#the amount of times i have had to stop myself from telling certain customers to fuck off is beyond a joke at this point

[thisisyourdriverspeaking]

Mad how customers are allowed to treat retail workers & service workers like absolute shit & speak to us like we're beneath them yet we are just expected to take it

[helicrocfmp]

AI

Tutorials 

I’ve got a tutorial series I’m going to follow to make my AI as I still don’t fully get AI and I wouldn’t be able to make it without one. I’m not going to do all of the tutorial videos at least for now at the moment I just want to get the AI working to a standard I’m happy with.

Link to the videos

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL4G2bSPE_8uklDwraUCMKHRk2ZiW29R6e

Following the tutorials

The tutorials were quite good they didn’t take long and gave me a pretty good starting point to make my AI. I still doubt I could make an AI by myself but I defiantly understand it more than I did before. My current understanding of it is that the behaviour tree is where you make the AIs behaviour so how you want it to act so if I make defence and attack modes I’d mostly be working with their behaviour tree. I’m a tad foggy on the blackboard still I think it acts a little bit like a game instance but for AI as you have variables there that can be set else where so I presume if I was doing attack or defence I could make a variable in the blackboard that can be set when the game mode is chosen and then have it effect something in the behaviour tree. I don’t really know much about the AI controller I know you have to select it in the AI character I think it’s where the blackboards variables are meant to be set but I could be wrong.

Making the AI

Making it wasn’t too bad as I had the tutorials but without them I wouldn’t have been able to make them. To make the behaviour tree we start with a root which goes into a selector which goes from left to right which in this case will start the roaming sequence which moves it to random locations and then the chase selector which first checks if the target actor is set which is what tells the AI it’s seen me so if it has it moves towards me if it hasn’t it will move to my last known location if there is one if it does and it still can’t see me it will go back to the roaming sequence. To make the roaming sequence work I had to make a new task called move random which gets actor location and a random reachable location which goes into an AI move with finish execute nodes at the end. All I had to do for the backboard was made three variables target actor target actor location and last known location. The code in the AI controller sets the blackboard variables by checking if it’s seen an actor and if that actor is the player character or not and setting the variables accordingly.

Behaviour tree

Task move random

Blackboard 

AI controller 

Changes to the tutorials 

I made some changes to make the AI more like the AI I wanted as I need my AI to shoot as well as stop at a certain distance. To do the shooting I made a new custom task called shoot and I put that after move as I want it to shoot after it has finished moving. the reason there is a aiming delay in between them is if the AI lost sight of the character and the regained sight of the character then it would shoot multiple shots in rapid succession which often lead me to dying as the rounds do 100 damage per shot as its a tank round but that delay will stop that. I also put an infinite loop on the shoot task so it wouldn’t run out of ammo if I wanted it to have limited shots I could do that by changing the loop amounts. I made another task for the AI to shoot it’s coax which it will only do if it loses sight for a little bit I chose to put it there as I thought it made a bit of sense as they’re panic shooting to try and find you. I’ve also made IFV versions of the AI that work identically to the tank AI just a slight difference in speed, turret rotation and the gun it shoots’

Behaviour tree

Task shoot

AI controller

Problems with distance and solutions

One of the changes I wanted to make was having the AI stop a certain distance away from you and then to shoot at you but I couldn’t figure out how to do it so I asked for Ollies help. Me and Ollie spent a good amount of time trying to figure out a way to get it to stop a certain distance away from you  but we struggled to find a good way of finding out how far the AI is from the player. Eventually we noticed that there was an acceptable radius on the move to node in the behaviour tree which does exactly what I wanted so we spent ages trying to figure out how to make something that was already just essentially a tick box.

Acceptable radius box

Other issues

Currently for some reason one of the AI parents spawn by itself without me asking it to which is the random T-55 that wont move in video I’m going to triple check it’s not being spawned it but I don’t think it is either way I need to find a way to get rid of it. There’s also an issue with the player dying at the moment as it will just destroy your actor but I can fix that by making a death animation/sprite and a death screen.

Video of AI

[intrepidacious]

blind roads

summary: "I'm James Bucky Barnes. This is my charming fiancée. We rob banks." (or, the Bonnie and Clyde AU literally no one asked for.)

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

word count: 4.4k

warnings: gunshot injuries and unsafe driving; a bit of smut if you squint; bucky is his own warning in this one y'all; just a couple committing crimes offscreen and being obsessed with each other

please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: surprise! no one including myself expected this fic, but here we are. while this story draws inspiration from the lives of two very real people who died eighty-eight years ago, it is mostly influenced by the broadway musical and the 1967 movie. in no way do i mean to suggest that this glamourised version of events is how things happened, or to tell you anything about morality. i just wanted to make that very clear <3

on a somewhat related note, even though faye dunaway (in the picture on the left, taken from the movie) is a white lady, the reader is not described as such. if i fucked up within the story please let me know (nicely) and i'll fix things

masterlist | read on ao3

You’d have to cauterize his arm.

It was a fact you knew deep in your gut, even though the thought alone was enough to make you sick.

You weren’t exactly a nurse, but you’d seen enough people get hurt even before these past couple of months to know that if a wound hadn’t stopped bleeding after a certain amount of time, you had to force it to or it wouldn’t. And Bucky’d been bleeding for a lot longer than that now.

The headlights of the other car had long since disappeared from the rear view mirror, but his foot didn’t release the accelerator a single inch. He’d always been one hell of a driver.

Today, he just looked like hell.

"We need to stop," you told him, but he didn’t take his eyes off the road, not even to send you a reassuring glance. That was when you knew it really was bad.

The blood had started trickling onto the creme colored car seat, and you scooted closer to lean over him and press another ripped piece of cloth from your skirt to the wound. You felt it pulsing under your fingers, and Bucky flinched so hard the car swerved and you yelped. His right hand grabbed onto your thigh and held you steady.

"Bucky," you said again, trying to convey the seriousness of the situation, "we need to stop and get you wrapped up, or you’re gonna die."

"Are you hurt, sugar?"

It was the first time he’d spoken since the shootout.

"Only if you die on me now, baby." There was a hitch in your voice that made his grasp tighten.

"I know a place," he said blankly, letting the engine roar.

He kept driving, and he kept bleeding, and you started praying for the first time in years.

***

You met James Buchanan Barnes in the early winter of 1930, when every customer that came into the diner had to spend half a minute beating the snow off their coats before they sat down. From the moment his eyes met yours you could feel that the path that your life was on would be veering off into a different direction, one that there was no turning back from. And the fact of the matter was, you didn’t mind one bit.

"You make that pie there yourself, sweetheart?" he asked, putting his hat down on the counter next to him without looking away from your face for a single second.

Normally, you wouldn’t let anyone speak to you like that; your ma’d had to have a stern word with you more than once because you kept cussing out rude and sleazy men. But this one … he was different. And not just because he was fine as a devil.

There was something else entirely in those blue eyes of his. A different kind of dangerous; a grander one.

So you raised your eyebrows and poured his coffee. "Why don’t you buy a slice and find out, handsome?"

"Now I feel you’re settin’ me up," he said, a crooked grin spreading on his face. 

"Girl’s gotta make a business."

He put another coin on the counter. "Pretty girl like you ain’t got better things to do?"

"Where d’you want me to start?" you said, cutting his slice a bit larger than you were supposed to. "The sweepin’, the moppin’ or the standin’ in the kitchen?"

"So many talents, and a gorgeous face on top of it," he mused, his smile widening so far you could see one of his teeth was a little chipped. "You’re definitely wasted 'round here."

"And where d’you suppose I should go instead?" you said, wiping your hands on your flower-embroidered apron.

"Come with me." The way he said it wasn’t arrogant, or pleading, or demanding. It was simply a request, an invitation, and his eyes were so soft, then. As if all his sharp edges had been softened by a few minutes of looking at you.

So you laughed. "I don’t even know you."

"We should straighten that out," he said, putting his hat back on only to tip it. "James Buchanan Barnes. Friends call me Bucky."

"What should I call you, then?" you teased.

"Anything you want, sugar."

You knew in that moment you’d write your parents a note that very same night and go with him, wherever the road would take you. It was as if your souls had been waiting to meet.

Bucky finally took a bite of pie and hummed in delight. "I knew it," he said. "Sweetest thing I ever tasted."

He said the same thing after you kissed him later that night, and then again some time after that, his eyes darkening a little more whenever he did, and holy cow.

He was going to be the death of you.

***

The car rolled to a stop in front of a rundown bar on the backstreet of a suburb just over the state line. Bucky’s skin had turned ashen, and sweat kept beading on his face like dew drops.

You were running out of time.

It took you almost five minutes to get Bucky out of the car. He was barely standing, and you half-dragged him to the door, banging at it with your broken heel. Finally, the door opened a few inches.

"What on earth—" the man on the other side began saying.

"We need your help, please," you interrupted. "I’m afraid he’ll die."

"Sam," Bucky rasped. "I’m sorry, pal."

Sam Wilson cursed. "Get him through to the left," he told you before slamming the door again.

You almost started crying when the two of you stumbled down the side street; you kept talking quietly to Bucky, terrified he’d lose consciousness and just collapse on top of you. You could feel your sleeve getting soaked in his blood.

The side door to the bar was hidden between shrubs and old wooden containers, and you basically fell the few stairs inside.

"New management," Sam said as a way of apology, taking a quick look outside to confirm no one had seen you enter, and then double bolted the door. "Walker catches you, we’re all dead before either of you can say 'God bless America'."

"Let’s say somethin’ else, then," Bucky grunted, rolling his weight off your shoulders and staggering to the table to sit down. "What happened to Steve?"

"Retired," Sam said, rolling his eyes as he briskly started opening cabinets, pulling out alcohol and bandages. "Moved to Indiana last spring, with his girl. I thought you knew."

"We haven’t been in touch a lot," you said, taking the bottle out of his hand and forcing a large swig down. Your eyes started to burn. "Could you boil some water?"

"You’re gonna need more than hot water."

"I know," you murmured and took another drink. "Alright," you said, handing Bucky the bottle. "Neither of us is gonna like this next part, baby, but I need you to stay awake and I need you to stay quiet."

He nodded, blinking hard as if your first request was already a conscious effort.

You scrubbed your hands until they felt raw before you took a deep gulp of air and swallowed down the bile that was already threatening to rise. Everything was going to be fine.

Sam held Bucky down as you reached into the large wound on his shoulder and slowly started to pry the bullet out, blood spilling over your fingers.

***

"You wrote a poem about me?" Bucky laughed, fondness spilling out of his eyes. "Oh, you are so in love, sugar."

You slapped your notebook against his naked arm. "If you’re not gonna take me seriously, I swear—"

"I’m sorry—"

"—don’t laugh at me—"

"—I think it’s sweet—"

"—or I will walk right out that door—" You gasped when his hand found its way to the back of your neck, shutting down your train of thought and making your annoyance dissipate all at once.

"My lips," he told you seriously, "are sealed."

"Good," you said softly, your eyes flickering downwards to confirm he was telling the truth. It made him smirk, his breath ghosting against your mouth. "Now. Pay attention, big shot."

You flipped your notebook open again, trying to find where you stopped reading. Bucky’s fingers lazily traced along your shoulders, down the slope of your back, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

"'… because I once knew James / when he was honest and upright and clean'," you repeated, giving him a pointed look.

Bucky pouted. "I hate it when you call me James."

"Well, nothing rhymes with Bucky," you laughed.

"Hm," he murmured, his eyelids heavy again. "I could think of some things that almost do."

"You’re horrible." You shook your head teasingly. "I thought you were gonna pay attention."

"Oh, I will." He pulled the notebook out of your hand, and you shivered. "I’ll pay such good attention to you, sugar."

Well. He was a man of his word, alright.

***

After Bucky’s arm was finally wrapped up and he fell into a fitful sleep right there on the table, you slumped down on the ground next to him. The air smelled of singed flesh.

Sam wordlessly handed you another bowl of warm water and some rags to wash the blood off your face and arms. A new set of clothes for each of you was set out on a chair.

"What about you?" he asked, his back still turned as you changed.

"I’m fine," you said tonelessly. Your leg still hurt, but you’d been living with that twisted ankle for a while now; no need to draw additional attention to it.

Not after the ordeal you just went through.

"Are you?" Sam pushed. "They upped the bounty on your heads again, you know that? Changed it to dead or alive, too."

"Buck’s gonna love that," you said, pulling Sarah Wilson’s blouse over your head. "Did they use the new headshots?"

"You know this isn’t a joke, right? Whole country’s waitin’ for the two of you to get caught."

"If they made an actual move instead of just waitin’, I might be worried," you said, smoothing down the fabric. "I’m decent."

The frown lines were deep on Sam’s face when he looked at Bucky, who was still passed out, and then back at you. "He means a lot to me, too, you know," he said slowly. "But is his sorta life really worth all that trouble?"

"I’d die without him," you said without a moment’s hesitation.

Sam contemplated you for a moment and then sighed. "He’d say the same thing about you."

A shadow of a smile hushed across your face for the first time in hours, and exhaustion hit you with a strange sort of comfort when you looked at Bucky. "Yes," you said, "I suppose he would."

***

"Honey, I’m home!"

Your heart gave a flutter and you grinned to yourself when you heard Bucky’s voice over the sputtering motor, and the door opened while the car was still rolling to a stop. He still wore his dad’s dog tags from the Great War, and did it with such pride you’d think he’d fought in it himself. They jingled with each bounding step he came towards you.

"I could get used to this," you told him as he wrapped his arms around you from behind while you stirred the large pot of soup on the stove. Bucky chuckled, his mouth finding that spot on your neck just below the ear.

"Ew," Rebecca commented and loudly flicked through her magazine. "Bank’s closed."

"That’s too bad," Bucky said, but did let go of you. "If only there was a way around that sorta thing."

"D’you have any trouble?" you asked with a concerned look.

"As if." He started chopping up the pile of vegetables you’d set aside for the main course. "None of 'em drive fast enough to make me any trouble."

Pulling a job always made him thrum with excess energy. It was hard to take your eyes off him.

"How much did you get?" Rebecca said, frowning at him.

"Enough to pick up some meat for dinner on my way back."

"Are you serious!" She hurried to the window to look out at the driveway. "Ma’s gonna kill you, but I might just smooch ya."

"Bank’s closed," Bucky said dryly, but his sister ignored him, already running outside.

He shook his head, only stopping when you took it between your hands and kissed him. With a surprised hum, he put the knife down to circle his arms around your waist, pulling you closer.

You kept kissing him until the soup threatened to boil over, breaking away from him with a breathy laugh. "You look good in the kitchen," you told him and pulled the pot off the heat.

"Why, thank you, ma’am," Bucky grinned, his eyes still a bit hazy. "Were you worried about me, sugar?"

"You know I was," you said simply.

"My darling." He pressed his lips to your forehead. "I brought something for you, too. Remember that display you were lookin’ at on Main Street last month?"

"Did you buy me a dress?" you smiled.

"I bought the whole display."

You gasped and threw your arms around him again. "Oh, you are so in love, baby," you grinned against his lips, and Bucky laughed.

"Nice’a you to catch up, sugar."

"Hm," you said quietly. "There’s still some time before everyone gets back."

"I know," Bucky sighed. "I should get the car packed before they do. Make sure we’ve got everythin’ loaded for tomorrow."

"I’d rather make sure you really are alright."

"I told you I’m—"

You started loosening his tie. "I better check," you said, stressing every syllable. "Very. Carefully."

That seemed to shut him up.

***

Bucky’s fever finally broke in the early afternoon, and by the time Sam snuck you dinner, by some sort of miracle, he was sitting upright again, leaning against the shelves of the storage room, his hand itching for his gun when the door opened.

"I don’t know what’s runnin’ through your veins, man, but I’m glad it ain’t mortal blood," Sam said, helping you clean Bucky’s wounds once more and get him into the borrowed shirt.

Bucky’s eyes were still glazed over in a way you didn’t like at all, but he was eating and answering questions, and you hoped that counted for something. You still stayed awake while he dozed off again, your own food mostly untouched. You kept staring at the bloody bandages around his arm, willing him to heal faster.

Like you told Sam; you couldn’t bear to live without him.

Bucky stirred again a few hours later and caught you worrying the hem of your skirt while looking at him with a blank expression. His quiet groan as he sat up drew your attention.

"Where’d you go, sugar?" His rough fingertips softly carressed your cheekbones, your jawline, the nape of your neck. You forced a smile.

"Just daydreamin’," you said, bumping your nose against his.

"Of me, I hope." He sounded more like himself again, and you sighed.

"Always." The taste of iron lingered in his mouth.

"Where’d Sam go?" he asked when you pulled back.

"I think he’s still workin’," you said, wiping a remaining spec of blood from his brow. There was a lot of noise upstairs. "He’s gonna try and pass our letters along."

Both of you kept writing to your families, leaving notes with relatives and friends to pass back along to your mothers. In the early days of being on the run, you’d still been able to phone home every week or so, even go back for several days at a time; now, with the coppers monitoring your every move, it was easier to go weeks without contact than accidentally saying a wrong word that had them back at your rear bumper within the hour.

You could tell the gears were turning in Bucky’s head when he looked at you. "What is it, baby?"

"D’you regret it?" There was fear in those fearless eyes of his. You hated it more than anything. "Because there’s still time to turn back for you."

"How could I regret the best thing to ever happen to me?"

He shook his head. "You deserve …" The weight of his gaze dizzied you. "You deserve everything. A quiet life. You always wanted that."

"Before I knew you, maybe," you said, this smile coming easier. "I deserve the kind of love we’ve got, don’t you think? Not a lot of folks are as lucky as we are."

Bucky grimaced, his eyes turned towards the ground. "It’s gonna mean staying on the run for the rest of our days, sugar, and there probably won’t be that many. I killed at least two of their men, they’re not gonna let me get away with that."

"Listen to me very carefully, James Buchanan Barnes," you said, your voice unwavering. "I’d much rather get only a few more hours in which we have each other, and get to love and fight and talk and run from every damn person who put a target on our backs, together. Rather than fifty or more years without you next to me. You hear me?"

He still didn’t reply, so you took his right hand into both of yours, squeezing it tightly.

"You and me forever, baby," you said, kissing the back of his hand. "You know I’d be wasted anywhere else."

The breath of air he let out sounded so relieved it broke your heart. "How did I get so lucky with you?" he said quietly, his forehead resting against yours.

You fell asleep with your head in his lap, Bucky playing with your hair and listening to your slow breaths until he followed you into your dreams.

***

"Hey."

"Hm?"

"Sweetheart."

"What?"

You turned in sleepy annoyance and found yourself eye to eye with a diamond as big as the nail on your thumb. Your mouth went dry.

"What the hell—" You blinked at the gem, then at Bucky. "What is this?"

"A ring."

"I can see that." A nervous laugh fell out of your mouth. "What are you doing?"

"Proposing."

"Like this?"

He smirked. "How would you prefer me to do it?"

"I—I don’t know, clothed? Maybe?" you huffed, suddenly very awake. "On your knee?"

He rolled off the bed and slumped to his knees, producing his hat from under the bed with an exaggerated flourish and putting it on. "Better?" he asked calmly, looking up at you.

You rose to your elbows. "Where’d you even get that?" you asked, still looking at the diamond ring. It was the most sparkly, brilliant thing you’d ever seen.

Bucky shrugged with one shoulder. "It was my ma’s."

"I didn’t know your ma’s married to Rockefeller."

"I pried it off a nun."

"James."

"Would you just give me an answer?" His eyes sparkled in both mischief and desperation, and you knew he wasn’t gonna tell you. Not that you cared that much, to be honest.

"You’re actually serious."

"As serious as I’ve ever been, sugar."

You kissed him, pulling him in by his dog tags. Bucky groaned into it.

"So," he said when you finally relented, "is that a yes?"

You laughed, your eyes watering. "You haven’t actually asked me, you jerk."

He bumped his nose against yours with a smile. "Marry me?"

"Yes." You said it into his mouth and sighed it against his shoulder, and when he slipped the ring onto your finger, it was a perfect fit.

Heavy, but perfect.

***

Sam helped you haul Bucky back to the stolen car, carrying most of his weight while you made sure his arm kept still.

The car’d been hidden under some canvas and empty boxes overnight, and you pulled them off quickly. Your things were still on the backseat.

"So where are you goin’?" Sam asked.

"North for now, I think," you said. "It’s Becca’s birthday next week, so we gotta make a quick stop home."

"Aren’t the feds gonna know about that?"

"Maybe … Oh, absolutely not, baby," you said when Bucky attempted to open the driver’s door. "You still need to rest, I’m not lettin’ you get your heart rate up."

"By threatenin’ to drive?"

"You are an awful, horrible man," you said and he kissed you with a grin.

"And I don’t deserve you," he said quietly.

"That’s right." You closed the door behind him, but he put his right arm through the window and grabbed your hand. His thumb grazed tenderly along your knuckles.

Sam coughed uncomfortably.

"You’ll come to the wedding, won’t you?" you asked, turning back to face him without letting go of Bucky. "We wanna keep it small, but everyone we care about has business 'round Dallas this time of year anyway."

"I’ll try my best," Sam said, kissing you on the cheek.

"Thanks for everything, man." Bucky leaned out the window while you circled over to the other side of the car.

"Try to stay alive, alright," Sam said quietly. "Not for me, for her."

Bucky’s smile was grim, but determined. "Every day."

You slipped into the driver’s seat, ignoring the blood stains on the leather. "We’ll send a postcard," you said.

Sam tapped the roof of the car as you started the motor. "Give 'em hell."

***

The kid was staring, but you kept the smile on your face as you leaned against the car, relishing in the sunlight on your skin. You didn’t worry about him. He couldn’t be older than ten and his nose was wrinkled anxiously, and you had a loaded gun within reach on the seat behind you.

You didn’t want it to come to anything like that, of course, but it was better to be prepared these days.

Bucky was taking his sweet time to pay the gas. Normally, you’d enjoy the opportunity to stretch your legs and walk around for a bit, but your ankle was badly swollen from when you took that fall during the heist at HS Bank. There was no evading those round brown eyes.

"I’ve seen you."

You looked at the boy, tilting your head. "Have you, now?"

He nodded, raising his chin defiantly. "In the papers. My aunt makes me put them in the chicken coop. I like to look at the pictures."

You swallowed, looking over your shoulder for Bucky, but he was still talking to the clerk inside. "D’you like the chickens, too?" you asked the kid, trying to distract him.

He shrugged. "They peck at my fingers. But they’re better than spiders, I guess."

"Those are creepy, aren’t they?"

The boy nodded, then squinted at you. "You’re prettier than your picture."

You laughed. "What’s your name, kid?"

"Peter."

"Why, thank you, Peter. You’re a real gentleman."

"Are you talkin’ about me, sugar?" Bucky finally came back into view, carrying two large paper bags full of preserves and another full cannister of gas.

You raised your eyebrows, but he only winked at you.

"Pete! I told you to leave the customers alone, honey." The gas station clerk, a woman in her mid-thirties, came to stand in the door frame.

"That’s alright, ma’am," you said. "He’s been very polite."

Peter nodded. "Doesn’t she look prettier than her picture, Aunt May?"

You could tell the exact moment the woman put two and two together, because she immediately pulled Peter behind her, keeping a hand on his shoudler. Your stomach plummeted. You glanced over at Bucky, who didn’t even flinch. He calmly finished loading everything onto the back seat and then wiped his hands on his trousers.

"That’s what I always say," he told Peter, opening the passenger door for you. "Pete, was it?"

The kid nodded from behind his aunt’s back.

"I’m James Bucky Barnes. This is my charming fiancée."

"How d’you do," you said flatly, adding your name.

"We rob banks."

You looked at Bucky in surprise, but his smile didn’t waver. The woman’s gaze darted between the two of you, and then she nodded.

"Come on inside, Pete," she told her nephew. "It’s gonna start raining soon."

Bucky tipped his hat as she ushered the child into the gas station and turned the open sign over.

"Reckless bastard," you mumbled and he chuckled. "What’re we gonna do with all that stuff?" you asked as he climbed back onto the driver’s seat.

"We’ll think of something," Bucky said, starting the engine and putting his arm out on the backrest so you could lean into his side.

You only noticed the bank foreclosure sign next to the entrance of the gas station when you were already driving away.

***

You drove for almost two full days before you deemed Bucky well and whiny enough to take over again.

"You sure?" you said skeptically, looking at his shoulder. He still moved around more stiffly than you liked, but that didn’t seem to faze him at all.

"I love you," he said, leaning against the door of the car you just switched all your things into, leaving the one with the bloodied seats behind a block over. "But this is taking forever."

"I’m drivin’ the speed limit, you know," you rolled your eyes.

"Exactly." He pecked you on the lips and climbed into the car on top of you. You stifled a yelp as he scooted you over into the passenger seat with his right arm. His long legs found home and the engine purred to life.

"You’re impossible," you mumbled and threaded your fingers through his hair as he snickered. It was getting long again.

The car rolled out of the suburbs silently, and then Bucky shifted gears and sped away through the night. You looked over your shoulder and saw only a thick cloud of dust in the pale moonlight. The houses and front yards and camps became tiny spots in the distance, and then disappeared from view entirely.

When you turned around again, there was nothing to see in front of you but the open road.

It was an illusion, but pretty nontheless.

Your road was a dead end with only one resolution, they’d made sure of that. You knew that. Bucky knew that.

His hand tightened around your thigh, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He kept driving, your headlights the only thing carving out the path in front of you. The darkness was closing in.

Someday, you’d both go down together, and if the world had any sense of kindness, they’d bury you side by side. Maybe someday people would visit your grave every now and again, would spare a thought for the two of you, maybe even grieve you. Or maybe they’d just be relieved.

It wouldn’t matter to you, anyway.

You took Bucky’s hand and put it around you, ready for whatever came next. He leaned over for a quick kiss to your lips, and then he looked back ahead, your head resting on his shoulder.

Today was not that day.

thank you so much for reading 💛 if you liked this, please leave a comment or a reblog, that'd be grand!! to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications <3

[myherowritings]

PART 3. ACCIDENTAL SUGAR DADDY?

SUMMARY. Todoroki Shouto was a wealthy, young CEO who inherited his father’s enterprise. You were a barista at a local cafe who wouldn’t mind some extra cash. One day, Shouto came in during an early morning shift and tipped you such a large sum of money, you were certain it had to have been an accident. To your surprise and complete pleasure: It was not.

PAIRING. ceo!todoroki shouto x barista!reader

WORD COUNT. 2.4k

GENRE. ceo/barista au, fluff, eventual smut

WARNINGS. none in this chapter

A/N. happy new year y’all! :3 i hope you have a good 2021 and here is some flirty ceo!shouto for u to enjoy as we enter the new year hehe ;) thank you for reading and i hope you enjoy! xx sof

SERIES MASTERLIST

© myherowritings — all rights reserved. reposting, modifying, copying, or translating of any kind is not allowed. do not read my writing as asmr. do not plagiarize.

“I heard you dropped by this weekend,” you said as a greeting, a playful smile on your lips. “Looking for me?”

If the tips of his ears didn’t tinge pink, you would have guessed Shouto was completely unaffected by your words. 

“Mn.” He drew his attention away from your gaze and pointedly adjusted his cufflinks. “Good morning to you too.” 

You laughed, accepting you wouldn’t get anything out of your attempt at teasing. “Morning, Shouto. How was your weekend?” 

The cafe was quite busy this hour, but Miyazaki took over the other register to alleviate the stress (though, what she really said was so you and pretty boy—who happened to be rich rich—could talk). Whatever the reason, you were glad for a small break whenever you could get it.

“You could say it was busy,” he replied, sounding a bit tired. For the first time since you met him, you actually noticed how exhausted he looked. You wanted to put cucumbers on his eyes and lay his head down on your lap to coax him to sleep. Nonetheless, he smiled softly at you. “And yours? I hope you were able to have time to rest and relax.”

You nodded. “I just slept a lot and caught up on the shows I missed throughout the week.”

“The real way a weekend should be spent.” 

His voice was teasing but he didn’t sound mocking. Just...somewhat playful. There was something about his tone that made you want to hear it again.

“Something tells me you need a weekend away where you could just relax and do nothing,” you commented, tapping the back of your pen to your chin. “Do you not have any days off at work?” 

He considered this. “Depends what you mean by day off.” 

“If you have to ask that, that probably means you don’t have a day off, huh?” you said with a frown, holding your hand over your chest as you sighed dramatically. “You poor thing. Overworked and tired. Maybe I should steal you away one weekend and get you to just relax.” 

You were only half-serious.

“Maybe you should,” agreed Shouto, sounding full-serious.

“Maybe I will,” you blurted before you could stop yourself. Maybe you could if you actually had his number… Then, feeling shameful you said, “But, ah, anyway, what can I get for you today? We actually have cheese danishes again!”

His face brightened. “You do? I’ll take five dozen.”

With a laugh you took down his order. You really weren’t sure where all these pastries were going when he bought it, but judging from his expression, you figured it must be somewhere good. 

“And for your drink?”

“This time I’ll have a large green tea with almond milk, please.” 

You nodded but tilted your head to the side in question. “No coffee with extra shots of espresso today?” 

“I add too much sugar and creamer to my coffee,” he admitted sheepishly. “And with all the baked goods I’ve been eating I realized I may have had an excess amount of sweets lately.” 

With an understanding laugh you patted his hand that was resting on the counter woefully. “I can definitely relate to that. If too many sweets are bad for you they shouldn’t have made it taste so good.”

Shouto glanced down at where your hands touched, an expression you couldn’t quite discern on his face. Averting your gaze, you quickly pulled your hand back. Was that inappropriate of you? Did he find it too pushy?

“Oh— Sorry about that,” you said, rubbing your elbow with your opposite hand. “Got a bit ahead of myself there.”

“No, it’s fine.” He blinked once. “I didn’t mind.”

Unsure if he meant anything by that and unsure if you were reading too much into things, you simply brushed the topic off and moved on to getting his order in telling him the price. 

“Paying by card again, I’m assuming?” you asked before hitting the appropriate button on the screen.

“Correct.”

By now the sight of the sleek and pretty credit card was one you grew rather fond of as he scanned over the payment terminal and signed his name. Was it weird you wanted to examine his signature more closely? Shouto seemed like the type of person who would have a fancy signature that somehow looked like art. 

As per routine, you told him his order would be ready for pick up at his right and, before he left the register, he thanked you and gave you another $100. 

Did it feel any less strange than the first time he tipped you? Not really, no. But you still weren’t going to complain about a generous tip from a willing customer.

Before he left with his cheese danishes and cup of tea in hand, he stopped by next to you with a small smile. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.”

You grinned back. “Can’t wait, Shouto!” 

— ✩ —

This went on for a whole other week. By this point, he had given you over $1,000 in tip and you were starting to feel like you should give him something in return despite him assuring you he didn’t expect anything. 

When you told your friends about the nice guy you met while you were working and they asked for the details, the first thing they said in response to your situation was, “Sugar daddy?” 

Before they planted that thought into your head, you just took it as a rich businessman who hated the rich and believed in redistribution of wealth—you couldn’t complain about that. That made him even more appealing, if you must say. But once Kaminari and Ashido whispered those two words, you couldn’t help but see the comparisons. 

You had no issues with sugar daddies or sugar babies; as long as they were two consenting adults, what did it matter to you? It just wasn’t something you were looking for at the time and you didn’t want Shouto to get the wrong impression or involve yourself in something you weren’t ready to. 

As you commuted to work for your next morning shift, you told yourself today was the day you’d thank him one final time for the tips, but tell him you couldn’t accept anymore. You were sure he’d be understanding but you also hoped it wouldn’t deter him from coming to see you. That was the last thing you’d want. 

“Mrs. Miyazaki,” you said between customers. “When Shouto comes in, do you think I can step away from the register to talk to him for a little? I promise it’ll be brief!”

She waved her hand dismissively. “That’s not a problem. Are you finally going to ask him out or something?”

You scratched the back of your neck. “Or something, yeah.” 

Thankfully, by the time Shouto arrived today, it was later than he normally came, meaning rush hour was almost dying down. 

“Good morning! Someone’s a little late today,” you teased. “Overslept?” 

“I wish,” he sighed wistfully. “I had a meeting early this morning and it just ended. Didn’t have a chance to pick up some coffee or pastries beforehand.” 

You frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope whoever was hosting the meeting at least provided you guys drinks and snacks!” 

He paused. “He did, but… I just thought yours were better.” 

