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greatworldwar2 · 3 years

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• Bofors 40 mm gun

The Bofors 40 mm gun, often referred to simply as the Bofors gun, is an anti-aircraft autocannon designed in the 1930s by the Swedish arms manufacturer AB Bofors. It was one of the most popular medium-weight anti-aircraft systems during World War II, used by most of the western Allies.

The Swedish Navy purchased a number of 2-pounder Pom-Poms from Vickers as anti-aircraft guns in 1922. The Navy approached Bofors about the development of a more capable replacement. Bofors signed a contract in late 1928. Bofors produced a gun that was a smaller version of a 57 mm (6-pounder) semi-automatic gun developed as an anti-torpedo boat weapon in the late 19th century by Finspång. Their first test gun was a re-barreled Nordenfelt version of the Finspång gun, to which was added a semi-automatic loading mechanism. Testing of this gun in 1929 demonstrated that a problem existed feeding the weapon in order to maintain a reasonable rate of fire. A mechanism that was strong enough to handle the stresses of moving the large round was too heavy to move quickly enough to fire rapidly. One attempt to solve this problem used zinc shell cases that burned up when fired. This proved to leave heavy zinc deposits in the barrel, and had to be abandoned. In the summer of 1930 experiments were made with a new test gun that did away with controlled feed and instead flicked the spent casing out the rear whereafter a second mechanism reloaded the gun by "throwing" a fresh round from the magazine into the open breech. This seemed to be the solution they needed, improving firing rates to an acceptable level, and the work on a prototype commenced soon after.

During this period Krupp purchased a one-third share of Bofors. Krupp engineers started the process of updating the Bofors factories to use modern equipment and metallurgy, but the 40 mm project was kept secret. The prototype was completed and fired in November 1931, and by the middle of the month it was firing strings of two and three rounds. Changes to the feed mechanism were all that remained, and by the end of the year it was operating at 130 rounds per minute. Continued development was needed to turn it into a weapon suitable for production, which was completed in October 1933. Since acceptance trials had been passed the year before, this became known as the "40 mm akan M/32". Most forces referred to it as the "Bofors 40 mm L/60", although the barrel was actually 56.25 calibres in length, not the 60 calibres. The gun fired a 900 g (2.0 lb) high explosive 40 × 311R (rimmed) shell at 2,960 ft/s (900 m/s). The rate of fire was normally about 120 rounds per minute (2.0 rounds per second), which improved slightly when the barrels were closer to the horizon as gravity assisted the feeding from the top-mounted magazine. In practice firing rates were closer to 80–100 rpm (1.3–1.7 rounds per second), as the rounds were fed into the breech from four round clips which had to be replaced by hand. The maximum attainable ceiling was 7,200 m (23,600 ft), but the practical maximum was about 3,800 m (12,500 ft).

The gun was provided with an advanced sighting system. The trainer and layer were both provided with reflector sights for aiming, while a third crew-member standing behind them "adjusted" for lead using a simple mechanical computer. Power for the sights was supplied from a 6V battery. The first version of the 40 mm the Navy ordered was intended for use on submarines, where the larger calibre allowed the gun to be used for both AA and against smaller ships. The barrel was shorter at 42 calibers long, with the effect of reducing the muzzle velocity to about 700 m/s (2,300 ft/s). When not in use, the gun was pointed directly up and retracted into a watertight cylinder. The only known submarines that used this arrangement was the Sjölejonet-class boats. The guns were later removed. The first order for the "real" L/60 was made by the Dutch Navy, who ordered five twin-gun mounts for the cruiser De Ruyter in August 1934. These guns were stabilized using the Hazemeyer mount, in which one set of layers aimed the gun, while a second manually stabilized the platform the gun sat on. Bofors also developed a towable carriage which they displayed in April 1935 at a show in Belgium. This mount allowed the gun to be fired from the carriage with no setup required, although with limited accuracy. Orders for the land based versions were immediate, starting with an order for eight weapons from Belgium in August 1935, and followed by a flood of orders from other forces including Poland, Norway, and Finland. The Swedish Navy adopted the weapon as the m/36 in hand-worked single air-cooled, and power operated twin water-cooled version. A twin air-cooled mounting, probably hand-worked was also used by the navies of Sweden and Argentina and a twin air-cooled wet mounting was developed for Polish submarines.

The British Army had first examined the weapon when they received a number of Polish-built examples in 1937 for testing, known as the "QF 40 mm Mark I" (QF standing for "quick firing"), or "Mark I/2" after a minor change to the flash hider. A licence was acquired and the gun was converted from metric to imperial measurements. They also made numerous changes to the design to make it more suitable for mass production, as the original Bofors design was intended to be hand-assembled, and many parts were labeled "file to fit on assembly", requiring many man-hours of work to complete. Testing showed that aiming the guns against high-speed aircraft was a serious problem. Although the gun could be trained quickly, aiming accurately while doing so proved difficult. In order to address this, the British introduced a complex mechanical analogue computer, the Kerrison Director, which drove the laying electrically. A three-man team operated the director simply by pointing it at the target whilst dialing in estimates for speed, range, and various atmospheric conditions. The director then aimed the guns directly through powered mounts, as the gunners loaded the clips. This eliminated the need for the lead-correcting reflector sights, which were replaced with a backup system consisting of a simple ring-and-post sight known as a "pancake". In this form, the "QF 40 mm Mark III" (Mk II was a designation used for a Vickers "pom-pom"), became the Army's standard light AA (anti-aircraft) weapon, operating alongside their 3-inch and 3.7-inch heavy weapons. The gun was considered so important to the defence of Britain after the fall of France in 1940 that a movie, The Gun, was produced to encourage machinists to work harder and complete more of them. British production started slowly: by September 1939 only 233 equipments had been produced; but by the end of the war total production from British, Canadian and Australian factories was over 19,000. Peak production year was 1942 when British factories produced 5,025 and Canadian factories produced 1,311.

In combat it was found that the Kerrison was difficult to set up to use in many situations, as well as making logistics more complex due to the need to keep its electrical generator supplied with fuel. In most engagements only the pancake sights were used, without any form of correction, making the British versions less capable than those used by other forces. Eventually an anti-aircraft gunnery school on the range at Stiffkey on the Norfolk coast delivered a workable solution, a trapeze-like arrangement that moved the pancake sights to offer lead correction, operated by a new crew-member standing behind the left-hand layer. The "Stiffkey Sight" was sent out to units in 1943, arriving in Canadian units in the midst of the Battle of the Aleutian Islands. A final wartime change to the elevation mechanism resulted in the "QF 40 mm Mark XII". They also designed a much lighter two-wheeled carriage for airborne use. The Army also experimented with various self-propelled anti-aircraft systems based on various tank chassis. Changes to the breech for this role created the "QF 40 mm Mark VI", which was used on the Crusader to produce the Crusader III AA Mark I. The main self-propelled version of the Bofors used the gun set on the chassis of a Morris Commercial four-wheel drive lorry, this was known as the "Carrier, SP, 4x4 40mm, AA (Bofors) 30cwt". Such guns were used in support of Army divisions to provide swift protection against air attack without the need to unlimber. They saw service in North West Europe, where six SP Bofors of 92nd (Loyals) Light Anti-Aircraft Regiment, Royal Artillery, landed with the British 3rd Infantry Division on Sword Beach on D-Day to protect the vital bridges over the Caen Canal and Orne River (Pegasus Bridge and Horsa Bridge), shooting down 17 German planes. Later in the campaign, SP Bofors were used extensively for ground shoots as well as in an anti-aircraft role. In British army service the Bofors found a highly specialised role: during the North Africa Campaign at the Second Battle of El Alamein, they were used to fire tracer horizontally to mark safe paths for units through the German minefields. This practice was further developed during operations in North-West Europe, where bursts of colour-coded tracer were used to define the axis of advance of the different formations in large-scale night attacks.

The Royal Navy also made extensive use of the Bofors. Their first examples were air-cooled versions quickly adapted to ships during the withdrawal from Norway. Locally produced examples started arriving in 1942, known as the "QF 40 mm Mark IV" for use in twin-mounts, or the "QF 40 mm Mark V" for single mounts. The Navy ran through a variety of versions of the basic Bofors gun over the war, including the Mark VII to Mark XI. The Royal Navy's home-grown light anti-aircraft weapon, the QF 2-pounder gun, also had a caliber of 40 mm, but was referred to as the QF 2-pdr. The final British Bofors mounting that saw service was the "stabilized tachymetric anti-aircraft gun" (STAAG) which was twin-barrelled, stabilised, and carried its own tachymetric (i.e. predictive) fire control system, based around the centimeter Radar Type 262, capable of "locking on" to a target. This mounting was heavy (17.5 tons) and the high-vibration environment of the gun mounting was poor location for sensitive valve electronics and mechanical computers. STAAG Mark I carried the radar dish over the gun barrels where it was subject to damage during firing, therefore STAAG Mark II shifted the set to the roof of the control cabin. STAAG was ultimately too difficult to maintain in the harsh environment of a warship and was later replaced by the Mounting Mark V with the fire control equipment located remotely.

In order to supply both the U.S. Army and U.S. Navy with much greater numbers of the guns, Chrysler built 60,000 of the guns and 120,000 barrels through the war, at half the original projected cost, and filling the Army's needs by 1943. Over the lifetime of the production, their engineers introduced numerous additional changes to improve mass production, eventually reducing the overall time needed to build a gun by half; most of these changes were in production methods rather than the design of the gun itself. There were many difficulties in producing the guns within the United States, beyond their complexity (illustrated by the use of 2,000 subcontractors in 330 cities and 12 Chrysler factories to make and assemble the parts). The drawings were metric, in Swedish and read from the first angle of projection. Chrysler had to translate to English, fix absolute dimensions, and switch to the third angle of projection. Chrysler engineers also tried to simplify the gun, unsuccessfully, and to take high speed movies to find possible improvements, but this was not possible until near the end of the war. The United States Navy's Bureau of Ordnance purchased a twin-mount air-cooled example, spare parts and 3,000 rounds of ammunition directly from Bofors, which arrived in New York on August 28th, 1940 aboard the Army transport USAT American Legion, which had evacuated 897 people, including members of the Norwegian royal family, through the Finnish port of Petsamo. The gun was quickly chosen as the Navy's standard anti-aircraft weapon over the British 40mm calibre, 2-pounder pom-pom; however, negotiations with Bofors for licensed production stalled when the Swedes requested airplane export and manufacturing licenses in return. Reportedly, the Navy secretly imported a set of imperial designs from Britain and started production illegally. A formal contract with Bofors was reached in June 1941. The resulting Mark 1 and Mark 2 weapons were intended for the left and right side of a twin mount, respectively, and were adapted by Chrysler for water cooling.

Following the attack on Pearl Harbor on December 7th, 1941, the existing 1.1" (28 mm) quad mount and .50 caliber machine guns were determined to be inadequate against modern aircraft, and their replacement by 40 mm Bofors and 20 mm Oerlikon weapons was accelerated. The water-cooled version was used almost exclusively by the U.S. Navy and Coast Guard. In 1938 the United States Army introduced a 37 mm gun of their own design, but found it to be of limited performance. In early World War II, six British Bofors were imported for testing, along with Kerrison Predictor directors, and they proved to be superior in all areas. By the middle part of the war, most of the 37 mm guns had been replaced by the 40 mm. In U.S. Army and Marine Corps service, the single mount Bofors was known as the 40 mm Automatic Gun M1. The U.S. version of the gun fired three variants of the British Mk. II high-explosive shell as well as the M81A1 armor-piercing round, which was capable of penetrating some 50 mm of homogeneous armor plate at a range of 500 yards. In the Army, each Anti-Aircraft Artillery (AAA) auto-weapons battalion was authorized a total of thirty-two 40 mm guns in its four firing batteries. During World War II, the twin mount version of the gun was mounted on an M24 Chaffee tank chassis as the M19 Gun Motor Carriage. In the 1950s, the M41 Walker Bulldog tank was heavily modified into the M42 Duster with the same twin 40 mm mounting. After being largely withdrawn from service in the early 1960s, the M42 was re-introduced beginning in 1966 for the Vietnam War, where it was mostly used for ground fire support. The U.S Airforce created the Bofors 40 mm gun § AC-130 Gunship.

In World War II Germany, the Wehrmacht used a number of Bofors guns which had been captured in Poland and France. The Kriegsmarine also operated some guns obtained from Norway. In German naval use, the gun was designated the "4 cm Flak 28", and was used aboard the cruisers Admiral Hipper and Prinz Eugen toward the end of the war. Germany also purchased a large number (200+) of Hungarian made Bofors guns. In return, Hungary received 75 mm PAK guns for every 4-5 Bofors. Then Wehrmacht used Hungarian guns after German occupation of Hungary from late 1944. Most of them lost during the fights in Budapest and Trandanubia. Japan captured a number of Bofors guns in Singapore and put them into production as the Type 5. Both Japan and West Germany continued to use the Bofors gun throughout the Cold War. The Federal German navy used it in destroyers, frigates, and fast patrol boats until 1984, and in minesweepers to the present day.

The Bofors 40mm post-war service has endured through the cold war and into the modern era. In the post-war era, the original design was not suitable for action against jet-powered aircraft, so Bofors introduced a new model of significantly more power, the 40 mm L/70. In spite of sharing almost nothing with the original design other than the calibre and the distinctive conical flash hider, this weapon is also widely known simply as "the Bofors". Although not as popular as the original L/60 model, the L/70 remains in service, especially as a multi-purpose weapon for light armoured vehicles, as on the CV 90. Bofors has been part of BAE Systems AB since March 2005.

#second world war #world war ii #world war 2 #military history #wwii #history #british history #american history #naval warfare #long post #military equipment #anti-aircraft gun #aviation

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blazefire-engine · 3 years

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The Deal (Part VI)

Summary:

Backed into a corner, Paradis is in need of advanced weaponry to go against Marley forces. Mikasa Ackerman understands this more than anyone. The Azumabito family complies with her request to share Hizuru’s technology with the island demons- in exchange for being “Hizuru’s hope.” A small price to pay, according to the ever loyal and self-sacrificing Mikasa.

Canon-divergence from chapter 107 to 132 (-ish). Which means slight spoilers until chapter 132.

Part: I | II | III | IV | V | VI

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"Oi, what was that for?" Commander Hanji exclaimed from the floor, rubbing her right butt cheek.

Eren sighed. "You know how the Captain feels about his height, Hanji-san."

The Captain’s glare turned to the Titan shifter at the mention of the sensitive topic. "Are you looking for another beating, Eren?"

Jean slammed his forehead by the window. "Idiot."

- - -

"Tomorrow the new recruits from the 106th Cadet Corp are arriving." Hanji announced in their evening meeting. Levi took the liberty to pour them all a cup of tea. "I will be assigning you all team leader and instructor roles."

The remaining 104th soldiers stared at her in shock.

"Commander Hanji-" Armin started.

"I will not take no as an answer." She said seriously. "You have all proven your worth and your experience is needed."

"We are the only capable ones left." Levi added, reminding them all their comrades perished in the battle at Shiganshina. "We need to rebuild the Survey Corp and all of you are essential to carry out this role."

“It’s essentially a promotion!” Hanji grinned. “Armin, you will be our new instructor for strategy and my right-hand for all exploration plans.”

Said new instructor was sitting with his mouth open like a gaping fish.

Hanji continued on. “Connie, you will be leading ODM training and equipment management.”

“Huh?” The young man stuttered, then looked at Jean. “But wouldn’t Jean be more suited for the ODM training?”

“I was going to get to that: Jean will be assisting you on the ODM and equipment, but he will lead horse training.”

“Hah?” Jean shouted.

“Sasha, your hunting skills will be useful for rifle and survival training.”

She saluted silently from behind a loaf of bread.

“Eren, we have duties with Historia in the capital. But when you're here, you will lead the hand-to-hand combat and physical training.”

“Mikasa, you will assist or lead depending when Eren is here. And you will lead the combat aspect of ODM and weapons training.” Hanji finished assigning the roles. “Levi will be supervising. Some Garrison members will be transferring as well to help with logistics and increase our numbers- I will handle those.”

"Also, Mikasa, please do the orientation for the new recruits." The Commander concluded their evening meeting.

"Copy that." Mikasa noted it in her notebook.

"Hanji-san, are you sure you want Connie to lead ODM training?" Jean mentioned as he and Connie shared a concerned look.

Eren couldn't help but snicker. “How fitting that Jean is in charge of horse training.”

"Wanna say that again?" Jean threatened as Connie raised his hands to ease him.

"Connie has the expertise and he’ll lighten up the atmosphere." Hanji addressed Jean. "And you will be there to assist, you will be fine."

Armin smiled as he collected his papers and added. “You do have an affinity with horses, like Captain Ness.”

"And you have an affinity with strategy." Hanji grinned at the blonde boy.

"You sure you aren't Erwin's kid?" Levi added seriously. The kid uncannily inherited Erwin's genius. Maybe he wasn't his kid, but maybe Erwin’s soul had reincarnated into him.

Armin blushed. "Of course, I can never compare to the brilliant intellect of Commander Erwin… Hanji-san, can you proofread my lecture notes before-"

"Nope!" She chirped. "I trust your judgment."

"Y-yes."

“Oh, I almost forgot, I have chosen two new squad captains: Mikasa and Jean.”

“Hah?!”

---

In a freshly laundered green cloak and her hair tied up, twenty fresh recruits were lined up in front of her.

With a salute, she introduced herself. “Hello, I’m Mikasa Ackerman. You may address me as Captain Mikasa. I’ll keep this brief.”

“Here are your schedules.” She handed them each a small packet. “Use the rest of the day to prepare your gear, settle in, and get familiar. You can expect similar routines as within the Cadet Corp, however, more rigorous. Warm ups start tomorrow morning so please get plenty of rest. Our routine expedition outside the walls will be in two weeks. Any questions?”

“Will we be getting our own horses?” A young man asked with a raised hand.

“Yes.” Mikasa nodded. “Captain Jean will assign you your horses tomorrow. They are your comrade and friend. Please treat them as such and with care.”

“When will we be getting our uniforms?”

“Ah.” She was about to respond with another 'tomorrow,' but paused when she saw Captain Levi turning the corner with a stack of green cloaks in his arms.

“Captain.” She went to him and grabbed half of the cloaks. “Here are your uniforms.” They each gave the recruit a cloak.

“Wear it with pride. If you have no further questions, you are dismissed.”

As the recruits filed out, murmuring as they went, a single female soldier stayed behind, silently smiling at her.

It didn’t take long for Mikasa to recognize her.

"It's you." She stared at the amber eyes and short, blond hair.

"You're the young girl." She remembers slaying the titan in Trost, buying time for the civilians to evacuate. She looks at her chart. "Louise."

Yes." The girl gave a salute, one that mirrored Mikasa’s own salute all those years ago when she saved her. “I look forward to your instruction, Captain Mikasa.”

“Yeah…” She replied and watched the young girl follow the rest of the recruits."

Levi stood at the side as he watched each new recruit. Ever since the coup d'etat and the truth of their world released, the Survey Corp surprisingly gained more willing bodies, albeit more young ones who were no doubt fighting for freedom.

He narrowed his eyes at the group of boys that looked at Mikasa with shining eyes.

“That’s her!” One of them whispered. “The woman worth a hundred soldiers!”

“She’s probably worth more now- probably an entire brigade!”

“Graduated top of the class. Shadis said she’s a genius, top marks on everything.”

“Slayed more titans than anyone in the 104th.”

“Said she’s second to Captain Levi.”

“She’s so pretty too…”

“They must be crazy strong to survive the battle at Shiganshina…”

The murmurs died out and the Captain turned to watch the young woman, who seemed fixated on her clipboard.

“You have a few admirers.” He noted.

She paused but kept her eyes down. “Captain, I’m rather impartial to their admiration.”

He couldn’t help the small smile. “You and me both. They admire us because we’re strong. We give them hope.”

She picked up the sacks of cornmeal with ease, intending to bring it to the kitchens to help the Garrison members. “Do you think our strength is because of our Ackerman blood?”

“I don’t know. Could be.” He easily picked up the sacks as well. “But does it matter?”

“I suppose not. It was just a thought.”

- - - -

“Did you guys notice?” Eren said, curiously watching across the mess hall. “Mikasa and Captain Levi.” The two people were carrying two heavy looking sacks. “It feels like they’ve gotten closer.”

“Why? Jealous?” Jean teased behind his bowl of soup.

“No.” He scowled slightly. “I’m actually glad that she’s opening up to other people.” He watched her again. “And I think her grudge against the Captain is gone.”

