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tundrainafrica · 3 years

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Title: A Tale of Two Slaves (16/17)

Summary: “Soulmates don’t exist. Fate doesn’t exist. Everything is a choice.” At that moment, Levi could only watch as she made the choice for him.“

Reincarnation AU. Levi remembers everything from their past life. Hange doesn’t.

Other Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Note:

I know I said on tumblr I was planning on ending the story today and apologies for dragging this out longer.

The final chapter is already written out but editing is gonna take me an extra hour or so. Also, this week has been hectic, work especially has been very hectic since I'm covering a job for 3 people now while they hire. I ended up getting a little sick today so I decided to put off a lot of the asks and postings until Sunday.

I could post the final chapter earliest, tomorrow night. Latest, I'll be posting the final chapter is Wednesday. I wanna get it out soon but there are still a lot of stuff I'm hoping to fix up so, apologies for not meeting the expectations.

Thank you so much for reading though. It really means a lot to me.

As always, feedback is very much appreciated.

“You can take a seat Hange.” Shela’s voice was gentle. She had taken her time pronouncing every syllable.

Still, something jumped inside Hange as she heard it. She gathered herself together and willed herself to make eye contact. “Sorry about that...I got a little distracted,” she said. She was starting to get a little self conscious. Did she actually jump? Was her tone too jittery? Were her eyes too wide?

The woman in front of her seemed unfazed as if she was watching Hange do something so normal as to just stare at the room in front of her for a long few seconds. Still, Hange avoided her gaze and looked around as she made her way towards the sofa.

Levi had only ever talked about how much of a hassle and how much of a pain the whole process of going to therapy was. Over time, he had started ditching the sessions altogether. Consequently, Hange had expected an atmosphere that would make her feel a little more restrained than what she had felt then.

It turned out just entering the room made her feel the complete opposite of what she had expected.

Shela’s office was more spacious than Hange had imagined it to be. Or more full of life.

Filled with too much life in a way that Hange couldn’t understand. But it seemed to hold more than the average doctor’s office she’d been to. Maybe it was the paintings on the wall or the wooden bookshelf that stood so tall and wide it was an omnipresent in the room.

Either way, it was comfortable and Hange chalked it to the rustic feel of the room. The ambiance was just too strange, the shades of the wallpaper, the rustic carpeted floor was too indulgent of her senses and she could have been taking a little more time than necessary to get to her seat.

It looked like Shela followed suit. By the time Hange had settled on the chair, Shela had still been on her way.

Shela leaned forward from her seat and reached out a hand in greeting. She seemed excited, too excited. “It’s nice to finally be able to talk to you like this, Hange Zoe,” she said.

That excitement in her voice was enough at least to pull Hange’s focus away from the ambiance of the room and towards the woman in front of her. A clear reminder that she was there for a reason.

Or two reasons. Hange corrected herself as she pulled out her file. “Thank you so much for agreeing to go through this with me,” she said. “Since Levi started having sessions with you, we kept in touch so at least we had some history beforehand… And given your background, I thought you might be the best person to give me some extra content on my thesis.”

“For your review of related literature?”

Hange nodded. “It’s not yet done. I did research already on the biological aspect but I thought you might have information on the psychological aspects of it…” She pulled out a folder from her bag and slid the file towards Shela.

Shela was quick to scan through the title. “Looks interesting. What made you pick this topic?”

“Many things...” Hange said. “I thought I would be able to help more people doing this type of thesis. And maybe I can take further studies and---”

“Does this have anything to do with Levi?” . Shela raised one eyebrow at her.

“Oh? Was it obvious?” Hange asked. She deemed it futile to have even denied it then.

Shela started to flip through the pages of the draft a little quicker. “It’s been a while since I’ve heard from him. He never replied to any of my texts.” She stood up, gesturing for Hange to continue talking as she made her way to the shelf at the back of the room.

“He went home,” Hange said. There was an awkward pause for a few seconds and she felt some inclination to fill it herself. “Back to his hometown,” she added. “He probably wanted to spend his birthday with them, or maybe Christmas. I guess this is a good time for him to go home… He---”

“So Hange, do you wanna talk about Levi? Or would you like to talk about your thesis?” The way Shela said it was far from abrasive.

From her position, Hange couldn’t even tell what face Shela was making. Yet she found herself a little shaken, particularly self conscious she was taking up precious office time. And for a few seconds longer, Hange struggled to find the right words. “There are things I wanted to ask about… Like definitely, I told you I need to discuss the psychological aspect and…”

“Well, from what I’m seeing, this didn’t need a session. I could have emailed you the pdf file of my thesis and just answered if you had any questions.”

Hange only noticed then as Shela walked back to her seat that she had pulled out two binders from one of the bookshelves.

“If you need any more sources for your thesis, you can read through this.” Shela placed the binders on the table and flipped to the last page of the thicker one. “And you can check through my bibliography for any more sources and I’m sure you’ll figure the rest out on your own. Levi told me you were a pretty good researcher growing up…”

Hange felt the blood rush to her face. That only made it harder to grasp for the right words. “When was your last session with Levi?” There were many other things Hange would have wanted to ask then. Her mouth just wouldn’t cooperate.

“A little more than a month ago. A few weeks before your finals. “ Shela answered. She rested her elbows on her lap, her chin on her hands.

“Finals ended more than two weeks ago. I was hoping he talked to you before he left.”

Shela shook her head. “No word from him.” She must have sensed the disappointment in Hange’s face because only a second later, she continued. “But maybe going home would be good for him. He might find someone to talk to there.” Her tone was cold, disconnected and it didn’t look like she believed it herself though.

“I know you would tell him to write, he told me that much about your sessions. But did he ever tell you about his stories?”

��Commander Zoe and Captain Levi?”

Hange nodded. “Oh, he did. You see, I wanted to talk to you about that. But I don’t know either whether or not I should be talking to his therapist about this...But I’m worried.”

“Why?”

“He deleted the file.”

If Shela was shocked, she didn’t show it. The only hint to any emotion in the room had been the short silence that followed. “I suspected he’d do that much,” she said.

“Suspect that much? Did he tell you something? Was there something wrong with his writing? Is he okay?”

Shela shook her head. “ I’m not in a place to tell.”

“Why did he get so attached to his stories? Why did it affect him so much that he couldn’t even accept a death?”

“I’m sorry Hange, I don’t wanna waste your time here so I’ll be upfront with you. What Levi and I talk about here stays between us.”

“I respect that.” Hange expected the answer, still she kept her tone long and drawn. She still found herself clinging to some hope that there was something Shela could share.. “I want to know though… Is this because of the injury? He lost a lot because of that and I know I was somehow involved with it but I just can’t shake off this feeling of guilt. ”

Shela sighed. “You know, I may not be able to tell you what we talked about. But I’m sure you know more about this than I do. You might even be able to contribute more insights to this discussion than I can,” she said. “Tell me Hange, what went on after our last therapy session. Did he really have finals?”

“Yes we did. I was busy too so I didn’t think too much of it then but the weeks leading up to finals are usually more hectic for any student….”

“Would you know if he still continued to write after the finals?”

“He did.”

“You seem sure.”

“He shared the document.” Hange started. She unlocked her phone and opened her drive document. It wouldn’t be there, she was sure of that but she could have saved it and it would have still been there. She forced a smile as her mouth threatened to curl down. Hange was still scolding herself for wasting such an opportunity. She let her phone fall carelessly on the coffee table in front of her and leaned back on the sofa. “So I got to read it.”

“Did Captain Levi really die?” Shela asked.

“No. Commander Hange did.”

“So before he deleted it, Commander Hange died?”

“That was the last chapter I read. Then an hour or so later, I confronted him about it, he asked me to leave me alone, then the next thing I know he deleted the file.” Hange leaned her head back on the backrest and stared up at the ceiling. “But you know, he didn’t want to believe that Hange died. She burned alive, he described it so vividly in his writing but he kept telling me, she didn’t die.

“Oh?”

“If someone burned alive, they should be dead right? Maybe there was a sequel to it that he just didn’t write yet.”

“But if Hange were alive, wouldn’t Levi have seen it through instead of doing something so rash as to delete the whole thing? Levi has a tendency of…”

Running away? Not processing things? Hange looked back at Shela and nodded slowly.

Shela seemed distracted. She was staring at something upward, mumbling to herself as if finding the right words to say. “Trying not to regret things,” she added a few seconds later.

“Regret… I noticed that. With the jumping and the injury but I wanted to ask you, if you think the story is somehow connected to how he’s processing his injury.”

“I have theories but they’re not mine to tell. Have you asked Levi yourself?”

Hange was almost tempted to laugh. That seemed like the only way her body knew how to process the last week alone in the dorm. She had sent three texts, a question about when he had gone home, a birthday greeting and a New Year’s greeting. “I don’t think he wants to talk to me anymore,” Hange said. She avoided Shela’s gaze. Somehow, her heart was racing then, her blood was rushing to her face much faster than usual and she found herself curling her fists into a ball, finding some semblance of control in them. Was she ashamed that Levi wasn’t talking to her? She shook her head. “But you know, I can try to talk to Levi.”

“What about this… I’ll contact Levi when he comes back. I’ll try to get his side of what’s been happening. Maybe I can even get him to reply.”

“Are you sure you can’t tell me anything now? Maybe even something vague. I can try to figure the rest out for myself,” Hange said. She couldn’t tell then if she had raised her voice.

Shela didn’t seem shaken at all. She shook her head again. “This is between me and my patients.”

Hange had integrity, she understood confidentiality clauses. She had been researching all her life though, and that side of her still continued to fight. Maybe if the hints weren’t all there, poking at her, just provoking, she would have given up much more easily “I just wanna understand it, I wanna understand him. Even if we don’t talk after this. Even if Levi wants to end this, you know I’m fine. I just wanna figure out for myself why he acted that way. I’m worried.”

Shela cocked her head to the side, her expression unchanging. “Believe me, I’m worried too but I can’t say much. Levi’s my patient and whatever we talk about in this room is between us.” She pushed the two binders on the table towards Hange and continued. “But I don’t want to leave you empty handed. I wrote two pieces for my dissertation which you might find useful, something personal and something professional, I can send over a copy of both of them to you over email. Or if you want a hard copy, you could have this photocopied in the library nearby. What do you think works for you?”

The digression had Hange’s lips trembling then. Shela knew things she didn’t for sure and Hange found herself tempted to even curse silently at that confidentiality clause.

She opened the cover to find the title page in black ink, in one of the most readable fonts.

Signs that suggest the reality of reincarnation and its manifestations in patients.

You got what you wanted. Hange thought to herself as she scanned the title page of the document in front of her. It was a cold and professional title. The researcher inside her should have been satisfied. But she wasn’t. She wasn’t ungrateful either. “Thank you, I’ll make sure to read it,” she said. It was still help anyway.

Another, much thinner book was pushed next to it.

Musings on a Past Life: Written by Kuchel Ackerman

“This is my own personal copy,” Shela explained. “It’s not something you should be emulating when doing research but… I thought it could give you some insight to your thesis.

“Okay, if I have some extra time, I’ll---”

No actually, let’s make this your little homework. I want you to read both pieces. And if you get a chance to talk to Levi again…”

Shela probably said something after that. At that point though, Hange was somewhere else. She had pulled the thinner document towards her and propped it on her lap, and scanned through it. She only had to read through the first paragraph on one of the final pages to understand why it wouldn’t have passed up as anything academic.

She wasn’t rattling off procedures, scientific speculations or statistical procedures. She was painting pictures of dark streets, cramped streets and a shabby one bedroom alone with a baby. She spoke of soft skin, a baby scent that never faded and illness. She reflected on loss, regret all manifesting in that last face she saw before she fell asleep for the final time.

A teary eyed face. A shaken voice begging at her not to fall asleep. And then nothing.

Maybe there was darkness, darker than the ceiling of the underground, darker than the room that had been hers and her child.

That was left to mercy of Hange’s speculation.

It was only when she was alone in the dorm, two days after, did she reopen it. It had taken her more time than necessary to finish it and maybe it had been because she had ended up rereading whole paragraphs, flipping pages back more times than she could count.

And it was only then, after finishing that personal file did she feel compelled enough to read the official output.

She opened a page, towards an introduction, a foreword or a message. Possibly all of those at once. But it connected so seamlessly to Kuchel’s own musings.

A False Bottom.

All humans feel. Even when they say they don’t, they feel something.

Human psyche is an endless blackhole of emotions, knowledge and experiences….

There are still things psychologists cannot comprehend about the human psyche. All we can do is endeavor to make sense of it…

With this thesis, the researcher proposes that one possible explanation for unpredictable bouts of emotion, out-of-character decisions, the phenomena of irrationality is the phenomena of reincarnation…

Manifestations of our past life.

“And maybe there are emotions that transcend our worldly experiences. Maybe there are emotions that transcend the constraints of time, place and life.. It’s just a matter of believing that false bottom exists and embracing it when it manifests itself.”

And how many times did Hange allow those words to echo inside her as she sifted through page after page. Enough times at least to have her open a blank document.

As she soon found out, it wasn’t easy at all to embrace the blank document. She was completely aware she didn’t have to open the blank document, she had a half filled one already, having started on her own thesis a while back.

But something had willed her to do just that. Something inside her that wanted answers to questions, and it begged for them, clamored for them and Hange was starting to forget who even asked it. She? Or Kuchel?

Musings of a Past Life. Hange had typed out the title days ago already. Maybe it wasn’t easy because it wasn’t her past life to write. It was Levi’s past.

Or so that was what Levi claimed when he wrote it. “Ugh…. What the hell am I doing?” Hange removed her headphones, closed her eyes tight, inhaled then exhaled. “Okay Hange. You wanted to write this thesis for Levi right? You read his whole story. This should be easy.”

She just needed to write enough to remember his story. Enough to at least shoehorn him into her own thesis.

“And after that, you never have to think about him again,” Hange said. She opened her phone again and stared at the last sent message.

January 3 6:21 AM

Wanna talk when you get back?

“I wonder…. Did you talk to Shela?” Hange asked quietly, almost to herself. But Shela would have told her right? But what if Levi told her not to tell? What if he just wanted to cut it off already?

It was an idea Hange didn’t want to entertain just yet. Thesis was looming, graduation was hanging over her head like some sort of dark cloud. She didn’t have time to deal with heartbreak.

So in the wee hours of morning, Hange composed a quick last message to Levi.

January 5 2:23 AM

Hey, I’m sorry about everything. I should have been more sensitive to your needs. Even if you don’t wanna meet after this, it’s fine. I had a great time working with you and I’ll remember these past few months :D. I’m just sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.

Just assure me please. Did you get to talk to someone? I hope you did. I was just concerned. But it doesn’t matter too much now. As long as you’re okay.

And the next few actions after that were automatic.

Settings. Profile. Ignore Messages.

She had more important things to think about then. She had to admit, her inbox was starting to look a bit better without that thread she was constantly checking that had a string of messages that had been so pathetically ignored.

That last decision and the last few actions leading up to it had sapped more energy from Hange than she had expected it to. Or maybe it was the dim light of the early morning and the small yet strong light of her lamp that had her realizing how exhausted she had been then.

She switched off the lamp and fell back on the bed. The impact had shaken her to the bone and Hange found herself sinking into the mattress. She was happy to let it swallow her then.

The night was surprisingly bright. Yet, at the same time it had been a dark night, she was sure. She traced the sources of the light on the ceiling above. The light painted triangles, squares and straight cut angles. There were spots from other sources, maybe where the moon bounced on some glass objects.

Hange was too exhausted to sit up to see those refractions for herself.

She may have been too exhausted then to type in front of a computer or even sit up in bed so instead, she continued to count spots, trace the dim weak rays in the ceiling of her room, as she traced them back to the wide window, all the way to the point where she would have to crane her head to see what lay beyond. She soon realized, she still wasn’t tired enough to doze off.

The gears in her brain continued to turn. And they had only started to turn faster with all the intricate patterns the moonlight had created as it shone through the wide window of her dormitory room.

Should she close the curtains so she could get a good night's sleep? That question only occupied her for a second or so before she thought of something else.

And maybe there are sensations that transcend our worldly experiences. Maybe there are emotions that transcend the constraints of time, place and life. It’s just a matter of believing that false bottom exists and embracing it when it breaks open.

But if these emotions transcended worldly experiences, if they transcended life, then they should be unfathomable, not worth the effort of understanding.

Hange though, had been a researcher for as long as she could remember. She had mottos. She had habits. She had unshakable ways of thinking.

Turning to her side was easy. It was a quick, comfortable movement and maybe she had done it to sleep better. Or maybe she had done it to just get a better angle of the stream of moonlight that entered through the window.

Her desk sat on a familiar angle. Her laptop was open but turned off. Her bag slung over the chair.

The stream from the moonlight shone over her canvas bag and down to the floor. It created a web of intricate patterns, patterns that had Hange hypnotized at that moment. They were angular yet they were round and it would have taken hours for Hange to trace them in her exhausted state.

Yet they were hypnotizing enough for her not to want to look away. So in an effort to keep up with the challenge the moonlight had given her at that moment, she continued to reflect as she traced at it with her eyes.

False bottoms. Sensations that transcend worldly experiences, Emotions that transcend the constraints of time and space.

“But if they are things that transcend human comprehension, then how do we make sense of them?”

Ironically, it had been in the most intricate of patterns that Hange saw the answer. It had been in something so mundane that Hange had to blink twice and question it for a second longer.

“Dreams?” Hange asked, barely a whisper.

If there’s something you don’t understand, go out and learn to understand it.

She didn’t understand Levi’s dreams. She didn’t understand how his mind worked. She didn’t understand the stories he had written out.

There were things she didn’t understand for sure but there were things she remembered.

And maybe all she needed to understand something, was the right amount of hints, the right amount of crumbs to make sense of it herself. Maybe all she needed was the review of related literature, the observations and her own analysis to write a conclusion.

The dreamcatcher hung aimlessly from her canvas bag like it always did. It had been something almost unnoticeable before. Only in the night when the moon shined on it, when it had etched a large shadow on the floor, possibly even a hundred times larger than the small keychain in her bag did Hange think about it again.

And she thought about it hard enough to reach for it from the side off her bed. She stretched her hand farther and farther and in the dark, her sense of distance may have been a little worse.

She thought she had been almost there and she was pulled back into that cruel reality in a single moment, with a loud painful thud.

“Ow!” Hange quickly got up, a result of that adrenaline rush from the harrowing experience of a painful fall from her bed. She unfastened the dream catcher from her bag, on the way back to the bed, she grabbed her phone, her earphones and sat on her bed.

That time, she eased herself onto the bed and under the covers.

She held the dreamcatcher above her, tracing the purple, the green. She knew they were purple and green but under the moonlight they seemed almost blue, and maybe she could have even mistaken the purple and green for one another.

Her only hint to the shades after all were the way they reflected the moonlight on themselves.

Eventually, her arms got tired, still aching from that painful fall. She slipped the dream catcher under her pillow and turned on her side. She put one earphone on her left ear, another on her right and she turned on her phone and shuffled her music.

The dormitory was silent with everyone gone for the holidays.

Eerily silent. She was used to living alone, it wasn’t anything new. But recently, she had frequently found herself missing him, maybe missing her parents, she started to realize the silence, the isolation that came with it was almost unbearable.

So maybe she had been listening to music, maybe she had been talking to herself a little more.

And those dreams, they probably would help. Hange thought to herself as she set her phone to her side, a good distance from the edge of the bed.

She had dreamt enough to know, she couldn’t control dreams. But if they did come, they would come in hints, puzzle pieces and maybe something she could easily write down in the morning.

So she willed them to come in that silent night. She whispered to Commander Zoe. She pressed that dream catcher one more time.

Hange closed her eyes, adjusted the volume of the music and evened her breathing.

The dreams would choose when to come, if they chose to come at all. All she could do was trust in them.

***

Levi would have liked to blame the snow for his inability to concentrate.

It was fucking loud. The patter came too randomly, Levi struggled to find patterns in it. For a few seconds at a time, the snow would patter on the window in big loud waves. Other times, the snow came in plip plops reminiscent of a rainy spring day. A few times, it shifted to something slow and gentle Levi could have used it to lull himself to sleep.

It was a piece of music on rubato, and the musician was just a little too keen on leaving his audience unhinged.

And just that quick thought at least absolved Levi of any blame. He didn’t feel too much self loathing then. Just utter frustration and maybe a pinch of sadness.

The document in front of him was just a mish mash black words on white paper and for the life of him, he couldn’t imagine they could be anything else. The top section was descriptive, very descriptive that he should have been able to do so much as to smell the whore house. He should have been able to grieve the loss of a mother.

But it was just black on white.

So Levi scrolled down three pages to find a source of investment elsewhere. He found vivid descriptions of life on a wheelchair, a frequented grave but for the life of him, he couldn’t even imagine the large tree above, or the vivid descriptions of airplanes on the blue sky.

But it was just words on paper.

“What do you think?” Hange asked. She looked at him expectantly. “It’s not a lot… I’ve just been working on this in between my thesis and I don’t have much going for me but my own memories… But I rewrote some bullet points while I was trying to remember it and I just thought you know if I put my own writings in between what you have so far...maybe it could help you process it.”

“Process... it?”

“But if you don’t wanna think about it, it’s fine.”

Remember? Levi wanted to remember. Those weren’t black pixels on white pixels, conveniently strung together to make symbols. They were vivid descriptions of another world, another life for sure. But why couldn’t he bring himself to invest in it… Anymore?

“Maybe I just need a break,” Levi set aside the laptop on the side table and leaned back on the bed.

“You’re tired, injured. You could even get sick,” Hange said. “I don’t expect you to think too much of it, I just thought it would help pass the time.” She looked away guiltily.

“I’m not angry about you forcing me to get my knee checked again. Jumping in the dead of winter with a sprained knee was a stupid move.”

“I know it was. But I also know you’re probably tired of hospitals already.”

“I am tired of hospitals. But you were right. When they tested my knee, it didn’t feel right. I’m pretty sure I tore something again.”

“It was swelling… And I knew we could have just iced it but, you know you jumped pretty high, you ran pretty fast, it’s kinda scary you did that with your knee... In the middle of winter of all times of the year? God---Levi, What were you thinking? Armin told me he’d stop by the field to pick up Mikasa’s things so you know if I didn’t go out to meet him just in case he got lost, I probably wouldn’t have made it. At least Armin had half the mind to text me when you wouldn’t listen to him…” Hange trailed off. “But I wish I had arrived earlier, maybe I could have stopped you.”

“You wouldn’t have convinced me not to jump,” Levi said.

“Why do you say that?”

“No one would have convinced me. I was dead set on jumping that one last time.”

“Why did you wanna jump?”

“Closure.” It was a simple answer to a simple question. But as Levi enunciated each syllable, he became a little self conscious about how pretentiously short that answer had been. It was closure, he was sure but there were layers to that answer he couldn’t comprehend for himself in that moment.

Hange seemed to sense it too. She narrowed her eyes at him and opened her mouth ready to speak before she closed it again and let her eyes fall on the hospital bed. “Couldn’t you find closure elsewhere? Did you have to risk your knee for it?”

“What do you know? ” Levi ran his eyes over his thighs and up to his knee propped on a few pillows. He started to feel the beginnings of guilt a second later. His intention never was to offend.

What do you know? That question had been for him.

You didn’t live your whole college life jumping only to end up in a state where you can barely walk. Was that what Hange heard? Maybe. She looked like she did. After all, she was blushing then. As if she had been aware of that slight vulnerability, she bit her lip, looked away and stretched out over the side of the bed to get back her laptop.

Levi felt obligated to reassure her. “You know I don’t intend to jump again. I wish I could. But I think that last jump helped me accept that that part of my life is over.”

“So, what next?” Hange asked. “Erwin mentioned you could get surgery to fix the partial tear.”

Levi shook his head. “And skip more school then hope I can jump again? The surgery isn't necessary. The knee can heal on its own.”

“But what about other---”

“Jumping opportunities? Other athletic opportunities? I said, that part of my life is over.”

“You had a lot of talent you know.”

“You’re not the first person to say that.”

Hange managed a smile, a smile that was far from happy. But at the least, it could be contagious. “Then it was an honor to see you fly that one last time Captain Levi.”

Levi could have sworn he saw something glisten as she crinkled her eyes, a supplement to her wry smile. “I was never the captain of my team. You know that,” he said.

“That wasn’t what I meant---” Hange had been meaning to finish, or at least she looked like it. The knock on the door though had been loud and it tore through that soft conversation.

Hange stood up from her seat and opened the door slowly.

“Erwin told me you too would be here. I finished up early today so I thought I’d pop in.”

Levi nodded in greeting. He had been too ashamed to say anything else. But he was determined at least to show some respect.

“It looks like you two are talking again. Doctor Erwin told me what happened and I thought…” The moment Kuchel made eye contact with Levi, her eyes widened. “Levi… You…”

Levi found himself particularly self conscious then, he looked down at his thick sweater, at his knee. “I sprained my knee again.”

Kuchel was quick to recover. “I noticed that much,” she said. “I was talking about…” She gave him a long awkward onceover. She shook her head.

She wasn’t the only one who seemed uncomfortable then. Hange hadn’t looked back at him since Kuchel had entered the room. Her whole disposition had somehow changed in that few seconds.

“You okay?” Levi asked.

Hange didn’t answer. She booted her laptop again and angled it towards Kuchel who had approached them and set a chair next to his bed.

“It looks like you managed to let go already Captain Levi.” Kuchel said, as she cocked her head to the side and smiled.

Captain Levi. The words whispered once again inside him, too softly Levi found it easy to brush it away. “You know, you were right. The emotions would leave on their own. It still hurts but I don’t see any reason to fight it if I know it’s gonna heal eventually. That’s how closure is supposed to feel like right?”

Shela shook her head. “Closure manifests differently for each person. But it’s normal to forget when you accept. Sometimes we find ourselves forgetting why we were ever sad at all. Or sometimes we just forget the details. Or sometimes it just feels like everything was all just a bad dream.”

“These past few months since the injury, they’re starting to blur together like some dream.” He turned to Hange who was starting to seem more and more uncomfortable. He chose that moment to reflects and he started to wonder why he had even avoided her in the first place. His next few words came out automatically “ I’m sorry what I did, and about our fight last month, I wasn’t angry about the injury if that’s what you think,” Levi said. The apology came out of nowhere, it felt misplaced. He started realize that maybe he should have given that apology much earlier.

Why then?

Hange had heard the apology for sure, but maybe she had just chosen to ignore it. “But Levi, you wrote these right? These dreams?” Hange said, as if she had taken his stare then as some cue to speak. She turned to Kuchel and to Levi, her movements seemed desperate then. She had at least kept some composure in her expression.

“I wrote them out,” Levi said. “But to be honest... I’m starting to forget why I did.”

"Emotions and dreams fickle things. They come and go when they please but sometimes we wanna keep them on record so we could relive it and process it. That’s why if you wanna grasp it and preserve it before it leaves... If you wanna be able to relive it, you have to write it down. This is why I ask all my patients to write things out. "

"Levi did." Hange turned to Levi. You wrote everything down right? You showed me a while ago, you wrote this and this… Shela, if they were his dreams, his emotions...he was writing it"

Shela’s expression was unmoving. "Those dreams weren’t supposed to be his. Maybe that's why they had been just a little more fickle. Who knows? Maybe Captain Levi just took it back already.”

“Why take it back?” Hange asked

“Maybe he fulfilled his unfinished business. Maybe he found closure.”

“But Levi you should have remembered writing it? You’ve been on it for months. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten these last three months right?”

“I haven’t,” Levi said reassuringly.

“Then why aren’t you thinking about it anymore. Why am I the one thinking about it for you?” Hange pressed. There was a crack in her voice and Hange looked ready to slam her laptop on the floor.

“I remember writing it. I’m just wondering for myself why I wrote it out in the first place. Maybe because I didn’t have much to do. I got injured, I was stuck at home and you know, those days in your apartment, those days stuck in the dorm, they just blended together.”

“But you weren’t just indoors… We went out to the mountains. You were telling me these stories and you were telling me how Commander Hange was like. Levi, I felt things. I remembered all of it. You can’t just leave me hanging like this---”

Shela cleared her throat, uncharacteristically louder than usual. “You know, you seem more relaxed now. How does it feel Levi? Does it feel like a weight has been lifted off of your shoulders? Like you walk up from a bad dream?"

Levi nodded. "I'm just wondering why I'm exhausted."

“Of course you’re exhausted, you jumped while injured in the middle of winter. But relaxed is still a different feeling altogether, particularly compared to you the past few months. When I look at you now, you seem… freer?”

Freer? Levi shrugged. When had he ever been trapped?

For a while the room had been silent and it was Hange who broke it. "Levi, I wrote everything out, about what happened to Captain Levi in the survey corps. You may have deleted the file but I remembered them. These were your stories. These were the dreams you had. Hell, if Kuchel’s theory is correct, these are memories from your past life."

To humor Hange more than anything, Levi reread the bullet points and the effort quickly proved futile. They were bullet points of events, they could have been a timeline that Levi couldn’t for the life of him make sense of it. And he found himself a little annoyed at her tenacity.

“You still have a lot to write Hange, even I can’t make sense of it,” Kuchel said from behind. She gave Hange a reassuring pat.

The pout on Hange’s face, the way it had darkened into something similar to disappointment, had Levi almost guilty. Her emotions ran deeper than disappointment, he was sure. And for a second or so, Hange seemed crestfallen, ready to leave the room. The only thing tying her to the room then could have been her own strong penchant for seeking answers,

“You think you’ll be able to write again?” Hange asked. She looked like she could have said more. It was as if squeezing out that one sentence had sapped all energy out of her.

Levi shrugged. “Maybe I will.”

“When?”

“When the inspiration comes again.”

***

When will the inspiration come again? Hange always asked good questions and if she asked a question that couldn’t be answered, she always had an explanation to follow. Or at the least, she knew how to phrase questions in a way that could get answers.

Levi couldn’t answer and Hange wasn't helping him either. The tense silence that followed, loomed exclusively over the two of them. Although the conversation had shifted to a dialogue between Levi and Kuchel, even when Hange had kept quiet, pulling her focus back on her laptop in front of her, or her phone, the tension never left.

Levi had attempted to cut at it by focusing on Kuchel. He had provided a long drawn out explanation of his own emotions for Kuchel and in return, Kuchel had provided a long drawn out interpretation of his explanations.

Maybe drawing the conversation out longer than expected was unnecessary. In the end, the only take home Levi had for himself then was that the past few months were a blur and any effort to make sense of it would be completely futile.

Kuchel left them both in the silence, mentioning something about another meeting. Alone in the room, in the tense silence continued to haunt. It was Hange who spoke up again asking that same question. “When will inspiration come again?”

“You sound pretty fixated on my inspiration. Maybe you should write the end for yourself then.” The sudden acceptance had Levi relaxing on the bed soon after Kuchel had left the room.

“It’s not about writing… This story in particular, it meant a lot to me too.”

“I’m sure it meant a lot. It meant a lot to me too but weirdly, I just don’t care about it as much as I used to.”

“What about us?”

“What do you mean ‘about us?’”

“About us… The past few things you were writing the story and you were talking about Commander Hange and Captain Levi. That was about us right?”

“You heard my answer to Kuchel, it was a blur.”

“No, I meant about us in the past few months. Are you angry with me? Do you want me out of your life?”

“You wanna leave?.”

“No it’s not that. It’s just…” Hange breathed out, shaking her head in disbelief. “You didn’t talk to me for weeks.”

Levi looked away, hiding the wince in his face. “I told you, I’m sorry I don’t even remember why I did it.”

“So do you want me here?”

“Yes, I don't want you to leave, I thought it was obvious.”

“Well it looks like it wasn’t so obvious, I thought you’d want me to leave. You didn’t reply to any of my messages and I remembered, we’ve only known each other for months.”

“I think 'months' are more than enough for me to realize that I want you here. For a long time. Maybe longer than that.” Maybe even forever.

Did he say that ‘forever’ part out loud? He didn’t expect Hange’s smile then.

Her eyes were wide open, her lips curled up into a big smile. The overall expression on her face had seemed unreadable. She could have been mocking him, she could have been freaked out or she could have been that good balance between surprised and happy “So what are you saying? We’re soulmates?” She asked.

“You don’t believe in soulmates,” Levi said. The facade of disconnect was hurriedly done, consequently, it felt almost shoddy.

“Fate?”

“You told me yourself, you don’t believe in fate either.

“I don’t.”

“It was a choice right? Everything that brought us to this point was all just borne of choice. You made the choice to work for me, I made the choice to cooperate and here we are.” Levi felt a hand slip under his and it grabbed him from underneath. Levi didn’t have to look down to comprehend it, Hange’s face had said it all.

“But you know, I’m starting to believe in this abstract thing called soulmates. And this other abstract thing called fate,” she said

“Aren’t you a researcher?”

“I have the evidence, Levi. Someone has been coming into my dreams too and she’s been telling me about you.”

“You know, they must have been some really good dreams if they convinced you to believe in them.

“They were. They really were. And you know what, they only keep coming.”

Levi had closed his eyes long before then. And the patter on the window had mellowed to something rhythmic and along the way it had softened altogether. Whether it had been due to the even patter or through her own volition, Hange had stopped talking, her breath had evened out.

And when Levi started to dream again, the shift had been too gradual, too kind. The dreams weren’t loud, they didn't demand attention. They didn’t make themselves known. When Levi opened his eyes again, the idea that he had fallen asleep had seemed almost surreal, unbelievable.

“You can go back to sleep,” Hange said. She seemed focused on something on her laptop again.

Levi looked out the window, the sky was dark but the snow continued to fall.

“Erwin told us we could stay another night.”

“Why?”

“We’re completely snowed in.”

“Okay,” Levi said. He had attempted to go back to sleep and it had only proved frustratingly unsuccessful. The confusion at having the view by the window so suddenly shift from sky blue to complete black still had him disoriented.

So he found orientation in Hange’s concentrated look then and the white of the screen reflected in her glasses. Even behind the glare, her long lashes were noticeable, her hazel brown eyes could still be traced, the shades of brown discerned. So he continued to looked, and he had managed to pass the time much more quickly.

“How are you feeling?” Hange asked as she looked up at him. The glare of the screen disappeared from her glasses and Levi found himself unable to respond for a second longer as he appreciated the unmarred view of her eyes then.

It was a lucid view of her then that sent a pang of regret through him. It was quick and if Levi didn’t let it wash through him then, if he didn’t give it full control over him in that moment, maybe he would have never remembered it happened, maybe he would have never remembered to appreciate Hange then.

“I feel like I just had one long dream,” Levi said. maybe the dreams could have explained the slight pang of regret then. But they were too far off already for Levi to look back on. So he surrendered quickly and kept silent.

Hange didn’t hesitate to take the reins of the conversation. “I was writing.”

“About what?”

“About your dreams. I'm trying to remember what else you wrote.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t think you ever gave names to the two titans you caught for me."

Titans? Levi couldn't follow the conversation. With nothing else much to contribute, he nodded.

Hange continued. “So I named them myself.”

“What did you name them?” Levi asked, an attempt to humor her more than anything.

Hange’s face had curled to a smile as she spoke and she opened her mouth a little bit, exposing her teeth underneath. She seemed to be enjoying it. “Their names are Sonny and Bean"

Somehow, Levi was starting to get invested too. “Hey Hange, since we’re gonna be stuck here for a while, maybe you can tell me what a titan is.”

#levihan #levihan fanfiction

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mostlysignssomeportents · 4 years

Text

20 years a blogger

It's been twenty years, to the day, since I published my first blog-post.

I'm a blogger.

Blogging - publicly breaking down the things that seem significant, then synthesizing them in longer pieces - is the defining activity of my days.

https://boingboing.net/2001/01/13/hey-mark-made-me-a.html

Over the years, I've been lauded, threatened, sued (more than once). I've met many people who read my work and have made connections with many more whose work I wrote about. Combing through my old posts every morning is a journey through my intellectual development.

It's been almost exactly a year I left Boing Boing, after 19 years. It wasn't planned, and it wasn't fun, but it was definitely time. I still own a chunk of the business and wish them well. But after 19 years, it was time for a change.

A few weeks after I quit Boing Boing, I started a solo project. It's called Pluralistic: it's a blog that is published simultaneously on Twitter, Mastodon, Tumblr, a newsletter and the web. It's got no tracking or ads. Here's the very first edition:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/02/19/pluralist-19-feb-2020/

I don't often do "process posts" but this merits it. Here's how I built Pluralistic and here's how it works today, after nearly a year.

I get up at 5AM and make coffee. Then I sit down on the sofa and open a huge tab-group, and scroll through my RSS feeds using Newsblur.

I spend the next 1-2 hours winnowing through all the stuff that seems important. I have a chronic pain problem and I really shouldn't sit on the sofa for more than 10 minutes, so I use a timer and get up every 10 minutes and do one minute of physio.

After a couple hours, I'm left with 3-4 tabs that I want to write articles about that day. When I started writing Pluralistic, I had a text file on my desktop with some blank HTML I'd tinkered with to generate a layout; now I have an XML file (more on that later).

First I go through these tabs and think up metadata tags I want to use for each; I type these into the template using my text-editor (gedit), like this:

<xtags>

process, blogging, pluralistic, recursion, navel-gazing

</xtags>

Each post has its own little template. It needs an anchor tag (for this post, that's "hfbd"), a title ("20 years a blogger") and a slug ("Reflections on a lifetime of reflecting"). I fill these in for each post.

Then I come up with a graphic for each post: I've got a giant folder of public domain clip-art, and I'm good at using all the search tools for open-licensed art: the Library of Congress, Wikimedia, Creative Commons, Flickr Commons, and, ofc, Google Image Search.

I am neither an artist nor a shooper, but I've been editing clip art since I created pixel-art versions of the Frankie Goes to Hollywood glyphs using Bannermaker for the Apple //c in 1985 and printed them out on enough fan-fold paper to form a border around my bedroom.

As I create the graphics, I pre-compose Creative Commons attribution strings to go in the post; there's two versions, one for the blog/newsletter and one for Mastodon/Twitter/Tumblr. I compose these manually.

Here's a recent one:

Blog/Newsletter:

(<i>Image: <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:QAnon_in_red_shirt_(48555421111).jpg">Marc Nozell</a>, <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en">CC BY</a>, modified</i>)

Twitter/Masto/Tumblr:

Image: Marc Nozell (modified)

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:QAnon_in_red_shirt_(48555421111).jpg

CC BY

https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

This is purely manual work, but I've been composing these CC attribution strings since CC launched in 2003, and they're just muscle-memory now. Reflex.

These attribution strings, as well as anything else I'll need to go from Twitter to the web (for example, the names of people whose Twitter handles I use in posts, or images I drop in, go into the text file). Here's how the post looks at this point in the composition.

<hr>

<h1>20 years a blogger</h1><xtagline>Reflections on a lifetime of reflecting.</xtagline>

See that <img> tag in there for frnklogo.jpg? I snuck that in while I was composing this in Twitter. When I locate an image on the web I want to use in a post, I save it to a dir on my desktop that syncs every 60 seconds to the /images/ dir on my webserver.

As I save it, I copy the filename to my clipboard, flip over to gedit, and type in the <img> tag, pasting the filename. I've typed <img src="https://craphound.com/images/ CTRL-V"> tens of thousands of times - muscle memory.

Once the thread is complete, I copy each tweet back into gedit, tabbing back and forth, replacing Twitter handles and hashtags with non-Twitter versions, changing the ALL CAPS EMPHASIS to the extra-character-consuming *asterisk-bracketed emphasis*.

My composition is greatly aided both 20 years' worth of mnemonic slurry of semi-remembered posts and the ability to search memex.craphound.com (the site where I've mirrored all my Boing Boing posts) easily.

A huge, searchable database of decades of thoughts really simplifies the process of synthesis.

Next I port the posts to other media. I copy the headline and paste it into a new Tumblr compose tab, then import the image and tag the post "pluralistic."

Then I paste the text of the post into Tumblr and manually select, cut, and re-paste every URL in the post (because Tumblr's automatic URL-to-clickable-link tool's been broken for 10+ months).

Next I past the whole post into a Mastodon compose field. Working by trial and error, I cut it down to <500 characters, breaking at a para-break and putting the rest on my clipboard. I post, reply, and add the next item in the thread until it's all done.

*Then* I hit publish on my Twitter thread. Composing in Twitter is the most unforgiving medium I've ever worked in. You have to keep each stanza below 280 chars. You can't save a thread as a draft, so as you edit it, you have to pray your browser doesn't crash.

And once you hit publish, you can't edit it. Forever. So you want to publish Twitter threads LAST, because the process of mirroring them to Tumblr and Mastodon reveals typos and mistakes (but there's no way to save the thread while you work!).

Now I create a draft Wordpress post on pluralistic.net, and create a custom slug for the page (today's is "two-decades"). Saving the draft generates the URL for the page, which I add to the XML file.