Smiling at the compliment, you preened. “Well, I can’t say I’m not surprised. And I’m glad you were able to drop by still. Would’ve missed you too much otherwise.”

Again, you were only half-serious.

“Hm. I would’ve missed you too.”

And again, he seemed full-serious. Not that you minded. 

After taking his order and watching him pay, you pulled him to the side, looking over at your boss so she knew what was going on. She gave you a brief nod as you turned your attention to Shouto. 

A lapse of silence went by and he spoke up, “Did you have something you wanted to say?” 

“Yeah, actually.” You wrung your fingers nervously, hoping you wouldn’t say anything to offend him since you knew his actions were coming from a kind place. “I just wanted to say… I’m not really looking for a sugar daddy right now.”

He blinked once. Then twice. “Pardon?” 

You stared at him, unsure what to say. 

“I— Sorry. I wasn’t… It’s not my intention to be a...sugar daddy either.” Shouto’s face flushed a bright pink that made your own cheeks warm up in response. 

“But the—the money? I just… I guess I thought…” You winced.

So he wasn’t trying to pick up a sugar baby… Well, this was awkward. But regardless, you think you’ve gotten close enough to him to the point where it would feel weird accepting money from him. 

“I’m sorry if I was unclear. It really is just a tip to show appreciation for your service here.” 

You shook your head. “No! Sorry, that makes sense! My friends just said… And then I…” you trailed off, feeling a million times more flustered than when you started. “Sorry about that. The sugar daddy mishap aside, I still wanted to say that I really appreciate the tips you gave, but I don’t think I can accept them anymore.” 

Slowly, he nodded, adjusting the collar of his dress shirt. “I understand. Did something happen?”

“No, nothing happened!” you were quick to assure. “I really am thankful, but… I think we’ve gotten too close for me to be comfortable accepting that much money, you know?”

Shouto tilted his head to the side, listening intently. 

“Like,” you tried to explain, fiddling with your apron, “over the past few weeks I just think we’ve gotten to know each other more and I think of you as a friend of sorts now.” You peered at him through your lashes, hoping your words were making sense. “I think as a relationship develops—for me, at least—adding money into the mix can cause weird power imbalances if not communicated properly. And I just don’t want that for us.” 

He thought through your words for a while before agreeing. “I get what you mean. I wouldn’t want to unintentionally make you feel like you owe me anything, so if you’re not comfortable with it, I can stop.” 

“Thanks, Shouto,” you said with a beam, glad he was so receptive. Really though, what else did you expect? From your interactions with him you took him to be kindhearted and open. Of course he wouldn’t be upset over this. “But just to be clear, this doesn’t mean you should stop coming! Right? I don’t want to stop being your friend or anything!” 

With a small laugh, he nodded. “Sure. I wouldn’t want to part with my favorite cafe. And I’d like to keep being friends as well.”

Those words warmed your heart. You really were nervous about this confrontation earlier; you didn’t want voicing your opinion to mean ending your friendship. (Although, if you sharing what you were comfortable with was enough to end a relationship, then you supposed it was bound to be a toxic and stifling one in the long run and it was good to know in the beginning to end it before it could grow.) Turns out, however, that you didn’t even need to worry about that. He was understanding and sweet and you were glad to have gotten this out of the way.

“Well, as new friends,” you said, gently nudging his side, “maybe we should get to know each other more? Exchange numbers… Hang out outside of this cafe…” You ran through some suggestions, almost bouncing on your feet in excitement. “I mean, I know you’re always so busy and might not have much free time to hang out. But— If you’re ever free one weekend…” 

“I’d enjoy that,” he cut in, saving you from blabbering your mouth off and accidentally embarrassing yourself. “Didn’t you say you’d steal me away from work to relax? I’m still holding you to that.” 

The beginnings of a smirk formed on his face as he looked at your flustered expression. Was he teasing you?

You huffed, pretending to be insulted by his playful mocking. “Guess I’ll really have to do it then.” 

“Guess so.”

“Maybe you should give me your number first so we could plan it.” 

“Okay.”

He handed you his phone and you handed him yours, both of your adding your numbers to the contact list. Smiling, you held the phone in front of the two of you to take a contact picture of yourself for Shouto’s phone. To your complete surprise, he laughed before promptly following suit and taking a selfie for his contact image. 

“Cute,” you said when he handed you back your phone. 

“You too.” 

Placing your device back in your pocket, you looked at him, hand on hip. “Since when did you become such a smooth-talker? Am I going to have to guard my heart now?” 

His only response was a shrug, but you could see hints of a smile playing on his face. The two of you seemed to be smiling a lot lately, you couldn’t help but notice. 

“I should probably let you go to work now—and I should go back to mine.” You gestured to the growing line at the front of the store. Your manager looked like she had things under control, but you didn’t want to take advantage of her kindness. “You should text me later though. If you want.”

“I’ll do that,” Shouto promised, picking up his drink and pastry boxes from the side counter. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N. And… I’ll message you soon.” 

As you watched him leave the store, you were certain you had a silly look on your face as you stared in a trance. 

“I’ll turn my phone off silent just for you!” you said to his back, hoping he understood what a momentous occasion this was. Your phone was always on silent (unless you were playing a game, of course). But for Shouto, you could handle hearing the obnoxious ringtone and text tone. 

With an amused expression he nodded before waving goodbye.

Later on that day, at the end of your shift, you noticed a new message from a certain someone that made your stomach flutter.

Shouto: Hi there. It’s Shouto :)

You never knew those four simple words would be enough to keep the grin plastered on your face up until the moment your head hit your pillow to fall asleep. But, damn— Were you glad that happened to be the case. 

a/n: whY WAS SHOUTO AND Y/N EXCHANGING NUMBERS SO CUTE idk that scene got me all blushy and :DDD HFJDKSF like taking a selfie with shouto and getting his number? only goal in life BFHFGF,, also y/n said no more tips how we feeling? ;o 

what to expect in the next part:

an unwanted visitor ಥ_ಥ

shouto has a...proposition for y/n 

FLIRTING FLUFF SO MUCH CUTENESS U MIGHT CRY

y/n struggles with their fEeLiNGs~

[randomshyperson]

Wanda Maximoff/Reader - The One Where You Punch Tony Stark - Part II

Part 1 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Read on AO3 (Complete Work)

Thanks to @gingerbreadcookieforlife for letting me know i did not upload the entire work here.

Summary:  When the rumors that you punched Tony Stark in the face spread around your school, some interesting events unfolded. Or enemies to Lovers in high School.

Warnings: 18+; Enemies to Lovers;  Angry Sex; Underage Sex; High School AU;  Violence; Fights;  Inappropriate language; Fluff and Smut; minor mentions of Reader x Carol and Reader x Jessica Jones.

Notes: This work was already finished on AO3, but i forgot to continue this on Tumblr. I hope everyone who thought that was a one shot, enjoy the rest of it.

//-//

Sometimes is just a kiss

The news that Steve Rogers and Tony Stark kissed behind the bleachers spread quickly through the school. And it was only 10 o'clock on a Monday morning.

You had no idea who had spread the rumor around the campus, but knowing your luck, you were just waiting for the bomb to drop in your lap.

Besides, you hadn't spoken to Wanda since you gave her an orgasm against the walls of a locker room. You saw her briefly in the hallway between history and biology class, but she looked away quickly, and you rolled your eyes without patience.

It had been good sex, and you repeated that it was just that. Sex. That it shouldn't have happened, mainly because you were incompatible, and there were too many social barriers between you.

You should have known that Wanda would not break the expectations they had of her, to stay as someone as broken as you.

Closing the locker with more force than necessary, you walked out toward the history room.

Taking your place in the last chair by the window, you sit down as you wait for the class to begin. You have about five minutes of peace before an angry Tony Stark enters the room and walks toward you pointing his finger in your face in a threatening manner.

- I told you to mind your own business.

- What have I done to deserve this, Lord. - You grumble without patience, ignoring Stark completely. He lets out an angry exclamation and punches the table, making you jump with surprise.

- You'll pay for this, bitch. I'm going to-

You cut off his speech by pulling his hair and forcing his head against the table in a blow that makes a loud noise. He staggers back, shocked that he has been hit again. The room erupts in a hubbub and someone holds Tony back to stop him from jumping on you.

You stand up, gathering your notebooks, seeing that the history teacher was already signaling for you to talk to the counselor.

- You never learn, Stark. - You sneer, taking one last look at the boy's bloody nose before you leave the room, most of your classmates laughing.

- I'm so angry with you right now. - said your mother as soon as you both left the school. You didn't respond, walking with your hands in your pockets to the car. She started mumbling to herself, and only when you had been in the car a few minutes did she speak to you again.

- And the worst of it is that you hit my boss's son!

You let out a wry laugh as you looked out the car window at the view.

- I doubt very much that Howard Stark knows any of his employees, Mother.

- It doesn't matter. - she retorted, turning the wheel. You watched the landscape change as you turned the corner.

- At least I didn't get expelled. - You commented, your mother let out a wry laugh.

- Suspension is not a good thing! - she replies in an irritated tone. - And I even had to miss my shift to come get you. I honestly didn't raise you for that.

- That's the point, isn't it? - You retorted angrily, finally turning to face your mother.  - Did you ever raise me? Last time I checked, I've been raising myself for a long time.

Your mother assumes a disapproving expression, denying it with her head. You throw yourself back on the seat with your arms crossed.

- You've always been so unfair, you know. - She begins. - Who's picking you up from school now, huh? And who puts a roof over your head? Food on your plate? You raised yourself, that's a joke.

She grumbles again, but you just ignore it, shutting yourself off from your surroundings.

You barely register when the car pulls up in front of your house, startled when your mother slams the car door as you get out. You take off your seat belt, and step out.

- You are grounded, three months. - she says, and you just nod. It's not as if she was present enough to know where you were going anyway. - And you are going to help your aunt in the store while you are suspended.

You let out a protesting grunt.

- Really, there's nothing worse for me to do? - You ask, throwing yourself on the sofa in the living room, your mother giggles.

- Weren't you the one who was thinking that suspension is better than expulsion? Well, you're not going to be sitting around this week. - She said as she left her purse on the kitchen table, and walked towards the small office table in the corner of the room. - Now go to your room, I'm working from home today.

You roll your eyes, getting up. Dragging your feet to your room, you slam the door as you enter, throwing yourself against your bed.

You hope Tony Stark's nose is hurting.

You are very surprised to see Natasha Romanoff enter your aunt's mercenary, shortly after school hours. She smiles at you with amusement, walking over to the counter.

- Wow, interesting look. - She jokes, commenting on the blue uniform combined with a sailor's hat that your aunt makes her three employees wear. You laugh at Nat.

- How can I help you, ma'am? - You asked in an amused tone, she leaned her arms on the counter.

- I'm looking for a fighting dog. Do you sell these here?

You laugh at the insinuation. And then a customer enters the store, Nat moves aside for you to attend to a lady buying tomato sauce and noodles, and then as you check out, she speaks again.

- You caused a fuss at school with your fight. - She remarks, and you just grumble, counting the money. - By the way, how did you find out about Rogers and Stark's secret affair?

You shrug, smiling. - I saw them kissing the night of the game. Stark freaked out, by the way, typical.

Nat laughed, and began to look around the store. - It is nice here. I didn't know you worked.

- It's my aunt's. - You say, finally finishing counting the money in the cash register. - And I worked at the junkyard on Avenue Two until last year.

- Aren't you going to tell me that you were fired for fighting? - Nat teased, making you laugh.

- No, I asked to quit. - So you say. - I wanted a quiet senior year.

Nat nods, and walks around the store, stopping at the magazine section. You see three more customers before she returns.

- I have to get home before my mother freaks out. - She announced as soon as she reached the counter. You nodded. - But I want to know if you want to do something with me?

- I thought you had a boyfriend. - You joked, and Nat rolled her eyes humorously.

- Don't be a smartass.

You laugh.

- I will be helping out in the store during this week. - You say. - Because of the suspension. I leave at seven.

Nat nodded, assuming a contemplative expression for a moment.

- Do you know where Avengers' Bar is? Three blocks past the municipal hospital?

You nod, smiling.

- Sure, Nat. - You say. - I've already driven past it.

- Why haven't you ever gone inside? I'm always there.

- I wasn't in that area to drink. - You remark with a suggestive smile, and Nat just laughs and rolls her eyes.

- Well, I'll be there on Wednesday. Some colleagues from State are playing there. - She says, and writes down a phone number on one of the papers on the counter. - Text me if you're going to show up.

- Are you sure it's not a date? - You joke and Nat just winks at you before you leave. You keep her number in your uniform pocket.

Even from outside, you could hear the music from the bar muffled against the windows.

Avengers's Bar was a popular place in town, but only for a certain kind of people. Mainly frequented by punks, bikers, and artists, it was exactly the kind of place you liked but should avoid. With its history of fights, it wasn't exactly the kind of place you went to anymore.

A dark-haired girl in metal-working attire smiled at you from the doorway, looking at you mischievously as you walked through the door. You just nodded slightly.

Inside, you looked around for Natasha and her friends, but with the amount of people in the bar, it wasn't so easy to find them.

- Y/N! - shouted Thor when he spotted you in the crowd. You smiled, walking over to where he was standing. - We're on the top floor, Nat got a table. Come on, I just came to get some drinks.

You followed him to the bar, and helped him carry the drinks for the others. You didn't recognize any of the drinks they were making there, so you decided to just drink from everyone's glass, which made Thor laugh.

- Look who I found. - announced Thor as soon as you two arrived at the table. The group smiled when they saw you, and you greeted everyone with a kiss on the cheek and sat down next to Nat.

- We heard that you were suspended. - commented Clint, but he seemed almost proud. You shrugged awkwardly.

- She wasn't content to just punch Stark, she also slammed the bastard's head against the table! - Said Natasha excitedly, and the group laughed. You laughed half embarrassed, as you took a sip of the pink drink Nat had ordered.

They started talking about some scandal that happened at the federal school, and you did your best to react to it, not really knowing who the people they were talking about were. And then Valkyrie let out an exclamation, as if she had spotted someone, and stood up. A very pretty girl approached, smiling and hugging Valkyrie.

- I'm glad you could make it, Carol. - Valkyrie said the girl who waved to everyone. When you looked closely, you finally recognized her. Carol Danvers was an ex-student of your high school, having graduated last year. She used to be very popular, and you noticed the military silver necklace around her neck.

Carol sat down next to Valkyrie, and the two of them seemed so close that you thought maybe they were dating.

When the show started, everyone exclaimed with excitement, quickly getting up and walking to the stage area. You smiled as Nat dragged you by the hand, liking the feeling of having friends.

The band was surprisingly good, and you danced with excitement, feeling the alcohol make you lively and loose. You were surprised when Carol began to dance with you, her hands on your waist.

She was very attractive, so you didn't mind her kissing you. And you pushed away the feeling that she wasn't the person you wanted. When she pulled you into the bathroom, her hands roaming over you as she tugged off your clothes, you ignored every part of your body screaming that this was wrong. When she made you cum, you bit your lip to keep yourself from screaming Wanda's name.

Your suspension was finally over, and you gave the key to the store back to your aunt before you went to school.

You tried not to think about it too much, about how many college opportunities you had missed with that stain on your record. But if you were honest, you didn't even know if you wanted to go to college anymore. Every day the possibility of buying a motorcycle and traveling aimlessly getting closer to your real calling.

Many people stared at you when you arrived at school. The vast majority didn't even bother to look away. You rolled your eyes impatiently, reaching into your jacket pockets as you walked through the main doors.

You were slightly startled when Jessica Jones approached you in your locker, but you smiled awkwardly, taking off your headphones.

- Girl, you are a legend! - she said excitedly, pushing you lightly by the shoulders against the lockers. She stood close, and you thought maybe that was flirting. - By the way, I didn't have your number to text you.

She took a pen from her bag, and grabbed your hand, writing down her own number while flashing you a mischievous smile.

- Text me, let's do something this week. - She says as she lets go of your hand. You blink slightly, and nod, a little awkwardly. Jessica doesn't seem to notice, and smiles, leaving afterwards.

You hear a whistle, and Nat looks at you with curiosity.

- You are stealing hearts, huh. - She teases, and you feel your face heat up, still surprised by the whole interaction. - By the way, are you and Carol on a real thing?

- What? - you ask in surprise. - No, I don't think so. It was just sex in a concert restroom, Natasha. I don't think she even knew my name. - You remark as you turn toward the redhead. She laughs, finishing putting her books away.

- Actually she asked me for your number. - She says, and you look at her in surprise. - But then I see you with Jones, and I have to admit, it's a tough choice. - Nat teases, making you laugh. You start walking down the hall together, walking towards the classrooms. You think Nat has said something about the show, but your attention is elsewhere. As you walk past Wanda and Peter Maximoff, everything seems to slow down, you notice the slight flush on Wanda's cheeks when her gaze meets yours, and you both hold your breath as you walk past each other. But the next second everything is as it was before, and you sigh, focusing your attention on Nat.

When you arrive in the literature room, you are happy to know that Nat sits next to you.

You hate the cafeterias. So when Nat invites you to join her at the outside tables you think it's the best lunch you have ever had.

The outside courtyard is relatively less crowded than the other places in the school, and you are in the middle of a discussion about the new TV series that launched over the weekend, when Nat signals to something behind you.

Coming out of the school, and heading towards the table where you were standing, was Sharon Carter, accompanied by her pet friend, Pepper Potts. And you really thought you could have a quiet lunch.

- To what do I owe the honor, Carter? - you asked ironically as they reached your table.

- You stay away from my boyfriend. - She spoke in a serious tone, and before you could say anything, she tipped the glass of soda she held over your head.

You felt your whole body boil with irritation and you stood up abruptly, seeing red. But Natasha tugged on your forearm, whispering something about your suspension. Sharon and Pepper seemed to be slightly startled by your posture, but they let out a wry chuckle and went back inside the school.

You tugged on Nat's arm, then left the courtyard and headed for the changing rooms. You needed a cold shower to calm yourself down, or you would do something that would surely cause your expulsion.

Since the athletic games period had not yet started, the gym locker room was empty. You sighed with relief as you found your spare change of clothes in your locker.

Walking toward the bathroom stalls, you quickly undressed, and stepped into the shower, letting the cold water wash all the soda and anger from your body.

Leaning your head against the wall, you let out a sigh, thinking about all the shit that was going on in your life in less than two weeks. And then your mind went back to Wanda, and you let out a breathless groan, laughing humorlessly. The cold water didn't help to chill the new heat that settled under your stomach. You turned off the shower, then stepped out to put on your clothes.

On your way out of the locker room, you saw something you would rather not have seen. The universe seemed to be testing your anger today.

Wanda was being pressed against the wall of the indoor bleachers, which at that time was empty and perfect for those who wanted to make out in a secluded spot. It was a tall boy, but you couldn't see his face, which was buried in Wanda's neck, kissing her. And then she opened her eyes, and looked straight at you. You saw him pull down his pants and enter her, and she moaned with her mouth ajar, without taking her eyes off you. She had a gleam in her eyes that made your whole body tremble.

You gripped the strap of your purse tightly, controlling the impulse to go over and beat the boy until he passed out, and spun on your feet, walking out the back door.

Fucking day, you thought as you walked back to school.

Eventually, you thanked Nat for keeping you from hitting Sharon. She shrugged, saying that she didn't want you to be expelled now that you were becoming friends, and you tried not to be too happy about it.

On Wednesday, Carol Danvers showed up at the door of the school on a motorcycle. This is sure to be a long-lasting gossip, you thought as you and Nat greeted her on the way out. Several students looked at you, many of them impressed by Carol's motorcycle, others impressed to see her back at school, but the vast majority trying to ask how you knew her.

- What's up, Danvers? - You say to her with a slight nod. Carol looks at you as if she wants to undress you right there, but you have your gaze on her motorcycle, attentive to the details of the vehicle.

- Hey, pretty girl. - She answers while leaning against the vehicle.

- Jesus, you are not even seeing me. - Nat teases and Carol just laughs, giving her a kiss on the cheek. - Tell me, what brings you back to your beloved school?

- I came to say hello. - says Carol. - And to invite you both to a concert on Saturday.

- And you didn't text me because you missed me. - Nat rebuts in a provocative tone, Carol smiles, and then looks at you, before confirming. You don't really know what to say.

- If the music is good, I'm in. - You joke and Nat agrees. Carol takes two tickets out of her pocket and hands them to you.

- I'll pick you up, okay? - She offers it to you. You think about refusing, without really knowing why. But you nod in agreement before you can think about it too much.

- Okay, lovebirds. I'll leave you two alone because I'm starting to get the urge to puke. - Nat jokes one last time, before heading out toward the parking lot. You imagine that she will use the break time to smoke a bit.

You shift your weight between your feet before turning your gaze back to Carol.

- I was surprised to hear that you asked Nat for my number. - You comment, and Carol smiles.

- I like to talk to pretty girls. - She says, and you roll your eyes humorously at the flirtation. She laughs, biting her lips, and you allow her to rest her hands on your waist, perhaps too low.

- Are you looking for something serious, Danvers? - you ask with a slight irony. Carol looks at you in mild surprise.

- You don't think it has anything to do with me, do you?

- Sorry, the motorcycle and the leather jacket gave you away. - You respond humorously. - I get it, because it's my game.

Carol laughs.

- I'm enjoying our time together. - she confesses. - But I'll be back at the station in a few weeks. I can't make any promises.

You nod, without really being bothered by it. Carol is not the one you wanted to be with. And to push those thoughts away, you kiss her. She smiles, deepening the kiss slightly. You think she squeezed your ass, but you're not really paying attention.

And then you break apart, and she smiles at you.

- I'll see you Saturday, right? - she asks, and you nod, letting her kiss you one last time.

When she finally starts the motorcycle and drives away, you notice the mischievous and suggestive looks you receive.

And you try not to let your anger peak, but then you notice Stark's group in the corner of the school, laughing openly. You'll need to walk past them to get inside, and you really hope that none of them will test your patience.

- Hey weirdo, who was your girlfriend? - shouts Tony Stark. You know, you really think maybe he is brain damaged. His friends laugh at the joke, and you think you will ignore it, but then he shouts again. - I'm talking to you, dyke!

He throws something at you, missing you by inches. You watch the red liquid run down in front of your feet.

You think, this is it. This is how I'm going to get expelled. By sticking a straw in Tony Stark's eye. You wondered if prison life was worth it.

But then the laughter died down in the next second, and you watched Tony turn pale.

- Mr. Stark, please come with me. - A male voice sounded behind you. The school principal was a scary man, and he was hardly ever seen outside his classroom. He never witnessed his students' conflicts, and Fury never bothered him with such matters. Tony's paleness was understandable.

- P-Professor Thanos, I don't...

- Now. - says the man finally, and Tony stiffens his jaw as he follows him. He gave you an angry look before leaving.

The buzz started as soon as they entered the school, but you didn't really pay attention to anyone. Ignoring the middle finger Steve Rogers threw at you, you went back inside the school.

Tony Stark was punished with detention. You rolled your eyes when the rumor reached you. They had also said that his father refused to pick him up and that the driver was the one who talked to Fury. You would have sympathy for Stark if he wasn't a complete imbecile.

You had chemistry again, and you really weren't in the mood to see Wanda, but you had no choice.

And then Professor Agatha was feeling particularly inspired today, and decided to switch lab partners. You ended up on the same bench as Darcy Lewis and Pietro Maximoff, you being the only trio due to the odd number of students. You sighed against your bad luck.

The experiment that Mrs. Harkness performed was not difficult, but it could be dangerous if you didn't pay attention. So you just listened to Darcy's instructions, and everything was working out fine. Then Pietro Maximoff decided that his attention was better placed on a girl sitting behind him, and started flirting. Darcy rolled her eyes, smiling at you.

In the blink of an eye, you heard a scream of pain. Pietro had forgotten the limits of the counter itself, and stretching his arms most likely to impress the girl behind you, he slammed his hand against the chemical glass jar behind him. Darcy stepped back to avoid being hit, but you were quick to help Pietro, pulling his arm into the sink on the counter, turning on the faucet as you hurried to get as much of the acidic liquid off his skin as possible.

Pietro sighed with relief, probably feeling the pain disappear as you rubbed the soap into his skin. He was extremely surprised, as was the rest of the room.

- Very efficient reaction, Miss Y/L/N. - commented Ms. Harkness as she approached you, holding a cloth to dry Pietro. - I'll add an extra point to your average for that. Mr. Maximoff, please go to the infirmary.

Pietro wrapped the cloth around his injured hand, and looked at you with a mixture of hesitation and confusion in his eyes, but he nodded in thanks.

Harkness asked someone to call the janitor to clean up the shards, and then continued the class. You found it hard to concentrate when you noticed Wanda's gaze on you.

Jessica Jones kisses you against the wall of the second floor locker room.

You exchanged a few messages, mostly innocent jokes. And then Jessica said she had something amazing to show you, and when you met her after third period, in the not-so-isolated locker room, she pushed you up against the wall and kissed you on the mouth.

Jessica tasted like coke and something sweet, and she likes to bite.You had to remind yourself that you were kissing someone while you were doing it, not feeling connected to her really.

And then two girls came into the bathroom giggling and she let you go.

- Sorry for the scare. - She joked, her lips swollen. You shrugged, smiling slightly.

- What inspired you to do this? - you teased, putting your hands on her waist.

- You of course. Punching assholes and saving people. It's hot. - She says and then she checks her cell phone. - Damn, I have chemistry now. I can't be late.

She steals a kiss from you and quickly leaves. You blink, not really understanding what has happened.

As you go downstairs, you realize that the cheerleading squad is coming out of the locker room, and Sharon and Potts give you a death stare as you walk past them. And then, as you pass through the door to the women's dressing room, you hesitate. All your logic tells you to go on your way, but then your feet are turning and you walk into the dressing room, looking around.

You let out a sigh as you find who you were looking for. Wanda is changing clothes, wearing only her cheer skirt, and a bra. Your intimacy pulsates with the image. Wanda lets out a surprised exclamation at seeing you there, but then she lets out a mischievous smile, and continues undressing.

Slowly, she lets the skirt slide down her thighs. You bite your lower lip hard as it falls to the floor.

And then two other cheerleaders come out of one of the aisles behind you, and the giggles die down when they see you. One of the girls turns to Wanda:

- Is this girl bothering you, Wandy? - she asks in a honeyed voice.

- And what are you, a watchdog? - You retort before Wanda can answer. The girl gives you a death glare. - Mind your own business, nosy.

The other girl approaches you, looking at you with disdain. - We don't like street trash here. Why don't you go back to your junkyard?

You swallowed dryly, trying to control your anger. The smaller girl giggled, and you looked at Wanda, who looked in shock, before you stormed out of the dressing room slamming the door.

You knew you shouldn't do that, but your feet dragged you out into the field of trailers.

You walked a long way until you arrived. And when you entered the courtyards, many of the residents looked at you with a frown. But you ignore them, as you walk between the houses. You knock hard on the door of one of the trailers farthest away. It takes a moment before a tall, muscular boy answers it.

He lets out a wry laugh when he sees you.

- Visiting old friends? - He teases, you don't smile.

- I need to break something, Erik. - You say simply, and he sighs. And then he closes the door, and you walk together in the opposite direction, out of the trailer park.

You have known Erik Killmonger since kindergarten. His life wasn't exactly the easiest. You used to hang out together in high school, but then Erik started getting into a lot of fights, and it was rumored that he joined a gang. He didn't tell you anything, and when you asked, he told you to mind your own business. And then, in the second year, he was expelled for breaking the jaw of Johann Schmidt, one of the seniors at the school. You remember never seeing Erik so angry. But you never knew the reason for the fight. And then he drifted away, and even though you missed him, you didn't push him.

- Here it is. - Erik said as you reached an abandoned area a few feet beyond the trailers. He handed you a wooden stick, and you took a deep breath before you started smashing through the abandoned objects there, most of them junk.

- Fuck that fucking school. - You shouted as you hit a bottle, the glass splattering through the air. Erik just stood at a safe distance, his hands in his pockets. - Fuck Tony Stark. - You shouted, a wooden box shattering with the blow of your bat. And then you noticed a tall dead tree trunk a few yards away, and you stepped forward, aggressively slamming your bat several times against the tree. - Fuck Wanda Maximoff. - And the staff shattered with the force of your blow. You let out a sigh, throwing the object to the ground, as you sat down down on the grass.

Erik walked over to you, and he said nothing about the tears streaming down your face.

- Do you want to talk about it? - he asked as he sat down beside you. You nodded in denial.

- I want you to tell me something about yourself. - You said, wiping your face.

- Um, let me think. - He says, putting his arms behind him and leaning back, he looks relaxed. - My mother is in town.

You turn your head to him in surprise. He smiles.

- Yes, I know, that's nice. - He comments. - But I won't get my hopes up. She could leave at any moment.

- I hope she stays. - You say.

- So do I.

You stand there in silence for a moment, then Erik stands up, then offers his hand to help you stand. You sigh and accept.

- Let's get something to eat, you're paying. - He says, causing you to smile ironically.

You end up at one of the dinner stands across the main road from the trailer park. You buy Erik a hamburger and fries, but you decide to just have a milkshake.

- This is all about a girl, isn't it? - he asks after a while, and you almost deny it. But you just shrug your shoulders in agreement, taking a sip of your milkshake. - Is it someone I know?

- Maybe. - you say, and Erik frowns humorously. He eats some chips, assuming a thoughtful expression.

- That's hard, I've never seen you paying attention to anyone at school. - he says. - What about that redheaded girl in the locker next to yours?

You laugh and nod your head in denial. Erik smiles, thinking again.

- What about that girl in your chemistry class? The one you said was smart?

- Darcy? - You ask and he confirms, you just smile. - No, I wish. Darcy would be less complicated.

Erik laughs, and then pushes the rest of the potatoes to you.

- Why don't you just tell me? - he asks, but his tone is not accusatory, just provocative.

- Because I don't want to admit it. - You confess, accepting the potatoes. It takes a moment, and then you speak. - I think I'm falling in love with Wanda Maximoff.

You don't look at Erik, fearing his reaction. But then he lets out a sigh, and drags his hand across the table, offering it to you. You accept, and he holds your hand warmly.

- You, my friend, are totally screwed. - He teases, making you laugh. - But keep calm. Passions go away as fast as they come.

You nod, squeezing his hand before letting go. You eat in silence, and you can't help but think how much you missed him.

Debates test your patience. And as if that weren't irritating enough, you still share this class with Wanda.

You don't look at her when you enter the room, but you feel her gaze on you. Throwing yourself on the last chair in the room, you stand with your headphones on and sink your head into your arms on the desk, wishing for the school year to end soon.

When Professor Hill enters the room, you are surprised that one of your classmates nudges you to warn you, and you smile in appreciation as you straighten your posture and put your cell phone away.

- I hope you have read the book I asked for, children. - She announces as she puts her bag on the table, and walks to the front of the cabinet, leaning against the wood as she looks around the room. - We will discuss it in class today.

The room lets out a chorus of displeasure, but the teacher lets out a chuckle. Her debates were famous for ending up in heated discussions, plus they made up about fifty percent of the grade. If you didn't say anything, you had to write a report of the discussions.

The teacher took a copy of the book from her purse, and held it with both hands.

- "It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man, possessing a good fortune, must be in need of a wife." - She read, walking around the room.  - Who can tell me what the line implies about women?

- It's the old-fashioned way of saying that women prefer rich guys. - Steve Rogers sneered, drawing giggles from his teammates in the room. Mrs. Hill, however, just sighed with disappointment.

- No, Mr. Rogers. - she said, cutting off the laughter immediately. - If you have no intention of participating seriously in the debate, I suggest you remain silent.

Steve let out a lame laugh, shrugged, and whispered something to his tablemate. You rolled your eyes impatiently, resting your face in your hand. And then you watched Wanda Maximoff raise her arm up.

- Yes, Wanda? - nodded Mrs. Hill waiting for the answer.

- I think it's about a reaffirmation of the status of the man. As if the woman is a trophy to prove his status and position. - She says. - It objectifies women completely.

You blinked, slightly impressed. Wanda was always smart, after all. But then the boys in class giggled, and the redhead seemed to shrug her shoulders. Professor Hill, however, smiled at her.

- Interesting position, Miss Maximoff. - she said, and walked back around the room. - Let's talk a little about the main romance of the book. - She says, and looks reproachfully quickly at two boys who are whispering, and they fall silent. - I'd like to know what you think about Elizabeth and Darcy's relationship, and how we can bring the book's issues into our current society. Do you believe that the same prejudices are faced today?

