. Well, then.

Shaking his head, he pulled a little until Peter was pressed flush against his chest – his enjoyment of the non-sexual connection something new and exciting. He recalled the word intimacy and wondered if that’s what he was experiencing in that very moment. A hand came up to cup his cheek, Peter shifting until he could see Tony over his shoulder.

“Thanks for having me. You seem to be a very good man, Tony Stark,” Peter said in answer a couple minutes later, the two of them trying to soak up the closeness – Tony desperate for whatever he could get of it.

Though the angle was weird, Tony leaned forward and pressed his lips against Peter’s, the hand on his cheek grasping a little tighter. Peter responded to him immediately, his lips melding to Tony’s in a way that sucked the oxygen right from him. Pulling away slowly, Tony blinked his eyes open – the world looking a little bit different when he did. He never believed all the cliché bull shit about love at first sight, but there was something about this feeling – Tony might find himself becoming a believer, after all.

Peter’s smile had him pressing in again, the touch chaste – just enough for Tony to remember the feeling, the more exposure he got, the better the memory would be. The other man tried to turn in his arms, but the patter of little feet on the floor outside of the room stopped him. If this were any other time, he would have jumped off the couch – guilt written in his expression. Instead, Tony and Peter shifted a little until they were merely sitting next to each other – the older man’s arm draped casually along the back of the couch.

The click of nails followed the noisy footsteps and soon they were joined by Morgan and Gracey – the little girl settling herself on Tony’s lap. She looked between the two of them and then back at the screen – her brown eyes wide. “You’re not supposed to watch Ralph without me, daddy. You too, Peter,” she sounded exasperated – like they were really testing her patience.

By the end of the movie, both Morgan and Peter were passed out against him, the soft snores fluttering the sleeve of his shirt making it hard to move. He shifted a little, intent on putting Morgan to bed for a little while longer and letting Peter sleep his nap out.

The second he moved, though, Peter blinked awake, the sleepiness so apparent on his face utterly adorable. “Damn, I missed the end. I love the Mentos volcano he makes,” Peter mumbled, his body shifting to sit up, the heat of it against Tony’s side immediately missed. “I should probably get going. I have twenty construction paper projects I need to cut out before Monday.”

Tony grinned, the normalcy that Peter treated him with the best of the new feelings he’d been experiencing. Peter was somebody he could merely share life with – the idea a little dizzying. He held up a finger and got up off the couch. “Let me get Morgan into bed and I’ll walk you out.”

It didn’t take long to get Morgan tucked into her bed, the movie she’d been watching earlier started over, so he lowered the volume and walked back out into the living room. Peter was squatted down next to Gracey, his hands running over her head. He straightened up when he noticed Tony coming back into the room, the look on his face soft.

“Thanks again, Tony. I had an amazing time.” Peter took the last few steps to narrow the distance between them, one of his arms wrapping around Tony’s shoulders.

Following suit, Tony got both his arms around Peter’s waist and pulled him closer, their lips finding each other without much thought. Though he craved a deeper toucher, Tony kept the pass of their lips stay tame, teasing – just on the right side of intimate. When he pulled away, Tony leaned his forehead against Peter’s for a second, a long breath being drawn into his lungs.

“Me too. Can we do it again? I’ll be back on my own during the week, I’d love to take you out.” Tony’s words sounded confident, but nervousness ran through him – no matter how often he’d done this with women, it was completely different with a man, this man particularly. He felt a little out of his depth, and ultimately – scared out of his fucking mind. An answer came in the way of long fingers running through his hair and a gooey smile, Peter’s eyes gleaming.

----

And so it went for a while. Morgan went home the very next morning, Pepper was grateful and offered to let him pick her up a little more often from school – to which Tony readily agreed. Spending all of his time with her this week made Tony realize just how much he missed her, how important making sure he was there actually was to him. No more missing Friday afternoon pick-ups – no matter how cool the shit in the lab ended up being. Before she left, Pepper pressed a kiss to his cheek – her voice soft when she spoke. “You look happier. Whatever you’re doing, keep it up.”

He knew he didn’t need permission from her, but it felt a lot better to open his life to Peter with Pepper’s insistence that he allowed himself to be happy. In the 10 years they’d been together, Tony talked to Pepper about his true wants and feelings a grand total of two times. She never judged and gave him more than any sound human probably would have. Maybe that’s why it felt so monumental – her blessing, because out of all the people in his life, she knew the one piece of him he never wanted to share before. It didn’t color her opinion of him one bit.