Once all the day's posts are done, I make sure to credit all my sources in another part of that master XML file, and then I flip to the command line and run a bunch of python scripts that do MAGIC: formatting the master file as a newsletter, a blog post, and a master thread.

Those python scripts saved my ASS. For the first two months of Pluralistic, i did all the reformatting by hand. It was a lot of search-replace (I used a checklist) and I ALWAYS screwed it up and had to debug, sometimes taking hours.

Then, out of the blue, a reader - Loren Kohnfelder - wrote to me to point out bugs in the site's RSS. He offered to help with text automation and we embarked on a month of intensive back-and-forth as he wrote a custom suite for me.

Those programs take my XML file and spit out all the files I need to publish my site, newsletter and master thread (which I pin to my profile). They've saved me more time than I can say. I probably couldn't kept this up without Loren's generous help (thank you, Loren!).

I open up the output from the scripts in gedit. I paste the blog post into the Wordpress draft and copy-paste the metadata tags into WP's "tags" field. I preview the post, tweak as necessary, and publish.

(And now I write this, I realize I forgot to mention that while I'm doing the graphics, I also create a square header image that makes a grid-collage out of the day's post images, using the Gimp's "alignment" tool)

(because I'm composing this in Twitter, it would be a LOT of work to insert that information further up in the post, where it would make sense to have it - see what I mean about an unforgiving medium?)

(While I'm on the subject: putting the "add tweet to thread" and "publish the whole thread" buttons next to each other is a cruel joke that has caused me to repeatedly publish before I was done, and deleting a thread after you publish it is a nightmare)

Now I paste the newsletter file into a new mail message, address it to my Mailman server, and create a custom subject for the day, send it, open the Mailman admin interface in a browser, and approve the message.

Now it's time to create that anthology post you can see pinned to my Mastodon and Twitter accounts. Loren's script uses a template to produce all the tweets for the day, but it's not easy to get that pre-written thread into Twitter and Mastodon.

Part of the problem is that each day's Twitter master thread has a tweet with a link to the day's Mastodon master thread ("Are you trying to wean yourself off Big Tech? Follow these threads on the #fediverse at @[email protected]. Here's today's edition: LINK").

So the first order of business is to create the Mastodon thread, pin it, copy the link to it, and paste it into the template for the Twitter thread, then create and pin the Twitter thread.

Now it's time to get ready for tomorrow. I open up the master XML template file and overwrite my daily working file with its contents. I edit the file's header with tomorrow's date, trim away any "Upcoming appearances" that have gone by, etc.

Then I compose tomorrow's retrospective links. I open tabs for this day a year ago, 5 years ago, 10 years ago, 15 years ago, and (now) 20 years ago:

http://memex.craphound.com/2020/01/14

http://memex.craphound.com/2016/01/14

http://memex.craphound.com/2011/01/14

http://memex.craphound.com/2006/01/14

http://memex.craphound.com/2001/01/14

I go through each day, and open anything I want to republish in its own tab, then open the OP link in the next tab (finding it in the @internetarchive if necessary). Then I copy my original headline and the link to the article into tomorrow's XML file, like so:

#10yrsago Disney World’s awful Tiki Room catches fire <a href="https://thedisneyblog.com/2011/01/12/fire-reported-at-magic-kingdom-tiki-room/">https://thedisneyblog.com/2011/01/12/fire-reported-at-magic-kingdom-tiki-room/</a>

And NOW my day is done.

So, why do I do all this?

First and foremost, I do it for ME. The memex I've created by thinking about and then describing every interesting thing I've encountered is hugely important for how I understand the world. It's the raw material of every novel, article, story and speech I write.

And I do it for the causes I believe in. There's stuff in this world I want to change for the better. Explaining what I think is wrong, and how it can be improved, is the best way I know for nudging it in a direction I want to see it move.

The more people I reach, the more it moves.

When I left Boing Boing, I lost access to a freestanding way of communicating. Though I had popular Twitter and Tumblr accounts, they are at the mercy of giant companies with itchy banhammers and arbitrary moderation policies.

I'd long been a fan of the POSSE - Post Own Site, Share Everywhere - ethic, the idea that your work lives on platforms you control, but that it travels to meet your readers wherever they are.

Pluralistic posts start out as Twitter threads because that's the most constrained medium I work in, but their permalinks (each with multiple hidden messages in their slugs) are anchored to a server I control.

When my threads get popular, I make a point of appending the pluralistic.net permalink to them.

When I started blogging, 20 years ago, blogger.com had few amenities. None of the familiar utilities of today's media came with the package.

Back then, I'd manually create my headlines with <h2> tags. I'd manually create discussion links for each post on Quicktopic. I'd manually paste each post into a Yahoo Groups email. All the guff I do today to publish Pluralistic is, in some way, nothing new.

20 years in, blogging is still a curious mix of both technical, literary and graphic bodgery, with each day's work demanding the kind of technical minutuae we were told would disappear with WYSIWYG desktop publishing.

I grew up in the back-rooms of print shops where my dad and his friends published radical newspapers, laying out editions with a razor-blade and rubber cement on a light table. Today, I spend hours slicing up ASCII with a cursor.

I go through my old posts every day. I know that much - most? - of them are not for the ages. But some of them are good. Some, I think, are great. They define who I am. They're my outboard brain.

#pluralistic

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deanstop13billyjoeltraxx · 4 years

Text

Superposition

a deancas college roommate AU :)

Chapter 12 is up on AO3! Chapter-by-chapter masterlist here.

yes i updated twice this week my foot is broken i can’t do anything else

The Beginning (of the End)

Three Years Earlier

“You ready?”

Dean was standing by the door with a full backpack. Cas’s own was leaning against his closet. He was sitting at his computer, manically finishing a paragraph, only half-stalling.

“One second…” Cas trailed off as he ensured his document had saved properly. “Done. Yes,” he said. Dean rolled his eyes, but there was a small smile on his face.

Dean had just taken his last final that morning. It was nearly noon before they hit the road in the Impala, Dean’s twenty-minute tape-selection process doing nothing to hasten their departure. Eventually, he settled on Moving Pictures, and he pulled out of the parking lot with “Tom Sawyer” blaring through the speakers.

Cas learned many things on the two-and-a-half hour drive to Lawrence — that Dean knew every word to every song in his tape collection, and he was not afraid to demonstrate it; that Dean had driven through almost every town on I-35; and that he had a story for each. He learned that Dean could begrudgingly appreciate 80s pop when Cas flipped on the radio and allowed the entirety of “Heat of the Moment” to play, uninterrupted. He learned that Dean would often turn to sing his favorite lyric right at Cas, or to tell him music trivia, or just to give him a smile.

When they arrived at Bobby’s house in Lawrence, a gangly teen who Cas assumed to be Sam was waiting for them at the door. Dean had barely made it out of the car before Sam was running to him, pulling him into a hug. Dean was grumbling “I wasn’t gone that long,” but he was smiling and sniffling and hugging Sam just as hard. Cas hid his smile.

Sam introduced himself to Cas, all smiles and raw excitement. His openness was contagious. Sam insisted on hauling Cas’s backpack inside for him, to which Dean threw an apologetic look at Cas. Cas just grinned back at him.

Bobby Singer was gruff-voiced and stoic, but there were tears in his eyes as he gave Dean a quick hug. He shook Cas’s hand firmly and said it was real good to meet him, after everything he’s heard. Dean went beet-red when Cas cast him a glance.

Bobby brought beers and a coke for Sam. The four of them sat in Bobby’s living room, Dean and Cas replaying the semester’s highlights for a rapt audience. When Bobby left the room to order a pizza, he clapped Dean on the shoulder and said, in a low voice, “Real proud of you, kid.” Cas thought it might have been the happiest he’d ever seen Dean.

“Dean told me you’re a writer,” Sam said when it was just the three of them. “He said you were writing a book.”

Dean made an indignant sound. “I didn’t say that.”

“Yeah, you did,” Sam retorted. “You said he —”

“I said he was majoring in creative writing,” Dean interrupted, giving Sam a look.

“I am… working on something,” Cas said to Sam. “Although, I’m not quite sure it’s a book. I’ve never tried my hand at writing novels.”

“Dean says your stories are really good,” Sam said, and Dean shot him a death glare. Cas could barely contain his laughter. “What do you usually write?”

“Before this semester, I typically wrote about my own life,” Cas said, feeling slightly self-conscious. “But one of my classes challenged me to write about other things.”

“What’s your book about?” Sam asked.

“Can you contain your nerd for, like, ten minutes?” Dean grumbled. “Dude just got here, you don’t need to scare him off.”

Sam flipped him off, and Dean muttered, “Real mature.”

Cas was considering Sam’s question, trying to come up with an answer that was both vague and satisfying. “It’s about free will,” he said finally.

“Can I read it? When you’re done, I mean,” Sam said. “I love reading. I just finished Lord of the Rings last month.”

Cas smiled. “If I ever finish it, of course,” he said. “Lord of the Rings is a fantastic book series,” he added, and Sam’s face lit up.

Dean let out a long-suffering sigh when Sam started Cas on a conversation about Tolkien, and he excused himself to get another beer. When he returned, Bobby close behind him, he threw a pillow at Sam’s head, which led to Sam throwing it back, knocking Dean’s beer to the floor, and then it was war. Bobby shot Cas an eye-roll, which only made him laugh harder.

The rest of the week passed much the same. Castiel went to bed each night with sore cheeks from smiling. On Saturday, Sam roped him into pouring toothpaste into Dean’s shampoo bottle. The roar they heard from the shower that night had them nearly on the floor laughing. Dean got his revenge on Sam moments later, barreling out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel to give his brother a large, wet hug. Unbeknownst to Dean, his retaliation involved Cas as well; it took great effort to keep his eyes focused on anything but Dean’s bare midsection.

Dean dragged him to all of his favorite spots in Lawrence, places he remembered from early childhood and past Christmases with Bobby. Watching Dean in his element, Cas gave up. Resistance was futile. Cas didn’t fall in love with Dean in Lawrence, but he stopped trying to open a parachute against it. And while that observably changed nothing, for Cas, it changed everything. He’d already lost the game — what was the point in denying himself the consolation prize?

He leaned into the ache that came with the brilliance of Dean’s smiles. He relished the knot in his stomach when Dean spoke to everyone, but looked at Cas like it was just for him. He stole glances. He hid smiles. Dean permeated his thoughts and invaded his dreams. It hurt like hell, sleeping alone on an air mattress, wanting nothing more than to be laying next to the man in the other room. But the highs were addicting, made greater by the pain that followed them. Though he’d been down this road before, hopelessly in love with someone who would never, could never love him back, Dean felt different. Dean felt all-consuming.

Castiel had fallen, and he wasn’t sure if he would ever rise again.

Christmas with the Winchesters made every holiday celebration Cas had attended look boring. Ellen Harvelle and her daughter, Jo, arrived in the morning, each giving him a hug like they’d known him for years. The moment she walked in, Ellen was yelling at Dean to “get his ass in the kitchen.” He grabbed Cas by the arm and pulled him along.

Cas spent the rest of the day watching Dean and Ellen cook, helping when he could, then having a raucous meal on the floor of the living room, A Christmas Story playing on the old TV. Bobby popped open two bottles of cheap champagne, much to the chagrin of Jo and Sam, who were provided sparkling grape juice instead. They exchanged gifts, and Dean looked at Cas like he’d just won the lottery after opening Cas’s gift to him, a limited edition copy of Houses of the Holy. When Bobby and Ellen moved to the kitchen to clean up, Dean led Cas outside to the Impala.

“It was too big to hide in there, and I’m shit at wrapping, so I just left it in the car,” Dean said, a little sheepish. He opened the trunk, and Cas gasped.

Inside sat a vintage black typewriter, an Underwood Champion. The paint was chipped everywhere, the letters on the keys nearly worn-off.

“It’s not in great shape,” Dean said, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “But it was the coolest one they had at the antique shop. It’s kind of useless, since you have a laptop and all, but —”

Cas interrupted him by pulling him into a tight hug. Dean made a surprised sound, but wrapped his arms around Cas’s back.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas said into his shoulder. He pulled away. “It’s perfect.”

Dean shrugged, but looked pleased all the same.

“I have something else for you, too,” Cas said before he could change his mind. Dean crossed his arms.

“Dude, you already went way too hard with the vinyl,” Dean said.

Cas rolled his eyes and started his way back to the house. Dean shut the trunk and followed.

Cas grabbed his backpack and pulled out the stack of paper, his heart pounding loudly in his ears. He all but shoved it into Dean’s chest, who gave him a confused look as he took hold of the gift.

“It’s the first part of my first draft,” Cas explained as Dean read the cover page. Dean’s eyes were wide when he looked back at Cas. “It’s a selfish gift, really,” Cas said. “I want to know what you think.”

Dean broke into a slow grin. “This is awesome, Cas,” he said. “I can’t wait to read it. Thank you.”

They were supposed to leave Lawrence on New Year’s Day, but Dean and Cas were both too hungover to even think about making the trip. They stayed an extra night, much to the delight of Sam. The three of them spent New Year’s marathoning the Harry Potter movies. As usual, Dean spent most of the time reciting lines and pointing out his favorite scenes to Cas. Eventually, Sam became irritated enough that he told Dean to shove it, to which Dean responded that Cas liked hearing his thoughts, thank you very much. Dean kicked him in the ribs when Sam rolled his eyes and mumbled something like “Sorry for messing up your game.” Cas pretended not to hear that, pretended not to see Dean give Sam a glare that said, bring that up again, and I’ll kill you. All the same, he couldn’t help but wonder…

But, no. Dean wasn’t flirting with him, Cas knew that much. Sam just said the first thing he could think of to get a rise out of Dean.

They didn’t end up leaving until after dinner the next day, Sam and even Bobby pulling both of them in for hugs. Dean turned on the radio for the first half of the drive, but kept the volume low. He was quiet, and although Cas wanted to ask, he allowed Dean to sit in whatever he was feeling, watching the flat landscape pass outside the passenger window.

Dean had forgotten to tank up in Lawrence, so they stopped for gas in Emporia. It was dark by then, the unnatural white fluorescents shining starkly against the night sky. Cas stayed in the passenger seat as Dean pumped the gas. Cas watched him intently from the safety of the cab, another stolen moment wherein he allowed the full depth of his feelings to overcome him. It hurt, as it always did, but he thought the pain of wanting what he could never have was becoming softer, more bearable, like he might be able to live with it.

Dean opened the car door, and a rush of cold air assaulted the cab. “It’s nice out tonight,” Dean said. Cas hummed in agreement, contemplating Dean’s languid movements as he pulled his hoodie over his head. It was torturous, the way his shirt rode up to reveal a torso chiseled like marble, dusted with freckles. It was impossible not to stare. He looked away just before Dean looked at him again.

“I’m gonna go grab a snack,” he said. “You want anything?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Cas said.

Dean returned momentarily with an already-half empty package of powdered donuts, grinning widely. Cas rolled his eyes as Dean reentered the cab.

“Prudent,” he deadpanned.

“These things are fucking magic,” Dean said before making a completely inappropriate noise as he popped another into his mouth. Cas averted his eyes.

“Do you eat the most unhealthy foods in existence on purpose?” Cas asked.

Dean looked at him with mock affront. “I just eat what tastes good,” he said.

The Impala roared to life. Dean opened the window to toss the empty package into a nearby trash can, dusting his fingers off in the air. He turned back to Cas, the right side of his mouth covered in powdered sugar.

“Ready to go?”

Cas frowned. “You look like a small child in a donut shop,” he said.

“What?” Dean rubbed a hand over his mouth, then raised his eyebrows at Cas. “Better?”

“Barely,” Cas said, his frown deepening. And then his hand was moving without his permission, reaching up to dust the remaining white from the side of Dean’s mouth. It might have been nothing, were it not for the fact that his thumb lingered just a moment too long. Cas was staring at Dean’s lips, the breath stolen from his lungs. Shit.

“Cas?” Dean said, an eyebrow cocked.

Cas pulled his hand back like he’d been burned. “What?” He croaked. His throat felt like sandpaper.

Dean was looking at him with a mix of curiosity and melancholy, and Cas was done for. After all this time, every trip to the dining hall, every movie watched on a shared beanbag, every midnight trip to Taco Bell, it was here that Cas put the final nail in the coffin. It was at a shitty gas station in the middle-of-nowhere, Kansas, that Dean discovered his secret.

“Nothing,” Dean said slowly. As they pulled out of the gas station parking lot, Dean didn’t even bother to turn on the radio. Cas only dared a single glance in Dean’s direction, but when he did, he found Dean’s eyebrows knit in concentration, his jaw set, like this drive was the most important thing he’d ever done.

The air felt like it was about to condense with the weight of the silence. That final hour of the drive had Cas fidgeting, turning his phone over and over in his hands. Dean was perfectly still, hardly moving his eyes from the road. Dean, the definition of nervous energy, wholly devoted to a single task. Cas could have laughed at the irony if he hadn’t been silently begging for immediate reorganization into an inanimate object.

Because nothing in the history of unrequited love confessions could beat this. Cas didn’t have a prayer. And maybe Dean would pretend he hadn’t seen it, maybe they’d never talk about it. But everything would be different. Dean would find excuses to miss dinner, Cas would pretend to be exhausted every Tuesday night. Dean would break the news that he’d found a different roommate for the following school year. Cas would remark that they should keep in touch at the year’s end, and Dean would agree with a clap on the back, and they would never speak to each other again.

Finally, mercifully, Dean pulled into the dorm parking lot. Cas exhaled hard, as if he’d been holding his breath. Dean gave him a quizzical glance, which Castiel promptly ignored. When Dean shifted into park, Cas had his hand on the door handle immediately. He was about to open it, to take a breath of frigid, fresh air, when Dean grabbed his other wrist.

“Cas.” Dean’s voice was barely above a whisper, gravelly and sincere in a way that sent a shock through Cas’s spine.

Cas turned to face him. “What?” Cas said, trying to ignore the flames creeping up his arm.

“Thanks for, uh,” Dean started, but he cleared his throat. “Thanks for coming. To Lawrence.”

“Of course,” Cas said, and his voice sounded dead, even to him. He tried to infuse it with some vitality as he finished. “Thank you for inviting me. I had a great time.”

Dean nodded. His hand was still wrapped around Cas’s wrist, and he was looking out of the windshield.

Cas raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t we… Go inside?” It came out like a question.

Dean’s eyes flicked to his. “Yeah,” he said, but he still wasn’t letting go. And Cas thought he should look away, should open the door, but then the inaction lasted too long. Something about the way Dean was looking at him burned, and he was chewing on the inside of his cheek, like there was something he was trying to convince himself to say.

Cas wasn’t sure if he really whispered Dean’s name, or if he imagined it. All he knew was, one moment Dean was staring at Cas, lips parted. The next, there was a hand on the back of Cas’s neck and stubble against his cheek and a pair of lips rough against his. Dean was kissing him, and Cas had imagined it so many times he could do nothing but freeze and hope he never woke up from this dream.

Dean pulled away abruptly, too soon, and the give-or-take two feet between them might have ripped a hole in the space-time continuum, it was so cosmically wrong.

“Shit, that was — I’m so sorry, Cas I didn’t —” Dean was holding his head in his hands, but his words were taking eons to reach Cas’s ears. He just sat, staring in disbelief. Every place Dean had touched was scorched with the absence of him. “I’ll email someone — I’ll try to move out for this semester — fuck, I’m such an idiot,” Dean was saying, and those words shocked Cas back to his plane of existence.

“Move out?” He croaked, and his voice sounded foreign to his own ears. “Why?”

Dean looked at him in anguish. “I shouldn’t have — I’m an idiot.” His voice sounded broken and raspy. “I fucked up on Thanksgiving, and now, shit, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You remember Thanksgiving?” Cas blurted.

Dean tilted his head. “How could I forget that?”

Cas furrowed his brow. “What exactly was your mistake on Thanksgiving?”

Dean stared at him. “The whole damn thing, Cas,” he sputtered. “And now this, and, goddammit, you’re my best friend and I can’t control myself long enough to…” Dean trailed off, and Cas finally understood. Dean had misinterpreted his shock, felt Cas’s stiff and tardy reply and taken it to mean he wasn’t interested. A bubble of hysterical laughter escaped him at the irony.

Dean’s expression darkened. “Yeah, this is fucking hilarious, Cas —”

Cas cut him off. He closed the distance between them, and he could have laughed at the woeful inadequacy of his fantasies when compared to this. It was stilted and desperate, and the center console was digging into Cas’s knee, and an uncomfortable cold was seeping into the cab. But Dean’s fingers were tangled in his hair and he tasted like Diet Coke and cigarettes and he was muttering Cas with every breath and Cas thought he might die in that parking lot because he simply would not allow this to end.

The world had shifted when they finally parted. Dean was looking at him with wonder and confusion. Cas knew he was putting on a similar display. It was dark. Dean’s face was only half-illuminated in the parking lot, but everything about him was brilliant. It was almost too much, like maybe if Cas looked away he’d find himself blind. Cas felt the near-overwhelming urge to kiss him again, to rediscover every plane of Dean’s face he’d already committed to memory.

But he remained in his place, half twisted in the passenger’s seat, because this demanded all manner of explanation. Cas swallowed hard.

“You…” Dean’s voice was a gravelly whisper. “What?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Cas replied, breathless.

“You’re not — You’re not pissed?”

“That depends,” Cas said, his heart hammering against his chest. “What was that?”

“I —” Dean started, but stopped himself. His leg was bouncing rapidly, and he reached into the pocket of his jeans, presumably for a cigarette. Cas grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Dean,” he said in a stern voice.

Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Dammit, Cas,” he said. “What do you want me to say?”

“The truth,” Cas said, a little taken aback.

“The truth,” Dean repeated, his eyes remaining resolutely shut. Another deep breath. “It wasn��t supposed to go like this,” he said finally.

And, whatever Cas had been expecting, it wasn’t that. “What?”

“I was gonna — I dunno, I was gonna do it right. I’ve been meaning to do it right, ask you to fucking dinner or something, but then I thought you hated me after Thanksgiving, and you were busy all the time, and then we were in Lawrence, and —”

“We go to dinner every night,” Cas said. Dean wasn’t making sense.

Dean finally opened his eyes, only to give Cas a death-stare. “No, dumbass, something a little nicer than the friggin’ dining hall.” He sighed. “But, of course, in my car. What am I, sixteen?”

“A date,” Cas said, finally catching up. “You were going to ask me on a date.”

Dean winced a little. “Yeah.”

“But you didn’t —”

“Thanks for the reminder.”

“— Because you thought I hated you.”

“A little bit.”

Cas smiled incredulously. “If this is a joke, it’s a terrible one.”

Dean glared at him. “Not a joke, Cas.”

“But you’re not — Dean, I thought you were straight.”

Cas felt bad about the statement immediately as Dean winced, but it was true. Nothing was adding up. Dean had never shown an interest in men before, at least not around Cas, and Cas didn’t think he could stand to be Dean’s experimental phase. But he reeled his insecurity back in as he added, “You don’t have to explain anything to me. I’m just… Confused.”

Dean let out a hard breath. “No, I know, I know,” Dean said. “I dunno. Guess I never really thought about it before.” He paused. “I was too scared to think about it.”

Cas felt his heart break at that. There was a story there, a million things to unpack, but it was obviously a feat for Dean to say as much as he already had. Cas left it alone.

Dean cleared his throat. “Point is,” he said, “this was a long time coming, but I’m an idiot and couldn’t work up the balls.” He was staring hard at his hands, the admission taking enormous effort.

A little nervous without the excuse of the heat of the moment, Cas put a hand on Dean’s neck and kissed him, again, short and tender. “You’re not an idiot,” Cas said.

“Guess not,” Dean said through a breathless laugh.

Cas cocked his head. “You really thought I hated you?” He asked, his eyes searching Dean’s.

“What else was I supposed to think?” Dean asked. “I thought that was it, you were done with me.” Dean furrowed his brow. “Why’d you do that?”

“Avoid you?”

“Yeah. I mean, if you didn’t — if you weren’t mad.”

Cas stared at him. “Dean, I can barely remember anything we did on Thanksgiving, much less anything I might have said.” He paused. “And then we were… I didn’t know what to think. Not to mention, up until about five minutes ago, I thought you were — that you weren’t interested.” Cas ran a hand through his hair. “I was worried I might ruin our friendship.”

Something like realization dawned on Dean’s face. He let out another laugh. “Guess we’re a couple of dumbasses.”

“Maybe,” Cas said with a small smile. “Let’s go inside.”

Dean nodded, and they exited the car and made their way upstairs. And it might have been any other night, save their shoulders touching, fingers brushing, silence charged with something new. Cas unlocked their door, letting Dean in. When he turned after shutting the door behind him, Dean was there, and Cas didn’t even have time to turn on the light before he was shoved hard against the door. Dean’s mouth was hot and his hands were desperate. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Cas thought they should probably talk about this, about them, but then Dean’s breathing hitched as Cas caught his bottom lip between his teeth, and the thoughts stopped coming.

Cas’s bare back was cold against the linoleum floor, but Dean was warm against his chest. He stared at the ceiling in the dark, his mind scrambled from pleasure and the shock of being wanted.

“Cas,” Dean said against his chest. Cas threaded his fingers through Dean’s hair.

“Yes?”

Dean shifted, perching on his arm, looking down at Cas. “You — you want this?” He said.

Cas stretched his arms up and rested his head on top of his hands. “This?” He asked. Dean was being intentionally vague, but Cas couldn’t exist in limbo. He had to hear the words, as clear as Dean could make them.

Dean gave him a look for a moment, but relented. “Yeah, I know. Okay. This,” he said, gesturing between the two of them. “You and me. Us. Like this.”

“Oh,” Cas said lightly. “That’s what you meant?” Dean rolled his eyes and shoved him. Cas laughed. “The answer is yes.”

A small smile, but it faltered as Dean spoke again. “Are you sure?” He said. “I don’t — I might be really shit at this, you know.”

And Cas did know. There were a million little complications, things they would have to figure out, problems he hadn’t even begun to consider. That might have been terrifying, but the prospect of never having Dean, that was worse.

“I’m sure,” he said quietly. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, no hesitation.

Cas sighed as Dean traced circles on his chest. “It’s worth it to try.”

Cas was in between sleep and consciousness when something warm shifted around his back. Whatever dream he’d been having, it felt remarkably real.

“Wake up, dumbass,” he heard Dean say affectionately. Cas didn’t want this dream to end; he could steal a few more minutes of sleep. He burrowed his head deeper into the pillow, willing the dream to continue.

But then there was a pair of lips against his ear, and they were entirely real. “C’mon,” Dean said in a low voice. “First day of class.”

For a moment, Cas was confused. Dean was in his bed. Why was Dean in his bed? But as he rubbed his eyes, the events of the night before came crashing into him.

Oh.

Nerves pooled in the pit of his stomach. He half expected Dean to rush out some kind of apology, to tell him that everything had been a big mistake. But when Cas turned to face him, Dean was beaming.

“Mornin’,” he said.

“Good morning,” Cas said, awestruck. Dean needed a shave, and his hair was flat on one side from sleep, but Cas still felt his breathing hitch as he stared at Dean, unfettered for the first time. Beautiful.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Coffee?”

“Please,” Cas said with a nod. Dean moved to climb out of the bed, but he paused. He turned back toward Cas and kissed him, slow and deep. When he finally broke away, Dean was smiling even wider.

“Awesome,” he said, earning a snort from Cas.

If Cas had worried about Dean’s intentions, it was unfounded. At lunch, as Dean talked to Cas like he was the only person at the table, Meg rolled her eyes and told them to “get a room.” Dean responded by throwing an arm around Cas and saying, “Maybe later.” Meg gaped at the two of them for about ten seconds before regaining composure, shifting to more general conversation. Cas received a text from her immediately after they parted ways.

MM (1:12 p.m.)

holy shit!!!!

MM (1:13 p.m.)

ur going to tell me everything tmrw

At first, Cas wasn’t sure how to respond, because he wasn’t sure what he was allowed to say. That is, until Dean answered a call from Benny, saying, “Sorry, man, I’m not going tonight, I have a date. Yeah, with Cas. Shut up.” Cas smiled to himself as he replied to Meg.

CN (2:32 p.m.)

Absolutely.

The three weeks that followed were easily the best of Cas’s life. The rituals remained unchanged; Tuesday was movie night, dinner was at seven-p.m. in the dining hall, late nights doing homework demanded a fast food run. But little things shifted; Dean made it to his birthday without going to a single party, and his bed remained perpetually made. Cas amassed a greater collection of t-shirts that weren’t his, and he only ran when he knew Dean was in class.

Cas woke up to Dean shifting around him as he attempted to get out of bed for an early class. Cas slung an arm tightly around his midsection in protest.

“Too early,” he mumbled.

He heard Dean chuckle. “I thought class was important,” he said, but he shifted closer to Cas nonetheless.

Cas grumbled something incomprehensible as he pulled out his phone. When he saw the date, however, he shot up, suddenly wide awake.

At Dean’s look of confusion, he said, “It’s your birthday.”

“Yeah.”

Cas leaned down and kissed Dean deeply. He pulled away to mutter, “Happy birthday, Dean,” against his lips. Dean closed the small distance as soon as Cas had said the words, and this time it was decidedly heavier, hot breaths mixing and hands pulling each other closer.

They were interrupted by Dean’s second alarm. Dean scowled as he turned it off. He looked at Cas expectantly, but Cas had his arms folded against his chest.

“Class is important,” he reminded Dean.

“But it’s my birthday.”

“And?”

“Asshole,” Dean grumbled, but he kissed Cas on the jaw as he climbed down from the bed. He put on a pot of coffee as Cas followed him off the bed, wrapping his arms around Dean from the back.

“I got you something,” Cas said into Dean’s shoulder. Dean twisted around to face him.

“Cas, you didn’t have to do that. I told you, birthday’s are dumb anyway.”

Cas made a face. “I happen to be endlessly thankful for your birth.”

Dean shook his head, but he was smiling. “What is it?”

“You’ll find out on Friday when we go to Benny’s.”

“We’re going to Benny’s?”

Cas bit the inside of his cheek. “It was supposed to be a surprise,” he said, “Benny and Charlie both insisted. But you once told me you have a strong aversion to surprise parties.”

“Y’all are throwing me a surprise party?”

“No,” Cas rushed. “No, that’s why I’m telling you right now.”

“But it’s a party.”

“Yes.”

“You couldn’t have told me yesterday? How long have y’all been planning this?”

“Only a week.”

“A week?” Dean paused, his eyes narrowed. “Who all’s gonna be there?” Dean grumbled, already trying to assess the threat of too much attention on him at once.

“Just Benny, Charlie, and Charlie’s girlfriend,” Cas placated.

Dean relaxed at that. “And you, right?”

“I’ll come if you want me there,” Cas said, a little sheepish. He hadn’t really planned on going, wanting to give Dean some time alone to spend with his friends. Cas felt like he’d accidentally achieved a monopoly on Dean’s attention.

Dean gaped at him. “Dude, of course I want you there.”

Cas gave him a soft smile. “Then I’ll be there.”

Dean almost convinced Cas to let him skip class — almost — but with great effort, he resolutely pushed Dean out the door.

“Damn, all right, if you want to get rid of me that bad,” Dean griped, smirking. “See you later.”

“Goodbye, Dean,” Cas said with a smile.

They didn’t make it to the party.

Friday afternoon, after spending far too long in bed, Cas was sitting on the beanbag, Dean’s head resting on his lap. They’d taped Dean’s comforter over the window, leaving the room completely dark, save for the film playing on Dean’s television.

“Fucking asshole,” Dean was saying as Neil’s father came on screen. Cas hummed in agreement, paying more attention to his fingers threading their way through Dean’s hair. Suddenly, Dean’s phone began to ring. He shifted to check the caller ID, then stood up quickly.

“Wait, pause it, I gotta take this,” he said. Cas obliged. “Hey, Bobby! How’s it goin’?”

Cas reached above his head to stretch, but he faltered when he heard Dean say, “Dad? What’s wrong?”

Cas stood abruptly as Dean’s phone slipped out of his hand, shattering upon impact with the linoleum. He was standing, his jaw clenched, staring at absolutely nothing.

“Dean?”

Dean remained silent, no indication that he had heard Cas. Cas placed a hand on his left shoulder, prompting Dean into movement.

Still saying nothing, Dean dumped the contents of his backpack onto the floor, filling it with things from his wardrobe. Cas followed him, frantic.

“What are you doing? Dean, talk to me,” he said. But Dean was on a mission, it seemed. After stuffing his feet into unlaced boots, he threw the door open and stalked out.

At a complete loss, Cas pulled on his own shoes and followed, making sure to grab his key as he shut the door to their room behind him. Dean was already halfway to the stairs, and Castiel ran to catch up with him. Dean let the door to the stairs shut in Cas’s face.

“Dean!” Cas called. Dean was fleeing down the stairs like his life depended on it. Cas only barely caught up to him as they reached the ground floor and exited to the parking lot.

Finally within reach, Cas grabbed Dean’s shoulder, hard. Dean slowed, but didn’t stop.

“Dean,” Cas started. Still no response. “Dean! What happened?”

They had reached the Impala. Dean unlocked the car and threw his bag haphazardly in the front seat. He stared resolutely at the ground.

“I gotta go, Cas. I’ll explain everything later.” The first words Dean had spoken to Cas in nearly ten minutes. His voice was thick.

“Dean, where are you going?” Cas asked, desperate. “The party — there’s class on Monday!”

Dean looked up at him then, and Cas was struck by the mixture of fury and sadness in his eyes. “Screw the party and screw class. Family emergency.”

Cas watched helplessly as Dean sped out of the parking lot, taking the turn so fast the back end of the Impala swayed a little. He stood in the middle of the parking lot for what felt like an eternity, the cold January air seeping into his bones. Eventually, he made his way back to the dorms, sighing in relief as the warm air of the hallway hit him.

When Cas reentered the room, he stared at Dean’s shattered cell phone. He didn’t even bother to clean up the mess, just let out a choked sigh. Cas fell into the beanbag, his head in his hands.

——

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blogmother793 · 3 years

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Writing A Life Story Examples

Personal Narrative My Life I never really thought about where my life was going. I always believed life took me where I wanted to go, I never thought that I was the one who took myself were I wanted to go. Once I entered high school I changed the way I thought. This is why I chose to go to college. I believe that college will give me the keys to unlock the doors of life. This way I can choose for myself where I go instead of someone choosing for me. I have chosen to go to the local community college to get used to the college experience. College life can be an exciting time but at the same time it can be a challenge. I feel that starting out at the community college would be a better chose than 'jumping' into life at a…show more content… I know this is what I want to do with my life. I want to be a positive influence in the lives of children. I want to be able to stand up and show the children that it is okay to be yourself and stand up for what you believe in. I am a well round student. For nine years I was actively involved in a girls organization. This experience taught me many things. We were actively involved in community service activities, for which I received the Silver Award. ( The second highest award in the organization.) I learned about the value of friendship and patients with others. This organization first introduced me to my future career. I was also involved for three and a half years in a student government club on campus. In this club I learned many life lessons. One of which was the value of hard work. I was one of the few people that organized the Junior/Senior Prom of 2000. My responsibilities included planning corranation, buying and organizing decorations, planning the busing schedule, booking the photographers, fundraising, ect. This taught me about hard work. But the best part of it was going to Prom knowing I was one of the only reasons that it happened. As far as school goes, my schedule is very diverse. I am taking child development lab, which is a class where students from my high school can go to the local elementary schools and work one on one with the students. I have work in the elementary school for two and a half years. I

Writing A Life Story Template

Writing A Life Story Examples Paragraph

Writing A Life Story Examples Essay

Examples Of A Life Story

Your 3-Sentence Life Story. What to write: Try to summarize your life in two or three sentences. Think about your past. “But mostly think about who you are today and how you got that way,” says Roberta Temes, PhD, psychologist and author of How to Write a Memoir in 30 Days. “Maybe you want to focus on a certain relationship, maybe a certain theme.or maybe a feeling that has persisted for years.”. First Person Writing Examples From Literature. When authors use the first-person point of view in their writing, they use I, me and my to show that the narrator is a character in the story.The writer may also use the plural first person: we, us and our.The narrator may be the main character, an antagonist or a minor character observing the action.

A short life story can be an alternative to writing an obituary in advance. When the obituary is needed, all the facts of the life are already at hand.

A life story can be composed for oneself or a relative or friend. It only needs to be a couple of pages long. A life story has the advantage of being able to be reviewed by the person involved. This step is good for checking the accuracy of facts and for the tone as well. A life story also can be a way to trigger and consolidate memories of the older – and the not-so-older – members of the family.

As well, Grandma's or Grandpa's life story (while they are still living) can be presented as a memento to children and grandchildren.

The best way to start is to get started. Get ideas down on paper, and organize them either by timeline, theme, or both. Don't worry about style, it can always be improved later. Many events of any person's life will sound bland and ordinary, but need to be included.

A note here about personal diaries (or journals). A diary is written for the person writing it; a life story or memoir is written for other people. If a diary has been kept, this could be source material in preparing a short life story or a longer memoir. Also, if a diary has been kept: make sure there are instructions for after death to either have it passed down or destroyed.

Because a life story is written while the person is still living (and so of course does not wind up with funeral arrangements), the ending can be happy, and even oriented to the future. Whether the story is written chronologically or thematically, consider finishing the story with a positive theme in any case. Cast the final sentence so it ends with an upbeat or future-oriented word.

Look for a way to end like: 'Belonging to the coin collecting club has been a source of many good memories and continues to bring to his life much enjoyment.'

Or: 'She has participated in numerous running competitions over the years, and is preparing to enter the local senior's event next year.'

Or even: 'He has been greatly interested in the lives of his grandchildren, and looks forward to seeing them grow and change in the future.'

Alternatively, end with three words that sum up the person's life. (Or, think of six words; see the review Six Words To Describe A Life?)

A basic two-page life story also can be a start to a longer memoir. For more on this subject, see the article “Memoir Man” a Born Storyteller.

Of course, having already written the life story, when the time comes for the obituary, the facts, anecdotes, and themes of the life lived are already there.

Life Story Writing Tips

Usethis website. Look at the Obituary Template as a guidefor necessary information.

Getstarted. Themost important thing is to get started. Get your ideas down onpaper. Organize your ideas either by timeline, theme, or acombination. Worry about improvingthe style later. For on-going and current events, use the present tense.

Get allthe facts. While you are collecting ideas, include all the facts, forexample the complete birth dates of ancestors as well as children and grandchildren. This ismore detailed than an obituary needs to be, but can be very useful forposterity. Ideas for details that are often missed: streetaddresses where people lived, locations where deceased ancestors areburied.

Deal with diaries. Incorporate any information from them; confirm instructions for them after death.

End on a high note. Conclude with three words that sum up the life, or with anon-going theme or interest in theperson's life. Make the ending positive, even inspiring.

Read itto others. Read aloud a draft at a family gathering to check facts, togetfeedback on descriptions, and to generate more ideas. This process is away to not onlyconfirm, but also relive and revive old memories.

Edit. As with any writing, revising improvesthe final product. This process not only spots errors, but alsoimproves the style. An excellent way to improve any writingis to set it aside for a few days, then look at it with fresh eyes –your own or someone else's.

Proofread. Then proofread again.

Send itout. Distribute the completed life story as akeepsake to family members. It could even prompt the writing of storiesfor other familymembers.

Consider alonger memoir. A short life story can be the basis of a longer work.

Keep itAvailable. Use the life story as a handyresource for when the obituary is needed.

* * *

See Also: Memoir Writing: Ten Tips Six Words To Describe A Life? “Memoir Man” a Born Storyteller A Family History Writing Workshop Live Well, Do Good

More From Obituary Guide:

Books You May Find of Interest:

Not Quite What I Was Planning: Six-Word Memoirs

Writing an Obituary Worth Reading: A Guide to Writing a Fulfilling Life Review

Find the Good: Unexpected Life lessons From a Small-Town Obituary Writer

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Having the Last Say: Capturing Your Legacy in One Small Story

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Obit: Inspiring Stories of Ordinary People Who Led Extraordinary Lives

For All Time: A Complete Guide to Writing Your Family History

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corishadowfang · 4 years

Text

Cut Scenes: Putting Up Posters

Working on editing the current draft for On my Heart, and I’ve come across a chapter that I’m likely going to have to cut, and I am...so sad about it. A lot of the stuff that’s here is going to be recycled and used in different places throughout the story, but I wanted to put the scene as-is somewhere. (Disclaimer: The scene itself is currently only lightly-edited.)

The scene itself is under the cut! (Also, head’s up, this is about...13 pages in Word, so...not a particularly short scene.)

Trigger Warnings: Aiden has a panic attack and a flashback towards the end of the scene. Please stay safe and don’t read if you think that’s something that might be difficult for you.