The room explodes into excitement, and you feel like going home. Mrs. Hill looks around, and waves to calm the students.

- Please, class. Raise your hand who believes that Elizabeth and Darcy would easily marry today?

The vast majority of the students raise their hands. And someone makes a comment that they would get laid on the first date, and many laugh. You play with your pencil, twirling it on your finger, and then feel a light elbow on your arm. Your classmate nods her head forward, and you blink in confusion, realizing that Ms. Hill has called your attention.

- I'm sorry, Mrs. Hill. What is it? - you ask, straightening your posture. She smiles tenderly.

- I asked why you didn't raise your hand. - She repeats. - Could you share with the class your position?

You let out a sigh, thinking about it. And then you lean back in your chair, putting your hands in your pockets, and trying not to get intimate with the stares in the room.

- I really don't understand how everyone here can say that we no longer have social rules for relationships. - You say. - If Darcy and Elizabeth were from the present day, the prejudices portrayed in the books would only be different, but they would still be there. We have many ways of forbidding people to relate to each other, even in this school.

- Interesting. Please continue. - the teacher said, leaning back against her desk. You let out a sigh, trying to organize your opinion into words.

- I can give an example of how we divide the social groups around here. - you say. - It's not like the jocks are seen hanging out with the kids in the theater. Elizabeth would definitely be one of the smart girls, and Darcy would be the dumb brat. Sort of like a Tony Stark.

The room erupted in giggles, and you watched Steve Rogers lock his jaw, commenting something to his classmate. Professor Hill gave you a warning look, beckoning the class to be quiet.

- So you believe that Darcy and Elizabeth would not be together in the present days? - she asks you, and you shrug.

- I don't think Darcy would break the expectations people have of him for Elizabeth. - You state. - And besides, she can do better than that.

Some students laughed at your comment, and Mrs. Hill smiled at you. And then she asked if anyone had a different opinion, and you were slightly surprised to see Wanda raise her hand again.

- I think they would end up together. - She says. - They are really in love, and just like in the book, I think Darcy just needs time to understand everything, and to build up some courage.

- And Elizabeth should expect him to have some guts, then? - You cut Wanda off. The room looks at you in surprise, and Wanda turns in her chair, a look of mixed defiance and surprise, but you don't back away. - While he decides whether she is worth it, should she just wait around?

- Elizabeth needs to understand that Darcy also has his own issues. - Wanda retorts. - That it's not easy to let go of all the expectations people place on you.

You laugh lightly with irony.

- Of course Darcy would be quite comfortable keeping Elizabeth waiting. - You say with mild irritation. - Besides, Elizabeth is also going through a lot. She deserves to have someone who chooses her.

- That's not what we're arguing about. - Wanda replies. - No one is questioning Elizabeth's worth. I'm saying that they would be together, but that they need time.

- And I'm saying that Darcy has to stop being such a gutless pussy and make a decision soon. Elizabeth is not going to pause her life just to wait for him.

- She would do that if she really liked Darcy. - Retorts the redhead, you blink in disbelief.

You think the room held its breath with your debate with Wanda, and you would have continued if the teacher hadn't interrupted.

- Okay, I think we're getting a little nervous. - She cut in, and you blinked awkwardly, stopping to look at Wanda. The room murmured quietly again as Wanda turned back to face the front. - Thank you for your opinions, ladies. Now let's move on, who can offer a reflection on marriage in the book?

The class continued for a while, but you completely disconnected. Your heart was racing and you realized that the discussion you had was not about Darcy or Elizabeth. Wanda was asking you to wait for her. And you felt a strong urge to punch something. And then you focused your attention completely on the literature report, ignoring the debate completely.

[bubble-tea-bunny]

dive into you

[bennett x reader]

author’s note: lil fic for bestest boy benny inspired by the song by nct dream and the summer season :’)

word count: 3,600

There’s a bakery opposite of Angel’s Share, just across the cobblestone road, and every morning the smell of freshly baked bread wafts from its open double doors, ready to welcome patrons and the crisp air of the early hours. Bennett has easily fallen into the routine of making this his first stop of the day. When he wakes, eyes slow to open and greeted by little squares of light on the ceiling of his bedroom from the sunlight shining through the window, he swears he can already smell that bread and the pastries and the care put into each one. He doesn’t often find it in him to be lazy, to be sluggish this early, for a new day was a new promise of adventure, and whether he’s swept along by the wind to the wilds or to the bakery, it’s an adventure all the same.

He always picks out food for his dads. He considers carefully what they might like to have (some prefer to have the same each time, others don’t mind the variety and like to be surprised), and carefully, slowly he fills the tray. Usually it isn’t busy during the time he’s there, but he doesn’t want to take risks as he holds it securely with both hands whenever he’s perusing the selection. Even if there were no people to bump into, with his luck, he might bump into one of the displays in the middle of the shop instead, consequence of paying more attention to the shelves against the wall where there are loaves baked into fun shapes like fish or crabs, rather than to what’s in front of him. He’d hate to drop everything on his tray and waste it.

Sometimes the bakery keeps the doors closed, and while uncommon, it’s nothing unusual. On these occasions, the entry of each customer is announced by the small bell jingling just overhead. It’s the only sound in the shop, ringing several times in the past ten minutes but it’s mere background noise, easily ignored, as Bennett absorbs himself in choosing what to buy today.

“Good morning!”

Bennett’s hand freezes just above a loaf of bread that looks like a bear and he glances behind him to the counter because the sound of your bubbly voice, conversely, is much more difficult to ignore. Though to be fair, to him, you’re no mere background noise.

You’re carrying a basket of more loaves just taken from the oven, half of them regularly shaped into circles and the other half like turtles, and grin at the customers who have just walked in. He watches you make your way over to a shelf several feet away from him to arrange the bread, and he stares long enough that you’ve taken notice. Your smile is bright and reaches your eyes, and he’s embarrassed to have been caught. His cheeks grow warm and you can probably see the dusting of red across his face, a speculation which doesn’t help alleviate this embarrassment one bit.

“Good morning, Bennett,” you greet him, more quietly since he’s closer.

He likes when you say his name, and it never fails to make his heart skip a beat and he stutters out an O-Oh, um… as if surprised that you’re talking to him, much less that you know who he is. It shouldn’t take him off guard that you know, considering how often he comes to the bakery, so he supposes it has more to do with the fact that he can’t believe his name should be spoken by a voice as gentle as yours, honeyed tones like the softly plucked notes of the Holy Lyre der Himmel.

Finally he musters an equally quiet Good morning in response, smiling back but he’s certain it looks more like a cringe, owed to his nerves. If it does, you don’t point it out, and simply return to your task. Only when another patron comes up to Bennett’s other side, muttering a pardon as they grab a loaf from the shelf he’s standing in front of, does he break his gaze from you. His hand that had been hovering above the bread that whole time he drops back down to his side, and he scoots to make room with another stutter and a sorry.

You’re back behind the counter when Bennett is ready to pay. The pile of bread, cake slices, sandwiches, and other miscellaneous pastries had in the past led you to ask him if these were snacks for the road, for you’d guessed him to be an adventurer doing commissions for the guild by the sword at his side. He’d chuckled and explained his actual purpose for buying as much as he did, and your grin had widened, and if he wasn’t imagining things, you’d been extra careful when packing every treat.

I’m sure they’ll really appreciate your gesture, you’d said. That’s sweet of you. And it’s not frequently that events in the course of his life run smoothly, but that day they had, and with no falter in his words he remarks it’s thanks to you, for you’re the reason there’s anything to bring back to his dads in the first place. You’d laughed and his chest tightened and he thinks that’s the point where he started to fall (to where, he hesitated to state exactly). But in any case, it was true—without you, there was no bakery filled to the brim with delicious food, and if he had anything to say about that, Mondstadt would be worse off for it.

This morning, Bennett is digging around his wallet for the appropriate amount of Mora while you pack what he’d picked out. Having gone through this process many times prior, he knows approximately how much it should cost.

“Ah—”

A few coins slip from his hand and clatter to the wooden floor, and he bends to pick them up. But on the way down, his head knocks into the tray that he neglected to push all the way onto the countertop, so part of it still stuck out. You blink in surprise at the jostling of the tray and his subsequent Ouch!, muffled because he’s obscured by the counter.

“Are you okay?” You sound genuinely worried, but to Bennett the accident had been no big deal. At least none of the food had fallen.

“Yeah,” he assures you. He’s still trying to gather up the stray Mora, fingers failing to get a proper grip on them and he huffs in slight exasperation. His face once more is burning from the embarrassment of being so clumsy. He’s clumsy around everyone, and it’s something he has long since come to accept, but it matters a lot more when it’s you.

Finally he stands back up, the money clutched in his fist victoriously. “Yeah!” he repeats now that you can hear him clearly. “It’s no big deal.”

For a second you don’t quite believe him, but it’s hard to argue with that smile on his face. There’s no pain he’s trying to hide (embarrassment, on the other hand, is a different issue entirely).

Upon handing him his package you tell him you’ll see him tomorrow and he feels sort of special because you don’t say it to anyone else. To others, you say Thank you, come again! but you know his routine and you know to expect him at the same time each morning. Judging by the look in your eyes and the sound of your voice when you see and greet him, you anticipate his visit every time, and his heart wants to soar out from the confines of his chest upon this realization and he is exhilarated. The wind and the new day have fulfilled their promise of an adventure, and the clock hasn’t even struck noon.

One day you’re a little distracted, focused on a paper in your hand as Bennett approaches the counter with his tray of baked goods. For the most part, your face gives nothing away, but then your brows furrow slightly, a subtle action he doesn’t miss, and he proceeds to ask if anything is wrong. He asks it kindly, keeps his tone neutral, wordlessly conveying that you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. He would hate to pry.

You purse your lips, pausing like you’re caught between saying yes and no. He waits patiently for whichever one it might be.

“I ran out of sugar and had been meaning to make more,” you start, opting to share with him what’s been troubling you.“I bought out Flora’s stock of sweet flowers but it wasn’t enough, so I may have to set aside time to pick more myself later.”

The mention of heading outside of the city makes Bennett perk up, for he never turns down a chance to go exploring. He’s about to offer to do it for you, but it’s the thought of possibly going with you instead that makes him hold back and rephrase his question.

“This afternoon?” he inquires, head tilting. You nod, and up until now he’d felt confident in the offer he was going to present, but then his nerves get the better of him and it doesn’t come out quite the way he was hoping. “I-I could go with you! You know, if you want! To protect you… Just in case…” He trails off and he wants to go hide in a hole. There are few other ways this could have gone worse.

You don’t answer right away, and he regrets having said anything at all, but your beautiful smile soon follows the silence and it sets his mind at ease, and you agree with a concise and cheery Sure! Well, at least the worst way this could have gone had not come to pass. It was the small victories for Bennett—just as important as the big ones. The next challenge would be to avoid making a fool of himself out there, in what should be his natural element; he does want to impress you. But that’s a big ask for someone like him…

Both of you agree to meet at the front gate in the late afternoon. By then, the traffic in the bakery is slow enough that you’re able to step away earlier than the normal closing time. You’ve changed into clothes more appropriate for walking around: in lieu of a dress, your typical work attire, you sport a tunic and trousers you don’t mind dirtying. The trousers are tailored to fit properly but the tunic is a tad big, the sleeves a bit too long, but Bennett thinks you look cute in it. A basket hangs on your forearm and you wave as you walk up to him.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting too long,” you say.

Bennett shakes his head. “Not long at all.” Technically the agreed upon meeting time was only five minutes ago, so you aren’t very late. Though he does refrain from sharing that he’d arrived early, in fear that he could end up late somehow and you would be the one who had to wait. Really, it’s been more like fifteen minutes for him, but he just keeps quiet about that.

One of the nice things about summer is that the sun sets later. There’s still a sufficient amount of light to illuminate the fields as you walk around in search of sweet flowers. At first, the extent of your conversation is discussing where you might be able to find a high concentration of them, then silence filled with the sifting of grass beneath your shoes and the occasional exclamation of having spotted a flower to be picked and tucked away in your basket.

Honestly, walking with you around the wilds of Mondstadt hadn’t been anywhere on Bennett’s list to do today, or any day really, not until he could muster the courage to invite you out like this, and who knew when that might be. Your need for sweet flowers had dropped the opportunity right into his lap, and thankfully he hadn’t squandered it. But now he’s at a loss as to what to talk about; he didn’t think he’d ever get this far.

Maybe you sense his struggle to come up with a topic of conversation because you’re the one to speak up, asking about his adventures and the commissions he takes. Done anything exciting recently?

Bennett’s eyes light up, a reaction which you can't help but smile at, and he regales you of the goings-on of his latest missions. He omits the instances where his clumsiness had made things more difficult (of which there were many), but each story is still truthful. Most of his commissions the past month hadn’t been anything too bold—after a mission that involved nearly getting himself trapped in a ruin due to solving a puzzle wrong then getting food poisoning on top of that from the snack he’d prepped that day, he’s been choosing jobs that he knows he’s more capable of.

To him, they aren’t too exciting, and in the larger scope of things, perhaps they aren’t, but you don’t seem to think that as you hang on each word. You’re absorbed in his story about trying to dismantle towers in a hilichurl camp, and gasp at the mention of their reinforcements coming to attack in the midst of it. Wow, you remark after he finishes his recounting of the event. You’re amazing, Bennett!

His heart does a flip again at the sound of his name and he shrugs offhandedly. He’s not inclined to think so, but your awed comment is sincere and has him reconsidering: yeah, that was pretty cool of him, wasn’t it? For all his clumsiness, he doesn’t often see the feats for what they are, accompanied by blunders or not, but you’re the fresh perspective he’d been missing, and he wishes you’d stepped into his life sooner.

The entirety of your outing together has thus far been free of any monsters, but as soon as Bennett makes this observation it’s like the universe has heard: hydro slimes suddenly pop out from the ground, halting you in your tracks. You squeak in surprise and Bennett is quick to shift into a fighting stance, knees slightly bent and one arm out in front of you protectively.

“Just stay there!” he instructs before drawing his sword and rushing forward.

Luckily there aren’t many slimes to fight off, and they aren’t very big. His sword cuts through them easily, cleanly. They burst and spray water upon being sliced apart, so at the end, when they’re all dead, the only evidence they had been there to begin with is the slight dampness to his clothes and the squish of dirt turned to mud. With a sigh of triumph, Bennett resumes a relaxed stance, then sheathes his weapon and turns to you.

As instructed, you’ve stayed in place, but it seems to have been more out of being frozen in fear than anything else. You’re clutching your basket close, and once the slimes are gone, you follow Bennett’s lead and relax, shoulders releasing the tension they had been filled with for the duration of that fight. You let out a deep exhale of relief, hand placed over your heart which has yet to slow back down to its normal pace.

“Thank you.”

Bennett flashes a toothy grin and waves his hand as if to say It’s not a problem. “That’s what I’m here for isn’t it?”

You smile back. “I’m glad we went together.”

Together. He likes the sound of that. He thinks to himself that he’d go with you to other places too; you need only to give the word. To the edge of this world, and through a portal to the next? He’d meet you by the front gate at dawn.

He’s surprised that the encounter with those slimes had gone as smoothly as it had. It isn’t uncommon for him to get hit a few times, bruises quick to form on his arms or his legs. And it’s quite the run of luck, of which he’s ordinarily in short supply, that he should get through a fight with nary a scratch on him while with you. His efforts to impress are actually succeeding.

However, this is another case of speaking too soon, because he starts to walk back to you, but then his foot gets caught on a rock concealed by the tall grass, and he tumbles to the ground.

“Oof!”

His chest collides with the earth as he lands with a thud and the breath is stolen from his lungs. You gasp and close the gap between you, and in viewing you in his peripherals, he notes that you are much more graceful at it.

“Are you all right?”

Bracing his hands on the dirt, small bits of rock digging into his palms, Bennett pushes himself up to sit on his knees. “Yeah, I’m okay!” Here he thought he had handled himself perfectly well, but then just like that, his clumsiness returned, and once more before you he is awkward, blundering Bennett.

Unlike the incident at the bakery when he’d bumped his head into the tray, this fall had actually hurt, and he can’t hide it successfully, a slight wince of pain crossing his face in spite of his smile. Even if you hadn’t caught on to that, the injuries elsewhere on his body give it away completely.

“Your arms are all scraped up…” After Bennett stands back up, you gingerly take hold of his forearm and angle it to examine the scrapes there, thin red lines from tiny stones tearing the skin.

Your grip is light, like you’re scared to injure him further, and Bennett is thankful for the darkness that is setting in as the sun disappears and the moon begins its trek across the sky, for it conceals the way his cheeks redden to be this close to you, to be touched by you. The concern in your gaze as you look at his arm makes his chest squeeze but not in the good way, and he bends his knees slightly to duck into your line of view.

“Don’t worry! I’m fine.” And it’s true. He’s sustained worse, though he steers clear of sharing this part. He doesn’t like to see you worried.

He straightens up when you finally meet his eyes and dons his smile again, easy and reassuring. It seems to convince you, as you nod and let go. He drops his arm back down to his side but he’s already missing the feather-light sensation of your fingertips. Successfully reassured, your smile also returns, replacing the thin line of worry that your lips had previously been set in.

It’s dark now but the air is still warm, a consequence of the season. In the daytime the heat is more extreme, made even more so by the fire curling from the edge of his sword. At the conclusion of whatever commission he has taken, he’s left sweating, satisfied but exhausted. Missions in the summer are more difficult to get through, the sun beating down with little mercy and its heat lingering into the night, but he thinks that if he were to have you there with him, he’d hardly notice.

Your delicate gaze is the cool ocean breeze and your soft smile the deluge of waves washing over him, a force he receives gladly because he is falling into you, deeper into the expanse of your heart. He’s diving into the sea, the unbearable heat of summer long forgotten as he makes his way to the bottom. What he hopes to find he isn’t sure, but he’d be content to remain there forever, consumed by you and all the love you have to offer.

“Okay?” he asks, voice soft. You had nodded but he also wants verbal confirmation that you won’t burden yourself with worry anymore.

You catch on to his own need for reassurance, and he wants to sink into the refreshing fondness of your eyes as you watch him. “Okay.”

The moon up above illuminates your face, and he wants to run his fingers along all the parts it touches: the line of your cheekbones, the bridge of your nose, the cupid’s bow of your lips. He yearns to be closer to you than that moonlight adorning your skin, and maybe it’s strange that he should be envious of it, of that light which has the privilege to hold you so near, but the feelings he has for you are what’s written about in books, and in those stories, people do tend to do strange things.

In the morning, he stops by the bakery as usual but this time is surprised when you set a cake down alongside the other baked goods he buys. You answer his question before he can voice it.

“For yesterday,” you state simply. “For my hero.”

Your—?

“I think ‘hero’ is too strong a word for it,” Bennett replies, chuckling quietly and rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. After all, they had just been slimes.

You hum noncommittally, corner of your mouth lifted in a grin. “Maybe, but yesterday you were mine. So please take this as thanks.”

He’d like to be yours every day, and the thought of how nice that would be makes his whole world just a little brighter, like the crystal butterflies fluttering around him in the wild on the warm summer nights; and he hopes that the next adventure the wind guides him on leads straight back to you.

[syndxlla]

Part eleven of the More To Love series

Summary: You get a chance to reflect on who you are, where you are with your relationships, and what you really want in life with the help of your mother, the Queen of Corellia. You meet some new seemingly friends, who quickly prove you otherwise.

Word Count: 7.1k, NO USE OF ‘y/n’

Warnings: Non-consensual kiss, swearing, alcohol

Author’s note: i am LIVID. why tumblr only lets you have a certain amount of paragraphs in a post IDK! it’s dumb haha and the only reason i went over is because there is so much dialogue in this. BASICALLY. I am making the decision to go easy on myself. I know earlier today I said part 11 would be split into two, but i am going to just make the second half be part 12. SO. i made a new moodboard for this chapter! i hope you like it :).

i wanna say a big THANK YOU to @stinky-child for helping me edit this chapter and getting it out on time!

PART 12 WILL BE RELEASED THURSDAY, MAY 27TH AT 6pm PST, 9pm EST.

part ten

Koska escorted you back to your quarters, the castle corridors were finally starting to calm down a little bit, however, more and more special guests who would be staying in the palace over the weekend walked in and out of doors, most of them not paying any attention to you because of your drab attire. You hoped the knight made it to his meeting on time and dry. There was no way to know until tomorrow morning, however. Koska was silent as she walked behind you, her footsteps much lighter than the knight’s. Your hair was thick and frizzy from the effects of the elements, and you kept your face down out of a foreign sense of shame.

Keeping your face down can’t hide that sense of shame from everyone, however, and before you can make it to your room, you’re hearing a joyful gasp and footsteps pattering in your direction. You look up from your walk of shame to see someone very important to you, it’s not your Knight, it’s not even Soniee, no. It’s your mother, the Queen of Corellia. She’s accompanied by three Corellian guards and she’s wearing the most beautiful yellow gown you had ever seen. It was clearly a gift from Bo-Katan. You smiled brightly, relieved to see someone you love. It had only been a few weeks but it felt like an eternity. You had completely forgotten she would be coming to your engagement ball. You’ve been so preoccupied with the plans and teaching the Knight how to dance that it completely slipped your mind. Your mother had a wide smile on her face, too, and wore the traditional Corellian crown. You ran to her and embraced her fighting around the waist, something that was not appropriate for royalty in public like this but you couldn’t care less. You had been so emotionally confused over the last few weeks that there was nothing you needed more than a fulfilling hug from your parent. She hums with joy when you come into her arms, and she runs her slender fingers through your beautiful hair. You sigh of relief in her embrace.

“I had forgotten you were coming.” You admit, holding back tears of relief. She chuckles in response.

“You look a mess.” She replies and you’re the one to chuckle this time.

“I’ve had quite the day.” You smile, blushing as you remember who you spent it with. “Come, I have so much to tell you.” You pull away, holding her hands in yours and then leading her to the closest sitting room. You were finally starting to understand the layout of the Mandalorian palace, it only took two weeks. This room was the same blue as the royal color, you guide her to sit by you on the sofa, and Koska awkwardly follows. You look over to the handmaiden before standing and walking in her direction. “Lady Reeves, you are dismissed.” You nod while speaking in a regal tone, but after stating it, your voice hushes and you whisper to her, “Is he going to be alright?” You ask in reference to the Knight.

She nods once, “Even if he was late, he’s bound to duty by the Queen, he’ll be okay.” Your stomach twists.

“What does that even mean?” You ask, there is much he is not telling you.

Koska sighs, she seemed to regret saying that. “I’ll worry about him, you enjoy your time with your mother.” She nods to the Queen who was patiently awaiting your return. You smile a “thank you” and walk back to the Corellian Queen. When Koska closes the door finally, you slouch into the couch, feeling pure relief as you were alone with your kin.

“You look absolutely exhausted.” Your mother says.

“I am, life here is exhausting. There are so many rules, much more than back at home.” You awkwardly shrug.

“We miss you.”

“I miss you too, more than you know.” You were so homesick these days. “I had to spend four days learning all the rules and customs and I still take private lessons from the literal queen so I don’t embarrass her anymore.” You roll your eyes, knowing that you couldn’t express this arrogance to anyone else in the palace and taking advantage of the chance now.

“Oh, I'm sorry love, I worried that there might be a bit of a culture shock.” She takes your hand with hers, stroking the stop of it with her own cold hands.

“Is father here?” You ask, your eyes hopeful. That glimmer immediately fades when she sighs, her eyes leaving yours. “What? What’s wrong?”

“He’s not coming…”

“What? Why?”

“He’s… sick, I didn’t want to tell you but it’s your right to know. You would have eventually found out anyway.” She somberly explains.

“Is he okay?”

“Yes, we think so. But traveling and socializing in his condition was not realistic. We understand that rumors will start, but his health is necessary before an impending war.” She frowns, and you try not to let it upset you too much. “Enough of that, tell me about this place.” Her tone immediately flips.

You smile, “It’s so hot, much hotter than Corellia. I mean the heat is exhausting and the dresses are heavy and the tea parties are always outside and I always feel overheated.” You complain.

“Do you at least like the prince?” She asks. “Is he cute?”

Now you must choose if you’re going to lie, like you have for the last fortnight, or be truthful with the only person you feel that you can be. You sigh, and just look at her, defeated, hoping that would be enough to tell her.

She hums empathetically. “Oh dear.”

“Yeah…” You sigh, happy she understood and you didn’t have to make the decision of communication.

“Well, keep your head up, I didn’t really like your father all that much until we had you.” She chuckles.

“What?” You ask, your eyes showing surprise. “I had no idea…” You weren’t sure how much you liked that thought, your parents had always been an example of a couple you’d like to experience for yourself. “Why had you never told me?”

“There was no reason for you to know before now. The older you get, the more you’ll learn what you need to hear.” She explains. You supposed she was right. “And remember, it’s supposed to be a partnership—marriage that is— it’s not so bad if you work at it.”

“Well, he certainly likes being solo.” You humph. “He’s very kind, and it’s clear he cares for his kingdom but-“ You knew you weren’t being completely truthful with her.

“But what?”

You debated your next words. You wanted to tell her, more than anything you wanted your mother to know what was really going on, but you knew you couldn’t. You knew she wouldn’t understand. This marriage is a diplomatic solution to an oncoming war of her home kingdom. She wouldn’t understand the strife. “Nothing.” You feel untruthful to yourself, but you can’t do anything about it. “I just feel like I will be unhappy in our marriage.”

“Marriage isn’t supposed to make you happy.”

You hated that, it wasn’t the first time she had said it to you, either. When an arranged marriage was first brought up, she said it then for the first time. The other time she said it to you was about three weeks ago, just before you were going to leave Corellia and come to this ornate prison. It was your last attempt to try and get out of it, but she uttered those words and you had to live with it.

This time, you pulled your hand away from hers. “But what about love? I thought you loved my father!?”

“I do love him, but that didn’t happen for a long time, like I said, not until you were born.”

“So then what’s the reason for all this? For sending me here for a big ball and a fancy wedding if I am not supposed to love the man I’m sharing these parties with? How am I to enjoy marriage before children then?” You stand up on these words out of frustration. You hated feeling like your only purpose in this world is to bear children, to produce an heir.

“Love between royals is not a natural thing, it can’t just happen between any two people. There must be that connection there and it often isn’t developed for a while.” She chuckles. “What? Did you think you were going to live inside one of those fairytales your wet nurse used to tell you before you went to sleep?” She asks, looking up at you, surprised.

“What do you mean ‘between royals’?”

“We must do what’s best for our people, it’s selfish to marry for love when you are royalty.”

You feel defeated.

“No… No, there's so much more to love. Love is not selfish, in fact, I believe that loving someone with our hesitation and unconditionally is the most selfless act one could ever do.” Your voice raises just a bit. You meant every word you said.

“If you feel this way about love, then surely you must love the Prince. What’s the problem then? We’ve been preparing you for this reality for years, it’s not a new concept that you would not love immediately, I can only imagine you would feel so emotionally because you have those feelings for someone.”

Did you?

You consider what she was saying, your eyes trailing to the side as you thought. You supposed she was right, there would be no reason for you to feel so passionately about it if you hadn’t experienced it for yourself.

But you weren’t having that experience with Korkie, the hell you weren’t.

Did you love the Knight? You don’t know his name, you don’t know his face, you don’t know anything about him and yet you are starting to think that infatuation has grown into adoration. Your legs feel weak, and you have to slowly lower yourself onto the couch again, feeling woozy from the realization. How did you let it get so far? Your confused face turns to look at your mother’s, eyebrows furrowed and mouth slightly open.

“I sense you realized something you didn’t already know.”

You slowly nod your head. Unsure of how to react, you fiddle with your fingers, trying to gain your bearings again. You expect your mother to speak up but she never does.

Before the conversation continues, however, the door is pulled open and three Knights are walking in, a Butler steps in, “Her Majesty, The Queen.” He says before nodding and stepping away. Bo-Katan glides into the room, regal as ever. You and your mother stand up from where you sat, curtsying for your hostess.

“Your Majesty.” She takes your mother’s hand, both of them smiling and kissing one another on either cheek. “I trust your travels were comfortable?”

“Yes, your coachmen were very hospitable.” Your mother nods.

Korkie then enters the rooms with another young Prince who you hadn't met before. He was blonde, and skinny as a twig. He wore a white and gold ceremonial cloak that covered his right shoulder. You smile at Korkie out of Obligation, and he and the other prince bow to the women in the room.

“Princess!” Korkie cheers, “This is my cousin, Prince Hugo of Bespin.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Your Highness.” He takes your hand and kisses the top of it, his smile charming and blue eyes bright. You were flattered by the gesture, humming.

“The pleasure is mine.” You follow royal protocol. Then, another woman enters the room. She’s tall, an intricate headpiece adorns long, black hair and she has hypnotic, black eyes hidden by deep set, hooded eyes. She’s beautiful, with toned skin and red dots drawn under her lips making her stand out from everyone in the room.

“Ah, Her Majesty Queen Clarya of Naboo.” Bo-Katan introduces. The Elven Queen Ahsoka then enters the room, and everyone, even the Queens bow out of respect before the door is closed. The parlor is suddenly very full, and your intimate moment with your mother is lost entirely. You are suddenly very aware of your disheveled look, and try to run your fingers through your hair a few times.

“It’s lovely to finally meet you.” Clarya says, smiling. “I’ve heard so much about you.” Taking your hand and giving you a friendly squeeze.

“Oh… I’m afraid I haven’t heard much about you.” You apologize.

“No troubles, You are all the gossip among the other Kingdoms.” The eastern queen explains.

“Yes, It appears you are.” Korkie says, moving to stand by your side. “How wonderful that my beautiful wife-to-be is regarded so highly across the world.” He tries to take your hand but you pull it away, not necessarily meaning to, but it was a reflex that you failed to suppress after realizing you were in love with an entirely different man. He clears his throat, and the aura in the room is awkward, you aren’t sure what to do, so you just say the first thing to come out of your mouth.

“Have any of you gone to the beach? It’s lovely!” You awkwardly smile before walking over to the drink cart underneath a portrait of a Manda’lor of a past generation. You try to ignore all the people, feeling a little embarrassed that they were all seeing you dressed like this. You didn’t even think of what suspicion could be born out of that phrase.

“Oh yes, our sandy beaches are widely loved by all.” Bo-Katan takes a seat on the sofa in the place you had sat at just moments before, crossing her ankles under her gown. You shakily pour amber liquid into a crystal glass, your hand shaking as you bring it to your lips, taking a sip of the alcohol.

“Nothing like the Corellian beaches, I assume?” Your mother asks. “Our beaches are rocky and often frozen over.”

“Ah yes, but the Corellian ship fjords are lovely, what a wonderful exposure to culture you raised your daughter with!” Ahsoka sings.

“She turned out alright.” Your mother teases and everyone chuckles warmly. You turn around after drinking, and sheepishly smile. Gods you hope she meant that.

“Well, we are all very excited for the ball tomorrow.” Clarya says, “My assistant worked on a mask for hours the night before we left. It will be an extravagant sight to see everyone dressed so festively.”

“Of course, but we all know none of us can compare to the fashion and extravagance of the Naboolians.” Korkie hums. Everyone chuckles again. You nervously looked out to all of them, you had just made possibly the biggest mistake of your life and none of them paid any attention to you despite it. You had just shown Korkie your first and only sign of true disinterest the night before your engagement ball and you desperately wished you could go back in time and take his hand instead of denying the act of affection, even if you didn’t feel good about it.

“I think you will all be pleased to hear that it was the Princess who came up with the Masquerade idea.” Bo gestures to you. You smile with your teeth, trying to act normal and not like you were secretly dying inside. There is general amusement when that is said, and you can’t help but fidget with the crystal alcohol glass, wanting to leave the room and return to the comfortable embrace of the Knight on the beach.

“Beautiful and smart!” Korkie’s cousin laughs, putting emphasis on the ‘and’. “It’s not every day you find a woman like that!” Everyone laughs again, and this time you force out a faux chuckle to seem more involved in the eyes of the others. “You better hang onto her, Kork!” Korkie smiled at his cousin's words, looking over to you. You feel weak, not liking all the attention. If this much attention was making you feel this way, what would the ball with hundreds of guests tomorrow night be like?