Getting back into the flow of dating didn’t take any work at all – with Peter by his side, it felt like he’d known the man for most of his life. He was easy to talk to, fun to be around, and filled to the brim with ideas and wants. Every time they spoke, it felt like he learned something new and for a person like Tony, that was quite the feat. Their knowledge base and experiences were vastly different – but the ability to give and take was not. Tony hung on every one of Peter’s words, simply because wanted to and he knew Peter did the same when he spoke.

Their dates started out small, little places that wouldn’t attract much attention, despite the fact that Tony Stark was there and buying their food. It’d been a while since his divorce from Pepper, so the media attention seemed to have dulled considerably. Though there was no anonymity, Tony didn’t have to hide Peter too much. He was ready to take the necessary steps to be in a relationship, to let the world in on a little piece of him he’d been keeping to himself – he just wanted it to happen on his own terms.

When Tony wasn’t feeling adventurous and wanted to spend quality time with Peter, they camped out in the penthouse and cooked together, or ordered from the little Thai place the younger man preferred. In the bubble of elegant simplicity, Tony flourished. It was easy to be with Peter, to function around another human that was not only a good person, but one he found himself undeniable attracted to. The happiness he felt was the pure kind – the stuff he didn’t think he’d ever allow himself.

On the days Tony had Morgan, they went out and did some of the adventures that Peter always talked about. Morgan and Gracey were the best of friends by that point – the girls were always together whenever Peter graced them with the dog’s presence. There were many Friday evenings spent in the living room of the Stark residence with Morgan and Gracey cuddled together in the little sleeping bag, fast asleep. He always felt the best when they were all together – Peter was the perfect person to oppose his laid-back way of parenting and adored Morgan almost as much as he did.

They jumped the Pepper hurdle one Sunday when she walked in to pick up Morgan. Tony and Peter were still sitting at the small table in the kitchen, coffee cups in their hands. The little girl barreled into the room with fresh teeth and a bow they managed to wrangle into her hair just moments earlier. “Hi, mommy,” Morgan greeted her, the little voice breaking the silence.

Pepper leaned down and said something to Morgan, the little girl nodding and running back out of the room – the promise of Steve and his iPad more enticing than anything the group of grown-ups had to say.

“So, you’re the Peter she’s always mentioning. It all makes sense now. No wonder you like picking her up all of the sudden, Tony,” Pepper pointed out, her hand squeezing Tony’s shoulder lightly. “Her stories are always filled with so much joy. If you’re happy, I’m happy.” She looked between them, then kept her gaze steadily on Tony. “Don’t fuck this up, Stark. He’s one of the best teachers in the city.”

The real challenge came when a picture finally got out with Tony and Peter in a less than innocent encounter �� the reality of what they were to each other so very obvious in the snap the photographer was able to get. Pepper sent it to him about an hour before it went public, her plan of action for the news and what might happen attached to the ‘Sorry it happened this way’ that started the message. It was a little gutting, seeing he felt to be so precious out in the open like that – like it was something to be picked apart and discussed. It came with the territory, though – no matter what happened in his life, everyone wanted to catch a glance at it.

“At least they’re not trying to call you a playboy, anymore,” Peter joked when he saw him later, the man’s arms around him, his bony chin digging into Tony’s shoulder. “And it is a nice picture.”

Tony leaned into the embrace, a soft chuckle falling from his lips. It was a nice picture – he begrudgingly had to admit it. They were walking out of Eleven Madison Park, Tony’s arm wrapped around Peter’s shoulder, Peter’s arm wrapped around Tony’s waist. Tony’s head was turned, and his lips were pressed to the mess of hair on top of Peter’s head. The smile on his face could be read as nothing other than sheer affection – even love. There wasn’t a single feeling of shame in his body – just a bit of disappointment that he didn’t get to show Peter off in his own way. The speculation about him would be whatever it was – at this point, it didn’t matter.

Spending so many years locked away in a glass case of self-denial felt like punishment enough – he could take whatever the media had to throw his way. The Stark name held up so many things throughout the world, he doubted Tony Stark having a husband instead of a wife would change that too much. “Yeah, it is. I hope you’re ready for this. It’s going to be a circus for a little while.”

Admitting it made the reality of it settle in, the thought of just how much things would change for them for a little while daunting – almost enough to send him back into the dark, tail between his legs. The tight squeeze he got kept him in check, Peter’s voice grounding as it surrounded him. “I think it’ll be alright. They’ll get tired of how boring we are together eventually,” Peter muttered, the words pulling a laugh out of them both.

“Thanks for being here, Peter,” Tony whispered, leaning back into the other’s embrace.

“You couldn’t keep me away.”

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