“They’ve always been close.” Armin responded. “I think the Captain sees himself in Mikasa. He’s always patient with her, tells her to calm down. They’re usually the ones who lead the charge.”

“Now that I think about it, Mikasa is the only one the Captain actually tolerates talking to.” Connie said.

“That could be because she doesn’t talk much in the first place.” Eren replied. “She usually gets straight to the point like the Captain.”

“It could be an Ackerman trait.” Sasha exclaimed. “Birds of a feather flock together.”

“Huh.” Armin pondered. “You may be right, Sasha.”

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A/N: Man, it's been a few days since I updated. After 139, I realized I could expand on this fic so I’ve been brainstorming and school + work has just been in the way.

Also, damn, I suddenly got an explosive amount of activity with Beast. I wrote this shit like 6-7 years ago lmao thank you RM fam.

I didn’t emphasize it, but the setting was young adult Mikasa with... urges and she tried to relieve herself with some cadets but just couldn’t get what she wanted (everyone was lowkey intimidated by her) and Levi definitely noticed and knew what she needed.

#rivamika #rivamika-thedeal #levimika #this fic is getting out of hand #i dont want it to end #i want to squeeze in all the rm moments i can #and im just a simp for mikasa ok #and i also wanna squeeze in 104th squad moments #i wrote a thing

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xtruss · 2 years

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Generations of Mexican schoolchildren were taught the story of the Tree of the Sad Night, where Spanish conquistador Hernán Cortés wept after being routed by Aztec forces at Tenochtitlan (modern downtown Mexico City). New signage also designates the tree (which nearly burned down in 1980 in a fireworks mishap) the “Tree of the Victorious Night” and “Tree of the Happy Night, here he cried.”

— By Andrés Reséndez | Photographs By Eunice Adorno | August 12, 2021

The remains of a massive cypress tree sits inside a small plaza in Mexico City, surrounded by fencing and illuminated by four spotlights at night. An old sign explains its significance: “This is the tree where Hernán Cortés wept after being defeated by the Aztec defenders.”

We Mexicans call it El Árbol de la Noche Triste, or The Tree of the Sad Night, and learn about it since grade school from government-issued history textbooks. The story goes something like this: In March 1519, a couple of hundred Spaniards, led by a stubborn but resourceful man with some legal training named Hernán Cortés, appeared on the Gulf of Mexico coast. They established contact with the mighty Aztecs of central Mexico and, after exchanging messages and gifts, made their way to the Valley of Mexico and the Aztec stronghold of Tenochtitlan (downtown Mexico City).

Left: This collage map, made by photographer Eunice Adorno, features archival photographs of important ancient routes and monuments in Tenochtitlan, as well moments from the city's history. The base of the map is a blue plastic widely used by modern merchants in Mexico City, and represents the water on which Tenochtitlan was established some 700 years ago. College By Eunice Adorno Right: A 1556 woodcut plan of the island city of Tenochtitlan. Via North Wind Picture Archive, Alamy

A view of the borough of Iztapalapa in Mexico City. Cortés' troops marched through this landscape 500 years ago to reach the Aztec stronghold of Tenochtitlan.

Remarkably, the Aztec tlatoani (emperor) Moctezuma initially welcomed the strangers. The Europeans were thus able to wander freely, according to our textbooks, marveling at the lavish buildings and floating gardens of a city built on top of an island in the middle of five interconnected lakes. From the top of Tenochtitlan’s grandest temple, the Templo Mayor, the visitors gazed out at dozens of city-states spreading all around the surrounding lakeshores. Some of these city-states had once been rivals of the Aztecs, but Tenochtitlan had become the dominant power by the 1500s.

Yet the newcomers outlasted their welcome. Prompted by mistrust and lack of understanding, on May 22, 1520 the Spanish launched an unprovoked attack on a group of unarmed Aztecs during a ceremony at the Templo Mayor. The formidable Aztec warriors fought back, driving the intruders from their island city and inflicting heavy casualties along the way. More than half of the Spanish contingent may have perished during the chaotic retreat. At some distance from Tenochtitlan, Cortés and his followers finally paused in a cypress grove to catch their breath, where the defeated Spanish leader sat at the base of a tree—perhaps the famous Árbol—and wept, as our textbooks and history classes would have it.

This Aztec victory proved temporary, however. The following year, Cortés returned with an army of Spanish soldiers and tens of thousands of Indigenous allies. After a long siege that cut the fresh water supply to the island, and following a multi-pronged attack that included ships assembled on the lakeshores and equipped with artillery pieces, Tenochtitlan finally surrendered to the Spanish and their allies on August 13, 1521, exactly 500 years ago today.

Left: A painting in the British Embassy collection in Mexico City depicts Cortés' retreat from Tenochtitlan in May 1520. According to tradition, on the evening of his defeat, Cortés sat beneath a cypress tree and wept. Photograph of Painting By Ann Ronan Pictures, Via Hulton Archive/Getty Right: "The Capture of Tenochtitlan", by an unknown painter, is one of eight panels in the Library of Congress that depict the events of 1521. Created 150 years later, they also reveal late 16th-century attitudes on the Spanish colonization of Mexico. Photograph Via Smith Archive, Alamy

This summer, I visited the Tree of the Sad Night and found city workers preparing for the fateful anniversary. At the plaza, I ran into a working crew anchoring a gleaming new sign that identified the famous tree as the Árbol de la Noche Victoriosa or “Tree of the Victorious Night.” It was a stark change in point of view.

Below this novel Spanish designation, the sign offered an even more contrasting rendition in Nahuatl, the language of the Aztecs that is still spoken by more than a million Indigenous people in central and southern Mexico: “Quautli in Yohualli Paquiliztli, nican ochoca” or “Tree of the Happy Night, here he cried.”

Finding the Right Words

The usual textbook portrayal of a band of brave Europeans toppling the most powerful Indigenous empire in the Americas may have some cinematic qualities but has always been suspect, particularly to professional historians like myself. Scholars very seldom speak with one voice, but there is broad consensus that understanding the events of 500 years ago as a binary clash between “Spaniards” and “Natives” is simply wrong.

Instead, the war that unfolded in 1519-1521 involved multiple and fiercely independent Mesoamerican city-states such as Cempoala, Tlaxcala, and Texcoco, organized in ever-shifting coalitions, one of which included a handful of Spaniards. Cortés and his conquistadors may have represented at the most one or two percent of the total forces on the field.

Insights such as this one are making present-day politicians and the public at large cast about for new ways to understand and refer to what happened that summer of 1521. Was it the Conquest of Mexico? A Mesoamerican war? An encounter of two worlds? A genocide?

The COVID-19 pandemic has hit Mexico hard, forcing the closure of museums and exhibits that in other circumstances would have been natural venues for the quincentennial. Still, federal and city authorities have organized commemorative events, especially on the zocalo, or main plaza, of Mexico City where a 45-foot model of the Templo Mayor complete with state-of-the art illumination will be unveiled, just a couple of hundred yards away from the ruins of the original.

A large model of the main Aztec temple, the Templo Mayor, rises in Mexico City's central square ahead of the 500th anniversary of the fall of Tenochtitlan. The ruins of the ancient Templo Mayor are located just off the square.

Left: A dancer dressed in feathers stands in front of the 16th-century Metropolitan Cathedral on the zocalo, or main square, of Mexico City. Dancers commemorate the founding of Tenochtitlan each year. Right: Jaime and Valeria pose on Mexico City's historic Corregidora Street. The couple enjoy participating in traditional dances in downtown Mexico City.

In the meantime, ordinary Mexicans have chosen to remember the anniversary in their own ways. Whether at the Árbol, the Templo Mayor, or elsewhere in Mexico City, I ran into men and women decked out in pre-Columbian paraphernalia, dancing and performing limpias, spiritual cleanses. Some of these performers were there merely to make a living, asking for donations after their dances and charging fees for the limpias. But many of them were also committed to a greater or lesser extent to keeping Mesoamerican—and particularly Aztec—traditions alive. Some of them study Nahuatl, read history, and try to make sense of those long-ago events.

One morning, at the Templo Mayor, men and women were gathering in front of the ruins after having spent the night outdoors, in defiance of a stubborn rain, to honor Cuitláhuac, Moctezuma’s younger brother and a reputed warrior who had ruled Tenochtitlan briefly after Moctezuma’s death. As the rain continued through the morning, they set up a canopy and underneath it laid out candles, copal, food offerings, and flowers. A few Xoloitzcuintli—hairless dogs descended from pre-Columbian breeds that were nearly wiped out by the Europeans—sniffed around the area. To one side, there were banners with Cuitláhuac’s image and yet more flowers. The dancing started around noon, driven by relentless drumming and attracting spectators. During a brief pause, an elderly man walked toward the onlookers and announced, “He never lost a battle to the Spanish.”

Spaniards in the Story

Cortés died in Spain in 1547, but his mortal remains were returned to Mexico as he had stipulated in his last will and testament. After various moves, they came to rest at a hospital in downtown Mexico City, merely three blocks from the Templo Mayor. Some historical traditions affirm that it was around these grounds where Cortés and Moctezuma met for the first time.

Cortés himself had founded the Hospital de Jesús as early as 1524 and, remarkably, it remains in operation. This year, however, the building is off limits in spite of its historical significance. “Only patients can come inside because of the pandemic,” a receptionist tersely replied when I asked if I could go inside to see a bust of Cortés that lays discreetly in an interior courtyard.

Left: A corner of the Old Palace of the Counts of Santiago de Calimaya, today the Museum of Mexico City, features a snake carving that once graced an Aztec pyramid. Right: Visitors rest on a monument to Cortés in the Cortés Pass in Amecameca, some 35 miles east of Mexico City. His troops crossed the pass, 11,800 feet above sea level, to reach Tenochtitlan. Bottom: A shrine to Ehecatl, a Mesoamerican god of air and winds, is showcased that the Pino Suarez metro station in Mexico City where it was discovered. Vendors around the metro station sell clothing and other products.

It is possibly the only public bust of the conquistador in all of Mexico. Ever since Mexico achieved its independence from Spain in the early 19th century, Cortés has become notable for his absence, although he still manages to cast a long historical shadow. Very few streets or places are named after him. About 40 years ago, a statue of Cortés was erected in the neighborhood of Coyoacán, but the local residents complained and threw painting on it. The statue did not last long.

More recently, other Spanish conquistadors have come under similar scrutiny. Just a few blocks away from the Árbol, there is a street called “Puente de Alvarado” or “Alvarado’s Bridge,” named after Spanish conquistador Pedro de Alvarado who, according to the early chronicles, was the one who ordered the unprovoked 1520 attack on the Aztecs celebrating at Tenochtitlan. Yet, earlier this year, Mexico City Mayor Claudia Sheinbaum indignantly asked, “How is it possible that we have a street named Puente de Alvarado when Alvarado was the principal perpetrator of the massacre at the Templo Mayor?” The thoroughfare is now called “Calzada México-Tenochtitlan.”

Still, 16th-century Spaniards were masters at writing themselves into the story, especially Cortés himself, a born self-promoter. His Second Letter to the Spanish King—published widely in Europe and quoted by historians—is a monument to selective storytelling, exaggeration, and shameless lying. When he wrote his letter at the end of October 1520, Cortés and his followers were still licking their wounds four months after their hasty retreat from Tenochtitlan and the “Sad Night” (now “Victorious” or “Happy”). Nonetheless, the Spanish leader had little trouble boasting about having already won a magnificent kingdom, “so Your Majesty can justly title yourself its new emperor.”

Left: Aztec emperor Moctezuma is depicted surrendering to Cortés in this 1807 engraving. Via Prisma/Universal Images Group/Getty Right: Tenochtitlan is documented in a 1524 map that accompanied the first European publication of Cortés' letters to the Spanish king. Via Art Collection 2, Alamy

A global Turning Point

In the decades and centuries that followed that pivotal summer 500 years ago, Spain did come to rule what is now Mexico, Central America, and parts of the United States; and, in the fullness of time, much of the western hemisphere. The most powerful European empire of the early modern era was able to exploit this large region in very tangible ways that ranged from the extraction of minerals and plant products to the outright enslavement of Indigenous peoples. Between 1500 and 1800, around 80 percent of all the silver produced in the world came out of New World mines. Related to this prodigious extractive activity, some 2.5 to 5 million Native Americans were enslaved in the American continent between the arrival of Columbus and the beginning of the 20th century, according to my estimates.

Beyond such terrible consequences for the Americas, the European takeover of America had dramatic repercussions for the rest of the world. Resources extracted from the continent gave Europeans just enough of an edge to lead the industrial revolution and gain ascendancy until quite recently. In the 16th, 17th, and 18th centuries, parts of China, Japan, and India enjoyed levels of technological and institutional development comparable to those of Europe. Yet the naked exploitation of the Americas—that began in earnest with the takeover of Mexico—enabled some parts of the Old World to grow its population and wealth and pull ahead from the rest of the world.

Bicycle taxis await customers in Amecameca, Mexico. The Spanish colonization of Mexico sparked a rapid phase of globalization that continues to this day.

The Spanish conquest also turned Mexico into a major bridge between East and West. Barely nine months after downfall of Tenochtitlan, Cortés himself established a beachhead on the Pacific coast. “I have started building ships and brigantines to explore all the secrets of that coast,” he wrote to the Spanish monarch in 1522, “and this will undoubtedly reveal marvelous things.” In 1527-1528, Cortés launched an expedition from Mexico to Asia. By the 1560s, annual Spanish galleons connected Asia with the Americas, finally giving rise to the global world that we now know.

National Narrative

When I got together with my family and friends in Mexico City, few seemed particularly interested talking about the quincentennial. COVID-19 has caused Mexico’s worst economic contraction since the 1930s, so the conversation naturally veered toward lost jobs, insecurity in the streets, or plans for moving out of the city to greener pastures.

Nonetheless, some of them were intrigued by the sheer proliferation of anniversaries during this fateful pandemic year. While the destruction of the magnificent city-state of the Aztecs in 1521 may not seem worth remembering, Mexicans are also celebrating the end of Mexico’s wars of independence from Spain in September 1821. Five hundred years of la conquista thus coincides with 200 years of la consumación de la independencia; the first a tragedy commemorated in August and the second a party reserved for September.

As if this were not enough, the Mexican president along with Mexico City authorities added a third major anniversary to this calendar year: 700 years since the founding of the Aztec Empire in May of 1321 (even though the date remains controversial, as early sources are vague and sometimes refer to 1325 rather than 1321).

the Mendoza Codex depicting an eagle with a serpent in its mouth. *NEW* Mendoza Codex depicting the mexican coat of arms . 16th century. Unknown CodexMendoza01. Via The Picture Art College, Alamy

Still, there is an obvious logic to this stacking up of three major commemorations in succession. In the shorthand narrative of the nation, Mexico began to take shape around seven hundred years ago, when Indigenous migrants arrived in the Valley of Mexico and spotted an eagle devouring a serpent on an island in the middle of a lake—a scene memorialized today on the Mexican flag. Five hundred years ago, however, the nation was temporarily hijacked by Spain; and 200 years ago, it was finally—and triumphantly—restored.

New Traditions and Meanings

Meanwhile, out in the streets of Mexico, men and women continue to grapple with such historical milestones in their own ways, creating new traditions and meanings. This process is perhaps most evident at the small plaza of the “Tree of the Victorious Night.” Even though a fireworks accident in 1980 reduced the cypress to a burnt stump, it continues to attract visitors and invite reinterpretation.

On a recent day of plaza festivities in late June, a community organizer named Amalia Rosas offered a workshop on pre-contact foods. In an era when Mexicans suffer from some of the highest rates of obesity and diabetes in the world, Rosas exhorted attendees to give up processed meals and return to beans, squash, corn, and other healthful foods of our pre-Columbian ancestors.

A new mural was also unveiled in the plaza, depicting Spaniards fleeing the island-city of Tenochtitlan and making Indigenous porters carry heavy loads while the conquistadors themselves try to fend off attacks from Aztec warriors. “Cuitláhuac unleashed the offensive”—the accompanying text explains—as they [the Spanish] fled loaded with gold.”

Yet other Mexicans remain skeptical. During one of my visits, I watched an elderly couple milling about the tree stump. While the man took pictures of the stump with charred limbs sticking up, the woman read the new sign characterizing the site as a place of victory and happiness. Then she wistfully commented, to no one in particular: “History has been manipulated so much.”

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jeogiyall · 4 years

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𝐈𝐧 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐢𝐝𝐞; 𝒏.𝒚𝒕

⚓︎ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 𝟷𝟺𝚔 (𝚒𝚔 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚜)

⚓︎ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍, 𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾; 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖿𝖾𝗋! 𝖺𝗎, 𝗒𝗎𝗍𝖺 𝗑 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

⚓︎ᴀᴅᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ: 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖿𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝗈𝗒! 𝗒𝗎𝗍𝖺, 𝗋𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗄𝗂𝖽! 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝗁𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗂𝗂! 𝖺𝗎, 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒, 𝖮𝖢 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖽𝗂𝖾, 𝖺𝗋𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗂𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗉𝗅𝗈𝗍, 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗋𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍 :) || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗏𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗍, 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗈𝖽, 𝗍𝗈𝗑𝗂𝖼 𝖿𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀.

⚓︎ ᴀ/ɴ: 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗀𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖺 𝖻𝖾 5𝗄 𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗇𝗈 𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗅. 𝗂'𝗆 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖺 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝖻𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗌𝗈 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒 𝗂𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝖿𝗋𝖺𝗂𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝗍 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾!! 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗆𝗒 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗇𝖼𝗍 𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝖺𝗁𝖺𝗁𝖺 <3 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝖺 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂'𝗏𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖿𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗋𝗅 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗈 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝗎𝗋𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖼𝗁 + 𝖺𝗋𝗂'𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗌. 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒 𝗑𝗈𝗑𝗈! -𝐚𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

The first thing you do upon entering ‘Yuta and Johnny’s Surf Shack’ is wipe dried tears from your cheeks. It wasn’t that you weren’t beyond ecstatic to be spending a summer in Oahu, Hawai'i, you really were! It was just terrible to be there with your family, terrible to be anywhere with your family. Seriously, you had been on the island for a week and the closest you’d come to having fun was watching your dad golf. Your mother had called you selfish upon your complaint, so you grabbed your bike from the front lawn and left with nowhere to go.

It had been an hour of pedaling with salty tears falling down your cheeks before there was a sign of people actually living here. Before you stumbled upon the small complex of stores it was just ‘Discount Golf Cart Tours!’ and ‘Authentic Oahu Dining!’ but something about this place felt real. Maybe it was the sound of water sloshing on the stilts that supported each building, or the smell of mango wafting out of the fresh grocers, or perhaps the man selling pineapples in front of the surf shack who had fallen asleep face first on his booth, but something about this felt genuine. It also didn’t hurt that you had been wanting to try out surfing. You parked your bike next to the pineapple stand, taking extra precaution to not wake him, and entered the surf store.

The first thing you noticed was that your cheeks were still wet (hence the wiping,) followed by the smell of sunscreen and cedar wood. It felt like stepping through a portal, one that transported you to a place without overbearing mothers or artificial golf courses. You closed your eyes and inhaled deeply, entirely missing the tan boy perched on the storefront counter.

The boy in question was prepared to spill out the usual speech, ‘Welcome to Yuta and Johnny’s surf shack, I’m Yuta and am here to help with any of your needs. Are you interested in renting or purchasing today,’ but something about you made his voice stop working. He blames it on the way your head tilted back, like you were soaking in rays of sunshine, then inhaled deeply as if to take it all in. It seemed personal, fragile. Like it’d be criminal to impose. He doesn’t even consider speaking until you catch him.

“Um... Are you interested in a rental?” His voice was low and gravelly, laced with an accent. You laughed awkwardly, entire body going pink.

“That obvious, huh?” You felt like an idiot standing there in pinstripe pajama shorts and a tacky button up that’s a few (read: three) sizes too big. Clothes weren’t exactly on your ‘escape the mother’ agenda.

“Oh, no!” His eyes go wide as he takes in your outfit, “I mean now that you mention it yes, but that wasn’t what I meant at first. Sorry.” You almost see his cheeks turn red.

“It’s okay, I look ridiculous.” He chuckles a little bit, a low and warm sound. You think that he has a nice smile, “I’m actually just browsing today, but I’ll let you know if I need help.” You watch his hair bounce as he nods, it’s light purple and so long that it tickles the tip of his chin.

You doddle around the store for thirty minutes, pretending to look at surf equipment that you have no idea how to use. You almost ask the boy what’s what, but something clenching at your throat prevents you from speaking. In the end you buy a bottle of SPF thirty and a pineapple from the man out front (it feels like you should, seeing as he didn’t kick your bike off of his booth.) The ride home is tranquil and quiet, like a scene out of a movie.