“Yes but, I can’t seem to remember going to the beach with you?” Korkie asks, his diplomatic voice cutting through the laughter. You nervously laugh. He knew something was up. How could you be so careless?

“What? Did I say something about the beach?” You try to play it off cluelessly.

“Oh come on, we all know you aren’t that ditzy.” His cousin groans

“Your fiance asked you a question, dear.” Your mother prods.

“Yes, did you go to the beach sometime during your time here?” Bo-Katan is the one to ask this time, and your legs are starting to feel unsteady.

“It’s not a bad thing, we just want to know.” Korkie takes a step in your direction, making you feel closed in. “We all love the beach here and we are happy you have gotten the chance to enjoy it.” You sensed there was an undertone with his true meaning.

You weren’t sure if you believed him when he said this, “Is it hot in here?” You chuckle, “I think I’ll have another drink, would you like one, Korkie? You ask before turning around and pouring another glass of brandy. He can see how shaky your hand is as you try to fill the cup. He stands behind you, wrapping his arm around you and cupping your hand with his in an attempt to make the pouring more steady. The action startles you, and you flinch as a reaction, dropping the crystal glass in your hand. It was already partially full, and it falls down to the floor in slow motion, golden drink splashing out of it as glass shatters on impact, making a loud, crashing sound that sends shards out across the floor and leaves a puddle of alcohol to soak into the bottom hem of Koska’s sister’s dress. The women of the room gasp from shock, and Hugo walks quickly over to see the mess. You look down at the glass in shock of what you just did, your heart sinking and stomach churning. Lady Tano is the next one to walk over to you, taking you by the shoulders and guiding you to one of the arm chairs, helping you sit down. The room was deathly silent now, you could hear your pulse ringing through your ears. Ahsoka crouches before you, ruling your hand with hers and trying to comfort you from the unexpected shock. Korkies hands are balled into fists. Was he angry with you?

“No worries.” Hugo laughs, trying to be an entertainer, “Butler!” The Butler opens the door.

“Is everything alright?” He asks after bowing.

“Yes, we just made a little mess, would you be so kind as to clean it up?” Hugo walks Korkie, who seems to be just as shocked and embarrassed as you, over to another armchair. The butler snaps and then whistles and three young maids come in, each one getting on their hands and knees to pick up the pieces of glass.

“Princess?” Your mother says, “Do you have something you would like to say to the Manda’lor?” She awkwardly asks, clearly trying to make good from the situation, side-eying Bo.

Your pale face turns to look at Bo, who had that same disappointed frown that you always see on her.

“My deepest apologies, your Majesty.” You clear your throat before painfully looking over to where Korkie sat, his hand resting in his palm and expression down turned.

“Well!” Hugo takes the center of the room. “No use in sitting here in silence, mistakes happen! Right Auntie?” He says to Bo.

“Of course.” She smiles, physically accepting your apology with a reassuring nod.

“Lovely, would anyone like some music?” He asks.

“That would be lovely, Hugo.” Lady Tano says in her ethereal voice. He smiles and walks over to the baby grand piano in the corner of the room, the same baby grand that you played at for your Knight a few weeks ago.

“The Princess plays!” Your mother says, trying to alleviate any tension.

“She does?” Hugo makes direct eye contact with you. “Would you like to play a duet with me?”

“Hugo, she just-“ Ahsoka begins but is interrupted by your mother.

“Oh won’t you play for us Dear?” She asks, smiling.

“Please! I have wanted to hear you play since I was told you could.” Bo-Katan asks. It would be rude to decline a request from the Queen and the Host of the night.

You nod and stand up, that could be just the thing you need to feel better. You walk over to the piano, stopping just before Hugo.

“Bass or Soprano?” He asks, muttering so quietly that only you can hear it.

“Soprano.” You say. He pulls the bench out and sits first since he would be playing the lower part. You then sit next to him, your hands still slightly shaking.

“Do you know the ‘Dathomirian Waltz’?” He asks. You nod. “Lovely, key of D minor then, I’ll follow you.” He pulls his hands up to the keys, and you follow, taking two deep breaths, the first to calm your shaking hands, the second to conduct both of you in at the same time. Together you play a set of intricate chords, Hugo emphasizing on the bass notes, playing a complex scale that brought his left hand over his right several times. You carry the melody, playing just slightly louder than him and allowing yourself to fall into the trance of performing. Your hands finally quit shaking after a few phrases of the music, allowing it to soothe your nerves. Music has always done that for you. All of the nobles in the room smile, the Naboolian Queen sighing at the beauty of the complicated piece. You can’t keep the smile from pulling on your lips. Korkie’s cousin was very talented, much better than you. His hand brushed against yours several times and you couldn’t help yourself from thinking about the Knight when Hugo touches you.

This was something you would never get with him. You would never get to share a memorable moment with others, never get to rub hands against each other in front of three Queens, never get to look one another in the eye without shame or secrecy. The thoughts start to overcome your consciousness, causing you to play a sour note. No one seemed to notice, but you were more aware of it than you should have been.

A beautiful piece, carefully composed and rehearsed, performed with the intent to dazzle, the intent to impress. However there will always be the sour note, an incorrect chord that the audience might not hear but those giving the show will dwell on undoubtedly.

Like the Kingdom of Mandalore.

——————————————

“Rise and Shine your Highness!” A sing-songy voice calls out to you before pulling the long, draping curtains apart and letting the warm Mandalorian sun pour into the room. You groan and flip over onto your side, your body is still exhausted from yesterday evening and you would like to sleep in a little longer.

“Oh, don’t give us that.” A more brash voice groans and you recognize it as Koska’s. You can hear a number of other bodies file into the suite, maybe three or four. The handmaid's pull in the elven dress and a light breakfast. You can still smell the salt water on your forearm as you swing your hand over your eyes. You were not a morning person. Koska walks up to your bed before sitting on the edge of it, placing her tan hand on your shoulder. “We’ve let you sleep in long enough, we have to get you dressed and ready for tea with the Queens.”

“Queens?” You mumble, slurring the ‘s’ out.

“Yup, both Bo-Katan and your mother as well as the Queen of Naboo and Duchess of the Felucian mountain Kingdom are all eager to spend brunch with you in the Garden.” More guests arrived this morning while you were still sleeping, but it wasn’t until Koska explained to you about the women waiting for you that you remembered what day it was. You opened your eyes wide, flopping your arm onto the mattress beside you and looking up at her drowsily.

“The masquerade is today.” You say out of realization. She smirks and slowly nods her head. Soniee budges into your conversation, sitting on the opposite side of the bed.

“We have two dresses for you to wear today! This one,” She pulls forward a gown that isn’t quite as full and round as the dress for the ball, but is still a lovely dress with a pretty skirt and pearls embroidered into the bodice. “And of course the elf dress.” She nods to the pink and gold gown that sat on a sewing-bust, shimmering in the light. “We won’t get you into the ball gown until later tonight.” She hums.

“Now, we have to get you cleaned up, your hair is a mess.” Koska stands up and pulls the heavy down comforter from off of you. The loss of warmth elicits another sleepy groan from your lips and you stare up at the ladies in waiting frustratedly. “Up!” Koska’s serious voice commands and you’re scared enough of her that you jump up out of bed, pulling the nightgown sleeve up that has been slowly slipping down your shoulder and showing more and more skin. “That’s better.” Koska hums, “Let’s get you a bath, yeah?” She walks towards the bath room, opening the golden gilded doors and into the naturally-light room. You will always admire the beauty and effort put into the Mandalorian palace despite the internal battle with living here. You follow her into the room, still sleepy and walking slowly but eventually making it to the tub in the center of the room. The bath has already been drawn, which they must have done in your sleep (they’ve never done that before). You strip out of the cream-colored nightie and dip into the warm water. It smelled of lavender and honey and you allowed your muscles to relax into the bubbles. It was perfect, exactly what you needed to clear your racing and stressful mind. Your muscles were sore from yesterday and the warm water and flowery oils soaked them blissfully. You sigh at the sensation but before you can enjoy it anymore, Koska is dumping the warm water over your head, wetting it completely. It’s unexpected and you gasp from shock, your eyes glued shut to keep the water out of them. Damp hands come up from out of the water to wipe your eyes but then another dump of water is pouring over your head and you’re back at square one. Koska was a much harsher bather than Sonnie was.

All is forgiven however when she starts massaging your scalp, cleaning your hair. You relax back into the tub and enjoy the seawater and wind getting rinsed out. The other ladies come in, one on either side of the tub who files your nails, and Sonnie brings in a towel and silk robe. The other handmaiden works at your calloused feet with a pumice stone and you try not to let it tickle too much. It was true pampering and you loved every second of it. Usually there’s only one maiden to bathe you but five was divine. You assumed this was the treatment the Queen always received.

After you are properly cleaned, your Corellian tea is brought in and you’re left alone for as long as you like. You slowly sip on the purple shaded drink, waking up from it’s comforting properties. You sigh deeply, allowing the fragrant air to fill your lungs while you look out of the tall, narrow window in the center of the outside wall. You could not see the ocean from here, but instead the distant roofs of Keldabe. It was a beautiful summer day, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky and you could hear the birds who have nested in the nooks and crannies of the towers chirping. You knew you had a long day ahead of you, and you wanted to try and enjoy it as much as you could. You never really enjoyed the social aspect of royalty, and that’s all today will be, but you’re ready to brave it head on.

An hour passes before you are finally dressed in the first gown of the day. Your hair is braided back so that it will have a desirable wave for the ball tonight. You are snuggly tied into the pearled bodice of the dress, and you run your hands up and down the beading, allowing it to tickle your soft palms.

Koska pulls open the door, and you’re expecting to see the Knight standing there stoically as always, but he isn’t. The hallway is completely empty, in fact, and you can’t ignore the dreadful feeling that overcomes your body. Where was he?

You clear your throat, and look back at Koska, who was adjusting the skirt of your gown as you walked.

“Where is he?” You ask, your voice hushed almost to a whisper but not quite. There were a million possibilities behind his absence and not a single one of them was ideal. Koska lifts up from her crouched position, smoothing the front pleats of her dress.

“What?” She asks and you sigh out of frustration, there was absolutely no way she didn’t know what you were talking about but you had to be vague because of all the ladies in waiting listening in.

“Who will be accompanying me to the garden?” You say with a forceful tone, trying to prod at a deeper meaning to the question.

Luckily, Lady Reeves picks up on it, and she looks behind you. You felt like she was avoiding eye-contact and it only made you more stressed and confused. “I’ll be escorting you, Highness.” She nodded, moving a step forward and then taking the lead down the corridor. You follow hesitantly, and wait until you are far enough down the hall from the other ladies back in your suite to speak again.

“Don’t horseshit me.” You mutter behind her. She keeps her chin up high as usual. “He’s in trouble, isn’t he.”

Koska doesn’t answer.

“Koska, you promised me he would be okay.” You try not to let the emotion show through your tone but that was a challenge. You felt guilty for some reason. If he was in trouble, it would be entirely your fault. The words shake in your throat and maybe it’s the tight corset and the fact that you are descending the stairs but you’re out of breath and it’s hot, so hot.

“He’s fine, I swear to the stars.” She whispers, saying it straight forward instead of turning back at you in an attempt to stay calm and unsuspecting to watchful eyes.

“Well then why didn’t you tell me that?” You ask, twiddling your thumbs.

“I couldn’t… there’s more to it but-“

“But what? What could be so secretive that you have to keep it from your future queen?” You say through gritted teeth and immediately after, Koska is spinning around on the staircase and looking up at you with a furrowed brow. You felt like you were being scolded by an impatient tutor despite the fact that you out-ranked her.

“You don’t even want to be the Queen.” She says in a whisper-shout, starting to sound as angry and emotional as you were just moments before.

“You’re right, I don’t-“ You bite back.

“So why are you here, then?”

You aren’t sure how to answer, the obvious answer is for Corellia. You were promised something in return for your ability to produce an heir and look like a porcelain figurine on a high shelf. But you also knew it would make your family happy, and your Kingdom. You would be making them proud by marrying so rich. You made a promise.

But now you think you’re starting to stay for an entirely different and unethical reason. Something that is inherently a trap and you know it, and yet here you are, fussing over it at every change you have.

Koska rolls her eyes and scoffs before continuing down the stairs.

“Who spit in your porridge this morning?” You reply.

“You did.” She groans in response.

“I’m sorry, but what did I ever do to you?” You ask when you complete the steps down and start down another corridor, one section of the massive palace closer to your destination.

Koska is the one not to answer this time.

It infuriates you that everyone is keeping secrets from you, your entire experience in Mandalore feels built on deception and being left-out. And now, the two people who finally seemed to be on your side aren’t with you in one way or another on such a big day. Koska is angry with you for no reason and you have no idea where your knight is.

The rest of the walk to the Gardens is silent, and before you know it, you are plopped down on an uncomfortable wicker chair in the hot sun, sipping on lukewarm lemon tea and wondering how much longer you have to suffer. Your mother and Bo were giggling about something, the rest of the court buzzing with conversation and ignoring you as always. Was it possible that you were the problem? You ask yourself this after another sip of the tea, a lemon slice bumping up against your upper lip a few times. As you think, you hold the dainty cup against your mouth, losing yourself in thought without realization. Your pretty eyes stare down at the green grass of the Garden. The grass never gets green back home.

You start subconsciously bouncing your leg as you thought to yourself. Everyone seemed to ignore expect for Korkie and your Knight— who both want to fuck you. Maybe that was the only desirable thing about you. This wasn’t the first time you felt insecure about the relationship you have developed with the Knight. He’s so quiet, so different from you. Were you falling for a trick?

Was he?

Tea must have gone by fast because just before the pearls of your dress start to burn against your arms from the heat exposure, you’re excusing yourself and wandering back inside.

“Strange girl.” One of the noble ladies says to Bo when you walk away. You don’t hear it, you can’t hear anything except for your deafening thoughts.

“Are you sure she’s the one for your nephew?” Another asks. If you had known your mother was silent for all of this in fear of losing her reputation or even the deal between Corellia and Mandalore, you would have been furious.

“Well his father was an outcast, too.” One chuckles. “I guess you Kyrze’s attract the wallflowers.” A few hummed in amused response.

“Well his father wasn’t just an outcast, he was a downright scandal-“

“My sister loved him, and that is all that matters.” Bo interrupts. The laughter quickly dies out.

“Don’t tell me you believe in love, too.” One laughs.

“You aren’t married, what could you know of love?” The same one bo interrupted says.

“I do believe in love, which is why I am not married.” The Queen reiterates. “And I don’t think she’s the right fit for my Nephew, she’s too… outspoken. He needs someone who won’t outshine him.” They chuckle again, all do but your mother, who is still meekly silent.

“Well with the engagement Ball tonight, it is far too late to back out now.” One teases, and the laughter only grows.

Bo-Katan stares in the direction you left.

You huff down the hall, your arms folded and neck sweaty from the heat. You are looking back and forth, studying the layout of the hall in search of something. You’re looking for the smallest idea of where the knight could be but you aren’t very successful.

While all the fully armored guards of the Mandalorian palace are dressed identically, you are almost certain you would be able to spot your boy in a crowd of a thousand of them. You aren’t sure why, but there is something different about him, something that sticks out from the rest. Somehow you two were connected, and it made it so he was always plaguing your mind, even when you are with your literal fiance. Even when you are far away from him and have no clue where he is for the first time in two weeks.

Separation Anxiety.

You aren’t watching where you’re going, which makes you run into a tall, lanky boy. You yelp out in apologetic surprise, looking up at the person blocking your stressed search. A blonde boy flips around to look at you and you’re half expecting to see Korkie but it isn’t.

His Cousin, Hugo, looks down at you with his same charming smirk as always.

“Princess!” He bows.

“My apologies, Hugo!” You exclaim.

“Oh please, you are perfectly fine. You looked distressed? I hope It was not something I did?”

“Of course not!” You reassure, awkwardly smiling. “Uh- may i ask what you were doing in the center of the corridor?”

He chuckles, “Admiring this art.” He nods to an expansive, framed oil painting on the wall. It was of a tall man with a long face and alarming smirk. What stuck out to you, however, was that he held in both hands the same black sword from the royal portraits upstairs by the war room.

“The art is beautiful here.” You smile.

“Yes, my Aunt Satine worked hard to make it culturally rich.”

“Did you know her?”

“Yes, I am a bit older than Korkie, and I knew her for several years before she passed.”

“Are you… second in line?”

“I am.” He says with a classic amused smirk.

“So maybe you can answer a question for me, then.” You ask as you look up at the art. “What in the world is that?” You ask in reference to the blade.

“That, my foreign Princess, is the Dark Sword of Mandalore.”

“The what?” You cluelessly ask.

“A sacred weapon that the rightful ruler possesses, it’s rather powerful.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it before.” You look up at it in awe.

“Hah, yes. It is made of pure obsidian. The white is enchanted quartz veins. It is practically invincible, an elven Mand’alor forged it when he was just a boy.”

“What? There were Mandalorians who were part elf?” You ask, your eyes peeling off of the art and onto your companion.

He looks at you almost confused, “There is much you do not know about my Kingdom?”

“No… I’m afraid not.” You shamefully admit.

“Most don’t,” He shrugs and returns to the conversation unbothered, “It’s history is rather complicated.”

The two of you were quiet for a long time. Your eyes were glued to the stern face of the man in the portrait. You wondered who he was. Hugo is the first to speak up.

“You played beautifully last night.” You doubted he didn’t notice the incorrect notes and mistakes you made several times, maybe he was just being polite by ignoring them. You turn to look at him and smile kindly.

“As did you.” You return the compliment. He looks at you, and you must have been distracted by something other than him because you weren’t aware that his eyes were darting between your eyes and your lips.

Hugo forces a kiss on you.

Just like how Korkie did a few weeks ago in the library. It’s fast because you angrily pull away just as fast as he placed it on you.

“What?” You say like an idiot, looking up at him in shock.

“Oh come on, don’t tell me you don’t feel it?” He gets defensive immediately. The worst part is that it wasn’t even that bad of a kiss, much softer than Korkies, but nowhere as tender as the kisses the Knight would lay on you in the water or behind a closed door. Your entire body seemed to seize up, and you couldn’t get any words out. Not any words that you wanted to say. You just looked up at him, vulnerable and confused. He leans down to do it again but you’re able to turn your head to the side, keeping his lips off of you.

“I am… in love with another man.” You say, clearing your throat.

“You and I both know that isn’t my cousin.”

No use denying it at this point, “yes, but I am still engaged to him. I cannot just be disloyal to the future Mand’alor.” You mutter, embarrassed but trying to keep your cool. You knew you were lying, because you weren’t staying loyal to Korkie. No, you were outright cheating on him and you were falling in love with the boy you were cheating with. You were falling in love. You were very exposed, after all. Anyone could turn the corner or look through the windows and see you. It was different this time, however. Usually hiding your kisses are exciting, but that was only with the Knight. “Please,” You voice betrays you, and the emotional shake is heard through your clenched jaw, “Excuse me.” You push passed him frustratedly, making sure to shove him over a little with your shoulder. You angrily walk back to your room, finally getting there without help for the first time.

When you turned down the Corridor to your suite, you were hoping to see the beskar-clad boy who held you last night, but he still wasn’t there. You hold back emotional tears, but not seeing the one who brings the most comfort to you makes you break. Two crystal tears roll down your cheeks.

You have been taken advantage of too many times in this forsaken castle.

You pull open the door, the golden afternoon light reflecting warmly off of the gold-leafed furniture and decorations is a stark contrast from the bleak hallway. Your bed has been made, and things have been tidied up since you were in here last. You flop onto the mattress, your arms stretched out from your sides, looking up at the sheer canopy above where you lay.

Two hours pass. You think you fell asleep but you cannot remember. If you did, no dreams were had.

Soniee opens your door with trepidation after two soft knocks, “Princess, It is time to prepare for the ball.” Her voice is so timid. You twist your head to look at her, the other ladies from this morning were behind her. Koska was not with them.

You sit up from the bed, rubbing a crook in your neck from how you were laying...

—

authors note (again): i know this isn’t the best chapter ending but ya know... IT WASNT SUPPOSED TO BE

Anyways..... see you tomorrow? i guess? haha

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—

part twelve

[spencer-reid-in-a-pool]

All Cream, No Sugar

Author’s Note: Hello everyone! Here is my sfw fic that was submitted to my friend @writing-in-april​ for the 4th Fic Swap on @imagining-in-the-margins​ ‘s Discord! Not my best work because I have been struggling to manage time lately and balance everything with my school and personal life. But I hope it is enjoyable nonetheless!

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It was Thursday. Possibly the worst day of the week. Even more awful than Monday. It always felt like a barricade between the beginning of the week and the weekend. The glorious, lazy weekend. Honestly, now that I think about it...Thursday has the same kind of feel as November.   

I chuckled to myself as I left my apartment. My mind was a special place, and I guess today was no different. Better than thinking about my finals, though. Literally anything was better to think about instead of final exams. That’s why I’m treating myself to a break at my favorite coffee shop. I deserve it, really, after the studying I have been doing all day. At least, that’s what I tell myself so I feel okay about spending all this money on coffee. 

The car ride over there was quick enough. I lived on the outskirts of the city, but this place has the best coffee, and I would drive a ridiculous amount of time to get to it. No matter the distance, it would be worth it. 

And maybe...just maybe…I would see that guy that comes in sometimes. The one with the messy hair and the sweater vests. He was so intriguing. I don’t even know his name, but I always notice when he comes in while I’m there. It was pretty much impossible not to. Hopefully one day I would work up the nerve to talk to him. Maybe that day would be today. 

I walked in the building, and the smell of coffee and sweets immediately hit me. It was so comforting. Almost like a tiny sanctuary away from home, and I was always so appreciative. 

As soon as the little bell on the door rang, the barista behind the counter looked up and shot me a smile. They recognized me quite often. 

“Hey, (Y/N), the usual?” she called from across the floor. 

“You know it,” I said with a wink. 

I took my favorite seat in the shop and looked around. It was pretty empty today, which was just the way I like it. It means less time to wait for my coffee and I can sit in peace. The only thing that would make it better is if that guy came in and I got my big girl pants on to ask him his name. 

After a few minutes, my coffee was brought to me and I handed the waiter some cash for my order, with a good amount leftover for a tip. His smile was bright and thankful, and it made me hopeful for today.

Each time the door opened and another person walked in, my heart skipped a beat. I stopped counting when I got to 10 people that turned out not to be him. It irked me more than I care to admit. 

I was starting to lose hope, staring daggers at the dregs of my leftover coffee. Perhaps I thought I would find him there? I just wanted to see him. 

A tap on my shoulder drew me out of my thoughts. Well, it startled me out of them more like. With a gasp, I jumped and looked up at the person who tapped on me. It was the barista who greeted me and made my coffee. Sophie. My favorite barista to spill all my problems to. 

“You okay? You look like you’re really thinking hard about something.”

I sighed and almost smiled at how ridiculous I was being. 

“Yeah, I’m okay. And I was thinking about something. Can you sit for a minute?”

She nodded, “I’m on break, thankfully.”

Once she took her seat across from me at the tiny table, I wrapped my fingers around the now room temperature coffee cup in front of me. 

“So, what’s up? What could you possibly be thinking about that’s got you looking like that?”

“Um, well. There’s this guy…”

Her eyes widened and she leaned forward a bit, as if to ask me to continue. 

“You might have seen him in here before. He comes in as much as I do, which is why I noticed him.”

“What does he look like?”

“Well, he’s tall. He wears sweaters a lot...um…oh, his hair is kind of messy, but in a cute way. And he has this dumb little satchel he carries sometimes-”

“Does he look like that guy?” Sophie asked as she pointed behind me. 

I followed where her finger was pointing by the door and sure enough, he was there. But he was there with another girl I had never seen him with before. She had dark hair and striking eyes, along with a certain air about her that just gave off badass vibes. Of course he would have a girlfriend. And a gorgeous one at that. 

I turned back to Sophie quickly before he noticed me staring. 

“Uh, yeah. That would be him. But I’ve never seen that girl before. It figures, though. Just my luck.”

The pair began walking farther into the shop, talking quietly as they approached the counter to order. The more they talked and smiled at each other, the more my heart seemed to falter. 

“Oh, (Y/N),” Sophie said quietly so only I would hear, “I’m so sorry.” 

I didn’t respond to her. I didn’t have to. The look in my eyes was enough to let her know what I was thinking and feeling. 

Her break was about to be over, so she placed a hand gently on top of mine, and with a small smile, left me there. 

Well, there was only one thing left to do. Get another coffee, and maybe something sweet to drown my sorrows in. 

I took a deep breath and stood up, grabbing my empty cup to throw away when I got to the front to order. I didn’t see them anywhere now. They must have ordered already and found a seat. But truthfully, I didn’t look around for them long. I didn’t want to. 

I ordered a black coffee and a doughnut, and waited for a second for them to hand me my order instead of going back to my table to wait. Sometimes they put too much creamer in the coffee, so this way I could go over to the cream and sugar stand and make it myself. 

Coffee and doughnut in hand, I made my way over to the small fridge they left out for customers to put in their own creamer and milk. I wasn’t really feeling the flavored seasonal creamers they had, so I just grabbed the half and half and started pouring. I didn’t really want any sugar either. I had my doughnut, which I probably wouldn’t even eat to be honest. My stomach was in knots. 

A sudden voice behind me knocked me out of my thoughts. 

“All cream, no sugar, huh? I’m the total opposite.”

I was so startled that my hand seemed to seize up, causing me to jerk the carton of half and half away from the cup. Now there was liquid all over the counter. 

“Oh. I’m so sorry- Here, let me. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

I still hadn’t looked at who was talking to me, so when the footsteps got closer and I felt someone next to me, I decided I should finally look up. 

It was him. The guy. The one I came here for. Except now he was standing right next to me. 

He grabbed a handful of paper towels and started wiping up the mess on the counter while I stood wide-eyed and in shock. I should probably say something. 

“I’m so sorry. I was...thinking about something and you startled me. I feel so clumsy.”

He looked up at me with a hint of a smile on his face. 

“No, it’s really my fault. I’m not good at talking to people.” 

Once he had finished cleaning up, he threw the paper towels away and turned back towards me. 

“What’s your name? I see you in here sometimes. I guess you could say we’re both regulars.”

A lump formed in my throat that I had to swallow down forcefully. He saw me in here sometimes? He noticed me? Did he ever see me looking at him? Oh no. 

“Um, my name is (Y/N). I see you in here sometimes too. The coffee here is really good, yeah?”

He smiled again, but bigger and more pronounced this time. Nodding his head, he shifted his bag and looked back at me. 

“My name’s Spencer. It’s nice to officially meet you.” 

Now it was my turn to smile. This was going pretty good, all things considered. It’s too bad about that girl he’s with, though. Speaking of the girl, she was walking towards us right now. Fantastic. Just what my anxiety needed. 

“Spencer, we just got a call. Did you not pay attention to your phone?” the woman said in a hurry as she came closer. 

Spencer jumped a bit and started to dig in his pocket for his phone. He pulled it out and laughed nervously. 

“I have it on silent. Whoops.” 

The woman rolled her eyes and then seemed to notice me standing there. 

“Ohh, I see. You had it on mute so you could talk to this girl you were telling me about, hmm? Better hope I don’t tell Hotch”

Spencer opened and closed his mouth a few times, and I was simply shocked. He wanted to talk to me? Like, on purpose? He told this woman about me?

“I’ll meet you outside, Emily,” Spencer groaned at her.

The woman named Emily smiled at me and winked before leaving. So now it was just me and Spencer, standing awkwardly together. Great. 

“I, um...ignore her. She’s a colleague from work...and apparently my wing woman now.”

I couldn’t help but sigh in relief. So she was just a friend. I had gotten myself all sad and anxious for nothing. Honestly, that’s typical for me though, so…

I could only smile. So much so that it made my cheeks hurt. 

“So, do you have to leave? For work or something?”

Spencer shifted his weight nervously.

“Yeah, I um, yeah I’m sorry. I really would like to stay and talk more. I hope you don’t find it weird I told her about you, by the way. I just notice you in here a lot and I think you’re really pretty and I just-”

He cut himself off suddenly and looked at me sadly.

“I have to go, but here.” 

Hurriedly, he pulled out a scrap piece of paper from his bag and a pen. He leaned over the counter and quickly wrote his name and number on the paper and handed it to me somewhat forcefully. 

“Text me or call me...you know, if you want. Um, I really have to go. I’m sorry.”

He turned on his heel and began walking towards the door. 

“Spencer!” I called across the shop.

Spencer stopped in his tracks and turned to look at me, almost with an excited glint in his eye.

I held the paper he gave me gently in my hand and took a deep breath to calm my pounding heart.

“I noticed you, too.”

[givemethatgold]

Fix’er Upper Pt. 3

Pairing: Eventual Frankie Morales x F!Reader Warnings: Clumsy injury, more stupid fighting Length: 2.5k Notes: If these two dummies could have one (1) adult conversation they’d be in bed together by now. Instead, we get this! *waves around vaguely*

PART ONE, TWO

Money was tight. You had been trying to ignore the dwindling stack of cash, telling yourself that you didn’t actually need to fix the cracked drywall, replace the old oven, or fill in the missing patches of shingles. 

That ignorance had finally come to bite you in the butt. You were rudely woken at three a.m. to the clap of thunder and the pat-pat-pat of rain hitting the house. You loved storms, the excitement of the lighting, and how fresh the air smelled once the rain had passed. 

You rolled over onto your back so you could watch the lightning flashing between the cracks of your curtains. A tap on your forehead quickly destroyed the excitement you were feeling. The wet ‘splat’ was quickly followed by another, and another, and before you were able to scramble up and search for the closest thing resembling a bucket, it had turned into a steady stream.

“Fuuuuuuuck!”

The next morning, the sun rose and shed its light upon a beautiful scene. The leaves, now free from dust, were beginning to turn, the grass glimmered with raindrops, and the sky was clear. You, on the other hand, were a verifiable disaster. 

Hair unkempt, heavy bags under your eyes, and wearing the first items of clothing you could find in your scramble last night. Your exhaustion was so complete, it hadn’t even dawned on you to change or freshen up a bit before going out into the public eye. All you could focus on was getting to Hank’s Hardware and buying all the shingles you could get your hands on.

Once again, however, you were harshly reminded of your dwindling savings and just how expensive fixing up a house could be. The owner, Allan if you remembered correctly, had shown you the right size and style for your home’s roof and you nearly choked at the price.

“You know,” he had said gently, “we do have the option of a payment plan. I don’t let just anyone use it either. It’s for trusted customers. I have a good gut on who I can trust.”

“Really?” You asked, feeling a little pathetic while also knowing now was not the time to let pride ruin such a good thing. “And, um, what does your gut tell you about me?”

“Welllll,” he smiled, hooking his thumbs into his suspenders and leaning back a little to size you up. “You’re hard-working, feel like you have something to prove, won’t back down from a challenge, and are in way over your head with that damn old house.”

“Oh.”

“No offense, ma’am! Sometimes I forget myself and talk to strangers the same way I’d talk to my friends.” He patted your forearm gently then hooked it back into his suspenders, pretending he didn’t notice you jumping at the physical contact. “But it’s true. No denying you won’t be able to shingle all by yourself. I’d offer, but I’m in no shape to be climbing up roofs.”

“That’s very sweet of you, truly. But I’ll manage! I doubt I could afford a handyman, so it’ll be me and my stubborn self scrambling around up there.” You joked, but it fell a little flat since the both of you knew it was the truth.

“I’ve got an idea...” Hank trailed off, his gaze searching around by the till. “Maybe you two can help each other out?” He fiddled at the computer for a minute, then grabbed a flyer from the corkboard mounted behind the counter before handing you two pieces of paper. One was a receipt of what you owed him after this latest excursion and a detailed timeline of when small payments could be made. 

Glancing up at him, you gave him a watery smile and thanked him for being so kind. Allan waved you off and pointed to the second paper.

‘Help Wanted’ it read, ‘Morales Acres. Light physical labour, quiet environment, rate of pay dependent on quality of work.’

“So friendly and welcoming,” you murmured, sarcastically, under your breath. Not quietly enough though because Allan snorted out a laugh and agreed that the ad was worded very abruptly. However, he vetted for the owner of the farm and suggested you head over to see if he would be willing to trade labour for labour.

Or at the very least, you thought, pay you so you can afford a roofer.

Following the directions Allan had provided for you, you quickly found Morales Acres. Surprisingly, it was a very short distance from your own home, making you wonder if the owner had been one of the people to drop by during your first weeks here.