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He stayed a few paces behind Jackie as she walked into the city, trying to ignore the glances she kept sending his way. This is stupid, he thought bitterly. I’m not going to do anything bad. How the hell am I actually supposed to put these things up with her watching me the whole time? He shot her a frustrated glance. It’s not like she wants me to get pardoned.

But he had to do it sometime. Otherwise, what else was he supposed to do?

Aiden took a deep breath, free hand slipping into his pocket. Nothing met his fingers, and he fumbled around a bit, patting his pockets, before cursing quietly and slapping a hand over his face. Shit, I forgot the tape.

Kiru tilted his head and trilled quietly.

Aiden’s hand ran down his cheek. Okay, okay. This is—fine. It’s fine. I just have to—give them out, I guess.

His eyes darted around the street, pointedly not focusing on Jackie’s back. “Uh. Hey!” He tried to wave a person down.

Jackie stopped, giving him a confused look, before seeming to realize the statement hadn’t been directed to her. Her eyebrows furrowed.

Aiden’s cheeks burned. He tried not to look at her.

The man he’d waved down gave him a slightly befuddled look. “Did you need something?”

“Uh.” He shoved the paper into the man’s hands. “Here.”

This is not fine.

The man took it with a slightly confused expression, but Aiden turned on his heel and left, hurrying past Jackie.

Jackie, to his surprise, didn’t say anything, and he didn’t stop to look at her expression.

This is stupid. This is so dumb, they’re going to figure it out, I’m going to get caught, or they’re going to think I’m some weird—I don’t know, criminal sympathizer, even though I’m not, I’m not a criminal, I—

Kiru tugged on the papers.

“Wha—Kiru, wait, what are you doing?”

Kiru pulled one free, in the process causing Aiden to lose his grip. Some of the papers scattered, and Aiden fumbled to catch them.

Kiru ignored him, instead taking the poster and running to a passing woman. She bent, looking slightly confused.

Aiden ducked his head, cheeks burning.

Abruptly someone shoved a poster in his face.

Aiden yelped, tumbling backwards.

“What is this?” Jackie asked, voice pitching incredulously.

“A, uh. A poster?”

Jackie gave him an exasperated look, then looked at Aiden’s crudely-made poster. “‘Provenance’s Dragon isn’t the monster you think he is. He acted in self-defense. He was attacked by a man named Tyson Gable.’”

“Well, I—he was.” Aiden looked glumly at the stack of posters. He wasn’t much of an artist; his attempts at rendering a dragon looked more like blobs (but he supposed that made it less real). He couldn’t say he was much of a story-teller, either, and had ended up throwing whatever he could think of haphazardly onto the paper (but it was the truth, wasn’t it?). The posters were obviously created by an amateur, and probably wouldn’t be taken seriously.

This was dumb.

Kiru returned and stole another poster, running back down the street.

Jackie asked, “What exactly are you trying to accomplish here?”

Aiden struggled not to grind his teeth. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

Aiden stood, clutching the posters a little tighter.

“What the hell are you trying to do? Stir up sympathy?” Jackie waved the poster at him. “Did you think these would work?”

“Not so loud,” he hissed. “Just because you might want to get caught—”

“I don’t,” she growled, looking like she was a half second away from throttling him. “I want to get to the bottom of—whatever this is.” She gestured vaguely at him, and at Kiru, who had returned for another poster. “But I don’t want to babysit you while you’re throwing these half-assed attempts to get out of punishment at people, especially if you might get us caught.”

Fury burned bitter in Aiden’s throat and chest. He whipped around, stalking up to someone.

“Aiden—”

“Hey,” Aiden said, sounding bolder than he actually felt, “you know Provenance’s Dragon?”

The man blanched, then looked around wildly, confusion flashing across his face. “Yes?”

Aiden shoved a paper towards him. “Well, there are things you don’t know about his case.”

Kiru trilled approvingly.

Aiden tried not to feel self-conscious as the man took the poster. ‘Half-assed attempts.’ We’ll see. I’ll show you that I’m not—

The man’s exasperated sigh broke through his thoughts. “Sure, kid. I’m sure this is accurate.”

“Wha—it is!”

“Sure, sure, and you know more than the police.” The man gave him a patronizing look. “We don’t need any more people trying to justify dragons.”

“I’m not—”

The man shoved the paper back into his chest. “Listen, I don’t care if you want to play at social justice, or whatever, but leave me out of it.”

Aiden gawked as the man left.

Kiru let out a hiss, then snorted decisively.

“See?” Jackie said.

“It’s one person,” Aiden insisted, turning away pointedly.

Jackie caught his arm.

“Let go.”

“If you want to get yourself caught, then be my guest, but I’m not letting you act reckless while I’m still around.”

Kiru bit her.

Jackie jerked free, holding her arm tightly to her chest, eyes blown wide. “And call your Familiar off.” Her voice went unusually high.

Aiden muttered, “Like he’d listen,” at which Kiru made a pointed snort. Aiden took a deep breath and hurried forward, hoping Jackie would keep her distance long enough for him to do something. “Hey,” he said, flagging down another person, “can I talk to you about Provenance’s Dragon?”

The woman made a disgruntled face. “I’ve heard enough about that brat on the news.”

“I-I, I’m not—it’s not really like that, I just—oh, you’re leaving, o-okay. Uh, hey! Hey you! I have some information on Provenance’s Dragon.”

The man said, “That should really go to the police.”

“It’s, um—it’s not really that kind of—hey, wait!” He turned in a tight circle, trying to catch the eye of someone else. “Here!” He shoved the paper into their chest.

They jumped back, startled, crumpling the paper and walking away.

“You know,” someone said, startling him, “if you’re interested in Provenance’s Dragon, you’re talking to the wrong crowd.”

Aiden whipped around.

A man leaned against a building, watching him with a wry look.

“I-I’m sorry?”

“Your average person? They don’t give a shit about this whole thing. Well, aside from the whole ‘dragons may attack us’ thing.” The man pushed away from the wall. “But I can tell—you’re a kid who gets it.”

“I—thank you?” Aiden blinked, ignoring Kiru as he stood tense on his shoulder. “Who—who are these people?”

Someone grabbed his arm roughly, and it took him a moment to realize it was Jackie. “He’s not interested,” she growled.

The man lifted his hand. “Easy, easy, just trying to pass along information. Kid seemed curious—”

“We don’t want anything to do with Familiar users.”

The man barked a laugh. “Lady, you know that there are tons of Familiar users out there, right? What, do you put them all under the same label?”

Jackie tugged him away. “We’re leaving.”

“Jackie, wait!”

But Jackie was still stronger than him, and she tugged him unceremoniously into an alleyway, whipping him around to face her without letting go of his arm. “Drop the posters.”

Aiden tensed. His grip on them tightened a little. “No.”

“Drop them.”

“N-no!”

Jackie narrowed her eyes.

Aiden struggled to meet her glare, steeling himself as best he could, heart thundering. He managed a few seconds before he lowered his head, his grip on the posters loosening a little.

Kiru, however, didn’t seem ready to relent; he twisted down Aiden’s arm, chittering angrily in Jackie’s direction.

This time, Jackie didn’t move, though she did tense a little. “This is both dangerous and pointless. You understand that, don’t you?”

“It’s not.”

“It’s not? How is going up to people in the street talking about Provenance’s Dragon, unprovoked, not dangerous?”

“Y-you know, ‘unprovoked’ makes me sound like—like a criminal, and that’s probably a little harsh for handing out posters.”

“Like it or not, you are, a criminal, and—why is this thing still growling at me?”

Kiru’s flames whipped wildly, a low rumble running through his throat.

“Because he doesn’t like you.”

Jackie gave him an unimpressed look. “Familiars can’t form opinions on people. They can figure out whether someone is a potential threat—which is what I guess it’s responding to.” Jackie made a face, her grip on Aiden’s arm slackening enough that he could pull it free. “But they can’t think for themselves. They’re not really alive. They’re man-made abominations.”

Kiru’s growl deepened, and he jumped off Aiden’s arm.

Aiden rubbed his wrist. “What’s your problem with Familiars, anyways?”

Jackie gave him a look that he couldn’t read, one hand twitching towards her leg. She glanced aside. “Humans were never meant to use magic,” she began, carefully. “According to the Old Stories, humans and dragons were created at the beginning of time as balancing forces: one to guard magic, and one to guard creation. They were meant to shape the world together. But they fought instead, leading to dragons’ extinction.”

“Didn’t peg you for the religious type.”

Jackie turned her stern look back to him. “And now we think we can use what remains of these creatures we drove to extinction for our own benefit? Like we didn’t cause the genocide of their species? How arrogant are we?”

Aiden’s throat went dry.

“Familiars should’ve never been created.” Jackie released a heavy breath, kneeling reluctantly and fiddling with her bag. “I need to—to fix my prosthetic,” she said quietly. “And then we’re going back.”

A vague sense of hopelessness washed over Aiden, a heaviness in his chest and a bitter taste in his mouth, his mind turning over Jackie’s words slowly. That’s not—that wasn’t our fault. Not the fault of anyone living now, anyways. And—if we didn’t have Familiars, magic would’ve just disappeared entirely, right? Another, more terrifying thought fled through his mind. If we’d never made Familiars, then I would’ve never met Kiru.

It wasn’t until then that it dawned on him that his Familiar was still missing. He whipped around, looking for some flash of blue. “Kiru? Kiru!”

The Familiar didn’t reappear.

Jackie didn’t seem to be paying attention, slowly detaching her prosthetic, her attention focused on her bag.

Aiden sidled down the alleyway. He couldn’t have gone too far, right? He has to be this way somewhere.

When he came to the mouth of the alley, he still didn’t see Kiru immediately. Then blue flashed in the crowd, weaving amongst the people.

“Hey,” Jackie called, “what are you doing?”

“Just need to get Kiru,” he answered, ignoring Jackie’s cries of protest as he hurried down the street.

The Familiar had some distance on him, and had always been faster, leaving Aiden struggling to catch up as he wove through the crowd. “Kiru!” he shouted, hoping the Familiar would listen and come back. He didn’t—whether because he didn’t hear or because he didn’t want to, Aiden wasn’t sure. Aiden picked up the pace, trying to weave his way through the crowd a little better, eyes firmly on the distant speck of blue.

Kiru slowed after a time, eyes turning to something up ahead.

Aiden took the chance to close the distance, lunging and catching the Familiar. “Got you!”

Kiru yelped, squirming, before seeming to realize who held him, tilting his head backwards.

Aiden quirked an eyebrow at him. “What are you doing?”

The Familiar huffed, then struggled free. Aiden let him, watching as Kiru moved to get a stick. The Familiar dragged it through the dirt, occasionally glancing back at something.

Aiden tilted his head, then moved closer. The shaky lines in the ground vaguely resembled letters: a squiggly ‘s,’ a lopsided ‘c’, something that vaguely resembled an ‘o.’ “What are you—why are you writing?”

Kiru dropped the stick with a huff, looking away.

“Kiru.”

The Familiar reluctantly returned, phasing into Aiden’s hands. Vague frustration wormed through Aiden like a faint flame, along with images of Jackie scowling at them, echoes of her words about Familiars ringing through the back of Aiden’s skull. He blinked several times. Because of Jackie? It doesn’t matter what she thinks. We know better.

Yeah, but— More images, this time of reports on Provenance’s Dragon.

Aiden’s eyebrows furrowed. I’m not sure I get what you’re trying to say.

Kiru huffed, the frustration bubbling briefly before it was roughly shoved down.

Kiru, come on.

The Familiar didn’t respond.

Aiden bit back a frustrated sigh. Be that way, then. He leaned forward, brushing his fingers through the dirt. What were you trying to write, anyways? You’re not normally all that interested in writing.

It wasn’t until that moment that he finally glanced upwards. He stiffened. White Water High School stood in front of him, quiet for the moment, students and teachers likely still inside.

Aiden scrambled to his feet and stumbled a few steps away. Something clenched tightly in his chest. Oh. His hands shook.

Kiru tuned back in briefly, faint curiosity and concern briefly bubbling underneath his frustration.

Aiden took a couple of measured steps forward, fingers locking around the chain link fence. He swallowed convulsively. What period is it? It’s not even noon yet. Second period? Third? I’d be in Math or History, then.

His fingers tightened, hard enough that faint pain radiated through them. Did any of them notice when I disappeared? Did they care? Did James and the others wonder if something happened because they didn’t show up? His throat felt too tight, his eyes hot. If they had—if they’d just come like they said they would—then I would’ve never been on River Road when Tyson was there, and I never would’ve been attacked. The school blurred. I should’ve known better. I shouldn’t have gone. Stupid, stupid—of course they didn’t actually want to hang out with me, I’m just that crazy kid who talks to his Familiar, they were just humoring me, and now—hell, who’s going to want to be near me know? No one trusts a dragon.

“I should’ve just left you,” a voice spat, and for a moment Aiden thought he’d imagined it. He didn’t turn, waiting as Jackie stomped closer. “You can’t just run off.” She stopped, and several silent seconds passed. “Why did you come to a school?”

“I didn’t. Kiru did.” He took a shaky breath. “It’s my high school.”

Jackie didn’t respond. Several moments passed before she said, quieter, “We should go.”

“Y-yeah. Yeah, I know.” Reluctantly, he pried his fingers away from the fence.

“Hey!” someone shouted. “What are you two doing?”

Jackie and Aiden whipped towards the voice at the same moment. That was the first time Aiden noticed the police car parked in front of the building—and the officer coming their way.

Every thought seemed to screech to a halt. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe, his mind scrambling for purchase on the thoughts that kept sliding by, Kiru shouting warnings that weren’t made of words or images but sensations and emotions that said he needed to go, they needed to do something.

They’re here because of me, he realized, managing to catch hold of one of the floating thoughts. They’re here because I used Mach Five, and they need to find me, and now I’m right here in front of them—

The thought was enough to shake him out of his stupor. “Jackie,” he said, turning around.

But Jackie wasn’t there.

Aiden froze, suddenly uncertain of what to do, his mind screaming, She left me, I knew she didn’t like me, but she was supposed to be watching me, how could she just—

The frantic thoughts gave the police officer enough time to reach him. “Shouldn’t you be in class?” the officer asked. “And where’d your friend go?” The officer frowned, staring down the street, likely in the direction Jackie had gone.

Maybe he should chase her, Kiru thought. She’s clearly the dangerous one.

Aiden, mouth dry, heart hammering in his ears, couldn’t respond.

The officer glanced down at him, eyebrows furrowed.

Aiden tried to shift away. It’s fine, he thought. It’s fine. He doesn’t recognize me. I’m wearing a disguise. He doesn’t know.

But is it good enough? What if he sees right through it? What if, what if, what if—

“I’m home schooled,” he blurted, far too late.

The officer gave him a scrutinizing look. “Your parents just let you wander around during the day?”

“I-I don’t have a set schedule.”

The officer was still giving him that same look. Slowly, his attention turned to something lying on the ground.

Aiden’s gaze followed, and his heart leapt into his throat. The posters. He swiped them, trying to clutch them tightly to his chest.

The officer peeled one away.

“H-hey! Give that back.”

The officer’s expression turned unreadable.

Aiden held his breath, half-poised to run.

“What,” the officer asked carefully, “are you doing with this?”

“I-it’s for a project.”

“Is it, now.”

Aiden’s mind scrambled to find a response, but he couldn’t come up with something convincing, his brain screeching to a panicked halt.

“Kid, you know this is a dangerous criminal, right? I realize that the idea of turning into a dragon might be appealing, but you can’t just latch onto anyone who does that.”

Anger forced its way past Aiden’s reservations, and he snapped, “He’s not a criminal!”

The officer gave him a searching look.

“I-I mean, wasn’t—there’s more to the story. Probably. And everyone’s just—making assumptions.”

The officer watched him a long moment. “Maybe,” he said slowly, “but Mach Five is still illegal for a reason. We need to set an example, or else we’ll have chaos.” He gave the poster another careful look.

Aiden’s heart stuttered.

“Where are you even getting this information, anyways? The Chief’s the one who has the most information on the case, but I don’t think he ever released some of this.”

Whatever self-control Aiden had fled. He turned on his heel, sprinting away, barely hearing the startled shout of the officer over the rushing of his own blood. He hadn’t made it far when someone caught the back of his hood. He jerked, struggling, trying to free himself from the confines of his jacket. He’d just started to wiggle free when the officer caught his arm. The officer mouthed something, eyebrows furrowed, but Aiden couldn’t hear anything over the thundering of his heart.

He knows.

He struggled, trying to kick free.

He’s going to arrest me.

The officer reached for something in his pocket.

He knows he knows he knows he knows—

He reached, desperate, for Kiru’s familiar warmth, and the Familiar answered. Magic tugged free—

Keep hold of it. Guide it where it wants to go.

—and pulsed towards his chest, bubbling through in a burst. Blue flames streamed from underneath his shirt, billowing wildly beside his face.

The officer whipped back towards him, a startled expression crossing his face. Electricity was already crackling along his fingertips.

Don’t let him.

Aiden wasn’t sure whether the thought was his or Kiru’s, but he funneled the excess magic into his hand, firing his own burst of electricity, however weak and unfocused, at the officer.

The officer, on reflex, pulled away, releasing Aiden in the process and summoning a shield.

Aiden fell back, posters scattering across the ground. Whatever tenuous hold he’d had on the magic—Mach Stage?—fell apart, the flames disappearing and the strange, tingling, hot-cold feeling in his chest fading.

Move!

The voice was undoubtedly Kiru’s, the school and the street turning dark, shifting into a nighttime road beside the river, the officer morphing into the grisly form of Tyson, his own magic flaring unstably along his arms.

For a moment, Aiden had the inexplicable, overwhelming urge to lunge at him, a guttural voice inside him growling, This is your fault, you did this, you made me—

Aiden, run!

But he couldn’t win, he’d end up back in the river, ad this time he might not come back up for air—

He wasn’t sure where he was.

He fell, hands skidding across the sidewalk, pinpricks of blood bursting on his palms where they scraped the gravel. He took several shaky breaths.

It was daylight. Wasn’t it night a moment ago? Where was Tyson? Why wasn’t he on River Road? Wasn’t he just—

A car rushed by, and Aiden flinched away, scrambling into an alley. He shoved himself behind a dumpster, head bent beneath his knees, hands lifted to clutch the back of his head, breaths shuddering in his chest as his stomach rolled. Bile rose in his throat and filled his mouth. He held it in, breathing sharply through his nose, in and out, swallowing it again and trying not to take great, heaving gulps of air.

A voice that sounded eerily like his mother’s whispered, Breathe in slowly.

I can’t.

You can. Steady. With me.

Aiden tried to take a deep breath. It caught in his throat and rattled against the top of his ribcage.

Try it again.

He did, still shaky, still not deep. On a third attempt he managed to drag a decent amount of air into his lungs.

Hold it and count to five.

He scrunched his eyes closed and counted silently.

Now release, slowly. Count to five.

Aiden obeyed.

Repeat the process.

He followed the instructions, taking slow, deep breaths until he felt less light-headed and nauseous. He rested his head against his knees, sweat slick against his pant legs. Thanks.

Kiru said, That wasn’t me. His voice sounded oddly strained.

Oh. So I’m imaging it. Good. Great.

But then a voice—still familiar, but not the one he expected to hear—asked, “Steady?”

He lifted his head so quickly it spun.

Jackie crouched in front of him, hovering close by, like she wanted to approach but didn’t quite dare, an odd expression on her face.

What had happened slowly trickled back to Aiden, and whatever shock he felt, whatever gratitude—had she been the one to talk him out of his panic attack?—fled in the face of the anger that rose in his throat, bubbling out like fire. “You left.”

Jackie didn’t deny it, just stared at him with the same unreadable expression.

“Why?”

Jackie glanced aside.

The anger burned his throat, but it felt good, warm, because didn’t he deserve to be angry, after all this? It wasn’t even my fault! “Oh, what, were you hoping the cop would just take me? Was he one of your friends? Real nice of you, glad to know where your loyalties lie.”

“I didn’t want them to see me.”

Aiden laughed incredulously. “What? With a dragon?” He spat the word, the tears that sprung to his eyes as hot as the words in his throat. “Well, you know what? I guess that’s fair. No one else wanted to be seen around me, either, but hey, who’d want to spend time around the crazy kid who talks to his Familiar?” His fingernails dug into his scalp. “I guess it’s fine, everyone hates me, anyways, so what’s one more?”

Jackie turned back to him, expression twisting between discomfort and frustration. “The hell, kid, you did use Mach Five—”

“I didn’t ask to be a monster!”

The words echoed through the alley. Everything fell silent, save for Aiden’s ragged breathing. For a moment they stared at each other, Aiden trying desperately to control his breathing again, Jackie studying him with a wary expression.

Exhaustion swept through Aiden. His head drooped beneath its own weight, and he planted both hands on it, staring blankly at the ground.

Kiru sent waves of comfort, and Aiden allowed his own emotions to coil with it.

Jackie murmured, “We should head back.”

Aiden nodded, a quick, jerky motion that made his head spin. He got unsteadily to his feet. He reached for his hood before remembering he didn’t have his coat anymore, and instead opted for hunching his shoulders, trailing after Jackie as she moved out of the alleyway.

He wondered if anyone would recognize him. He almost didn’t care.

His legs felt like lead. He couldn’t quite get enough breath into his chest. The city passed in a haze, a not-quite-tense silence between the three of them. Aiden’s emotions ebbed into something more somber, and it left him feeling cold. “I’m sorry,” he said eventually.

Jackie didn’t react.

“Why—why did you come back?”

It took a few moments before she shrugged. “We still need you.”

Of course. The thought didn’t feel as bitter as it might have before. His mind wandered, touching briefly on something Kiru had mentioned after his panic attack, the thought briefly swamped by his own frustration. His eyes drifted to Jackie’s left leg. “Thank you. For talking me down from, uh—”

“It’s fine,” Jackie cut in, her voice carefully controlled.

Aiden nodded tightly. The tension between them still hadn’t eased; even if Jackie had been willing to help him, things still didn’t feel fine. I guess this is just the way things are, now. Is it going to stay like this forever?

He didn’t have an answer.

_______________________________________________________________

Tag List: @siarven, @focusdumbass, @paladin-andric, @onedayiwillfind, @muggle-writes, @geth-consensus, @roselinbooks--let me know if anyone wants to be added to/removed from the tag list!

#on my heart #writeblr #my writing #cut scenes #how much of this can i repurpose?#HMMM

7 notes · View notes

lokidokiliteratureclub · 5 years

Text

Frostbitten: Chapter Five

Y/N L/N is a child of a Jotun and an Asgardian. She spends her life hidden in the dungeons of Asgard, with no one to talk to other than one of the princes- a man who seems completely incapable of leaving her alone and entirely unable to give up on helping her. Y/N and Loki Odinson have always been inseparable, it seems- even when there is a cell wall, or a village, or an entire kingdom between them.

Even when he disappears, even when you run away, and even when his world falls apart; you are inseparable.

okay, quick note:

there have been at least 3 VASTLY DIFFERENT drafts for this chapter, where I’ve incorporated different aspects of the story in different measures. I felt this was the best way to continue the story, but a lot of the previous writings for this part still have important details may or may not answer long-standing questions. For that reason, my ask box is open! If there was anything in the previous parts that made you think weird flex but ok or but why tho or what the shit is happening, do not hesitate to ask, because it’s probably intentional. If it’s not, even better. I always need to edit :).

Also, marching season!! No sleep. Big mess. Sorry for lack of update. I promise I'm not abandoning this!

Tag list: Open

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Loki curls up beside your cell, knees to his chest, back to the wall. You cannot see him from your spot on your bed, so you don't acknowledge him. You sit, flipping quietly through a book he had given you and sipping lightly at the death-soup Asgard gave you for food. And he’s there, eyes unblinking, trying to remember how to speak.

In his hands is a small dagger, dabbled with dry blood and dirt and dulled from use, and he flips it twice over, staring at the gentle curves of the blade. He has made mistakes today, and he needs to tell someone, but he can’t tell his family and he’s not ready to tell you. Pretending everything is alright on the other hand, is equally unacceptable. Loki is sick of lying. He’s sick of... well, sick of having to lie.

He presses the flat of the blade to his palm and closes his eyes, and the weapon disappears in a flash of green. You peek up from the pages and set the book on your bed, now aware of his presence.

“Are you hiding from me, now?” you jest, smiling softly and standing. “You look tired.”

Your voice draws him in from the first syllable, and he closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall.

Your smile fades as quickly as it came, and you heave a deep sigh. “You’re doing it again,” you comment, looking away from him. “Loki, please talk to me. I’ll listen. In case you’ve forgotten, there’s no one for me to tell your secrets to. They’re safe with me.”

He looks at you, and through his eyes you see that your words have inspired anger. He hides it well, speaking even and low. “You’re worth more to me than my secrets."

“Alright, then. Tell me why you did it. Whatever you did, or whatever you said.”

“I don’t know. That’s the worst part.”

You stay silent, awaiting an explanation. He looks toward you, clearly doing his best not to give anything away. “I have a very helpful resolve to only play practical jokes," he says, "and if they get out of hand I fix my mistakes. I didn’t do that this time, and I made things worse instead. I got angry.”

“At what?”

“No, that’s not it. I’m always angry, always plotting- it’s in my nature to be the epitome of wrongdoing. When I’m good, there’s no reputation for me to lean on like there is my brother. We demand on good versus evil for security, because gods forbid two good people have a disagreement.”

“Why do people expect you to be bad? Why not Thor?”

"Thor is the heir to the throne, so obviously he's perfect. I'm his opposite, so I'm the awful one."

You fiddle your hands together, entertwining your own fingers. "So you're angry because you have to fill this role?"

"No," he pauses, and shame crosses his face. He looks away from you, closes his eyes, and exhales, his entire body going slack against the wall. "No, that's not it. I'm angry because I'm so good at playing it. I'm uncontrollably good at playing it."

"Oh." You shift, turning your head to stare at the wall. "I can't imagine why. You're the kindest person I know."

"And how many people do you know?"

Sif, and Fandral, and Thor, and Odin, and the other guards. All of them different, all of them horrible in their own special way.

"Enough," you mutter.

Loki must read your mind, because he seems to regret his words after he hears you speak "That's fair," he murmurs, lifting a hand to push back his hair. "And I'm sorry. I shouldn't be emptying my heart out to you. You're not my therapist."

You scoff, recoiling, and cross your arms. "When I was six, a woman grabbed me by the wrist, angry with my lack of compliance in training. She had gloves on, and managed to keep me under control. I didn't want her to keep touching me, so I used my other hand to grab her wrist. When she tried to run, her arm frostbitten, I shot an icicle at her shoulder and knocked her to the ground. Then I left her there, locking her in the room and running about until eventually being captured," you say, bluntly. Loki blinks, surprised.

"I didn't know all that," he says, mildly fearful.

"I know," you reply, smiling slightly. "A secret for a secret. You dump your feelings on me, I'll return the favor. Deal?"

Loki sighs, eyes wandering for a moment while he ponders. Then his face softens, lips curving upward, and he looks back at you. He has forgotten the reason for his hesitance in speaking to you. "Are you sure you can keep up?"

"With the amount of times I've kept my thoughts from you?" You chuckle. "Absolutely."

"What do you have to keep from me?" he asks, mildly amused.

"What do you have to keep from me?"

-----

Loki did not mean to kiss you last night. No strings were meant to attach. The encounter was meant to be short, and friendly, and consisting of comforting hand touches and maybe, maybe a kiss on the cheek- something very forgettable. Instead of being casual, however, you had refrained from contact, afraid of touching him, of hurting him, and this made the confrontation more... well, more something. Loki got a little too close, a little too eager. Now he has to come to terms with the reason why he wanted so suddenly to kiss you, and why he wants to kiss you again. It's all he can think about, which is unfortunate considering the fact that he needs to figure out why he's still trapped with his brother on Jotunheim.

He grunts noisily, trying desperately to shove you into his pile of secrets, and steers his thoughts back on course to his main suspect. If he's right, the culprit is Arvid Erikson, since when everyone was through the Bifrost, Arvid was left behind in close proximity to Heimdall and the key. In those moments, he could have killed the gatekeeper and stolen the sword- the only way the Bifrost should remain closed. Arguably, the Allfather could summon dark magic to get everyone home, and regretfully, Loki has yet to figure out why that hasn't happened.

Erikson has always been strange, of course, but never showed any ill intent, so Loki is asking himself the very repetitive question: why? Why do this?

Of course, this question is relatively meaningless if he's trapped in his cell. He'll die, of starvation or dehydration or boredom or all of the above if he doesn't make his escape, which he will. If not to survive and bring the guilty to justice, he'll escape to see you. To touch your hands, or embrace you, or maybe, maybe kiss you again. On purpose and with purpose. To figure out whether you share these strange emotions, and if you do, to indulge in them.

This should be happening soon, because Loki is no longer in his cell, but right outside, brushing the dirt off his clothes. How? you might ask, and to that I offer no response. He's Loki. He's... special.

“Thor,” Loki grunts, cautiously peering around the corner and starting toward where he thinks the other cells are. “Thor, are you still in there? We’re getting out.”

Quiet, then a crack.

“Loki?” a voice calls in answer, but it’s not Thor’s. It’s Sif’s voice, high and dry and hoarse, coming from a cell just a couple feet away. Loki struts up to the bars and peers through them, using the sparse blue daylight coming in through the cell window to try and make out her shape. There is blood dried down her chin, and down her arms are purple bruises, marks of swollen blue. Also in the cell is Thor, his hair dried with sweat to the sides of his face, skin covered in dirt. “Thor, your brother is here.”

“Then let him be. We can’t leave either way,” speaks Thor, casting a glance toward Loki through the bars. “Brother, she’s wounded, I’m wounded, and they’re coming for you. The two of us can’t afford to risk another escape when there are so many of them and so few of us.”

“That sounds logical,” Loki muses, scoffing gently. “Who are you and what have you done to my brother? Get her up. This may be our last chance to get out of here, Thor.”

“Loki,” Sif says, maybe a bit too loud. She opens her mouth to speak again, but when she breathes in she is caught in a fit of violent coughs, clutching her stomach like she might throw up. When the coughing ceases, she meets his eyes. “We need to wait for the Allfather. He’ll come and get us.”

“Have you considered that maybe this wasn’t an accident?” Loki furrows his eyebrows, trying to keep his voice as quiet as possible. “I think it was Erikson. The Professor. I'm sure you can figure as to why."

"Arvid is harmless."

"Arvid is a genius, Thor. I wouldn't doubt him."

"Do you have any proof?"

"He didn't try to kill Y/N. You know how horribly he spoke of Jotuns when he taught our history- not to mention he obviously would have known if I was sneaking through the-"

“Speaking of whom,” Thor cuts in, suddenly alert. “You’ve been conspiring with a prisoner or war this entire time?”

“Y/N is not a war prisoner, and that’s beside the point. The point is that Erikson is from Vanaheim, and I believe he may have the gift of foresight. It’s quite common amongst his people.”

“So,” Sif frowns, blinking slowly, wiping her chin. “You think that Arvid has stranded us on Jotunheim for a reason? To fulfill some sort of prophecy?”

“Or to stop one,” Thor breathes, barely audible. “If we we’re stranded here, then we’re long dead, brother.”

“Says whom?”

“Says the corpses rotting in the cells beside us.” With a deep grunt, Thor rises to his feet, walking steadily up to the bars and staring toward his brother. “But I don’t believe we’re stranded. Best to wait. Odin won’t be overpowered for long. But if you do run, then run fast, and run silent.”

“Are you alright?” Loki asks, frowning. “Thor, I can turn the lot of us invisible. I can do magic.”

“We’re not going.”

“You’re being frustratingly reasonable.”

“Loki!”

“Alright, alright, I’ll leave you be. Just- the both of you had better not go soft. Then, we will die.” He steps away from the cell, turning his back, but pauses. “And is that all? Anything else you'd like to ask before I disappear?"

Thor contemplates in silence for a moment, and then says: “Do you love the Jotun?”

There is a heavy, far-too-long silence, and Loki’s faint wittiness fades. Without turning back to his brother, he mutters a suddenly harsh “What’s it to you?”

Thor leans the remainder of his weight on the door. “I saw the two of you speaking when we first arrived. You were like old friends. Speaking and smiling.”

“And what does that imply?”

“It’s unlike you to be so friendly with others. But all of your absences- times when you’d be inexplicably missing- you’d return lighter, gentler. I want to know what makes a monster in a cell so appealing, so softening to you.”

He spins slowly around, striding quickly back up to the door. “This monster, Thor, is the only thing currently leaving your body attached to your head. I’d choose your words more wisely.”

“Fine, then. Why is Y/N so much more interesting than any regular Asgardian?”

He stares- a stare that is less a look than a threat, and then says. “Y/N is different because in all my time on Asgard, as a prince, as a son, or as an ally, no one else has paid me more mind than you. Y/N values the pages over the cover- the mind over the body. Do you understand that?”

“But the prisoners have seen so few people that they’re probably desperate, don't you think?” Thor stares pitifully at Loki, breathing deep. “I don’t want you to end up in love with someone who has had no choice but to love you back.”

“How naive can you be, Thor?!” He’s suddenly loud, and Loki takes a moment to gather himself before speaking again, fists clenching. “I was just as alone as Y/N was. The only ones other than our mother willing to speak to me would speak in brute, snobbish comments, and nothing more. If anything, I came to Y/N out of desperation. You were all so enthralled with your own lives that you hardly noticed me leave.”

Thor shakes his head, dismissing the very idea. “We would have let you- you isolated yourself, brother. Separated yourself from the rest.”

“Is that what you've been telling yourself?” Loki spits back. “I clung to you like a shadow, Thor. It was the only way you’d let me, and with Y/N I finally have someone to cling back. We both have wills. We both make choices. If you’d like to speak about forced love, take a look at the throne. Look beyond your own glory, just for a moment.”

“Loki, I-”

In a shimmer of green magic, Loki disappears from sight, his footsteps light thumps across the soft, dirt dungeon floor. He walks past the guards, flinging open doors in his wake as he storms out of the crumbling palace. He steps over glass and ice and stone, walking as far and as fast away as possible. When he stops, he pulls himself behind a rather large stone, slumping and leaning his back on the solid surface. His blood is still humming with anger, and with it he calls to the sky.

“Heimdall,” he groans, looking hopefully upward. “I know you can see me. I know you’re not one to stay dead, and I seek your guidance, seer. If you cannot bring us back, let me see.”

Silence. Loki sighs, then throws his elbow back into the rock, splitting it where he hit. “Heimdall! Bring us back!”

Then, the youngest prince is hit by yellow. He stumbles back, caught in the sudden sensation, vision blurred. When his sight clears, he’s no longer on Jotunheim, but in the darkening, deep woods of Asgard. Heimdall is leaned against a tree, looking extraordinarily annoyed. “Hello, Loki,” he grunts, unamused. “You are aware that you’re supposed to open your mind when calling, right? I had to fight my way into your head. I do not wish to repeat that experience.”

“Where are you?” Loki asks, ignoring the comments. “Why are you in the woods?”

“I’m dead,” he answers simply. “Can’t you tell?” Heimdall signals to the red blotches on his chest, the bandages around his upper half. “What better place to dispose of a corpse?”

“This is no joke, seer! My brother, Sif, and I have been trapped on Jotunheim, and if the Bifrost is not reopened..." Loki steps toward him, misplaced confidence in his swagger. “You’ve no time to be dead.”

“You’ve no time to be empathetic. Be logical. Put your emotions behind you, as you seem to be so gifted at doing, and find things you will need to survive. I will try to retrieve the Bifrost Sword. I know where it is, but I need time to heal.”

“Did Arvid Erikson do this to you?”

“That he did. He’s a very dramatic fighter, in case you were wondering. He talks a lot.”

“What did he say?”

Heimdall pauses, looking over the prince, and then sighs, turning his back and beginning to walk through the undergrowth. “I'd expect you'd know by now."

"Prophecy? Foretold evils?"

"That's the one."

Loki rolls his eyes. “And that’s all?”

“Well, of course not. He’s also trying to kill you.” He stops at a smaller, shorter tree and kicks it square in the base, effectively knocking it over. Small, round fruits topple from its branches, rolling across the ground. Heimdall kneels, gathering several of these fruits into his arms. “If I recall correctly, you’re to attempt to overthrow the throne. Mind enlightening me as to why?”

The prince hesitates. “Overthrow the throne? That’s, I’d not want that. I’d make a much better king than my brother, but I wouldn’t...” he trails off. Heimdall looks up from the fruits, raising his eyebrows, and Loki turns his gaze to his palms, scratched and bare. He takes a deep breath, gritting his teeth. “And this is to bring about some horrible fate?”

“Why?” he asks, ignoring Loki’s question. “You answer my question, and I’ll answer yours.”

Loki glares slightly, rubbing his palms together. “Thor doesn’t deserve the throne in his state. He’s reckless, and arrogant, and dangerous.”

“That’s not all you have to say.”

“That’s all I care to say.”

“Does what you don’t care to say have anything to do with your parentage?”

Loki shrugs and doesn’t let on that he’s at all confused. “Doesn’t everything?”

Heimdall stares, holding his gaze. Then he looks away, satisfied. “Not in the way you think. Survive, Loki. I’ll come and get the four of you-”

“Four of us?” Loki cuts in. “So, you’ll-”

“They’ll kill your beloved once they find out Y/N isn’t Laufey’s missing child. I’m under the impression that you don’t want that to happen. Am I mistaken?”

“I don’t want Y/N imprisoned again. Father will forbid we speak to one another.”

“Your father is in Odinsleep. He has more important matters to worry about. Now go, you’re giving me a headache."

Frostbitten Tags:

@natalia-rushman @what-inspirational-name @jessiejunebug @fandomdestroyer @a-new-schematic @iris-suoh @pandacookieowo @givememyskittlesback @awesomefandomsunited @itsanallygator@arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77 @fire-treasure-iii @strangerliaa @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @woohoney @itsanallygator @rosesarestriped @justyuuhi @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction @loser-alert @egos-obese-anorexic-minds @themusingsofmany @lokiboomer

#loki laufeyson #infinity war #thor odinson #avengers #loki x reader fluff #loki #loki x reader #loki odinson #loki fanfic #loki series

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cutegirlmayra · 4 years

Text

Commission: Jenna Story (My Hero Academia) Ch. 2

Jenna Ch.2 Commission Receipt

@asrasdarling Commission for Hero Academia Story OCxBakugo

Time: about 2 months or so.

Review: @aoi-hina : I read it and i thought it was great!! i don’t need any edits, i’m happy with it :)

Paid Amount: 15$ which was about 38 pages or so, but I ended up giving her 51 pages. Can’t complain right?

Product Preview: With permission from @asrasdarling, here is the ROUGH DRAFT of the product.

Flames and Explosions

Ch. 2

Commission for Asrasdarling

By: Cutegirlmayra

With skies filled with the arching smoke from the plane's engines streaming against the blue of the ever-free Americas, Bakugo and Jenna brace as the plane glides towards the runway. As it's nose dips up to land like a swan to water, Bakugo prepares himself and holds Jenna's waist down, lowering him and Jenna against the g-force. "Darn bumping landings," He gritted his teeth while feeling each bump as the plane skid up and down in its descent, finally leaning straight and rolling powerfully against the pavement of the airport. The plane's slick exterior screeched a little as Bakugo embraced Jenna and slid down it's side with his hand sliding against the aluminum. Jenna held him with one arm around his neck and the other gripping his shoulder, careful to position her feet right as they dropped. With a few blasts from his hands, the explosions helped to lessen the fall. To stay somewhat conspicuous, they darted behind a baggage carrier. The vehicle trains were all linked together and provided the only real cover out in the open runway.

"I can't believe you're here." Jenna cupped his face, still stunned he risked even illegal activity to follow her to America. "Are you sure I won't be arrested for smuggling a bomb?"

Bakugo tried to put on a brave face with a smirk, but she could tell by how much he was sweating that he seemed uncomfortable by that statement. "Yeah… I'm familiar with America's policies…" He peeked out from the cover of the luggage transports, seeing a swarm of security around every bend, or employees scanning the area and hard at work. Bakugo tsk'd, "This doesn't look so good… I didn't exactly bring my passport."

Jenna smiled and looked to the security, willing to play on his anxieties as she leaned her cheek dangerously close to his. "I could wave my arms and be like, hey! Over here! This hero saved my life! I jumped without thinking, now I'm so thankful! What a handsome hero!"

Bakugo, immediately imagining her overly acting this exact scenario out, clamped his hands over her mouth and pulled her back towards him, "Are you an idiot!? Without my hero's license, we're screwed!"

He pinned himself up against the baggage carriers with a hard knock against their steel. Jenna blinked a moment before lightly tugging his hands which were overlapping on her mouth, "You believed me?" She just slightly loosened them enough to turn innocently and look back up at him. "And who doesn't have a hero's license? That's lame."

Anger rose in the pulsing veins on his neck and the side of his forehead, but he was distracted by the situation enough to look back over his shoulder to see more workers walking by on the other side. He would have to control his loud outbursts for now...