“I want to try surfing.” You lament aimlessly while hugging a pillow. It’s been a week since your excursion to the surf shack, and it’s been on your mind ever since. The surfing, and also maybe the boy working.

“Why?” Maddie Prescot, your neighbor, best friend, and (conveniently) father's largest business partner's daughter, asks while plopping onto your bed, “It’s so scary looking! Like what if you fall off or something, there’s no one else out there with you!” You roll your eyes playfully at the worried expression spreading on her face.

“That’s like the whole point, y’know our dads can’t talk to us if we’re in the middle of the ocean.” The words come out casual, almost as if they weigh nothing. When you see Maddie’s face her eyes are wide and her jaw is dropped.

“I take it back, sign me up right now.”

(While you two laugh together you think about the first time you met Maddie, the summer spent in Europe. It was when your fathers had just started working together, and terribly miserable. Seriously, two fourteen year old girls forced to sit in stuffy dresses and eat small portions at restaurants where you had to speak softly. She had approached you after the first dinner right as your stomach grumbled lowly.

“Are you still hungry?” You nodded reluctantly, “Me too, let’s get food delivered back to our houses.”

“Oh, um, I don’t-”

“Dad! (y/n)’s sleeping over!” She called across the narrow, Italian street. It was a summertime friendship, yet in a way it meant so much more. Maddie was the first person that understood any part of your life, and despite the fact that during the school year she was an entire country away it always felt like you could talk to her. Even if it was about something dumb, she was always there. )

“Are we getting uber food after dinner?”

“Always!” She answers, smiling in a way that looks familiar, “I do have to go get ready though, see you tonight!” She exits the room in a flurry, leaving behind the scent of strawberry shampoo and a grin on your face.

“Oh my gosh Maddie-”

“Shush, you’re gonna wake up my parents!” Maddie chided, loading a glass plate with a pink bar of soap on it into the microwave. Your brain was certainly tired, but not tired enough to think this was a good idea.

“You’re trying to make something explode, but yes my convincing you to not explode things is gonna wake up your dad who’s two floors away!” She smiles brightly at your words while pressing the on button.

“I’m glad that we’re on the same page!” You groan, feeling gray hairs popping out of your scalp just from the sight of her.

“I swear being friends with you is like being a babysitter.”

"Hiding from the rain?” The boy at the counter asks. You immediately notice that it’s the same boy that was manning the counter the last time that you ran away to ‘Yuta and Johnny’s Surf Shack,’ except now his skin is even tanner. You inhale deeply while cringing at the wet clothes on your skin.

“If I was, I definitely failed, don’t you think?” You tease, motioning to the soaked hair on top of your head. He laughs, a sound that nearly warms up your wet limbs, and nods.

“Pretty miserably, let me get you a towel.” You’re about to tell him ‘No, don’t even worry about it! I’m fine!’ but a shiver runs down your body, and you want nothing more than to be warm.

“Please.” He giggles at the slight crack in your voice, you think that it’s the first time you’ve ever heard a boy giggle. It suits him, “So are you Yuta or Johnny?” You ask while the boy rummages beneath the counter.

“Guess.”

“Umm, Johnny?” When he resurfaces with a pink fuzzy towel in hand he’s wearing a hurt expression, like you just told him that you don’t like his hair. Not that you would ever say that. Much like giggles and wide smiles, long lilac hair suits him.

“How dare you?” Despite your best efforts you laugh, walking over to take the towel where he offers.

“Sorry, Yuta.”

“I don’t want to hear it.” You take the towel from his hands, still biting back laughter, “I’m just kidding. Sorry, I tend to do that too much, what can I help you with?”

“You’re not joking too much, and I’m not sure. Surfing, I guess.” His eyebrows furrow as he watches you wrap the towel around your body like a blanket.

“You guess?”

“Yea...” Your voice is tiny, confused. It makes something inside of him turn pink.

“And you’ve been on the island for how long?” Your response barely sounds like words, but he somehow manages to gather ‘three and a half weeks’ from your sullen mumbles, “Yea, we’re done guessing, come back next Wednesday. One work for you?” It feels like your head is literally made of rocks as you nod, “Okay. You’re learning to surf.” If it weren’t for the fact that they weren’t rolling around on the floor, you would’ve thought your eyes had popped out.

“Oh, thank you. How much?” He looks at you like you’ve grown a second head, “Like... How much should I pay you?”

“Don’t be goofy, that’s why we have Johnny. To be goofy.”

“Seriously, I can’t not pay you.”

“(y/n,) I want to do this.” His eyes are trained on you, they feel heavy.

“How do you know my name?”

“Back of your bike.” The fact that he already has the answer to everything makes your cheeks heat up. You don’t know if it’s in a crush way or in the job interview kind of way. Judging by his strong arms and honey skin you think that it’s crush kind.

“That’s kind of weird... Really weird.” You move to leave, but turn around one last time. He’s smiling at your back, and you know in that instant that he’s going to ruin your life “I’ll see you next Wednesday.”

His smile follows you out the door and to the pineapple booth, then all the way home.

Your mom questions why you always come home with an enormous pineapple. You fib through your teeth and tell her that you pick them off the side of the street. She doesn’t really buy it, you don’t either. It’s clear that she’s about to push harder, but then your father walks through the front door of the rental home and suddenly everything is about him. For the first time in your life you don’t really mind it. There’s something nice about having the surf shack (and Yuta) all to yourself.

“You’re going to fall off, that’s just how it works. Everyone falls.” Yuta reasons while staring at your panicked frame. Everything was going great with the lesson, right up until you saw Johnny (co-owner of the store, and resident gentle giant) get entirely wiped out on a huge wave. Now you’re sitting on the lavender colored surfboard (that you definitely didn’t choose because it matches Yuta’s hair. Definitely not) with trembling arms, “Besides, when you fall it won’t hurt as bad as when Johnny does it.”

“Why?” It’s genuinely obnoxious how high your voice shoots up.

“Because you’re not seven feet tall. You really don’t even need to worry about it right now, not like you’re catching any waves today anyways.” You cringe, the blue rash guard you got from their surf shack suddenly feeling too tight (you tried to buy it, but each time you moved to give Yuta the cash he would squeeze his eyes shut and pretend like you weren’t there,) “Seriously, just enjoy being out here.” He reaches out to grab your arm before realizing that his board is definitely too far away. He laughs, and you can’t help but join in. He has that effect on people.

When you two eventually paddle back to shore the sun is getting ready to set, casting a golden haze over everything. You think that the boy standing in front of you looks beautiful. It’s the first time a boy has ever been that to you.

“Thank you for my first ever surf lesson. It was really fun, but I sadly have to get going now.” Wet hair is tickling your chin, and you’re dreading explaining this to your parents.

“Alright, same time next week?” Your heart catches on the hook of his words, slowly unraveling into a useless ball of yarn.

“Yea.” The word feels like it weighs five thousand pounds. It gets heavier with every step you take towards your baby blue bike, parked up against the shabby pineapple stand.

“(Y/N!)” Yuta shouts, still standing on the white sand of the beach. For the first time all day you notice that he’s not the only person there.

“What?” You call back, voice uncharacteristically loud. Yuta also has that effect on people, pulling out the daring parts that shout across crowded beaches and lie to their parents.

“Can I get you dinner next time?” A smile erupts on his face as if it’s volcanic, there’s one on yours too. You think to yourself that his smile could fix everything bad inside of you.

“I’d love that!”

You wear his smile to sleep that night.

Four days after your first surf lesson your muscles are still sore. It’s not a normal kind of sore either, one where you can take an advil and get over it, of course it’s not. It’s the kind of sore that makes your muscles spasm at the most inopportune times ever. In example: right now, standing in front of Maddie’s entire family while sipping red wine that you weren’t supposed to have. The fact that your dress was white cotton didn’t help to ease your nerves.

“Are you okay?” Maddies oldest brother, Warner, asks you. You try to nod, then quickly give up after remembering where your pain was.

“Yea.” You exhaled, rolling your head backwards, “I’m just sore, it’s a pressure thing I guess.” He chuckles, low and crunchy. It makes your stomach churn, but not the same way that Yuta’s does.

“Can I ask you something?” Yuta asks while shaking water from his hair. You two were waiting for grubhub to arrive at the surf store with post surf lesson dinner. Yuta had taken to putting on dry clothes while you sat shivering on the counter, wrapped up in a fluffy towel.

“Depends.” There’s a small smile playing on your lips, immediately pulling a giggle from the tanned boy. You want to bottle up the sound and keep it tucked underneath your pillow.

“Why do you... Hold back so much?” You look at him as if you don’t know what he’s talking about. You do, obviously, you’ve been holding back for as long as you can remember, but it’s almost embarrassing that he’s noticed it “Don’t look at me like that, you know what I mean. Like... Like how whenever I make a joke you try to not laugh, why don’t you laugh? Not just that, but... That.” A part of you wants to not tell him, wants to keep Yuta and everything nasty inside of you completely separate. There’s a bigger part of you that gives into his dripping honey smile and blanket laugh.

“My parents sent me to a boarding school that’s really... Strict, I guess? I don’t know, it’s competitive and no one is friends with anyone. You’re literally my second friend ever, we are friends right?”

“Yes.”

“Wow, imagine if you had said no.” You pull wet hair off the back of your neck, suddenly feeling very dizzy, “Anyways, yes. My parents, like... They are also super strict. I’m always too loud, or too goofy, or too serious, or just... Just too much. Too much.” You mean to keep talking, but your voice gives out as tears stream down your face. Yuta doesn’t notice for a second, but as soon as he does you have strong arms wrapping around your shoulders.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry!” He coos while squeezing you tight. If you weren’t bawling into his chest you would think about how this is the first real hug you’ve gotten in months, “Oh gosh! You’re gonna get sunscreen in your eyes, here! Use my shirt!” He’s shoving his shirt into your face, and if you weren’t crying out basically every frustration that you’ve ever had, it would be kind of funny. You wipe the tears out of your eyes, then the sunscreen from your forehead, and then you just hold the fabric.

“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry.” You sob, clenching onto his (once) dry shirt, “It’s the first time I’ve ever talked about it, a-and I ruined your shirt, and I’m so sorry!”

“S’okay. You’re okay.” He makes the words feel true, holding you in a way that no one ever has. It’s a clingy kind of hold, one that doesn’t let up until his phone dings. He keeps an arm slung around your shoulder while reading the lit screen, “Food is here, why don’t you go put on some dry clothes?” You rub the sticky tears from your cheeks while shaking your head lightly.

“I didn’t bring any, my parents would’ve asked where I was going and then I’d have to-” He brings up one hand to cover your mouth while the other one fishes under the counter. You think this is the nicest way that anyone has told you to shut up.

“Borrow mine.”

The shirt falls to your mid-thigh, so you don’t even bother with his shorts. (With how tiny that boy's waist is, the shorts probably wouldn’t fit anyways.) He spends dinner cracking jokes just to make you laugh and staring at your profile when he thinks you’re not looking.

“Okay,” You manage through dad joke induced laughter, “I really do have to get going now. Sun’s starting to set, and I don’t have a helmet light.”

“I’d pay to see that.” He helps you gather up your trash and walks you to the door, which is only two seconds away from where you were previously, “I’m gonna say something, and I hope I don’t make you cry again, so I’m telling you that I’m gonna say something.” You smile, playfully rolling your eyes. It’s ridiculous to you how easy it all feels.

“It wasn’t your fault I cried, it’s just because-”

“Okay talking now!” Laughter floats in the space between your bodies as he smiles shyly, “I think you’re really sweet. Like, the way that you buy a pineapple from Mr. Kahale every time you leave, or how you still try to buy stuff from me, or... The way that you laugh at all my jokes? Even the ones that really aren’t funny, you still laugh. I think that makes you sweet, and you’re also funny, and sarcastic, and hardworking... And not too much. Never too much.”

The words scratch into the back of your eyelids, and you read them in between every blink.

“Hey Johnny!” You chirp upon entering the surf shack. It’s half past noon, but you doubted that anyone would send you packing for showing up too early.

“(y/n,) hi! Come on in, can I get you a cup of coffee?” The tall boy asks, already turning around to prepare the mug. Honestly? You had already made a cup early in the morning and two cups would definitely make you jittery, but Johnny was so eager that you let him go ahead.

“Sure, go ahead. No sugar and four creams, please.” You assume your usual position on the checkout counter while Johnny plugs in the Keurig machine. Words float out of his mouth and around the room, never quite hitting your ears. It’s not that he’s boring, just that something feels off, “Hey, where’s Yuta?” The boy rolls his eyes exasperatedly, knowing fully well that you didn’t hear a single thing that he said.

“He’ll be here soon. Didn’t come in this morning since it’s his day off and all; here’s your coffee!” Johnny sees something on your face, written in furrowed eyebrows and down turned lips, “Don’t worry, he’s still coming in for your lessons!” You take the cup, head swimming with tan skin and hair that’s a little too long.

“I didn’t know it was his day off.” Johnny smiles brightly, exhaling a laugh.

“Wednesdays have always been his off days, well until recently. He comes in to teach you but that’s it.” Your cheeks turn bright pink, spreading quickly down your neck, “You know, he told me that- Yuta! Welcome home!” Something rises in your chest at Johnny's unspoken words, only to crest when you see the boy in question's beautiful smile (the one that reaches everything around him and paints it into something pretty.)

“Hi (y/n)! Happy to see you!” And that’s when it crashes in a big mess of soft smiles and snotty confessions. You want to tell him that he’s the second person that’s ever listened to you, that he’s the only boy that’s ever made you smile. You want to tell him that pieces of him live in your head, coming up in the moments where everything is too hard to handle.

The only words that manage to squeeze out of your throat are, “You too, ready to start?”

If his bright laugh was any indicator, then he certainly got the message.

“Sweetie, why is your face sunburned?” Your mother asks while dumping eggs on your plate. The burn across your nose was from staying out just a little too long with Yuta, but obviously she could never know about that. Instead you shrug, pretending like you didn’t even know it was there.

“Don’t know, sun’s bright I guess.” Her eyes narrow, and you know from eighteen years of stretching the truth that she doesn’t buy it. A groan (partnered with dread) rises in your throat at the idea of trying to dig your way out of this, just like you had to last week when she asked about your wet hair. This whole lying thing used to be so easy, something that just rolled off your tongue, but upon realizing that people can make you smile and that life can be enjoyed you always get terrible cottonmouth whenever you need to lie. A small part of you knows that it’s because you don’t want to lie about being happy, that you want someone to tell everything to, but a bigger part wants to stay in the dark.

“You lie like a cheap carpet.” She teases, voice twinging with a southern accent that she never had. It almost makes you want to tell her, then you think back to your last summer roller derby practice. When you had scraped your knee open. Your mom had been shocked after seeing the blood that stretched from the bottom of your thigh to the middle of your calf, but that was all replaced when you told her where it was from. Within twenty minutes you learned every synonym for ‘irresponsible’ that there was

(”I do everything around this house and this is how you repay me?! By getting injured, and oh I don’t know lying?!” You had cringed at her harsh words, right leg still aching with pain.

“I’m sorry!” You sobbed out, praying that the high ceilings of your kitchen would crash down on your head.

“I’m sure you are, God (y/n) do you even know what it’s like to run a household?! I am exhausted, and you’re running around and hurting yourself?!”

“Well maybe you wouldn’t have to ‘run the household’ if your stupid fucking husband would ever come home and raise his child! And maybe I wouldn’t feel the need to keep things from you if you didn’t react like this!” Tears trickled down your mother's cheeks, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. You had been crying first, anyways.

“To your room.” Her jaw was clenched so tight that even water wouldn’t be able to slip through it, “Now!”

You had run up the stairs and into your room as fast as possible, then proceeded to slam the door and hurl your skates into a bookshelf. Needless to say, you never got to go back to derby.)

“I’m not lying, mom.” You breathe out, shoveling the last bit of scrambled eggs into your mouth, “I’m going over to Maddie’s, see you at the dinner party tonight!” Her gaze follows you out the door, sitting on your shoulders and swallowing you like a denim jacket.

You checked the time on your phone for the fourth time in the past ten minutes, only to groan upon realizing that not even a minute had passed since the last time you checked. Maddie had been getting the food for around fifteen minutes, and while the grubhub delivery boy was probably tripping over his tongue at the flirting that was definitely going on, your stomach was starting to grumble. It’s starting to sound violent

“Hungry?” A gravelly voice asks from behind you, causing hair to prick up on the nape of your neck before realizing that it’s just Warner.

“You shouldn’t scare people like that! Especially when they’re sitting on the ledge of a balcony!” It feels like your mother crawls out of your mouth, so you close it harshly and swallow before even considering speaking again, “And yes, extremely. Maddie’s supposed to come back up with the food, but she’s been gone for fifteen minutes.”

“Yea,” He chuckles while sliding onto the balcony railing, it makes you think of Yuta’s soft giggles, “she’s flirting with the delivery boy.” A heavy breath runs down your cheeks while eyes roll into the back of your head.

“How did I know?” When he laughs a hand brushes on your thigh, then stays there. Your cheeks turn red, but it’s more of an embarrassed blush. Not the innocent sunrise blush that Yuta paints your body with. You stare at his hand, begging for it to move. It never does, “(y/n,-)”

“I have t-to go. I have to go check on Maddie.” The way your body stumbles over the railing and through the French glass doors is embarrassing, but you don’t care. You’d trip over a million banana peels if it got rid of Warners expectant gaze.

It follows you down the hallway, through one living room, and into a stairwell, only leaving when Maddie bumps into you with a loud ‘oomf!’

“Hey honey, where are you going?” Her voice is so sweet, like the way someone would talk to a puppy. With anyone else it’d be patronizing, but with Maddie it feels like home.

“Warner like... touched my thigh, but it wasn’t a big deal. Just made me uncomfy.” She smiles sympathetically, knowing fully well that this wasn’t her brother's first time leaving a girl feeling like this.

“He’s an asshole.” The blunt words look funny coming out of your friend's soft face, so you laugh.

“Yea.”

“Let’s eat, I’m starved.” You think to yourself that you’ll never find a person like her, before nodding and falling in line behind her.

The first time that you manage to catch a real wave, not the baby ones that Yuta made you ‘ride’ right by the shore, you feel so free that you could cry. The wave is at least six feet tall, but in your head it feels much taller. Like something that could swallow you whole, but also something that you told not to. And something that listened.

You don’t even know what to do with all of the energy coursing in your veins, so you do nothing. Just let it fester while riding the wave, exactly the way that Yuta taught you. With feet planted strongly in the center of the board, everything smelling like salt water, and a huge smile spreading across your face. Although you don’t see him, Yuta is cheering from the sand, which is exactly where you go once the wave breaks.

You start to run to the boy, adrenaline still writhing in your body, but the running stops as soon as you pummel face first into the shin deep water. Perhaps running with something attached to your ankle isn’t the smartest move, but you’re too high to care. It’s all you can do to not burst out laughing at yourself.

“Are you okay?!” Yuta asks as his arms materialize beneath you. His eyes are slightly worried, causing a ridiculous contrast to your wild ones.

“Never better, did you see that?!” He barely has you out the water before you’re bouncing around again.

“What, you cleaning the ocean floor with your face or-”

“Don’t be a butt!” You tease while flicking his temple, “Did you see it?!”

“Of course I did! I was cheering and everyth-” Your lips are on his. You’re standing in the water of a Hawaii beach, and kissing Nakamoto Yuta. You’re (y/n,) who just rode a six foot tall wave, and you are kissing Nakamoto Yuta. You are kissing him, and he tastes like sun drenched honey. There’s nothing that could make this feel real, not even if someone came up and pinched you.

Even as his tongue swipes over your lower lip, even as his hand comes up to cradle your jaw, even as your hands tangle in the ends of his long hair. Nothing could convince you that this isn’t a dream. Maybe it’s the way that Yuta kisses like he needs it to survive, or how he’s listening to you despite the fact that no words have been exchanged, or maybe even how the waves are crashing you endlessly closer to him. Everything about his mouth on yours is far too good to be true.

“Was that okay?” You exhale, hot breath fanning against the boys cheeks, “I mean like, that I kissed you?” Everything feels hazy as your eyes focus in on his giddy smile. You think to yourself that his smile rivals every sunset that you’ve ever seen.

“Yes.” He responds, chest heaving, “Yea, it’s okay.” He rests his forehead against yours as a wave brushes the hems of your rash guards.

“Did you really see?” Something in your voice sparkles, it makes Yuta’s heart stop.

“I see everything that you do. The sharp inhales, the way your head tilts back when you enjoy something, the way you smile when Johnny offers you coffee. I’m starting to think that the only reason I have eyes is to look at you.” The words ricochet around your head, leaving your eyes watery and heart heavy.