The driveway was a beautiful, winding drive. The view of the farm was obscured by thickets of trees on either side of the road but you managed to catch glimpses of a pond and a few bales of hay before rounding a bend and driving into the yard.

A small gasp left your lips at the sight. It was picturesque! Something out of a travel magazine, or on every city girl’s Pinterest board. The driveway came to an end in front of a statuesque barn painted in the classic red and white, stone walls cordoned off certain areas that, from where you sat, looked like they could be used to house sheep or hens. A few small sheds were lined up along the other edge of the yard but the main attraction was the neatly lined rows of apple trees all heavy with fruit.

Climbing out of the cab, you slowly made your way into the yard with your mouth hanging open dumbly. It was just so peaceful here and it was obvious that the owner cared deeply for the property. You were enchanted and fell immediately in love.

“You must be the help Allan called to say he was sending over,” a warm voice rang out.

Looking around for the source your gaze widened, then immediately hardened, when you caught sight of who was talking to you.

“You!”

“You?!”

To say it had been a smooth business agreement would be a total lie. You and Market Asshole, Frankie you reminded yourself to call him, had bickered back and forth for the better part of an hour before shaking hands. Surprisingly, you had both argued more for the other person’s benefit, something you had been mulling over since.

If this guy was such an ass, why was he also acting like his help with your renovations wouldn’t be worth as much as you picking apples? You knew your presence disturbed his peace, and that you weren’t as strong as he might have hoped his helper would be, and he still hadn’t trusted you with all the workings of his orchard. 

So, while you weren’t going to argue anymore, you knew you were getting the better end of the deal: you help him gather his harvest and get it safely stored in the barn, then he spends the same amount of hours helping you. While the weather during September was prone to drizzle, you had convinced him that a tarp thrown over the baldest patches of roof would be fine and that the apples couldn’t wait. 

He had grumpily conceded your point but had sworn that as soon as the last of the fruit was picked he’d be over to do a proper job of it. So continued the uneasy truce between the two of you for the past four weeks. The first week was the hardest as your hands, unaccustomed to work, blistered, and your muscles ached from sudden use. You had initially tried to pass the time by making conversation but you got the hint and stayed quiet once Frankie started choosing trees farther and farther from yours.

Slowly, however, the blisters healed and gave way to callouses. Your muscles became accustomed to the work and you were able to carry twice the amount as you had started off with. Your home could now boast electricity and running water everywhere it should be, and the pile of discarded furniture had been reduced to ash by a spectacular bonfire which Jacquie and her family had joined you in admiring.

Today started off as a normal day. You showed up for harvesting at the break of dawn, having discovered you much preferred the cool morning air over being up on a ladder with the midday sun beating down on you. The trees were obscured by a low fog that had yet to burn up, but you knew what section you needed to start on. 

Enjoying the way the fog enveloped you, making you feel like you were in a magical world, you began to hum and your steps took on a dreamy dance-like quality. You had never taken lessons or had even been allowed to make such a spectacle of yourself while living with Brad but now you felt free enough to spin, twirl, and glide. Overcome with the joy your freedom gave you, you began to belt out “These Are a Few of my Favourite Things”, The Sound of Music having been played on repeat when you were a child. 

Once you reached the ladder, you hoisted the basket onto your back and continued to sing whatever songs you could remember while you worked. A particularly boisterous rendition of “Do Re Mi” had you flinging your arm out wide and leaning back on the ladder for a dramatic finish.

The apples threw you off balance. 

With a screech, you fell backward, managing to twist yourself around to land awkwardly on your hands and knees instead of on the basket of apples strapped to your back. You seemed to have come away unscathed, with just scratched knees and a throbbing in one wrist. Thankfully it wasn’t your dominant hand.

“Whoa!” Frankie called out, catching sight of you on the ground with the ladder tipped on its side, “Everything okay? Are you okay?”

Coming to a skidding stop next to you, he grasped the basket and slipped it off your back with ease. 

You took a few deep breaths and nodded. “Fine! Fine, just bruised knees and ego...” you assured him.

“What were you thinking?!” He tore into you, “You could have broken your neck! Or ruined a whole barrel of apples! Then what would I do?! This job doesn’t come with health insurance for Christ's sakes!” Running his hands through his curly, brown hair he let out a huff of air and walked over to where your ladder lay on the ground.

“Un-be-fucking-lievable!” You called out, incredulously. While trying to get to your feet, to march over and wag your finger in his face, you put too much pressure on your injured wrist that caused pain to scream down your arm.

You managed to mask the cry of pain as a cry of frustration and got to your feet. Surreptitiously cradling your hand against your chest, you grabbed another basket and walked past Frankie to start climbing the ladder again. Looking at the ground so he wouldn’t see the tears of pain in your eyes, you mumbled, “I’ll be more careful, alright? I’m sorry.”

Stopping your ascent with a hand on your arm he stuttered out what might have been the beginning of an apology but he couldn’t quite seem to put the right words together so he just cleared his throat.

“Just...” he said in a much softer tone, “just be more careful. Okay? I can’t lose my best worker.” 

The lame joke made you smile despite yourself. 

“Employee of the month,” you replied in a dry tone, “hurrah.” 

You shared wry smiles while a silent apology passed between the two of you. His dark brown eyes held a warmth to them you had never noticed before. Their hue reminding you of every tree in the orchard from the early light to the sunset, golden flecks reminiscent of the sun. His face, weathered from so much time spent outdoors, was marked with laugh lines, worry lines, and a small scar gracing his left cheek. 

Your eyes wandered past the scar to note how long his scruffy facial hair had grown and how it had started to obscure those pleasantly pouty lips. 

Then, with a start, you realized you were staring at this infuriating man’s lips like a hormonal teenager. With an embarrassed squeak, you quickly scurried up the ladder, hooking your elbow around each rung to avoid any more pressure on your wrist.

To say Frankie was coping well with having someone around would be a gross overstatement. 

It’s not that he didn’t like the company or wanted to be alone. The problem was that he was starting to like her company too much, to care too much. And caring too much had been the root cause of all Frankie’s sorrows.

First, there had been his Dad, trying to impress the man who never even wanted kids. Then the force, always feeling like he needed to prove himself and desperate for praise. After that was his wife, ex-wife, and trying to be someone he wasn’t so she would stay interested and in love. The pressure created by caring about these people and the expectations they had for him drove him to abuse drugs. Then his friends came calling and Frankie went against his gut because they had cared so deeply about something and he had cared deeply for them.

His wife, his kid, his family, his job, his friends. He had cared more than they did and he had come away worse off. At least now he was clean and sober, and was very aware of the irony of him now making and selling an alcoholic drink.

No, it was best to stay alone. He loved too freely and put too much stock in being loved back and every. single. time. it hurt him.

So, he closed himself off from you. Initially, he didn’t think it was going to be an issue, especially considering how you two had met. But then he found himself smiling at your stories, idly leaning against a branch so he could watch your graceful moments. He hated watching you leave, knowing you were going home to that piece of shit house that he should really be fixing up for you.

He recognized the signs and nipped them in the bud; working farther away, replying to questions with the fewest possible words, focusing purely on work, and maintaining a professional relationship. It pained him to push you away but deep down he knew it was best for the both of you.

Which brings him back to this moment.

Frankie was too stunned to notice your awkward climb up the ladder. Standing there, dumbly, for another few seconds. Wondering, all the way back to the idling tractor, what the hell had just happened.

One minute he was just driving the tractor minding his own business and the next he was having a mild heart attack after seeing his only worker laying limp on the ground. Then, after arguing like usual, you had shared a...a moment and stared at his mouth almost long enough to tempt him to use it.

Part Four

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[acid-vanir]

Ok, Theory

Ok so in the webcomic Aurora, the “main” character Kendal is an entirely new uncategoriseable entity, a god’s incarnation that survived the god leaving it and developed its own mind and personality. 

Now the god that this happens to is the hero god of the city Vash and, like the Ancient Greek Eros or Nike is named after his domain. So what we know about Vash is that he cut his teeth in this god business by defending his city from and defeating the storm god Tynan, the way he does this is explained here with an in universe telling of the story. What we know is that an alien metal and jewel was worked into an incarnation of Vash at a thematically appropriate moment and became an extremely effective power up, enabling Vash to defeat the hitherto undefeated Tynan. 

Now how this works in the world built magic system of Aurora is really interesting. So in Aurora it appears they're are two (or eight depending on how you count it) fundamental substances of magic, the elements and soul energy, now we know where elemental magic comes from as a central piece of lore in the main storyline so far has been about the ancient war between the elementals and a Void Dragon and how the elementals died defeating this Void Dragon and their bodies meshed together supplying the materials as the world, but the elements still count, and can be persuaded to act, as one body essentially unique to the other elements and so because they belonged to a living entity with a soul can exist in two states, the material element and a sort of potential/soul element held in other materials or channeled by mages to enact elemental effects.

 Now soul energy is something very different and despite the excessive amount of time I've spent explaining the elements, is what we’re focusing on here. Soul  energy is what living things are “made of” being literally the material of souls, now I could be wrong but from I can figure out everything alive contains and in someway uses soul energy, and soul energy has a connection with other soul constructs allowing for an in any capacity uniform group of living things to develop a larger social soul that becomes a god. Vash for instance is a city of people and so through the interaction of their soul energy, construction of early incarnations, and people assigning these incarnations personality or motivations became the hero god the city imagined, as the god itself is made up of the whole cities population who once saw incarnation interpreted them a certain way and influenced some of their aspect. Basically, because the god is their domain how they are viewed by the creatures in their domain effects their personality and most comfortable form. 

So what does this really have to do with Kendal. Well if Vash’s sword was constructed from an alien metal, a solid substance, which issomething almost impossible to make without an elemental, after Vash worked his soul energy into like soul shaper monks do with human prosthetics, which would more than likely work some of this starmetal soul energy into his own soul lattice. Then its likely that Kendal’s soul is made of what little of soul star metal was in the solid material of the meteor. And it’s not just background lore magic systems backing this up.

In the series of pages telling the mythical story of Vash’s Sword we find out that it’s being told through the framing device of the smith god who forged it, to a similar style god to Vash of the Fire influenced race of Ignans. Now while why they're talking and what this incredibly effective smith who uses the arcs and emotional journeys of the wielders of his weapons in his smithing process is doing with a god of fire and fire people directly related to one of our adventuring party is incredibly plot important and personally intriguing, there is something else I wanted to focus on here.

In these panels Tahraim appears to be talking about Dainix, a character Kendal is currently imprisoned with and who are jelling suspiciously well. Now we can see that Tahraim is using his Xanatos gambit forging technique of social engineering to forge out a weapon and fighter for Caliban (probably to fight the fire demon from Dainix’s backstory (who is probably another elemental emissary for Fire (like two other characters currently being heavily associated star metal soul Kendall (I see you Red, with each subsequent layer of brackets I get closer to the truth, witness as my bracketry grows)))) and describing some of the forging fires he’s using fo this weapon (who is probably Dainix, if not definitely)calls one of them “the divine blade”, referring to Vash’s starmetal sword currently held by Kendal, but the blade its self is isnt world shaking, its been around for millennia and everyone is very familiar with its power and prowess as a sword because Vash is an incredibly well known god. But that’s only as a sword, and we know Kendal is world shaking after his discussion with Ilia here where he is told explicitly that the gods fear what he represents but respect the fact that he is an incredibly powerful being with all the strength and ability of a godly incarnation but with no responsibilities of upholding a domain or the limits of staying within they’re domains range. And so the theoretical soul that is Kendal in this incarnation must be made of whatever remainder of star metal soul is left from the solid  star metal in the sword. That had been given the shape and properties of a human/incarnation soul by being weaved into and by Vash and then had the Vash soul ripped apart from they’re shared incarnation leaving the star metal soul to have to develop as its own being in this body

And if all you wanted is proof of this theory you can honestly stop reading here. So far this is dense and a lot and I wanna run through some stuff with this head cannon to nerd out. So if you don't wanna have to read anymore, my argument for this theory is basically through

Kendal being the star metal soul can provide a reason for, guess plot dent instead of plot hole? when Vash takes Kendal to where he is being held by the Collector. The reason this could be a plot dent is that one of the working theories for why Kendal exists can be found in the Sentinels. Essentially building sized stone statues animated by a god semi incarnating in them, its hard to explain so if your interested read here (Also read the comic, it’s really, really good. Like really good. If you get into the extra lore on the website and then scroll through Red’s Aurora Tumblr answers you get to appreciate how truly spectacular her worldbuilding and magic systems are. I mean clearly they’re cohesive and well thought out enough that just off of the magic system you could make a (if I don't say so myself) well reasoned prediction for a major character reveal.) the theory being that because these Sentinels can develop these echoes after being un-possessed by a god over time, the unique way Vash was taken out of his incarnation without dis-corporating it that the body developed a similar echo and is now ambient soul energy drawn into the empty body. However, this wouldn't make sense with Vash taking Kendal to the Collector’s hideaway in his sleep, as if Kendal is made of ambient soul energy he has no actual connection with Vash’s soul and so Vash shouldn't be able to bring him to the crystal he is being held in. But, if Kendal is in fact the star metal soul then he would still have that connection with Vash, as they are the same soul but different parts made of different materials, and so ca operate separately whilst still being so intricately connected.

On one final note, there is one character that already seems to know all this, Tahraim. That Kendal in everyway is the weapon he forged, that they're is a capacity for new elements and therefore different soul energies, that Erin has been possessed by the Void Dragon, and that the Collector has revived life, who has taken Alinua as an emissary, and is using this information not for his own divine or dastardly machinations but on commission. Which is A) a potential threat if Tahraim turns out to be a tad more amoral than he first appears, working as effectively for the next customer instead of esoterically guiding events for the cause of good and B) show cases an incredible mesh of world building and character work with gods being influenced by how their perceived and a god perceived and heralded as an unachievably proficient smith knowing more than any other character or entity we’ve ever seen before and doing exactly what is necessary to forge his commissioned weapons into the most powerful and effective instruments they can be almost only because of how in the magic system some gods are made from ideals and interpretations instead of groups of living things and actually fits the way they are most commonly perceived

[bonjour-rainycity]

Double Heart | Chapter Thirteen ~ Cosima

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 3460

Warnings: TW -- Mentions of death and grief

**Read on Ao3 under the user “bonjour_rainycity” if you prefer!**

A/n Thank you for all your comments!!! I worked all weekend and it was such a joy to come home and be able to read them and answer them <3 

Thanks to my reasonable-ish bedtime, I rise with the sun. Turns out mornings in Imladris are quite nice — the household has a lively bustle to it. I get ready for the day and make it downstairs in time for breakfast. On my way through the hallway, I hear a chipper voice calling my name.

I turn around, seeing the long, dark, coils of Lavandil’s hair bouncing as she jogs to catch up with me.

“Look who’s awake early today,” she teases, falling into step beside me. “No more late nights?”

I roll my eyes. Evidently, Rumil has created for himself an ally. “You should’ve seen me on the road —  I was up at dawn with the rest of them.”

She smiles cheekily, brushing a curl away from her face. “So it seems there is a common denominator in your motivation for sacrificing sleep.”

I gape, my shortcutting brain keeping me from formulating a satisfactory retort.

Lavandil just smirks, strutting along beside me. After a moment of silence, she hesitates, then shoves her arm in the crook of my elbow, linking our arms together. I blink at her in surprise. She grins, setting her shoulders. “I’ve visited human settlements before and I always saw the ladies walk like this. It seems rather silly — if one were to fall, wouldn’t the other go down with them? Especially with how clumsy humans can be—” A look of horror comes over her face and she halts, pulling me to a stop with her. “No, I didn’t mean to say that you—”

I chuckle, putting this elleth who is quickly becoming my friend out of her misery. “Don’t worry, I didn’t take it that way. And you’re not exactly wrong, either. I would definitely venture to say that elves are more coordinated than humans.” But this reminder of yet another difference between myself and my companions makes me sad, so I hurry to switch topics. “But you don’t have to walk like this if you don’t want to. I know elves prefer differently.”

Lavandil tilts her head to the side, a guilty smile stretching her lips. “Well, perhaps I am trying to butter you up. I have a favor to ask.”

I shake my head, laughing softly. “Yes?”

We stop outside of the dining hall archway and she turns to me, looking down on me with pleading eyes. “I own a shop in the market square — I sell the things I weave — and with all the travelers visiting Imladris, it is becoming difficult this season to make the goods and run the shop. My friend who usually works with me is in Eryn Galen this year, and while I’ve been managing—Orophin has been a great help—I know Haldir will be counting on him when it’s time to train the guards. So I was wondering, if you weren’t too busy…would you join me in the shop a couple days a week? I can teach you how to weave if you want, and I would pay you of course, and it’s really not too difficult, you just help customers choose their items and accept either money or an exchange and—”

I smile, elated that she would trust me enough to ask me to aid with her business. “Of course I’ll help! I’m so glad you asked.”

She beams and shoots into a rapid-fire account of everything I need to know about her shop. I try to keep up, but we enter the dining hall and the smell of breakfast hits my nose, so I very quickly get distracted.

Lavandil leads me towards the back of the dining hall. We see Baranor sitting at a table distractedly searching for the food on his plate with his nose buried in a book. Lavandil and I join him.

“Good morning,” I greet.

He hums, not looking up from his book. Lavandil and I exchange looks.

I grin at her, an idea taking form, and add food to my plate as I speak to Baranor. “Do you mean to be eating a worm? Is it an Elvish delicacy?”

He mumbles something incoherent, squinting in mild confusion. Then, his brow furrows and he shakes his head, throwing his fork down with a muffled yelp.

I can’t help it — I laugh loudly, turning heads in my direction. Lavandil joins, but hers are much more controlled. I try to quiet my giggles, but it’s difficult under Baranor’s stern gaze.

“That wasn’t funny.”

I shrug. “Sure it was.”

Lavandil nods emphatically. “What are you reading?”

Baranor begrudgingly closes his book. “A collection of research into the evolution of human healing capabilities. It’s an interesting read, if a bit rudimentary.”

I purse my lips, eyeing the book. “So humans and elves heal differently?”

He blinks, looking perplexed. “Of course.”

I take a bite of my scrambled eggs. Just another difference between us.

Movement at the front of the hall catches my eye and I smile, waving at Haldir and Rumil. The latter grins and returns the gesture, elbowing his brother’s ribs before striding in our direction. I pull my plate and glass closer to me to allow them room to sit at the small round table.

“Good morning, ladies, Baranor, how are you today,” Rumil questions cheerfully.

I quirk an eyebrow. “You’re not usually so chipper before breakfast.”

“Says the woman who slept until afternoon.”

“One time,” I quip.

Haldir takes a sip of his drink and smoothly changes the subject. “How were your lessons?”

From the corner of my eye, I see that Baranor has returned to his book. I chuckle. “Baranor was very patient. I do look forward to continuing, though.”

“Do you have lessons tonight?”

I shake my head, knowing Baranor will be occupied this afternoon and evening in the healing wards.

Haldir nods. “I will be out most of the day—I’m convening with a few of the generals here to get a better idea of their companies’ capabilities—but I could meet you after? To train?”

I smile, pleased that he still plans on helping me. “That would be great, thank you! Just come find me when you’re ready.”

He offers me a smile in response and returns to his breakfast.

Rumil scoffs but there is a twinkle in his eye that instantly makes me wary. “Tell me you do not plan on taking her to the training grounds so late at night? She won’t be able to see a thing.”

Haldir gives his brother a strange look. “Of course not.”

“Good.” Rumil sniffs. “But you cannot use our room. It is too small.”

I shrug, not quite understanding Rumil’s objections. “We can use mine — it’s got plenty of space.”

“That will work,” Haldir agrees.

Before I can think any more on it, Rumil catches my attention. “After breakfast, do you want to visit Roch in the stables? I’m sure he misses us both.”

I smile and agree, surprised to find that I also miss Horse the horse.

Breakfast hurries along and soon Rumil and I are the only ones left at the table, Haldir, Lavandil, and Baranor having hurried off to get to their duties. When we’ve finished our food, Rumil and I make for the stables which are not far from the main estate.

Rumil grins, brandishing an apple he lifted from the dining halls. “Do you want to give him this, or shall I?”

I bark out a laugh. “I’ll let you feed him the stolen apple.”

In answer, Rumil only throws the fruit high in the air, catching it with ease.

“Show off,” I mutter through a smile. After a few minutes of silence, I decide to ask the question that’s been bothering me since our arrival here. Rumil is the most easy-going of my new friends and I hope he’ll understand that I’m not trying to be rude or intrusive. I take a deep breath. “So, I had a question.”

He raises an eyebrow and in that moment looks so much like his oldest brother, it momentarily throws me off guard. “Yes,” he prompts when I don’t elaborate, and then he’s back to looking like himself.

“Orophin and Lavandil. Are they…a typical elven couple? I only ask because they’re the first elven couple I’ve met and I can only compare it to what I remember of human relationships. I’ve never seen them hug aside from the night we arrived, and never more affection than that. And they’ve been engaged for so long, do they plan on getting married?”

He chuckles and I sigh in relief. I haven’t upset him. “I forget how different humans are sometimes, of course it would seem strange to you. I assure you — they are quite normal. Humans are overly physically affectionate while elves tend to save that for romantic loves and close family members, and rarely in public. And remember, elves live forever—there’s no rush to get married in a certain amount of time. Besides, they are still young. I doubt either of them is ready to give up their home, their career, whether he moved to Imladris or she came to Lothlórien. For now, they are still enjoying their courtship.”

I nod, taking that information in.

“It usually takes a great amount of time for an elf to fall in love — or, at least, acknowledge that they’ve fallen in love. Some ellyn can take centuries to develop or recognize their feelings. I understand it can be quite disorienting.”

This gives me pause. Centuries? “That’s crazy. I mean—” I hurry to correct, aware of how judgmental I sound. “Not that elves are crazy, but your lifespan and all the time you can take. I can’t even wrap my head around it. Humans get what — eighty years?”

Rumil stops in his tracks. He turns to me, looking horrified. “Is that really it? Eighty years? Cosima, how old are you?”

I shrug, feeling self-conscious. “Twenty-three.”

“Twenty-three,” he gasps, bringing his fingers to his temples. He groans. “You are over a quarter through with your life.”

My breath stutters out. I haven’t thought of it that way. For all the differences between myself and my new friends, the biggest of them all somehow escaped my notice. Regardless of how long I reside in Arda, in what is a handful of years to these elves, I will be dead. And they will endure.

“It-it sounds kind of sad when you say it like that.” I look at the ground, unable to meet Rumil’s devastated eyes.

From my vantage point, I see him clench his hands into tight fists. When he speaks, his voice sounds thin, strained. “I understand now why elves often choose to distance themselves from human companionship. You have what is to you a long life ahead, and yet here I am, already grieving your loss.” He clears his throat, shifting his feet. “I do not know how Arwen bears it.”

I lift my gaze to his, not recognizing the name. “What do you mean?”

Rumil sighs, looking for the first time, quite old. Not in his face, never like that, but his eyes. It’s hard to believe that this ellon who sometimes seems younger than me has lived for two millennia.

“Arwen is Elrond’s daughter. She tends to keep to herself but is well-loved by her people. If you ask, Elrond will surely introduce you.” He pauses, seeming weighed down by his words. “She loves a human man.” I hear my sharp intake of breath and Rumil nods gravely. “His name is Aragorn and he is well known to the ellyn of Imladris. He is away for the time being — when whispers of evil reached this realm, he left to do his part. But Arwen…when Aragorn dies, so will she.”

I blink and am surprised to feel a wetness in my lashes. “But she’s an elf.”

Rumil slowly shakes his head. “Yes. When an elf gets married, when they bond their fæ with another’s, they are forever entwined. If one dies, the other must sail West or risk fading.”

Oh. Of course. Haldir mentioned this the other night — it didn’t occur to me before Rumil said the actual word, ‘fading’.

“I have only met one elf who lost their love. King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm. His wife died many centuries ago and yet every day, he grieves like it is the first. I do not know why he stays here, but I can see how much it costs him. I cannot imagine his pain. And Arwen walks into it willingly.” Rumil laughs without humor, shaking his head and looking to the ground. He purses his lips tightly. “No, it is likely she has no choice in the matter. You cannot help who you love. So Arwen will either fade over time or choose to die with Aragorn — she has already sworn never to sail. Arwen’s father is Peredhel — half elven, half human. All those in his line may choose: an elven life, or a mortal one. I believe Arwen has made her choice.”

I exhale shakily, the tears freely falling down my cheeks. “That sounds awful.”

Rumil nods in agreement, seeming to regard me with new eyes. I can’t blame him. To him, my friendship must promise nothing but grief.

“I’m sorry,” I breathe, not really sure what I’m apologizing for. His doomed friend? His sadness? My mortality?

He shakes his head, forcing a poor imitation of his earlier sunny smile. “Do not be sorry. Come, Roch is waiting.” He extends his hand towards the stables and, though I think we would both prefer to sit in our rooms and cry, I go with him.

{***}

When it is still early in the evening, there’s a knock on my door — Haldir ready for training. He greets me with a warm smile and news of his meetings.

“They went well,” he nods, accepting my offer of a glass of water. “The guard has wonderful structures in place and even better ellyn, so I am quite hopeful that new strategies will fortify an already strong group.” He lays his cloak over the back of the couch. “How were the stables with Rumil? Is Faervel in good condition?”

“Yes, he’s doing just fine. He’s got bigger stable than Roch, which of course Rumil took mild offense to.” I chuckle, thankful that I can remember it fondly even though the day was weighed down with sadness. “I had a nice time. Rumil is always fun to be with.”

Haldir nearly snorts, and the undignified noise coming from him makes me laugh. “Not at two in the morning with all that awful snoring, he’s not.” He crosses his arms, smiling nostalgically. “It’s like we’re children again, visiting our grandmother, crammed into one room. Orophin got so fed up with it once that he tossed Rumil outside.”

My eyes blow wide in disbelief, only feeling a little bad for laughing at Rumil’s misfortune. He probably deserved it. Hot pink flashes in front of my eyes and I’m suddenly overwhelmed with the now-familiar smell of red wine and hairspray. Dark, curly hair pinned tightly against a head standing only five feet off the ground — Nonna!

I gasp, blinking rapidly as I try to take in all this new information at once. I feel cool fingers grip mine and then my body finds the plushness of the couch.

Snowy holidays spent by an opulently decorated tree, tight hugs after a bad day, drinking sweet wine and laughing like we haven’t a care in the world. Nonna. I miss her. My heart aches with that crushing feeling of not knowing the next time you’ll see someone. More than that — not knowing the next time you’ll see someone you love. I try to focus on her face — does she look like me? Her face comes into full view, and I admonish myself. Of course she does, silly. Rather—you look like her. A sharp stab of pain pierces my skull and my breath catches halfway between a gasp and a scream.

Strong hands on my shoulders. Warmth against my arm. And pain racing through my head, behind my eyes, below my ears. As the pain gets stronger, the images of my grandmother flicker. I attempt to focus, to keep the memories solid and present, but lose the battle when a wave of nausea hits me. I clamp a hand over my mouth, desperately not wanting to vomit and so badly wanting this pain to stop.

“Cosima,” a frantic voice whispers. I feel fingers brush over my cheek.

I groan, the nausea and pain finally beginning to ebb away. The evening light suddenly seems much too harsh and I half-collapse forward, pressing my face into fabric that smells like trees to shut out the light.

“What’s wrong?”

Hands ghost over my spine, holding me against what I now recognize to be Haldir’s chest.

“Give me a minute,” I mumble, taking deep breaths as the pain and sickness fade. Haldir doesn’t move, his arms locked stiffly around me. Once I feel like I’ve regained control, I straighten slowly. Though no longer in the awful pain, my body feels heavy, weak, and practically aches with the desire for sleep. I look up at Haldir.

He watches me with what I can only describe as panic, though it takes me a moment to reach that conclusion, given the fact that I’ve never seen him look anything other than completely collected. With wide eyes, he stands, pulling my cloak off its hook. “I’m taking you to a healer.”

“No, Haldir, it’s just a—”

He throws the cloak to me, shrugging on his own with impressive speed. “You are human and humans sicken and die like that.”

I roll my eyes, though sober as I recall Rumil’s face when he became aware of my age. Whereas I know that this is just a headache, it must actually be upsetting for Haldir, an ellon who’s probably never seen someone with a headache in his life. I breathe deeply and, for the first time in our friendship, take on the role of the calm one. “It’s just a headache, maybe a migraine. Humans get them all the time. It usually happens when someone hasn’t had enough sleep or enough water — coincidentally, over the past few days I have been lacking in both.”

He pushes his water glass across the small table to me, still not looking entirely convinced. Thankfully though, the panic has begun to recede from his features. “Drink.”

I comply, knowing it will make us both feel better.

He watches me warily and with a small amount of accusation in his eyes before sitting down next to me once more. This time, he leaves a good amount of space between us though leans forward, hovering like he’s waiting to have to catch me again. I slump against the back of the couch but do my best to overall look very non-sick, not wanting to worry him. We sit in silence for a few moments while I sip on the water. I want to revisit the memory of my grandmother, but something tells me it will have to wait until I feel better. Focusing on memories is already difficult, and apparently, it’s nearly impossible in the face of a migraine.

Eventually, Haldir levels me with a stern look. Ah good, back to normal. “We will not carry on with training until you are well. I insist that you make proper sleep and hydration a priority.”

I smile at him, bringing a hand to my forehead in a mock-salute. “Yes, Marchwarden.”

He shakes his head weakly, but his smile at least touches his eyes. It’s nice. The light shifts as the sun sinks lower and he furrows his brow. “It’s still early — would you like dinner? I can have it sent to your room.”

I shake my head, the thought of food bringing back a wave of nausea. “No, thanks though. I think I’ll just lie down for the rest of the night, hopefully sleep it off.”

Haldir nods solemnly. “That might be best. Is—are you—is it safe for you to be alone? You will not pass out or suffer some unexpected side effect?”

“No,” I smile softly, touched by his concern. “I’m already feeling better, promise.”

He sucks in a breath, bobbing his head once more. “Good.” He stands, looking uncertain. “I will leave you to rest, then. May I visit you in the morning?”

I feel my smile widening. This is so sweet. “Of course.”

This seems to relax him a little, and he gathers his cloak. “Okay. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

And, though I should immediately crawl in my bed and go to sleep, it takes me a while to push the smile from my face and quiet my racing mind.

A/n Thanks for reading! Let me know if you would like a tag :) Comments, likes, and reblogs make my day!

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Tolkien tag list: @anangelwhodidntfall @eru-vande 

Haldir tag list: @tolkien-apologist 

Double Heart tag list: @lainphotography @themerriweathermage @thophil2941btw @kenobiguacamole @wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse @from-patroclus-with-love @boywivlove @ordinarymom1 @my-darling-haldir @sweet-bea-blossom @moony-artnstuff

[randomshyperson]

Wanda Maximoff/Reader - HighSchool AU “Sometimes is just a kiss”- ChapterTwo.

Gif is not mine.

Read on AO3 too

Summary:  When the rumors that you punched Tony Stark in the face spread around your school, some interesting events unfolded. Or enemies to Lovers in high School.

Warnings: 18+; Enemies to Lovers/ Angry Sex/ Underage Sex/ High School AU/ Violence/ Fights/ Inappropriate language; Fluff 

Yes, I turned this into a short fic, simply because there were so many positive comments that I felt very inspired to continue. And I hope nobody will be disappointed haha But here it is, have a good read.

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The news that Steve Rogers and Tony Stark kissed behind the bleachers spread quickly through the school. And it was only 10 o'clock on a Monday morning.

You had no idea who had spread the rumor around the campus, but knowing your luck, you were just waiting for the bomb to drop in your lap.

Besides, you hadn't spoken to Wanda since you gave her an orgasm against the walls of a locker room. You saw her briefly in the hallway between history and biology class, but she looked away quickly, and you rolled your eyes without patience.

It had been good sex, and you repeated that it was just that. Sex. That it shouldn't have happened, mainly because you were incompatible, and there were too many social barriers between you.

You should have known that Wanda would not break the expectations they had of her, to stay as someone as broken as you. 

Closing the locker with more force than necessary, you walked out toward the history room. 

Taking your place in the last chair by the window, you sit down as you wait for the class to begin. You have about five minutes of peace before an angry Tony Stark enters the room and walks toward you pointing his finger in your face in a threatening manner.

- I told you to mind your own business.