Bakugo leaned his head down to her ear, deciding it best to whisper sneakily as he saw a playful smile cross her lips. "Of course I believe you… you're the bratty girl who'd stick her face into a bomb and live to tell the tale." He seemed to slur his words, as though still upset she would risk her own death just to defeat him.

"But that's why you like me." She purred back, threatening to flirt with him as she went to lick his face but he pulled away.

"Urk-!" His eyebrow twitched at her boldness before seeing a man start to mount the small car that pulled the other trains along. He probably wanted to scold her, but now wouldn't be very ideal timing...

"A-as for your first plan, you'll never be able to convince them… Who in their right mind would believe you tried to jump? Besides, my English isn't the best… They'll be suspicious of our story right from the start." He was thinking this through, and his hard expression mixed with his worry made Jenna fall more into the crook of his neck, still holding his hands close to her.

She had never really swooned like this before… in fact, she had crushes, but not as dominantly persistent as this one. However, she knew why, too. No man had attempted such feats of loyalty and love like Bakugo had. He wasn't even trying to seduce her, but everything he was doing was leading to that result.

Jenna continued to admire his face as he strategized, though she was completely capable of figuring out her own escape plan for the two of them, she loved to see him in such deep thought. The thought was for her and him to be together, ultimately, right? How much more romantic could you get..?

'Running from the law, though? I mean,… if we must~' she sighed silently to herself with that thought, thinking it terribly romantic.

"Okay, I'll help." She stepped out of his arms to get a good look at the predicament they were in. The man was getting ready to start up the train of luggage, and Bakugo's body was full of the explosive sweat that would certainly trigger the alarms of any paranoid American airport. So far, everything was looking like a disadvantage that would certainly have them captured and interrogated in no time. "America's not gonna be so kind to a living bomb…" she placed her hand on his cheek again, making him flinch back a moment in surprise before she began to wipe off the shiny droplets and clean him up a bit. Rubbing the nitroglycerin between her fingers, she continued, "We're gonna have to be sneaky." She spoke quickly, "Because I'm technically harboring an illegal immigrant." She blushed and put his hands back over her mouth, muttering, "And a handsome one at that!" before maneuvering herself to look up at the luggage caravan. "But I got an idea. Trust me once again with our lives, Bakugo, dear?"

Bakugo opened his mouth to respond but was distracted by an engine blaring up. "Grr…Oh no." he looked over to see the driver starting to propel the front of the piled passenger suitcases forward like a snake's head slithering along the airport runway. It wouldn't be long before their cover was blown…

"I wouldn't trust you to kill me, that's all I'll say on that!" he shouted a whisper and held a fist up in front of himself, sticking his head towards her as though not liking to rely so heavily on her. "What's this bright plan, anyway? Not that I ever need one!"

Making a sly face, Jenna blinked seductively, "No time to talk now, just follow my lead~"

In his typical annoyance, Bakugo grimaced. "You-!" he whispered but she forcefully took his foot.

"Hoist me up." She instructed.

He was a bit off balanced, surprised as she had grabbed his foot so quickly. But nonetheless, he glared and immediately helped her up over the large container to topple into the suitcases.

"W-wha-oop!" She stumbled before Bakugo also came crashing into the luggage, digging them further inside the uncomfortably stuffy and dirty pile of bags.

"This is your bright idea?!" He hollered quietly as she continued to whack him with continual shushes.

"Keep it down, Blastboy, or my brilliant scheme goes up in flames! Something you're quite skilled at…" She teased, but he just kept getting more and more upset, fidgeting in his spot, wanting to fight her but needing to keep hidden in the gap they created between the suitcases.

"Remember that you came here for me, yeah?" She rose an eyebrow up to him then, but he turned his face away from her, not wanting to reveal any true emotion.

"Don't get the wrong idea, pipsqueak! Thought I'd take a bit of a vacation!" he spat out, but she knew better than to take his words at face value.

'D'aw, look at him.' She smiled up towards him, 'Doesn't want to come off weak to his rival and lover~ I can't wait to beat out his newfound self-control.' She snickered to herself.

"What's so funny?" His face turned back to her, threatening and brutish as usual.

She threw a hand over his mouth once more, "You're too loud." and continued to swerve her body deeper into the stash. Once situated, she sighed and moved herself over his chest, releasing her hand. "You can't keep quiet for more than ten seconds, can you?"

"Tsk! Typical American…" he twitched in his annoyance, but his insults were a lot lighter than before, and she could tell. He maneuvered himself below her so she had something comfortable to lay on instead of the jamming edges of the suitcases all around them. As he endured the pain, she noticed his efforts and lightly kissed his forehead.

"So, not just a ruffian, but a gentleman too." She cooed.

"That's enough…" He blushed faintly but seemed to smile at her giggles. "You're so darn annoying." They butted heads lightly against the other as Jenna nudged her nose to him and began to cuddle him a little bit again.

The whole flight she had been smiling, keeping him relatively smiley too. The two had happily lounged back as the winds briskly pushed their hair back and clouds dewed up their clothes and left them freezing. However, Bakugo was a natural campfire it seemed and kept them both warm with his firecracker palms making small bursts of heat. She had joked that they should have brought marshmallows, but openly enjoyed cuddling up closer to his body. Feeling the intensity of his sparks again... she would have missed it so much! More than anything. He held her closer and nearer to himself and the light explosions on his hands during the high turbulence… His head ducking down to her own just to secure her even more during the outdoor flight.

She didn't know when they'd reach the station but for now, there they were, the skies above them and the stuffy gap between luggage forcing them close again. It wasn't as ideal as the plane, but the cold, oxygen-deprived altitude wasn't too great either.

"Bakugo…" She whispered out, but as she did so she jolted at his hand flinging itself right up by her cheek to stop a suitcase from ramming into her face.

She gawked a moment that she had let herself slip into memory and her feelings without first accessing her surroundings. 'My training is waning because of this man!' she scolded herself, and got just enough off of him to help push the suitcases that were dangerously wobbling to and fro above and beside them. It was like a game of Jenga, and sadly, the zigzagging movement of the caravan was seriously making the luggage close to toppling over on top of them. She had to move aside from their moment of enjoying each other's company again to realize the danger if they were seriously bombarded with heavy luggage crushing them both below.

At least they were together, no matter the uncomfortable circumstances.

She turned herself around, being positioned so her back was on his chest, using her feet to push against the walls of protruding suitcases and make sure that some of the wobbling could be stabilized a bit longer. She then glared up at him, and he looked down at her with a raised eyebrow, also having his arms up to stop the avalanche of weighted bags. "What?" he growled out.

She didn't want to admit that she had momentarily faltered in her senses, knowing he would backlash with mocking insults at her. So, instead, she pushed his face up with her elbow, letting a suitcase come closer to both of them from the front. "I don't want to fight anymore." She lied, enjoying the banter very much but pouting at her silly distraction. "You really will be the death of me…" She mumbled.

"Huh?!" He didn't seem to be able to hear her with her elbow forcing his chin up. He flinched under her touch so she pushed against the suitcase, shoving it back in its place in front of them, "Never… err… mind!" she strained with all her strength, and was able to keep the luggage secure.

The ride had many bumps and jabs of edges littered throughout the venture, causing them to shift positions and wait for it all to be over shortly. His leg moved up over her at one point, slamming his foot hurriedly up to stop a heavy-duty suitcase from crashing down on her. "Geez, how much do these snotty travelers need to over-stuff their baggage, eh!?" he roared out in his frustrations, which only made Jenna lean up and kiss him under his chin, hoping to remind him to stay silent. "Grr… I didn't ask for your praise…" He was acting so much like a tough guy, but she could feel and hear his racing heartbeat as she leaned her ear against his chest. Careful this time to not close her eyes and get too out of it, she continued to use her expert eyes to pinpoint weak spots in the luggage and make sure her arms and legs were holding a foundation that wouldn't crumble so easily…

Now… she felt more so crushed by his protective stands than the shifting luggage, feeling him lean up slightly to strain against holding up the overly-sized suitcase. She felt his body bob with each muscle forcing the suitcase back up, but it was a monster of a feat.

"This is a really tight squeeze." She teased, wishing to help him but unable to move any of her limps which were on trigger points that—if moved—would cause the luggage to topple over.

He just glared at her. "Shut up, stupid!"

"Make me, you cute jerk!"

"…Wait, you're nervous again, aren't you?" He looked down to see she was being lowered and pinned by him trying to keep the suitcase up… but before she could respond with the implied intimate position they were in, she felt the carrier finally stop and a ripple-effect drive both her and Bakugo forward as Bakugo's back was shoved with suitcases.

Now it really did look like an innuendo.

She blushed, amazed he caught on to the subtle joke and turned away. Something scratched at her leg and she pulled it up, "Ow." But when she did so, more luggage started to topple down.

"Get yourself off my butt!" she scolded, "Or I can't get my legs under me enough to push out of this luggage hole!"

Bakugo was about to but as he moved, cursed and threw his back over the falling suitcases.

"Bakugo!" Jenna felt him slam a few times into her, simply from the fall impact, but he amazingly pushed up, even with all that weight on him.

"Quiet!... Grrr…Erk…" The weight hadn't crushed him? "Why is it you're always getting me into awkward situations?!"

'Just how tough is Blastboy?' Jenna marveled before watching him take the piled weight and force it just inches up above himself and where she laid.

The suitcases smelled of dirt and exotic scents and being so close to Bakugo, also of the nitroglycerin in his sweat that seemed to drop on her too if she didn't do something.

He was breathing hard... using everything in him to keep her safe... Or was she just claustrophobic?

"Let me help..!" She turned and pushed off too, helping him as it sounded like the driver was heading out.

Determined to aid and not get spotted, she shoved some of the suitcases to the side and kicked to give him more room. She sighed when at last, the gap reappeared to show they were now in a building, and finally, a door shut and a conveyor belt began to turn on.

She panted a moment, getting her bearings before looking to Bakugo again. She was immediately lost for breath when she saw his mouth grip some of her hair and move it out of her face.

"You okay?" He asked, moving his head to the side to spit on the suitcases and get the rest of her hair out of his mouth.

Her eyes shimmered a moment at his kind gesture, not used to such consideration, especially from him.

"I-I'm peachy…" She cleared her throat, "A-anyway, America can get a little touchy about things. Best to avoid suspicions and lay low for a while…" She joked once again, and to avoid him seeing how touched she was by his gesture, decided to play on nerves and removed her arms from the baggage. Throwing it up, she turned to bring his body against her again.

'That worked for a disguise.' She slyly remarked in her mind as she saw the reddened anger on his cheeks. 'I can't let him think he can get the better of me. Not even for one, small, insignificant second!' she knew she only thought that because of how significant each little action could be for the two of them.

It was a collection of small moments that made this big confession, right? Wait... had they even really, properly confessed yet!?

He twitched above her, still having some of the pain of weight on his shoulders as he tried to protect her from the encompassing mass of suitcases.

With a sneaky grin, she pecked his neck and tickled his chest. "You can move now, you know~ I heard the man leave and doors slam shut." she played, knowing he had done all this to protect her and remain stealthy.

"Tsk! If I get arrested, I'm blaming you!" Bakugo glared down at her, but she placed both her hands along his arms, happy-go-lucky as she was, and slid them up to his hands.

"As long as we're together, I don't care about the consequences… now blast'em."

The suitcases he was trying to hold up suddenly began to burn under his touch, singing their hides. With amazing strength, he kept tossing and punching suitcases off of them before getting too annoyed with the slow pace of it all…

"Ahhh!" An explosion shot the suitcases off of them, sending them flying as he dragged her out of the mess and jumped down.

"Those poor people's stuff…" Jenna felt a bit of pity but it was overshadowed by her amusement at his rage. She felt mischievous, but smuggling her foreign boyfriend into America was turning out to be a fun kind of stressful.

Now his face was fuming with rage, "I'll kill you…" He repeated over and over again. "I'll kill you and the skin that remains..!" his muscles seemed to almost pulse in his fury.

"Shh, shh… Just hold me." She beamed, turning her head to be right up by his ear.

He would have hollered in her ear if it weren't for the fact that they were trying to remain silent.

She quickly massaged the tension and aches in her body though, being pressed against square bags is not her idea of a luxury transportation. She moved then to his shoulder and massaged there too, hoping to relax him somewhat. "We've had a long flight…" She complained, pretending to be sleepy and rubbed her head even further against his chest, also trying to incite him and cancel out the relaxation. She was just his punk in that way,... "You can rant about my nerves later. For now, honestly, sweetie, can't we just get along for five minutes? I can't wait to show you around…" There was a double-meaning in that statement that he didn't pick up on, but seemed to tolerate the massage and head-rubbings before shoving her face away.

"Alright, that's enough. Let's just get out of here." Bakugo held her face out with a death glare, then kicked a suitcase that had fallen on the ground, still steaming from his explosion. She looked to see the action, then pretended to overly swoon at his angry-boy raging as she moved out of his grasp.

His eyebrow twitched at her acting and he let out a threatening growl which made her respond in an alluring purr back, but he just turned his head to ignore her.

They looked for any security but it seemed like the workers would naturally hoist the luggage onto a conveyor belt… So they probably had some time before someone came back into the large garage-like space.

"Hmm… We should be covert about this." Jenna brought up again, seeing the suitcases everywhere. "Fighting shouldn't be an option."

"It's sometimes always the solution." Bakugo seemed charged...

Sensing the tension and seriousness in the air around them now that they were actually within the airport, Jenna decided that pumping him up anymore would only result in a failed mission. "My luggage should already be inside…" she looked for doors that were opposite to the ones she heard closing from before… Hoping to come up with a plan that would successfully get Bakugo out of the airport.

They hid a moment again behind the line of luggage automatically being slipped onto the conveyor belt and popped their heads out from the machine operating it.

The workers would be here soon... either to observe the machines doing their job or manually help organize the bags to go down the chute right.

Bakugo and Jenna waited a moment longer… But no one was coming.

"That blast should have been heard… Not bad for your first break-in, Bakugo." She ruffled his hair as he tried to bite her hand.

"Quit that, Brat, or else!" Bakugo barked. In her usual stealth, Jenna spotted a way out and stopped Bakugo from following murderously behind her, whipping out her arm as he grabbed it before it could hit him. "This is no time for games… We can fight to the death after-!" He blasted more explosions from his hand, thinking she wanted a brawl as that was the least of her worries right now.

"I know you're obsessed with the idea of me striking the finishing blow without remorse, sweetie, but right now I need to think of how to get us out of here." She examined the lock with her other hand, letting him 'hold' the other hand for comforting support. She chuckled to herself at that afterthought.

He let it go with a jerk and whispered a shout right into the side of her face, having his warm breath fluster her a second, but he was clearly getting dramatic. "Quit calling me sweetie! Since when have I been 'dear' or 'darling'!?"

"It's locked…" she rolled her eyes, and then worriedly looked around at the security cameras. Pulling out an arrow, she aimed expertly before pulling the bow that compressed itself out spontaneously, "Also, I never called you darling." She shot brilliantly in a deadeye hit, causing the camera to short-circuit with sparks of electricity at the impact. It was all in a matter of seconds, the speed causing Bakugo to stand still a moment to watch it play out.

"Tsk, I'm no villain." He hissed out, seeing her pull out another arrow, getting her glove out to light it.

As she worked, she frowned at his complaining, "Then you burn the lock." She didn't even look at him as she took the arrow's tip and rubbed it against his skin, trying to get more explosive power to it with his sweat.

He flicked it away and 'tsk'd again.

Sensing she was getting annoyed, he put a hand to her bow and looked her in the eye. "Oui… Only I'm allowed to get frustrated here…"

She recognized his tone shift and stared a moment… amazed by his fiery eyes suddenly turning serious with passion filling them to the brim.

"And if I let you make an explosion, then the whole of America will be on my tail." He stated this so calmly, his demeanor really had changed on a dime.

She was so tempted to kiss him in the heat of the moment, but then watched him place his hand on the lock, burning its metal through with his bursts before blasting the door open.

She gave him a smile, seeing how he hated to be patient.

"It was either help me or get targeted as an illegal terrorist." She kicked the door open it's full width, "You're already risking a lot by being here with me. You gonna keep fightin' to stay by my side or just whine all day and make me wonder why you're really here?"

He was silent a moment but rushed through the door with her, "Alright… fine. Now what?"

'So, maybe he was here for more than a rematch?' That piqued her interest, and she desperately wanted to move on to the other exciting parts of this vacation.

She batted her eyes in a ditsy way as though silently telling him she loved him again.

"Dodge people, blend in." she hurried through the halls, making a tactical plan as fast as she could before seeing some clothes hanging from a locker room.

She smirked, "I've always loved a man in uniform." She grabbed them and tossed them to him. "Here!"

The attire was clearly too baggy for Bakugo, but he didn't complain, just continuing to 'tsk' as he examined the dorky worker's outfit. He shoved his grenade designed wrist accessories to make it look like he had a big, bulky stomach and removed the face mask.

Jenna laughed, but he shouted at her, "QUIET! You try wearing this and making it look good!" she gave him a playful wink, as though suggesting anything she wore would be too good for his eyes.

Once up in the public terminal, the two parted with a plan to meet up after Jenna got her own luggage. They would call an old friend of hers and head to Jenna's grandparent's house, so Bakugo began to weave his way through the airport and look as unsuspicious as possible.

"She left me. What was she thinking!?" He muttered under his breath, looking around the airport, but trying to be discreet. Which was hard… especially after something small and short bumped into him. "HEYYY!?" Bakugo turned around, almost like a lion being disturbed from his jungle's sleep.

He immediately lost his terrifying expression when he noticed a child drop his hamburger and look up to him crying. People started to stare… and one after the other, stopped to watch the scene.

Bakugo, instinctively, reached and grabbed the food before everything inside it toppled to the ground. That seemed to impress the sudden audience, so he carefully used his pinkie finger to balance a loose strand of tomato slice from sliding off.

Arrogantly, Bakugo shuffled the upper and lower buns of the hamburger to have the American meal put back together again in a sloppy, proportional stack of ingredients again with disgruntled grumbles of annoyance. "Here." He spoke in Japanese, "Take it." He outstretched his jumbled offering back to the kid and glared, menacingly.

However noble Bakugo's intentions may have been to save the kid's hamburger, his resting expression made the child fear he wanted to end his life.

He flinched as Bakugo once again tried to hand him back his hamburger, "What's the matter with you, kid, huh? Oh… right." he tilted his head before remembering his lessons on dealing with kids. He tsked, not really in the mood to play sucker to someone who still sucks on candy, but he bent down anyway. Looking like a blonde ape in his stance, he tried to take on a softer expression, presenting the kid with his hamburger in a kinder way. "Be more careful next time, kid. Watch where you're going… or something." He spoke in Japanese but the child threw his arms up, as though thinking he needed to block from what appeared to be a deadly swing when equipped with Bakugo's natural hostile aura… but after a moment, he peeked to see the gentle gesture of the older boy before him.

This time, Bakguo's eyes were softer and looked more tired than anything else.

"Don't you understand? Take it back." Bakugo spoke lighter too, his words almost like an encouraging big brother. The child suddenly smiled, and delicately took his food back, waiting for a second to see if Bakugo was going to do anything else, and then happily began chewing on it.

"Heh." Returning the smile for a split second before going back to his usual frown, Bakugo got back up and put his hands in the unfamiliar pockets that were large enough to keep his mask and gloves in. 'Darn kids… Where's that darn woman at, anyway?'

At the corner of his eye, Bakugo could see an adult walking up quickly to address the child from behind him, and he sidestepped to let the scolding happen. The child's arm was taken and he was pulled back to wherever the adult had come from. Though there was a language barrier, Bakugo assumed it was the kid's mother and straightened up the workman's collar around the shirt, trying to remain hidden. He quickly made his way back into dodging the crowd and staying unnoticed. "That should keep the kid out of trouble." He spoke quietly out loud to himself and continued to try and blend in the best he could, taking in the 'situational awareness' skills he had learned in UA, and also a bit from his spars with Jenna too. Ever since he learned about her 'nervous flirting' tick, he'd been careful to not cause too much of a scene…

Well, the point is he tried.

The black uniform was apparently enough to get staff to just nod and smile to him, but he kept walking on without making eye contact, thinking of getting out of there… before his mind raced back to Jenna.

"Santa!" She joked before she had left him to walk through the airport on his own. "Won't you make my wish come true?"

"That's the evening star!" he shouted back, and she just kept laughing and trying to touch his wrist grenades under the jumper suit's stomach.

It was easy for him to hyper-focus and then preoccupy his thoughts on something else. Eating lunch with her, hollering insults back and forth, watching her get ready to throw out an exploding arrow before the UA security team arrived. They would get into a lot of trouble… but how could she even dare leave UA!?

'And without telling me!?'

He gritted his teeth as the airline's badge glistened metallically in the light, and he was worried it could have been a co-pilot's uniform. Cursing, he stopped a moment to secretly look at it from the bottom of his sight. The badge was backwards, but he wondered if he'd ever get his Hero name to shine that brightly… Chasing after some girl wasn't the way he'd do it… was it?

He took it off and placed it in the other pocket, 'How is Arrow so good at this..? Not causing a ruckus and remaining unseen?' He glanced around to notice that people were watching him, and he ducked his head down deeper into his shirt's collar, puffing it up and stomping off again.

He thought back to Jenna's first battle with him and realized her speed was probably a factor along with her quick, witty planning. He didn't have her unmatched footwork and handiness with a bow and arrow... He was too aggressive, but she was just the same when getting what she wanted.

'What do I want from all this?' he found his feet pausing a moment, stopping in a crowd of walking passengers as his mood turned suddenly very alone and melancholy. Though he was surrounded by people,… he felt they were all like shadows. Shadows pretending to be people, but to him, were just shapes and figures that he didn't know.

There was only one person he felt he knew now, one he didn't want to let go of.

A rival unmatched, though he didn't really feel he needed a partner...

He cursed under his breath, biting on the silent swear as he wanted to prove himself, and stop acting like a coward too afraid to let something good go.

'I'll show her…I swear, when I see her again…' he was biting down hard on his jaw, shaking his head low in agitation, 'I'll show her I can do whatever the heck I want without anyone trying to stop me! Even if she tries to run away-! I'll kill her with how heroic I am!' He gripped his hand into a tight fist in his pocket before seeing yet another obstacle in front of him.

The security was now all over the place, and in his over-sized getup, even the badge wouldn't really protect him much. Especially with his broken English… He was a goner for sure if he didn't figure out a way to sneak past them. He bent his chin down, a little sweat dripping down the side of his cheek in his anxiety. 'They'll really think I'm some kind of villain walking around with another man's clothes on, huh? What do I do..?'

Minutes turned to split-seconds of decision making. He just stared at his goal, a flash of what he thought was a well-lit silhouette that formed details and colors as he pictured Jenna beyond the doors of the airport's exit…

The only thing he really knew… was he was getting to that light. One way, or another!

In his imagination, her hair flipped like strands of glistening rays of water over her shoulder. She turned to look back at him, and smiled as starlit balls shone in bubbles of light colors around her. In that figment of fantasy, he threw himself to skid down the escalator's sides, scaring some people standing idly by on them and threw his arms out to his sides. Little explosions sparked in his palms as he was going to do anything to get to that figurative finish line. He'd already come so far..!

"Screw it, I'll just fight my way through like I always do!" When he speedily got to the end of the escalator's moving arm-rails, he had built enough momentum to launch himself into the air, "ORE WA-!" he was about to announce that he was going to kill them all, though maybe just trip them up in their step before…

…sssswwwIIISSSHHH-Tik!

"Ah..!" Bakugo was hit by a dulled arrow that was large enough to look like a javelin.

He was pushed off his mark, and his eyes turned to see who dared to distract him.

He only saw a blur in his arched descent...

The trajectory of his mid-flight attack was suddenly thrown off course, and he tumbled a little to the ground in a roll before propping himself back up again. "Who shot that!?" he cried out in Japanese, "I'll kill yo-Mmph! Mmmppphhh!" he strained against a girl who's chest bumped against his head as she pulled the gag over his mouth.

"Shhhush~ Let Jenna dear handle this." A strange voice spoke to him, causing him to nervously quake a moment in the surprise of being caught.

She wore a pink jacket with studs, shining silver as though mounted to a chapel's steeple but was from that image. Her hair was blonde and long, dangling down almost like wrapping tentacles that had a mind of their own, and her boots were long up her tall legs as she pinned him against her secured his mouth shut. There also seemed to be a ribbon on the jacket that had one side looser than the other... almost like a pretty punk look.

However, the capture brought back some unpleasant memories of being kidnapped by the League of Villains, but that memory quickly subsided as his heart raced at seeing the image of Arrow, the hero with the perfect aim... Her image finally cleared after the blur from the motion of falling beforehand.

"There we go. Shot through the heart, you could say, boys." Jenna, wearing her hero costume, was crouched down and squatting on the ground. She then shifted her weight and put her knee down as she posed for sexy pictures by the cheering airport crowd. "Seems we've caught him at last!" she seemed to be playing a part, winking to the crowd before turning her face away from the people and gagging. 'I hate playing the charismatic idiot!' she mentally vomited before moving over to Bakugo. "My sidekick and I have taken the thief into custody!" She threw a hat onto Bakugo's head with New York logos on it, then began to pull him through the wall of security, "No need to thank me or she! Us and I! We'll be on our way now!" she was even mimicking a strong voice as she cheerily tried to escape the on-lookers and headed into her friend's car. Although her actions were humiliating to Bakugo, once in the car, she untied his bonds and smothered him with further embarrassment, "Geez, Blastboy, you can't do one thing right without blowing up like a firecracker, can you?"

"He's certainly dynamite, just like in your letters." The woman in pink, skimpy attire moved her front-view mirror to seductively hold her stare on the two. Her goggles shone in the airport's lights as she turned her head around, holding up a peace sign with a further, flirtatious wink. "Ya-ho! I'm Jenna's support friend, Miu! I invented her cute little pose there! Oh, but I also make equipment and weaponry too. Much like her mechanical, extendable bow there." She pointed to her handiwork.

Jenna adjusted herself in her hero's attire, "She also helped me make this skin-tight hero's suit. Like it?"

He didn't say anything, so Jenna muttered out of the side of her mouth, "I've always liked it." He seemed so fuming with rage that if he opened his mouth, dragon's fire may spring out of it.

"Oh my! That's so cute! You've really gotten yourself a shy Japanese boy!" Miu stated with as much energetic spunk as her spluttering engine in her car.

"Hehe! Quit it, Miu!" Jenna patted her leather chair's back to get her to stop gawking and then nudged Bakugo a moment, "You okay, champ?"

"Never in a million begs and pleadings crowned with glittering diamonds!" She flopped a hand back and sat upright against the wheel again, getting ready to make a flee from the surrounding crowd. "Besides, I'm much more into blood red diamonds~"

The security obviously wanted to check their licenses and figure out what's going on, but her car seemed to have a device that made it blast up into the air and almost 'jump' to the next lane of traffic, perfectly taking them into the highway.

"Weeee! Isn't it something? Propelled tires that can launch the car like a frog's hop! Several feet into the air! It's genius, and it's lush in design!" she felt the fabric of the seat next to her before looking back at her friend. "Café time! You promised you would if I picked you up!"

"That was before I accidentally found myself smuggling a boyfriend!" Jenna, hoping to calm him down so he wouldn't blow up her friend's custom car, placed her hand on his knee where his hand was.

A spike of heated lightning shot through Bakugo, his teeth animated to shark's rigged edges, and she could tell he was holding in his livid shouts due to the gag on his mouth.

"You pinkie-sweared, and no taksie-backsies!" Miu stuck out her tongue and then turned to a creepy expression towards Bakguo, "Hehehe... Should we keep him gagged a little longer? For the fun of it..?" She lowered her eyelids seductively but Jenna only rolled her eyes.

"Let's not play that game, just yet." Jenna patted Bakugo's hand, "The second he cools off, I will."

"Aww, but he's your boyfriend, right?~ You should be able to handle him." Miu puckered her lips, hinting at Jenna seducing him into cooperating.

Bakugo felt a hint of his pride flare up at not being able to tackle and fight his way through the security like he wanted too, but nothing—Absolutely nothing in his life—compared to being called this whacky woman's significant other.

After a second thought, Jenna decided to let him speak his mind and took the gag off. 'Better now then later...' she groaned to herself as a hurricane exploded from his mouth and rocked the car with his booming temper tantrum.

Some of his words were barely understandable, but Miu just blinked her eyes, having some grasp of the fact that he was speaking american curse words.

"What'd you call me?!" He growled towards her, "I may not speak English, but I know what you said just then!"

"Oh my, he really is a time bomb!" Miu looked innocently back at Jenna through the upper-mirror of the car, but Jenna just waved it off.

"You haven't seen fire yet, and besides, how could you understand, Bakugo? Suddenly taking courses in the language of love?" Jenna bounced her eyebrows as though challenging him to even try and deny it. "Besides, what else would you be to me?"

He paused a second, thinking of the word that meant close friends in Japanese, but finding that it may not work now for the situation…

"America sure is different…" he looked shyly behind him, folding his arms to avoid the conversation. He seemed closed off then, maybe have blown off his steam and suffering from jet lag.

"Ohh? He does know I speak Japanese, right?~" Her friend giggled in a high-pitched range that even left Bakugo flinching. A moment ago, she had a rather alluring voice as she whispered in his ear, but now he was just finding her company a little over-the-top girly.

"Huh?!" His cry could crack the cement, "I'LL KILL YOU!"

"You can only kill me, Bakugo." Jenna pecked his cheek and red sprung up on his face. He turned in his seat and raised his sparking hands towards her.

"That's right, brat! Let's duke this out, I'm fired up, right now!" he hollered down at her as one foot stomped onto his seat.

She blushed and looked away, ducking her head slightly, "B-Bakugo... not in front of company..." She knew he didn't mean it that way, but she was just so tempted...

'Ah, what the heck.' She jumped into his arms and began giving him little nibble kisses that caused him to fall back and flail with explosions above her back.

Miu just placed a hand over her mouth, watching in quiet amusement at this new development.

"You puunkkk!"

"But how did I look!?" Jenna smiled up at him, looking sweetly to him. "When you saw my pose? Miu told me it could knock a man dead."

Miu swung a thumbs up to the backseat.

Bakugo wouldn't admit it, but nothing could compare to how incredibly clever Jenna was when she tried to make a face with the crowd… Especially in her hero's attire… It left him awestruck at first, but that couldn't replace the beauty and fondness he had already created with her.

He looked away, "You looked... like you could murder." he blushed.

She gasped, "Miss Lord Explosion Murder!? Already, Bakugo!? Wow, you move fast!" she joked, but got back in her seat and covered her face. 'Ahhh! He really thought I looked good!? I can't believe my ears! Did he just admit that!?'

"Whaatt?!" He blasted more smoke out the windows, and Miu just laughed at the cute chaos happening behind her.

The whole trip the two argued as Miu would jam her two cents into the mixture, causing even more of an uproar from them both. But to Jenna, having an absolute blast with the two, couldn't have thought of a better welcome home party. After blowing off enough steam, Bakugo just angrily stared out the window before his annoyed expression changed to twinkling amazement at the towering skyscrapers, much larger than Japan's, and the hotdog stands, parks, and people crossing the street with manholes left untouched and decorated in intricate designs.

They had at last entered the city, with it's life blazing about in hurried commotion and fast-paced entertainment.

He was so caught up in it that he barely picked up on the fact that Jenna was now addressing him, "It would have been impossible to save you if we were heading in to find you and not out." She admitted under her breath, having the car pull over at an exit that her friend had mentioned previously was their favorite café location.

"Hmph." He didn't want to talk about what felt like a complete smack to his ego. He wasn't exactly happy about being shown up and stomped out, but at least he wasn't arrested… "Shut up, dummy. I let you sneak me out."

"O-ho?" She raised a suspicious eyebrow at that. "Or were you too taken aback by my 'performance'?"

He flung his head back to her, an anger mark pulsing from his head before seeing her sigh and step out of the now parked vehicle.

He watched as her foot caught on the car and she began to trip, "Heeeyyy!" he called out, moving quickly across the car like a speeding bullet and taking her hand, catching her as he pulled her back in and against him again. He stepped fully outside of the car, still holding her close as he slammed the door shut, "You're such a hassle." He glared with a scowl. "Nothing but trouble, peh!"

However… Jenna could see the real intent. He couldn't fool her. The way his eyes shook as though worried about her… His haste to grab her before she tumbled into the on-going traffic beside the cafe's street corner. She knew he cared, and it was going to be a fun challenge to make him admit it.

"You'd still be hopeless without me, Airhead." He looked away, shy once again as a faint stream of pink seemed to wave a flag of admitting her deductions were accurate against him.

She blushed and looked at his stern hand gripping her own, and then back up at his face, still trying to mask his cute embarrassment. "…You've saved me yet again, Bakugo." She smiled lightly, then dabbed his face with what looked like some handkerchiefs all piled together to get the sweat off his brow. "But there will be times when you can't stop me from saving you, either." She winked.

"I told you! Those were dipped in neutralizing chemical compounds for his sweat! Don't use it unless you're sure he can do without his fire hands!" Miu warned, stepping out and fixing her chest and hair, pulling out some makeup and then tossing it and laughing, as though stating she didn't need it. "What's a man without a fire somewhere in his skin…"

"Heh, knock if off, you." Jenna lightly scolded as she moved out of Bakugo's grip a second, seeing him blow up with insults as they made their way into the café. He stomped with a wide stance and lowered his body as though a gorilla preparing for war again. 'A cute blonde gorilla,' Jenna thought, being amused by his demeanor. 'Maybe he's feeling more comfortable in America now? Who knows... Bakugo always was himself, no matter where we'd be. Be it UA or New York city.' She smiled an attractive fondness towards the odd, loud boy and then saw a few people staring at them.

"Mind your own business." Jenna just faced forward with a look to back off, then immediately changed to sheer swooning at Bakugo's hollering cries and exaggerated swings of his arms. His eyes narrowed to aggressive displays of hurt pride, but all she could see was a flustered Japanese school boy as Miu kept making dirty comments his way about them.

Once in the café, he settled down and sighed, slumping into his chair. "I didn't even pack for this…" he grumbled as he looked straight ahead and out the window.

Another individual looked up from their newspaper, and Bakugo gave him a murdering eye that made the poor sap cower back under it again.

"You two sure are a good match." Miu giggled into her hand, "I wonder how you light it?" Her eye turned a little crazy before reverting back to a 'cute girl's persona. "I wouldn't mind finding out~"

They were directly by the windows of the café, but this unique one let you open the screens and let the air in. "Pfft, Bakugo! You're kinda crazy like that. Miu, could you please not taunt my Blastboy?" Jenna was swirling her chocolate-flavored treat with her straw, gently drinking it and melting into it's bitter-sweetness. "You should really try some, it's a delicacy!" she licked the lingering chocolate from her lips with her fingers, directing her comment to Bakugo as she noticed he had stolen a glance or two at her, pretending not to really care all that much.

She rolled her eyes,"He's stubborn. A typical wanna-be bad boy, but secretly a passionate lover who longs to be my hero." She teased, seeing his hands flicker with sparks he tried to conceal.

'How did she know that!?' His eyes shifted to white arrows, like daggers in his fury. 'Am I that transparent!? Tsk, this woman!'

"Oh, look! Sparks!" Her friend laughed, then looked back to her, "If he starts the fire alarm-! I mean, I'm already we-"

Jenna plugged her mouth, "There's a child behind you."

"There's children to the side and in front of me too." She gestured to the two of them and Jenna lightly hit her head. "Ohw! Fine~ But I can't stop myself. I mean, I'm just so curious about you two! Have you even kissed yet?" She suddenly dipped her head to Jenna and leaned up, showing what looked to be an alluring predator position over her but Jenna just karate chopped her shoulder and forced her back in her seat. Her seductive eyes turned with the pain, showing a slight tear drop on the ends of one of her eyes.

"Another time, can I borrow some makeup?" Jenna closed her eyes, unfazed by her friend's suggestive actions, and began to fiddle with her hair.

"What for?" Bakugo glared, leering his eye towards her, "You never cared at training."

"Well, I know my grandparents are expecting me to look my best, regardless of how 'heroic' I may appear." She had changed in the restroom while Bakugo was forced to wait with Miu while she ordered them drinks. He angrily folded his arms and leaned backwards against the counter as she ordered, shifting his eyes every now and then as though an angry puppy waiting for their master to get home. When she finally did come out, he tsk'd and looked away from her, as though ignoring her for ditching him.

However, He had learned she loved chocolate and was surprised by how naturally her hair matched its rich color.

"I have enough respect for them that this will be like presenting myself as a gift, out of courtesy for all they did for me." She then blinked as though remembering something, "You know, you're in the Big Apple and aren't even enjoying it! That's rather funny to me, you're not even gawking!" she gestured to the window, leaning over the table to do so as he raised an eyebrow and then looked outside.

So,… she hadn't seen him admiring it?

He then gave her a light smile, "It's kinda hard to notice… when you're naturally more appealing than bricks and stones."

"Oooohh~ My quirk may be metal manipulation… but he sure can manipulate his words~" Miu suddenly fiddled with some studs on her pink outfit, which really did make her look like she could have just been a trashy sidekick or a model posing on her makeshift, high-jumping car. "You sure he isn't single?"

"I'll murder you if you even think about it." Jenna's words made Bakugo's heart thump a second and nervously, he fidgeted and put his hands in his pocket, not wanting her to see that had affected him.

"Ah! Rights before bites, girl!" She seemed to be stating something like friends before boys, but she also seemed to want to stake a claim on him as well… "He silently praises you and you don't even jump the counter to boldly makeout with him? Honey, have I taught you nothing?!" She cupped her face in her hands, almost like a disappointed older sister, but Jenna rolled her eyes and tapped her nose.

"Not in front of your perverted eyes, Miu. May get you too excited."

Bakugo grew more agitated, he wanted to see a reaction from her but Miu kept getting in the way, 'Not like I want attention from her or anything though!' he looked out the window, grinding his teeth together at having a third wheel along. Did he really them to bond? Moreover, it seemed what he had hoped for coming over the plane with her wasn't turning out the way he wanted it to be. 'N-Not that I planned that far ahead...' he sweat dropped, calming down a moment as his feelings confused him. 'Just wanted to make her turn into her flustered, wildly annoying self again...' He pouted and then shouted at some pigeons that were landing by the window. "Oui! This isn't your terf anymore!" he cried out. "Buzz off, birdbrains!"

He felt overshadowed by this friend and immediately began to have his veins pop out and his muscles tense up. "I'm having some of that chocolate!" he leaned over and scooped up some of her untouched food.

The girls gasped a moment as Miu laughed, "At least he likes to share his food..~" she playfully bantered back to their old conversation. She then sighed, "I'm still waiting for someone to fill in my last name." she cooed a tease, but Jenna just patted her head like a child.

The three walk around the city a bit, even giving Bakugo his first hotdog, laughing when he calls American food messy but seems to really enjoy the experience. Jenna attempts to wipe ketchup off his face but instead of him fighting against her, he just yells and blasts his hands out, burning the paper, checkerboard hotdog container in them. Miu laughs at him but thinks its rather charming he didn't resist her touch. As they continue to sight-see, they are completely oblivious to the men hiding in the shadows…

As the sky wanes and turns in its rotation with the sun, the men's faces are revealed, showing one with huge claw marks across his face. There's a hollow white eye that glistens like a marble, as he smirks when seeing Bakugo reflected through it. It began to glow symbols, as if surfing more pictures for him as one would do through the worldwide web. "That's the boy we saw at the airport on T.V." he sneered, and put a toothpick in his mouth, his hands in his pockets. "He's valuable, I knew it… That's the boy those League of Villains were after, yeah?"

Another man, with bright blonde hair and a pink bandanna, liquidized and spun a now silvery, materialized morning star weapon around as though it was a toy. "So? You want us to take him back to Japan, Captain? That could be fun… and his friends?"

"Not now." The Captain flicked his toothpick to the other side and extended his hand to stop him. "First, let's wait till they least expect it…"

They seemed to freeze as shadows rolled over them once more while the sun's rotation shifted quickly again, showing that time had passed towards the nightfall and they still remained unknown to the gang while they stalked them silently beyond their sights...

Miu drove the two squabbling lovebirds home, blushing as she noticed Jenna fall asleep and lean on his shoulder as they made their way to her grandparents' house. "Look at that!" she cooed excitedly in a whisper, seeing Bakugo looking away and twitching with his reddened face. "Jenna has a hard time trusting others… her family isn't really that good to her, either… I'm happy to see you fought your way through her arrows and blasted down her defenses." She gave him a thumbs up from the front, but her words caught his attention.

"Huh? She has family issues?" He took on a bit of a gentler tone then, putting his hands solemnly to his knees as she breathed lightly by his side.