“Yuta?” You ask before swallowing hard. There’s a hand tangled in his lilac hair, the other cradling the back of his neck. He thinks to himself that he could die like this and still be happy, “I’m going to kiss you again.”

“Okay.” He answers. The word feels like it weighs a thousand pounds, and also like you could lift it with your pinky..

There were three times in your life where you felt peace. The first time was a week spent in Spain with your boarding school, everyone stayed together in a hotel with a huge open air courtyard. You had spent each day out there amongst the plants, doing nothing except for school readings and breathing in the fresh air.

The second time was your first sleepover with Maddie. She had ordered Chinese and rented some Italian film that you can’t remember the name of anymore. She was the first person to listen to you about anything, and even though it was over something as simple as beef or chicken lo mein and what movie to watch, it felt nice. You remember falling asleep that night feeling like your heart was full.

And the third time was now, sitting on your board past where the waves break with Yuta. You’re about to paddle back to shore, but for now the boy is just basking in golden sun and splashing water at you.

“Stop!” You cry out, holding up one hand uselessly, “If I fall off you’re coming with me!” He smirks playfully, splashing the water even harder.

“Good, then maybe I can kiss you.” Something in your heart clenches at his childlike smile, and you almost understand the want to be pushed into the ocean just so you can kiss his honey lips.

“Come on, let’s head in.” As the two of you roll in with the evening tide, you can’t help but think that no one will ever make you happy the way that he does.

Despite growing closer with both shop owners, entering the surf shack still manages to transport you to a new planet. It’s like there’s nothing in the world that can brace you for the smell of bananas and fresh cut wood, or the sight of Johnny beaming from behind the counter while Yutas legs dangle from his perch. It’s nothing special, but in a way it is. At least to you.

“(y/n!)” They both cheer, Yuta sliding quickly off the counter while Johnny starts up the keurig.

“Four creams?” Johnny asks as Yuta presses a loud kiss to your tanned cheek. The taller boy pulls a face of disgust, so you giggle and push the sweet boy away.

“Yea, please!” Yuta is still trying to kiss your face, his tan arms wrapping around any part of you that he can reach, “Yes, hi Yuta, I’m excited to see you too! Now, stop being gross.” You and Johnny both chuckle while Yuta pouts, pressing one last kiss to your temple.

“I like being gross.” He grumbles, returning back to his spot on the counter. You follow close behind and ruffle a hand in his lilac hair.

“We know.”

“No matter how hard he tries, he will never be as gross as keurig coffee.” Johnny states, head shaking solemnly. Yuta busts out laughing and pushes his friend's shoulder.

“I like keurig coffee!” You protest, causing Johnny to chuckle while Yuta continues to giggle. You accept the mug from Johnny when he hands it to you, and everything feels so regular that it hurts.

It’s another breakfast spent shoveling runny eggs into your mouth in hopes to leave before your parents bring up any taboo topics, except this time something is off. Your father is actually here, for starters, then add that to the part where him and your mother are staring at you as if they’re waiting for an answer and you end up with a churning feeling in your gut. Your mother's eyebrows haven’t relaxed since you sliced up the pineapple.

“Sweetie, have you ever considered dating?” The words are so unexpected that you choke, a hand flying to your glass of water.

“Excuse me?” You wheeze, cheeks flushing bright pink. She’s going to ask about Yuta, you just know she’s going to ask about him. It was the love bite that gave it away, the one in the hollow of your throat. You knew he shouldn’t have done it, but there were no real thoughts in that moment. Just his lips and your skin.

“Oh, you know, just going out to dinner. Seeing a movie, you know plenty of nice boys right?” The words are swimming through your head, pushing hard into the back of your eyes.

“I don’t think I understand-” Your response is choked, your throat clenching around each syllable that comes out.

“Like um... Cameron, the boy you did that group project with? Or Donny, the one who ran for class President?” You nod slowly, waiting for the final blow, “Or Warner! Why don’t you date Warner?”

“Warner?” You don’t have to play dumb anymore, you actually have no idea what she’s talking about. Aside from the relief that no one knows about Yuta, confusion washes over you.

“Yea!” She chimes, hands clapping together, “He’s so sweet and smart, and I think he’s kinda handsome, right?” All you can think of is the way his eyes peeled you apart in the worst way possible, like you owed him something. Like it didn’t matter that you didn’t want his hands anywhere near you.

“Um, yea. Warner’s sweet.” The words taste like bile coming up your throat, “I have to go now, see you guys later.” You run out of the house like your heels are on fire, and the only way to put them out is to get as far away from their expectant stares as quickly as possible.

“Yuta, come on! I told you, no more love bites!” You groan, pulling him away by the hair.

“But I know you like them so much!” He pouts, moonlight cascading through the shop windows and across his tanned face. Tonight had been a dinner party night, which meant that right now you should be at Maddie’s house. Except for the fact that she had a secret date with the grub hub delivery boy.

(“I’m so sorry, please don’t tell anyone!” She had pleaded, eyes growing wide and watery. You always thought it was ridiculous how she could make herself cry on command. No one person should have that much power.

“So long as you don’t tell anyone that I’m sneaking out too.” Her eyes (now entirely void of tears) widened, one hand reaching out to push your shoulder while you giggled shyly.

“Who are you and what have you done with (y/n?!)”

“... Nothing?”)

“I do, but I think my mom saw…” His pout expands into a smile while your cheeks turn bright pink. A giggle slips past his lips as he rests your foreheads together.

“Really?” The boy whispers, as if you’re not the only other person in the room.

“Yes!” You laugh back, “Stop laughing at me!” The words just make him laugh harder.

“I’m sorry, it’s just funny!” Your eyebrows furrow as you stick your tongue out at him, making him smile even brighter, “Come on, don’t be mad at me! Honey, don’t be mad at m- mmph!” The words (and teasing) stop as soon as your lips collide, swallowed by something hot and needy. You think to yourself that his lips taste like honey, then that you’d give anything to kiss him for forever.

“Yuta,” You breathe out, trying to get the boys attention. It doesn’t work, his lips stay on yours, “Yuta!”

“Yea?” He asks, pulling back so little that his lips brush yours upon moving.

“I love you.” The smile on his face is worth a thousand dollars. You want to kiss it, so you do.

The action is slow and fueled with passion, him whispering ‘I love you too’ against you any chance that he can get.

A long time ago you decided that the only good thing about dinner parties was the fact that you got to get ready for them. Last week you wore your favorite blue dress, the one with ruffles on the sleeves, and a petite golden chain (which ended up on the checkout counter of your boyfriends store. You’re ninety percent sure that he took it home.) Yuta had nearly lost his mind when you stumbled into the store looking like that, with high heels dangling from your fingertips.

This week was something slightly different, seeing as it was something that your mother insisted on. A form fitting white dress with detailed embroidery around the waist. You found it to be repulsive, but it matched your favorite pearls so you let her go ahead and take it to the dry cleaners.

“Sweetie, I’m coming upstairs with your dress in ten minutes!” She hollers up the stairs. You clamp the pearls quickly, then throw your electric blue rash guard into the closet.

“Okay!” You respond, opening up the makeup drawer of your desk.

She enters the room quietly and hangs the dress on your closet door. You were hoping it would get less ugly the more you looked at, but it was turning out to be quite the opposite. It really just looked like a bad ice skating costume.

“It’s sad to think that we’ll be leaving in two weeks, isn’t it?” You hum in agreement while taking a brush to your eyelid. This talk is barely something that phases you anymore, seeing as you’ve already discussed everything with Yuta. Leave for two months, take your gap year on Oahu, and then apply to all of the local universities that you can, “We have to go back to the real world, with all of the responsibilities.” The way she’s talking feels rehearsed, as if she’s been waiting to say this to you for a long time.

“... Yea?” Her smile is so sweet that you barely believe it’s hers.

“But you don’t have many of those right now, do you? Nothing but enjoying your gap year and-”

“Mom, can you just tell me whatever you’re trying to say?” You snap, the brush clattering out of your hand and onto the glass top of the vanity. She slides down onto your unmade bed, hands making fists in the fabric of her skirt while she swallows heavily.

“You’re not going to like it very much.” It feels like your tongue is made of cotton again.

“Tell me. Please.” Her lower lip quivers, causing your stomach to clench even tighter.

“Do you remember when we spent the summer in Europe with the Prescot’s?” You nod slowly, remembering your very first encounter with Maddie, “And your father spent the entire time negotiating with Mr. Prescot?” You nod again, vividly remembering all of the lonely nights spent pretending to be asleep while your father stumbled home drunk off of wine.

“Yea, but he decided to go along with it because dad offered him a huge share of the income.” She looks at you as if you didn’t finish the sentence, “Right?”

“Right... Mostly right.” You inhale deeply, hoping for a breath of fresh air. You don’t get it, the entire room smells like a thunderstorm, “They also reached an agreement regarding you.”

“W-what?” She reaches out to hold your hands, you’re so confused that you let her.

“Your father and Mr. Prescot agreed that when you turn eighteen, and Warner twenty, that you two would become e-engaged to be-” The realization settles in right as your pearls begin to tighten. She keeps talking, saying things like ‘legal,’ and ‘sweet boy,’ but you feel nothing. Nothing other than your pearls tightening, suffocating you slowly but surely. They tighten like a vice, and you’re sure that you’ll never breathe again.

“W-when?” Your words are small and pathetic, one hand reaching up to grasp the dainty necklace.

“We’re announcing it tonight, I-I’m... I’m gonna leave you alone to process.” She squeezes your hands one last time, then leaves, “And please do a little bit of makeup, there’s going to be photographs. We don’t want to see your splotchy skin, do we?” With that she’s gone, door shut tightly and room silent.

Something pounds heavily against your skull, turning everything blurry. The only thought you can register is that you have to vomit, now. It takes everything in you to stumble towards the en suite, but once you get there your body knows exactly what to do.

There’s cold tile on your exposed knees as you empty the contents of your stomach into the ivory toilet. You vomit for nearly forty minutes, pulling at the suffocating pearls the whole time. The strand almost snaps, you barely even care.

Your head feels empty, like you puked out every thought and anxiety until you were just a shell of a person. A shell of a person who was engaged to Warner Prescot, and not Nakamoto Yuta.

The dinner party feels more like a trip to the aquarium, but you’re the fish. You and Warner sit at the head of the table, his hand taking home on the small of your back (he wiggles his fingers far too much, which sends the worst kind of shivers down your spine,) and everyone is staring. It makes you wonder how many people knew about this before you did.

When Warner stands to announce the engagement you almost vomit again. Maddie looks at you, her eyes screaming “I’m so sorry.” You ask her to help, to get you out of here. She looks away. It feels like there’s no air left to breathe, you think that even if there was you wouldn’t inhale. You want to suffocate, you want to stop existing. You want the carpeted floor of this high scale restaurant to swallow you whole.

Most of all, you want Yuta.

It’s half past eleven when you barge through the doors of the surf store, and Yuta’s leaning against the counter. There’s lilac hair falling in his eyes, painting the picture of not having a care in the world.

“(y/n!)” He beams, heart clenching tightly, “You look beautiful baby- baby? What’s wrong?” You don’t know what it was, maybe the stress of everything. Maybe the taste of vomit that was stuck in your throat, despite brushing your teeth ten times. Maybe the feeling of Maddie’s sad eyes telling you that there was nothing she could do to help, but you start bawling.

They’re ugly, wet sobs that shake you from your toes to your shoulders. You’re on the floor, hands gripping your hair so hard that it hurts. Yuta’s rushing over to you, and you can’t even bring yourself to look at his face.

“What do you need me to do?” He asks, voice soft and warm and painfully comforting.

“Hold me.” You whimper, suddenly afraid that if you say anything else your voice will give out and you’ll be nothing but a sobbing mess. A sobbing mess who’s engaged.

So Yuta holds you, and holds you, and holds you. It’s a loving touch, one that wants nothing for him. A touch that gives endlessly, with warm skin and heaving chests. His fingertips brush your shoulder while his lips kiss the shell of your ear.

“What’s wrong?” He whispers, causing your heart to clench violently. You grab his face, hoping that if you kiss him he’ll stop asking questions. He doesn’t go for it, “Sweetie stop, tell me what’s wrong.” You don’t want to tell him, you’d rather plunge yourself face first into the ocean than tell him. Something about telling Yuta makes this real.

“It’s nothing,” He knows that your eyes are too sad to be telling the truth, “I just love you.” You sob out, collapsing once again onto his shoulder. His hand strokes your hair while your back shakes.

“I know, I love you too.” You wonder if this last time that you’ll feel like those words are true, “I love you too.”

Ever since the start of your engagement (a week and a half) you’ve been running out of the house as early as possible, not even bothering with the under cooked eggs. The days find you in different places, usually at the surf shack or trying to catch some waves, but never home. And never with Warner.

Today you’re on the checkout counter, slicing up pineapple with a knife that you probably shouldn’t have and passing it to your friends. Yuta is tending to a customer, a poor sunburned guy well into his thirties who’s trying to buy a board, while Johnny smiles and taps away on his phone. It’s not the usual smile, goofy and carefree, now he’s beaming like he has to outshine the sun. He almost does.

“What’s got you so happy today?” You ask, passing him a paper plate with perfect cubes of pineapple. That was one of the best things about Mr. Kahale’s booth (other than the fact that you’re still allowed to park there,) you’ve become a pro at cutting up the fruit. Yuta always asks you to cut his into stars.

“Nothing.” He answers, giddy smile threatening to crack his face. He knows that you don’t buy it.

“People don’t smile like that over nothing, Johnny.” There’s a nervous laugh, then he pops a cube into his mouth.

“Well, I do.” You roll your eyes so hard that it almost hurts, then return to cutting up the pineapple.

“He’s texting his girlfriend.” Yuta interjects, pressing a kiss to your temple while thumbing through a stack of cash. You were so busy trying to pull an answer out of Johnny that you didn’t even notice him closing the sale.

“Girlfriend?!” You gasp, laughing at the way his cheeks turn pink, “Tell me more!”

“Her name is Maddie.” Your stomach drops as Johnny bites out his answer, but it’s probably nothing. There are thousands of girls named Maddie, right?

“Just wait until you hear how they met!” Yes! How they met! Maddie’s going out with the grubhub delivery boy, Johnny works here.

“How did you meet?” Your voice tries to give you away, so you continue to cut up the pineapple. Maybe if you focus on this they won’t pick up on your uneven breathing.

“Well I was doing a late night delivery, for grubhub?” Oh no, “I guess I never mentioned that I do that. Anyways, it’s like half past midnight and I pull up to this huge house, like seriously the biggest house I’ve ever been to, and this girl opens the door. We talked for like twenty minutes before she took her food, but just as she was about to go inside I grabbed the bag and wrote my number on it.” Okay, so that’s definitely Maddie. Johnny is definitely dating Maddie, but this isn’t the end of the world. They know Maddie, but that doesn’t mean that they know about you. They probably don’t even know that she has a friend who happens to be engaged to her brother.

“And she has this friend, Johnny what’s her name?” Oh no, oh no, oh no. You can feel Yutas eyes boring into your skull.

“I don’t think she’s said, but (y/n) this story is just... Insane, really.” Maybe she just told him about the time that you tried to backflip into her pool when you were nine and nearly broke your neck. That’s probably all that it is, “She’s engaged to Maddie’s brother! It’s some ridiculous arranged marriage plot with their parents companies, it’s like a tv show!” There is no air left in the room, and you briefly think that you’re going to pass out. He keeps talking but you can’t hear. You don’t know if you want to hear, for some reason hearing Johnny talk about how insane it is reminds you that it’s terribly insane.

“Shit!” You cry out as your knife slips away from the fruit and then across the skin of your thumb. There’s blood, but you barely even feel it over the lump in your throat. Johnny’s getting you a napkin, Yuta’s cradling your hand. It feels like you're going to pass out, you think if you don’t leave then you’re going to fall onto the floor and pass out, “I have to go outside.” Yuta’s mouth moves, but there are no words. No words as you stumble out the door and down to the beach, or as you gasp for air and collapse onto the hot sand.

You sit there for at least twenty minutes, cradling your bleeding thumb and watching the waves retreat, before Yuta materializes next to you. He’s holding a band aid while wearing a concerned expression.

“Let me see your hand.” Suddenly he’s holding your hand, wrapping up the cut and then pressing a kiss to the inside of your palm. It makes your heart feel watery, or your eyes. You’ve kind of lost track at this point, “Will you please tell me what’s wrong? You show up to the shack at midnight and just start bawling, which is fine! I don’t mind, but you’ve been off ever since then. It’s like, the only time I’ve ever felt helpless, I don’t know how to help because I have absolutely no idea what’s wrong, a-and-”

“I’m Maddies friend.” He’s about to laugh, but then he sees your tear streaked cheeks. You don’t even know when you started crying, “I’m Maddies friend, a-and I have to marry her brother, who I hate! And my parents didn’t even tell me until the night they announced it to all of the business partners, how fucked up is that?!” There’s something breaking in your chest, Yuta thinks he feels it too, “I mean, how fucked up is all of this?!”

“You’re engaged?” The words make you laugh, which is probably inappropriate. It is inappropriate, but you can’t even make yourself care.

“Yes, and I hate him. And I love you.” His hands are buried in his lilac hair, it reminds you of the first time that you kissed.

“Can’t you say no?” You want to say yes, say that you can leave everything behind and be nothing but his. Be nothing but yours, but there’s something clamping down on your tongue. He watches as your jaw tightens and a fresh set of tears fall down your cheeks, “Okay, I get it.” And then he’s leaving, and you know nothing other than the fact that you want him to stay.

“Yuta!” It sounds like you’re begging, in a way you are.

“I have to go!” You sit on the beach sobbing for hours, or minutes. Everything around you turns gray, and you think that this is just the perfect start to the rest of your life.

Maddie is lying on her bed and speaking into her phone when you find her. Her eyebrows are furrowed, eyes full of crystal tears that won’t fall. You can only assume that she’s talking to Johnny.

“Yea she’s here, I have to go. See you tomorrow, bye bye.” The words were quiet, her voice trembling, “He’s telling Yuta that you’re with me.”

“Oh.” The sound is pathetic; all broken, and watery, and tired. You want to cry again, but there are no tears left. Just a hollow feeling returning to your chest.

“(y/n,) I’m so sorry. I was sorry before,” There’s a heavy silence, one that expects you to say something. Or do something, but you can’t. There’s no energy left anywhere in your body, it’s a miracle that you’re still standing, “but this is just... I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” The words come out of your mouth, but you can’t feel your mouth move. You can’t feel anything other than Maddie’s sad eyes.

“No, it’s not. Come sit down.” She pats her white comforter, your legs carry you there, “Have you told anyone?”

“No.” The word tastes sour on your tongue.

“Do you want to tell me about him?” Her hand is in between your shoulder blades, offering a comfortable weight. You think of how hard it’s been to keep this all from Maddie, of how many times you considered spilling everything.

“Yes.” Your entire body relaxes with a sigh, Maddie smiles at the feeling.

“Tell me everything.”

You tell her about his smile that outshines every star in the sky, about his beautifully sun kissed skin. You tell her about the way he pushes Johnny’s shoulder whenever the taller boy made a bad joke, and the time that you two paddled past the waves and he splashed water at you. She giggles, then asks to see a picture. You immediately know the perfect one.

(”(y/n,) pose with me!” Yuta cheered, voice growing closer. You turned, board still in hand, to be greeted with the sight of Yuta running at you while holding your phone.

“Wait, I’m not ready!” Before you could protest anymore there was a wet kiss on your cheek and the clicking sound of your camera ”You’re too much.”

“Yea, but you love me anyways.” He had pecked your lips, then the tip of your nose, then your forehead. It made something happy bubble in your stomach.

“I do, I love you so much.”)

“We had just finished surfing, that’s why we look like... That.” Your phone glares at you, flaunting yours and Yuta’s tanned skin. There’s two pictures where he’s not kissing you, just staring with lovesick eyes. It makes your heartbeat stutter.

“I’m so sorry, (y/n.)”

“Yea,” you sigh, “me too.”

It’s not exactly clear how your bike ride turned into you sitting in front of ‘Yuta and Johnny’s Surf Shack.’ It’s not like you were trying to come here, you just wanted to see the island one last time before leaving tomorrow, that’s all. But you ended up here, with a heaving chest and a dry mouth.