- What have I done to deserve this, Lord. - You grumble without patience, ignoring Stark completely. He lets out an angry exclamation and punches the table, making you jump with surprise.

- You'll pay for this, bitch. I'm going to-

You cut off his speech by pulling his hair and forcing his head against the table in a blow that makes a loud noise. He staggers back, shocked that he has been hit again. The room erupts in a hubbub and someone holds Tony back to stop him from jumping on you.

You stand up, gathering your notebooks, seeing that the history teacher was already signaling for you to talk to the counselor.

- You never learn, Stark. - You sneer, taking one last look at the boy's bloody nose before you leave the room, most of your classmates laughing.

- I'm so angry with you right now. - said your mother as soon as you both left the school. You didn't respond, walking with your hands in your pockets to the car. She started mumbling to herself, and only when you had been in the car a few minutes did she speak to you again. 

- And the worst of it is that you hit my boss's son!

You let out a wry laugh as you looked out the car window at the view.

- I doubt very much that Howard Stark knows any of his employees, Mother.

- It doesn't matter. - she retorted, turning the wheel. You watched the landscape change as you turned the corner.

- At least I didn't get expelled. - You commented, your mother let out a wry laugh.

- Suspension is not a good thing! - she replies in an irritated tone. - And I even had to miss my shift to come get you. I honestly didn't raise you for that.

- That's the point, isn't it? - You retorted angrily, finally turning to face your mother.  - Did you ever raise me? Last time I checked, I've been raising myself for a long time.

Your mother assumes a disapproving expression, denying it with her head. You throw yourself back on the seat with your arms crossed.

- You've always been so unfair, you know. - She begins. - Who's picking you up from school now, huh? And who puts a roof over your head? Food on your plate? You raised yourself, that's a joke.

She grumbles again, but you just ignore it, shutting yourself off from your surroundings. 

You barely register when the car pulls up in front of your house, startled when your mother slams the car door as you get out. You take off your seat belt, and step out.

- You are grounded, three months. - she says, and you just nod. It's not as if she was present enough to know where you were going anyway. - And you are going to help your aunt in the store while you are suspended.

You let out a protesting grunt.

- Really, there's nothing worse for me to do? - You ask, throwing yourself on the sofa in the living room, your mother giggles.

- Weren't you the one who was thinking that suspension is better than expulsion? Well, you're not going to be sitting around this week. - She said as she left her purse on the kitchen table, and walked towards the small office table in the corner of the room. - Now go to your room, I'm working from home today.

You roll your eyes, getting up. Dragging your feet to your room, you slam the door as you enter, throwing yourself against your bed.

You hope Tony Stark's nose is hurting.

You are very surprised to see Natasha Romanoff enter your aunt's mercenary, shortly after school hours. She smiles at you with amusement, walking over to the counter.

- Wow, interesting look. - She jokes, commenting on the blue uniform combined with a sailor's hat that your aunt makes her three employees wear. You laugh at Nat.

- How can I help you, ma'am? - You asked in an amused tone, she leaned her arms on the counter.

- I'm looking for a fighting dog. Do you sell these here? 

You laugh at the insinuation. And then a customer enters the store, Nat moves aside for you to attend to a lady buying tomato sauce and noodles, and then as you check out, she speaks again.

- You caused a fuss at school with your fight. - She remarks, and you just grumble, counting the money. - By the way, how did you find out about Rogers and Stark's secret affair?

You shrug, smiling. - I saw them kissing the night of the game. Stark freaked out, by the way, typical.

Nat laughed, and began to look around the store. - It is nice here. I didn't know you worked.

- It's my aunt's. - You say, finally finishing counting the money in the cash register. - And I worked at the junkyard on Avenue Two until last year.

- Aren't you going to tell me that you were fired for fighting? - Nat teased, making you laugh.

- No, I asked to quit. - So you say. - I wanted a quiet senior year.

Nat nods, and walks around the store, stopping at the magazine section. You see three more customers before she returns.

- I have to get home before my mother freaks out. - She announced as soon as she reached the counter. You nodded. - But I want to know if you want to do something with me?

- I thought you had a boyfriend. - You joked, and Nat rolled her eyes humorously. 

- Don't be a smartass. 

You laugh.

- I will be helping out in the store during this week. - You say. - Because of the suspension. I leave at seven.

Nat nodded, assuming a contemplative expression for a moment.

- Do you know where Avengers' Bar is? Three blocks past the municipal hospital?

You nod, smiling.

- Sure, Nat. - You say. - I've already driven past it.

- Why haven't you ever gone inside? I'm always there.

- I wasn't in that area to drink. - You remark with a suggestive smile, and Nat just laughs and rolls her eyes.

- Well, I'll be there on Wednesday. Some colleagues from State are playing there. - She says, and writes down a phone number on one of the papers on the counter. - Text me if you're going to show up.

- Are you sure it's not a date? - You joke and Nat just winks at you before you leave. You keep her number in your uniform pocket.

Even from outside, you could hear the music from the bar muffled against the windows. 

Avengers's Bar was a popular place in town, but only for a certain kind of people. Mainly frequented by punks, bikers, and artists, it was exactly the kind of place you liked but should avoid. With its history of fights, it wasn't exactly the kind of place you went to anymore.

A dark-haired girl in metal-working attire smiled at you from the doorway, looking at you mischievously as you walked through the door. You just nodded slightly.

Inside, you looked around for Natasha and her friends, but with the amount of people in the bar, it wasn't so easy to find them.

- Y/N! - shouted Thor when he spotted you in the crowd. You smiled, walking over to where he was standing. - We're on the top floor, Nat got a table. Come on, I just came to get some drinks.

You followed him to the bar, and helped him carry the drinks for the others. You didn't recognize any of the drinks they were making there, so you decided to just drink from everyone's glass, which made Thor laugh.

- Look who I found. - announced Thor as soon as you two arrived at the table. The group smiled when they saw you, and you greeted everyone with a kiss on the cheek and sat down next to Nat.

- We heard that you were suspended. - commented Clint, but he seemed almost proud. You shrugged awkwardly. 

- She wasn't content to just punch Stark, she also slammed the bastard's head against the table! - Said Natasha excitedly, and the group laughed. You laughed half embarrassed, as you took a sip of the pink drink Nat had ordered.

They started talking about some scandal that happened at the federal school, and you did your best to react to it, not really knowing who the people they were talking about were. And then Valkyrie let out an exclamation, as if she had spotted someone, and stood up. A very pretty girl approached, smiling and hugging Valkyrie. 

- I'm glad you could make it, Carol. - Valkyrie said the girl who waved to everyone. When you looked closely, you finally recognized her. Carol Danvers was an ex-student of your high school, having graduated last year. She used to be very popular, and you noticed the military silver necklace around her neck. 

Carol sat down next to Valkyrie, and the two of them seemed so close that you thought maybe they were dating.

When the show started, everyone exclaimed with excitement, quickly getting up and walking to the stage area. You smiled as Nat dragged you by the hand, liking the feeling of having friends.

The band was surprisingly good, and you danced with excitement, feeling the alcohol make you lively and loose. You were surprised when Carol began to dance with you, her hands on your waist.

She was very attractive, so you didn't mind her kissing you. And you pushed away the feeling that she wasn't the person you wanted. When she pulled you into the bathroom, her hands roaming over you as she tugged off your clothes, you ignored every part of your body screaming that this was wrong. When she made you cum, you bit your lip to keep yourself from screaming Wanda's name.

Your suspension was finally over, and you gave the key to the store back to your aunt before you went to school. 

You tried not to think about it too much, about how many college opportunities you had missed with that stain on your record. But if you were honest, you didn't even know if you wanted to go to college anymore. Every day the possibility of buying a motorcycle and traveling aimlessly getting closer to your real calling.

Many people stared at you when you arrived at school. The vast majority didn't even bother to look away. You rolled your eyes impatiently, reaching into your jacket pockets as you walked through the main doors. 

You were slightly startled when Jessica Jones approached you in your locker, but you smiled awkwardly, taking off your headphones.

- Girl, you are a legend! - she said excitedly, pushing you lightly by the shoulders against the lockers. She stood close, and you thought maybe that was flirting. - By the way, I didn't have your number to text you. 

She took a pen from her bag, and grabbed your hand, writing down her own number while flashing you a mischievous smile.

- Text me, let's do something this week. - She says as she lets go of your hand. You blink slightly, and nod, a little awkwardly. Jessica doesn't seem to notice, and smiles, leaving afterwards.

You hear a whistle, and Nat looks at you with curiosity.

- You are stealing hearts, huh. - She teases, and you feel your face heat up, still surprised by the whole interaction. - By the way, are you and Carol on a real thing?

- What? - you ask in surprise. - No, I don't think so. It was just sex in a concert restroom, Natasha. I don't think she even knew my name. - You remark as you turn toward the redhead. She laughs, finishing putting her books away.

- Actually she asked me for your number. - She says, and you look at her in surprise. - But then I see you with Jones, and I have to admit, it's a tough choice. - Nat teases, making you laugh. You start walking down the hall together, walking towards the classrooms. You think Nat has said something about the show, but your attention is elsewhere. As you walk past Wanda and Peter Maximoff, everything seems to slow down, you notice the slight flush on Wanda's cheeks when her gaze meets yours, and you both hold your breath as you walk past each other. But the next second everything is as it was before, and you sigh, focusing your attention on Nat.

When you arrive in the literature room, you are happy to know that Nat sits next to you.

You hate the cafeterias. So when Nat invites you to join her at the outside tables you think it's the best lunch you have ever had. 

The outside courtyard is relatively less crowded than the other places in the school, and you are in the middle of a discussion about the new TV series that launched over the weekend, when Nat signals to something behind you.

Coming out of the school, and heading towards the table where you were standing, was Sharon Carter, accompanied by her pet friend, Pepper Potts. And you really thought you could have a quiet lunch.

- To what do I owe the honor, Carter? - you asked ironically as they reached your table.

- You stay away from my boyfriend. - She spoke in a serious tone, and before you could say anything, she tipped the glass of soda she held over your head.

You felt your whole body boil with irritation and you stood up abruptly, seeing red. But Natasha tugged on your forearm, whispering something about your suspension. Sharon and Pepper seemed to be slightly startled by your posture, but they let out a wry chuckle and went back inside the school.

You tugged on Nat's arm, then left the courtyard and headed for the changing rooms. You needed a cold shower to calm yourself down, or you would do something that would surely cause your expulsion.

Since the athletic games period had not yet started, the gym locker room was empty. You sighed with relief as you found your spare change of clothes in your locker.

Walking toward the bathroom stalls, you quickly undressed, and stepped into the shower, letting the cold water wash all the soda and anger from your body.

Leaning your head against the wall, you let out a sigh, thinking about all the shit that was going on in your life in less than two weeks. And then your mind went back to Wanda, and you let out a breathless groan, laughing humorlessly. The cold water didn't help to chill the new heat that settled under your stomach. You turned off the shower, then stepped out to put on your clothes.

On your way out of the locker room, you saw something you would rather not have seen. The universe seemed to be testing your anger today.

Wanda was being pressed against the wall of the indoor bleachers, which at that time was empty and perfect for those who wanted to make out in a secluded spot. It was a tall boy, but you couldn't see his face, which was buried in Wanda's neck, kissing her. And then she opened her eyes, and looked straight at you. You saw him pull down his pants and enter her, and she moaned with her mouth ajar, without taking her eyes off you. She had a gleam in her eyes that made your whole body tremble. 

You gripped the strap of your purse tightly, controlling the impulse to go over and beat the boy until he passed out, and spun on your feet, walking out the back door.

Fucking day, you thought as you walked back to school.

Eventually, you thanked Nat for keeping you from hitting Sharon. She shrugged, saying that she didn't want you to be expelled now that you were becoming friends, and you tried not to be too happy about it.

On Wednesday, Carol Danvers showed up at the door of the school on a motorcycle. This is sure to be a long-lasting gossip, you thought as you and Nat greeted her on the way out. Several students looked at you, many of them impressed by Carol's motorcycle, others impressed to see her back at school, but the vast majority trying to ask how you knew her.

- What's up, Danvers? - You say to her with a slight nod. Carol looks at you as if she wants to undress you right there, but you have your gaze on her motorcycle, attentive to the details of the vehicle.

- Hey, pretty girl. - She answers while leaning against the vehicle.

- Jesus, you are not even seeing me. - Nat teases and Carol just laughs, giving her a kiss on the cheek. - Tell me, what brings you back to your beloved school?

- I came to say hello. - says Carol. - And to invite you both to a concert on Saturday.

- And you didn't text me because you missed me. - Nat rebuts in a provocative tone, Carol smiles, and then looks at you, before confirming. You don't really know what to say. 

- If the music is good, I'm in. - You joke and Nat agrees. Carol takes two tickets out of her pocket and hands them to you.

- I'll pick you up, okay? - She offers it to you. You think about refusing, without really knowing why. But you nod in agreement before you can think about it too much.

- Okay, lovebirds. I'll leave you two alone because I'm starting to get the urge to puke. - Nat jokes one last time, before heading out toward the parking lot. You imagine that she will use the break time to smoke a bit.

You shift your weight between your feet before turning your gaze back to Carol.

- I was surprised to hear that you asked Nat for my number. - You comment, and Carol smiles. 

- I like to talk to pretty girls. - She says, and you roll your eyes humorously at the flirtation. She laughs, biting her lips, and you allow her to rest her hands on your waist, perhaps too low.

- Are you looking for something serious, Danvers? - you ask with a slight irony. Carol looks at you in mild surprise.

- You don't think it has anything to do with me, do you? 

- Sorry, the motorcycle and the leather jacket gave you away. - You respond humorously. - I get it, because it's my game.

Carol laughs.

- I'm enjoying our time together. - she confesses. - But I'll be back at the station in a few weeks. I can't make any promises.

You nod, without really being bothered by it. Carol is not the one you wanted to be with. And to push those thoughts away, you kiss her. She smiles, deepening the kiss slightly. You think she squeezed your ass, but you're not really paying attention. 

And then you break apart, and she smiles at you.

- I'll see you Saturday, right? - she asks, and you nod, letting her kiss you one last time.

When she finally starts the motorcycle and drives away, you notice the mischievous and suggestive looks you receive. 

And you try not to let your anger peak, but then you notice Stark's group in the corner of the school, laughing openly. You'll need to walk past them to get inside, and you really hope that none of them will test your patience.

- Hey weirdo, who was your girlfriend? - shouts Tony Stark. You know, you really think maybe he is brain damaged. His friends laugh at the joke, and you think you will ignore it, but then he shouts again. - I'm talking to you, dyke!

He throws something at you, missing you by inches. You watch the red liquid run down in front of your feet.

You think, this is it. This is how I'm going to get expelled. By sticking a straw in Tony Stark's eye. You wondered if prison life was worth it.

But then the laughter died down in the next second, and you watched Tony turn pale.

- Mr. Stark, please come with me. - A male voice sounded behind you. The school principal was a scary man, and he was hardly ever seen outside his classroom. He never witnessed his students' conflicts, and Fury never bothered him with such matters. Tony's paleness was understandable.

- P-Professor Thanos, I don't...

- Now. - says the man finally, and Tony stiffens his jaw as he follows him. He gave you an angry look before leaving.

The buzz started as soon as they entered the school, but you didn't really pay attention to anyone. Ignoring the middle finger Steve Rogers threw at you, you went back inside the school.

Tony Stark was punished with detention. You rolled your eyes when the rumor reached you. They had also said that his father refused to pick him up and that the driver was the one who talked to Fury. You would have sympathy for Stark if he wasn't a complete imbecile.

You had chemistry again, and you really weren't in the mood to see Wanda, but you had no choice. 

And then Professor Agatha was feeling particularly inspired today, and decided to switch lab partners. You ended up on the same bench as Darcy Lewis and Pietro Maximoff, you being the only trio due to the odd number of students. You sighed against your bad luck.

The experiment that Mrs. Harkness performed was not difficult, but it could be dangerous if you didn't pay attention. So you just listened to Darcy's instructions, and everything was working out fine. Then Pietro Maximoff decided that his attention was better placed on a girl sitting behind him, and started flirting. Darcy rolled her eyes, smiling at you. 

In the blink of an eye, you heard a scream of pain. Pietro had forgotten the limits of the counter itself, and stretching his arms most likely to impress the girl behind you, he slammed his hand against the chemical glass jar behind him. Darcy stepped back to avoid being hit, but you were quick to help Pietro, pulling his arm into the sink on the counter, turning on the faucet as you hurried to get as much of the acidic liquid off his skin as possible.

Pietro sighed with relief, probably feeling the pain disappear as you rubbed the soap into his skin. He was extremely surprised, as was the rest of the room.

- Very efficient reaction, Miss Y/L/N. - commented Ms. Harkness as she approached you, holding a cloth to dry Pietro. - I'll add an extra point to your average for that. Mr. Maximoff, please go to the infirmary.

Pietro wrapped the cloth around his injured hand, and looked at you with a mixture of hesitation and confusion in his eyes, but he nodded in thanks. 

Harkness asked someone to call the janitor to clean up the shards, and then continued the class. You found it hard to concentrate when you noticed Wanda's gaze on you.

Jessica Jones kisses you against the wall of the second floor locker room. 

You exchanged a few messages, mostly innocent jokes. And then Jessica said she had something amazing to show you, and when you met her after third period, in the not-so-isolated locker room, she pushed you up against the wall and kissed you on the mouth.

Jessica tasted like coke and something sweet, and she likes to bite.You had to remind yourself that you were kissing someone while you were doing it, not feeling connected to her really.

And then two girls came into the bathroom giggling and she let you go.

- Sorry for the scare. - She joked, her lips swollen. You shrugged, smiling slightly.

- What was it that about? - You teased, putting your hands on her waist.

- What inspired you to do this? - you teased, putting your hands on her waist.

- You of course. Punching assholes and saving people. It's hot. - She says and then she checks her cell phone. - Damn, I have chemistry now. I can't be late.

She steals a kiss from you and quickly leaves. You blink, not really understanding what has happened.

As you go downstairs, you realize that the cheerleading squad is coming out of the locker room, and Sharon and Potts give you a death stare as you walk past them. And then, as you pass through the door to the women's dressing room, you hesitate. All your logic tells you to go on your way, but then your feet are turning and you walk into the dressing room, looking around.

You let out a sigh as you find who you were looking for. Wanda is changing clothes, wearing only her cheer skirt, and a bra. Your intimacy pulsates with the image. Wanda lets out a surprised exclamation at seeing you there, but then she lets out a mischievous smile, and continues undressing.

Slowly, she lets the skirt slide down her thighs. You bite your lower lip hard as it falls to the floor.

And then two other cheerleaders come out of one of the aisles behind you, and the giggles die down when they see you. One of the girls turns to Wanda:

- Is this girl bothering you, Wandy? - she asks in a honeyed voice. 

- And what are you, a watchdog? - You retort before Wanda can answer. The girl gives you a death glare. - Mind your own business, nosy.

The other girl approaches you, looking at you with disdain. - We don't like street trash here. Why don't you go back to your junkyard?

You swallowed dryly, trying to control your anger. The smaller girl giggled, and you looked at Wanda, who looked in shock, before you stormed out of the dressing room slamming the door.

You knew you shouldn't do that, but your feet dragged you out into the field of trailers.

You walked a long way until you arrived. And when you entered the courtyards, many of the residents looked at you with a frown. But you ignore them, as you walk between the houses. You knock hard on the door of one of the trailers farthest away. It takes a moment before a tall, muscular boy answers it.

He lets out a wry laugh when he sees you.

- Visiting old friends? - He teases, you don't smile.

- I need to break something, Erik. - You say simply, and he sighs. And then he closes the door, and you walk together in the opposite direction, out of the trailer park.

You have known Erik Killmonger since kindergarten. His life wasn't exactly the easiest. You used to hang out together in high school, but then Erik started getting into a lot of fights, and it was rumored that he joined a gang. He didn't tell you anything, and when you asked, he told you to mind your own business. And then, in the second year, he was expelled for breaking the jaw of Johann Schmidt, one of the seniors at the school. You remember never seeing Erik so angry. But you never knew the reason for the fight. And then he drifted away, and even though you missed him, you didn't push him.

- Here it is. - Erik said as you reached an abandoned area a few feet beyond the trailers. He handed you a wooden stick, and you took a deep breath before you started smashing through the abandoned objects there, most of them junk.

- Fuck that fucking school. - You shouted as you hit a bottle, the glass splattering through the air. Erik just stood at a safe distance, his hands in his pockets. - Fuck Tony Stark. - You shouted, a wooden box shattering with the blow of your bat. And then you noticed a tall dead tree trunk a few yards away, and you stepped forward, aggressively slamming your bat several times against the tree. - Fuck Wanda Maximoff. - And the staff shattered with the force of your blow. You let out a sigh, throwing the object to the ground, as you sat down down on the grass.

Erik walked over to you, and he said nothing about the tears streaming down your face.

- Do you want to talk about it? - he asked as he sat down beside you. You nodded in denial.

- I want you to tell me something about yourself. - You said, wiping your face.

- Um, let me think. - He says, putting his arms behind him and leaning back, he looks relaxed. - My mother is in town.

You turn your head to him in surprise. He smiles.

- Yes, I know, that's nice. - He comments. - But I won't get my hopes up. She could leave at any moment.

- I hope she stays. - You say.

- So do I.

You stand there in silence for a moment, then Erik stands up, then offers his hand to help you stand. You sigh and accept.

- Let's get something to eat, you're paying. - He says, causing you to smile ironically. 

You end up at one of the dinner stands across the main road from the trailer park. You buy Erik a hamburger and fries, but you decide to just have a milkshake.

- This is all about a girl, isn't it? - he asks after a while, and you almost deny it. But you just shrug your shoulders in agreement, taking a sip of your milkshake. - Is it someone I know?

- Maybe. - you say, and Erik frowns humorously. He eats some chips, assuming a thoughtful expression.

- That's hard, I've never seen you paying attention to anyone at school. - he says. - What about that redheaded girl in the locker next to yours?

You laugh and nod your head in denial. Erik smiles, thinking again.

- What about that girl in your chemistry class? The one you said was smart?

- Darcy? - You ask and he confirms, you just smile. - No, I wish. Darcy would be less complicated.

Erik laughs, and then pushes the rest of the potatoes to you. 

- Why don't you just tell me? - he asks, but his tone is not accusatory, just provocative.

- Because I don't want to admit it. - You confess, accepting the potatoes. It takes a moment, and then you speak. - I think I'm falling in love with Wanda Maximoff.

You don't look at Erik, fearing his reaction. But then he lets out a sigh, and drags his hand across the table, offering it to you. You accept, and he holds your hand warmly.

- You, my friend, are totally screwed. - He teases, making you laugh. - But keep calm. Passions go away as fast as they come.

You nod, squeezing his hand before letting go. You eat in silence, and you can't help but think how much you missed him.

Debates test your patience. And as if that weren't irritating enough, you still share this class with Wanda. 

You don't look at her when you enter the room, but you feel her gaze on you. Throwing yourself on the last chair in the room, you stand with your headphones on and sink your head into your arms on the desk, wishing for the school year to end soon.

When Professor Hill enters the room, you are surprised that one of your classmates nudges you to warn you, and you smile in appreciation as you straighten your posture and put your cell phone away.

- I hope you have read the book I asked for, children. - She announces as she puts her bag on the table, and walks to the front of the cabinet, leaning against the wood as she looks around the room. - We will discuss it in class today.

The room lets out a chorus of displeasure, but the teacher lets out a chuckle. Her debates were famous for ending up in heated discussions, plus they made up about fifty percent of the grade. If you didn't say anything, you had to write a report of the discussions.

The teacher took a copy of the book from her purse, and held it with both hands.

- "It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man, possessing a good fortune, must be in need of a wife." - She read, walking around the room.  - Who can tell me what the line implies about women?

- It's the old-fashioned way of saying that women prefer rich guys. - Steve Rogers sneered, drawing giggles from his teammates in the room. Mrs. Hill, however, just sighed with disappointment. 

- No, Mr. Rogers. - she said, cutting off the laughter immediately. - If you have no intention of participating seriously in the debate, I suggest you remain silent.

Steve let out a lame laugh, shrugged, and whispered something to his tablemate. You rolled your eyes impatiently, resting your face in your hand. And then you watched Wanda Maximoff raise her arm up.

- Yes, Wanda? - nodded Mrs. Hill waiting for the answer. 

- I think it's about a reaffirmation of the status of the man. As if the woman is a trophy to prove his status and position. - She says. - It objectifies women completely.

You blinked, slightly impressed. Wanda was always smart, after all. But then the boys in class giggled, and the redhead seemed to shrug her shoulders. Professor Hill, however, smiled at her.

- Interesting position, Miss Maximoff. - she said, and walked back around the room. - Let's talk a little about the main romance of the book. - She says, and looks reproachfully quickly at two boys who are whispering, and they fall silent. - I'd like to know what you think about Elizabeth and Darcy's relationship, and how we can bring the book's issues into our current society. Do you believe that the same prejudices are faced today?

The room explodes into excitement, and you feel like going home. Mrs. Hill looks around, and waves to calm the students. 

- Please, class. Raise your hand who believes that Elizabeth and Darcy would easily marry today?

The vast majority of the students raise their hands. And someone makes a comment that they would get laid on the first date, and many laugh. You play with your pencil, twirling it on your finger, and then feel a light elbow on your arm. Your classmate nods her head forward, and you blink in confusion, realizing that Ms. Hill has called your attention.

- I'm sorry, Mrs. Hill. What is it? - you ask, straightening your posture. She smiles tenderly.

- I asked why you didn't raise your hand. - She repeats. - Could you share with the class your position?

You let out a sigh, thinking about it. And then you lean back in your chair, putting your hands in your pockets, and trying not to get intimate with the stares in the room.

- I really don't understand how everyone here can say that we no longer have social rules for relationships. - You say. - If Darcy and Elizabeth were from the present day, the prejudices portrayed in the books would only be different, but they would still be there. We have many ways of forbidding people to relate to each other, even in this school.

- Interesting. Please continue. - the teacher said, leaning back against her desk. You let out a sigh, trying to organize your opinion into words.

- I can give an example of how we divide the social groups around here. - you say. - It's not like the jocks are seen hanging out with the kids in the theater. Elizabeth would definitely be one of the smart girls, and Darcy would be the dumb brat. Sort of like a Tony Stark.

The room erupted in giggles, and you watched Steve Rogers lock his jaw, commenting something to his classmate. Professor Hill gave you a warning look, beckoning the class to be quiet.

- So you believe that Darcy and Elizabeth would not be together in the present days? - she asks you, and you shrug.

- I don't think Darcy would break the expectations people have of him for Elizabeth. - You state. - And besides, she can do better than that.

Some students laughed at your comment, and Mrs. Hill smiled at you. And then she asked if anyone had a different opinion, and you were slightly surprised to see Wanda raise her hand again.

- I think they would end up together. - She says. - They are really in love, and just like in the book, I think Darcy just needs time to understand everything, and to build up some courage.

- And Elizabeth should expect him to have some guts, then? - You cut Wanda off. The room looks at you in surprise, and Wanda turns in her chair, a look of mixed defiance and surprise, but you don't back away. - While he decides whether she is worth it, should she just wait around? 

- Elizabeth needs to understand that Darcy also has his own issues. - Wanda retorts. - That it's not easy to let go of all the expectations people place on you.

You laugh lightly with irony.

- Of course Darcy would be quite comfortable keeping Elizabeth waiting. - You say with mild irritation. - Besides, Elizabeth is also going through a lot. She deserves to have someone who chooses her.

- That's not what we're arguing about. - Wanda replies. - No one is questioning Elizabeth's worth. I'm saying that they would be together, but that they need time.

- And I'm saying that Darcy has to stop being such a gutless pussy and make a decision soon. Elizabeth is not going to pause her life just to wait for him.

- She would do that if she really liked Darcy. - Retorts the redhead, you blink in disbelief.

You think the room held its breath with your debate with Wanda, and you would have continued if the teacher hadn't interrupted.

- Okay, I think we're getting a little nervous. - She cut in, and you blinked awkwardly, stopping to look at Wanda. The room murmured quietly again as Wanda turned back to face the front. - Thank you for your opinions, ladies. Now let's move on, who can offer a reflection on marriage in the book?

The class continued for a while, but you completely disconnected. Your heart was racing and you realized that the discussion you had was not about Darcy or Elizabeth. Wanda was asking you to wait for her. And you felt a strong urge to punch something. And then you focused your attention completely on the literature report, ignoring the debate completely.

[lingthusiasm]

Transcript Lingthusiasm Episode 52: Writing is a technology

This is a transcript for Lingthusiasm Episode 52: Writing is a technology. It’s been lightly edited for readability. Listen to the episode here or wherever you get your podcasts. Links to studies mentioned and further reading can be found on the Episode 52 show notes page.

[Music]

Gretchen: Welcome to Lingthusiasm, a podcast that’s enthusiastic about linguistics! I’m Gretchen McCulloch.

Lauren: I’m Lauren Gawne. Today, we’re getting enthusiastic about writing as a technology. But first, do you wish there was more Lingthusiasm to listen to? Even though this is Episode 52, we have almost a hundred episodes of Lingthusiasm. Some of them exist as bonus episodes over at our Patreon.

Gretchen: If you want to listen to those and have more Lingthusiasm in your earballs, you can go to patron.com/lingthusiasm. This also helps keep the show ad-free. If you like listening to a show without ads, help us keep doing that.

Lauren: The Patreon also fosters this wonderful linguistics enthusiastic community. In fact, we have a Discord server, which is basically just a wonderful chat space for people to talk about linguistics. There are over 350 people on the Lingthusiasm Discord right now.

Gretchen: If you wish you had other lingthusiasts to talk to to share your interesting linguistics anecdotes and memes and general nerdery, and you want more people like that to talk to, you can join the Patreon to also get access to the Discord. We launched the Discord community just a year ago, and it’s been really fun to see it grow and thrive and take on a life of its own since then. If you are already a patron, and you haven’t linked your Patreon and Discord account together, it’s there waiting for you. Feel free to come join us.

Lauren: We have Patreon supporter levels at a range of tiers. Some of them include additional merch. One of my favourite perks is the very scientific Lingthusiasm IPA quiz where we send you a short quiz and then we give you your own custom IPA character which is enshrined on our Wall of Fame.

Gretchen: It’s a fun quiz. We have fun looking at people’s answers.

Lauren: Our most recent bonus episode is a collection of some of our favourite anecdotes from interviews and from other episodes that didn’t quite make it into the original episode. We’re delighted to share those in that bonus episode.

Gretchen: You get to see a bit behind-the-scenes with that episode. Also, do you want more linguistics on your favourite other podcasts?

Lauren: Always.

Gretchen: Constantly. We’re also very happy to do podcast interviews on other shows about various topics. If there’re other podcasts that you like that you wish would do a linguistics episode and interview one of us, you should tell them that! We’re happy to come on. Tag us both or something on social media or tell your favourite podcasts that they could do a linguistics episode because we’d be happy to do that.

[Music]

Lauren: Gretchen, do you remember learning how to read?

Gretchen: Not really. I mean, I remember encountering the alphabet chart in my first year of school, but I already sort of knew the alphabet at that point. I guess there was some point when I didn’t know how to read, and there was some point when I did, but I don’t really have concrete memories of that. Do you remember learning how to read?

Lauren: I feel like I have more memories of learning how to write, just because that’s such a mechanical thing. I remember sitting there writing out a row of As. I definitely wrote the number “five” backward for way longer than I probably should have, which is a really common thing that happens when kids are learning to write because it is a combination of brain skills and fine motor skills. But reading in English is something I feel like I’ve always just been able to do. I mean, I guess in comparison learning to read Nepali, which is written in a different script – it’s written in the Devanagari script – I have more memories of that because I did that in my 20s. Even now, I still feel the real disconnect between being relatively able to chat and really struggling to read and write. I still have to put my finger under the words as I’m going through, whereas with English it just feels like the words are beaming straight into my brain because I learnt to read that language so early in my life.