"Oh? Jenna didn't tell you? Guess that's obvious, even if you are her boyfriend, that's kinda deep for Jenna's liking…" Miu put a pointer finger up to her lips, thinking about it. He opened his mouth to correct her but as Jenna turned in her sleep, falling more onto his chest, he decided not to risk waking her. "Hmm… how much to tell and how much not to? Maybe you should ask Jenna about it."

"I'm asking you." He glared, and his intimidation made her look back turn the wheel. Jenna flopped more onto him and he got startled, moving her back off his lap and onto his shoulder. "Why you-!" he shouted in a whisper.

"Hehe! Okay! But if I tell you the juicy gossip, you have to promise to protect me from her wrath if and when she figures out it was me! Hee-hee!" she giggled into the back of her hand. "Jenna's kinda as slick as a thief but as thorough as a cop!"

"Makes for a good hero." Bakugo tsked. 'Though… I would say she stabbed through my defenses… if anything.' He thought to himself, thinking back on what she had previously said about Jenna being a tightly shut case.

He looked over to her and gently tapped his chin to her face, as though keeping her steady while the car rocked on.

"Jenna has two brothers and a sister, being the oldest wasn't easy when you have a lot of siblings, you know? Plus, her mother always put all the burden on her. The family began to drift and her mother looked to her first excuse, Jenna. It was sudden and abrupt, but let's just say it was a long time coming… Jenna finally had enough of her mother's abuse and took off to live with her grandparents. Her Dad? Not really one to fight against her mother… so she really had no one to defend her but herself. The fight was really bad, at least, that's all I'll say about it." She waved the rest off, not wanting to go too far into detail, out of respect for her friend. "Just know… Jenna's heart isn't easy to break into. It's even harder to break out." She pressed a button and suddenly the car had knives, daggers, and mini-pistols aimed all around Bakugo's frame. She twisted her hand over the wheel and manipulated it into chains that strung around his neck... if he resisted, even tried to pull back from its entanglement, the car would serve.

Miu's demeanor took on a devil, and her hair seemed to fly in the wind of the highway.

He sweated but tried not to move, just stared at the objects that had mechanically come out of every nook and cranny of the car, then froze at the chained noose around his neck...

"Plus, she has the best support system to date! So if you hurt my Jennie,... I'll cut you up~" she chimed, making a cute pose as she stopped the car, turning her wrist again and reverting everything back to normal.

The mechanical weaponry withdrew back into their proper places before Jenna could wake up and notice the car parked outside her grandparent's home.

Turning around to kick them out, Miu stuck out her tongue, "Alright, you two love birds. Get out of my car and be good, okay? It's late, so maybe you and Jenna could hang out in the broken Jacuzzi?"

Bakugo's ears immediately picked up on that word, shaken up by it's mention. "You mean… she actually has one!?" He remembered her flirtations back with their first rematch…

He slammed a fist to the car's door, almost denting it. "So she wasn't just being nervous! That darn brat! She was having thoughts, wasn't she!?"

"Ah~! My car…" Miu whimpered out, seeing him strike it so.

"Emm… H-huh?" Jenna blinked her eyes open at the sound of the impact and his growing voice, moving off of his shoulder and looking around. "Did I… doze off?" That was slightly rare for her. She usually was so attentive…

'I lose so much focus with this kid.' she thought while she yawned, 'That's twice today.' Little did she know it was thrice...

"Ah, the chocolate finally got to you. You know, that stuff makes you feel so good you just fall right to sleep~" Miu winked to her before pouting to Bakugo, as though her devious side never happened. "Not a word, handsome. Oh, by the way, got any friends up in UA?" she tilted her head cutely.

"Pfft! Psycho!" Bakugo turned away, annoyed to his limit by her but then Jenna rubbed her eyes and smiled.

"He knows a guy. Hard, with red spiky hair?"

"Ohhh! Is he single!?"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" Bakugo kicked the door open as it swung to the side a moment, its two tires lifting off the ground for a split second before bouncing back down.

"What did I just say about my car!? Ohh…" Miu let out some dramatic tears as Jenna handed her some money, "For whatever else he may have damaged." And pushed him out before he could do more harm.

"Hehe, I'll take the cash, but tell me, tell me! Ohh, tell me already!" she stuck her head out of the window and whined as she noticed Jenna seemed done with her by then. "Are you two really dating or not!?"

"That's none of her business!" Bakugo barked out another holler, turning around and having blasts spark from his hands that—this time—caused explosions. Now the neighbors were turning their lights on…

"And if we are? What of it?" She placed her hands on her hips, turning to Bakguo to put him in his place and give him a sly look. She then turned and winked to her trusted friend, Miu, sending her off as she had the whole car jump up and spin around like a fast carnival ride.

"I knneeewwww iiiiit!" Miu landed hard again and gave her best, haughty laugh. "I just wanted him to admit it, honestly."

"T-That weirdo is your friend…?" Bakugo stops his bursts of light in the now fading day and twitches an eyebrow at her theatrics. Jenna hits him on his arm, "Hey! Don't judge! You don't even have any friends!"

Bakugo growls back, hitting her arm, "I-! Grr… I have acquaintances!" he pulls back, just shouting in her face now. "And I'm not sleeping in a Jacuzzi!" he ranted, stomping his feet down and swinging an arm up in his frustrations.

"You told him!?" Jenna gave her a death glare as Miu just snickered into her hand with a knowing blush. "It was too good to resist. Now, Don't have too much fun, you two~" she then drove off after Jenna swung the door shut and glared her way. "And let me know about that hard guy." She crudely inputted before taking off down the long road. They were far out from the city, passed the bridge and towards more open areas of land. But it still seemed too crowded…

The houses had an actual yard and fences around their perimeter, her grandparents had a light purplish-blue for their fence and their house was tall and skinny, almost sharpened pillars in an old-timey feel.

"Great, that blabbermouth probably said too much." She bundled her fists up, heading towards the home.

"I'll aim for your head if you make me repeat any of it!" Bakugo tsked, remembering his 'kinda' promise to Miu. Though he had much more loyalty to Jenna at this point... he suddenly wondered if she would fight him to receive the information, and cutely looked back to see what she would do.

"Don't you always aim for my head?" Jenna smirked, remembering their first battle and how she leaned her head into his hand.

Bakugo snickered, turning around and taking his hands out of his pockets, having them in there when he noticed people looking around through their windows. "And you aim for the hand, heh." He recalled her jamming the arrow into his wrist grenades, storing all his explosive sweat and almost having them kill each other...

But while his thoughts were on that faithful battlefield, she grabbed his unsuspecting hand.

"Good point, it's where all the true chemistry lies, right?" she winked to him and leaned to kiss his cheek, pulling the interlocked hands towards her to get a better aim. However, he reflexed and pulled back, startled.

"W-wha-what was that for, Pipsqueak!?"

"Geez, your loud mouth is going to wake the whole neighborhood." She rolled her eyes but looked a little hurt that he didn't let her kiss at least his cheek. "If it hasn't already…"

As they approached the backyard shed, just a little off to the side of the house, she pushed him in and creaked the door open to just a slit, "I'll go get you some clothes in just a moment. Let me just say hi really fast, okay!?"

He kicked some rocks and looked around the shed, seeing the sign 'out of use' on the Jacuzzi.

He stared at it a moment as Jenna decided he was probably just accepting his fate. "Love ya~" she teased and closed the door.

She could hear his frustrations as the whole shed seemed to throw a racket and quickly ran to her door to make the excuse that raccoons got in or something and she was going to hunt them down.

As Miu made her way down the road, humming to the radio gleefully, her tire suddenly was punctured by a liquid spike that protruded randomly from the ground.

"What the-!? Ahh!" she spun the wheel and threw out a grapple from her car's hood. It grabbed onto a street post, tilting it as she almost went completely off the road.

It gave her a strong hold and she was able to stay on the road bridge, "Phew…" She flipped her hair out of her face, having it drape all over her eyes and nose.

"Dumb broad, She can't move without releasing that grapple now." A voice spoke out, and she nervously turned to see shadows approaching her.

"Ohhh… Why do I always get stuck with the dark, shady types..?" She faked her fear, reaching for a combination code on her car.

"Come on, toots. We got some business with ya…" one drew a knife, and she laughed hysterically.

"You brought a knife..?" She suddenly swirled her arms up and manipulated the metal of her car to form around her, different devices allowed certain functions to remain intact while the car mutated around her and transformed into a mechanical suit for her. "To a mecha fight?"

The men looked up towards the core of the mecha, seeing her stand a few feet up, her crazy gaze showing her excitement at this new situation.

"Now, who wants an oily death, first?" She puckered her lips as though kissing them goodbye, and began to fire out missiles with her insane fast punches, launching some of the gang of men over the bridge.

It wasn't long though, with her arrogance skyrocketing as she continued to destroy their small group, that another liquid spike pierced her in-between the shoulder and neck of her mecha suit. She glared with a wince, "Some boys like to play rough... I love a good pin!" She pulled the spike out, snapping it with a karate chop of her suit, "Jenna taught me that!" then grabbed a handful falling and slammed them against the bridge's pavement. "But I'm more of a dominant personality..." she mused, turning to the man's quirk who had the clear, blue liquid spike suddenly bar her way from movement.

She tried to hack through it but then another's quirk seemed to come in handy, placing his hands to the ground, it melted her feet to the bridge.

"Grr... You really like to gang up on a girl, huh!?" She stomped her real feet out of the mecha's feet, kicking in her defiance. "Nooo! I wanted to play more!"

"Enough. Start talking and maybe we'll go easy on ya..." Captain flipped his jacket back, moving from a motorcycle that was safely away from the battle scene. His eye shone with strange symbols as though his eye was scanning and calculating things...

His huge scratch marks distracted Miu for a second, but her innocent head tilt showed she was still far from afraid. She seemed very comfortable with these sorts of scenarios.

"You're sort of indie-famous, aren't ya, sweetie?" The hollow white eye revealed almost coding figures in a bright green light, like the ones you would see on a computer. "The Internet sure has a lot on your pretty face, but more so on that Blonde Japanese boy. Think you could tell us where you dropped those pretties off too?"

"Emm... not really." Miu shrugged in her bubbly way. "I'm still not done yet." she typed in some code with what remained intact from her custom support car's dashboard.

"I can make her talk, Capt." The man with the bright blonde hair and pink bandanna spun his liquid morning star weapon into a solid weapon before those same silvery spikes protruded out from it like stabby crystals. "Ain't nobody I can't make talk..."

"Ohh, what fun and games." She finished secretly typing in her code on her machine. The car reverted into another setting and she quickly mutated the metal again.

Slipping out the back, she had it form into a tower of ammunition and firepower, shooting everything out as she began to run.

"Follow the wench." Captain stated, moving to his bike as the blonde boy smiled and took off on a liquid skateboard he formed after her.

Miu knew he would catch up to her in no time, and grabbed some of the metal from the bridge, causing it to topple.

"Ahhh!" the bandanna man turned the skateboard into a pillar that kept him up, but the rest of the pursuing men fell into the ditch below.

"Tootles!" she flicked her fingers back in a half-hearted wave and used the rest of the metal to mutate into a scooter's frame. She didn't have much to work with, and abandoning her car made her sick to her stomach, but she had a ton of mocks back home... she could just make another one.

It self-destructed with a wave of her hand, and the bridge was completely decimated.

From the dust that rose a thick cloud from the destruction, a perfect ramp had formed and a motorcycle's light shone through it. Jumping over the huge gaping distance where the bridge once stood, Captain and his subordinate followed Miu a distance behind.

"Captain?" The man looked at him.

"I've got it, Riggs." Captain had navigated the routes through his eye's connection to the internet. "Follow me." He swerved his massive bike, having the tail of his jacket flare up as he went down an unseen trail in the night.

Riggs followed with a drooling smirk, ready for round two... and this time, hopefully with their true target.

Miu looked back behind her, propelling the makeshift scooter on and scanning the area around her to see if anyone had followed her. It appeared not. "Phew, that interrogating bunch really put a damper on my mood!" she seemed to have an insane expression on her face, "Hehehe... I'll just run off and tell Jenna how they won't have faces by tomorrow morning. I'll tell her. I'll break more than their kneecaps~ hehe!" her true colors seemed to be revealed from the action-packed fight.

She skated off ahead, unknowingly leading the two villains straight to Jenna's home...

Jenna entered her quaint grandparent's home with as much cautious stealth as she could muster. She wasn't all that tired, but the jet-lag seemed to be canceled out by her adrenaline at keeping a boy in the shed.

She quickly snuck up the creaky, circling stairs to the attic and got out some of her brother's old clothes, the ones he kept there for when he went to visit them. They may be a bit tight... but it would work.

She hid it in a bag and dropped her stuff off in her room, heading back down the stairs with a backpack—ready to stuff it with snacks so Bakugo wouldn't starve, when her grandma and grandpa's note fell from the stand by the stairs.

Curious, she picked it up: "We're so proud of you, Jenna. We know you took your vacation time off to send a transfer in Japan's infamous UA school, even though you don't like stepping too far out of your comfort zone. We're very happy for you, and hope you made lots of fun friends. Grandpa and I will be home tomorrow morning from visiting the countryside, so don't fret! I left you some welcome home cake. Your favorite, chocolate with burning arrows as the candles! Remember to sleep well from your trip, we love you. - Grandma and Grandpa."

She studied the note carefully and smiled, "Thanks, guys." and tucked the note carefully into her pocket as she made her way out to the shed.

"Good news! You're safe for the night-" she cut herself off a moment as she saw him using a screwdriver to unclog a jet in the Jacuzzi, and finally, moved to turn on the water.

She was amazed to see the bubbles burst and the jets work again...

"Are those... bubbles?" he had even cleaned the area too. It wasn't anywhere near 'good as new' but for a few hours to make something, it was actually pretty impressive.

"Yeah, they're running again, what of it?" He brushed out, looking annoyed by her questions.

"You did this?" she gawked, looking at the water heating up.

He had changed out of his disguise and was back in his hero attire, but looked a bit uncomfortable still wearing it.

She sat the backpack down, watching him get some grime off his hands.

"I just don't like to sit around and do nothin'." He seemed to maybe have an ulterior motive...

She hugged her knees while squatting down to watch the bubbling water and then admire him again, leaning her head to the side, "What are you implying..?"

Her suspicion was purely flirty, and he paused while cleaning himself up to slam the cloth he was using down on his knee. "I'm only here for my rematch, American!"

She saw how innocently he was trying to cover it up, and smiled, "Well, I came to UA for a relaxing vacation. Wasn't expecting to fear saying goodbye to someone... or having them chase me all the way across the world either." she gave him a sly look that also hinted that she wanted him to come closer.

In a gruff manner, he burst an explosion towards the water, splashing her and turning away as he blushed. "You make somethin' out of everything, you know that!?"

"You tried so hard to be cute today, why stop now?"

"I'm not cute!" he ruffled his hair, "Shut up, Arrow!"

"Uh-huh." She walked over to a locker and pulled out a swimsuit, then tossed him some trunks, "Those should fit." she went into a smaller cabinet room as he stared off after her, holding the trunks.

When she had changed, she dipped her body slowly into the now heated water, watching the steam and giggling as Bakugo was already in it, grumpy and folding his arms. He gave her a relaxed glance over her way, and she was surprised he wasn't gawking over her.

"This is the first time you've seen me in a swimsuit, and you're not at all impressed?" She tucked herself into the water and couldn't help but feel bubbles in her chest from his eyes never leaving hers.

He laughed a second, being as loud as he could, "Your hero suit is skin-tight, there's nothing under there I haven't seen."

She whacked him, then moved closer, "For a Japanese man, you sure come on fast..." she began skimming her fingers over his chest as he blushed and fidgeted.

"Oui..." He glared her way, and she laughed, pulling a bit away. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Oh? I thought this is exactly why you fixed it." She teased, fiddling with her fingers as though acting coy.

He suddenly seemed to get nervous, tsking at her had become some sort of way to mask his real feelings, "W-what are you talking about..? Get away from me, Pipsqueak! You freak!" he splashed some water at her and she faked him out that she was gonna splash him back, but instead...

"Psyche!" She kissed him when he turned back after not getting soaked with the hot water.

There was a moment of silence...

When she pulled away, she actually placed some fingers on her lips, lightly wondering why this sensation was so different.

Then... without noticing... Bakugo began to smoothly, ever so slowly, move closer and over her then. He gripped the rim of the Jacuzzi as though pining her from escape, and stared intensely into her eyes.

For the first time in a long time, Jenna began to get nervous and laughed to cope with the sudden action. "O-oh? You really couldn't just let me leave Japan without you, could you? Haha...ha..."

He moved in closer...

"Haha... Hahaha! B-Baku-" She froze a second as her hands came up to maybe stop him, simply out of impulse, but he just waited a moment longer...

With such flaring heat in his eyes, she softly lowered her hesitant hands and placed them on his chest delicately, letting him move closer. They shared in a second, more passionate kiss.

With the steam of the constantly jetting bubbles and the warmth in their cheeks, they explore a bit more of this strange, new feeling and sensation...

With droplets falling from his hair as her hands gradually came up his neck to feel within that fluffy mess, it was straight out of a movie's fantasy reel for the two.

When he pulled away, he immediately gave her another smoldering look as intense as if he was in the middle of a fierce battle, "Don't get the wrong idea..." His voice was so much more alluring now that Jenna was almost tempted to silence this angry boy once and for all.

As she moved more up against him, he continued, "I just couldn't stand the fact that you were leaving... after giving me the slip, I was ticked off."

She closed and opened her eyes as though wondering if she was still in the dream, and amazed to find she was.

Maybe the jet-lag was more powerful than she had supposed, and she had passed out on her bed while trying to gather things up in her backpack for Bakugo.

"I'm not someone to be kept waiting... so you're either my pathetic American who bested me twice... or you're not." She mouthed his first name, and he tilted his head a moment, as though wanting to hear it a bit louder as he smirked. "Either way, I don't like being so mad... and not being able to do anything about it." he went in for another tender kiss as Jenna completely submitted to this one, leaning back and arching herself to fully take him in.

But she was really waiting for the perfect opening...

"It's not my style." He pulled away and she went for it.

"Katsuki..." she breathed out, the steam clinging to her face as her voice grew fainter and fainter. "Don't you ever forget... only I'm brave enough to put my face... up against a ticking time-bomb." She grabbed his face, startling him a moment. "And it's about time you said something!" she jumped into him, kissing him as he flailed about in a bit of shock at her forwardness.

The two tossed around a bit in the water but settled down later into it as Bakugo began to give in little by little to her, leaning more deeper into the embrace.

"You and I both get frustrated, don't we?" Bakugo slurred a moment in his words as Jenna didn't really give him a second to ground himself or breathe.

"I get way more frustrated than you, silly!" she chimed in, flipping her now wet hair back and having it spray out of the hot tub. "But you don't say much... still, I'm really glad you're here." the look in her eyes was more than just doting. She had captivated him and he, in return, had finally expressed his enchantment back to her.

Her smile was the flame, and his confession... the explosion.

"Emm... Me too." he laid his head on her shoulder, moving it into the crook of her neck, "Jenna..." faking a bite as she laughed. "I think words can be pointless sometimes... without actions."

She held him tighter and kissed the side of his face, "Would you quit teasing and get back to 'fighting' me already?" he knew what she meant though.

He pulled back with a sneer, "I don't lose." and came for her again, "This time... I'll really kill ya." But Jenna grew excited, knowing what he meant.

But before the two could even continue, Miu slammed the door open, a wild look of blood-lust on her face.

"They're coming for you!"

The two froze before Jenna swung her body around and pulled out her bow from her backpack. She flung around again and attempted to wrap her arms around Bakugo again as she drew it out and pointed it right at her. "This is the last time you block me." But then noticed Bakugo wasn't in the Jacuzzi anymore. "H-huh?" she looked absolutely devastated.

"No! For real!" Miu waved her arms out apologetically but then snickered, "W-wha-what were you two just doing... in there?"

Bakugo shivered outside the Jacuzzi, sneezing in the cold as he apparently had jumped out and immediately went to cower in a corner. "Darn Americans, no privacy. There better not be any cameras here!" He blasted some wet explosions from his hands as he roared in his aggressive way but Miu didn't seem intimidated by the act the two were putting on.

"Ohh~ Sorry to interrupt, but-!" she put on a fake, cutesy act before a silver spike stuck out towards her neck. "Eee... I guess I lead them right to ya... sorry about that." she sweat-dropped a little and made a sweet face that showed her guilty mistake. Still, there was no fear in her eyes, amazingly.

'Just what kind of country is this!?' Bakugo got up after seeing the spike, freaked out but worried suddenly for Jenna.

From the side of the shed door's frames, the men appeared with grins, and Riggs lifted his arm up leisurely to lean against the side. "UA student... Welcome to the United States!"

Captain also seemed to barge in, but Jenna pulled out an arrow and fired for his face. He caught it as the marble eye examining it, seeming to search up its materials and properties, but they seemed unknown and flashed red before he removed the arrow from its sights. "Hmph, the girl from the newscast shows her face again too." He flipped the arrow around, letting it twiddle between his fingers. "With all the news lately from Japan, the high security and League of Villains running around... I'm sure either one of them would pay handsomely for ya..." he seemed to disregard the arrow. After all, it wasn't high on his priority, to-do list.

"A ransom?" Jenna looked to Bakugo, who was already getting his wrist grenades on.

"I'm sick of having our battles cut short by your head shots." He grunted out, seeing Riggs throw his hands out and spikes protrude to jam into his wrist, making them unmovable for a moment. "Grr... I'll show you all... The strength of UA!" it was like a caged lion's roar, and Jenna suddenly understood.

"Why does everyone want my boyfriend?" She looked annoyed.

"He is kinda wanted." Miu licked her lips and Jenna just glared, unamused at her.

"You were once kidnapped before, think we can't do a similar job?" Riggs mocked Bakugo, snickering from the side of his mouth. He spread his hands back to Jenna but Bakugo blasted the area. Since he couldn't move his arms now, being stuck between the wedges of the bluish-silver spikes, it headed straight for Miu who moved from the previous spike's location and ducked, jumping and covering her head.

It was the distraction Jenna needed though, seeing Captain turn behind him to watch Miu-'Now!' she leaped up to try and rip her arrow from his hand but he grabbed her with his free one, sneering a smirk.

"Gotcha." He threw her around and pinned her against him, pointing her arrow right at her neck. "Play nice, Japanese boy, or you're little damsel here gets it."

Jenna struggled, "I'm not the damsel here!" she eyed to Bakugo the light misty steam off of her arrow, and then the Jacuzzi.

He nodded, "I think we all need to cool off!" He did his best to wiggle his wrists down and move his hands to blast the water as much as possible out, continuing to fire down towards it as the hot water shot up at them.

In the distraction, Jenna bit the arrow and ripped it out of the shocked Captain's hands, grabbing it and jumping to throw it to his feet.

Ice sprung out at his base and locked him in place, the water cooling and creating a huge fog that kept them mostly hidden.

"Hey!" Captain tried to cover his one good eye before being completely blinded by the steam and unable to move. Through the white, wet mass of fog—arrows swiped through the air into him.

He tried to dodge the first few but soon was hit on his leg, chest, and shoulder. He wasn't able to slump down so his head fell a bit, "Y-you... Rotten kids..."

Riggs's shouted in the distance, and the spikes blocking Bakugo soon withdrew and turned to liquid puddles, dropping from the suspended air as he started blasting in Captain's direction.

"You're not getting away so easily!" He couldn't understand the English, but Jenna said ransom in Japanese and he filled in the rest.

He blasted the ice the man was detained in and had him flung against the side of the shed, forcing him down.

"Now... where's the other one?" Bakugo tried to listen around, but the arrows had stopped. "Jenna?" He looked behind him, "Arrow!?" He called out.

A pair of hands wrapped around his waist, spooking him.

"Darn you!" He fired out but the figure dodged and laughed. "H-huh?"

"They were far too easy!" She giggled, "Did they really think they could take us on? The first place tourney winner for the sport's festival and the prodigy Arrow?"

"Prodigy?" Bakugo spat out, raising an eyebrow before smiling widely to her. "America's nothing like Japan! Let's just get these guys squared away!"

"Right!" Jenna moved aside after hopping for a kiss and then swung her bow, whacking a figure in the mist.

"Ow! Oui, stand down!" Miu's voice broke through and stopped Jenna from swinging another blow.

"Oh! Sorry, stay out of the way then!" Jenna went to swing again and move stealthily but Bakugo grabbed her waist and pointed to the figure on the ground.

"If you stopped a second to think about your safety, you'd have already seen that he's trapped in some sort of contraption with a baseball-sized bump on his head, idiot!"

"Ohhh! What'd you call me!? Blasting hot water on my ice arrow was my idea, smart one. What? Can't stand the fact that I saved you!?"

"Saved me!?" He pulled her right up to his chest, "I dare you to say that again."

"I love you!"

His face suddenly burst with red, little fumes showing his embarrassment. "W-wha? How dare you!"

"How dare YOU not say it back!"

Miu was still beating up the guy in her metal entrapment, but stopped her bloodbath to swoon at Bakugo and Jenna, "Aww, I ship it!" She swung her slugger into a groaning Rigg's head to finally knock him fully out.

The police came and Miu sorted things out, but Jenna had to explain to her grandparents that the boy she was making out with and then burst off like a rocket towards the sky was nothing to be afraid of~

Just don't tell her parents.

But she had whispered to him that he was her hero, and she blushed in surprise when he told her she was his reason to be stronger and better than All Might.

Every now and then she would write him, telling him her next trip to UA... before she got the word back that she was accepted into UA as a full-fledged student!

Deku turned his head to see what letter Bakugo was reading, "Is that from your girlfriend?"

"Yeah... Wait." His eyes widened, "YOU NERD!" he blasted an explosion towards Deku but he dodged it, smiling gleefully.

"I think that's great! You two got along so well!"

"Fight me like a man!"

"It's okay! I-I-I honestly think it's cute!"

"I'M NOT CUTE YOU WORTHLESS NOTHING!"

"I-I didn't mean it like that, Kacchan!"

END

#commission reicept #jenna #me commissions #jenna story #boku no hero #hero academia #ocxbakugo #my hero academia oc #asrasdarling #cutegirlmayra #cutegirlmayra commissions

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softyoongiionly · 6 years

Text

Fear and Dumplings: Chapter Six

Confronting your fears for a final grade sounds unappealing but, with Yoongi as your partner, things might not be so bad.

Summary: You’re in your final semester at University when your Abnormal Psychology professor assigns you a partnered project surrounding your greatest fears. Lucky for you, your partner just so happens to be a cute boy named Min Yoongi.

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Genre: College Au, Underground Rapper! Yoongi, Soft!!! Yoongi, Fluff!!!, some moderate angst (later), smut (later later), slow-ish? burn

Word Count: 5.1K

A/N: I’m literally on fire after writing this chapter lol. I hope you like it!😊

Warnings for this Chapter: mentions of fear, anxiety, sadness, some angst aka Jimin is an insecure boy who is unaware that he is literaly heaven on earth, swearing, suggestive situations/concepts, if you squint really hard you can see the beginnings of smut.

Warnings for the Fic: mentions characters confronting their fears, characters in uncomfortable situations, emotional moments between characters, mentions of bad parenting, explicit language throughout the fic, moderate angst, and very explicit smut later in the story.

Chapter 6: Doubt and Shadow Demons

You’re lying on your bed in one of your many baggy t-shirts, smiling like an idiot at your phone. Jimin had sent you screenshots of what he believed to be Yoongi’s twitter. If Jimin wasn’t aiming to be a dancer, you would have suggested a career as a private investigator because, he could literally find anyone. You hadn’t asked Jimin to go looking for more information on Yoongi but, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t interested. His Twitter was mostly black, no bio and, no location but, the avatar was a picture of Yoongi wearing headphones, his newly blonde hair disheveled as he smiled at the camera. He really had no business being that cute. ‘@agustd93’ was his handle and you furrowed your brows in confusion as you tried to decipher what it could mean. Yoongi didn’t seem to tweet much, he just retweeted a lot of music equipment accounts however, there were a few scattered tweets here and there that made you laugh.

“Roommates are drunk, again. They can’t hold their alcohol for shit.”

“Update: Drunk Hobi is obsessed with my cheeks and, I swear if he pinches them one more time, I’m going to cut his hands off.”

“Another Update: Joon just started crying after explaining to me that, “we are all just little flowers in the garden of life, trying to find our bees.” What the fuck does that even mean?”

You giggle, shaking your head, your thumb scrolling down to search for more tweets. There were more scattered between retweets of what you assumed to be the latest music equipment as Yoongi quoted some of the them with captions like ‘Dream Studio’ and ‘if only I wasn’t broke.’ You kept scrolling before coming across a tweet that made your stomach flutter.

‘Where? Everywhere.’

Fuck. He tweeted that last night. After you and Yoongi got off the Ferris Wheel, you actually ended up having a pretty decent time. The two of you got dinner at the park and wrote your experiences down in your research journals. Yoongi acted like the conversation on the Ferris Wheel never happened but, he seemed to warm up to you more and more as the night progressed. But still, nothing flirty occurred between the two of you and, Yoongi was very careful not to get too close to you. The whole thing was very confusing, one minute, Yoongi’s admitting that he would kiss you ‘everywhere, if you let him’ and, the next minute he’s treating you like he normally did. This tweet was sent at 11:30 which would have been around the time he got back to his place. Maybe it wasn’t about you, Yoongi seemed to have a habit of being vague and, he easily could have been talking about something else but, none the less, it made your heart skip a beat.

Did you like Yoongi? More importantly, did it matter? You shook your head, trying to rid yourself of your complicated thoughts as you rolled out of bed. Marzipan throws a complaint your way as you walk past her lounging at the end of the mattress. Normally, you would be out at your favorite crepe café gossiping with Jimin over some iced coffee but, Jimin had texted you the night before saying that his showcase rehearsal was running late and he didn’t think he’d get any sleep if he met up with you. You had of course met this with an abundance of understanding as you knew better than anyone how hard Jimin had been working at his showcase routine. So, instead of meeting up with your best friend, you planned on working on your final paper for your International Relations course. You had been working on it all semester and, felt accomplished that for once, you didn’t procrastinate. Green tea was essential for today’s writing session so; you brewed a decent sized pot before, continuing your paper. Marzipan eventually made her way out into your living room, opting to sprawl out on the couch, claiming her space as usual.

After writing for some time, you glance at the clock at the bottom of your laptop and your eyes widen. Shit. You had been writing for 4 hours. How was it possible that much time had passed? You had gotten a lot done, adding an additional 6-7 pages to the giant that was your final paper. Just after leaning back in your chair and stretching your limbs, your phone lights up with a text message.

BROS 4 LYFE (Jungkook): I miss the squad tho.

You giggle at the message, your heart warming as you reply.

BROS 4 LYFE: me too tho :/

BROS 4 LYFE (Taehyung): me 3 tho :/ :/

BROS 4 LYFE (Jimin): MY BABIES :( i miss u guys.

A hint of sadness plucks at your chest as you read the messages being sent in by your friends. You had made new friends in school and, college had been an overall fun time but, you had to admit that you never stopped missing having all three of your bestfriends in one place. The past four years hadn’t been the same without them and you couldn’t wait til the four of you graduated so, that you could finally have your group back together again. Jungkook had been drafted to play pro ball on a minor league team in your current city and, Taehyung had made the decision earlier in the semester to pursue his masters in art history at the school you and Jimin were currently attending. This meant that in a few short weeks, everything would back to normal for a little while.

BROS 4 LYFE: only a few more weeks my dudes, we got this.

BROS 4 LYFE (Jungkook) stay on that grind squad, college grad hours are about to be open.

BROS 4 LYFE (Jimin): kookie and tae, will you be here for my showcase? It’s two weeks before graduation.

BROS 4 LYFE (Taehyung): duh. We wouldn’t miss it for the world Jiminie.

BROS 4 LYFE (Jungkook): yea we would never miss a chance to see the world’s shortest ballerina.

Your eyes widen as you laugh, already imagining Jimin igniting in fury when he reads the message. His reply comes before you are able to chime in.

BROS 4 LYFE (Jimin): YAH! IM NOT A BALLERINA!

BROS 4 LYFE (Jimin): I AM A CONTEMPORARY DANCER.

BROS 4 LYFE (Jimin): THE CHAMPION CONTEMPORARY DANCER

BROS 4 LYFE (Jimin): THREE YEARS RUNNING THANKYOUVERYMUCH

At this point you’re in a full blown laughing fit, shaking your head as your fiery best friend pops off in the chat.

BROS 4 LYFE: go best friend, that’s my best friend.

BROS 4 LYFE (Taehyung): let the record show that Kookie bought 12 of the limited edition Jimin shirts that your school sold after he won the championships.

BROS 4 LYFE (Jungkook): YOU PROMISED ME YOU WOULDN’T TELL

BROS 4 LYFE (Jimin): >:)

BROS 4 LYFE (Jimin): love u kookie

BROS 4 LYFE (Jungkook): …love u too…

The responses eventually dwindle down and, you decide to hop in the shower to tend to the mop of hair that was growing slightly greasy on your head. Afterwards, you throw on a cozy sweatshirt and your favorite pair of fuzzy pajama shorts and, settle on the couch to watch some Netflix. You hadn’t had a night in to yourself in a long time and, it felt amazing to be able to sit around and, do nothing. Marzipan made her way up your body before, snuggling up in the free space between you and the edge of the couch. As your fingers absentmindedly stroke her fur, you feel your lids becoming heavier and heavier and, finally, you drift off into a much needed nap.

Needless to say, the nap turned into you passing out around 7:30 and, sleeping through the night until, finally, you awake to the ethereal sound of the never-ending city construction. You grumble as you pull the covers over your head to drown out the noise causing Marzipan, who clearly hadn’t left her spot all night, to flee from the couch. Checking your phone, you noticed a few messages from your group-chat and a snapchat or two from some of your other friends. After responding to the majority of your missed messages, you drag yourself off of the couch and into the kitchen to make some coffee. The microwave displayed the current time: 7:45am; an unholy time to be awake on a Saturday morning. The coffee was finishing up before a loud knock at your door caused you to jump out of your skin. Who the hell was at your house at 7:45 in the morning? You gingerly made your way to the door, hoping that it was just someone from maintenance. Opening the door, you nearly scream as a tuft of pink hair practically collapses into your arms. It was Jimin and, he was crying.

“Jimin, babe, what’s wrong?” You hold him to you, your eyes wide with concern as you usher him into your apartment.

“I can’t do it y/n, I can’t do anything right.” He cries into your t-shirt, his hands clutching you as if you’re about to slip away.

You rub his back, maneuvering you both onto your couch, Jimin clinging to you all the while.

“Hey, hey, that’s not true at all.” You murmur soothingly. “Jimin, what brought this on? Did something happen?”

Jimin, still crying, nods, as the tears stream down his puffy cheeks.

“I’ve been rehearsing for…for 36 hours…and I ca…can’t….do it…I can’t get it right. I ke…keep messing up. I’m n…not getting it…they’re…they’re going to drop me from the showcase if I can’t do it….they…they will…” At this point, your heart is broken, your usually smiley best friend is completely shattered, sobbing, into your arms. You hadn’t seen him like this since he had his first serious breakup sophomore year and, even that couldn’t compare to what you saw before you.

“Shh…minnie…it’s ok, it’s ok, I got you.” You gingerly tilt his swollen face towards yours, your eyes holding an immense amount of emotion as you gaze into his. “Listen to me ok? You can’t rehearse like that, you’re going to burn out and, get hurt. You have to rest. You’ve been practicing non-stop for the entire semester. You could do that routine in your sleep babe. The only reason you probably messed up is because you are exhausting yourself.”

Before you can even finish, Jimin’s eyes well up with tears once again as he shakes his head.

“No…no…you don’t understand…y/n…the coaches came to watch me last night and, I fell…I fell and they…they said that they were disappointed with my progress…and that I need to do better…so…I had to stay to re…rehearse…cause I failed. I failed y/n, I failed.” Jimin bursts into another fit of sobs as he clutches you tighter and, you actually have to hold back the tears that are pricking the corners of your own eyes.

“Dancers fall all the time Jiminie, it’s ok, you had been rehearsing all day. Every free moment you have, you spend in the studio practicing. I know it must have been so hard to fall in front of your coaches but, hey,” You tilt his face to you once more before he can hide away in your arm again. “You are Park fucking Jimin. You are the youngest collegiate dancer to win the national showcase and, the ONLY dancer to win it three years in a row. Dancing is like breathing to you. Audiences are mesmerized as soon as you step on the stage. You did not fail. You are exhausted. You can’t work yourself like this or, there won’t be a Park Jimin to win the showcase four years in a row.” As your words tumble out of your mouth, Jimin begins to calm down, still sniffling lightly, he hugs you again, his normally sparkling eyes, heavy with exhaustion.

“I’m so scared…y/n…there’s so much pressure and, I don’t think I’ll be able to bear it if I disappoint anyone.” You place a chaste kiss to the top of his bubblegum hair as you nod.

“It’s ok to be afraid, this is something you really want and, when we really want something, the thought of failing can be crippling but, you have worked so unbelievably hard. No one deserves this more than you do. Try and have a little faith in yourself ok? There is nothing you can’t achieve. You have something so magical within you. Working hard is good but, everyone has their limit and, if you keep pushing yourself like this, you won’t be healthy enough to achieve all of the amazing things I know you are capable of.” Your voice has dropped to an even lower volume as you continue rubbing Jimin’s back. He is looking up at you with intense focus but, you can tell he is on the verge of crashing.

“You promise? You promise you believe I can do this?” He whispers and, your heart shatters in pieces that someone whom you care so deeply for, is in so much pain.

“I don’t just believe Jimin, I know.” You whisper back before jerking your head to the other end of the couch. “Can you please try and sleep for me? When you wake up, we can go somewhere, or we can stay in,its up to you. Just try and rest of a while.” At your request, Jimin lets out a yawn, his lips pressing to your shoulder once more before he flops back onto the couch, still sniffling lightly.

You help him out of his shoes and his coat before grabbing a blanket and, literally tucking him in.

“Thank you y/n.” Jimin whispers, practically half asleep, his hand holding yours lightly.

“You don’t have to thank me, that’s what best friends are for. I’ve cried on your couch a few times too, remember.” You smile fondly as Jimin lets out a twinkling giggle, happy to see that he’s feeling somewhat better.

“I love you.” He whispers, his eyes beginning to shut.

You squeeze his hand lightly before replying.

“I love you too Jimin.”

Jimin drifts off a few moments later, his light snores filling your living room. Your heart feels achy as you reply the last few moments over in your head. You knew your words wouldn’t be enough to completely take away Jimin’s uncertainty but, you were so grateful that he came to you instead of suffering in silence. Jimin had a history of feeling this way right before a showcase. He had done something similar to this your freshman year before, winning and subsequently making history. It absolutely devastated you to see him hurting but, you meant everything you said. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that Jimin was going to go far in life; you just hoped one day, he could see it for himself.

—————————————————————————————————-

“The dark and the ocean….I think maybe it’s time that we start tackling our fears one by one, what do you think?” You look over at Yoongi, who nods from behind his phone.

“Yeah, I think so too. I don’t know how we’d combine the dark and the ocean anyway.” His voice was slightly scratchier than normal but, when you had asked if he was sick, he told you that he had lost his voice at a concert he went to the night prior. For whatever reason, you didn’t believe him but, rather than prying, you opted to enjoy the sound of Yoongi’s raspy voice becoming even raspier.

“If we did, it would be terrifying and, I would probably die.” You state bluntly, causing Yoongi to scoff in disbelief, shaking his head at you.

“You’re so dramatic.” He chastises, smirking lightly, tapping away at his phone. You shrug, not bothering to disagree with him as you doodle on the corner of your paper. “Are you comfortable confronting this fear directly? I don’t know how you would imagine it, unless, you just imagine yourself in a dark room.”

The shudder that passes through your body was completely involuntary and, Yoongi notices it.

“You don’t have to, we can think of something else.” He assures, his almond shaped eyes, wrinkled slightly in concern. You shook your head insistently, putting on a brave face.

“No, its ok…I can do it. I won’t be alone so, it will be a little easier.” You force smile onto your mouth but, Yoongi isn’t buying it. Thankfully, he decides to accept your statement anyway.

“Does tonight work for you? I have a free Tuesday for once so, I figured we could do yours today and mine on Thursday.” Yoongi’s suggests, his demeanor returning to normal. You nod, leaning back in your chair, attempting to look casual but, your heart jumped slightly in your chest.

“Yeah, that’s fine, what time?” You needed to know how much time you had to straighten up because, you definitely left dirty dishes in the sink and, you were quite certain that you dropped a pair or two of clean underwear whilst running late this morning.

“Well, it doesn’t get dark until 7:30-8 so, maybe around then?” Yoongi cocks his head slightly, his eyes sleepy as usual. You had never had such a strong urge to tuck someone into bed and, kiss their forehead until you met Min Yoongi. That boy needs more sleep.

