#I have another sketch of Big Red in the works so stay tuned for that

[desolyx]

Having a lot of self-doubts with art right now, spending a lot of time just practicing and not really finishing anything, but this one got completed. A tormentor, for practice. It's really fun to study anatomy from creatures whose anatomy is absolutely fucked up.

Plus a little speedpaint, because why not.

#destiny 2 #destiny 2 art #destiny #art #destiny the game #tormentor #destiny 2 tormentor #practice #the lighting in this brought me genuine pain lmao #also most of this was done on one layer #doing that was a mistake #but I kinda like how it turned out #also #I have another sketch of Big Red in the works so stay tuned for that #anyway #I like tormentors #they silly #watch me screech like a little bitch every time the screen flashes red though

[path-of-my-childhood]

Aaron Dessner on How His Collaborative Chemistry With Taylor Swift Led to “Evermore”

By: Claire Shaffer for Rolling Stone Date: December 18th 2020

Taylor Swift and Aaron Dessner didn’t expect to make another record so soon after Folklore. As they were putting the final touches on Swift’s album this past summer, the two artists had been collaborating remotely on possible songs for Big Red Machine, Dessner’s music project with Justin Vernon of Bon Iver (who also dueted with Swift on the Folklore track “Exile”). Dessner recalls:

“I think I’d written around 30 of those instrumentals in total. So when I started sharing them with Taylor over the months that we were working on Folklore, she got really into it, and she wrote two songs to some of that music.”

One was “Closure,” an experimental electronic track in 5/4 time signature that was built over a staccato drum kit. The other song was “Dorothea,” a rollicking, Americana piano tune. The more Dessner listened to them, the more he realized that they were continuations of Folklore‘s characters and stories. But the real turning point came soon after Folklore‘s surprise release in late July, when Dessner wrote a musical sketch and named it “Westerly,” after the town in Rhode Island where Swift owns the house previously occupied by Rebekah Harkness.

“I didn’t really think she would write something to it — sometimes I’ll name songs after my friends’ hometowns or their babies, just because I write a lot of music and you have to call it something, and then I’ll send it to them. But, anyway, I sent it to her, and not long after she wrote ‘Willow’ to that song and sent it back.”

It was a moment not unlike when Swift first sent him the song “Cardigan” back in the spring, where both she and Dessner felt an instant creative spark — and then just kept writing. Before long, they were creating even more songs with Vernon, Jack Antonoff, Dessner’s brother Bryce, and “William Bowery” (the pseudonym of Swift’s boyfriend Joe Alwyn) for what would eventually lead to Folklore‘s wintry sister record, Evermore.

Even more spontaneous than the album that preceded it, Evermore features more eclectic production alongside Swift’s continued project of character-driven songwriting, and includes an even wider group of collaborators, like Haim and Dessner’s own band the National. Dessner spoke to Rolling Stone about the album’s experimentation, how it was recorded during the making of the doc The Long Pond Studio Sessions, and how he sees his collaboration with Swift continuing in the future.

When did you realize this was going to end up being another album?

It was after we’d written several songs, seven or eight or nine. Each one would happen, and we would both be in this sort of disbelief of this weird alchemy that we had unleashed. The ideas were coming fast and furiously and were just as compelling as anything on Folklore, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world. At some point, Taylor wrote “Evermore” with William Bowery, and then we sent it to Justin, who wrote the bridge, and all of a sudden, that’s when it started to become clear that there was a sister record. Historically, there are examples of this, of records which came in close succession that I love — certain Dylan records, Kid A and Amnesiac. I secretly fell in love with the idea that this was part of the same current, and that these were two manifestations that were interrelated. And with Taylor, I think it just became clear to her what was happening. It really picked up steam, and at some point, there were 17 songs — because there are two bonus tracks, which I love just as much.

Evermore definitely sounds more experimental than Folklore, and has more variety — you have these electronic songs that sound like Bon Iver or Big Red Machine, but you also have the closest thing Taylor has written to country songs in the last decade. Was there a conscious effort on her part to branch out more with this album?

Sonically, the ideas were coming from me more. But I remember when I wrote the piano track to “Tolerate It,” right before I sent it to her, I thought, This song is intense. It’s in 10/8, which is an odd time signature. And I did think for a second, “Maybe I shouldn’t send it to her, she won’t be into it.” But I sent it to her, and it conjured a scene in her mind, and she wrote this crushingly beautiful song to it and sent it back. I think I cried when I first heard it. But it just felt like the most natural thing, you know? There weren’t limitations to the process. And in these places where we were pushing into more experimental sounds or odd time signatures, that just felt like part of the work.