Gretchen: Yeah, I read at this automatic level. I can’t see a sign that says, “Stop,” on it and not read it in Latin script. But in undergrad I took both Ancient Greek and Arabic. In Greek, I got to the point – because the script is sort of similar enough and I was familiar enough with the letters previously-ish – that I got to the point where I could very slowly sound out words as I was reading them out loud because we had to do a lot of reading aloud in Greek class. But in Arabic, I was very much at that hooked on phonics level where you’re like, /p/-/t/-/k/-/a/. There are a few words that I have as sight words in Arabic. One of them is the word for “and,” which is “waa”, and one of the words for “the,” which is “al”, and one of them is the word for “book” because “kitaab” just shows up all the time. But most of the words I had to painstakingly sound out each letter and then listen to myself as I was saying them. I’d be like, “Oh, it’s that word,” even if I knew it, which is this process that I must’ve gone through in English, but I don’t remember doing it for the Latin script.

Lauren: I think that is one of the things that makes it really hard for people who grow up in highly literate, highly educated societies to tease writing and reading apart from language. But actually, when you step back, you realise that writing is actually super weird.

Gretchen: It’s so weird! It’s this interesting – it really is a technology. It’s a thing you do on top of language to do stuff with language, but it’s not the language itself. There are thousands and possibly millions of languages that have never been written down in the history of humanity. We have no idea. We’ve never met a society of humans, or heard of a society of humans, without language. But those are spoken and signed languages, which are just kind of there. Writing, by contrast, was invented somewhere between 3 and 4 times in the history of humanity.

Lauren: That we know of.

Gretchen: That we know of.

Lauren: There might’ve been a society that did a very ephemeral form of snow writing that we have lost forever. But we have records of 3 or 4 times.

Gretchen: It’s been invented a handful of times. There are a few other cases where there are scripts that haven’t been deciphered by modern humans. Maybe they’re scripts, maybe they’re not – it’s not quite clear. But it’s definitely a handful of number of times. And then once other cultures come in contact with the technology of writing, they’re like, “Oh, this is cool. Let’s adapt this to our linguistic situation,” and it gets borrowed a heck of a lot. But it only got cemented a few times.

Lauren: It’s worth saying that “3 to 4” is a bit squishy because it’s not entirely clear if cuneiform, which is a very pointy form of writing from Babylonia, somehow inspired the Egyptian system that became what we know as the hieroglyphs or if they just happened around the same time by coincidence are something we may never really fully put together. That’s a very contested situation. That’s why we can’t even pin down the number of times we think it was invented.

Gretchen: Cuneiform is the one that’s made with the sharpened reed that you push into your clay tablets or, if you’re some people on the internet, into your gingerbread because there’s some really excellent examples of cuneiform gingerbread tablets people have made, which I just wanna – yeah, it’s really great. The Egyptian hieroglyphs people have seen. But yeah, it’s unclear whether they were in contact with each other and kind of heard of each other in a very loose sense and were inspired by each other because there was some amount of contact between those two areas, or if that was elsewhere. The other two – one is in Mesoamerica, in modern-day Mexico and that area, where they had a writing system there that, again, developed into lots of different scripts as it got borrowed from different areas, of which the best deciphered is the Mayan script from the 3rd Century BCE. There’s also the Olmec script, which is probably the oldest. The Zapotec script is also really old. There’s a bunch of scripts in the modern-day Mexico area that also developed independently.

Lauren: Then the final system arose in China around the Bronze Age a couple of thousand years BCE. Because this script was mostly found in its most earliest forms on oracle bones, it’s known as the “oracle bone” script.

Gretchen: What is an oracle bone?

Lauren: They are turtle bones that are used in divination.

Gretchen: Oh.

Lauren: Yeah.

Gretchen: And, again, the Chinese script, once it developed further, it was also, yeah, influenced a bunch of the other writing systems in the area.

Lauren: I find it super fascinating, with absolutely no historical knowledge or insight to bring to this, that in these three different places that were completely separate and going about their own cultural lives writing arose at a similar time around 3,000 to 4,000 years ago.

Gretchen: Yeah! You wonder what was in the water or something. Well, and it’s partially, I think, that there’s a certain level of writing makes it easier to do things like administrative bureaucracy if you’re trying to keep track of whether people paid their taxes or – it’s a very empire-y thing to have is to develop a writing system.

Lauren: Oh yeah. And it’s absolutely worth stating that it’s not like three people in these three different locations all woke up on the same Tuesday 4,000 years ago and were like, “I’m gonna write a long letter to someone.”

Gretchen: Did they have Tuesdays 4,000 years ago?

Lauren: What you see is this emergence of, “I’m just gonna make a couple of notes so I know how much money you owe me.” Some of the earliest cuneiform tablets we have are just, like, beer supply stock takes.

Gretchen: Like, “Three oxes and this many baskets of grain” or whatever.

Lauren: I feel like it’s very human to be like, “We love writing because it’s poetry, and I can send letters to people I love,” and it’s like, no, it’s actually, “I just wanted to know how much you owe me.”

Gretchen: The king just wants to know if these people have paid their taxes.

Lauren: So, what you get is – although I’m like, “Oh, it all happened within similar millennia,” it is actually centuries of development from just keeping tabs on a few items to a fully fleshed out written system.

Gretchen: What types of things people thought were important to write down – things like legal codes and stuff like that – one of the interesting things that I came across when I was looking this up was that there’s a person named Enheduanna, who is the earliest known poet whose name has been recorded. She was the high priestess of the goddess Inanna and the moon god Nanna in the Sumerian city-state of Ur. There we go. But authorship shows up much later than some anonymous civil servant keeping track of who’s registered which grain or some anonymous priest or something keeping track of who’s made various offerings. This idea of like, “Oh, you’re gonna write poetry,” is a step later.

Lauren: Filing your tax is what is actually one of the best links you have to those ancient civilisations.

Gretchen: There’s this Egyptian named Ptahhotep – that’s “Pta,” P-T, even though I know I’m not pronouncing it that way – he was a vizier in Egypt. He’s also one of the first named writers, the first book in history – or people call him the first book in history – because he wrote these Maxims of Ptahhotep. There may have been people who were writing on more perishable materials that didn’t get recorded and stuff like that. It’s this whole process of, “Okay, I’m going to draw these little diagrams of oxen or something or draw these little diagrams of this plant or this animal or whatever to record what types of things get recorded.” But then in order for it to actually become a writing system, there’s also this step of abstraction that has to happen. This is when you start saying, “Okay, well, the word for this very easily visualisable thing” – so I’m thinking of oxen because the word for “ox” in one of the Semitic languages, I think, was something like /alef/. And so, this “ox’s head” gets transformed into, “Okay, what if this is the sound at the beginning of the word for ‘ox’s head,’” which is /alef/, and it gets transformed into our modern letter A, which is “alpha.” “Alpha” in Greek is just the name of the letter. It’s not “an ox’s head” in Greek anymore because the Greeks borrowed it form the Phoenicians. This level of abstraction that has to go from, “Okay, I’m gonna draw an ox’s head” – if you turn a capital A upside down, it kind of looks like an ox’s head.

Lauren: It’s got its little horns, which are the feet of an A.

Gretchen: Yeah, and there’re all these related languages. You know, Arabic’s got alif at the beginning, even though it doesn’t look like an ox’s head anymore. Hebrew’s got an alef, and Greek’s got an alpha, and all of these alphabets that begin with A. It’s this level of abstraction where you can use this thing to stand for this thing that was associated with an ox.

Lauren: There’re a couple of main different ways that you can relate these abstract images that you’re putting down in writing to the language that you are trying to capture. Of course, being a linguistics podcast, I was gonna bring this straight back to the structure of language.

Gretchen: Well, I think it’s interesting to look at the structure of languages in different areas of the world, and how people reflect those in the writing systems that are developed for those languages. When they borrow a writing system for a language with a very different structure, they end up doing certain adaptations to account for not just like, “Okay, languages have different sounds,” but also those sounds are organised and structured in different ways with relationship to each other. The writing systems often reflect some of that history.

Lauren: The Latin alphabet that both of us are most familiar with has a very approximate correspondence between each character of the writing system and a sound in the language. And I say “approximate” because English spelling is a wonderful historical record of how some of those sound changes have changed over time. I’m just gonna keep this upbeat. You can fall down a giant well of English writing system problems, but to get to a point where the majority of letters have a pretty stable correspondence to sounds that we recognise as phones in the language, and that allows us to write out the words of English.

Gretchen: One of the things that’s true about a lot of the Indo-European languages is that they have a particular ratio between consonants and vowels in the words, where they have a fair bit of consonants in relationship to their vowels but not a ton. You can see this in the writing system because the writing system represents consonants and vowels separately. And yet, when the Greeks were borrowing the alphabet from the Phoenicians – Phoenician is a Semitic language like modern-day Arabic and Hebrew – that alphabet only had consonants in it – letters for consonants – because the vowels were not that important. This is still true of modern-day Semitic languages is they’re often written in writing systems that don’t represent the vowels or kind of optionally represent the short vowels, or sometimes they represent the long vowels, but they’re often written in writing systems where the vowels can be omitted. That’s not really a thing you can do very well in Indo-European languages and still have things understood because the vowels carry enough information that you need to represent them somehow.

Lauren: Even when you have a phonemic script, it’s not necessary to always represent all of the sounds to convey the language.

Gretchen: Right. Then conversely, there are other languages where the vowels are even more important and, in fact, every consonant comes with a vowel or virtually every consonant comes with a vowel. In those, you often get what are called “syllabaries,” where they represent one syllable at a time, because why bother with representing each of these things separately when in every context where you have a consonant there’s gonna be a nearby vowel – or in virtually every context there’s gonna be a nearby vowel – and so you can have a symbol that just represents the whole syllable there. That’s also a structure that doesn’t work very well for Indo-European languages because they don’t have that many vowels. There’s this spot of like they have important enough vowels that you need to represent the vowels somehow but not so important are vowels that you have to represent lots of vowels all the time, whereas languages like Japanese or Hindi – well, Hindi’s Indo-European, but it’s got more vowels, I guess.

Lauren: The Devanagari writing system is inherently focused on the syllable, which is a very different approach to reading. Each character of this writing system, if there’s no vowel specified, it just comes with a bonus vowel. It’s like, “Buy this consonant, get this free letter A sound.”

Gretchen: Right. That’s partly a feature of the writing system, but it can only be a feature of the writing system because it’s already a feature of the language. A similar thing goes for a language like Chinese, where a lot of things are based around a syllable.

Lauren: Then you can go a level of abstraction further where your character in the writing system represents a word-level thing and doesn’t have a direct relationship to the sound correspondence, which is what happens with the Chinese script.

Gretchen: I think it’s important to recognise that there is a phonetic component to Chinese characters. They often make use of – especially for words that are more abstract – it’s not just like, “Oh, here’s a bunch of little pictures that we’ve drawn,” because that’s not capable of conveying abstract concepts like grammatical particles and words for things that don’t come with easy pictures. And so, making use of, “Okay, a lot of our words are one or two syllables long, so here’s a word that’s relatively easy to visualise that sounds very similar to a word that is not as easy to visualise.” We can just add a thing to be like, “It sounds like this, but it’s got a meaning more related to this,” and you can be like, “Oh, it must be this more abstract word.” The classic example, which I’m definitely gonna do the tones wrong on, is that the word for “horse” is /ma/, and the word for mother is also /ma/ with a different tone, and you can add the little horse semantic component with the woman semantic component and be like, “Oh, it’s the word that sounds like ‘horse’ but has to do with something with a woman,” and then you end up with “mother.”

Lauren: This works for languages in China because they tend to be not as long as words in English. We like to add all these extra bits of morphology within our grammar, whereas, again, you get – not a direct rule force – but you get this general tendency where the writing system kind of fits with the vibe of the grammar of the language.

Gretchen: One example of that is in Japanese where they were heavily influenced by the Chinese script, but Japanese actually does have suffixes and other little grammatical words and things you need to change about words. They made some of the Chinese characters that had formerly only had semantic things into just like, “Oh, this makes this sound, and this makes this sound,” because they needed to be able to represent that morphological information that’s not super important in Chinese but is very important in Japanese. You end up adapting a script into something else when it gets borrowed in a different context. Another interesting example here is Farsi or Persian which is an Indo-European language that’s conventionally written with the same script as Arabic except it’s also had a couple of additional letters added because Persian has a P and Arabic doesn’t. They had to create a symbol for the sound P, which is why you get “Farsi” instead of “Parsi” because Arabic doesn’t pronounce that P. So, it makes the P into an F. Sometimes you get people adding additional letters like adding a letter for P. Sometimes you get adapting whole sets of a script.

Lauren: Sometimes you lose letters. English had distinct characters for /θ/ and /ð/ until it was technologically easier to just use the characters in the printing press that English had borrowed. It’s makes me a little bit sad. But also, it makes international people – maybe it’s a little bit easier.

Gretchen: We used to have a thorn for the /ð/ sound, but those early printing presses from continental Europe didn’t have thorns on them. I mean, Icelandic still has thorns. One of the things that I think is more interesting in the closer to modern era – not strictly modern era – is cultures and peoples that are familiar with the idea of writing yet take the idea of writing and say, “We’re gonna make our own homegrown script that actually works really well for our particular language.” One of my favourites is the Cherokee syllabary, which was invented by Sequoyah, who was a Cherokee man who didn’t know how to read in English, but he’d encountered the Latin-based writing system in English. He thought it was cool that the English speakers had this, and so he locked himself in shed for several years and came up with a syllabary for Cherokee. Some of the symbols on the Cherokee syllabary look something like Latin letters, but they stand for completely different things because he wasn’t just learning to read from English. Some of them are completely different. This became hugely popular among the Cherokee in the area. There were newspapers in this in the 1800s. There was very high literacy in Cherokee country. It was really popular. It’s even still found on modern-day computer keyboards and stuff like this. You can get Windows and stuff in Cherokee. It’s this interesting example of that’s one where we can say a particular person was inspired by writing systems but also created his own thing that became very popular.

Lauren: The thing that makes Cherokee so compelling to me is not only did he come up with an incredibly elegant, well thought out, suits the language system, but that he actually got uptake as well – that the community decided to use this as the writing system that they would learn to read and write in, and that it had uptake. It’s very easy to come up with ways of improving the technology of writing but, as I think you’re fond of saying, language is very much an open-source project. You can come up with really elegant solutions, but if no one else is gonna take them up, that’s not gonna be very helpful. So, Sequoyah’s work is doubly amazing for that reason.

Gretchen: People actually made printing presses with the Cherokee symbols and were using those. Another interesting case of this disconnect between a person or people coming up with a system and actual uptake of it is Korean, which has what I think linguists generally agree is just the best writing system.

Lauren: Yeah, we’re like, “Writing as a technology is amazing. All writing systems are equally valid. But Korean is particularly great.”

Gretchen: “But Korean’s really cool.” The thing that’s cool about it from a completely biased linguist perspective is that the writing system of Korean, Hangul, the script, is not just based on individual sounds or phonemes, it’s actually at a more precise level based on the shape of the mouth and how you configure the mouth in order to make those particular sounds. There’s a lot of, okay, here are these closely related sounds – let’s say you make them all with the lips – and you just add an additional stroke to make it this other related sound that you make with the lips. Between P and B and M, which are all made with the lips, those symbols have a similar shape. It’s not an accident. It’s very systematic between that and the same thing with T and D and N. Those have a similar shape because they have this relationship. It’s very technically beautiful from an analysis of language perspective.

Lauren: I love this so much that when we were prototyping a potential script for the Aramteskan language for the Shadowscent books, when I was constructing that language, I also started constructing a script that we never used anywhere, but it was helpful to think about how the characters would write and what writing implements they would use. If you look at the script, you’ll notice that the letter P and B are very similar, but B has an additional stroke. T and D are very similar, but D has an additional stroke. Very much feature driven. And then for the vowels – it’s roughly a quadrant in the writing space – the /i/ vowel is in the top left of the quadrant, the /u/ vowel is in the top right of the quadrant, the /a/ vowel is in the bottom left of the quadrant.

Gretchen: So clever!

Lauren: It was actually just for really selfish reasons that I decided to go with a feature-based system, and that is that it was easier for me to remember if I used the features of the language and made sure that the voiced sound was always identical to the voiceless one but just with an additional stroke. It meant that I only had to remember half the characters.

Gretchen: That’s very elegant. The easy to remember bit is also true about the Hangul script because it’s got so much regularity. The famous quote about Hangul is something like “A wise man can learn it in an afternoon and a foolish man can learn it in a day.”

Lauren: So catchy!

Gretchen: There’s probably a better version of that quote. What’s interesting about it from an adoption perspective is that Hangul was invented by Sejong the Great.

Lauren: Appropriately named.

Gretchen: Who has a national holiday now because of the script. But it was created in 1443. It’s not quite clear whether it was him personally doing everything or whether he had an advisory committee of linguists, but it’s really extremely well-adapted to the linguistic situation of Korean in particular. Even though it’s just also really cool for how it represents the inside of the mouth, but it’s really well adapted for Korean. It was invented in 1443, but it wasn’t popularised in use until several centuries later because for a long time Korean was also using, like Japanese, this adapted version of the Chinese script or adapted version of the Japanese script because of the cultural influences. In the early 20th century, they were doing a much bigger literacy push in Korea to be like, “What want everyone to learn how to read.” And they said, “Okay, we’re gonna have an orthographic reform, and we’re gonna use this script which has this very nice historical pedigree but also is much easier to learn than this complicated thing that we had done that wasn’t really designed for Korean.” It’s got this historical antecedence but also it came back in the modern-day. Now, everything in Korean is written in it. It’s because it’s really easy to learn how to read and write in. The historical uptake wasn’t immediate. It wasn’t during King Sejong’s lifetime where they were like, “Oh, yeah, now we’re all gonna use his script,” people were like, “Okay, king, you’ve got this hobby,” but it wasn’t popularised until later.

Lauren: Even when there is really strong abstraction, humans have this unavoidable tendency to think about the relationship between sounds and other senses. In sound-based writing systems – Suzy Styles, who has been on the podcast before and works on perception across the senses, did an experiment alongside Nora Turoman where they looked at whether people can guess, for writing systems they’re not familiar with, which character was the /u/ sound and which character was the /i/ sound. They found that for a whole variety of scripts there is a much higher than chance – because there’s only two choices. If was completely arbitrary, it would be 50/50. But people do tend, across the evolution of sound-based writing systems, to have /u/ that has a more rounded, bigger sound has properties in the writing system that re-occur. People continue to unavoidably link the sounds of the language to the written properties of the script in a very low-level way. I’ll link to that study. It’s really great.

Gretchen: That’s interesting. It’s not gonna be 100%, but there’s this slightly better than chance relationship.

Lauren: Yeah.

Gretchen: Visual representation of physical information is also something that shows up in ways of writing signed languages.

Lauren: Yeah. Everything we’ve talked about so far, I think, we’ve talked about for spoken languages, but it is possible to write signed languages as well.

Gretchen: There are several different systems in place. Some of them are language-specific like, “Oh, this is the system for writing ASL in particular,” and some of them are kind of like your linguist, International Phonetic Alphabet trying to provide a language-agnostic way of writing signed languages for research purposes but, in a way, that’s sort of impractical, like the IPA for general use. There’s an interesting set of systems. There isn’t as much agreement among representers of signed languages in writing which amounts of information are crucial information that has to be written down and which are optional bits of information that the reader can fill in from their own knowledge of the language and the signer.

Lauren: I think it’s worth flagging that that’s not just a discussion that arises for signed languages. It’s just that those conversations got thrashed out for spoken languages four millennia ago, and we weren’t around when people were arguing about whether intonation had any role in the – or people probably were arguing because it was an emerging thing.

Gretchen: Well, when people were arguing about like, “Do we write vowels or not,” which was a big thing. Do we write vowels? Do we write intonation? And punctuation followed quite a bit after – you know, punctuation wasn’t as much of a thing for several of the early centuries and millennia of writing. They didn’t do punctuation. There’s some level of ongoingness that’s still there. If you think about the internet efforts to try to write tone of voice very precisely and communicate sarcasm and irony and rhetorical questions very precisely, there’s some level of ongoing debate that’s still happening in the spoken language context but not nearly as much as is still happening in the signed language context.

Lauren: Also, just because of the way that signed language communities tend to be embedded within larger spoken language communities, people who sign as a primary language tend to also be educated in the mainstream spoken language, and so literacy gets developed in, say, a language like English.

Gretchen: I think that’s the case for a lot of smaller spoken languages as well where sometimes there’s this imperative of, “Okay, we want to be able to write things to each other” or something, but if there hasn’t been a history of a lot of published literature in that language that you’re trying to read, then it becomes a question of, “Should we teach this in school,” because there isn’t literature there, even though there would be oral literature. It becomes a chicken and egg problem of which comes first, or which do you start teaching first, when you’re constantly comparing stuff against a few very large spoken languages that have this very long writing tradition. It shows up in languages with a newer writing tradition.

Lauren: Education systems have a massive influence there. My grandmother, actually her strongest written language is German. Even though she and her sister speak to each other in Polish, they would write to each other in German because that’s the language they had been educated to write in. Even with people who don’t speak minority languages, the influence of the education system there is so massive.

Gretchen: Reading and writing, they’re separate skills even though they’re often taught together. Sometimes you can read a language that you can’t write or something like that. But it’s a big question. With signed languages, because video technology is now available, if we’d had good audio recording technology 4,000 years ago, the pressure to develop writing systems for spoken languages might not have been as strong – probably wouldn’t have been as strong – even though there are other useful things that writing can do even in the audio-video era. It’s easier to be like, “Well, you can just make a video of the signer,” and then you’d know exactly what they were trying to say and exactly how they wanted to say it. You wouldn’t have this level of abstraction of are you gonna try to write it down in a way that imperfectly represents what a person is gonna do when they’re producing it. It is still interesting looking at some of the signed language writing systems. Some of them, like Stokoe notation and HamNoSys, which stands for “Hamburg Notation System,” they try to very physically represent the characteristics of the signer – where their hands are, where their face is, and things like that. There’s another one that I can’t find the name of that is based on the ASCII alphabet, so you can type it into search engine boxes, which has some advantages as well but represents things more abstractly. It’s got this link with Korean, which was representing this very physical aspect of what the mouth is doing. Several of the signed language writing systems like Stokoe and HamNoSys also have this very physical representation what the body’s doing when it’s being produced. But I think they’re more popular among researchers than they are among actual D/deaf users who tend to use video a lot.

Lauren: I encounter Stokoe and HamNoSys in the gesture and signed linguistics literature. I haven’t really seen them too much outside of that.

Gretchen: I think that it’s easy to conflate a language with its writing system because we’re so used to thinking of English as sort of inextricably linked to the Latin alphabet. But there isn’t a reason, in theory, why you couldn’t write English in the Greek alphabet or in the Arabic alphabet or in a very adapted version of Chinese characters where you’d have to do a lot of adaptation. The same thing is true when you write languages that don’t originally use the Latin alphabet and you have romanisations of them. Writing systems are just as much political and contextual. Some of them have this very tight structural relationship to the properties of the languages they represent and some of them have looser relationships because they’ve been adapted to it later.

Lauren: It’s this slightly looser relationship to language as it’s spoken or signed that means that linguists don’t always include writing systems in, say, an Introduction to Linguistics course. We don’t often talk about writing systems. But when we were putting together the Crash Course series, we ended up making writing the topic of our final episode for the series.

Gretchen: I think partly because people are really interested in it, so why not do something about writing, and also because I think that you can use writing systems as a window into some of the interesting structural features of different languages and how the writing systems represent that. As somebody who’s really interested in internet linguistics and the rise of informal writing and how we represent tone of voice and things like that in modern-day writing, and that’s still a moving target evolutionarily speaking, I think it’s interesting to give that linguistic lens on writing systems even though they are imperfect representations of the languages that they represent.

Lauren: “Writing Systems” is Video 16 of Crash Course linguistics, which is wrapping up this month. If you’ve been holding out to watch all 16 of those episodes, you’ll be able to do so very soon or perhaps even now thanks to the temporal vagueness of podcasts.

Gretchen: Crash Course is the YouTube series that we’ve been working on basically all of 2020. It’s especially popular with high school or undergraduate teaching. If you know people that age, or who teach people that age, that may be a useful thing to send to people. We hope that people find it useful as a resource for self-teaching or for instructing in various capacities.

[Music]

Lauren: For more Lingthusiasm and links to all the things mentioned in this episode, go to lingthusiasm.com. You can listen to us on Apple Podcasts, Google Podcasts, Spotify, SoundCloud, YouTube, or wherever else you get your podcasts. You can follow @Lingthusiasm on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and Tumblr. You can get IPA scarves, “Not judging your grammar, just analysing it” mugs, and other Lingthusiasm merch at lingthusiasm.com/merch. I tweet and blog as Superlinguo.

Gretchen: I can be found as @GretchenAMcC on Twitter, my blog is AllThingsLinguistic.com, and book about internet language is called Because Internet. Have you listened to all the Lingthusiasm episodes and you wish there were more? You can access to 48 bonus episodes to listen to right now at patreon.com/lingthusiasm or follow the links from our website. Patrons also get access to our Discord chat room to talk with other linguistics fans – like, do you remember learning how to read – and other rewards as well as helping keep the show ad-free. Recent bonus topics include an AMA with a lexicographer and our favourite stories and anecdotes that we just didn’t have time for in some of the earlier episodes. Can’t afford to pledge? That’s okay, too. We also really appreciate it if you could recommend Lingthusiasm to anyone who needs a little more linguistics in their life. And, hey, tell your other favourite podcasts that they could a linguistics episode, and get us on! It’d be fun.

Lauren: Lingthusiasm is created and produced by Gretchen McCulloch and Lauren Gawne. Our Senior Producer is Claire Gawne, our Editorial Producer is Sarah Dopierala, and our music is “Ancient City” by The Triangles.

Gretchen: Stay lingthusiastic!

[Music]

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

[dancingthesambaa]

The Smell of Plum Blossom Tea Ch 6

Summary: Just like a butterfly wing, a single act of kindness can change the course of the future, it certainly did for MK as a black-furred monkey put out a hand towards him.

Rating: Teen and up

Chapter 6: And So It Begins

“I’m back,” MK tiredly said as he dragged his form out of the blazing sun and into the cool restaurant, “orders delivered, traffic long and people angry, but food is delivered.”

“Great, but you still have another delivery,” Pigsy replied as his back was turned.

“Just one,” he grinned, “compared to the other ten this will be a piece-,”

He slammed down 30 orders down in front of him on the already bustling counter.

“Of cake,” he deflated as he saw the monumental amount of food. “What the-Are we feeding an entire town?!”

“Close. Party, though I should have charged their ungrateful asses extra for the rush order,” he growled out, “who gives an hour warning Huh?!”

“Apparently them,” he groaned as he picked up and carried the whole load into the car.

“And when you get back, there are a dozen more orders to take care of,” Pigsy called out.

“Got it bossman,” he yelled out, then he slammed the door closed and he sat up straight with a grin, “alright this won’t be so bad.”

“BEEF? BEEF?!! I WANTED MISO! GET IT RIGHT YOU STUPID DRIVER! The voice yelled out at MK as the two stood at the doorway.

“I’m sorry but-,” he winced as he was cut off by the rude woman screech.

“You better be sorry! I could have your job for this big of a screw up! You are nothing!”

“Technically I just delivered your food,” he whispered to himself.

“What did you just say?”

“Nothing!” He put on his best service smile, “I’m very sorry about this, how about I take your food back so that I can-.”

Splat

MK watched as the woman threw down her food in a fit of rage.

“There’s your damn food, now pick it up and get me a new one,” she spat out.

MK looked down at the pile of food that Pigsy put his sweat and blood into slowly dripping off the stone stairs. He took a deep breath as he put his hand in his pocket to subtly squeeze the stress ball and looked at the woman.

“I’m not cleaning that up,” he deadpans and walks back to the car.

“What?!”

“Also,” he rolled down his window when he got in the car, “if you would like to order for a party, next time call ahead of time.” He then quickly drove off until he could no longer hear the yells of the angry woman.

He rode until he reached the grocery store, parked at the edges of the lot where there were barely any cars, unbuckled his seat belt, and laid his head on top of the wheel.

“I. Hate. People. Sometimes.” He lightly banged his head with each word then he leaned back and took out the ball and squeezed it a few times. “I really do.”

He likes to think of himself as a pretty optimistic person, after having his whole life turned around and learning things can get better, he likes to think that the world can be good. But days like these, people like those, make him really put that side of him to the test and today he very much failed that. He should be glad that he didn’t go off on her, like what Pigsy did when some dude tried to scam him or Mei when she is feeling very competitive over some a-holes, but at the same time that sounds amazing.

He squeezed the ball a little tighter.

“I really want to see Dad right now,” he muttered to himself. It would be so easy, just one yell to him and he would be over in less than a second. “I really want him right now…but I made a promise to myself that I would do this without him.”

So he took a deep breath, lifted his head, put on his music, put away his rainbow stress ball, and slowly began his drive back to Pigsy restaurant.

It was during that drive back that he got a call, “Hello?”

“Hey MK, it’s me,” he stopped as he heard Pigsy's voice, he had a feeling he knows what this is about.

“Heyyy Pigsy, I’m almost at the store,” he tried and failed, to sound casual.

“I just got off a call with a very rude customer who said that you threw down her food when she was being oh so kind,” he bluntly said, “even mentioned about assaulting her.”

“That is so not how any of that went down!” He immediately said, “she yelled at me for saying that I made her food wrong and I told her that it can be redone, but she decided to instead throw down all of that food herself and told me to clean it up! Who does that?! And all of this was after she put her hand all through that food, which is so gross by the way, I mean other people are eating that, cause I know she ain’t-,” he was cut off by Pigsy chuckles.

“You don’t need to explain anything, I know you for far too long to even think that you would put too much salt in someone's food let alone throwing it down on the ground.”

“Oh,” he calmed down as he released the tension from the wheel, “that’s good.”

“Yeah, I told it to her straight just exactly how I felt about her being an utter ass to not only myself but my employees. Let’s just say that she was not happy about that and threaten to sue,” he could almost hear him shrug.

“What no!” He tried to stand up, only to realize he was still in the car and he was still buckled up. “I am so sorry!”

“Don’t be, cause jokes on her the world we live in has become pretty up to date with security and, more importantly, security cameras,” he said with a grin, “I don’t think she’s gonna get a single cent when everything that went down was all on video.”

MK let a smile spread across his face, bless technology and all its glory. “That’s good.”

“It sure is. Do you want to take a breather when you come back? I know that woman was more than a handful that what you're used to,” he asked in concern.

“Nope,” he cheerfully said, “I am A-Ok! Just get those next orders ready for me so I can deliver!”

“Well if you're certain, get your ass back here on the double,” he said, but the teenager could tell it was more playful, “we got orders waiting to be delivered.”

“On my way!” He saluted to no one and hung up. “Alright! Let’s get a move on!”

‘Make sure to add the cohesive before the mixing,’ the voice silently thought to himself.

“It would be so easy just to make that jump, hell my youngest kit sister can make that and she’s not even a month old,” a voice bragged.

‘Combine the Feins roots with the Elia petals first to dilute the solution.’

“All I’m saying is that if you try to jump off the cliff of perils then I sure as hell am not catching you,” another voice deadpanned.

“Nahhh I would be fine.”

‘…dice the Oran berries and Pecha then add when the next stage is ready.’

“If you count being splattered into tiny little pieces fine, then, by all means, go ahead,” another voice sighed.

‘Make sure that the color is a deep orange hue and not dark yellow, that can-,’

“Ye o little faith.”

“No, you are of little sanity. Even my younger gremlins know better,” she shot back.

‘That can easily violate the substance,’

“But they don’t have the certain skills like I do,” they bragged.

‘…leading to a-,’

“It still wouldn’t be a wise thing to do,” a deep voice pointed out.

‘Leads to a-,’ his vial cracked in his hands as he was once again interrupted.

“No, but it would be fun-.”

“I swear,” everyone turned to face the irritated monkey, “to all things good in this world and the next, if you dumbasses don’t shut the fuck up in the next five seconds I will make the Piñata fiasco at the Boiling Isles look like a god damn nap compared to what I’m gonna do to you.”

“Sorry, were we disturbing you,” Yanyu cheekily said.

“You little-”

“Awwww I’m soo sorry,” Daiyu mocked.

“I swear-”

“We didn’t mean to interrupt your monologue,” Minsheng smirked, “you know it kinda reminds me of Flicker when you do that.”

“That’s it!” He slammed down his ingredients, opened his drawers, and took out a roll of duct tape, “come here you little bastards!” He yelled out as he began to chase down the three annoyances.

“Same as usual,” Bohai sighed as he drank his tea.

“One would think not to mess with Mac when he’s like this,” Ahmed commented.