“I’m good with that yeah. Are we eating together or do you want to eat before you come?”

“I’ll bring something, I have a lot to make up for since somebody, decided to buy our tickets last week.” He gives you a pointed look, disapproval gracing his features. You laugh, shrugging shamelessly, looking up at him.

“I guess you better bring something good then.” You insist, smiling, nudging his desk with your foot.

————————————————————————————————–

It was that very conversation that led you to where you were now: belly full of That’s Amore’s pasta, apartment tidied up, and Yoongi glancing over at you curiously.

“What?” You giggle lightly, confused at his intense gaze before, he nods over to you.

“Why are you afraid of the dark?” He murmurs, his tone cautious but curious.

You bite your lip, as you feel your body grow slightly uncomfortable. Meeting Yoongi’s gaze, you attempt to sound as brave as possible before, answering his question.

“I…used to have really bad nightmares as a kid. I had them every night for almost two years.” You admit, your eyes moving to stare at the couch instead of continuing to look at Yoongi. “My parents finally took me to a doctor and they told them that I would eventually just grow out of it. They gave me something to help me sleep through the night and, over time, the dreams finally stopped but, I slept with my light on until I was like 14.” You giggle, trying to lighten the mood, not really enjoying the serious tone of the conversation.

Yoongi nods, regarding you earnestly from the other end of the couch.

“I’m sorry.” He says softly and, you can tell that he means it. You smile over at him, brushing it off.

“No, its ok, it happened a long time ago. I’m just still not a huge fan of the dark.” You explain, finally meeting his gaze again.

“You don’t have to do this, you can just keep talking about it…I don’t want you to feel afraid.” He insists, his tone firm and certain.

You nod, your smile growing more genuine.

“I can do it. I think it will be good for me and, like I said, I won’t be alone so, I don’t think it will be too bad.” You’re lying. The dark terrified you but, logically, you understood that there was nothing dangerous about it. You know you can do this.

Yoongi nods but, you can tell that he’s uneasy, his movements cautious and hesitant as he looks around your apartment.

“Ok, do you want to start slow? We could just turn off the lights first; the streetlights shouldn’t make it too dark.” He assures you, nodding toward the window but, you shake your head at his suggestion.

“No, I think it’s better if we just do everything now. I think prolonging it will just make me more nervous.” Your voice is growing smaller and, once you catch that, you sit up straighter. As if, sitting up straighter would lessen the fear you felt. “Let’s do this.”

Yoongi nods and the two of you move to start closing the curtains and turning off the few lamps that you have on in your apartment. You both stand on opposite ends of your living room as Yoongi’s hand hovers over the main light.

“Are you ready?” He calls softly, his face littered with concern.

You nod, smiling tightly, bracing yourself for the darkness.

“You have to protect me if a shadow demon tries to eat me!” You insist, giggling, trying to lessen the tension as Yoongi rolls his eyes.

“There’s no such thing as shadow demons.” He counters, smirking before, he nods anyway. “But, yeah, I guess I’ll protect you if that happens.”

Your heart is picking up its pace in your chest as you attempt to pull a deep breath from your nose.

Yoongi looks at you pointedly and, before another question can pass his lips, you nod to the light.

“Go ahead. I’m good.” You assure him, putting on the bravest voice you can find.

There’s a click and then, darkness envelops your apartment. You could never have imagined that your apartment could get to this level of darkness. The room was pitch black, you held your hand out in front of your face and you saw nothing but a faint blob.

“Are you ok?” Yoongi calls softly from the other end of the room.

Another shaky breath passes your lips as you attempt to calm yourself.

“Yeah, I’m good. I’m ok.” You assure him but, even you could tell that your tone wasn’t convincing. There’s a shuffling on the other end of the room that causes you to jump out of your skin. “What was that?”

“It’s just me; I’m trying to find my way to the couch.” Yoongi’s voice calms you and, you curse yourself for being so obviously afraid.

“Yeah, I should probably do that too. I don’t want to just stand here…vulnerable…where literally anything can attack me if it wanted to.” You muse casually and, this causes Yoongi to finally break out in his rickety laughter.

“Nothing is going to attack you, just come here and, be careful not to trip over anything. That’s the only real danger you need to worry about.” Yoongi’s voice is practically a whisper and, you use it to guide yourself to your sofa. You finally feel the familiar fabric and make your way around the arm of the couch before, tucking your body into one of the cushions. The heartbeat in your chest hasn’t lessened its pounding but, you feel slightly better that you’re not doing this alone.

“I made it.” You whisper but, Yoongi could already feel you sit down at the opposite end of the couch.

“How are you feeling?” Yoongi whispers back to you and, you feel yourself relaxing slightly at the sound of his voice. He really should be doing ASMR in his free time. Your mouth opens to lie again but, you end up sighing in defeat.

“I’m scared.” It’s the first time either of you have uttered this phrase since beginning your project and, you grow uneasy as you wait for his response.

“That’s ok.” He assures and then he falls silent for a moment. “I know it’s difficult for you. We can stop whenever you want.”

“I’m ok right now; my eyes are starting to adjust.”

Another moment of silence passes between the two of you and, you feel a familiar thickness in the air that seems to occur a lot when you and Yoongi are alone. You close your eyes for a moment, stifling your desire to mention it to him. He had made it very clear on the Ferris Wheel that he wasn’t interested in being with you that way… ‘right now.’

“You can…move closer to me, if you need to. I’m not sure if that will help but, you can try. I don’t mind.” Yoongi whispers and, his offer catches you completely off guard. Should you move closer to him?

Silently, you scoot your body down the length of the couch until you feel your shins meet Yoongi’s feet. He must have been sitting cross-legged on the couch and, now that you’re closer to him, you can make out his posture. He’s sitting with his legs crossed, his body turned to face the direction you were sitting, while his hands rested in his lap.

“Thank you.” You whisper, and you can sort of make out the faint smile ( :] ) on his lips.

“Is it any better?”

“Yeah, it is, actually, thanks.” You repeat your gratitude and you finally start to feel the anxiety subsiding from your chest. Yoongi was warm and, he smelt like berries and the ocean? An odd yet tantalizing combination that, in all honesty, made your stomach tighten. His hands are adorned with a few rings and your eyes squint in curiosity as you try to make out what they look like; regretting that you hadn’t checked them out when the lights were on.

“What are you trying to look at?” Yoongi’s whisper causes you to smile as you realize that his eyes were also adjusted to the darkness and, he was probably wondering why you were staring intently at his lap.

“Your rings.” You giggle, your head jerking their direction. At your answer, Yoongi’s fingers flutter lightly in response, his head turning down to look at them.

“Oh, yeah, I don’t wear these a lot but, my roommate Namjoon got them for me and, started giving me shit for not liking them. So, I made a point to wear them more.” He explains his tone one of fondness and annoyance. Another laugh passes your lips as you nod in understanding.

“They look nice. Namjoon has good taste.” You compliment, feeling far more comfortable.

“Yeah, he’s alright, I guess.” Yoongi jests but, you know he doesn’t mean what he says, always hiding behind a snarky comment. Before you can speak again, Yoongi holds one of his hands out to you. “You can look at them if you want.”

Your heart stalls a moment as you look at Yoongi’s out stretched hand. The hand that had been on your own lap comes up to bring Yoongi’s closer to your view. The rings were actually beautiful and, you were thankful that the tiniest amount of light had escaped through the curtains so you could properly see them. There were four of them each covered in silver, the engravings depicting the four elements: Earth, fire, water, and air. You smile as your fingers gently examine Yoongi’s rings (hand). His hands were one of your favorite things about him. They were nearly double the size of your own, blue and green veins pushed slightly against the surface, fingernails bitten out of what you could assume as nervousness. There is a light increase in your heart rate as you continue to examine Yoongi’s hand and, if he had noticed that you stopped looking at his rings, he wasn’t showing it. You tilt his hand up so, its perpendicular to your own, your fingertips only reaching the middle of his fingers, as you place your palm against his hand.

“Your hand is small.” Yoongi whispers but, this time, you detect a different tone from him that you can’t say you’ve ever heard before.

A small smile graces your mouth as you nod.

“Against yours it is.” The whisper that leaves your lips is almost in audible, your eyes find Yoongi’s and, you find him staring back at you, the faint streetlight illuminating his face. The two of you stare at each other as you feel Yoongi’s fingers lace with your own. Your heart beats wildly in your chest as you lick your lips in attempt to compensate for the dryness in your mouth. Without warning, the two of you are leaning towards each other, your shaky breathing intertwining momentarily before, your lips press together. Yoongi audibly lets out a sigh of what literally sounds like relief as he mold his lips against yours. You rise up on your knees lightly, in an attempt to get closer to him, your free hand coming up to gently touch his face. The butterflies that had been taunting you for the past month erupt in your stomach, your heart racketing against your sternum. Yoongi’s hand that was interlaced with yours slips out of your grip and, settles on your waist instead, pulling you into his body. Your lips are beginning to move against one another and, you actually feel Yoongi’s heartbeat rattling against your hand. The thought of you having that effect on him, makes you clench between your thighs. Your body moves to make its way into his lap but, before you make it there, Yoongi is slowly pulling away. He seems reluctant to stop, his swollen lips still pecking against yours as he presses his forehead to your own.

“I don’t want to stop but, I think…”His breathing is too ragged for him to speak properly, and you press your lips to his cheek in an attempt to sooth him, even though, your breathing is just as bad. “We….should slow down….”

You nod in agreement but, relish in the fact that Yoongi is still holding you close to him, your body leaning into his chest.

“You’re right.” You whisper in return, your breath just as shaky as Yoongi maneuvers you so, that you’re tucked into the side of his body. Your hand rests on his chest and you smile as you feel his heart pummeling against the palm of your hand. The two of you lay there for a moment in complete silence, Yoongi’s fingers play with your own as you wait for the other to say something.

Surprisingly enough, it’s Yoongi who breaks the silence, his raspy whisper penetrating the darkness around you.

“Are you still scared?” He whispers softly, his eyes finding yours.

You look up towards him, a soft smile on your lips.

“No.”

Yoongi smiles back at you and, you can’t help but notice how shy he’s being, his eyes softer than you have ever seen before.

“Good.”

Maybe, the dark wasn’t so bad after all.

453 notes · View notes

izanyas · 6 years

Text

Earlier Than Never

Written for skk zine, posted as part of the Soukoku Trope Bingo 2018 (prompt: School).

Rating: G Words: 5,200 No warnings.

Earlier Than Never

Chuuya's second year of high school should have been exactly like the first.

He did well in most of his classes. He had good friends. He was part of the soccer team, which had won every game he had played, much to their coach's delight. He wasn't involved in any of the occasional sordid stories and rumors that were part of all school experiences; he stood up against bullies, was appreciated by his teachers and classmates, and was occasionally confessed to by girls he had to turn down in spite of his embarrassment—and without quite revealing why he turned them down.

He should've walked his way toward the end of the year tranquilly, and Dazai should've kept ignoring him.

"You know," said the voice of the boy in question, much deeper now than it had been before Dazai had disappeared from his life, "I really wouldn't have pegged you for the top-of-the-year kind. Aren't sports kids supposed to get abysmal grades?"

He was leaning over Chuuya's shoulder, peering down at the physics homework spread over Chuuya's desk, and his words came with soft exhales around the bare skin of Chuuya's neck. Chuuya clenched his teeth reflexively. He also clenched his hand, crumpling the page of his textbook and making his scars redden.

Don't answer him, he told himself.

"But there you are, beating me in science. You used to be terrible at math, Chuuya; what on earth happened?"

"This is self-study," came Yosano's drawling voice from the row behind them. "Not study-your-neighbor, Dazai."

Chuuya's jaw only relaxed when he felt Dazai move away to look at her. He didn't have to turn around to know the face he would be making now; slightly bemused, slightly condescending, as if to ask her, Why would I need to study?

"I don't have anything to work on right now," Dazai replied, oddly polite.

"Nakahara does."

"Surely our resident genius can handle a few questions."

"I'm not your resident genius," Chuuya said between his teeth. He regretted it immediately, for Dazai seemed to take his spite as invitation and leaned over his desk again, sideways this time, so that Chuuya couldn't avoid having him within his sight. Furious with himself, he shot Dazai a glare. "I just work hard."

Dazai gave him a slow smile. With his head tilted, with how close they were to the windows, his hair lightened to brown. Strands of it brushed softly over his forehead.

Chuuya held his breath and looked away.

"You really like physics." Chuuya didn't make a move to stop Dazai as he slid the notebook out of his loose-fingered hold, and even without direct contact, Chuuya felt his fingertips tingle. "Your handwriting's still terrible, but these are some well-kept notes. I know our teacher wants you to study it in college, too."

Had the compliment come from anyone else, Chuuya would've thanked them. He would have felt flustered, a little flattered, proud of himself. As it came from Dazai, he only spat, "What is it to you anyway?"

There was a brief silence. "It's just interesting," Dazai replied evenly. "You've changed."

If Dazai wanted to get to know Chuuya again, he could've done so any time in the last year. Chuuya ripped his notebook out of the other's hold and started shoving his things back in his bag.

"Yosano," he called, ignoring Dazai's presence entirely and looking over his shoulder. Yosano sat a desk over, looking at them with boredom. "Wanna go get lunch?"

"I suppose it's close enough to the end of the period," she answered, eyes flicking toward the wall clock. "Though, we'll get chewed if we get caught."

"We won't. Come on."

He waited just long enough for her to have bagged her own books before rising from his chair. He pushed Dazai out of his way, and Dazai moved without complaint, following the press of Chuuya's hand like water swept by the tide.

Chuuya barely listened to what Yosano was saying while they crossed the corridor leading to Higuchi's classroom. He leaned by the wall next to the door as she stuck her head inside to invite her to join them.

It was a warm spring day, blooming pink and yellow over the wide school grounds. Chuuya let the sun wash over his face and felt only shivers.

"Welcome home."

Arthur's voice must be coming from within the kitchen. Chuuya eased his shoes off one-handed and tried not to stumble in the process. His backpack was only slung over one shoulder, pulling him toward the ground. He managed not to fall by awkwardly shoving himself onto the wall; behind him, the front door closed with a click.

Arthur's head peeked out of the open entrance of the kitchen. "You alive in there?"

"Yeah," Chuuya replied, smiling despite himself. "Sorry. Just tired from practice."

"You're running late. Your coach isn't working you too hard, is he?"

"S'fine. The season starts next week."

Arthur gave a sympathetic noise and went back to what smelled like dinner. Chuuya exhaled slowly, thoroughly, until at last some of the tension in his back filtered out. His calves and thighs still ached fiercely, but that was nothing a good night's sleep wouldn't fix.

"What's for dinner?" he asked once he had put on his slippers and made his way to the kitchen itself. He let his bags fall by his chair and took a seat, glad to see that the table had already been set.

"Pasta," Arthur announced proudly. "I think I managed to cook them al dente."

"Did you tell Paul already?"

"Who do you take me for? I sent him a snap the moment I took them out of the water."

Chuuya laughed. "How unfair is it," he declared, "that the best dad and the best sibling are both on the other side of the world. I haven't seen a vegetable that wasn't sadly boiled in a month."

"You can cook," Arthur replied, falsely accusing, even as he dumped a spoonful of spaghetti into Chuuya's plate. "You're just never around to do it."

"We can't all work from home, old man."

Dinner was a pleasant affair. It always was. Even with Paul and Kouyou gone to France—one to spoon-feed Arthur's new book to its intended public, the other for college—Chuuya didn't feel off in the least. Arthur was good company, with cutting humor and kind eyes. That had been what had driven Chuuya to him in the first place, eight-year-old that he had been, feral and rude and achingly lonely.

If he had been told then that he would one day have a place to call home and people to call family, he would've laughed until he cried.

Chuuya took care of the dishes despite his aching legs and Arthur's offer to do it himself. The activity soothed his mind of the day's thoughts, too many of which had been occupied by Dazai's weird behavior of late, and the scarring on his hands was old enough now that dish soap and water didn't irritate it too much. He barely spared it a glance as he set the plates up to dry on their own.

"I've got some homework left," he called from the kitchen, wiping his hands with a clean rag. "So I'm gonna head up now."

He could see the back of Arthur's head above the armchair he was sat in, no doubt putting endless edits onto an already-perfect draft. Arthur lifted a hand in his direction and said, "Good night, kid."

Paul always had an easier time calling Chuuya son than Arthur did, but even so, Chuuya heard the word for what it was. It kept him warm through the chest during all of his Japanese lit reading.

His phone rang sometime before ten, right as he was deliberating getting started on chemistry ahead of time. He took the call, as happy with the excuse not to as he was with its sender.

"Hi." He grinned as soon as Kouyou's face sharpened over the screen.

"Hello," she replied, smiling as well. "Hard at work?"

"Procrastinating. Where's Paul?"

"At some fancy editorial luncheon, I believe, singing Arthur's praise." It was afternoon still in France, and Chuuya could see sunlight around the shape of his sister, a stone wall at the back of her head and foliage from some tree brushing in and out of the frame. "How are you?"

Generally speaking they reserved calls for weekends, because of the awkward time difference and because it was easier for all of them to be present at once, so Kouyou and he had talked only days ago. Chuuya knew he had been withdrawn, though, and so he had an idea of the reason she had chosen a time when she knew he would be alone.

He picked idly at the numb burn scars marring the back of his wrists and hands. They weren't so very swollen now and thankfully not nearly as sensitive as they had been for months after the accident, but he still only had to focus for a second to feel the echo of that ache.

"I'm fine," he replied at last.

He knew he couldn't fool her.

"Chuuya," Kouyou said, predictably, in a less agreeable tone than she had used so far. "Something's bothering you."

"It's nothing important."

"But it's something."

Sometimes, Chuuya really wished that she weren't so perceptive.

"It's nothing," he repeated, but the words came with far less ease the second time around. "It's just—you know. Dazai."

Kouyou kept silent for a moment. When she asked, "Has he done anything to you?" her voice was cold.

"No," Chuuya replied too quickly. "No, he's just decided to stop ignoring me is all."

"What do you mean?"

He hadn't realized just how tightly he had withheld his thoughts, crushed them inside his chest like paper in a closed fist, until the words came flowing out of him at the sight of Kouyou's face, the sound of her static-filled voice. Each time he said Dazai's name came a little more easily. It was a year now since the boy had reappeared into his life; yet aside from mentioning his return once on the day he had turned fifteen, Chuuya had not said any more.

Fatigue threatened to pull his eyelids down by the time he was done. He had moved from desk to bed sometime during his messy rant, and was in the middle of changing into sleepwear with his phone screen turned away.

"I don't know what to tell you," she said to him, her head now resting fully against the wall of what must be her university building. Chuuya slid into bed. "I can't fix this for you."

"I know," Chuuya mumbled sleepily.

"But…"

She paused. The mic of her own phone was not powerful enough to pick up the wind he could see swaying in her hair, but Chuuya heard it all the same. For a moment, he pictured himself sitting next to her, breathing in smells different from those of Yokohama, lacking the salt that sea brought but perhaps a bit sweeter.

"I don't think he'd be speaking to you for no reason. Maybe he wants to apologize."

"I don't want his apology."

At least not for what Dazai probably thought he should be apologizing for. Chuuya stared at the back of his hands, where his skin was pink and white and melted-looking.

"Then maybe he just misses you, Chuuya," Kouyou said softly.

Darkness was tugging at the corners of Chuuya's sight. The exertion of the day caught up with him at last and made his body languid, his mind weak against the pull of sleep.

He had almost entirely given to it when Kouyou added, "You're very easy to miss."

The first game of the season came the next Wednesday. Chuuya spent most of that week allowing himself lenience on school work to focus on training instead, spending each evening in the company of his team, carving strategy into his head as deep as he did the physical drills. He didn't see much of his father outside of breakfast because, more often than not, he and Tachihara ended up getting dinner together after practice, too tired to do much more than moan about their fate.

Coach Oda had high hopes for them this year. The winning nationals sort of hope. Just because he was nice about it didn't mean that he was letting any of them, especially Chuuya, slack off any.

Chuuya spent the night before the game catching up on what little homework he could and then forcing himself into bed at ten o'clock sharp. Until midnight he stared at the ceiling of his room and listened to the comings and goings of Arthur downstairs. Arthur always wrote the most at night.

Somehow, he ended up falling asleep; and somehow, he woke up feeling refreshed, free of the almost-constant nausea that stress had knotted into his stomach all week. He ate with relief, showered, picked up his bag and made for his school.

Luckily, the game was to be held there. He didn't think he would be quite so calm if he had to step onto foreign grounds, no matter that the team they were playing studied only a handful of streets away.

"You ready for this?" Tachihara asked when he entered the locker room.

"We'll see," Chuuya replied, grabbing his offered arm firmly.

He turned his focus to the game after that. Changing into his team colors, warming up, all of it in a blur; soon enough he was on the field, surrounded by a surprising amount of people. It seemed most of their school had turned up, as well as a good chunk of their opposing team's. A cry of his name quickly brought his attention to where Higuchi sat, next to a smirking Yosano.

Dazai was behind them. Their eyes met for a second—just long enough for Dazai's lips to flutter into a smile.

Chuuya felt the cooling heat in his face awaken once more and turned away harshly.

It was a good game. Chuuya had not expected that they would lose, though their opponents had a new and better coach this year than the last time they had played each other. A coach was only as good as their team, however, and although the woman sitting next to Oda by the field's flank looked severe and involved, Chuuya's team was still a level above what she could handle.

Their win was expected, but it didn't stop the stadium from exploding in cheers once the final whistle was blown, nor Oda from congratulating them all warmly. Sakaguchi, Chuuya's literature teacher and the person responsible for the club, smiled awkwardly by his side.

"You're a force of nature, Nakahara," said one of Chuuya's teammates once they were back in the locker room and queueing for the showers. Shirase—that was his name—wiped uselessly at the sweat running down his face. "How the hell did you score that last one?"

"Luck," Chuuya replied honestly.

"Bullshit."

"Chuuya's just that good," Tachihara interrupted, happily throwing one arm over Chuuya's shoulder, laughing at Chuuya's grunt of displeasure. "Are you jealous you could only land one?"

"Shut up, Tachihara, you didn't score anything."

"I'm in defense, shithead."

"Are you on something?" Shirase sneered, turning to Chuuya once more. "There's no way you're just doing all that fair and square."

His eyes roamed up and down Chuuya's body. He was the tallest member of the team, long-legged and very fast for it. Chuuya had no love for him, and Shirase didn't like him either, but they rarely confronted each other directly. Chuuya thought himself more mature than to let rivalry put the team at risk.

"I guess being a teacher's pet helps," Shirase continued. "Or… you've never had a girlfriend, right? Maybe you've picked up on your daddies' tastes. Do you offer special favors—"

Chuuya punched him.

It wasn't a hard punch, but Shirase still bent in two over the zone of the impact, choking on a swear and turning red in the face. Chuuya's ears were ringing, his body tensing anew. His left knee bent in preparation for a kick.

"You fucking—"

"Nakahara," came Oda's voice.

Everyone seemed to freeze in their spot. Shirase straightened up painfully. The others, who had peeked over the shower booths or around the lockers to watch the commotion, quickly went back to their business.

"Yes," Chuuya said, feeling very far from his own body.

Oda nodded to the side of the door by which he was standing. "Someone wants to talk to you, if you've got a minute."

It took a while for Chuuya to make sense of his coach's words. Probably no more than a few seconds, but to him, they felt like hours.

"Sure," he replied slowly. He clenched his teeth. Released them. Stepped away from his friend and added, "I'll be right back, Tachihara."

"Uh, all right."

He made his way to the entrance of the room and past his coach, who gave him a glance that said I know what you just did and don't think I'll let it slide more sharply than words could. Chuuya's only comfort was that Oda stared at Shirase next with even more disappointment.

How Oda managed to convey so much while looking perpetually bored was anyone's guess.

The air outside came too crisply to his damp skin, chilling it almost instantly. Spring hadn't settled enough to make the wind was bearable. Chuuya found that it did little to help soothe the anger clawing up his insides; but then he saw Dazai standing a little way from the door, shoes stained by the damp grass and lips stretched into a thin smile.

Chuuya turned around and tried to make for the lockers again.

"Wait," Dazai called, hurrying after him and grabbing him around the elbow. "I just need to ask you something."

"I've got nothing to say to you," Chuuya gritted out, pouring as much loathing as he could into the word.

Dazai hesitated. His grip on Chuuya's arm relaxed, and Chuuya could have easily freed himself, with how slick he felt all over and with Dazai's apparent reluctance to hold onto him too tightly.

The observation only made him angrier.

For a moment they stood as they were: Chuuya half-turned away and Dazai looking almost lost. Chuuya still felt as though the blood in his veins was simmering. He would hear Shirase's hateful words echo through him if only he bothered to listen.

"Well?" Chuuya snapped, once the silence became too hard to bear. It didn't matter that chatter filtered out of the locker room as an easy distraction. "Ask your question."

Dazai's shoulders relaxed visibly. He let go of Chuuya's arm. "You were great today," he said evenly. "Though that's less surprising than the grades."

"You had all of last year to tell me that if you wanted to."

Chuuya wanted to do more; he wanted to add, asshole, to the end of his sentence, or yell it out instead. But Dazai looked away then as if shamed by his words—as if he could ever feel shame—and his throat shivered visibly.

"Are you doing anything tomorrow evening?" he asked then.

Surprise made Chuuya tell the truth without thinking. "No."

"Great," and now Dazai was smiling again, as devastatingly handsome now as he had been when they were thirteen and thought their world would never change. "Can you meet me at nine?"

"What for?" Chuuya asked defensively, instead of doing the smart thing and refusing outright.

Dazai shook his head. His smile turned a little more bitter. "Just trust me," he said. And then, probably realizing how that sounded: "If you want to."

Chuuya should say no.

It wasn't even because the last time he had met with Dazai on his own had turned out the way it did. That was very far from his mind. He should say no because he didn't owe Dazai anything, not anymore, not after two years of silence and a year of being made to feel as if he hadn't meant anything to Dazai at all.

"Maybe he wants to apologize," Kouyou had said, but Chuuya wanted no apology.

"Maybe he misses you."

Chuuya couldn't pretend that he hadn't missed Dazai either.

"Fine," he said.

Dazai's face lit up with his grin. It always did.

The thing was, it hadn't been Dazai's fault.

He hadn't been the one to make Chuuya fall. He hadn't placed the until then-unseen puddle of car oil where it was, ready to ignite at the touch of Chuuya's lit cigarette. They had hung around the disused garage countless times before, a secret lair for two children as so many other places of the kind must be for so many others.

The thing was that Chuuya and Dazai had once been friends. Chuuya had been adopted in France, where his Japanese mother had given birth to him before leaving him behind, where Arthur and Paul had married and lived their whole lives until choosing to adopt two kids no one wanted: an eight-year-old boy who had caused nothing but trouble for every foster home he had lived in, and a twelve-year-old girl who had done much of the same. They had moved to Japan after that because Arthur and Paul wanted Chuuya and Kouyou to live in their country of origin.

Chuuya had met Dazai almost immediately. It had taken no more than a day for the both of them to get into a fight at Chuuya's brand new school—a school he could go to without the shame of having to say that he had no home, no parents to come home to, for the very first time. And Chuuya couldn't remember why he had fought with Dazai that day, or why he had allowed the other boy to follow him around after that, bruised and angry even as they sat together on a bench and contemplated the wide world around them.

He couldn't explain why Dazai followed him, and why he let Dazai follow, and why he felt as happy with the thought of a friend as he was with that of a family. Back then the two hadn't been different to him; back then everyone in his life that he cared about was as good as kin.

So Chuuya and Dazai grew, picking fights with each other as often as they did not, lying side by side on the floor of each other's bedroom, sneaking around Yokohama for every dirty corner they could find and call theirs.

Chuuya didn't remember much of the incident after he had fallen. The doctors had told him that it was for the best because he had been in so much pain; Chuuya thought it was for the worst because he couldn't know if the anguished cry of his name he had heard when his arms took fire had been real or a nightmare.

For a very long time that was the last thing he heard from Dazai at all. Chuuya, bellowed from the lungs of a gangly kid, breaking over the vowels because his voice hadn't set yet.

All he knew was that Dazai had escaped unharmed. He let the thought float through his drug-hazed mind in the weeks he spent watching the burned skin of his hands and forearms heal. He hung onto it day after day, waiting for Dazai to visit him, to text him, to do anything to prove he hadn't been a figment of Chuuya's imagination all this time.

Dazai had long been gone by the time Chuuya was released from the hospital. He stayed gone for two years. Some of their mutual friends said he had moved overseas. Others said that he had died.

When he came back at the beginning of Chuuya's first year of high school, Chuuya thought for days that he was seeing a ghost roaming the corridors.

"Oh, hello, Chuuya," Dazai said the one time they bumped into each other with no one else around.

He never said anything else.

Chuuya arrived late to his rendezvous with Dazai because Dazai himself always arrived late, and he didn't want to look like a fool waiting for someone to show up. Not when he didn't know if Dazai would even bother showing up.

Dazai was already there.

"Hi," he told Chuuya, smiling.

Chuuya didn't know how to answer. He felt like smiling back, or turning away and going home. Most of all he felt like hiding his face into the shadows, away from the glare of streetlight, so that Dazai could not read from him what he did not want to be read.

They were at the entrance of Mitsuike Park. The sun had slipped behind the mountains, and the sky was a dark blue, yet people were milling about, families and couples walking in and out of the open gates with a soft murmur of voices.

"I didn't think parks stayed open at night," Chuuya said. He had to say something.

Dazai turned his back to him and replied, "Follow me."

The walkers around them became sparser the deeper they went. Dazai soon took Chuuya away from the paths and between trees and flowering bushes, always looking over his shoulder to make sure Chuuya followed, holding branches out of his way when one was too high to step over.

"I remember you said you'd never done this before," Dazai said at one point, chasing off the quiet.

Chuuya wasn't sure where they were anymore. The canopy overhead kept them from moonlight, making Dazai's trail difficult to follow. He guided himself mostly with the sound of the other's footsteps, almost too sharp against the thick silence and occasional watery sounds. At least the lake must not be far; Chuuya would be able to navigate his way back by following the shore if Dazai tried to lose him.

"Done what?" he asked.

"Hanami. Your dads are always too busy at this time of the year, and you never got around to doing it with someone else, right?"

Don't talk about my dads, Chuuya wanted to say. Shirase's insults were too close still to the surface of his mind, only a shiver away from breaking through and awakening his rage. But Dazai's tone wasn't mocking. Dazai has never said anything uncouth toward Arthur or Paul or Chuuya himself. Not about this.

"I've seen the trees plenty of times," he replied.

"Not properly."

Dazai stumbled on a root. Chuuya grabbed the back of his jacket to keep him from falling forward. It was a thoughtless act, not something he wanted to spend time analyzing; but before he could take his hand back he found it clutched in Dazai's own.

Dazai's hand was surprisingly cold. Soft and barely even damp. When his thumb brushed over Chuuya's scar, Chuuya stopped thinking entirely.

He was pulled forward and out of the thick greenery.

There was a little wooden balcony there that Chuuya had never seen before. It looked dusty, unused, perhaps forgotten by all. The lantern sat upon its bannister looked older than any Chuuya had seen before.

Yet it wasn't the sudden light that Chuuya was staring at.

Pink petals hung from the cherry trees and swayed into the breeze. No stars could be seen now against the glow of that lantern, but it didn't matter at all; not when every flower looked like cut paper on a canvas, drawn by hand onto the black sky, falling onto the quiet lake like snow.

"Come on," Dazai murmured.

Chuuya let himself be dragged towards the steps in front of them. He climbed onto the promontory with Dazai's hand still holding his. He couldn't look anywhere but above, at the streaks of black night running ink-like between glowing flowers. The surface of the lake was dot work, pink and white strewn overwater like little drops of paint.

"It's nice, isn't it?"

Chuuya couldn't have told how long it took him to look back at Dazai. He felt for once undisturbed by the smile on his lips.

He swallowed. "It's nice," he replied. "It's… it's beautiful."

Dazai had once accused him of always being swayed by pretty things. Chuuya had not told him how much of that applied to how Dazai swayed him.

"I'm glad," Dazai said. "I wanted to give you a nice birthday gift."

Chuuya frowned. "My birthday is next week."

"Ah, but they won't be blooming anymore by then. They're already late as it is."

Chuuya tried in vain to make sense of it. Rather than ask Dazai directly, he looked at the flowers again. Dazai's fingers in his hair almost startled his heart to a stop.

He allowed the other to pull whatever it was he caught out of Chuuya's hair—a petal, it turned out, and a leaf that must have been there since they worked their way through the trees.

"Chuuya," Dazai said then. "I'm sorry."

It felt like a dream, because Chuuya had dreamed of this many more time than he could count. Dazai appearing at the door of his hospital room. Dazai walking into class one day and grinning at him foolishly. Dazai sparing more than absent glances toward him as they crossed paths in hallways.

Dazai holding his hand under a roof of luminous flowers.

"It doesn't change anything," Chuuya said lowly.

"I know."

"You fucking disappeared. For two years. And then you acted like I didn't even exist."

"I'm sorry." Dazai seemed to brace himself. "I'm so sorry. I had my reasons, but I know they're not going to just erase everything—that is, if you're willing to hear me out." There was fear on his face, for a second, that Chuuya would not be. "But not now," he finished. "Now I just want to apologize."

And Chuuya had said time and time again, to himself and his family, that he had no need for Dazai's apology; but his heart felt swollen now, pushing up his throat and making his eyes burn.

"I hate you," he let out. He wound his free arm around Dazai's shoulders and said again, "I hate you so much," before embracing him.

Dazai laughed against the top of his head. His fingers twined with Chuuya's, pressing them together to gap the spaces in which they shook, taking in the warmth cradled in Chuuya's palm as if he had only ever been cold. Chuuya shoved his face into his shoulder and willed himself not to cry.

Dazai was the one who pulled away first. Chuuya felt the absence of his hand sharply, at least until it came to rest along his arm instead, thumb stroking over Chuuya's jacket. With a settling inhale, he leaned back as well.

"Your story better be damn good," he said shakily, once he had retrieved enough of himself to be able to speak.

Dazai smiled tiredly. He didn't make a move to avoid Chuuya's hand brushing the side of his face, though his cheeks colored at the contact, echoing Chuuya's own blush.

"I don't know if it's good," he replied, "but it's interesting."

Already, Chuuya felt something heal in him that he hadn't known was still bleeding. Already he knew that whatever Dazai's story was, he would forgive him for it.

He couldn't find it in himself to regret it at all.

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #soukoku #dazai osamu #nakahara chuuya #soukoku trope bingo 2018 #fic: earlier than never #finally i never have to look at this again #featured

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makeste · 6 years

Text

BnHA Chapter 045: Superhero Names

Previously on BnHA: Everyone licked their emotional wounds from the sports festival arc. You wouldn’t think a simple sports festival would cause so many emotional wounds, but here we are. All Might hugged some kids. Iida visited his brother in the hospital. Todoroki visited his mom. Ochako’s parents came to cheer her up. Deku ate dinner. Bakugou brushed his teeth.

Today on BnHA: Aizawa wears an infinity scarf. Deku gets mobbed by people on a train. The draft pick totals are announced. The kids pick their superhero aliases. Somehow this ended up being one of my longest recaps ever because I went off on tangents like three separate times, talking about everything from the new volume’s character page to the stuff I think I might have been spoiled for by accident. Like, when I went back to edit this it was like whoa.

(As always, all comments not marked with an ETA are my unspoiled reactions from my first readthrough of this chapter. I’ve read up through chapter 104 now, so any ETAs will reflect that.)

looks like it’s the start of another new volume (and arc!), so let’s see what extras we’ve got today!

well there’s not much end-of-volume-5 stuff, but I did find this fascinating

honestly, this wrapped up in less than 20 chapters though. to me that’s incredibly fast. either way, I have to hand it to him, because the pacing was just about perfect. nothing dragged out to the point of becoming boring, and we didn’t waste time on anything we didn’t need to see, but we did get to see just about everyone have at least one cool moment. that’s about all you can ask for, really.

and lord, have you ever heard of a final battle in a tournament arc lasting just a single chapter?? I still can’t get over that ending. that just flew in the face of everything I’ve come to anticipate from a Jump manga, and once I realized what was happening it was as much a thrill as it was a shock.

apparently Endeavor was on the back of this volume cover the whole time. hey, Endeavor!! [deep breath] ...FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK YOUUUUUUU

all right, on to the new volume!

goddamn this series’s cover art is something else

is Iida even wearing his glasses here?? (ETA: nope!)

he looks so cool and barely like the usual Iida at all

that Stain guy really fucking looks like Small Gia you guys. I apologize in advance if this ends up being something I never stop talking about

and I see Deku’s back in his original costume, but with a couple of upgrades. got what appears to be new gloves, some lines on his jumpsuit that I don’t remember seeing before (ETA: because they’ve changed color), reinforced collar/shoulder protection, and did he always have those big knee guards before? at any rate, it’s a vast improvement on the original look and I approve

what is this

why would Ochako dress up as a giant cancelled sign

and Deku’s Tokoyami hat is both so cute and so disturbing to me. cute because it’s so damn cute look at it, and disturbing because it’s realistic to the point of looking like his actual severed head almost

also are they working at a 7-11 or something. lol

volume title: “Struggling.” I’m feeling it. very relatable

all of the characters are wearing street clothes on the character page!

oh my god Aizawa’s infinity scarfff

SHOUJI WITH ONE OF HIS INFAMOUS PONCHOS

I CAN’T TELL IF DEKU’S ARM IS FUCKED UP FROM THIS ANGLE DAMMIT

DOES HORIKOSHI HAVE SOMETHING AGAINST DRAWING JACKETS/SWEATERS/BUTTON-DOWN SHIRTS THAT ARE A NORMAL LENGTH

BAKUGOU WILL JUST ALWAYS BE WEARING HIS PANTS LIKE A GOOD 3 INCHES BELOW WHERE THEY ACTUALLY SHOULD BE HUH

SHOUTO WITH THE THREE-QUARTER-LENGTH SLEEVED SWEATER. I DON’T KNOW WHAT ELSE TO SAY ABOUT THAT. IT LOOKS REALLY GOOD ON HIM THOUGH

AIZAWA’S SCARF DESERVES ANOTHER MENTION EVEN THOUGH I ALREADY MENTIONED IT. BRO LOOKS LIKE LENNY KRAVITZ AND I’M HERE FOR IT

IT’S A CRIME THAT SO MUCH OF JIROU IS HIDDEN BEHIND IIDA’S GIANT FORTY-YEAR-OLD MAN HEAD BECAUSE I LOVE HER FASHION SENSE SO MUCH AND THAT JACKET LOOKS SO FUCKING FINE ON HER WORK IT GURL!!

LAST BUT NOT LEAST ALL MIGHT WITH THAT BLAZER. ALL MIGHT YOU LOOK SO DAMN GOOD, IF YOU WERE A PHASER ON STAR TREK YOU’D BE SET TO STUN MY GOOD MAN

like a fool, I didn’t scroll past the table of contents quickly enough and my eyes glanced over the title “Gran Torino Appears.” and that shit sounds fucking familiar. some part of my brain that picks up on subconscious clues is telling me that this person is All Might’s master. guess we’ll find out probably in the next chapter. or at the end of this one maybe

Deku is on the train to school and people are recognizing him

“wow you’re that crazy kid from the sports festival, right? you were just sooooo crazy you little wackadoodle.”

but actually he seems to be getting praise from them! some guy is giving him a thumbs up

and now he’s surrounded

this might not be so good, actually. these people are fairly harmless, but this could get out of hand pretty quickly. there’s a reason celebrities always have bodyguards around. and we live in a world without supervillains. these kids are just kids, but some of them have already become household names and faces, and we know that at least a couple of them have also attracted some villainous interest as well. they’re safe enough at school with the security there (I know, I know, but they must have learned their lesson after the last time), but outside is a different story

I’ve been meaning to bring this up at some point, and now seems as good a time as any: another thing I’ve been spoiled about is the fact that I’m pretty sure at some point, some or possibly all of the kids from class A move into U.A. dorms. I’ve seen dorms mentioned enough that I’m pretty sure it’s a canon thing (I wasn’t sure at first). so since then I’ve been on the alert for this to come up, and if/when it does, I’m thinking something like this might be the reason why

and since we’re on the subject, here is a brief list of the other (still relatively few) things I’ve been spoiled for/sort of spoiled for:

Aizawa’s ridiculously hot ponytail. also a scar that’s under his right eye, but I’m thinking that he probably got that during his fight with Noumu and I just haven’t seen it yet because he still had bandages on his face during the festival

at some point there is going to be something really angsty involving Bakugou. because I know I’ve had an irrational love for him since the start, but at some point it seems like something’s going to happen with him that causes just about everyone to feel sympathetic toward him lol. I have no clue at all what this thing is going to be though

this Bakugou angst is going to lead to some good BakuDeku shit. I don’t know what shit, but I can’t wait for it. I have a feeling it’s still a looooong ways out, though

(ETA: well we did have an arc where Bakugou got kidnapped, so for a while I was sure this was what all the angst was about. but now that’s done and things have quieted down again, and we still haven’t gotten that BakuDeku goodness, so I’m thinking there must be still more angst on the horizon! which, frankly, good. yes. moooooore bring me more)

there is some guy with wings I think. not sure what his deal is

I keep seeing Shinsou in a mask similar to Deku’s

lastly, I blame the anime for this because they’ve thrown in some filler related to it that no one asked for, but: I’m pretty sure I’ve seen All Might’s master. but I kept throwing my hands up in front of my face or looking away or closing my eyes whenever I realized what was going on lol. but he was writing a letter to someone in episode 13, and I figure it has to be this person. and I saw like a brief silhouette of someone with long dark hair. and I think I’ve seen fanart of this person before. I can’t quite remember the details of it but I feel like this person is probably the aforementioned Gran Torino? the good thing is it seems like I don’t have much longer to wait before I finally find out more about that one.