Something carries you off your blue bike, then parks it against Mr. Kahale’s pineapple stand, then makes you walk through the front door. The smell of bananas and fresh wood hits you like a memory, taking you to a time where everything is normal. Briefly, you catch a glimpse of life without Warner or your parents; Yuta perched on the counter and exchanging embarrassing anecdotes with Maddie, who’s working the register. She laughs, then casts her eyes to where you and Johnny are selling a customer on surf gear, and everything is perfect.

“(y/n?)” Johnny asks from his spot behind the counter, “What are you doing here?” His eyes are kind, soft even. You want to thank him for not kicking you out.

“I um... I don’t know? I-I just,” A sigh escapes your lips, ringing out loudly in the empty store, “is Yuta here?”

“No, it’s Wednesday so...” It feels like he snapped a rubber band against your forehead, “He misses you, you know?”

“Really?” You think it’s pathetic how small your voice sounds.

“Yea, like... A lot, he’s always holding that necklace that you left behind that one time. And looking at pictures, and watching rom-coms, then getting sad and eating all of the fudge pops in the fridge. I’ve had to buy about three new boxes in the last week.” He laughs quietly, in a squeezy and forced kind of way.

“Oh.” You want to cry. You want to cry, and scream, and throw things. But there’s nothing left in you except for the heavy silence permeating the room, and the act of accepting sad glances.

“I’m sorry.” You’ve heard the words so many times that they don’t sound real anymore, “I know that you leave tomorrow, so um... Is there anything that you want me to say to him?”

“Um... I guess just that,” You want to say: I only have a heart so that I can love you, echoing his words from your first kiss, “never mind. Don’t tell him anything, I don’t want to make this any harder.” He wants to tell you that he’s never seen someone love another person more than Yuta loves you, but he doesn’t want to make this any harder.

“(y/n,) I’m-”

“Really sorry?” He cheeks go pink at your correct assumption, and he nods, “It’s okay, just let me rent a board for the day?”

“Alright, but don’t expect for me to let you pay.” He tosses a pen at your face, eliciting a giggle from your mouth. It’s the first time that you’ve laughed all week.

“C’mon, I haven’t paid for a single thing here!”

“And you never will!” He’s about to add, Yuta would kick me out if I made you pay.

“Alright, alright. Let me go get the board.”

When you finally get to surfing, the waves are relentless. A small part of you wants to climb off the board and let them whip you around until you feel something again. The other part of you rides any wave that you can catch, and it feels so damn good to have something listening to you again. So good to do something just because you want to.

There’s salt water mixing with tears and sweat, and sun setting on your skin. You think about how perfectly Yutas lips fit with yours, then about how soft his bleached hair felt between your fingers.

“Maddie, why are you making us go this way?” It’s been thirty minutes of Maddie instructing your cab driver to turn down various back roads that don’t even lead to the airport, “Seriously, your flight is forty minutes before mine! You’re gonna be late.” She tries to wave the words away, then grips onto the front seat.

“Yea and then take this right. Yes, the one down that dirt road, thank you!” Now this is just getting ridiculous! You’re about to say something before she’s plopping back into the seat with wild eyes, “I’m not leaving.”

“What?!” Your scream startles the driver, causing him to slam on the breaks. Which may or may not slam your face into the headrest of the passenger's seat, “Sorry sir! Sorry!” He grumbles in response, you make a mental note to tip him extra.

“I’m not leaving! I talked it over with Johnny last night and then told my parents and put down the payment for an apartment! Then they cut off my card; sir?! It’ll be the next right, thank you!”

“Oh gosh, are you okay?” She grabs you by the shoulders, then squishes your cheeks lightly.

“Honestly? Not exactly, but at the same time I’ve never felt so free. I don’t owe them anything anymore, and like... Like, I scheduled an appointment to get my septum pierced just because my parents would never let me. I can do stuff like that now!” You want to ask how she can even afford it, then realize how awfully rude that is.

“I-I’m... I’m really happy for you.” Her eyes roll so far back in her head that you think she’s going to pass out.

“I’m asking you to come with me! And don’t argue with me on it, you know that you don’t want this! Marrying Warner, being a trophy wife? That’s not you, (y/n!)” She’s right, of course, but you don’t want her to be.

“Maddie, I can’t-”

“Why not?” The words are exasperated, almost angry, “Your parents are like, really mean to you. And it’s not like you owe this to them, if anything they owe this to you! They owe you one thing that’ll make you happy!” She’s pleading with you, forced tears taking home in her eyes. You just want everything to be done.

“But I don’t-”

“All of your favorite clothes are in your suitcase! You won’t need any cold clothes for a while, and you had a plan already anyways, right? With Yuta?” And there it is, the real reason that you can’t say yes. There’s the clenching of your heart, then your eyes falling to the dirty floor of the cab.

“I don’t know if Yuta still wants me. I mean, I really messed him up. Johnny said he’s watching rom-coms.” A shiver shoots up your spine at the thought of Yuta holding your necklace and staring with sad eyes. You don’t even think that you would take yourself back.

“Don’t. Be. Stupid.” She punctuates each word with a slap to the side of your head. You were going to complain, but then she’s spewing out more instructions to the cab driver and you can’t even remember how to breathe, “Of course Yuta still wants you! I saw those pictures, he looks at you like... Like...”

“Like it’s the only reason that he has eyes?” Her face lights up, now filled with hope instead of fake tears.

“Yes! We’re going to be at the airport in three minutes, so that you can either tell your parents that you’re leaving with me or make the biggest mistake of your life-”

“Maddie!” Her hands fly up defensively, and you’re not sure if you want to hug her or hit her.

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

“It doesn’t mean that you should say it.” The words are mumbled, and you both know it’s so that you can avoid answering the question. She sighs heavily, then moves her hands to hold yours.

“I know it’s a lot to ask, but please consider it? Pretty please, I don’t want you to live the rest of your life knowing what could have been!” She’s begging, the words slipping freely from her mouth as if they’re memorized. Meanwhile, you have the worst case of cottonmouth known to man.

“I-I...” There’s no air left as the cab skids to a halt in front of the airport, “I just don’t know, I’m sorry.”

You move out of the car, then to the trunk, then through the doors. Your parents are waiting by the small coffee shop, Warner sitting next to them and laughing. His head tilts backwards as the sound rings through the busy airport, and you realize how wrong all of this is.You shouldn’t be listening to loud, staged laughter! It should be Yuta’s soft giggles, the ones that you’ve never heard before this summer. The ones that dance through your dreams and paint everything bright pink.

And maybe it’s not just about Yuta. Maybe it’s also about having a life that you live just for you, and not for your parents. Or for Warner,or business partners, or anyone. A life for you, filled with things that you love. Maybe if you run you’ll make it outside before Maddie pulls away.

“Shit!” So it looks like piggybacking off of her taxi was no longer an option. But that’s fine, you can get your own. The airport is basically crawling with them, it shouldn’t be too hard to get one, “Taxi!” A yellow cab pulls up in front of you, the driver looking terribly annoyed.

“We’re not in New York, you know? Hop in.”

“Yes sir, so sorry, thank you, thank you!” The top half of your body is arranging your luggage in the seat, while your mother stares at the bottom half.

“(y/n?)” She asks, voice hushed yet stern, “What in the world are you doing?”

“Oh, mom! I-I’m just...” About a million lies run through your head. ‘I left something at the house,’ or ‘This was my cab, just dropped something in the back!’ One’s about to slip past your lips, but you choke. Maybe it’s time to start telling the truth, “I’m not leaving with you.” You’re facing her now, trying to read her expression. It’s actually kind of hard, until her eyes shoot harshly into the back of her skull.

“Yes you are, now get out of the car!” She grabs your wrist, but you yank it back.

“No, I’m not leaving! I’m staying and moving in with Maddie, and not getting married. At least not now, or to Warner! I don’t like him, and you don’t even care!” There’s pressure building in your rib cage, it feels like it’s about to crash and drown everything else out. Her mouth opens to speak, but just the thought of her voice makes you want to scream, “Don’t speak! Don’t say anything, there’s nothing you could say to mess me up anymore than you already have, so just stop!” You’re yelling. So loudly that it almost hurts.

“No, you stop! You owe this to your father, how can you be so selfish?” It doesn’t register that she actually said that. That anyone would actually say that.

“I owe him?!” She’s gripping your wrist again, trying to drag your body out of the cab and to where the man in question waits by the entrance.

“Yes! He’s provided you with a home, food, and private schooling for eighteen years! This is the least you can do to pay him back!” The pressure in your ribs finally crashes, and you see nothing but hot red.

“I owe him nothing! All the things you just named are basic things I need to survive. I owe him for not letting me starve?! That is ridiculous! If anything he owes me for all of the summers I wasted at dinner parties, or the months where I begged him to teach me how to ride a bike, or the spring break where I came home and said that the boys at school were bullying me and he was too busy on the phone to even hear me! Or for, I don’t know, not raising me?” There are tears welling in her eyes. You notice for the first time in a while that they’re the same as yours.

“Stop. Get out of the cab, you’re coming with us.”

“Give me one good reason why I should.” She stammers for a solid minute before you grab the cab door, ready to slam it in her face and drive far far away, “That’s what I thought, goodbye mom. Call me if you want.”

It takes four days of settling into the apartment before you can bring yourself to go see Yuta. Maddie and Johnny had harassed you for the last two, claiming that the boys moping was just getting harder to deal with.

(”Seriously (y/n,) please tell him that you’re here! I can’t take another rom-com!” Johnny had whined while dumping coffee grounds into your french press. Well, his old french press that he gave to you as a housewarming gift.

“I’m going to! I just need more time, that’s all.” You’re not lying, there’s still a lot to process. Your parents cut off your credit card basically as soon as their flight landed, which meant that your net worth was about fifty dollars. It was an adjustment to say the least.

“We get it, take your time!” Maddie interjected, taking a soft hand to your tensed shoulder while the other played with her new septum ring, “But maybe tell him before Friday?” You’re eyes widen while Johnny laughs into his mug, and you think about slapping Maddies hand away. You don’t, obviously, but you definitely think about it.

“How does giving me a time frame go along with waiting until I’m ready?!” You’re definitely whining, but it barely even matters. At least Johnny is laughing.

“I’m sorry! But if you wait forever then you’ll never do it, I know you!” You’re about to say that she’s right, but then her mouth opens again, “And he keeps asking if we can have dinner together...”

“I have to rush my reunion for your dinner party?” There was a meek ‘yes,’ then you rolling your eyes, “I love you. And hate you, but love you.” She smiled brightly and wrapped her arms around your shoulders.

“I love you too!” She pressed a kiss to your temple, Johnny may or may not have made a joke about being jealous. You remember thinking to yourself that there was only one thing in the world that would make this perfect.)

From where you stand now, it doesn’t look like Yuta’s moping at all. He’s surfing with a wide grin and whooping excitedly, you always thought it was so cute how he does that. It’s like he’s an endearing little kid, the kind that you want to give dessert to.

He finishes the wave off triumphantly, then pulls in with the tide. He looks calm. Calm and happy, until his eyes settle on you. At first he thinks you’re just any other tourist, but then your arms are waving as you wade into the cold water.

“(y/n?)” He shouts, eyebrows furrowing harshly, “What are you doing?” The whole ‘following Yuta into the ocean’ thing wasn’t exactly part of your plan, you didn’t even bring a swimsuit.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working in the store?” You respond as the water starts to soak the hem of your shorts. Yuta’s not sure if he should smile or cry, but either way he’s paddling towards you. He’s paddling towards you and you’re here.

“Aren’t you supposed to be gone?” His voice sounds strained, and you can’t wait until he’s close enough for you to explain everything, but in the meantime your mouth hangs open as he jumps off his board “Why are you still here?”

“I left them! My family, a-and fiance, I left them, I live here now! I live here, with Maddie we have an apartment and I left! Forever, I’m free a-and here!” Words are spilling out of your mouth like you can’t help it, and in a way you can’t “I’m here and yours, I’m here and mine!”

“S-so you’re not engaged anymore?” Everything feels frantic, like you have to say the right things as quickly as possible, which is ironic seeing as how before getting here you were sure that you wouldn’t even be able to speak to him. But it’s not like that. It’s more like you can’t breathe and the only thing that will give you air again is explaining all of this to the beautiful boy in front of you.

“No! I mean yes! I mean- shit! I mean that I don’t have a fiance anymore!” He’s smiling hopefully, something warm and beautiful blossoming your bodies.

“And you live here? Like, permanently?” You nod your head so fast that something sloshes between your ears.

“Yes! I live about fifteen minutes from the shack and ten minutes from you, not that I just know where your house is! You never told me that, so why would I know that?! Not like Johnny’s been at my apartment everyday for the past four days-” Then his lips are on yours, and they’re just as you remembered. Soft, hungry, and drenched in honey. He bites your lip softly, eliciting a quiet moan as your fingers tangle in the boy's hair. It’s a little bit shorter than last time, but you still like it nonetheless. You like everything about him, he could’ve grown an eleventh toe since your last meeting and you’d still like him.

“Why did you wait so long?” He grumbles before pressing a kiss to your jaw. You’re not exactly sure how you’re supposed to answer while he’s doing that, but it’s probably worth a shot.

“I-I was scared.” His face shoots up to look you in the eyes, wearing furrowed brows and quirked lips. All you can think of is kissing him again.

“Why were you scared?” The words make your cheeks flush terribly pink.

“Because! I thought that I like... Broke your heart! I thought you’d never want to see me again!” He pushes the side of your face softly, then presses kisses all over your skin. You think that you’ve drowned and gone to heaven.

“Of course I was heartbroken, because I missed you! All I could think of was how badly I wanted you back, sitting on the counter at the store. I never hated you!” He smiles widely, and you realize that it’s the same one from the first day in the surf shack. It’s warm, and inviting, and it heals something inside of you. Not everything, but definitely something, and you think that you want to kiss it off his face. So you do.

He wants to kiss you back like it’s what he needs to survive. So he does.

It’s a Wednesday, which usually means surfing with Yuta until you’re both sore everywhere. They’re your favorite days, but this one is painted a little differently. You’re standing on the shore with Johnny and Yuta while Maddie fumbles over waves. She’s fallen off three times (which is about where you would’ve drawn the line and come to shore,) but she’s determined. Before going out she said, ‘I am not coming in until I ride a wave. Guys, guys stop laughing!’ and she’s really sticking to it. It’s been almost an hour, you want her to catch one just so that you can go out.

“You’ve got this Maddie!” There’s almost a zero percent chance that she can hear you, but you feel guilty for not being able to help her back up after the fourth fall, “She’s going to have so many bruises.” Johnny suppresses a laugh, because even if the sweet girl can’t hear your cheering she will be able to pick up on Johnny teasing her. It’s like a radar.

“Says you! Remember that giant one on your butt that poked through your shorts?” You instinctively rub the spot where it was, cringing at the memory of not being able to sit anywhere for a week. You want to scold Johnny for bringing it up, but then Yuta pinches the skin on your hip and your brain stops working.

“I remember that bruise,” He mumbles into your hair, pressing a kiss quickly onto your scalp before reverting his eyes to Maddie, “made everything so damn difficult!” Johnny gags as you slap your boyfriend, who’s giggling in the chaos that he created. He tends to do that.

“Stop. Being. Gross.” You punctuate each word with a flick to his temple. He giggles and grabs your wrist, pressing a gentle kiss onto the skin of your palm. Then he flicks you back, to which you screech loudly, “Yuta! Stop it, oh my gosh!”

“What? Am I too gross? Personally I think-”

“Guys, look!” Johnny’s voice pulls you back to reality, but it’s okay. Reality has warm sand, and crystal blue waters, and your best friend in the world successfully riding her first wave. Before you can even process it Johnny is cheering like he’s her number one fan (he is. You know that he is,) “That’s my baby! That’s my freaking baby!”

“Go Maddie!” Even from far away, you can tell that she’s smiling. You’re smiling, Yuta is smiling, Johnny is more than smiling. Johnny is grinning like it’s going to split his face in half. Everyone cheers as she breaks the wave left, Yuta doing nothing more than letting out an incoherent whoops as Johnny runs out into the water. You briefly think that they’re doing what you and Yuta did after-

“Isn’t that exactly what we did after your first wave?” A laugh bubbles out of your throat while you wrap an arm around his dainty waist. His skin feels warm under your hand, you think that you want to live in that feeling for forever.

“I was just thinking that! And yes, yes it is.” Your words bring up a flood of memories; kissing underneath a setting sun, ‘I love you’s whispered into hot skin, and this beautiful feeling in your chest. A feeling that feels like everything is becoming right. You sink your head onto the boys shoulder, eyes trained on the crashing waves, “That was a good day.”

“The best one yet.” He turns so that you’re facing each other, and you know it’s because he’s going to kiss you. He always does this, then smiles with one side of his mouth, then pulls you in by the waist, then kisses you like he means it. It’s your routine, but one that you don’t think you’ll ever be tired of.

His hands skirt across your jaw, then yours in his hair. He’s never gotten used to how that feels, and you’ve never gotten used to the way he turns into putty under your hands. Maybe there are some things about Yuta that you’re not supposed to get used to, like the way that he giggles like a school girl whenever something is funny. His hand pushes your hair back, then cradles your neck and pulls you impossibly closer. It feels like everything is perfect.

“Come on nasties! We’re surfing!” Maddie splashes water at the two of you, pretending like she and Johnny weren’t doing the exact same thing less than two minutes ago. You were wrong before, now everything is perfect.

“Alright, alright, Yuta will you pass me my board?” He smirks while turning to pass the purple surfboard.

“The one that you chose because it matches my hair?” Maddie snorts at your boyfriend's quip as your cheeks go bright pink.

“Johnny, you promised not to tell!” You screech while chasing the tall boy into oncoming waves. Your respective partners tail behind, giggles slipping past their shouts of protest.

You think that nothing in the world could be more perfect than this, and you’re right.

#nakamoto yuta #yuta x reader #yuta fluff #yuta imagines #writekpop #admin r #im reposting bc the last one didnt show up in tags grr #if this doesnt show up idk what im gonna do :((#lemme know if u can see it pwease and enjoy!

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laylacooke · 4 years

Text

Enter the Werewolf || Miles & Layla

timing: Towards the end of July. parties: @ofmyownpack & @laylacooke summary: Miles and Layla have a training sesh that doesn’t go quite as planned.

She had googled the address on her phone and knowing that Indy was just fine with Ulf, Layla had decided to set out to Miles’ house for their overdue training session. It hadn’t taken her too long to get there. And when she arrived, she could already smell his scent from outside the house. Walking up to his front door, she knocked softly and waited. The last time she had seen Miles had been at the birthday party, but they hadn’t spoken. In fact, she hadn’t spoken to many people that night. But that was in the past, and today, she was here to learn and to grow in her skills as a werewolf.

Duke gave a couple of alert barks that someone was at the door but quietened as soon as Miles gave a firm ‘thank you’. He’d been expecting Layla, but you still couldn’t be too careful with all the hunters around, so Miles paid close attention to his senses as he approached the door, confirming the scent of the person outside before opening it to let her in. “Hey, how’s it going?” Duke got up to sniff too, greeting Layla politely. “Did you wanna talk about what you’re having trouble with? I got water or soda too if you want something to drink…”

Layla heard the barks from the dog residing just inside Miles’ house, and it wasn’t long before the door was open, and she was being greeted by the man and his dog. She hadn’t interacted with Miles much before this but knowing he could teach her things that she had yet to experience and learn was important, “Hey, Miles!” Seeing Duke come towards her, she smiled, “Hey Buddy. Who are you?” His question had drawn her attention from the dog, “Well, I guess I just want to be better and more capable of escaping, if I ever get into a situation that I might not be able to get out of. Luke had mentioned parkour. And maybe self-defense. I got caught by a vampire a while back, and luckily someone was there to save me, but I guess I’m just really lacking in knowing how to escape. And, uh, maybe water for later? Thanks.” She chewed on her bottom lip. She felt awkward bothering Miles, knowing their initial interaction hadn’t been the best during the Wolf Pack meeting, but she had hoped this would give them something to bond over.

Capable of escaping. Oof. That was never a nice thing to hear. It struck Miles with the gravity and reality of their situation; that there were those who would cage them at best and kill them at worse. “Parkour?” Miles gave a friendly chuckle. “Course his lil skinny ass would mention that. I never done anything like that myself, but I know how to run, and I know how to fight.” Miles ushered her fully inside, closing the door behind her and locking it for good measure. Couldn’t be too careful with everything going on. He took a couple bottles of water out of the fridge and headed downstairs with her, into the soundproofed and extra-reinforced basement. There was a bunch of workout equipment and mats around, but the gym wasn’t exactly the basement’s primary use.