“Especially when he’s in his mood.”

“Especially that.”

“Now shut it,” he proudly said as he sat on top of his third victim.

“Hey hey!” Daiyu struggled to break free, “we were trying to lighten your mood fuzzball.”

“By annoying the shit out of me,” he growled as he taped her beak shut. “Fat chance, anyone else,” he looks over to his other two remaking friends.

“I say nothing,” the jellyfish put his tentacles up in surrender.

“While they may have been a bit well-,”

“Fucking annoying,” the monkey bluntly said.

“Yes that, they did have a purpose to their madness,” the lion pointed out.

“What? What could they possibly want badly enough to annoy the absolute fuck out of me?!”

“You have empty bird nest syndrome.”

“…what?”

“I said-”

“I heard you the first time!” Macaque interrupted, “I do not have that! I am use to MK not being home day to day, so why the hell would you thi-,”

“For days,” Yanyu said once she ripped the tape off her mouth, “but not for longer than a week.”

“Same difference!”

“Nah pal it ain’t,” the bunny demon said as they chewed on their own tape, “I can see it as bright as day, you have been extra moody and hella sad these past couple of days. It’s just like mum, whenever one decides to leave the warren, she gets all glum and broody for days.”

“I am not broody!” His tail swished violently.

“But you do miss him,” Ahmed stated.

“I don’t-”

“And it’s okay if you do.”

“I don’t miss him, I can visit anytime,” he stated.

“You still miss him being there, being next to you,” the lone human gave his ponytail a playful tug and sat next to Mac, who was still sitting on top of the tied-up vulture. “Take it from a big sister, when Shu moved out to live in the dorms I was so happy for him, but as time went on I noticed that I didn’t hear his off pitch singing in the afternoon nor did I hear his voice amongst my gremlins over who gets the last brownie. I didn’t miss him, hell I could video chat with him anytime, but I missed his presence, you know.”

Macaque just gave her a hard look before sighing, “He used to hum to himself whenever he was bored,” he admitted as he got off his friend and slumped down next to her.

Yanyu just patted his shoulder as he continued.

“I know I can just visit him, but my kid is growing up, he’s learning to stand on his own and he should have his own life separate from me.”

“Yeah imma stop you there,” Sheng rolled his eyes, “you are being one over dramatic monkey right now if you think that just because he’s doing his own thing, doesn’t mean that he doesn't have time for you. Hell, you are the one demon he will always have time for no matter what.”

“But-”

“Ain’t no buts about it fuzzbrain,” Daiyu squawked out once she feared the tape off, “your hatching adores the shit out of you and if you don’t think he won’t spend time with you then you are dead wrong.”

“He should have that time to himself, he is just starting out all on his own…without me…,” he slumped in depression, but quickly shot up due to a shocking touch, “OW! FUCKING WHY BOHAI!”

“You're being an idiot,” he smugly said as he lowered his tendril.

“Thanks,” Yanyu nodded to him, “and he’s right. I know that this whole thing won’t end with this so here’s what we’re gonna do. The six of us are going to go to Qián city.”

“…why the fuck are we going to the underwater city of Shanghai?” He incredulously looked at her.

“Cause you seriously need to relax.”

“I don’t-”

“You spent most of your time in the garden or prepping medicine that you don’t need,” Ahmed calmly said as he cleaned up the mess that Mac made.

“…you may have a point, but I don’t really feel like I should leave, what if MK or Mei happens to call?” He said.

“Well one, I know damn well that your hearing exceeds that city's borders,” Sheng points out.

“Okay true.”

“And second, we have the beauty of phones, which allows people to fall from far away,” Yanyu slowly told him as if he was a child, “I taught you this in one of our first lessons.”

“Don’t patronize me,” he muttered, “but I don’t-”

“You either go willingly or Kit Kat over here is going to drag you,” she pointed to Ahmed.

“He wouldn’t-”

“I really would,” he had to stop a smile at the utter betrayal in the monkey's face.

“I could beat your ass again,” he grumbled.

“You very well could,” he agreed, “but then you would also have to go against everyone else and they will happily drag both you and me off.”

“Fine!” He throws his hand in the air.

“Got ‘em!” Sheng high-fived Yanyu.

“Told you he would cave in eventually,” the vulture grinned.

“But we are going there to strictly relax, that means no explosions, arsons, paralyzing, hacking, or prison riots.”

“What about stealing and graffitiing,” the bluenette raised her hand.

“If there assholes, be my fucking guest, but your ass better not get caught.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be more stealthy than sneaking into the police hub to get rid of the evidence,” she cockily stated.

“What?”

“What.”

“…you know what the less I know the better.”

“Good choice, so let’s get packing!” She excitedly said as she, Daiyu, Minsheng, and Bohai exited the infirmary.

“So are you gonna tell them that the game dealers there are more than likely to scam them before or after they get robbed?” Ahmed curiously asked.

“After, they need a lesson on not annoying the fuck out of me when I’m working,” he gave a mischievous grin.

“Quite rude of you,” he grinned.

“But you're smiling too.”

Ahmed chuckled lightly as the two left the infirmary.

It was a quiet day at the restaurant, the dinner rush had just ended and all that was really left to do was wait for the store to close and clean up what’s left. The only customers inside were Mei and Tang, both of whom have long since finished eating and are currently just chatting, or laying down, with MK over the counter.

“So how’re your online classes treating you?” Mei asked.

“Great!” He perked up as he took his eyes off the creepy butterfly in the corner of the restaurant, “I’m just about finished with my general study.”

“Ooo, does that mean you finally have a major in mind,” Mei leaned in.

“No I do not.” He cheerfully stated.

All of them, including Pigsy who was listening in, facepalmed.

“Mkkk,” the nineteen year old groaned.

“I knowww,” he slumped down, “but it’s hard deciding what to do for the rest of your life.”

“Well that is okay,” the historian softly said, “you're still young, you have your whole life ahead of you. Besides, college is not for everyone.”

“Yeahhh, so how’re your classes going Mei Mei?” MK turned to his friend, “I know you been taking some of the engineering courses.”

“Ugghhh, don’t get me started,” she slumped down in her seat, “I love it, but that is seriously kicking my ass right now. If I didn’t like to make sweet ass rides then I would have totally just dropped it.”

“Let me guess, for racing,” MK said as he sprayed down the counter.

“Duh, I’m gonna be so fast that when they're only halfway, I've already passed that finish line baby!” Mei screamed.

“Shhhhh,” Tang hushed as he held his head against the cool counter, “not so loud please.”

“You okay there Tang?” Pigsy asked as he moved closer to his friend, “you’ve been like that ever since you got in.”

“Yeah, it’s just this headache has been killing me and my usual medicine isn’t doing a thing,” sighed as he leaned into the warm hand touching his head.

“Doesn’t seem like you have a fever at least,” the pig mutters.

“Do you have any coughing, sneezing, nausea, or any other symptoms?” MK curiously asked as he sat up.

“I have been feeling a bit nauseous,” he murmured.

“Sharp ringing in your ears on and off?”

“Yesss,” he groaned out.

“Hmm hold on,” MK quickly went upstairs, everyone heard faint shuffling noises before he came back down as fast as he was carrying a small baggie, “Can I use your stove and teapot?”

“Go right ahead,” Pigsy agreed.

MK gave a quick smile and they all watched him make a pot of tea, but instead of teabags, he added some of the plants that were inside the bag.

“Here you go,” MK presented the tea to the historian once it was done.

Tang hesitated for a moment before accepting the cup, “…what is it?”

“Medicine. Drink,” he gave him a wide-eyed look.

“...alright,” he shrugged his shoulders and joked, “if this kills me, just burn my corpse.”

“Drink,” MK commanded once more.

Tang drank his tea instead of retorting back and his eyes widen at the taste of it.

“Are ya dead?” Mei asked.

“Feel the poison seeping in,” the pig demon joked.

“This is really good,” he complimented MK and he began to drink more.

“Thanks, it’s Dad’s special recipe diluted when it comes to dealing with migraines,” he happily announced.

“Diluted? I can already feel my migraine already going away, how bad is his if this is diluted?” Tang asked with much concern.

MK grimace as he shared a look with Mei. He can’t help the memories all filtering in of his father lying in bed clutching onto the headphones as it tightly covered all six of his ears. There is never a pattern to when this happens, but he knew to keep a pot of tea hot and a bowl of mango or other non-citrusy fruit available on those days.

“It’s pretty bad,” was all he said.

“Oh,” both adults shared a look before Tang put on a grin as he slurped down his tea, “well this really works, what in it?”

“It’s Feverfew Tea with some Pika berries,” said MK.

“I’ve heard of Feverfew, but I don’t think Pika rings a bell,” Pigsy hummed totally missing Mei’s shocked face.

“Why I never-,”

“No, it’s not pokemon,” MK quickly shut that down before she got to her rant.

‘’Awww,” she deflated.

“It’s from Kunlun peak.”

Tang immediately choked on his tea, “AK! Did you just say Kunlun peak!”

“Yep!”

“What’s so special about that,” she glumly asks.

“Mount Kunlun is known to be a mythical mountain that hikers and historians have been searching for centuries,” Tang began, “It’s said to hold both mythical animals and plants, each having extraordinary potential within them as even the Gods from above go down there for certain herbs and items needed for their potions. It just lays there on top of the highest peak, but no person nor demon has ever had a straight map leading there and you’re telling me your Dad, Macaque, went there?!”

“He goes there a few times a year,” the teenager proudly says.

He looks down at his tea with sparkles in his eyes, “I’m drinking magic tea made from the legendary mountain,” he gave a big slurp as he inhaled it and stood up.

Pigsy eyed the drink, neither teenager knew if it was in envy or jealousy.

“But I’m impressed MK,” Mei playfully punched his shoulder, “look at you being all smart about medicine.”

“Well I hear Dad mutter on and on about different types of herbs and their properties on a day to day basis, that it eventually gets stuck in my head you know,” he joked then he paused as an interesting thought occurred to him, “wait a moment.”

They all watch MK have a silent conversation to himself, complete with waving hands, multiple facial expressions, draw a few sketches on his notepad, and finish with a final glow of his eyes as he leaped up in the air.

“That’s it!”

“What’s it?” The owner said.

“Why didn’t I think of this before!”

“Think of what before?” The historian asked.

“It was seriously in front of me this entire time!”

“MK, I swear if you don’t tell us what’s up right now I am not liable to my next actions,” Mei threatened.

“I can be a Doctor!” He leaned forward in excitement, “or at least something along those lines!”

“You can be pop’s assistant!” Mei started to get excited alongside him, “how the hell did I not think of it either?!”

“I don’t know!”

“It does suit you,” the demon agreed. He knows the kid is smart, he has seen his grades, so it’s not far fetched to assume that he can do this rigorous task. “Hope you have good study habits, I know mines was absolute garbage back in school.”

“With notecards and all,” MK hates studying, his brain goes brrr during those times, but he can’t thank Yanyu and Bohai enough for teaching him different tricks to help keep focus. “Now I’m thinking maybe of being a pharmacist, cause I don’t think I do well with surgery.”

“There are also the ones who diagnose the disease using the X-ray thingie,” she snapped her finger as she tried to remember.

“Radiologist,” Tang called out.

“Yeah that!” She pointed to him.

“Ooo that also sounds interesting,” MK and Mei continued their animated talk as both adults watched.

“It’s nice to see them so happy,” the noodle lover let out a content smile as he drank some more of his tea.

“I hear that,” Pigsy then looked at the man cup in confusion, “by the way you’ve been drinking, I thought you would have already been finished by now.”

“With my first cup yes, I’m on my third one now.”

“How in the-I didn’t even see you leave this area!”

“Magic tea is magic,” was all Tang said.

Pigsy exploded, “That doesn’t explain shit!”

“Well too bad,” he gave a loud slurp once more.

SLURPPP

“You know what, two can play that game,” the human was confused when the pig demon got up and left the room. He was no longer confused as he came back with a cup of tea in hand.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Tang threatened the pig.

The pig looked him straight in the eye and, with a sly smirk, drank down the tea.

SLURRPP

“You heathen!” He shrieked as he banged his hands on the counter and stood up, “how dare you drink my magic tea!”

“Well next time don’t be rude as fuck!” He shot back and got in his face as well.

“That’s rich coming from you!”

“Says the freeloader!”

“Oh here we go again! You know, if you wanted some tea you could have asked!”

“My stove, my cups, my pot, mine.”

“But it was made for me!”

“Yeah well-wait hold up, you feel better right,” Pigsy dropped his screaming as he softly asked his friend, “no drill pounding in your head?”

“Yeah I’m fine now, it really does work miracles,” Tang also lowered his voice.

“That’s good.”

“…they really do act like an old married couple,” Mei announces, MK facepalmed as both adults separated from each other and yelled.

“WE ARE NOT!”

“I’m really sorry about such short notice,” the panda bear demon on call apologized once more to Macaque as he was quickly gathering his ingredients.

“Don’t apologize, shit like this happens,” he waved him off, “I’ll take me a couple of days, a week at max, but I’ll be there before the poison reaches its peak.”

“Thank you,” the panda bowed to him.

“Make sure to store away any semblance of caffeine, alcohol, or anything high in potassium, those are the fastest ways to speed up the process,” he instructed him.

“I’ve been meaning to take away Mink coffee stash, now I have a reason,” he chuckled, “I’ll see you soon.”

“Will do bossman,” he hung up the call and called another number as he continued to pack. Once it picked up he put a smile on his face, “Hey Comet, how’s it going?”

“Good!” The twenty year old happily responded. “You wouldn’t believe it, but the classes are actually kinda easy to understand. They’re still tricky, especially the tests, but Yanyu was right about you teaching this. It made almost all my classes so much easier thanks to you.”

“Aww, that’s another one for my ego,” he joked then he put on a more serious tone, “but I didn’t just call you here for a chat kiddo.”

“Why what’s up? Is there something wrong?” MK suddenly asked as he leaned in, “Do I have to get Mei here and help kick some asses?!”

“Snrk, no nothing like that,” he let out a snort, “you know Po right?”

“Yeah, he’s the panda demon who comes in to get pain relief, muscle relaxants, and other types of medicine for his students? Does this have something to do with him?”

“Close, his disciples messed up big time and accidentally inhaled a bunch of toxic fog when they faced off against an elephant demon.”

“How can an elephant make poison?” MK questioned.

“Magic can do the weirdest of things, I mean I’m a monkey that can do shadow magic,” he pointed out.

“True, okay so he’s gonna come over to pick up the antidote? I don’t see what’s the big problem?”

“Here’s the bad part, Po can’t make a round trip, cause the time he gets back, all of his students…might not be alive,” he gently told him.

“…oh, so what’s gonna happen?”

“Well, I’m going to have to make a house call, which means I'm gonna have to go away for a bit and it’s pretty far, so I won’t be able to hear you.”

“…okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay!” MK gave a big grin to him, “Don’t you worry bout a thing! I’m an adult now Dad, I will be just fine!”

“You have grown up,” he gave a gentle smile, “I’m glad to hear that, but remember to call if there’s any trouble. I may be far, but I will come running if you need it.”

“I will! Now finish packing and save some lives!”

“I will, I’ll see you in two weeks shooting star.”

“See ya later old man!”

Macaque hung up the call with a smile as he resumed his packing. He wished he could have hugged his kid goodbye, but he was in a time crunch as he zipped everything up and quickly jumped out of the treehouse and began to move within the shadows of the trees.

He really does love his shadow powers during these times.

“Duh du Duh,” MK hummed out as he danced his way over to the food delivery destination with the headphones blaring in his ears. He then lifted it to call out the order name when he heard a silky voice interrupt.

“It feels like I waited for an eternity for this moment, is everything in order?”

“Just making the final adjustment mother,” another voice replied and this is when he opened his eyes to see that this was no ordinary food order as an ominous group stood before him.

“Nope,” he immediately whispered as he silently jetted off to hide behind a pile of rocks, but he peaked his head carefully out to see and his eyes widened.

“Finally after all this time,” the woman continued.

‘No way.’

“We have the means to lift Monkey King staff.”

‘It is!’

Standing before them all, wrapped in vibrant viridian vines and burrowed underneath a garden left untouched by the destruction laid around it, was the legendary Monkey King staff.

Things were about to get interesting.

No joke, the delivery scene with the lady is something I had to experience before. There are people who truly treat food workers lower than dirt, which is stupid to me cause why would you disrespect the people making your food? It’s like insulting the people who manage your money.

[illyaana]

Hihi! Can I join your event with Kuroo from Haikyuu with me as the mythical creature? I got Trickster!

I use they/them pronouns, my MBTI is ENTP-T, and my sun is Capricorn, Moon is Leo, and Ascendant is Scorpio.

Uhh random fact about myself.... I kin Kuroo? (Chaotic neutral child here)

I see I've caught a Capricorn :)))) and I love a good Kuroo kin, ngl - you all have such amazing humor (and smart as hell) :) We have the same moon sign!!!!

I had a really fun time writing this (since yk the Trickster is pretty fun to write XD) so I hope you like it!!!!

Want a drabble like this? Take part in my Halloween Event; the Unknown! I'll be taking requests until the 28th of October, so send in your asks before it's too late!!!!

(also this hit 700 words because I couldn't stop typing so enjoy :)))

It is a curse; immortality.

You never wanted to be the one to see all your loved ones leave you - but it was your birthright to feel this agony - to feel this painstakingly slow dagger etch such a deep scar and just wait for the numbness to fill your senses.

Walking on the streets forlorn, the only thing you could ever do was reminisce the moments you had.

Letting the soft tinge of the rain hit the ends of your jacket as you walk along the tiled corridors, you stop in front of the library you've considered your oasis ever since you were young - when you lived life like a normal kid.

The railings that accompanied your step reminded you of the years Kuroo stood beside you - how his little quarrels with a certain blonde made you laugh endlessly.

The soft symphony that played in your ear as the droplets from the sky hit the ground beneath you reminded you of the days you spent running along these very roads with the black-haired male.

As soon as he heard the rain hit his window, he'd call you to sneak out of your house. The minute you step out, he'd be sitting in front of your porch with an extremely small umbrella you both could barely share.

Eventually he'd give up sharing that small umbrella and run to the convenience store at the corner of the block just to give you those warm buns you loved - he'd grip your wrist tight, but loose enough for you to feel comfortable.

The grandmother at the counter would give kuroo a chicken sandwich and you a small bun for half the price off thanks to the two of you being frequent customers. She'd even throw in a cup of hot chocolate, if you both begged enough.

After many tries in trying your luck, you both would rush to the entrance of the store and sit on the wet pathway. Kuroo would always bring a little towel for the two of you to sit on as you both stared at the busy city - how the streetlights would illuminate the if not very dark road, showing you both a private viewing of little scenes that would unfold.

Every once in a while, the captain would turn to look at your expressions - how they'd change as you paid attention to every single detail that unveiled itself. The stream that came from that hot bun in your hands would piss you off so much, you'd try to blow it away, which only resulted in a larger amount of steam covering your vision.

Not to mention how amazing you looked under this soft yet harsh lighting.

He'd wonder what you loved so much about that little sweet bun while he wolfed down a chicken sandwich while you slowly nibbled on the bun's sides, savouring the flavour.

"I swear to God you're going to take too long with that bun," Kuroo said.

"I like it a lot, okay? - I don't get it very often," you huffed.

"Tell you what; I'll keep on buying those godforsaken buns if you buy me this heavenly sandwich."

"I swear to God you love that sandwich," you mocked him.

He flicked your forehead, earning a yelp from you.

You smirked as you warped his sandwich into the rubbish bin, leaving a very distressed Kuroo in front of you.

"I literally was just holding it!"

You laughed, looking at the almost teary-eyed male before you.

"It's just a sandwich, Kuroo."

In a fit of annoyance, he grabbed the bun from your hands and threw it right into the rubbish bin.

"It's just a bun, kitten."

.

.

.

It is a curse; immortality.

If you weren't immortal, you would've stuck beside Kuroo - watched him age as you spend your days by his side, savouring each moment you made with him.

If you weren't immortal, you would've let these emotions you've kept for decades out, and maybe, just maybe, given all your love to your captain.

But you never can - and you never will.

For he has met his end, while your gold string of fate is nowhere near being cut.

.

.

.

Hope you enjoyed it!!!!

[bevvydraws]

Needed Assurance (LBSC Lukanette Exchange)

Cross-posted from my AO3 !! 

This is my Valentine’s gift for @writtenbyrain <3 for the @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers Valentine exchange! 

This was my first time participating in something like this and it was so fun! 

Pairing: Lukanette

Tag: Hurt/comfort and identity reveal. 

Notes: I had so much fun combining the two prompts because its... admittedly two of my favorite tropes for this fandom 

-------------------------------

Ladybug always enjoyed nights where she patrolled alone. Not that she didn’t enjoy Chat Noir’s company, but being alone gave her the freedom to take things as slow or as fast as she wanted. On days where a lot weighed on her mind, she would lazily swing through the streets, letting her thoughts wander as she tried to process things. 

Tonight was one of those nights. Earlier that day, her and Chat Noir had stopped Silencer. Luka had gotten akumatized in order to avenge her, and had confessed his feelings for her twice. The second time, he had looked at her with so much admiration in his eyes that she was sure she’d turn into a puddle of goo where she stood. That moment had been played on loop in her mind since it had happened, leaving both her head and her heart confused. So her solution was to take her time on patrol tonight, despite how tired she was, to give herself the time to work through her feelings. 

While lost in thought, however, she hadn’t realized how close she had gotten to a certain houseboat that was docked in the Seine. Stopping on a roof that gave her a clear view of it, Ladybug found herself blushing. Before she could quickly leap away in embarrassment, however, she caught sight of something that made her stop. 

Sitting on the deck of the Liberty was Luka. He was posed as if he were about to start playing, and curiosity led Ladybug to secretly swing to get a closer look. As she got closer, though, she saw a solemn expression on his face and became worried. Before she could talk herself out of it, she landed on the deck in front of Luka. 

“L-Ladybug?” Luka said, so startled he almost dropped his guitar. Despite the shock on his face, it was still obvious he was feeling down. 

“Hey,” Ladybug said softly, “I was just passing by and when I saw you I figured I’d drop in and say hello.” Despite her usual boost in confidence while wearing her mask, Ladybug found herself nervously looking away. 

“Hey,” Luka said, his voice lacking the usual humor it usually held. He still tried to crack a smile and a joke, though, “So, do you always stop by and say hello to random citizens or am I special, Miss Bug?” 

Ladybug blushed, “Well…” she looked away shyly, “Actually, I noticed you looked a little down.” She looked back at him, making sure to hold eye contact, “I thought maybe I could help. My ears might not work as well as Chat Noir’s but I am still a good listener.” 

Luka laughed lightly at her joke, which made her smile. “Thank you, Ladybug, but you don’t have to waste your time here. I promise I won’t let myself get akumatized. Once was more than enough for me…” the slight spark of humor that flashed in his eyes faded along with his voice. His gaze fell to the deck of the boat and he lightly bit his bottom lip. 

“Luka,” Ladybug frowned, stepping closer and putting her hands on his shoulders. He looked up at her, and his eyes looked like they were starting to mist over. Ladybug felt her heart break as she watched tears form in his eyes and fall silently down his cheeks. With gloved hands she wiped a few away before pulling him into a hug. “It isn’t your fault.” 

Luka, while not reciprocating the hug, didn’t pull away either, “I could have hurt her, Ladybug.” His voice quivered, and his grip on his guitar tightened. His arm brushed against the strings when he did that, and the discordant sound that it made only seemed to further express his feelings. 

Ladybug didn’t even need to ask who the “her” he was referring to was. 

“You didn’t though, Luka. She was fine,” She pulled away from the hug to look at him. His tears had slowed down considerably, but his eyes were still watery. 

“But what if Hawkmoth had turned me into a more violent villain? What if I didn’t have control over myself? I was so angry at what they were trying to do, he could have easily turned me into a brainless, rampaging akuma. And then she would have gotten hurt...” 

“Well, we could go back and forth all day about ‘what if’s, Luka,” Ladybug said softly, “But what matters is what actually happened. Did you hurt her?” 

“Not that she’s told me,” Luka frowned, “But I don’t think she’d tell me, just to keep me from feeling guilty.” Ladybug almost wanted to laugh at the accuracy of that accusation, but refrained.

“Well I can guarantee you that you didn’t hurt her,” Ladybug smiled, “I swear on all of my lucky spots.” 

Relief flooded his expression as he rested his head in one of his hands. His hand covered his eyes, and when his shoulders started shaking Ladybug realized it was because he was crying again.

“Oh my gosh Luka I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to upset you again!” she backed away, panicked and unsure of what to do. 

“No…” Luka said between sobs, “I’m just… so relieved…” 

Ladybug was touched. Was Luka really so worried about hurting Marinette that he’d beat himself up this badly over it? She couldn’t have that. Ladybug sighed softly as she knelt down in front of Luka. She placed her hand on his knee and looked up at him, “Luka,” she said gently, “maybe you should talk to her about how you feel? I think she’d be worried if she knew how guilty you felt about everything.” 

“She already has so much on her plate,” Luka frowned, “the last thing she needs is to be worried about how I’m feeling. She worries about everyone enough already, so much that she barely worries about herself.” 

Ladybug couldn’t help but wince, feeling more than a little called-out, but shook her head lightly and gave his knee a gentle squeeze, “I really think you need to talk to her, Luka. The sooner the better.” 

“I don’t want her to see me like this, though,” Luka sighed, “It’s already embarrassing enough having you see me like this.” 

Ladybug frowned, “Luka, there is nothing wrong with crying, or being upset. You don’t have to keep it together all the time.” 

“But--” 

“Would you want Marinette to be embarrassed about crying in front of you?” 

“Of course not,” Luka said quickly, and froze as he got the point Ladybug was making, “Alright, Ladybug, thank you.” 

Ladybug stood, and as she gently stretched she looked Luka over. He had stopped crying, his eyes red but not holding quite the amount of hurt that they did before. He likely wouldn’t be back to ‘normal’ until he had talked with Marinette, and heard that she was alright from her directly. But Ladybug had given him the step in the right direction. She could finish things up as Marinette whenever Luka decided to talk with her. 

“You’re welcome Luka,” Ladybug smiled, “I hope you know how much Marinette cares about you.” 

Luka blushed, and she had to fight back the urge to giggle. “What do you mean? How…?” 

It was Ladybug’s turn to blush, and she turned away quickly, “Well, I’ve got patrol to finish! Enjoy the rest of your night!” and without looking back at him, she swung her yo-yo and disappeared behind the rooftops, leaving behind a very confused and flustered musician. 

When she got home that night and dropped her transformation, she immediately grabbed the nearest pillow and squealed while Tikki watched on in amusement. 

“So I’m assuming the patrol helped you clear your mind?” Tikki giggled with an all-knowing look in her eyes. 

Marinette chucked the pillow at Tikki, who simply passed through it. 

--------------------

It was a few days before Marinette got to see Luka again, which made her feel both disappointed in relieved. Disappointed because she worried he may still be upset over what happened, and relieved because it gave her more time to think about how she would respond to him. She wanted to tell him not only that she wasn’t hurt by him, but that she had feelings for him, too. 

Part of her was incredibly nervous, she’d never successfully confessed to anyone before and the fear of failure almost consumed her, but Tikki reminded her that she’d had plenty of smooth conversations with Luka before. Now all she needed to do was bump into him. If she approached him too quickly, though, he might get suspicious. Especially if she started talking to him about when he was Silencer. 

But when she did see Luka next, waiting at the bottom steps of the school and anxiously looking up at her, she didn’t even get the chance to say anything at all. Because just as she stopped in front of him, a smile on her face and his name on the tip of her tongue, a large vine burst from the pavement a few feet away. Concrete went flying and Marinette pushed Luka to the ground, using her body to shield his. 

More large vines came up from the ground, destroying the roads and sidewalks. The large vines spread and began covering buildings. In the distance, she could hear a woman’s voice shouting about rude customers and no one respecting small business. 

“Of course,” Marinette griped. She looked down at Luka, giving him a quick once-over to make sure he was okay. Once she was sure he was free of injuries, she stood up, helping him up as well. “You need to get to safety, Luka,” Marinette instructed, “Go hide in one of the lockers, you should be safe there.” 

“You’re coming with me,” Luka said, gently taking her hand, “I’m not gonna just let you run headfirst into danger alone.” 

Marinette blushed, touched by the gesture, but also was frustrated. She needed to go stop the akuma! “Luka, I’m fine. I’m going to make sure everyone inside the school is safe. Please, please, get to safet--ah!” 

In a move that left Marinette speechless, he picked her up bridal style without warning and began running in the opposite direction of the voice of the akuma, “I’m sorry,” he huffed softly as he ran, “I just can’t stand the thought of you getting hurt.” 

Marinette could only stare up at him in awe, so shocked she couldn’t even protest. The look of determination on his face--his determination to protect her--made her heart soar. It wasn’t until Luka set her down gently in an alleyway, far enough way that she couldn’t even hear the ruckus of the akuma, that she was able to speak. “Luka, you don’t understand, I have to go back,” she wasn’t sure how she was going to convince him, but she needed to get away to transform. 

“Please, Marinette,” Luka plead, putting his hands on her shoulders, “I am well aware of how brave you are, and how strong, but I just can’t--” 

“Luka,” Marinette brought one of her hands up to rest on his, “why are you so worried? Is something bothering you?” Now wasn’t really the best time to have this talk, but Marinette was confident that Chat Noir could manage for a few minutes until she got to the scene. She couldn’t leave Luka when he was like this. 

“I… I could have hurt you…” he said softly, now not able to look her in the eyes, “When I was akumatized.” 

Marinette stepped closer to him and wrapped her arms around his torso gently, resting her forehead against his chest. She felt Luka stiffen for a moment before relaxing, before returning the gesture by hugging her closer to him, hiding his face in her hair. The warmth radiating off of him brought Marinette a sense of comfort she never wanted to leave. 

“Luka,” Marinette managed to say softly, “I need to tell you something, and I need you to listen to the whole thing before you say anything, okay? Even if I sound stupid.” 

Luka let out a huff that sounded like a laugh, “You never sound stupid, Marinette,” he said softly, “but alright.” 

Marinette closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying her hardest to get her heart rate to slow down. As she opened her mouth to speak she was once again interrupted by a vine exploding from the ground. Only this vine knocked into one of the buildings next to the alley her and Luka were hiding in. A large chunk of debris came hurtling toward them, and the next few moments were a blur.

“Marinette!” 

“Spots on!” 

In an instant, she was swinging out of the way, with Luka held tight to her. She landed less than gracefully on the roof on the opposite side of the street. She grunted as she skidded across the top, trying hard to protect Luka from as much damage as possible. “Are you alright, Luka?” Ladybug asked, looking at the stunned teen. His eyes darted between her and the now rubble-filled alley that they were just standing in. He finally settled his gaze on her, eyes wide with wonder and admiration.

“Marinette, you’re… Ladybug?” 

Ladybug sighed, “This definitely isn’t how I wanted you to find out, especially after the talk we had before…” she looked out to the street and saw a figure dressed in black hopping along the rooftops engaged in combat. She couldn’t wait around any longer, “We really need to talk, but it’s going to have to wait.” 

“Mari--I mean, Ladybug!” Luka called, his hand reaching out for the now-standing Ladybug as she made her way to the edge of the roof. She stop and turned to look at him, eyebrow raised under the mask. Luka stood quickly and limped over to her, both of them wincing when it became obvious he was slightly injured. 

“Please, please be careful…” he said, before a small smile tugged at his lips, “I knew you were amazing, but this? You always manage to blow my mind.” 

Ladybug found herself overwhelmed by the love in his tone, in his gaze, and in the way he seemed to be holding himself back from asking her to stay out of harm's way. She wanted nothing more than to stay, to get everything off of her chest, and reassure him of his every fear. She had no idea how it felt in the aftermath of being akumatized, and could only imagine the anxiety that came along with the knowledge that most will never know exactly how much damage they caused. But she couldn’t, not right now at least. 

So she settled for the next best thing. In one fluid moment, she stepped closer to Luka, placing a quick but gentle kiss to his lips. Before he could respond, her yo-yo was sailing to attach to the building across the street, “I’ll be back for you, I promise! But for now, I gotta bug out!” 

As she swung towards the rampaging akuma, she heard Luka start making flustered noises, and Ladybug swore to herself that she would beat her record for fastest time defeating an akuma.