(ETA: so obviously the person in question with the long hair was Shimura rather than Gran. so I was spoiled but also not spoiled I guess, because even though I’d gleaned Gran’s name from somewhere, I never actually saw him until he made his appearance in the manga.)

anyways, that’s it as far as I can recall!

so Deku’s made it to school now but he’s really tired. probably from all the nearly dying two days ago

someone’s running up behind him in a raincoat, and this bulky frame with its awkward arm motions could really only be one person

yep

never does anything halfway, this guy

Deku says they’ve still got five minutes before the first bell rings, but Iida insists that “the students of U.A. make it a point to arrive ten minutes early!!” wow I really would not have done well in this school

Iida immediately tells Deku he doesn’t need to worry about his brother and he’s sorry if they caused him any concern

the way he says it and the way Deku stares at him and dots afterward makes me think there is indeed cause for concern though. plus, like. you were on the volume cover, Iida

looks like all the kids had strangers coming up to them and congratulating them on their efforts

WOW look how well Aizawa has them trained

EVEN BAKUGOU WOW. Sero and Kouda switched desks, Ochako sprinted twenty feet all the way her seat at the back of the room, and Kaminari fucking teleported into his seat out of nowhere damn

so let’s see if this man has that eye scar now, then!

yes!!!

holy shit, and this is going to be there for the rest of the series. I fucking love attention to detail like this

what is hero informatics class. that sounds like something Deku would excel in. Deku should probably teach the damn class

Kirishima says it’s stuff about “hero law and junk.” oh my god I instantly have so many questions

GASP!!!!!!

GOOD LUCK BEATING MY NICKNAMES FOR ALL OF YOU LOSERS. OH MY GOD I’M SO EXCITED LOL

also, they really let these kids pick out their aliases at age 15? granted, most of them have probably been thinking about this for nearly their entire lives, so it’s not just a spur of the moment thing. but still, that seems awfully risky. I hope they’re allowed to change them later if they wake up one morning cringing over the choice

ohh! but first, pro draft picks!

he says it’s based on who the pros think will be ready to join the workforce after another 2-3 years of experience... so after graduation, basically. or really whenever they turn 18. well that makes sense

he says it’s not a guarantee of anything though; the offers can still be revoked if things don’t pan out

jesus christ

the top four stole the show, but the top two are in their own fucking league

worth nothing that Bakugou managed these numbers even with his personality out there on full display as well

I think a large part of that has to do with the guy that raked in 4,123 draft picks. the fact that Todoroki is that powerful and Bakugou still managed to beat him in the finals. of course, that wasn’t him at full power though, which I expect Bakugou is still salty about and will be for quite some time

only 108 people recognized Momo’s utter flawlessness. that’s everyone else’s loss

and even fewer gave Ochako a chance, but at least she still got 20!

and of course the most notable thing about the entire board is the fact that Deku’s not up there at all, which is fully understandable since his power’s drawback was thrust into the spotlight. I can’t imagine any pro hero agency wants to deal with that.

well, it’s just like he was thinking back in the last chapter -- he’ll just have to find another way to manage things

poor Aoyama is in a huff about not having gotten any picks either

Momo congratulates Shouto, but he says it’s mostly just his dad’s influence. I really hope he can break away from that eventually. basically his entire life has centered around his dad up till this point, first with him being trained as his successor, and then later when he became obsessed with defying him. I just want him to be able to go after his dreams for his own sake and have pride in himself on his own merits without worrying about his parentage and how that comes into it

Mineta is shaking Deku and telling him, “I told you you scared them,” and no one fucking cares about your opinion on anything Mineta. this isn’t news to anyone

anyhow, Aizawa says that whether they were picked or not, they’ll all get a chance to work with the pros as part of their education

oh thank god, he says the names are only tentative. “but you’ll still want to pick something appropriate.”

now someone else is cutting in and screaming “OR ELSE YOU’LL KNOW TRUE HELL”

oh my god please let this be some poor sap who got saddled with the worst superhero name ever

nope it’s just Midnight

but she says the name might end up being what the world ends up calling them, so they still need to pick carefully

oh, true... if something eventful happened and the media ended up reporting on it, what was previously a “tentative” name might end up becoming a permanent one just like that

then again, IRL celebs change their names all the time and no one usually bats an eye

also Marvel superheroes change their names a fucking lot too. “it’s Iron Patriot now.”

looks like Midnight is here to make sure they don’t fuck it up. Aizawa says he’s no good at that lol. you picked the best fucking name out of anyone, fucking Eraser Head

my gooood I’m so curious and so excited to see what they pick. I haven’t been spoiled for any of this at all, and I’ve barely done any speculating, because I tend to just pick the first thing that pops into my head and stick with it, myself

they only got 15 minutes to do this, but like I said, I can’t imagine a single one of them hasn’t already thought this out. at worst, a few of them might have a little trouble narrowing down like a top 2 or 3

oh my god Aoyama

it’s perfect

omg Midnight is so supportive and nonjudgmental. all she does is tell him it’ll be “easier” if he takes out the “I” and changes “cannot” to “can’t”

but are you really telling me that this twinkly little lad is about to make his debut as “cantstoptwinkling.” because that literally is a tumblr handle

Mina wants to be known as “Alien Queen”

also this finally all but confirms that her quirk is indeed acid. you all have no idea how long that speculation was eating at me

(ETA: pretty sure you do by this point since this is like the 10th time I’ve mentioned it haha)

Tsuyu’s up next! the best nickname I had for her was “frog girl.” she’s chosen to go as Froppy instead which is the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever heard in my life

OH MY GOD MY BOY KIRISHIMA WENT AND PICKED “RED RIOT”, FUCK YEAH WHAT A NAME. APPARENTLY IT’S DERIVATIVE AND HE BASICALLY STOLE IT FROM ANOTHER GUY NAMED CRIMSON RIOT, WHICH IS SOMEHOW EVEN RADDER. BUT THEY’RE CALLING IT AN “HOMAGE” SO HOPEFULLY THEY’LL AVOID ANY LEGAL TROUBLE

speaking of people who want to pay homage, Deku has a whole fucking list of All Might tribute names

it’s a toss-up between “All Might Jr.” and “Mighty Boy”, clearly

I’m personally hoping for some kind of Alexander Dumas-related thing, going with the One for All theme, but I doubt we’ll go that route

(ETA: cuz we were saving it for the bad guy, clearly!)

Kirishima really hasn’t thought of a name yet??? dude, lightning is literally the easiest element to make a badass name from. see: Wikipedia’s list of fictional characters with electric or magnetic abilities. just fucking name yourself Zeus or some shit

Jirou tapped him on the shoulder and said “how about Jamming-Yayyy” and I'm pretty sure she was just fucking with him but he actually seems really into it omg

her face I can’t

(ETA: Jirou’s inability to keep from cracking up when Kami overuses his quirk is possibly my favorite running gag in the series)

so now we’ve got Jirou, Shouji, and Sero as Earphone Jack, Tentacole, and Cellophane. all good names, though Jirou really went full literal, there. just went for broke on being as straightforward as possible

though nothing beats “Tailman” for literal

Satou’s sign says “Sweets” hero and his name is Sugarman?? first of all, I LOVE IT, and second, DUDE WHAT THE FUCK. this guy’s really been out here the whole time with some kind of donuts power or something and he somehow passed the entrance exam with it and we still have yet to see it??

AND HOMESTUCK’S CHANGED HER NAME TO PINKY NOW LMAO

Kaminari ended up going with Chargebolt, and for some reason he wrote this longass math equation explaining it, just in case it somehow wasn’t clear

HAGAKURE LITERALLY PICKED THE NAME I’VE BEEN CALLING HER THIS ENTIRE TIME GOD BLESS YOU GIRL

THAT’S ONE OUT OF TWENTY. I’LL TAKE IT

Momo went with “Creati.” I... guess...

OH MY GOD SHOUTO JUST WENT OUT AND HIT A HOME FUCKING RUN

OH MY FUCKING GOD LMAO

BUT ALSO, IT’S ACTUALLY A REALLY PERSONAL DECISION FOR HIM, BECAUSE IT’S HIS FIRST NAME AND NOT HIS LAST, AND THUS REFLECTS HIS DETERMINATION TO CAST OFF ANYTHING RELATED TO HIS FATHER

BUT STILL IT’S LITERALLY JUST HIS FIRST NAME OH MY GOD I LAUGHED SO FUCKING HARD. THERE WERE TEARS

I KNOW WHO TSUKUYOMI IS THANKS TO ITACHI. THANK YOU ITACHI. COOL PICK, TOKOYAMI

FUCK YOU MINETA

MY SOFT ROCK BOY KOUDA IS GOING WITH “ANIMA” AND HE IS DESCRIBING HIMSELF AS A “PETTING HERO” AND I THINK I LOVE HIM

so by my count, that just leaves Iida, Ochako, and my sons

this boy really went and tried to put “murder” in his fucking superhero name

URAVITY

OMG

OCHAKO REALLY WENT AND PUT A FUCKING PUN IN HER NAME

?? Midnight’s saying that the only thing left is Bakugou’s revision? um Deku and Iida are sitting right there??

I should learn to scroll down before I start to fly off the handle like that huh

oh FUCK ME

FUCK. FUCK

okay, so I’ve had a weakness for this very specific type of angst ever since KHR nearly did this to Yamamoto during the Inheritance Arc. in the end he was healed and he made it out okay though. but now, ten years later, Iida’s brother has been sacrificed to the gods of shounen manga angst, and they have finally been appeased. holy shit

so this is going to be a tribute to his brother then I take it

oh!!! his brother asked him to take his name and Iida had started to write it down but then erased it at the last second and put his own first name down, thinking that he wasn’t ready yet :’(

so now it’s just my lads

here goes nothing Deku!

oh my god

based on everyone’s reaction and that remark... lol this fucking guy

lol Kacchan’s face

WHY ARE WE CUTTING AWAY BEFORE I GET TO SEE WHAT BAKUGOU PICKED

oh! someone picked Deku in the draft after all!

All Might’s asking who it is -- OH MY GOD. THAT CHAPTER TITLE FROM BEFORE. DON’T FUCKING TELL ME

based on All Might’s response... yep

and then one last little jokey panel of Bakugou’s revised name “Loud Explosion Murder” lmao. they could be here a while

(ETA: THEY NEVER ACTUALLY REVEALED HIS NAME THOUGH OH MY GOD?? or did they and I somehow missed it? IT’S BEEN 60 FUCKING CHAPTERS. dude what the hell)

BONUS:

oh my god Present Mic is the one who came up with Aizawa’s name. this is probably Mic’s greatest contribution to human society.

young present Mic is adorable and young Aizawa looks like Gaara with messier hair

and today in “Horikoshi explains away plot holes that no one was ever going to care about in the first place”, we have Mina apologizing for mixing up the directors of Alien and Aliens

fucking incredible

#bnha #boku no hero academia #makeste reads bnha #holy shit how do I even tag this though #basically everyone was in this one but I'll just stick with the ones I talked about most #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #aizawa shouta #iida tenya #todoroki shouto #there we go that should do it

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the-girl-in-the-band-tshirt · 6 years

Text

Captain Swan Secret Santa 2018

Hello, hello, @downeystarkjr! It is I, your Captain Swan secret Santa New Year’s baby! And with that, let me apologize profusely for how late this is. *facepalm*

I tried so hard to plot out a story based on what you said you wanted to see, but having no exposure to Zorro (*hides*), that was tough. And I just generally couldn’t come up with something to match your wishes that would satisfy. But then - BUT THEN you mentioned one of your favorite movies is 10 Things I Hate About You, and it just so happens that’s one of my all-time favorite movies AND I’ve been dying to write Captain Swan into that movie for a while now. So I started writing. And I kept writing. And I wrote some more. And this @cssecretsanta2k18 fic got much longer than I planned it to be. Oh, and there are a few details in there catered to you, and I hope those make you smile. :)

So it’s been drafted for a bit now, but the editing process is proving slower. My beta is my lovely friend @ohmakemeahercules, who I have to thank here because, dang, she’s put up with a lot from me. And she’s fabulous! And this fic would absolutely not be near as readable as it is now without her (and it’s not even done being edited yet - she’s that amazing!). And we will continue working on this thing to give you the best gift it can be. However, I didn’t want you to have to wait any longer, so here’s a partially edited story for you! When it is fully edited, I’ll make another post on here, and I’ll also post it to ao3 at that point. Until then, I hope I can keep talking to you! You and I, apparently, have a lot in common, and I’d love to get to know you better!

I hope you’re not too disappointed it’s not exactly what you asked for. Here goes...

“What did everyone think of The Sun Also Rises?” Mr. Pendragon crossed his arms and leaned against the chalkboard as he scanned his classroom for any sign of intellectual thought.

“I loved it. It was so romantic.” That was Ashley, a sweet girl who worked two jobs after school to help her family make ends meet. But she treated Hemingway like a fairytale.

“Romantic?” Scoffed Emma Swan, the opinionated and sarcastic girl seated in the back row. Mr. Pendragon squeezed his eyes shut, already feeling a headache blooming. “Hemingway was an abusive alcoholic misogynist who squandered half his life hanging around Picasso trying to nail his leftovers.”

Nearly every student in the room rolled their eyes at her.

“As opposed to a bitter, self-righteous bitch who has no friends?” Mr. Pendragon rolled his eyes this time as Neal Gold, the rich kid bully, chimed in.

“Pipe down, Gold,” the teacher stepped in.

Emma Swan fumed at Neal from her seat before turning back to face the front of the room. “I guess in this society being male and an asshole makes you worthy of our time. What about Sylvia Plath or Charlotte Bronte or Simone de Beauvoir?”

Suddenly, everyone in the class jerked their heads toward the door as Killian Jones walked in, leather jacket despite the warm temperature outside, no books, and late as usual. He scratched behind his ear as he looked around the classroom.

“What did I miss?” He asked in a British accent.

Before anyone else could answer, Emma spoke up. “Just the oppressive patriarchal values that dictate our education.”

Killian nodded, muttering a, “good,” before leaving the room. Mr. Pendragon tried to call after him, but it was no use.

Turning back to the class, Mr. Pendragon addressed Emma. “Ms. Swan, I want to thank you for your point of view.” He paused as Emma sent a smirk Neal’s way. Just when she felt validated, he added, “I know how difficult it must be for you to overcome all those years of upper middle-class suburban oppression. It must be tough.” At that, Emma slumped back into her seat, a scowl returning to her face.

“Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Mr. Pendragon headed to the front of the classroom. “Go to the office. I don’t need to deal with this right now.”

“Mr. Pendragon! What?!”

“You heard me.”

Emma huffed out a breath as she left the room, but not before knocking Neal on the side of his head to stop his snickering.

“Emma Blanchard,” Ms. Perky, the guidance counselor, addressed the student walking into her office, “why am I not surprised to see you again?”

“It's Swan. Emma Swan. I'm adopted.” She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes, bored with the routine. Ms. Perky made a disapproving noise and proceeded to type on her computer, not even looking Emma's way.

“Your father is a Blanchard. Your sister is a Blanchard. It says ‘Blanchard’ on the roster and in the system,” Ms. Perky reminded Emma.

“And I'm a Swan.”

Ms. Perky paused, grinning to herself as she glanced between her mug and Emma, who raised her eyebrows waiting for an explanation. “Swan,” she pointed to her swan-printed mug. “Swan,” she pointed at Emma while laughing out loud. Emma nodded overdramatically as she waited for the guidance counselor to get down to business. “So I hear you were terrorizing Mr. Pendragon’s class again.”

“Expressing my opinion is not a terrorist action.”

“The point is people see you as somewhat-”

“Tempestuous?”

“‘Heinous bitch’ is the term used most often. “You might want to work on that.”

Emma’s lips slightly upturned. She was almost seemed impressed with herself, despite the unflattering connotation.

Ms. Perky went back to typing as Emma waited for her dismissal. The counselor sighed and lowered her glasses before a tired “thank you” was uttered.”

Emma grabbed her backpack from the floor. She faced Ms. Perky and said, with extreme sarcasm, “as always, thank you for your excellent guidance.” She exited the room without another word.

That afternoon, Emma and her best friend, Lily, waited in Emma’s car for her younger sister, Mary Margaret. However, Mary Margaret was more interested in catching the eye of Neal Gold, the most popular guy in senior year. She and her best friend, Tamara, walked by him for the fourth time that afternoon trying to get noticed. Fourth time was the charm, as Neal called out, “looking good, ladies.” Tamara sent Neal a predatory grin before leading Mary Margaret away from the boy before she started giggling and making a fool of herself in front of him.

“They’re out of reach, even for you, Gold.” Felix, another senior, said.

Neal glared at his friend. “No one’s out of reach for me.”

“You want to put money on that?”

Neal shook his head, still watching the girls walk away. “Money I’ve got. This I’m going to do for fun.”

Meanwhile, Neal wasn’t the only guy with his eye on Mary Margaret.

“Who’s that guy?” David Nolan, a new kid to Storybrooke High, asked his tour guide, August Booth.

“Neal Gold. He’s rich. He’s a model. And he’s a moron.”

“A model?” To be honest, Neal didn’t strike David as a model.

“Eh,” August shrugged. “Mostly regional stuff. But he’s rumored to have a tube sock ad coming out.”

David gave August a look that screamed, “really?,” to which August just nodded. They both laughed.

“Man, just look at her. Is she always so-”

“Clueless? Airheaded? Into herself?” In truth, August didn’t really know Mary Margaret well, but she was easily the most popular girl in the school.

“Don’t say that about her. There’s more to her than you think. I mean, look at the way she smiles. And look at her eyes, man. She’s totally pure. You’re missing what’s there.”

“No, David. What’s there is a bratty little princess wearing a strategically planned sundress to make guys like us realize we can never touch her, and guys like Neal realize they want to. We will spend the rest of our lives not being able to have girls like her. Just move on, dude.”

David crossed his arms and took a step back from August. “No. You’re wrong about her.”

August put his hands up in surrender. “Fine. I’m wrong. You want to take a shot? Be my guest. She’s actually looking for a French tutor.”

David’s entire face lit up. “Seriously? That’s perfect!”

“Do you speak French?”

“No.” He stared dreamily at Mary Margaret, who was waving goodbye to her friend. “But I will.”

On her way to her sister’s car, Mary Margaret was stopped in her tracks by Neal Gold pulling up in his convertible.

“Hey. Would you and your friend like a ride?”

Mary Margaret barely waited to breathe before she called out to Tamara, who ran over and got in Neal’s car right behind her friend.

Emma and Lily, who had watched the drama unfold, rolled their eyes simultaneously.

“That’s a charming new development,” Lily said sarcastically.

Scrunching her face in disgust, Emma added, “it’s pathetic.” She buckled her seatbelt and prepared to drive just the two of them. Right when she was about to back out, Emma had to slam the breaks because of a stalled motorcycle directly behind her car. “Hey,” she yelled, “remove head from ass, then drive!”

The motorcyclist scooted away sans motor so Emma could pull out. She flipped him off and sped out of the parking lot.

David Nolan came running up to the rider - August. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Just a minor encounter with the shrew, your girlfriend’s sister.”

“That’s Mary Margaret’s sister?” David was in a state of disbelief.

August nodded, “adopted.” With that, he once again got his motorcycle working. Sending David a knowing smile, he put on his helmet and rode off.

Emma was happily lying on the living room couch reading a book when her adoptive father arrived home.

“Hello, Emma. Make anyone cry today?”

“Sadly, no, but it’s only 4:30.”

Leo Blanchard’s smile only grew as Mary Margaret came inside and greeted her father.

“Hi, Daddy.” She kissed his cheek and moved Emma’s feet so she could sit on the couch.

“Hello, precious.”

“And where have you been?” Emma bookmarked her page and closed the book, expecting some amusement as her father learns that her sister was in a car with Neal Gold.

“Nowhere.” She gave Emma a pleading look.

Emma promptly ignored her sister. “Ask Mary Margaret who drove her home.”

Leo waited for an answer from his biological daughter.

“Now, don’t get upset, but there’s this boy.” Mary Margaret couldn’t help grinning at the thought of a boy liking her.

“Who’s a flaming imbecile,” Emma chimed in.

“And I think he might ask me-”

“Please. I think I know what he’s going to ask you. And I think I know the answer: No. 1, it’s always no. What are the house rules? No. 1, no dating till you graduate. No. 2, no dating till you graduate. That’s it.”

“That’s so unfair! I’m the only girl in school who’s not dating.” She put on the puppy-dog face.

“No, you’re not. Your sister doesn’t date.”

Emma smiled proudly. “And I don’t intend to.”

“And why is that again?” Leo turned to his adopted daughter, beaming smile on his face.

“Have you seen the unwashed miscreants that go to that school?” Emma could actually see the moment a new idea sparked in her father’s brain.

“Okay. You’re unhappy with the old rule - fine. Old rule out. New rule in: Mary Margaret can date-” Mary Margaret squealed with delight; Emma gasped at the unfairness. Leo pointed at Emma, “-when she does.”

“So I was thinking.” David Nolan sat across from Mary Margaret Blanchard at a library table.

“Yeah?”

“Well, there’s no better way to learn a language than by doing, right?” She looked confused. “What about French food? We could eat some, you know, together? Saturday night?”

“That’s so cute! You’re asking me out.” Mary Margaret’s voice got dangerously high-pitched before her delight switched to disappointment.

David watched her emotions play out on her face. “Oh, I mean, I know your dad doesn’t let you date, but I thought maybe if it was for French class-”

“Oh, wait a minute!” She was smiling again. “My dad just came up with a new rule. I can date if my sister does.”

David’s face lit up.

“Don’t get too excited, David. My sister is pretty much incapable of human interaction nowadays.”

“Well, I’m sure that there are lots of guys who wouldn’t mind going out with a difficult woman,” he sounded unsure, but he was determined.

“You really think you could find someone extreme enough to date her?”

“Yeah. Why not?”

Mary Margaret reached out and touched David’s arm. “You’d do that for me?”

“Absolutely.”

After a long and fruitless search - apparently Emma Swan’s reputation precedes her - David knew he had the right guy in biology as he watched Killian Jones hack away at his dissection frog rather than delicately cut it.

“Hey, what about him?” David whispered to August, pointing at Killian.

“No, no. Don’t look at him, okay? He's a criminal.” August slapped David’s arm down from pointing at Killian and avoided even glancing in that direction.

David watched as Killian took out a cigarette from his leather jacket pocket and lit it using his Bunsen burner. He almost got around to smoking it, but his lab partner grabbed it and put it out. Obviously frustrated, he rested his head on one of his arms that was on the lab table and brooded. Abandoning the assignment altogether, he passed his right hand through the Bunsen burner’s flame on and off. As David continued to watch Killian, he knew had found the perfect guy for Emma.

“How do we get him to date Emma?” August looked at his friend, who was staring at Killian Jones from across the cafeteria. He didn’t think dealing with Killian Jones was a great idea, but David was convinced.

“I don’t know. We could pay him, except that we don’t have any money.” David slumped in his seat, deflated at the idea of not being able to take Mary Margaret out.

“Yeah. Well, what we need is a backer.” David sat up a little straighter. “You know, someone with money who’s stupid.” David followed August’s gaze to the popular table, where Neal Gold was laughing obnoxiously loudly with his posse. August turned to David, nodding. “I got this.” With that, August walked over to Neal’s table and took an empty chair, pretending to laugh to blend in.

“Are you lost?” Neal asked August.

“I just came by to chat,” August said confidently. David couldn’t believe August wanted to work with the competition.

“We don’t chat.”

“Actually, I thought that I'd run an idea by you, just to see if you're interested.”

Neal interrupted, “I’m not.”

“You want Mary Margaret, right?” Now August had Neal’s attention. “She can't go out with you because her sister is a heinous bitch who growls if you stare too long. What I think you need to do is hire someone who doesn’t scare so easily, tame the beast, so to speak.” August turned his attention to Killian, expecting Neal to follow. He did. “Seems like a solid investment, right?”

Neal narrowed his eyes. “What’s in it for you?”

“Hey. I’m walking down the hall and say hello to you, you say hello to me. Or at least maybe you don’t treat me and my friend like crap all the time.”

“Alright. I get it.” August nodded, and Neal nodded in return - an agreement - before telling August to leave. “We’re done now.” August got up and returned to his seat next to David.

“What are you doing getting him involved?”

“Relax. We’ll let him think he’s calling the shots, but you’ll be the one spending time with Mary Margaret while he sets everything up.”

“Okay. That’s not a bad idea, actually.” David was so ready to take out the girl of his dreams.

Killian Jones sat with his friend Will Scarlet. They were smoking on the bench on the sideline of the soccer field. Killian steeled his features, abruptly ceasing his laughter over something Will had said, as none other than Neal Gold approached the bench. Killian said nothing, hoping Neal would get bored and leave. No such luck.

“Hey. How ya doing?”

Killian put his cigarette between his teeth. “Can I help you?”

“See that girl?” Neal was pointing at one of the girls playing soccer, her long blond hair pulled up in a ponytail as she fought one of the other players for the ball.

He took the cigarette from his mouth. “I see her.” He kept watching her, somehow compelled not to look away.

“That’s Emma Swan. I want you to go out with her.” Neal was grinning smugly when Killian turned his attention back to him.

“Yeah, sure, Sparky.” Killian looked at Will and the two laughed. Killian returned the cigarette to his mouth for a moment before removing it and throwing it down on the ground in front of him.

“Look; I can’t take out her sister until Emma starts dating. You see, their dad’s insane. He’s got this rule where the girls-”

Killian put a hand up, stopping Neal’s jabbering. “That’s a touching story. It really is. Also not my problem.”

“Would you be willing to make it your problem if I provide generous compensation?” Neal waggled his eyebrows, still grinning.

Killian narrowed his eyes just barely. “You’re going to pay me to take out some lass?” Neal’s grin grew as he gave Killian a single nod. “How much?” Killian could use the money, and there are worse ways to earn money than spending a night with a pretty girl.

“Twenty bucks.”

The three guys turned their attention back to the field to watch Emma. Killian crossed his arms and turned back to Neal after she violently body checked another player.

Neal sighed. “Fine. Thirty.”

Killian held up his index finger and shook it. “Well, let’s think about this. We go to the movies - that’s, say, 20 bucks. I get gas for my car, we get popcorn - that’s 60. And if she has a sweet tooth, we’re looking at 75 bucks.”

“I’m not negotiating this. Take it or leave it.”

Killian shrugged. “Fifty bucks and we’ve got a deal.” He held out his hand to Neal, and this time, he was the one wiggling his eyebrows. Neal sighed as he pulled a $50 bill from his wallet, placing it in Killian’s outstretched hand. Pocketing the cash, he waved to Neal and said good-bye to Will as he made himself comfortable on the concrete bench to watch the rest of practice.

As soon as the coach dismissed the soccer team, Killian stood up, shoved his hands into his pockets, and prepared himself to approach Emma Swan. As she packed some things into her equipment bag, Killian came up behind her.

“Hey there, love. How are you this fine afternoon?”

Emma swung around at his voice, clearly startled, though refusing to let him know it. “First, not your love. Second, sweating like a pig, actually. And yourself?”

“Now there’s a way to get a guy’s attention.”

She rolled her eyes. “My mission in life.” Her eyes narrowed when Killian didn’t walk away. She threw her bag over her shoulder then crossed her arms. “But apparently I’ve gotten your attention, so, you see, it worked.” Emma started off back to the locker room to get the rest of her stuff so she could get home and shower. She did not expect him to follow her.

“Pick you up Friday, then?”

She swung around to face him once again. “Oh, right. Friday. Yeah, sure.”

He lowered his voice, “I’ll take you places you’ve never been before.”

“Like the alley behind the drugstore on Main Street? Do you even know my name, jackass?”

“I know a lot more than you think.”

“Doubtful. Very doubtful.”

“You’re something of an open book.” She stuttered in her movement to walk away. There was something in his face that told her he wasn’t lying. But if he thought he knew her, he had another thing coming. After taking another moment to scan her suitor, she turned around and walked inside, not letting him call after her or follow.

Alone on the field, Killian actually smiled as he said the only two words coming to mind at that moment, “bloody hell.”

Later that night, Emma was brushing her teeth before bed when her sister came into the bathroom for her nightly routine.

“Have you ever considered a new look? I mean, seriously, you could have some definite potential buried under all that hostility.” Emma stilled the hand holding her toothbrush and stared at her sister, who looked entirely unfazed.

“I’m not hostile. I’m annoyed.”

“Why don’t you try being nice? I know you are. But people at school wouldn’t know what to think.”

“You forget that I don’t care what people think. Stopped caring ages ago.”

Mary Margaret turned to Emma and put a hand on her shoulder. “You do care.”

Emma shook her head and spit the toothpaste out of her mouth. “No, I don’t. And you don’t always have to be who they want you to be. You know that?”

“I happen to enjoy being liked by people.”

Emma rinsed her toothbrush before looking back at her sister. “Wait, where’d you get that necklace?”

“It’s Mom’s,” Mary Margaret squeaked out.

Emma couldn’t believe this. Only three years after their mother’s death and Mary Margaret thought she could just take her things. “And you’ve been hiding it for three years?”

“No. Dad found it in a drawer last week.”

“And you’re wearing it now? Is that going to be a normal thing?”

“It’s not like she’s going to wear it. And she always said she thought it would look good on me.”

Emma shook her head and felt the tears threatening to spill. “Trust me,” she spat out, “it doesn’t.”

With bags of food in hand, Emma emerged from the grocery store to find Killian Jones leaning against her car.

“This is quite the vessel you captain here, Swan.”

She rested the bags on the sidewalk, but she still gripped the handles. “Are you following me?”

“I was at Marco’s. Saw your car - hard to miss, that yellow Bug. I came over to say hi.”

“Hi.” She picked up her groceries and moved to put them in her car. Killian kept a hand on the door, stopping her from opening it.

“Not a big talker?”

“Depends on the topic. Hearing people mock my car doesn’t really whip me into a verbal frenzy.”

Killian stared at her like he was putting together a puzzle, trying to figure her out. His voice was high-pitched with curiosity as he asked, “you’re not afraid of me, are you?”

“Afraid of you?” She managed to get her door open and shoved her bags in the car before turning back around to face her stalker. “Why would I be afraid of you?”

He shrugged. “Most people are.”

“I’m not.”

“Well, maybe you’re not afraid of me. But I’m sure you’ve thought about me naked.” He gave her a knowing wink. She thought it was absolutely obnoxious.

She feigned surprise. “Am I that transparent?” He chuckled as she wedged herself into her car. Putting his hands up in mock innocence, Killian backed up onto the sidewalk as Emma started to pull away. Of course, Neal Gold parked his show-off classic car in the road directly behind her. “What is it, asshole day?” She muttered to herself. To Neal, who was walking into his father’s pawn shop, she yelled, “hey, do you mind?”

He yelled back, “no, not at all,” before walking into the shop and slamming the door behind him.

Fed up, Emma backed straight out and into Neal’s car, pushing it until it was out of the way. Her car may be old, but it was built better than his rich-kid car. She started to pull out of the parking lot, flipping Neal off as he came running out of the store.

“What the hell, bitch?!”

“Oops!” She laughed as she pulled away, even flashing Killian a smile from her window before disappearing from view.

Killian had stood on the sidewalk watching the whole scene, a delighted smile gracing his face as Neal ran to his car to assess the damage. Emma Swan could certainly hold her own.

After being properly lectured about the accident by her father, who tried and failed to hide that he was definitely a tad proud, Emma’s reading was interrupted by a screech from her sister.

“Did you maim Neal’s car?!”

“Yup. Looks like you’re going to have to take the bus, or, you know, ride with your bitch of a sister.” Emma smiled, but didn’t bother looking up from her book.

“Has the fact that you’re completely insane managed to escape your attention?”

Emma shrugged. Mary Margaret let out a noise of frustration and then walked away.

Killian was at his locker talking to Will when none other than Neal Gold came strutting over and slammed Killian’s locker closed.

“When I shell out fifty bucks, I expect results.” He looked like he was two seconds from grabbing Killian’s jacket and lifting him up against the lockers, if only he wasn’t scared of Killian.

“I’m on it, mate.” He grinned at Will before turning back to a still-fuming Neal. Will slapped Killian on the back as he took his leave.

“Watching that bitch ram into my car doesn’t count as a date. If you don’t get some, I don’t get some. So get some.” Neal glared at Killian for a solid minute before starting to walk away when it was clear Killian wasn’t budging.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Killian called after him. “I just upped my price.”

Neal stared in disbelief. With what happened to Neal’s car, Killian figured he could get more out of him, though getting Emma Swan to go out with him was not about the money anymore. He liked a good challenge, and he might even like her. But the money wouldn’t hurt.

“Hundred bucks a date in advance.” Killian stood confidently as Neal stomped over to him.

“Forget it.” He started to walk away again.

“Forget her sister, then.” Killian knew he had Neal there.

Neal fished another $50 bill from his wallet. “You better hope you’re as smooth as you think you are, Jones.”

Killian said nothing, just took the money with a smug smile and walked away, leaving Neal at the lockers.

Killian Jones looked forward to his daily 45 minutes of shop class. He liked being hands-on, and it was a creative outlet. Since shop was an elective and it involved some heavy machinery, shop was the class in which the least amount of his classmates were scared of him. And the best part for Killian - his prosthetic hand was a guaranteed steady weight, and he didn’t risk cutting himself on that hand.

Their latest project was the most obvious of projects for a high school shop class: A birdhouse. However, the students could design their birdhouses to look like anything they wanted, so Killian was modeling his as a ship. His older brother had served in the navy, and Liam had gotten his younger brother fascinated with ships.

Just as Killian was working on carving the boat’s largest sail, he was approached by two guys who were absolutely not in the class.

The blonde spoke first. “We know what you’re trying to do with Emma Swan.”

Killian put down the sander he was using on the sail. “Is that so? And what do you plan to do about it?”

“Help you out.”

That was not the response he was expecting. “Why’s that?”

The kid in the too-tight leather jacket answered. “The situation is my man David here is really into Mary Margaret Blanchard.”

Killian sighed. Of course. “What is it with this lass?”

“Look, I think I speak correctly when I say that David's love is pure - purer than, say, Neal Gold’s.”

“I really don’t give a damn who Gold nails. He’s paying me. That’s all this is.”

David reacted before his friend could get a word out. “There will be no nailing going on.”

The friend put a hand up to stop David from continuing. “Killian, Let me explain something to you here. We set this whole thing up so David could get the girl - David. Neal's just a pawn.”

“So you two are going to help me tame the wild beast?” Killian alternated pointing between the two guys in front of him.

“We’ll do some research. We’ll find out what she likes.” Both of the guys were grinning at Killian. “Let’s start with Friday night. Matt Murdock is throwing a party - the perfect opportunity for you to take Emma out.”

“I’ll think about it.” Picking up the sander once more, Killian got back to work on his birdhouse, hoping his intruders would take the hint and go away. Once they were gone, patting each other on their backs as they walked away, the noise from the sander chased off any thoughts of Emma Swan and this plan he’d gotten mixed up in.

“So, Mary Margaret, have you heard about Murdock’s party Friday?” David looked at his walking companion.

“Yes. And I really, really, really want to go, but I can't - not unless my sister goes.”

“I know. I’m working on that. But so far, she just isn’t going for my guy.” Mary Margaret nodded slowly. Of course her sister wasn’t going for some guy. “She’s not, you know-”

“No,” Mary Margaret answered plainly. “She’s definitely into guys. I found magazine cutouts of actors she likes in her drawer once.”

“So that’s the kind of guys she likes - pretty guys?”

Mary Margaret shook her head. “I don’t know. All I've ever heard her say is that she'd die before dating a guy that smokes.”

“Okay. Helpful. What else?”

“You’re asking me to get inside my sister’s twisted mind? I don’t think so, David.”

“Well, nothing else has worked. We might have to go behind enemy lines here.”

Mary Margaret stopped in her tracks as she considered the idea. “Okay, come with me.” David couldn’t quite hide the smile blooming on his face. “You are really lucky I like you.”

Back at the Blanchard household, the two made sure Emma wasn’t home before creeping into her room.

“She keeps all her junk in this drawer.” Mary Margaret opened it slowly and started rifling through it. David stood awkwardly in the doorway, unsure of how exactly to act in Emma Swan’s bedroom. “Class schedule, reading list, planner, coffee receipts, concert tickets.” There was some potentially useful stuff there. David approached slowly, taking the items Mary Margaret had gathered. “Ah-ha! Red panties!”

David coughs. “What does that tell us?”

“She wants to have sex someday!”

“Or she’s really into red? She does wear that jacket all the time.”

“You don’t buy red lingerie unless you want someone to see it,” Mary Margaret laughed at his flustered behavior.

“Right.” David pulled the pile of Emma material closer to him as he took a step back from where Mary Margaret held out the red underwear. “You can put that back now.”

Rolling her eyes, she put the panties back in the drawer and took the pile from David. He got out his phone and took pictures of her schedule, reading list, and concert tickets. He’d take a more detailed look once they were out of Emma’s room. “You so owe me for coming in here.”

“Freedom to go to Murdock’s party?”

“I suppose that’s a start.”

Killian Jones worked part-time as a bartender at a local bar. The hours meant very little sleep, and he was late for school a lot after sleeping through his alarm, but the bar’s owner let him do homework behind the bar and he liked his regulars. The last thing he expected to see on the job was the two guys from shop class walk in. They looked entirely out of place, David in his bright plaid shirt and too-big grin on his face.

“So this is what a bar looks like.”

Killian ran to the front of the bar and pulled David by his shirt collar over to the pool table. “If my boss caught you two at the bar, I could lose my job. Why are you here?”

David pried his shirt from Killian’s fist and his grin disappeared. “We have some intel for you.”

Killian sat on the edge of the pool table. “All right. What’ve you got?”

“Wait. We can’t be at the bar, but you can work at one?” August crossed his arms.

“Owner is a family friend. If I drink, I lose my job,” Killian paused and looked between the two guys. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

Nodding in understanding, David went back to the night’s intended subject. “Well, thing No. 1, Emma hates smokers - hates.”

Killian’s jaw dropped.

“So you’re telling me I’m now a non-smoker?” August reached into Killian’s jacket pocket and took his pack of cigarettes.

“Yup.” Killian narrowed his eyes at August in anger. “But just for now.” He pocketed the cigarettes and held his hands up in innocence.

“Actually, there’s another problem,” David started. Killian turned his attention to him and raised his eyebrows in question. “Mary Margaret said Emma likes, um, pretty guys.”

Killian stared at David in silence for a second. “Are you telling me I’m not a pretty guy?”

“You’re very pretty. Gorgeous, in fact. Right, David?” August elbowed David in the side.

“Yup. Very pretty. I just, you know, I wasn’t sure.”

Killian started walking away, thinking the conversation was over.

“Wait. We have more.” David held up a crumpled up piece of paper.

Killian glanced over at the bar to make sure he was covered before turning back to David. “Go on.”

“Okay. Likes: Chinese and Indian food, hot chocolate, coffee, ‘80s music, Robert Downey Jr., and ‘90s boy bands, which I just cannot believe.” David pulled out another sheet of notebook paper. “This is for you - list of dvds she has in her room, list of books on her bookshelf that look the most read, and her most played songs on her iPod.”

“So I’m supposed to buy her Chicken Tikka Masala, a book, and sit around watching Robert Downey Jr. movies when we aren’t listening to Michael Jackson and Bon Jovi?”

Killian’s knowledge of the things David listed honestly surprised both August and him.

“Actually, have you ever heard of Avril Lavigne?”

“She has tickets to see her tomorrow night.”

“Absolutely not. I can’t be seen at an Avril Lavigne concert.”

“If it helps, she’s got a pair of red underwear.”

Leaving Killian gaping, David and August left.

As he headed back to the bar to resume work, Killian groaned because he knew he had to go to that bloody concert the following night.