“You can’t just lock yourself up every full moon or the wolf’ll go crazy, but I use this place for some transformations. We can train here for a bit before we start using the trees.” Miles positioned himself in front of her on one of the big, open areas of the basement. “Pretend I’m coming at you. Show me what you’d do.”

So, parkour was out of the question, but probably for the best. And if it really came down to it, Layla could always use the flips and things she’d learned as a cheerleader. She would make that skill come in handy somehow. “Running and fighting is probably better anyways. Plus, I was a cheerleader for almost five years. I can figure something out.”

She followed Miles through the house and down to his basement. Seeing how well prepared and reinforced everything seemed to be made her feel safe. If hunters, besides Kaden and Rio, were ever after her, she knew exactly where she’d probably go. “I...I learned that the hard way.” She didn’t want to get into it considering it was one of the many reasons she had let the fidget spinner take control of her life, “I went running with Ulf and Ari on the last full moon, and I think it helped.” There had been plenty of times before she had even made it to White Crest that she was sure she had changed and ran free, but she couldn’t remember it. Her mind had blocked it all leaving her in the dark about more than she probably ever needed to know. However, his request brought her back to the mission at hand; defense training, “Uh...okay. Well normally I just run, but when I’m scared my claws come out and my fangs, sometimes. I think my eyes change color too, but I’m not sure.” She hadn’t felt threatened or any sense of heightened emotion, so forcing the minor changes in herself, the tricks she had picked up when she was hypnotized, wasn’t working for her now.

"You were a cheerleader?" Miles asked. "That's cool. It's got a lot of the same skills as being a gymnast, right? Like you gotta be agile and flexible. That could come in handy for getting out of tight spots." He wasn't exactly the best-placed person to teach her how to adapt her cheerleading skills to lycanthropy, but he knew it was possible. Better for her to focus on something she already knew.

"That's good," he answered as she spoke about Ulfric and Ari. "Having someone with you is usually safer. That way if you get into trouble or lose control, you've got backup. Or someone to put you in check." He nodded, chewing the inside of his lip. "Okay, what you're talking about is involuntary transformations. Full disclosure, I was born a wolf, so it's nowhere near as bad for me, but we can work on it, if you want. You gotta get worked up though. It's tough to simulate that terror response."

“For my entire high school career. Even went to nationals at Disney World.” Layla laughed thinking back at that weekend. It was one of the highlights of her short life, especially considering her parents had let her go. Werewolf hunter training had taken precedence over most of her childhood and teenage years, so being able to feel normal for once had meant something more to her than most people her age. “And you’re right. You do. I could always show you a few things if you wanted me to.” She smiled. Maybe a Werewolf Cheerleading class was something she could offer up for her wolfy friends.

“I don’t know what I’d do without Ulfric and Ari.” She was grateful for their friendship. She had done a poor job of showing it, but she was working on making it up to both of them. “Involuntary changes. That’s what Ulf called it. He told me to be careful when that happens, and that it was the reason not chaining yourself on a full moon was important, so you don’t lose control before that time during the month.” Layla was wanting to take every step she could to keep everyone around her safe and to be a more aware and better version of herself, including the animalistic part of her being. “I just want to become a Zen wolf okay? I know I’m never going to be able to control myself quite as much as you, Luke, Ari, Ulf, and all the other born wolves, but I just want to be able to find peace with what I am and be the best version of a bitten wolf that I can be without being a threat to anyone around me.”

"They have cheerleading contests at Disney World?" Miles asked, flabbergasted. Sometimes the world beyond White Crest amazed him. He couldn't even picture how that would look. "I think I'm too heavy and bulky for cheerleading, unless I was the guy on the bottom of the pyramid or something," he chuckled. "I'd love to see what you got though."

He nodded as she spoke about Ulf and Ari. "We're built to have community around us. A pack. Ours might not be the most strictly structured, but we're there for each other, right? That's what counts." A Zen wolf. Now that was a hell of a thought. "Winn's a bitten wolf, ain't he?" Miles pondered. "He has decent control. Not... great, but he's got some practice under his belt. Maybe you'll never be able to do it quite the same way, but we can work on it."

“That they do. It’s like a really big deal, too.” Layla laughed when he mentioned being a cheerleader. “We had some guys who were really good. I think a few of them might have gotten scholarships, too.” She smiled thinking back on the day her friends from cheer had found out, but the smile soon faded with the reality of her situation. Thankfully Miles’ request pulled her from her own thoughts, “Uh, yeah. Sure.” It had been a while, and she was probably a little rusty, but it would give her something to show him when they started training.

“Yeah, we’re like the Island of Misfit Toys from Rudolph. But I guess it’s still a pretty special thing, right? To be able to have a pack?” It was one thing she had longed for after being shunned for so long by the wolves she had encountered before coming far enough North that most people didn’t know about her family and their legacy, “I think so, yeah. Is it true? What they say about the transformation, that it’s always going to be more painful for bitten wolves than born wolves?” She didn’t know if Miles knew the answer, but she had to ask.

“Well, good for them,” Miles answered with a casual smile as she mentioned the male cheerleaders. “Fuck gender roles. Do what makes you happy.” But that wasn’t really the topic at hand. With the threat in White Crest currently at an all-time high for wolves, Layla needed all the help and support she could get. “Yeah,” he answered sadly as she asked about the transformation. “Bitten wolves never have it quite the same as born ones, but that doesn’t mean you can’t live a perfectly happy life, okay?”

He brought her to the center of the room, making sure she was ready before getting in position to spar with her. He couldn’t exactly go full send with a teenager, but he wanted to test her reactions, see how her instincts were, see if he could make her inner wolf come out. Only then could he teach her how to stop it.

“Right? I’m pretty sure they’re living it up right now.” Layla could only assume, but she was still happy for her friends from back home, nonetheless. Miles’ news for her wasn’t so pleasant though. In fact, it brought her mood down even more knowing there would never be any relief in sight. She was doomed to feel the same excruciating pain repeatedly every month for the rest of her life, “I guess.”

Following him to the middle of the room, she knew whatever was about to happen was what the older wolf was preparing for. She could already feel her heart beating a little harder and faster just at the sense of him preparing to attack her. She didn’t know how or when he would start, but she already knew her wolf senses and skittishness were kicking in. After being out on her own for quite some time, fight or flight was something she automatically resorted to in situations instead of thinking logically about things. She could remember the day Ariana had found her in a dumpster in town, and the first thing she did was growl; the feeling of being able to take the smaller girl something she felt quite confident in. However, with Miles, it would be a different story.

It wasn’t the ideal situation. Miles was terrified of hurting her, but he buried that so he could focus on what had to be done. Layla wasn’t going to get through this if someone didn’t push her. He started sparring with her, giving little test jabs to test her response, seeing if she could block him. “Try harder,” he said, voice firm but fair. “Focus.” Another little jab, and another. He danced around her like they were in a boxing match.

When they started, Layla hadn’t expected the jabs so soon. The first one caught her off guard, but she soon started to catch on. She was a little rusty from having been out of training mode for so long, but as soon as she got the rhythm, she was blocking him left and right; her mind instantly going back to doing stuff like this with her father. However, he wasn’t fair. He had just been firm with her and a lot rougher. Putting on a concealer to hide bruises had become an everyday thing for her.

As Layla started to get into the sparring, Miles upped his game, moving quicker and making his movements more unpredictable. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he needed to push, just enough to get her to react, to get the wolf in her to come out.

Layla somehow managed to keep up, even though she could tell things were getting harder. She didn’t like fighting. It went against everything she believed in, and one of the only fights she had been in had been with Ariana, under the influence of a cursed fidget spinner. Every other altercation had been one sided with an outcome of leaving her injured or nearly left for dead.

Miles increased his speed and intensity, letting the wolf lead him. A guttural growl left his lips as he fought her, landing a few solid blows then grabbing her shoulders and pushing her into the wall, pinning her there. “Fight. Back.”

Layla didn’t expect to be pinned and when it happened, it took her back to the night she was bitten. Flashbacks held her paralyzed. What started out as something that was supposed to help her become a better wolf, left her on the floor begging for him not to hurt her, “Please stop! STOP!” She cowered in fear as tears seeped from the sides of her eyes. What she had hoped would happen, didn’t. No self-defense. No wolfing out. Just a reminder of what she had become.

Pushing him off her with her own wolf strength, she crawled over to a wall to catch her breath. Any other time and her claws were out, eyes golden, and teeth ready to rip, but any other time hadn’t been with another werewolf (aside from Ariana, when Layla wasn’t exactly herself).

Miles did as she asked, stopping and stepping backwards. He caught his breath, scanning her body for any partial transformation. There was none, but he could feel her panic. Her heartbeat echoed in his ears, loud as a drum. “I’m sorry,” he said, catching his breath too, stepping back and wiping his brow with a towel. “I don’t know how to help you.”

Her eyes were shut tightly. She just wanted to calm down and forget about everything that had just happened. And she wanted to suppress the past. Once she was calm enough to breathe, she raised her head, eyes now open and focused on Miles, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry…” It was all she could say. All she could do. At this rate, Layla wasn’t sure she would ever be able to survive as a natural predator or even just as a human being.

#para: enter the werewolf #ofmyownpack #wickedswriting

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fastlinesafetyny · 8 months

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monaisme · 3 years

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Day 11: hallucinations

Tony paced.

He’d screwed the pooch... hard.

The look on the kid’s face as he’d disappeared into the night after the whole ferry thing? That had been rough.

But this?

Coney Island was the game changer.

How, in the name of all that is holy, did he think that this kid would step back?—Just because Tony Stark told him to? Tony knew his origin story—KNEW that Peter Parker was a boy seeking redemption for another man’s crime.

And so Tony made the decision, one he should’ve made from the start. He’d commit to training him, tutoring him... Tony would unlock the world for him.

Thank goodness the kid was smart!

There were so many directions they could go in!

Maybe they could build another suit together? Then he wondered if Pepper would do up some paperwork and maybe they could give the kid an actual internship?! Yeah! He’d seen that kid’s desk and all those scavenged components from who knew what. If he could make those web shooters out of nothing, Tony imagined what he could do with a fully outfitted lab—Geez- Tony hadn’t done a lab binge with anyone since Bruce had, well... But the idea of watching the kid build something incredible with nothing but his own hands, like Tony kept trying and trying and trying to do.

Tony paused that train of thought for a second.

Nope. There was too much potential for deep shit happening there, and so he stopped it right there.

He definitely had to make a plan.

First, he’d need Happy. Midtown was just far enough that he’d need to collect him after school. He was sure Happy wouldn’t mind. He could get to know the kid, and then no one would have to worry about a replay of that damned beach.

Tony shuddered as he remembered the beach.

But no! That wouldn’t happen again, because the kid would be there on Tuesdays and... Fridays! Yeah, that would work. Maybe? Well, maybe every second Friday so Pepper wouldn’t get upset about his availability for those awful fundraisers and galas. They’d just need to be flexible, right? And then Pepper would be fine.

His brain was on fire with so many thoughts and ideas—“FRIDAY!” He called out. “Jot this stuff down, and when we’re done, Cc it to Pepper and Happy for me, okay?”

“Of course, Boss.” The AI replied.

Tony moved over to the bar cart tucked into the corner of the lab and poured himself a few fingers of whiskey. “Title the list, S.P.A.A.M.” He snorted as he said it and then took a mouthful of his drink. “He’ll get a kick out of it. Yeah. ‘Supply Peter An Awesome Mentor!”

Tony listed off his ideas aloud, detailing items to be created and for purchase; like the new refrigerator he’d need for drink pouches, cheese strings and whatever other nasty stuff teenagers snacked on. This lab was going to be a geek’s paradise.

Tony couldn’t wait.

“Boss,” FRIDAY spoke, unprompted, “If I may, there are some tasks that require mentioning as you plan your list.”

He gulped down the last swallow of his drink and walked back to the cart. “Fire away, Baby Girl!” he called out. “I’m nothing, if not a collaborator!” His hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle.

“Sir, while limited, there are existing studies that show a direct correlation between lab accidents and substance use—which in all case studies, included: alcohol, marijuana, illegally procured and/or incorrectly used prescription medications, cocaine, heroin, metha—“

“Got it! Stop!” He put the bottle down with a clank. “Seriously? You got anything else you wanna throw at me, FRI?”

“Yes, Boss, in a 2018 Global status report commissioned by the WHO, studies showed that excessive consumption of alcohol in the presence of minors—“

“WHOA! WHOA! WHOA! We were doing so well! First, what do you mean by excessive?! And second—where in the ever living hell is this coming from?!”

“Boss, over the course of the last several months, I have observed a greater than average consumption of alcoholic beverages during times when the consumption itself is not considered socially acceptable.”

“But—“

FRIDAY continued over her creator, “This information, along with the concerns voiced by Ms. Potts, Mr. Hogan, and Colonel Rhodes over the course of several conversations, and the addition of a minor child to the lab environment, has led me to surmise that there is a need for adjustments to your S.P.A.A.M. protocol.”

Forgetting about the whiskey for a minute, Tony walked over to his lab table and dropped onto the stool. “What kind of conversations are we talking about, FRI? And why haven’t I heard about them before now?”

“All referenced conversations were done with your wellbeing in mind, Boss. As I have only been programmed to report malicious intent, there was no need to make you aware.” FRIDAY paused. “I believe that Colonel Rhodes’ exclamation of “I could kill him!” was not an actual declaration of intent as neither Ms. Potts or Mr. Hogan reacted in an alarmed fashion, but if I am mistaken and need to adjust any subroutines, please advise.”

Tony was suddenly exhausted. “No, no. You’re fine, FRI. I’m just... huh.”

He sat in silence for a few minutes, thinking.

“They’re worried?”

“They are, Boss.”

“Huh.”

He sat silent for a few minutes more, and then finally, “FRI? What are the suggested task additions for the list?”

“Mr. Stark, removal of all alcohol from the lab would be the first and easiest suggestion.”

Tony didn’t disagree. “And the second?”

“Mr. Stark, it would be advisable that you participate in an alcohol detoxification program while under medical supervision before implementing any aspect of S.P.A.A.M. that includes Mr. Parker in a lab setting.”

“Huh.”

It was barely a beat before Tony jumped up, decision made.

The kid was going to be the best of them, and Tony would do whatever it took to make sure of it.

“FRIDAY, please locate all alcohol in the lab and on the private floors. We’ve apparently got some cleaning to do!”

It took longer than he thought it would but eventually every drop of alcohol had been dumped—with the exception of a bottle of scotch Howard had gifted Tony when he was eighteen years old—ironic, Tony thought, but whatever. He wasn’t too concerned about it though. All he needed to do was let Rhodey know about it and he’d be set.

And then he was done. “All right now, my dear AI, that was enough distraction. Let’s get back to the list.”

“Boss,” FRIDAY interrupted him again, “before we continue, might I suggest that you gather some essentials in the event of a medical emergency?”

“Update the first aid kits! Good call, FRI! Add that to the list!”

“Addition noted, sir, but I was referring to the need to manage symptoms of your imminent alcohol withdrawal if you choose to ignore the medical supervision aspect of the suggestion.”

The “Denial Tony” that Pepper, Rhodey and Happy all knew and despised, emerged in that moment. “It’s gonna be fine, Baby Girl. I’m not that bad. I promise.” And Tony moved to a corner of the lab, intent on organizing it for his future intern.

Of course, Tony chose to disregard the headache, after all, it was just a headache and he’d only gotten in a few hours of actual work. It wasn’t his first, and it most certainly would not be his last—so he worked on.

The hands shaking started soon after that and he realized that he hadn’t really had much to drink since earlier in the day—and if he was getting up, he may as well grab some Tylenol, too.

The nausea kicked in within minutes of the water washing down the painkillers and Tony cursed himself for drinking all of that water too fast and taking the painkillers on an empty stomach.

What an idiot move on his part.

And then he cursed himself more as he lunged for the garbage can to empty the contents of his stomach.

Tony groaned.

“Mr. Stark, would you like me to contact the medical floor and ask for assistance?”

“no,” he grunted out. “m’fine,” and then continued to heave up every single thing he’d ever consumed in the entirety of his whole damned life.

“Mr. Stark, please be advised that in the event you refuse medical intervention during an extended period of compromised health, a subroutine installed by Colonel Rhodes will be initiated. This will allow me to override your directive and contact one of your personal emergency contacts. I am allowed to ask for a preference, but in this case, Happy Hogan is currently on-site. Because you are still conscious and not actively bleeding, you have fifteen minutes to exhibit signs of improvement.”

Tony spit into the garbage can, breathing heavy, then glared at the ceiling. “I keep forgetting the asshole went to MIT. shit.”

Being left with no choice, Tony stood up from the floor where he’d curled around the can. He only staggered a little as he made his way toward his nap couch, then sat. “What happens if I decide to take a nap?” He called out. “Are you still gonna narc on me?”

FRIDAY responded, “I will continue to monitor, Boss, and will make that determination as your vitals dictate.”

“Awesome,” he groaned and swung his legs up onto the couch before settling his head down on the throw pillow. “Let me know how it works out, FRI!”

Tony closed his eyes.

He didn’t know how long it was before he woke from his dose. Something must have been malfunctioning, though, ‘cuz he couldn’t take the unbearable heat anymore. “FRIDAY! You gotta lower the heat,” he called out. “I’s like a sauna in here.” He pulled off the hoodie he’d been sporting all day, hoping he’d cool off.

“Mr. Stark, it is currently 68F with humidity resting steady at 43%. Are you certain you would like me to adjust settings?”

Even in his muddled state, the scientist in Tony knew that those conditions were optimal. Any major fluctuations could mess with the sensitive equipment he used for his suits. “Never mind,” he replied, and decided to try and get back to sleep.

Tony wasn’t sure if it was his heart racing or FRIDAY’s announcement that Happy Hogan had been notified of Tony’s condition per Rhodey’s protocol and was on his way that woke him up this time, but he was up—

And he felt like death.

But it was okay. He was fine.

It was just that his heart hadn’t beat like this since Tennessee but then he and Pepper had gotten back together and everything was fine. He was fine.

He vomited again, this time on the floor.

He felt disgusting.

He was disgusting.

“Of course you are! Look at you!” Of course. Howard was always around to rub it in whenever Tony wasn’t peak Stark.

“Please don’t, Dad. I can’t deal with you right now.” Tony pulled the throw cushion over his face to block him out.

“Of course you’re gonna try to hide! Pure Tony! Always running away from the consequences of your actions. Well, maybe you’ll listen to your mother!”

“Howard, hush. Can’t you see that he’s not feeling well?”

Tony sat right up, “Mom?”

She smiled at him, looking as beautiful as always. “Sweetheart, why aren’t you in bed? I know how much you need your sleep when you’re sick.”

“I’m... I...” Tony couldn’t find the words.

A hand pressed to his forehead.

“Speak up, boy! I—I- just spit it out! For fuck’s sake! Stark men are made of iron! You know this!” Howard looked down at him, “You’re no Stark at all, are you?”

Tony tried to stand, but a hand on his shoulder kept him in place, so he continued, “Dad, I’m trying so hard! There’s a kid—he’s...”

“Of course there’s a kid.” Howard spit out in disgust. “ Perfect. Some bastard floating around out there, demanding power and prestige just because you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants.” Howard stepped forward, intimidating. “MIT was supposed to make you into a man, but you and your progeny are nothing.”

Visions of Peter on the ferry while pulling together tonnes of steel overlapped with burning sand and vulture wings. “No! Pete’s... Pete’s a good kid. I’m gonna... I’m...”

“Yeah, Boss, he is a good kid and you’re gonna do great by him. I know it.” Happy finished his thought as he kneeled on the floor in front of him.

Tony blinked back into reality. “Happy?” He looked around the lab, feeling more and more frantic as the minutes passed. “Mom? Mom?! Happy?” He grasped at Happy’s suit jacket. “Where is she?!”

“Hey, hey! Tony, you’re okay!” Happy called him back into the moment. “I’ll go looking for her in a minute, okay?”

“Happy! She was right here and...”

“I know, Tony. It’s okay. Shh-sh-sh-“ Happy cleaned his face with a damp cloth. “We’re gonna get you somewhere safe and then I’ll go look for her for you, alright?”

Tony was confused. She’d been right there—and Howard? But he trusted Happy and so, “Yeah, okay. Safe.”

Happy hauled him to the elevator. Literally. “suppos’d be made o’iron...” he kept mumbling, but then the elevator doors opened, revealing his mother once more.

Tony beamed. “Mom! You’re back!”

And she spoke, “You know, you may be a Stark, but you have Carbonell blood running through your veins, too, Anthony—and trust me, they weren’t made of iron.

“Not iron?”

She smiled at him so lovingly, “No, son. They were made of earth and wind and heat. They lived for muddy fingers and grape stained toes.”