It was really impressive to me that she could tell these stories as easily in something like “Closure” as she could in a country song like “Cowboy Like Me.” Obviously, “Cowboy Like Me” is much more familiar, musically. But to me, she’s just as sharp and just as masterful in her craft in either of those situations. And also, just in terms of what we were interested in, there is a wintry nostalgia to a lot of the music that was intentional on my part. I was leaning into the idea that this was fall and winter, and she’s talked about that as well, that Folklore feels like spring and summer to her and Evermore is fall and winter. So that’s why you hear sleigh bells on “Ivy,” or why some of the imagery in the songs is wintery.

I can hear that in the guitar on “‘Tis the Damn Season,” too. It almost sounds like the National with that very icy guitar line.

I mean, that is literally like, me in my most natural state. [laughs] If you hand me a guitar, that’s what it sounds like when I start playing it. People associate that sound with the National, but that’s just because I finger-pick an electric guitar like that a lot — if you solo the guitar on “Mr. November,” it’s not unlike that.

That song, to me, has always felt nostalgic or like some sort of longing. And the song that Taylor wrote is so instantly relatable, you know, “There’s an ache in you put there by the ache in me.” I remember when she sang that to me in my kitchen — she had written it overnight during The Long Pond Studio Sessions, actually.

Did she record all her Evermore vocals at Long Pond while you were filming the Studio Sessions documentary?

Not all of them, but most of them. She stayed after we were done filming and then we recorded a lot. It was crazy because we were getting ready to make that film, but at the same time, these songs were accumulating. And so we thought, “Hmm, I guess we should just stay and work.”

On “Closure,” there are parts where Taylor’s vocals are filtered through the Messina, which is this vocal modifier that Justin Vernon uses a lot in his work with Bon Iver. How were you able to modify her vocals with it, if she was never in the same room as Justin?

I went to see Justin at one point — that’s the one trip I’ve made — and we worked together at his place on stuff. He plays the drums on “Cowboy Like Me” and “Closure,” and he plays guitar and banjo and sings on “Ivy,” and sings on “Marjorie” and “Evermore.” And then we processed Taylor’s vocals through his Messina chain together. He was really deeply involved in this record, even more so than the last record. He’s always been such a huge help to me, and not just by getting him to play stuff or sing stuff — I can also send him things and get his feedback. We’ve done a ton of work together, but we have different perspectives and different harmonic brains. He obviously has his own studio set up at home, but it was nice to be able to see him and work on this stuff.

“No Body, No Crime” is also really interesting, just because I don’t think I’ve ever heard you produce a song like that. How did this country murder ballad featuring Haim end up on the record?

Taylor wrote that one alone and sent me a voice memo of her playing guitar — she wrote it on this rubber-bridge guitar that I got for her. It’s the same kind I play on “Invisible String.” So she wrote “No Body, No Crime” and sent me a voice memo of it, and then I started building on that. It’s funny, because the music I’ve listened to the most in my life are things that are more like that — roots music, folk music, country music, old-school rock & roll, the Grateful Dead. It’s not really the sound of the National or other things I’ve done, but it feels like a warm blanket.

That song also had a lot of my friends on it — Josh Kaufman, who played harmonica on “Betty,” also plays harmonica on this one and some guitar. JT Bates plays the drums on that song — he’s an amazing jazz guitarist, but he also has an incredible feel [for rhythm] when it comes to a song like that. He also played the drums on “Dorothea.” And then Taylor had specific ideas from the beginning about references and how she wanted it to feel, and that she wanted the Haim sisters to sing on it. We had them record the song with Ariel Reichshaid, they sent that from L.A., and then we put it together when Taylor was here [at Long Pond]. They’re an incredible band, and it was another situation where we were like, “Well, this happened.” It felt like this weird little rock & roll history anecdote.

You also brought on the National to record “Coney Island.” What was that process like, where you’re recording a song with your band that’s for a different artist?

I had been working on a bunch of music with my brother [Bryce Dessner], some of which we were sending to Taylor also. At that stage, “Coney Island” was all the music except the drums. And as I was writing it, I don’t think I was ever thinking, “This sounds like the National or this sounds like Big Red Machine or this sounds like something totally different.” But Taylor and William Bowery wrote this incredible song, and we first recorded it with just her vocals. It has this really beautiful arc to the story, and I think it’s one of the strongest, lyrically and musically. But listening to the words, we all collectively realized that this does feel like the most related to the National — it almost feels like a story Matt [Berninger] might tell, or I could hear Bryan [Devendorf] playing the drum part.