Killian could not be happier that the venue Avril Lavigne was playing had a bar with a bartender who absolutely could not tell a fake ID from a real one. Nursing a glass of rum - he limited himself to two; he had to drive home himself and he wasn’t that irresponsible - he watched Emma dance to the music with her friend. She was a vision in a green tank top and jeans, strong arms on display without her usual red leather jacket. Her hair was only just slightly wavy as she flipped it over her shoulder. He watched as she said something to her friend before heading his way. Spinning himself around on the stool, he pretended to be extremely interested in his phone all the sudden.

“Two waters, please.”

Killian could tell when she noticed him sitting there by her aggravated groan. “If you’re planning on asking me out again, you might as well get it over with.”

“Do you mind? I can’t hear the music over your voice.”

She knew perfectly well that he was not there for the music. “You’re not surrounded by your usual cloud of smoke.”

“Yeah. About that - I quit. Did you know those things are bad for you?”

“Wait. You quit?”

“Aye.” Killian took it as a win when Emma stared at him, too stunned to reply with some sarcastic retort. “You know, Swan, I was watching you out there before.”

“Stalker,” she quipped before thanking the bartender for the waters and paying him.

“I’ve never seen you look so sexy,” Killian commented when Emma turned her attention back to him, except he hadn’t noticed the song was ending, and there was a moment of silence in the club right as he spoke. His ears flashed bright red as he scratched at a spot behind his right ear. Being nearly the only male in the club, his comment was met with giggles from the female crowd, who had heard him clearly. The saving grace of his embarrassment was that Emma, gorgeously flushed from both her dancing and embarrassment, also laughed. Killian waited until the next song had started before getting the courage to talk again. “Come with me to Murdock’s party.”

“You just don’t know when to give up, huh?” She flashed him a grin as she made her way back to her friend in the crowd.

“Was that a yes?” He called after her.

“No,” she shouted in return.

“Was that a no?”

“No.”

Smiling to himself, he yelled to her once more, “I’ll pick you up at 9.”

Mary Margaret and Tamara had put on their party clothes and were close to the front door when Mr. Leo Blanchard called out from the couch, “should’ve used the window, girls.”

Tamara smacked Mary Margaret in the arm and muttered, “told you.”

Leo got up and confronted the girls. “And where are we going?”

“Well, if you must know, a small study group of friends.” Mary Margaret batted her eyelashes.

“Also known as a party?”

“Mr. Blanchard, it’s just a party. And I promise I’ll take care of Mary Margaret,” Tamara tried.

Leo called up the stairs, “Emma, did you know about some party tonight?”

“I don’t know,” Emma yelled from her room.

“That settles it. Emma isn’t going, you’re not going.”

“Emma!” Mary Margaret screeched up the stairs. “Emma, please! Just for one night, can’t you forget that you hate everyone and be my sister? Please? C’mon, Emma, please do this for me.”

Emma closed her book and sighed. Mary Margaret’s pleading was genuine enough. Grabbing her leather jacket, she headed downstairs. “Fine. I’ll make an appearance.”

Mary Margaret hugged Emma between high-pitched squeals of delight.

“Thank you, Emma. Thank you.”

Leo Blanchard just stood there in shock as Mary Margaret and Tamara ran out the door. Emma rolled her eyes and answered the door when someone knocked, expecting it to be one of her sister’s many suitors. She was taken aback when it was Killian Jones.

“What are you doing here?”

“It’s 9, right?” He glanced at his watch - 8:47. “Oh, I’m early.”

Emma barely recalled his promise to pick her up at 9. She was surprised he actually kept his word.

“Alright. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave.” She grabbed his left hand, which she noticed did not feel like a flesh hand, and pulled him out the door. His breath hitched immediately and it was like he forgot how to walk. She tugged before letting go. “You coming?”

He shook himself out of it. “Yeah. Of course, Swan.”

The party was exactly how Emma imagined it would be: Drunk teenagers all dry humping each other and talking far too loudly. She and Killian wandered around, neither one really sure how to act at a party. Walking upstairs, Killian was stopped by Ashley, that girl from their English class.

Ashley threw herself at Killian, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him to her. “Kiss me!”

Killian looked around, spotting a guy sitting on a beanbag placed in the hallway. He directed Ashley to that guy, forcing her into his lap. “Kiss him.”

About to walk away, Killian was stopped by a hand on his jacket - the hand of the guy he forced Ashley onto. “Hey, man! Thanks!”

Killian nodded at him and went to try to find Emma. He spotted her in one of the guest rooms, where someone had stuck a keg. She was talking to Neal Gold.

“Hey, Swan Princess. Looking good!”

Emma glared at Neal, the last person she wanted to see that night. Already wanting to leave, she turned around to find Killian to let him know she was going home. As she started walking out of the room, Neal grabbed her waist and pulled her back to him.

“Where you going, Em?”

“Away.” Emma pulled his hand off her.

“Where’s your sister? She here?”

“Stay the hell away from my sister.”

Neal put his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine. I’ll stay away from Mary Margaret, but I can’t guarantee she’ll stay away from me.” He smirked.

Emma pushed through the crowd to leave the room. She wandered around for a while as she looked for Killian. Heading into the kitchen hoping that if Killian wasn’t in there, maybe she could at least find something halfway-decent to eat, she was met with her sister on one of Neal’s arms and Tamara on his other. Both girls were giddy.

“Em,” he screamed. “Look who found me!” He led the girls away from Emma, who lost them in the crowd. So much for protecting her sister from the biggest jerk in Maine. She was an awful sister.

“Hey, want one?” She whipped her head around to see some guy who she figured was in college. He held out a tray of shots.

Glancing around the room once more, she didn’t see Mary Margaret anymore, or Killian, so she shrugged and took a shot. She downed it right as Killian found her.

“Swan, what are you doing?” He looked panicked as he took the empty shot glass from her.

“Partying. Like a normal person. My sister would be so proud.”

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Swan-” Killian was cut off as Emma spotted another tray of shots and wandered off in pursuit. Killian watched helplessly from the spot Emma just stood. “One of these days, I’m going to stop chasing this woman.” He headed after her, hoping she didn’t get too carried away.

“August, I just saw Mary Margaret.”

“Took you long enough to find her. Where is she now?”

“With Neal.” August froze, his cup of water not quite making it to his mouth.

“That wasn’t in the plan. Now what?”

David took a deep breath. “I - I don’t know. She was happy. She looked like she wanted to be here with him.”

“Go find her again. Make up a reason for her to spend time with you instead.” David nodded, sighing and turning to leave. He looked defeated. August patted David on the back as he watched his friend disappear into the crowd. “Good luck, my friend.”

Killian paced the entirety of the house twice before he found Emma, but too late. She was dancing on the coffee table in the living room, completely drunk.

“Swan, what do you say I have this shot?” He pried the glass from her hand as she continued to dance.

“No! It’s mine!” She tried her hardest to grab it back, but she was slow in her inebriated state.

“Hey, man!” Neal put an arm around Killian’s shoulders. Killian shuddered in return. “How did you do it?”

“What?”

“You managed to get her to act like a normal person!” Neal cheered as Emma kept dancing, taking off her jacket and swinging it around. Killian shook off Neal and moved closer to Emma as she made her way to the edge of the table. He was barely able to catch her as she fell off, but when he did, he carried her outside to keep her from drinking any more. He found a bench on the porch outside and put her down onto it.

“Are you alright?”

“Never better.” That was a lie. She couldn’t even sit up by herself. She leaned on Killian’s side and let her head dangle forward as she rested her eyes.

Killian rubbed her back and made sure she was comfortable. She dozed off on his shoulder. He sighed, rubbing his temples when he saw David storm out of the house.

“She wanted Neal this whole time!”

Killian helped lie Emma down onto the bench as he stepped aside to talk with David. “What’s up, mate?”

“I saw Mary Margaret and Tamara with Neal. I felt sorry for myself for a little, then went to find her again. The second time, she was so transfixed with him. I was a fool. It’s off, Killian. The whole thing’s off. Thanks for trying, but she never wanted me. She just wanted me to help her out so she could go out with him.”

Killian didn’t have time for this.

“Nolan, look. Do you like Mary Margaret?”

David sighed and softened. “Yeah.”

“And is she worth all the trouble?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know anymore. I thought so, but-”

Killian stared David down. “Look, mate. Either she is or she isn’t. First of all, Neal is not half the man you are. Secondly, don’t let anyone ever make you feel like you don’t deserve what you want, aye?”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

Emma stirred and tried to stand up from the bench on her own.

“I’m a tad busy here, Dave. Best of luck with Mary Margaret.” David nodded and took off back inside. Killian ran back to Emma just in time to catch her and get her to sit back down.

“Why are you taking care of me like this?” Emma babbled.

“It may surprise you, Swan, but I care for you.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You don’t really, though.”

“Of course I do.”

“Why?”

“If you weren’t around, I’d have to start taking out girls who actually like me.”

She snorted. “Like you could find one.”

“Ah, see that? Who needs affection when I have blind hatred?” They both laughed. “Can I ask you something now, Swan?” She didn’t answer. “Why do you let Neal get to you? I mean, he’s a wanker, but it’s like you take it personally.”

“I hate him.”

Killian opened his mouth to ask another question, but he was interrupted by Emma darting into a sitting position before puking onto the ground in front of the bench. He sighed yet again as he gathered her hair and held it back as she emptied her stomach.

“Hey, Mary Margaret, Neal’s holding an afterparty. You in?”

“I don’t know, Tam. I have a curfew. It’s my first night of freedom. I can’t take advantage like that.”

“Girls, you coming?” Neal waved from the door.

“Be right there,” Tamara called out to him in her flirtiest voice. He seemed impressed. Mary Margaret started to realize that maybe Neal wasn’t that into her. Maybe he just wanted any girl he could get his hands on.

“Last chance, Mary Margaret.”

With her recent realization, she actually didn’t want to go the party. “I think I’ll just find my sister and go home.”

“Alright. Your loss. Text you tomorrow.” Mary Margaret nodded to acknowledge her friend before sighing and looking around for Emma. It was looking like she needed a ride home. She found David instead.

“Hey. Have fun tonight?” He asked timidly.

“Look, David,” she started. She made eye contact as she asked, “do you think you could give me a ride home?”

Killian and Emma sat in his car. He was parked in front of her house, but she seemed hesitant to get out of the car.

“I should do this,” she giggles.

“Do what?”

She pointed at the car stereo.

“Install car stereos?” She laughed. He would think about that laugh for the rest of time.

“No. Start a band. Wouldn’t my dad just love that?” In that moment, she thought about her mom and how she loved to sing and play guitar - she was the reason Emma taught herself guitar.

“You don't strike me as the type to ask your father’s permission.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You really think you know me, huh?”

“I like to think I’m getting closer.”

“The only thing people know about me is that I’m a bitch.”

“Yeah, well, I’m no picnic myself.” Emma and Killian locked eyes as silence overtook the car. Killian was the one to break the moment. “So what's up with your dad? Is he a pain in the ass like everyone makes him seem?”

“Nah. He just wants me to be someone I’m not.”

“Who’s that?”

“Mary Margaret.”

“Well, no offense to your sister or anything, but she’s without.”

Emma stared at him. She’d always been the second-choice sister. “You’re really not as repulsive as I thought you were.” The two seemed to share a moment as Emma leaned in closer to Killian. His breath hitched, and it was then and the stench of beer and tequila that reminded him how drunk she was.

“Swan, maybe we should do this another time.”

Emma pulled back, hurt flashing in her eyes at the rejection. She wrestled to get the car door open, then slammed it before walking to her house, wiping tears along the way. Killian sighed as his head fell forward to rest on the steering wheel. He just hoped she’d understand when she sobered up.

Meanwhile, in David’s car, still at the party, he couldn’t find it in himself to turn the motor on just yet.

“You never wanted to go out with me, did you?”

“Well, I kinda did.”

“But I’m not Neal.”

“I don’t know. He’s just-”

“You don’t have to say any more.”

“I do like you, David.”

“Save it. just because you're beautiful, doesn't mean you can treat people like they don't matter. I mean, I really like you. I defended you when people called you conceited. I helped set Emma up so you could get out of the house. I learned French for you. And then you just blow me off for him.”

Mary Margaret answered by pulling him to her and kissing him. Cheering to himself, David knew he had won after all. She was absolutely worth the trouble.

Mr. Pendragon opened class as he always did on Mondays, asking about the students’ weekends.

“Why don’t you ask Emma?” Neal joked.

“Why do I feel like I don’t actually want to know what you all got up to?” He looked over at Emma, who was hiding her head in her arms on her desk. “All right. I definitely don’t. Let’s get started. Sonnets!”

The class groaned.

“I know, I know. Shakespeare and poetry - not everyone’s favorite things. But I want you all to write your own sonnets.”

Emma raised her hand. Mr. Pendragon prepared himself for the worst. “Does it have to be in iambic pentameter?”

Mr. Pendragon was stunned. “You don’t want to assert an opinion here?”

“I think this is a good assignment.”

“Are you messing with me?”

“No. I’m really looking forward to writing this.” He sized her up for a minute looking for a trace of a lie. Whatever happened last weekend must have really gotten to her.

“Alright, Ms. Swan. Thank you. And, no, it does not have to be written in iambic pentameter.”

Emma nodded and took note, specifically avoiding looking behind her at where Killian’s desk was.

Killian sat on the sideline bench alone as he watched Emma practice with her soccer team. He sighed, really wishing he could smoke a cigarette at that moment.

“Hey, man.” David sat next to Killian. “What’d you do to her?”

“Nothing. And if I had done anything, she would’ve been too drunk to remember.”

“But the plan was working.”

Killian took his eyes off Emma and looked at David. “Why do you even care? I thought the plan was off?”

“It was, but you gave me that pep talk and then,” he smiled.

“And then?”

“She kissed me.”

That got Killian to smile. At least someone got the girl. “Where?”

“In my car.”

Killian was going to press for more details, but August ran up to the bench. “So I talked to Emma.”

“And?” Killian looked up at August, hopeful.

“She really, really hates you right now.” Killian’s shoulders sagged with disappointment.

“Well,” David tried to find a positive in the situation but failed. “Maybe she just needs a day to cool off.”

All three guys ducked as a soccer ball came beaming at them at a speed that seemed like it could’ve cleanly knocked one of their heads off. They turned to the field to find Emma glaring at them. She was absolutely the one who kicked it. She was absolutely aiming for Killian.

David smiled sheepishly. “Maybe two days.”

Emma and Lily were headed outside to eat lunch when they came across a flier for prom. In anger, Emma yanked it from the wall.

“Can you imagine who would go to that antiquated mating ritual?”

Lily raised her hand. “I actually would, but I don’t have a date.”

Emma shot daggers at Lily with her eyes.

“Okay, okay. We won’t go. It’s not like I have a dress anyway.”

“Hey, Mary Margaret,” Neal came up to her.

She wasn’t really interested in talking to him. “Can I help you?” She focused on the field hockey ball she was dribbling between her stick.

“You’re concentrating awfully hard for gym class.”

“What do you want?”

“I want to talk to you about prom.”

“You know the deal.” She chased the ball after losing control of it. Stopping dribbling for a minute, she finally faced Neal. “I can’t go if Emma doesn’t.”

“You sister is going.”

She crossed her arms. “Since when?”

“Let’s just say I’m taking care of it.”

Mary Margaret smiled. Maybe she’d get to go to prom after all, but she definitely didn’t see herself there with Neal.

Neal held out two $100 bills to Killian. “This should take care of the flowers, the limo, the tux - everything. Just make sure she gets to the prom.”

“You know what? I’m out. I’m sick of playing your little game.” Killian’s eyes scanned the hallway. He just wanted to see Emma again.

“Are you still out if I raise it to $300?”

Killian knew he could use the money, but Emma wasn’t a business transaction for him. He took the money. He would use some of it for prom if things went well, but he was coming up with a plan for a way to use some of the rest of it.

The next day, Killian saw Emma’s car at a record store. He stopped in to see if she was still angry at him.

“Excuse me,” he tapped her on the shoulder. “Have you seen a copy of From Under The Cork Tree? I seem to have misplaced mine.”

She whipped around and crossed her arms. “What are you doing here?”

“I was looking for a Fall Out Boy album. I thought my inquiry made that clear.”

“You’re so-”

“Charming? Devilishly handsome?”

“Unwelcome.” She started to walk to a different section of the store. He followed.

“You’re not as mean as you think you are.”

“You’re not as badass as you think you are.”

“Someone still has her panties in a twist.”

She swung around. “Don't you, for one second, think that you had any effect on my panties.”

“Then what did I have an effect on?”

“Other than my upchuck reflex, nothing.” She continued browsing through records, then pulled one out. She pressed it to his chest before leaving. Killian had to set his plan in motion quickly. Before leaving himself, he looked at the record she found him: From Under the Cork Tree.

At soccer practice the next day, Emma was in the zone. Soccer was a great way for her to channel her anger at Killian. She was so focused on perfecting the team’s newest play, she hadn’t realized her teammates all stopped playing. Trapping the ball, she turned around to face the bleachers to see what all her teammates were staring at. She was greeted by Killian at the top of the bleachers, something in his hand. He ran down a few rows of seats so Emma could make him out better. It was a microphone.

Pulling the mic to his mouth, he sang, “you’re just too good to be true. Can’t take my eyes off of you. You'd be like heaven to touch. I want to hold you so much. At long last love has arrived, and I thank god I'm alive. You're just too good to be true. Can't take my eyes off you.”

Emma found herself almost swooning. Her teammates looked at her for her reaction. She smiled, then jumped as there was a loud noise from behind her. She turned to see the marching band walking onto the field, playing along to the song Killian was singing.

She turned her attention back to Killian. “I love you, baby. And if it's quite alright, I need you, baby, to warm the lonely nights.”

The school police had gotten word of the disturbance and were running onto the bleachers to stop Killian. Taking a look at his pursuers, Killian wagged his eyebrows at Emma before running around the bleachers as he sang, dodging police officers and adding a strut or two as he sauntered around.

And he didn’t miss a note. “I love you, baby. Trust in me when I say, oh, pretty baby, don't bring me down, I pray. Oh, pretty baby, now that I've found you, stay and let me love you.”

He made his way down to the first row of seats, and Emma found herself walking over to him. She smiled and laughed as he sang the last line, staring into her eyes. “Baby, let me love you.”

Everyone who witnessed the song applauded and cheered when he finished, Emma included. Smiling back at her, Killian winked before being carried off by the police officers. Who knew Killian Jones would be one for grand romantic gestures?

Saturday detention was nothing new to Killian Jones. He had been sentenced to spend a few of his precious free days at school among his fellow delinquents before - sometimes for smoking, sometimes for ditching class or coming in late, et cetera, et cetera. But this Saturday, the prospect of spending his entire day trapped in an overheated classroom was more bothersome than usual, as he knew that Emma Swan was no longer angry with him. He wanted nothing more than to spend the day with her.

Resigning himself to twiddling his thumbs in detention all day, Killian sat back and tried to make himself comfortable. He stared at the ceiling for what must have been 20 minutes, avoiding getting on Coach Stark’s bad side - maybe he could get off early for good behavior?

Killian’s attention was pulled from the ceiling as the door to the classroom slammed closed. He sat up slowly before blinking his eyes rapidly to ensure his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him. Talking to Coach Stark at the front of the room was none other than Emma Swan. Killian immediately sat up straighter. Emma glanced at him from the corner of her eye, still talking to her soccer coach.

When Coach Stark bent down to get a pad of paper and pen from his desk, Emma mouthed to Killian, “the windows,” as she pointed to said windows. He nodded and got in position to move from his desk while not arousing suspicion from the coach. With the in-charge adult’s attention on Emma, Killian tiptoed in the aisle between the desks to the row of windows lining the left wall of the classroom.

“So I think we really need to work more on our defense for the game against the Racoons,” Killian caught a bit of Emma’s conversation as he worked to silently open a window wide enough for him to squeeze through. Emma watched him worriedly with quick glances over to him. “Ruby is a great goalie, but the team needs to have her back when she’s down after blocking a shot.”

Killian cursed to himself when his jacket zipper got caught on the window. His eyes flashed to Emma’s. She put her hands on Coach Stark to keep him facing her. “I mean, if she’s down, I just think someone needs to step into the goal and cover for her.”

“Emma, why don’t we talk about this more at practice next week.” He turned to sit back at his desk, but a quick look at Killian showed Emma he was only half out of the window.

Acting impulsively and without any real thought, she eyed the corner of the teacher’s desk and walked forward as if to keep talking to the coach as he sat down. With a precisely placed foot, Emma tripped over the desk leg and fell straight to the floor. Her fall was met with a stinging in her left wrist, but as she looked to the window, Killian was nowhere in sight. Sighing in relief, she cradled her wrist with her other hand as Coach Stark bent down next to her to tend to her. She definitely injured her wrist, but if Killian got away unnoticed, it would be worth it.

Feeling the concrete under his feet, Killian was so thankful the detention room was on the first floor. He looked into the room to see Emma and figure out how she managed to get him out unseen, but she was nowhere in sight. Disappointed over not being able to see her and properly thank her, he started making his way to his car.

Halfway across the parking lot, he spun around at the sound of his name.

“Killian! Killian, wait up!” Emma was waving and running to where he stood.

“Swan,” he grinned as she caught up to him. “Thanks for springing me from detention.”

“Yeah, well, if I hadn’t been so pissed that you wouldn’t take advantage of me in your car, you never would’ve ended up there.”

“I don’t regret it, you know.”

Emma’s eyes flashed downward as she blushed just enough for Killian to notice.

“Hey, Swan, what are you doing now?”

“Heading home to read, I guess. Or I have some homework I could do.” Truth was she was going to go home to ice her wrist; it was hurting like crazy.

He really hoped the interest he saw in her eyes was really there. “Come on, Swan.” He walked to the passenger side of his car and opened the door. “In the car.”

“What? That’s really creepy, Jones.”

“And here I thought you weren’t afraid of me,” he joked.

Emma stuck her tongue out at him as she got into the car. The wrist probably wasn’t broken. It could wait. Once he got settled into his seat, Emma asked, “so what’s going on here?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m taking you-” he booped her nose “-on a date.”

Killian took Emma to a harbor. Emma hissed when Killian took her left hand upon her getting out of the car, but she didn’t see any sign he noticed. He led her to a corner of the harbor where people were going out onto the water in little swan boats.

“The swans made me think of you, and I thought it might be fun.” He let go of her hand and scratched behind his ear. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just-”

Emma was a tad worried they wouldn’t be able to steer themselves and that they’d be stranded in the harbor, but she couldn’t chicken out when little kids were doing it. “It looks like fun. Let’s do it.”

He put a hand on her back as they walked to the man running the swan boat rentals. The boats were much bigger than Emma expected, and they were steered with two sets of pedals - one set for each of them. Killian helped her into the boat, then followed, impressively steady on his own. When they were in safely, they both found their pedals and took off. Emma was surprised how smoothly the boat moved through the water.

“We’re out far enough. Let’s just drift for a little.” She took her feet off the pedals and looked around. She felt so peaceful out there. The only thing keeping her grounded in reality was the stinging from her wrist. “You know, Swan, I thought, for sure, I was busted when I was halfway out the window. How did you keep the coach distracted?”

Not wanting to admit that she tripped on purpose to distract the teacher but accidentally injured herself, plus the fact that he’d make her go home if he knew she was in pain, she just shrugged, a smirk on her face.

Killian got the hint that she wouldn’t tell him. “So what’s your excuse then?”

“For what?”

“Acting the way we do.”

“I don't like to do what people expect. Why should I live up to other people’s expectations instead of my own?”

He was smart enough to know there was a reason for this, but he didn’t push for the backstory. “So you disappoint them from the start and then you're covered, right?

“Something like that.”

“Then you screwed up.”

Emma never would have expected him to say something like that. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve yet to disappoint me.”

Emma didn’t know what to say, so she just stared, wide-eyed.

After the silence went on long enough, Killian broke it. “So I think we should head back to shore soon. We have another destination or two.”

“Where are we going?” She had softened considerably, and she barely recognized her voice so soft.

“Try something new, darling. It’s called trust.”

After a gourmet grilled cheese lunch - he told her she went on and on about grilled cheese while she was drunk at the party - he drove them to a paintball arena. Putting the car in park, he looked at Emma. “Are you up for it?”

Emma was so excited, she momentarily forgot about the pain in her wrist. She should’ve figured he wouldn’t be into any of the usual boring date stuff; he’s never been boring.

So she played paintball and absolutely painted Killian multiple different neon colors. And then they made out behind a makeshift shield until their game was over and they had to leave. Emma’s wrist was throbbing by the time she got back to the school parking lot, but she’d never laughed that much ever in her life. She didn’t even care that it was going to take four showers to get the neon pinks and greens from her hair. Emma Swan was happy, and it was because of Killian Jones.

Back in the school parking lot, they sat on a curb drinking milkshakes and talking.

“Can I ask you something?”

“How I’m so devilishly handsome? I’m afraid that’s a secret I can’t share.”

Emma rolled her eyes. Killian nodded for her to ask her real question. “What’s with the accent? I mean, you know how it is with people who act like us. The rumors are, frankly, ridiculous.”

“I was born in England. Lived there most of my life, until my mum got sick, my father abandoned me, and my brother died in the Navy. And there was the accident that gave me this,” he held up his left hand, which was a prosthetic. Emma had, of course, noticed before, but she had never given it thought.

“I’m sorry, Killian. None of those are rumors going around school. I never expected-”

“It’s okay, Swan. I moved here after all that. I didn’t want to be surrounded by those memories any longer.” She stared into his crystal clear blue eyes as he divulged his tragic past to her. “Became emancipated early on, so I live alone now. I have to support myself, but it’s better than being forced to face my father back in England, which is what I was supposed to do when Liam died.”

“Liam - your brother?”

“Aye.”

Emma felt like she really understood why he acted the way he did - it was much the same as the reasons she acted the way she did. They were kindred spirits.

“Enough of that for one date. It’s going to ruin the mood.”

“There’s a mood?”

“Well, I was hoping there was because I have something to ask you.” She waited for him to continue. “Will you go to prom with me?”

“Killian, I- no.”

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “No?”

“No.”

“Can I ask why not?” She tried not to feel awful at his high-pitched, shaky voice.

“Because I don’t want to. It’s a stupid tradition.”

“People don’t expect you to go. You love surprising people.”

“Killian, I said no. Why are you pushing this?”

He broke eye contact. “Nothing, love. I just wanted to go to prom with the girl I fancy,” he huffed.

Emma sensed something was off. “What’s in it for you?”

“So now I need a motive to want to be with you?”

“You tell me.”

“Emma!” He threw his hands up.

“Answer the question, Killian.”

“Nothing.” He stood up in anger and headed back to his own car. “Nothing is in it for me. I just wanted to take you and give you a great night.” He stopped, turning around to face Emma again. “I know love has been all too rare in your life. It would do you good to not push it away when you have it.” Turning back around, he got into his car and slammed the door before driving away in anger. That certainly hurt worse than her wrist did.

Emma and Lily were at their lockers packing their backpacks before they headed home. Lily opened her locker to find a gorgeous dress with a note attached.

“Emma,” she smiled, “I have a secret admirer! He asked me to prom!” She held the dress up to herself and grinned even harder.

Emma wanted to be happy for her friend, she really did, but she wasn’t feeling it. So she forced a smile onto her face and told her friend to have fun at the dance before shutting her locker and heading home.

“Come in,” Emma muttered to whoever was knocking on her door. She was lying in bed staring at the ceiling. Her TV was on, but she hadn’t been watching it for hours.

Mary Margaret didn’t enter the room, just poked her head into the door. “Just so you know, you’re not the only girl not going to prom. Dad said I can’t go because you aren’t. So, you know, if you want to stop hating yourself and do something, I’ll be around.”

Emma sat up. “Mary Margaret, wait.” Her sister walked in the room and sat on the corner of Emma’s bed. “I know you don’t like being stuck here just because I’m not dating, but don’t think I don’t care. I do care about your feelings, but I’m also big on doing something for your own reasons, and not someone else's.”

“But that’s selfish, Emma.”

“It’s protection.” She could see the questions in her sister’s brain. Emma decided she needed to tell Mary Margaret something she’d been avoiding for three years. “I guess Neal never mentioned that we went out, huh?”

Mary Margaret’s eyes widened.

“When we were freshmen, we went out for a month.”

“You hate Neal,” Mary Margaret pointed out.

“Now,” Emma corrected.

“Well, what happened?” Mary Margaret crawled closer to Emma.

“We - well, we - you know.”

Mary Margaret seemed to stop breathing. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

“I really wish I could.” Emma bit her lip before continuing. “It was only once. Mom had just died, and I didn’t know how to process anything. He kept pressing the issue, so I gave in and did it. Once it happened, things became - I don’t know - clearer somehow. I told him that was it; I didn’t want to do it again. He got mad and dumped me.” Taking a breath, Emma kept talking. “After that, I swore I’d never do anything when I didn’t want to just because someone else did.”

“Why hasn’t he said anything? That doesn’t make sense.”

“I threatened him - told him if he ever told anyone, then I’d tell people how bad he was at it.”

“But you didn’t tell me either, Emma.”

“I wanted you to make your own mistakes, I guess.”

Mary Margaret seemed to understand to an extent, but a part of her was clearly still mad at everything she’d missed out on. “You helped Dad keep me hostage!”

“I’m sorry. Not all experiences are good ones, Mary Margaret!”

“I guess I’ll never know.” With that, she stood up and went to her own room.

Emma sighed and fell back on her pillows. Welp, she was going to prom after all.

“Well, no one will expect this,” Emma mumbled as she stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror. She was wearing a pale pink dress - it wasn’t a floor-length dress, but Emma in a dress was still something.

Emma grabbed a jacket and ran down the stairs as quickly as she could in heels. “Bye, Dad. I’m going to prom.”

Leo Blanchard didn’t even look up away from the television set. “Funny, sweetie.”

Emma kept walking, not wanting to draw attention to herself. Leo only looked up when he heard the front door shut behind her. Getting up and going to investigate, Leo found his youngest daughter coming down the stairs in a floor-length gown.

“What’s going on, honey?”

“Prom,” she answered perkily.

“Yeah, that seems to be the word of the night.” He paused to think for a moment. “So Emma-”

“Went to prom. For me, Daddy. So now I can go.” As if on cue, there was a knock on the front door, which Mary Margaret answered.

David Nolan stood on the other side of the door, jaw dropping to the ground. “Hi.”

“Hi, David.” She took a step out of the house and linked arms with him before addressing her father. “Remember how you said I could date if Emma dated? Well, she found this guy who’s actually perfect for her, which is actually kind of perfect for me, because David asked me to go to the prom, and I really, really, really want to go. And since Emma went, I guess I’m allowed to.”

“It’s nice to meet you, sir.” David extended a hand out to Leo, who shook it.

“I know every cop in town, young man,” Leo stared down David.

“Noted.”

“Okay, David. Let’s go.” Mary Margaret pulled David to his car, waving goodbye to her father on the way.

Wandering around the ballroom hallway aimlessly, Emma came face-to-face with Killian, dressed in an all-black tux.

“Wow, Swan. You look stunning.”

“And you look-”

“I know.” He smirked, and she laughed.

“Where did you get a tux?”

“Just something I had lying around.”

“Oh?”

“Where’d you get the dress?”

Emma grinned. “Just something I had lying around.”

“I wasn’t sure how this was supposed to work, but” he pulled his hand from behind his back, and in it was a single red rose.

“Thanks.” She took it, still smiling. “So, look; I’m really sorry I questioned your motives. I was wrong.”

“All forgiven.”

“So, are you ready to do this thing?”

Meanwhile, back at the Blanchard household, Leo was interrupted from his favorite show yet again when the doorbell rang. He opened it to find Neal Gold standing on the other side.

“Hello, Mr. Blanchard. I’m Neal. I’m here to pick up Mary Margaret.”

Leo narrowed his eyes before telling him, “she’s not here,” and slamming the door in his face.

Back at prom, Emma and Killian walked into the ballroom hand-in-hand. Emma immediately spotted Mary Margaret dancing with her date. Mary Margaret noticed Emma, too, mouthing a “thank you” and smiling at Emma and Killian’s entwined hands.

“Have you seen him, Emma?” Emma spun around on the spot to find Lily looking frantic.

“Who?”

“My secret admirer! He said he’d be here, and he’s supposed to have a purple bowtie.”

“Lily, I don’t know how to tell you this, but-”

“Lass,” Killian tapped Lily on the shoulder and pointed toward the front of the room, right in front of the stage.

Lily ran over to her secret admirer, none other than August Booth, who greeted her with a kiss on the hand.

Turning her attention back to her date, Emma tucked the rose into Killian’s jacket pocket.

“So do we dance?”

“Yes, but wait thirty seconds.”

“What?” Emma furrowed her eyebrows. “Why do we have to wait?”

“Song’s ending.”

They both clapped as the band finished a song. The next song started playing, but the band’s lead singer wasn’t singing. Emma recognized that voice.

“No way!”

Killian was grinning ear-to-ear.

“It’s Avril!”

“I called in a favor.”

“You did this?” He shrugged, ears tinged red. She stepped up onto her toes and kissed him.

By the time they pulled away, the song was a quarter over. When they finally parted, Killian held out his hand. “Can I have this dance?”

“Of course.”

Freshening up in the bathroom, Mary Margaret was joined at the sink by Tamara.

“I just thought you should know that Neal’s here with me tonight.”

Mary Margaret froze. “Well, he’s all yours, Tam.”

“How generous, Princess.” Tamara checked her makeup and smirked as she turned to face Mary Margaret. “And just so you know, Neal only liked you for one reason. He had a bet going with his friends. He just wanted to get in your pants tonight.”

Mary Margaret dropped her phone into the sink as she stared at Tamara, who strutted out of the bathroom.

Back on the dance floor, Emma and Killian continued to dance.

“How are you so good at this? I usually have two left feet when I dance.”

“You’re a soccer player.”

“I can play soccer. I can’t dance.”

Killian pressed a kiss to Emma’s cheek and pulled her impossibly closer.

“Lucky for you, there’s only one rule for dancing: Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

Emma threw her head back with laughter as Killian’s eyebrows jumped.

Unfortunately, their dance was interrupted by Neal, who grabbed Killian’s shoulder and pulled him aside.

“What the hell is Mary Margaret doing here with that asshat? I didn’t pay you to take out Emma so that some little punk could steal Mary Margaret from under me!”

Emma actually gasped out loud at the revelation. The hurt flashed over her. She confronted Killian. “Nothing in it for you? Yeah, right.” Emma ran from the ballroom, tears already falling. Killian followed.

“Emma, please let me explain.”

Emma turned to him, not caring how she looked mid-crying fit. “You were paid to take me out by the one person I truly hate. I knew it.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Really? What was it like - a down payment now and then a bonus for sleeping with me?”

“No. No, I didn’t care about the money, okay? I cared-” he sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “I cared about you.”

She stared him down for a minute, neither of them talking. She shook her head. “You are so not who I thought you were.”

Neal went straight up to David, flaring with anger, and punched him in the nose. David fell to the ground.

“Oh, come on. Get up, you wuss.”

Neal turned around to leave, just in time to be socked in the jaw by Mary Margaret.

“What the hell, Mary Margaret! I have a modeling gig tomorrow!”

“That’s for making my date bleed.” She punched him in the nose. “That’s for my sister.” She kneed him in a particularly sensitive male area. “And that’s for me.”

Watching Neal rolling on the ground, Mary Margaret helped David up, asking him, “are you okay?”

Despite the blood flowing from his nose, he grinned, answering honestly, “never better.”

Emma was listening to music in her room when Mary Margaret walked in with a mug.

“Hot chocolate and cinnamon.”

Emma took the mug. “Thanks.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come to lunch with David and me?”

“I’m sure.”

“It’ll be fun,” she gently nudged Emma with her elbow.

“It’s fine, Mary Margaret. I promise.”

“I’m sorry I dragged you to prom. And everything with Killian. You’re miserable because of me.”

Emma took both of her earbuds out. “It’s not because of you. It’s because of Killian and Neal. And I’m glad I went. Now I know.”

“Well, I really appreciate that you went last night. It means a lot to me.”

“I’m glad you had a good night.”

The girls were interrupted by a knock on the front door. “That’s probably David.”

“Go, Mary Margaret. Have fun, okay?”

Mary Margaret nodded as she slowly left Emma’s room.

Emma’s next guest was her father, who came in basically as soon as her sister left.

“So tell me about the prom. You seemed pretty upset when you came home.”

“It wasn’t all bad, I guess. Parts of it were fun.”

Leo made himself comfortable on the bean bag chair on Emma’s floor. “Which parts?”

“The part where Mary Margaret beat the crap out of this guy.”

“Mary Margaret did what?”

“Are you upset I rubbed off on her?”

“No. Impressed, actually.”

Emma was thrown off by her father’s approval.

“You know, when you moved in with us, Emma, your walls were up pretty high. Over the years, you let them down and opened up to us. Then your mother died, and you closed yourself off again. You haven’t been the same since the accident. But these last few weeks, you’ve been almost happy.” Emma took a sip of her cocoa. “You don’t tell me much these days, but whatever was going on, I liked seeing you smile again.”

“I’m sorry, Dad. It’s just - everyone I’ve ever loved left me. I was abandoned as a baby, the one family I felt a part of before yours gave me back, and then Mom died. I just didn’t want to feel like that again. But now-” Emma sighed.

“Emma,” Leo started, “why do you think I refused to let your sister date? I wanted to protect her from that. You know, I still don’t know how to deal with it sometimes.”

Emma looked at her father, feeling an understanding for the first time in years.

“But I promise, Emma, your sister and I aren’t going anywhere.”

“You can’t guarantee that.” Emma wiped a tear falling down her cheek.

“I know. But-”

“I know.” Emma smiled at her father before putting her mug down and hugging him. “I’m sorry about the last three years.”

“Oh, Emma. No. There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Leo stood up to leave, things cleared up between them for the first time in years. “Whatever has you feeling down again, I hope it gets worked out.”

“Me too.”

“I assume everyone has found the time to complete their sonnets,” Mr. Pendragon opened class. “Anyone brave enough to read theirs aloud?”

Every student in the room tried to avoid eye contact with Mr. Pendragon so they wouldn’t be called on.

“Anyone?”

Emma slowly raised her hand. “I’ll do it.”

Killian’s head jerked up, and Mr. Pendragon expected the worst.

Emma grabbed her notebook and went to the front of the room. Opening it to her bookmarked page, she started reading, keeping her voice as monotone as her emotion would allow.

“I hate the way you talk like that and the way your hair stands up. I hate the way you drive my car. I hate it when you stare. I hate your big dumb jacket and the way you read my mind. I hate you so much it makes me sick. It even makes me rhyme.” Emma paused, then continued, slowly feeling the emotions bubbling over. She took a deep breath. “I hate the way you're always right. I hate it when you lie. I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry.” Emma wiped her eyes and continued, crying in front of the whole class. “I hate it when you're not around and the fact that you didn't call. But mostly, I hate the way I don't hate you - not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.” Fully crying and not able to cope, Emma clutched the notebook to her chest and took off out the classroom, not risking a look at Killian.

After school that day, Emma walked to her car, more than ready to go home after the day she had. She opened the door of her car to put her backpack on the seat, and she was met with a brand-new guitar. She threw her backpack into the backseat and pulled the guitar out.

“No way!”

“Nice, huh?” Emma swung around to see Killian smirking behind her.

“Yeah! Is this- is this for me?”

“Aye. I thought you could use it, you know, when you start your band. I also may have talked to your sister. She said your mum used to play.” He talked to her sister for her?! Emma wasn’t sure what was more shocking - the fact that he spoke to her sister for intel or that her sister kept the whole thing a secret. “Besides, I had some extra cash. You know, some asshole paid me to take out a really great girl.” He closed her car door and leaned back against it.

Emma couldn’t quite keep from smiling. “Is that right?”

“Yeah,” he scratched the spot behind his ear. “But I screwed up. I - well, I fell for her.”

Both of them blushed at the confession.

“Really?”

“Don’t you know, Emma? It’s always been you.” She balanced the guitar against the side of her car before grabbing the lapels of his leather jacket and pulling him to her, kissing him hard.

He pulled away but kept his face within mere inches of hers. “It’s not every day you find a girl who will sprain her wrist to get you out of detention.”

“Oh, god. You were never supposed to know about that.” She laughed anyway. He peppered her face with kisses - her cheek, her chin, her jaw, her nose. She pushed his head away when he got back to her lips. “You can’t just buy me a guitar every time you screw up, you know?”

“I know. But there’s always drums and bass, and maybe even one day a tambourine.” He kissed her as her grin grew.

She broke the kiss apart again. “And don’t just think you can-”

He shut her up with a kiss. And this time, neither one pulled away.

#captain swan secret santa #captain swan secret santa 2018 #csss 2018 #csss #downeystarkjr #so sorry #i hope you like it #10 things i hate about you

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