“Fingers and toes?”

“Yes, son, fingers and toes. They were joy and sunshine and laughter... no iron in them at all. Just joy.”

He looked at her, feeling maybe hopeful, “So ‘m a Carbonell.”

A hand touched his cheek.

“Yes, son, you are my joy.”

And Tony began to weep.

Happy increased his speed after gathering up his friend in his arms. “FRIDAY, make sure Cho is ready to receive. I know you tracked his day, too. Make sure she’s got a timeline.”

“All information has been relayed.”

Happy shifted the man as he waited for the elevator to reach the med bay floor. “Tony,” he whispered to him, “You son of a bitch. You gotta tell the people who love you about shit like this so we can take care of you.” The doors opened and Happy rushed down the hall. “You’ll get through this buddy. We’ve got you.”

* * * * * *

It wasn’t the next Tuesday, or even the Tuesday after that. It was the third Tuesday after that fateful day at the beach when Peter finally arrived at the tower for his first official internship day.

Tony was waiting in the front lobby, looking pale and a little thinner than the last time Peter had seen him, but feeling more present than he had in a long time.

“Mr. Stark! Oh, m’gosh! I cannot believe I’ve got an actual internship! When I told Ned that I’d actually be in your labs he almost died! This is gonna be so awesome!” Peter bounded up to him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“It is going to be incredible, kid! Wait until you see what I’ve done to the lab! And you have to take pictures of the fridge to send to Ted when we get there. Did you have any idea how many different types of drink pouches there are? I know I’m a billionaire, but we’re gonna have to whittle that selection down a little.”

Peter laughed as Tony led him to the private elevator. “Mr. Stark, you have no idea—this is like, on the top of my bucket list, having any sort of anything at Stark Industries! Like, if I died right now, I’d be the happiest person to have ever died—not that I want to die, it’s just...” Peter seemed lost for words. “Just,” Peter made some primal sound that Tony figured spoke volumes more than everything else the boy could manage to articulate. “This was right above going to Italy with May—but don’t tell May that it was above, ‘cuz she’ll try to make me some pasta or something to convince me I was wrong and then I’ll really be dead.”

Tony’s heart warmed and he threw his arm around Peter’s shoulder. “Hey, speaking of Italy! I have recently been reminded that my family has a vineyard there...”

@febuwhump

#febuwhump #febuwhump2021 #fanfiction #alcoholism #detox #redemption

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royaltealovingkookiness · 5 years

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@zutaraweek Prompt: Found.

Summary: Katara is snooping around, looking for trinkets that help her solve the Zuko-Puzzle. Ember Island days, canon compliant. Read on AO3 or below.

“What do you think you’ll find up there?” Suki asks as Katara heads again to the dusty attic, laced with cobwebs.

It is a good question. Katara mutters something about pots and pans, ignoring Suki’s amused smile. Of course, the kitchen in the summer house is the best-equipped Katara has ever seen in her life, and yes, she’s been cooking for the team with nothing more than a clay rice-pot for the last couple of months. Also, it’s not her first visit to the attic. Or the second. Or the third.

The royal vacation home is full of trinkets. Some of them really useful, like the colourful paper lanterns that now adorn the patio or the parasols that come handy on the beach.

But it’s the other things that draw Katara back; objects that tell a story about Zuko. And now that they’ve become friends, Katara is eager to learn more.

-0-

The cedarwood-chest is full of Zuko-memorabilia, no doubt carefully collected by his mother. There are strands of silky hair tied together with ribbons, baby-teeth sewn into an ornate pocket, tiny handprints in clay.

Katara opens something that looks like a school-report:

Could do better in his lessons if he were less prone to daydreaming.

Shows great talent in all fields of athletics.

Great aptitude for music. Can read notes proficiently and sing clearly. His interest should be nurtured further…

Katara smiles as she imagines him as a schoolboy. She pictures a young boy with dreamy eyes.

A handful of tiny red papers, rolled into cylinder shapes grab her attention. She unrolls one randomly. It’s a prayer, written in the clumsy scribbles of a child.

Agni, please give me bigger sparks. I think Father might like me more if you did.

Katara feels like she’s intruding on something entirely too private, so she rolls back up the tiny scroll and puts it back in the box.

Maybe she could just ask Zuko, but he rarely volunteers any private information. He trains Aang, does his share of the chores, hangs out with the group mostly quietly, sometimes making the effort to butcher one of his uncle’s jokes. Katara wonders if it’s painful for him to be back in this place, conspiring to bring his own father down. For the first time she admits to herself that he’s not in an enviable position.

-0-

The objects serve as conversation-starters. The first thing she brings to him is the drawing of a dragon; made in red and gold ink with bold strokes. The proportions are all wrong, but the eyes of the dragon are strangely expressive. Pain and compassion.

“Did you draw this?” she asks curiously.

A small, wistful smile forms on Zuko’s lips as he turns the paper around. “Yeah. I was trying to explain to Azula what the dragons in my dream looked like.”

“You are quite talented.”

He playfully puts his fingers on his lips. “Don’t tell Sokka, he’ll challenge me to a painting kai.”

Katara promises to keep it as their secret. It feels nice to have a secret to share.

-0-

“Did you make these?” She scatters colourful paper-animals on the steps during the training break. He picks up a badger-frog and makes it skip.

“Some of it. Mum taught Azula and me. You see? Those perfect ones are hers.” There is barely disguised bitterness in his voice. His sister’s perfection seems to be a permanent shadow he still struggles with. “I probably made all the crooked ones.”

Katara picks up a fire-hawk from the crooked pile. “Can you teach me this one?”

“Sure, it’s not that hard,” he nods.

He folds the paper in deep concentration, his tongue sticking out from the effort. It makes him look like a kid. The folds are perfectly aligned. Katara copies his movements carefully.

The others all gravitate towards them, first watching, then joining in. Even Toph insists on having a go, letting Zuko guide her hands through the motions to make a lotus.

Sokka - who else - suggests a frog-jumping competition, adding extra folds to upgrade his design. Instead of jumping, his frog spins around madly, which inspires new and even more extravagant designs. Soon, the steps are covered with mythical creatures, monsters and strange animal hybrids. Most of them crooked. Nobody really cares. Laughter echoes among the old pillars; Zuko’s chuckles melding into the group’s merriment.

-0-

“I really like this one.” She picks up one of the kites. It’s blue like the sea, decorated with a sea-lion.

His eyes turn sad. “It was Lu Ten’s.”

Katara has no idea who he’s talking about, but the heaviness of his voice implies a tragic story. She waits patiently. Zuko pulls his fingers along the reed crossbars. “My cousin, Uncle’s son. He died in the war.”

“I’m sorry. Were you close?”

“He was older than me and he knew the best games. He taught me to sneak around, to wrestle, to fly kites,” Zuko smiles, lost in good memories. “I wish he was still alive, things would be different…” ha adds quietly.

Before Katara has a chance to ask what he means, Aang interrupts with an enthusiastic yell. “These are some great kites. I haven’t flown one in a century!”

Inevitably, Sokka appears to examine them. Ten minutes later, the entire group is down by the beach flying kites. Zuko is running close to Aang to get the airbending boost. He’s holding the string of Lu Ten’s kite, the blue silk is flying impossibly high.

-0-

Katara drags out a heavy box full of instruments. The tsungi horn is on top.

“Can you play this thing?” she asks, thinking of the old school report.

“A little,” Zuko replies shortly, keeping his eye on Aang’s movements as he drills the new set.

Aang perks up immediately and stops practicing. “I love music.”

“You have firebending practice to do,” Zuko replies strictly. He’s relentless with Aang.

“Come on, Zuko. Practice, practice, practice. I never get to have any fun anymore,” Aang pouts.

Zuko looks at Katara. Positive reinforcement, her lips form the words silently. It’s an argument they have had quite a few times.

“I’ll tell you what. If you can do this set perfectly by the end of the day, we’ll do music night,” Zuko offers.

Aang restarts his practice more enthusiastically, his concentration and form are perfect. As the sun starts to disappear on the horizon, Zuko declares the set mastered.

He puts the horn to his lips and starts playing, eyes closed. The courtyard grows quiet. The music sounds both strange and beautiful to Katara’s ears. Clearly, he knows more than a little.

-0-

One early morning she drags a surf-board to the beach, where Zuko sits in quiet meditation waiting for the sunrise. The others are still sleeping in the house.

“Do you know how to use it?”

“Don’t tell me you want me to teach you,” Zuko looks at her in confusion.

“Actually, I had something else in mind.” Katara bends her own surfboard and spins around on top of the wave. “Come on, the water is delicious.”

Zuko watches her with a skeptical expression, but he picks up the surfboard and starts to paddle in deeper. Katara gives him a big boost with a wave of her arm. “That’s really neat,” laughs Zuko.

Balancing himself on the board, he starts moving with the waves. He’s not half-bad for a firebender. Every once in a while, Katara sends him on a spin. On the first two tries, he ends up under the water, but by the third attempt he figures out the rhythm of her bending and moves with it. They chase the waves in the rising sun, their laughter carried by the water.

Katara collapses in the warm sand, the dancing waves coursing inside her veins, making her feel alive. Zuko soaks in the rising sun, covering his feet in sand.

“This was fun,” Katara giggles.

“Last time I was out there, Azula set my surfboard on fire because I won some stupid game we were playing,” he notes. He doesn’t make it sound like anything out of the ordinary, but rather a regular occurrence. Just a normal day in the family. Katara’s stomach squeezes painfully at the thought of growing up like that, constantly watching your back, wondering if your family really hates you.

He shakes his head, as if to get rid of the bad memories and smiles at her. “But surfing with a water-bender is certainly an experience I never knew I needed.” There is no sarcasm in his voice. “It’s great to have you guys here. It makes this place come alive again.”

Katara nods. “We all love it here, you know. Sokka swears it’s the best place in the entire world.”

“Maybe, after...after this is all over, we could come here for a real vacation.” His voice is a bit shy and hesitant, as if he feared they would turn him down. As if he still didn’t believe that they are friends now.

Katara for one can’t think of anything better than winning the war and taking a long holiday on Ember Island. “That would be great, Zuko.”

She puts her hand on top of his. He watches it intently, like a painter trying to commit to memory every detail. After a long beat of silence he pulls away his hand.

“I’d better wake up Aang,” he says and heads back towards the house.

Katara leans back against the old, battered surf-board, enjoying the last quiet minutes of the morning.

She thinks that after breakfast, she’ll go back to the attic. These objects are part of the puzzle, through them she’s found the real Zuko. But maybe there are more layers to be found. And maybe, through all this, he’s found something too.

#atla #atla fanfic #zutara week #brusselssprout writes #ember island #zuko #katara #zutara #zutara week 2019 #katara was really snooping #gaang #momtara #dadko #canon compliant #sort of genfic #found family

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sjrresearch · 4 years

Text

Bataan and Corregidor 1941-42 - Part 1

Last Stand of the “Battered Ba%$$rds”

(This article is credited to Jason Weiser. Jason is a long-time wargamer with published works in the Journal of the Society of Twentieth Century Wargamers; Miniature Wargames Magazine; and Wargames, Strategy, and Soldier.)

At the start of the Pacific War, the Philippines became a central target for the Japanese, and the islands were turned into a battleground. The events that unfolded at Bataan and Corregidor during the Japanese assault is not only an important piece of World War II history, it provides an incredible framework for potential wargaming scenarios.

Over a series of three posts, we will look at Bataan and Corregidor in-depth, starting with the lead up to the Philippines’ conflict and ending with an understanding of how learning about these locations can help construct wargaming scenarios. It has also been fodder for several fine boardgames on the topic.

Part 1, The Forces Gather

Author’s Note: Though both Philippine and American units fought in Bataan, I will refer to them as “American” collectively.

Most Americans aren’t familiar with names like Bataan and Corregidor. Like most historical topics in grade school, it’s quickly taught and forgotten by everyone, save for historical enthusiasts. In the Philippines, it’s akin to Bunker Hill, or Yorktown. To them, these places are where the modern Philippine nation was founded. Like many others, it was a nation bred on the battlefield.

The Philippines was in a unique state since 1898, when the United States had assumed control of the islands in the wake of the Spanish-American War. In 1935, the Philippines was made an American commonwealth, and a gradual process of making the islands ready for independence by 1946 was begun. To help form an independent Philippine armed forces, General Douglas McArthur was brought in by a Philippine government with the lofty rank of Field Marshal to try to modernize the defenses of the Philippines.

McArthur was seemingly a good choice for advising the nascent Philippine Republic, having served in the islands in his first assignment (1903-1906) after graduation from West Point while his father was Governor-General. He then spent time touring Japan (the future enemy of the Philippines) as his father’s aide de camp, and thus, had seen the Japanese soldier up close. Furthermore, Douglas McArthur and the president of the Philippines, Manuel Quezon, also had a personal relationship, as President Quezon had been friends with McArthur’s father during the latter’s time as Governor-General of the Philippines 35 years before. All of this made McArthur a shoo-in for the job of building a Philippine army.

There were also other incentives to McArthur taking the job. He had just concluded his term as Army Chief of Staff, and his relationship with the new Roosevelt administration was poor, at best (he had been involved in the suppression of the Bonus Marchers in 1932). Though McArthur completed his term in October of 1935, he probably hoped for a change of scenery. One of the assistants McArthur brought with him on this assignment was none other than Dwight D. Eisenhower.

What they found was an army that existed only on paper. Weapons were cast-offs from U.S. service and were of dubious provenance. The first class of trainees wasn’t due for another two years, and the camps to train them hadn’t been built either. And the budget to accomplish all of this was paltry at best. The Philippine Army lacked basics, like uniforms and even boots, with many divisions having to make do with the despised blue denim uniforms that had just been put out of U.S. service. The Navy and Air Corps weren’t doing much better, with the latter only forming their first squadron in 1939.

Worse, the level of training of the Army was poor, with one source stating:

“The men in the 31st Infantry [Division] were more fortunate than those in other regiments, many of whom had never even fired a rifle before entering combat. Nor had their previous five and a half months training under Philippine Army supervision been of much value…Practically none of the men…had fired as many as five rounds with the rifle or the .30 -caliber machine gun. None had fired the .50 caliber machine gun or the mortar.” (pp 29. The Fall of the Philippines, Morton, Lewis, US Army Center for Military History, Washington DC, 1953)

Contrast this with his Japanese opponent, who was most likely a veteran of the ten-year war in China, and was, supply deficiencies aside, well-trained and more than willing to come to grips with his opponent. The Philippine soldier was not ready for war, but war would be thrust upon him anyhow. This wasn’t true of all Filipino soldiers, as the Philippine Scouts, who numbered 12,000, were considered some of the best troops in the pre-war U.S. Army and were relatively well-equipped. However, they were under direct American command, and not under the command of the Philippine Army.

The U.S. troops in the islands themselves numbered 31,095 on the eve of war, and they had their own deficiencies. Funds were short for many years, and until September 1941, no reinforcements had arrived from the United States.

In September, the 200th Coast Artillery Regiment (Anti-Aircraft) arrived, bringing much needed additional anti-aircraft guns. In October, two tank battalions, the 192nd and the 194th, arrived in the islands, with 108 M3 Light Tanks between them, both units were soon formed into a Provisional Tank Group.

In addition, more P-40s and B-17s arrived to reinforce the U.S. Army Air Corps (USAAC) squadrons deployed throughout the islands. These were some of the most modern aircraft in the USAAC at the time, so this was meant as a deterrent to Japan and a signal that the United States was making a major investment in defense of the islands. At the outbreak of war, there were 277 USAAC aircraft of all types in the Philippines, most either at Clark or Nichols Fields on the main island of Luzon. There was also the construction of additional airfields, and many of them were built just in time. However, early warning capabilities against Japanese air attacks were woefully inadequate, and this would come back to haunt the Americans. For example, of the seven radar sets present in the islands, only two had been set up and were working.

Meanwhile, the naval presence in the islands was reliant on the U.S. and consisted of the Asiatic Fleet under Admiral Thomas Hart. His force was more to protect American commercial interests in China and “show the flag” rather than be any real impediment to Japanese aggression. The heaviest he had available was the heavy cruiser Houston, and most of the ships he had were of World War I vintage. His air arm consisted of some PBY patrol aircraft, which were useful, and he had at his disposal the 4th Marine Regiment in Shanghai at the beginning of 1941, but the regiment evacuated to the Philippines in late-November. Hart’s hope was that he could rely on support either from the British, or the Dutch, who had larger fleets in Southeast Asia, or the Pacific Fleet in Hawaii. All of these hopes were, of course, to be cruelly dashed when war came. The only ships Hart had in abundance were submarines, having 29 available as of November 1941. However, American torpedo design did little to help these submarines, as the standard Mark 14 torpedo had a high dud rate, and often, American subs were frustrated in the early part of the war in sinking targets they would have otherwise destroyed had they had better torpedoes.

In March 1941, McArthur was recalled to the U.S. Army and was placed in command of all American forces in the Philippines. Despite assurances and little to work with, McArthur had put together a force of 100,000 men to defend the Philippines. But the force still had many deficiencies, and not all of them, despite efforts on both sides of the Pacific to address them, were rectified in time. Many of these deficiencies would haunt the defenders of Bataan in the months to come.

Japanese Forces and Plans

The Japanese invasion plan for the Philippines was part of an even larger strategy that had been arrived at by the Imperial General Headquarters. It had been derived from separate Army and Navy plans, which had differed little in content. The strategic goal was simple: Seize Malaya for its rubber, the Dutch East Indies (Indonesia) for its oil, and expand a defensive perimeter as far out as possible to ensure that any attempt to push the Japanese back was a bloody one, and the Americans and British would prefer a negotiated peace to a long, intractable war. Many of the planned assaults were scheduled to occur within hours of the attack on Pearl Harbor.

The Philippines was an objective for two reasons. First, it was a linchpin in the sea lines of communication (SLOC) with the proposed advance into the Dutch East Indies and Malaya. The islands needed to fall to ensure the Japanese had a secure rear area. Secondly, Manila harbor was, and still is, one of the finest deep-water ports in Southeast Asia. The Japanese needed access to that as well to sustain their advance to the south.

The plan as it stood was for simultaneous air attacks on all American installations within hours of the attack on Pearl Harbor. While this was going on, the Japanese 14th Army was to land along the north coast of Luzon and at Davao on the island of Mindanao. Both islands were the most populated in the Philippine chain. The initial objective was to seize airfields to allow the Japanese Army Air Force to provide direct air support to the forces ashore. Once the main part of the USAAC strength was wiped out, the bulk of the 14th Army was to land in Lingayen Gulf just north of Manila and Limon Bay, southeast of Manila. The two prongs of advance were then to advance quickly to Manila, trap the Americans between them, and destroy the enemy in a decisive battle somewhere near Manila. The 14th Army, under the command of General Masaharu Homma, had been given 50 days to complete this task, whereupon half of his command and most of his air support would leave to support operations to the south. As we shall see, the Japanese came nowhere close to meeting this ambitious timetable.

The Japanese planning and information gathering had been meticulous, and they had a very good idea what they would be facing in the Philippines. The Japanese were of the opinion that Americans were good soldiers, but not up to the task of prolonged combat in the tropical jungles that made up a good portion of Luzon. Additionally, Japan did not think much of the Philippine soldier at all.

The main flaw in the Japanese invasion planning was they expected the American force would make its last stand around Manila, and then die in place. The Japanese had no plan for any contingency where the Americans withdrew into Bataan and fortified the peninsula.

As the Japanese expected a relatively easy campaign, they only allotted two divisions, the 16th and 48th Infantry Divisions. It was this over-confidence and optimistic planning that would cost them dearly in the campaign to come.

To be continued in Part 2 – The Curtain Rises – War Comes to the Philippines

At SJR Research, we specialize in creating compelling narratives and provide research to give your game the kind of details that engage your players and create a resonant world they want to spend time in. If you are interested in learning more about our gaming research services, you can browse SJR Research’s service on our site at SJR Research.

#gaming

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hannahmcne · 4 years

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Westward; Eastbound

"Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

Ben crept around the coffee table with a grin plastered onto his face. He spotted a pair of light purple and pink-spotted socks peeking out from behind a heavy grey curtain and jumped forward to brush them away. A doll fell forward onto the floor beside his feet. Bamboozled again.

"Oh, come on!" He complained, turning to look back around the room. "You need to play fair!"

A giggle sounded from behind the couch. Ben pivoted and leaned over, but there was no one there. He wasn't to be fooled again though, so he flipped open the lid of the blanket basket and laughed when his eight-year-old looked up with a shocked expression. "Found you!" He exclaimed.