So we started talking about how it would be cool to get the band, and I called Matt and he was excited for it. We got Bryan to play drums and we got Scott [Devendorf] to play bass and a pocket piano, and Bryce helped produce it. It’s weird, because it does really feel like Taylor, obviously, since she and William Bowery wrote all the words, but it also feels like a National song in a good way. I love how Matt and Taylor sound together. And it was nice because we haven’t played a show in a year, and I don’t know when we will again. You kind of lose track of each other, so in a way, it was nice to reconnect.

When working on Folklore, you had to keep most of your collaborators in the dark about who you were working with. What was the process like this time around, now that everyone knew it was Taylor? How did you keep it a secret?

It was hard. We had to be secretive because of how much people are consuming every shred of information they can find about her, and that’s been an oppressive reality she’s had to deal with. But the fact that no one in the public knew allowed for more freedom of enjoying the process. A lot of the same musicians that played on Folklore played on Evermore. Again, it was a situation where I didn’t tell them what it was, and they couldn’t hear her vocals, but I think a lot of them assumed, especially because of the level of secrecy. [laughs] But as funny as this is, I think everyone who’s been involved has been grateful for these records to play on this year and is proud of them. It kind of just doesn’t happen, to make two great records in such a short period of time. Everyone’s a little bit like, “How did this happen?” and nobody takes it for granted.

Taylor has mentioned that you recorded “Happiness” just a week before the album was released. Was that something you guys wrote, recorded, and produced all at the last minute, or was it something you’d been sitting on for a while before you finally cracked the code?

There were two songs like that. One is a bonus track called “Right Where You Left Me,” and the other one was “Happiness,” which she wrote literally days before we were supposed to master. That’s similar to what happened with Folklore, with “The 1” and “Hoax,” which she wrote days before. We mixed all the tracks here, and it’s a lot to mix 17 songs, it’s like a Herculean task. And it was funny, because I walked into the studio and Jon Low, our engineer here, was mixing and had been working the whole time toward this. And I came in and he’s in the middle of mixing and I was like, “There are two more songs.” And he looked at me like, “…We’re not gonna make it.” Because it does take a lot of time to work out how to finish them.

But she sang those remotely. And the music for “Happiness” is something that I had been working on since last year. I had sang a little bit on it, too — I thought it was a Big Red Machine song, but then she loved the instrumental and ended up writing to it. Same with the other one, “Right Where You Left Me” — it was something I had written right before I went to visit Justin, because I thought, “Maybe we’ll make something when we’re together there.” And Taylor had heard that and wrote this amazing song to it. That is a little bit how she works — she writes a lot of songs, and then at the very end she sometimes writes one or two more, and they often are important ones.

My favorite song on the album is “Marjorie,” and I feel like, for most artists, the instinct would be to present a song like that as a somber piano ballad. But “Marjorie” has this lively electronic beat that runs through it — it literally sounds alive. How did you come up with that?

It’s interesting, because with “Marjorie,” that’s a track that actually existed for a while, and you can hear elements of it behind the song “Peace.” This weird drone that you hear on “Peace,” if you pay attention to the bridge of “Marjorie,” you’ll hear a little bit of that in the distance. Some of what you hear is from my friend Jason Treuting playing percussion, playing these chord sticks, that he actually made for a piece that my brother wrote called “Music for Wooden Strings.” They’re playing these chord sticks, and you can hear those same chord sticks on the National song “Quiet Light.”

I collect a lot of rhythmic elements like that, and all kinds of other sounds, and I give them to my friend Ryan Olson, who’s a producer from Minnesota and has been developing this crazy software called Allovers Hi-Hat Generator. It can take sounds, any sounds, and split them into identifiable sound samples, and then regenerate them in randomized patterns that are weirdly very musical. There’s a lot of new Big Red Machine songs that use those elements. But I’ll go through it and find little parts that I like and loop them. That’s how I made the backing rhythm of “Marjorie.” Then I wrote a song to it, and Taylor wrote to that. In a weird way, it’s one of the most experimental songs on the album — it doesn’t sound that way, but when you pick apart the layers underneath it, it’s pretty interesting.

I do have to ask: How did you come to find out about William Bowery’s real identity as Joe Alwyn? Or did you know all along?

I guess I can say now that I’ve sort of known all along — I was just being careful. Although we never really explicitly talked about it. But I do think it’s been really special to see a number of songs on these albums that they wrote together. William plays the piano on “Evermore,” actually. We recorded that remotely. That was really important to me and to them, to do that, because he also wrote the piano part of “Exile,” but on the record, it’s me playing it because we couldn’t record him easily. But this time, we could. I just think it’s an important and special part of the story.

Do you have a personal favorite song or a moment that you’re proudest of?