"What?" She squawked. "You never look there!"

"Are you keeping track?" He laughed. "I didn't think you could fit in there."

"I'm stuck," Belle nodded. "Can you help me out?"

Ben began to laugh in earnest as he leaned down and pried his wayward daughter out of her hiding place. It was a miracle she'd been able to fit. The basket was barely as big as she was. Belle finally stood up amongst the blankets and dusted off her blue dress. "Ugh, it was so stuffy in there," she snorted, holding her head up high. Ben rolled his eyes as she glanced over towards the window and let out a dramatic gasp. "You knocked Molly over!" she exclaimed and jumped out of the basket to rescue the doll.

"I was busy looking for you!" Ben protested as she scooped up the doll, which was half as big as she was, and combed its hair in a comforting manner. The doll was made of plastic and had the dimensions of a real-life toddler. It had been designed for a medical class so technicians could learn CPR and other lifesaving procedures for children. A pediatrician had brought one to Belle's public school and she'd been so impressed that she'd come home and taken up dozens of extra chores to earn one. She was a far cry from the Belle who would have thrown a tantrum for the thing. Ben honestly hated it. It made alarm sounds if you turned it upside down for too long or if it was trapped under something heavy or if something knocked into it hard. There was also a computer feature on it where it would cry every so often and you had to feed it or cradle it or do something to make it stop. It was supposed to mimic an actual child, but it only made it all the more creepy. Belle adored it, but Ben made her switch off the automatic crying every night before she went to bed.

Ben sighed and crouched down beside Belle as she checked the doll's arm, listened for breathing, and then went back to combing her brown hair. "Is she okay?" He asked.

Belle nodded. "I think so," she agreed and then adjusted the doll's dress so it fit better against the doll's body."

"Your Majesty?" Someone called from the door. Ben looked up. The door had been left open and a footman was now waiting in the doorway.

"Yes?" Ben asked, standing up straight and fixing the cuffs on his shirt.

"You're needed in your office," the foreman informed him. "It'll only be a moment."

Ben nodded and patted Belle on the shoulder. "You can stay here," he told her, "Or you can go find Mom. I think she went for a walk after she got off work."

"I have to stay here and make sure Molly doesn't have any bruises," Belle huffed dramatically. She flipped over her wrist and examined her pink plastic watch. It had come in a children's meal from a fast-food restaurant they'd stopped at on their way home from a meeting and she liked it more than the glass-face watch Audrey had gotten for her years ago. This was a toy Ben approved of - he could give her the day's schedule and she'd meticulously write in her assignments alongside his and every once in a while come back to him to compare his watch to hers and make sure both were correct. "Oh, and it's almost nap time and I haven't picked out a book for her!"

"Naptime?" Ben asked. "What about lunch?"

"It can wait," Belle huffed. "Or, actually-" she glanced at her watch again and furrowed her brow. "No, it can't! I have to go to the library afterward to pick out a book to show Grandma and then Mom's going to be here to take me to the park!" She threw her head back in exasperation. "There's not enough time in the day!"

"Your majesty?" The footman called from the door.

"Coming!" Ben got to his feet and crossed the room quickly. The footman began to walk ahead of him to his office, glancing back at every corner to make sure he was still coming. Ben followed to the office and discovered that three people were inside, waiting for him. It was the Charming family, consisting of Chad, his wife Alexis, and their son Liam. "Chad!" Ben exclaimed, stepping forward and clapping his old friend on the back as they exchanged a hug. "It's marvelous to see you again!"

"Hello, Ben," Chad returned the hug, but not with as much enthusiasm. They broke apart and Ben took a seat behind his desk. Everyone else sat down in front of him without being prompted. Chad didn't even take the time to re-introduce his son and mention that he was sitting in on this meeting for future training or anything. Ben frowned.

"We have news," Chad explained without being prompted. "An emergency, I'm afraid. It came to my attention late last night and we came straight away to inform you in person." He withdrew a photo from a file case that had been set on a seat and slid a photo forward to Ben. Ben leaned forward and frowned. He recognized it immediately. It was the Isle of the Lost. And, near the old port where the magical bridge would be conjured up if anyone ever decided to go over, there was a visible hole underneath it.

"How long has that been there?" Ben asked, picking up the photo to examine it further. It was quite a wide rip… maybe thirty feet across.

"Since two days ago," Chad admitted. "My overseers saw it open and tried to remotely close it, but I'm afraid the equipment is rather old and… well, it doesn't work anymore. After doing everything they could, they brought the matter to me and now I'm bringing it to you. We've already sent out a ship to guard the opening, but it's possible something with magic… like Dr. Facilier, Ursula, or - God forbid - Maleficent might have already escaped."

"Maleficent?" A voice repeated from the doorway. Everyone turned. Audrey was standing in the doorway, looking startled. Ben's face softened to see her.

"Hey," he smiled and got to his feet. "How was your walk?"

"Fine," She stepped inside and took his hands. They shared a quick hello kiss. "What's going on?"

"The barrier to the Isle of the Lost is broken," Chad explained. "We found it two days ago."

"And Maleficent escaped?" Audrey asked, crossing her arms.

"No." Ben shook his head and retook his seat. "That's just speculation. So far, we have a ship out watching it and no one's escaped that we know of."

"The Isle has been quiet for the last few years," Chad speculated, rubbing the base of his chin. "If they've been planning something and they were quick… they could have got away."

"What do you mean by quiet?" Audrey demanded, then looked down at Ben. "Do we know where everyone is?"

"Oh, we keep track of most of the villains and note when they appear on cameras," Chad butted in before Ben could respond. "But two years ago, all the children stopped showing up on the cameras. Everyone twenty-two to four went underground. There are new kids now, of course, but we think the older ones went to the back of the Island, away from their parents."

Ben pinched his lips together to suppress a little smile and then continued examining the photo. The older children had escaped - underneath Chad's nose - and headed to the West, where they now had their own little place of safety away from their parents, ruled by a three-person team. It wasn't quite a secret that they were there - plenty of the contractors and constructors who had headed over knew the villain kids quite well and a few people traveled over without ever knowing whose territory they were going through, but Ben hadn't announced them at the request of Evie, who wanted to establish the community before it was added to Auradon as a Kingdom.

"What are we going to do?" Audrey asked, glancing down on the photo and then shifting her weight from side to side. "Is there anything we can do?"

"We ought to count the villains on the Isle right now," Ben decided, taking the photo and turning it upside down. He could tell that Audrey was panicking over the sight of it. "I'm worried about Ursula in particular… if the rip extends under the water then it's harder to tell if she's escaped already. However, I don't want to call attention to the breach. We don't need people taking advantage of it."

"Understood," Chad nodded and glanced at his wife. "Alexis proposed we erect some sort of secondary barrier or a monitoring spell at the least over the rip while we figure out how to fix the rip."

"Call the Fairy Godmother," Ben nodded. "She should be able to help with both the rip and a second barrier." He glanced up at Audrey. "Maybe your Fairy Godmothers could help with that as well?"

"Maybe," Audrey nodded. She was looking past Ben, out the window, and into the distance. He glanced out, but there was nothing there and he knew she was only spacing out again. She had been doing that ever since he ripped out the curtains in her room and closed the spa on all days except Monday.

"We will contact her," Chad decided, and the three of his family got to their feet. "Thank you, Ben. We'll be in touch."

They took their leave out of the office. Ben busied himself with scribbling a note down to reach out to them later and then glanced at Audrey. She was focused on the window still, gazing out at nothing. Ben sighed. "You're doing it again," he murmured softly, trying his best not to nag.

Audrey snapped back to the present and let out an irritated sigh. "Let it go, Ben," she grumbled, sitting down in a chair near the door. "I'm just… thinking. Nothing's wrong with me."

"You're having trouble focusing," Ben told her. "You keep going unresponsive. You used to never do that."

"Plenty of people think, Ben," Audrey replied. "And I did what you wanted. I went for a walk. I went outside." She waved her hand to the window and made a fluttering motion with her fingertips. Ben frowned. It was clear from her tone of voice she still thought he was being ridiculous. "Listen, I know you have this belief that nature restores everything, but I've been having this thought lately-" She spread her hands as if framing something on the wall behind him. "What if I'm just getting older? What if that's what this is?"

"Geriatrics at twenty-nine," Ben snorted. Audrey let out an annoyed breath as he started going through random papers atop his stack. There weren't many though, and soon he was left with the option to find something else to occupy his attention or look at Audrey and engage in awkward silence. He stood up and wandered to the window, opening it. Audrey shivered before the first breeze had ever swept into the room and stood up.

"Where's our daughter?" She asked.

"It's Molly's nap time," he rolled his eyes. "I believe she's reading and putting her to bed."

Audrey stared at him as if he had two heads. A blank and confused look was frozen on her face as she stared at a point just over his left ear, processing. "Oh," she nodded and pressed a hand to her head. "I didn't know she was reading yet. Did her last nanny teach her?"

"We don't have nannies anymore," Ben reminded her patiently, though he felt like grinding his teeth together. "I taught her. Remember, we read in the evenings now?"

"Yes, of course!" Audrey snapped. "I'm not stupid, Ben." She paused, then raked the fingers of one hand through her hair. "I just… I thought Molly was still struggling, and-"

"Molly is the doll, Audrey," Ben interrupted. "Our daughter's name is Belle. Remember? Belle?" His voice was rising now - Audrey's face bloomed over red and puce.

"I got mixed up!" She snapped. "I forgot about the doll. I was talking about the… the… the peasant girl who keeps coming over to play with her. The one you said was a good influence."

"Morgan," Ben supplied, and yes, he could see how she confused the two names. "Morgan isn't a peasant girl, Audrey. Her mother is a developmental psychologist. She's the one we used to take Belle to. But she doesn't have a nanny. Never has."

"I can't believe you thought I would forget my own daughter's name!" Audrey snapped, ignoring what he'd just said. "What kind of monster do you think I am?"

"Well, you seem content to-" Ben shut himself off. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "I… I apologize. I didn't mean to-"

"Oh, no." Audrey shook her head. "Do go on. What do I seem content to forget? I'm the one who participates at her school."

"The school that I put her in."

"I put her in the first seven-"

"You didn't care when she got dropped out of every single-"

"You weren't ever there! You were always busy-"

"I was busy because you couldn't be bothered to-"

"It wasn't a problem for you then-"

"It was always a problem! I just-"

"You need to-"

"Mom?" The little voice came from the doorway and Audrey stopped mid-sentence to glance down and then turn to pick Belle up. Belle's head dropped onto Audrey's shoulder as mother and daughter shared a hug. Audrey closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She chuckled and ran a hand down Belle's back.

"You smell nice, little one."

"Thanks, mommy."

Audrey set Belle back down and Belle glanced over at her father, who got down on one knee to be on eye level with her as he held out a hand for a fist bump. "Did you put Molly to bed okay?" he asked.

Belle nodded. "I checked her pulses," she announced as if it were an ordinary thing. "She's a bit on the dead side but I'll give her medicine when she wakes up and she'll live."

Ben wasn't sure that was entirely how medicine worked.

"That sounds like a good idea, pumpkin," Audrey told Belle. "You take such good care of your dolly - maybe one day you can come up with something that fixes Mommy's aches too."

"Dad says if you eat lots of fruits and veggies and go outside to play then it helps," Belle suggested. Ben lifted his eyes to Audrey as if to say "I-told-you-so," and Audrey pinched her lips together.

"Mommy has different problems than that, honey."

Belle shrugged. "It worked for me. I don't get tummy aches anymore." She put a hand to her midsection and rubbed her belly. "Dad, I'm hungry. Can we get a snack?'

"Sure," Ben nodded and scooped her up into his arms. Her unicorn t-shirt slid up against his arm and Belle squirmed to pull it back down. Ben stopped to kiss Audrey's cheek before he stepped out of the office and murmured: "We'll be out on the porch." She didn't respond. A corner of the office had transfixed her, and she was gone. Ben huffed and turned out the lights. She never remembered to do it herself and he was tired of the expense it was causing. He left the door open and the window letting in a breeze. Audrey wouldn't notice either until she eventually came back to herself.

Belle curled into his shoulder. She hadn't noticed yet that Audrey wasn't always herself.

________________________________________________________________

Nineteen months and he still couldn't get used to sleeping without the window open.

It was the closest he could get on a reasonable night to sleeping outside. Sometimes he actually would sleep outside, out on the porch or in a hammock or sometimes in a tent where Belle could play the next day. But most nights he was inside, fully clad in soft plaids and warm flannel and thick socks with the ceiling fans on high and the windows open - even in the winter. Even on fall nights like these.

Audrey thought he was insane.

It helped a bit - coping with the distance and with his job and the daily grind of things. Things had gotten better over the years. He hadn't seen Mal since he'd left (which might have been for the better) but he and Evie had exchanged letters off and on for about four months after he'd left before they'd both gotten too busy to keep up. He still heard about the VK's when they requested additional help from Auradon, but things were smooth-sailing now. They didn't need his help.

Ben rolled over in his bed. The other side was, of course, empty. Ben had told Audrey about two months after arriving that he was going to move back into the master bedroom and that redecoration would be coming with him. He'd arranged for her to keep all her things - her favorite rug and limited collection of bath bombs, among other treasures, but she'd been so furious she'd moved into a separate suite next to Belle's rather than room with him. Her room was decorated to her tastes, and Ben wasn't going to force her to change that. He knew this whole thing had been a shock for her. Still, her hate bit at him. When they had married, he had pictured falling asleep beside her. Waking up and kissing her hair until she awoke with a smile on her face. Children - plural. But Audrey wanted none of it. And he couldn't hold anything against her.

He rolled back onto his back - why was he so sleepless tonight? It had been a rather relaxing night. He and Belle had eaten together and read while Audrey dined separately in her room. Audrey had come down to help him put Belle to bed - which was an improvement, and one he was pleased to see. She even checked that Belle had brushed her teeth before they'd turned off the light. Still, she had gone back to her room without saying much to him.

Ben wished his brain would shut off.

He tossed back onto his front and shook his pillow twice before burying his face into it. For a moment, he imagined it was a rolled-up fur jacket instead and the cut of the wind felt sharper, but then the silk of the bedsheets brought him back to the palace.

Something fell in the next room over. Ben sat up, blinking. There was a shuffling sound - someone had tripped over whatever had been disturbed. Was it Belle, trying to sneak into his room? Ben swung his feet over the edge of the bed, found his slippers, and got to his feet. He walked to the door, opened it, and peered outside.

The culprit froze in the center of the room, over the blanket basket that had been kicked from where he and Belle had accidentally left it earlier. He stared at Ben. Ben stared back. In the distance, Ben thought he heard a familiar, firm voice telling him he should call the guards now.

Because the culprit had flaming blue hair.

Ben cleared his throat. "Can I help you?" he asked slowly, taking in the fact that this man - this god - was standing in his living room. This villain who should be on the Isle right now.

Hades blinked, looked over his shoulder, gestured to himself, and exhaled. "Your majesty," he coughed and cleared his throat. "I am… sorry to disturb you."

"Oh, no, I was awake," Ben nodded. He let his hands drop from where they had remained on the doorframes. "I thought you were…" Actually, it probably wasn't best to draw a villain's attention to his daughter. "Nevermind."

Hades leaned down and propped the blanket basket back up before hurriedly stuffing all that had fallen out of it back in. He cleared his throat but said nothing. Ben decided to ask again.

"Is there… a reason you're here? Something I can do to help you?" The hairs on his neck were starting to fall again. Hades didn't seem intent on hurting him, at least. And prior experience with the children of the villains had taught him that negotiations were easier if you offered to do something without charge. If Hades was anything like the kids, he'd be wary of debt and insist on repaying any favor.

Hades seemed surprised he was being regarded so kindly despite the situation. He straightened up and stared. Ben ran a hand through his hair so he wasn't standing awkwardly and then gestured to the couches around Hades. "Here," he invited. "Have a seat. Do you want me to send for something?"

"No," Hades declined, though he took a seat. Ben walked over and sat on an adjacent couch. He took a deep breath and then began to speak.

"So… you're here in my living room in the middle of the night… and there's nothing you need me to do for you?"

"I'm here for information," Hades replied stiffly. "I'm not here to… threaten you or…" he exhaled. "I, uh, was going to sneak in and sneak out without taking anything."

Ben clasped his hands together. "Well, what were you looking for?" he asked.

Hades shifted. "Well… a few years ago, I don't know if you know, there was a group of kids that left the Isle of the Lost. They came to Auradon… wanted to strike out by themselves."

"I know," Ben nodded. "They were led by three girls. They went to Charmington, and that's where they were found."

"Are you holding them, then?" Hades asked.

"No," Ben shook his head in response. "They live out west now. They have their own lands and everything. I set the land aside for their use."

"You did?" If Hades was surprised at first, it was nothing compared to now. "Well… that's wonderful. I, uh, didn't expect that." He ran a hand through his hair. "Well, see here, I had one of my kiddos leave with that group and I've always worried about her a bit… I wanted to drop by and see her and… maybe not get sent back to the Isle."

Ben paused and furrowed his brow. "Well," he began, "These kids were specifically fleeing from parents. If I send you over, how do I know-"

"I'm not an abuser," Hades replied flatly. "I don't have any proof, but I'm not. I didn't even get to raise my kiddo - her mother was a bit of a freak. But I watched over her until the day she was gone - and I don't want to be part of her life if she hates me - I just want to make sure she's taken care of and happy and everything."

Ben nodded slowly. His brain felt a bit foggy from the surprise, but he understood. "Okay," he agreed. "I can arrange for that."

Hades blinked in surprise. "You can?" he nodded.

"Sure." Ben shrugged. "I'm the King - I can do whatever I want. And if you want to see your daughter, then you can see your daughter." He stifled a yawn - of course, he'd feel tired now - and then squinted at Hades. "One question: how did you get out?"

"Well, I used the old machine the kids left behind and figured out the code to flip it on and from there, I just used my powers to open the barrier."

"How long ago?" Ben asked.

"Two days, now," Hades shrugged. "I went to the underworld to see if I could see where she'd gone from my realm, but I couldn't. And then-"

"Sorry," Ben interrupted. "Two more questions, please. One, how did you get out without being seen, and two, did you happen to open the barrier near the old Port de la Grande?"

Hades stared. "Yes…" he trailed off. "I used my helmet of invisibility."

Ben pressed his lips together. "Did you close the barrier after you left?" he asked. "Because we have a gaping hole underneath that port that we can't close remotely."

A color spread into Hades's cheeks. "I… meant to close it," he stammered. "I musta… not understood the machinery or something - you can't close it?"

"It must have been broken when you came through." Ben ran a hand through his hair. "There's a large hole… at least twenty feet across."

"Twenty feet?" Hades echoed. "I didn't do that. "I slipped through in about three feet." He chuckled nervously. However, this did nothing to console Ben.

"Well, then it must be getting wider," he reasoned and got to his feet to pace across the room. "I'll have to call Chad… let him know. I don't suppose there's a way you can fix it? Yes, I thought not. Well, I'll still help you get to the West if you want. I believe there's some sort of spell that keeps some people out… we can send you with a carriage with our ensign and you'll be able to get in with that."

"That would be wonderful," Hades agreed, relaxing a little though he still looked a little embarrassed. "Thank you for your hospitality. I'm sorry for the barrier."

Ben waved him off. "We'll get it worked out," he assured him, then paused to yawn. "So long as Maleficent doesn't figure out it's there, we'll be fine." He braced his hands on the back of the couch. "Now, if you'll excuse me, it's getting late. If you want, there is an empty suite across the hall that should be maintained. You're welcome to have it for the night and in the morning I'll have horses and a carriage prepped to take you to the West."

Hades stood up, still looking a little lost. "Wait," he requested, holding up his hands. "Is… is that it?"

Ben tilted his head. "Unless you need anything else?"

"Well…" Hades trailed off. "Do you offer to send everyone who breaks into your suite across the country?"

"To be fair, you're the first time this has happened, and I'm not sure it'll become a trend." Although he had offered the group of people who had kidnapped him on a diplomatic trip a kingdom of their own and ditched his family for two months to support them, so he didn't exactly have a great track record for dealing with wrongdoers. Oh well.

Hades stared at him as if he was unsure he was speaking with the right person. Ben ran his hands up and down his face and yawned. "Let's talk more in the morning," he decided and then turned to walk back into his room. He listened briefly to see if Hades would say anything, but no further comment was added.

He shut the door to his room again and, after a few moments, heard Hades leave.

#descendants #disney #ben #bal #ben x mal #king ben #mal #audrey #audrey rose #belle #married life #isle of the lost #auradonkingsandqueens #auradon #fanfic

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