“‘Tis the Damn Season” is a really special song to me for a number of reasons. When I wrote the music to it, which was a long time ago, I remember thinking that this is one of my favorite things I’ve ever made, even though it’s an incredibly simple musical sketch. But it has this arc to it, and there’s this simplicity in the minimalism of it and the kind of drum programming in there, and I always loved the tone of that guitar. When Taylor played the track and sang it to me in my kitchen, that was a highlight of this whole time. That track felt like something I have always loved and could have just stayed music, but instead, someone of her incredible storytelling ability and musical ability took it and made something much greater. And it’s something that we can all relate to. It was a really special moment, not unlike how it felt when she wrote “Peace,” but even more so.

Do you see this collaboration with Taylor continuing onward, to more albums or Big Red Machine projects?

It’s kind of the thing where I have so many musicians in my life that I’ve grown close to, and make things with, and are just part of my life. And I’ve rarely had this kind of chemistry with anyone in my life — to be able to write together, to make so many beautiful songs together in such a short period of time. Inevitably, I think we will continue to be in each other’s artistic and personal lives. I don’t know exactly what the next form that will take, but certainly, it will continue.

I do think this story, this era, has concluded, and I think in such a beautiful way with these sister records — it does kind of feel like there’s closure to that. But she’s definitely been very helpful and engaged with Big Red Machine, and just in general. She feels like another incredible musician that I’ve gotten to know and am lucky to have in my life. It’s this whole community that moves forward and takes risks and, hopefully, there will be other records that appear in the future.

#cute #Aaron Dessner #interview #about taylor #taylor swift #Rolling Stone magazine #making of #evermore album #evermore era

[nahoyaglock]

📃 AS I AM CHAPTER 2 — Talk To Me

SUMMARY — You knew Kageyama Tobio since you both were in diapers, being close family 'friends'. You always wanted to befriend the quiet kid but no matter your efforts, he would never crack. When you transfer schools and meet Kageyama again, what will happen to your relationship?

PAIRING — family friend!kageyama x y/n

GENRE — fluff/crack/angst

WARNINGS — kags being a meanie

WORD COUNT — 1.7k

FIND THE MASTERLIST HERE

You woke up the next day to your slightly annoying alarm, groaning as you stretched. You reached for your phone to snooze your alarm, yawning loudly as you opened your phone to see notifications. You checked your text messages first, seeing two unknown numbers that sent you a text.

(Sent September 23rd at 11:24 pm)

xxx-xxx-xxxx: [Hey y/n! This is Shoyo!]

[From the volleyball club!]

(Sent September 23rd at 11:28 pm)

xxx-xxx-xxxx: [Yo, this is noya!]

You smiled and responded to both of their texts before climbing out of bed, stretching your arms and legs. You grabbed your uniform to slip it on before remembering something. You haven't sent Kageyama a goodmorning text!

(Sent September 24th at 6:34 am)

Y/N: [good morning Tobio! Do you want to eat lunch together today?]

[Ill bring your favorite snacks!]

Kageyama: [can't, im busy today]

Y/N: [how about tomorrow?]

Kageyama: [busy.]

You sighed and brushed it off, thinking for a bit. You smiled, Tobio was so cool! He must be busy with something important, you thought as you dressed into your uniform. Your mom let you decide if you wanted to be driven again or walk, it was only a 15 minute walk. You knew sooner or later you'd be forced to walk so you decided to walk today.

It was chilly out of course, so you slipped on a scarf and slipped out the front door. You decided to stop at the convenience store on the way to the school, grabbing three meatbuns and purchasing them. When you continued on your walk, you noticed a familiar face.

"Hey Kageyama!" You called, causing the male to jump and look around until his eyes landed on you. His calm expression turned slightly sour, and you giggled, jogging over to him. "Good morning Tobio!" You huffed out, handing him a meat bun.

"Morning, and no thank you," he declined the meat bun, making you shrug and take a bite. "Do you always walk to school?" You ask, kicking some rocks, humming a light tune. He lightly hummed and didnt bother to look at you, making you pout. "You could give me a real answer Kageyama."

You cross your arms and notice the males ears turn slightly red and he nods. "Sorry," he mumbles and you guys arrive at the school, entering the door. You sighed lightly of relief, smiling at the slight warmth the inside of the school offered.

"Where are you going to Tobio?" You asked, turning to the male, leaning over and slapping your knee lightly. He took a glance at you and turned away, "im going to class. Bye." He walked off without another word from either of you two, and you huffed lightly.

(Sent September 24th at 6:51 am)

Y/N: [Shoyo! What does Kageyama do during lunch?]

Shoyo: [What? He doesnt do anything, what do you mean?]

Y/N: [He said he's busy today but i didnt get to ask him what he was doing :'/]

Shoyo: [Ah! Uhm.. ill ask him!]

You bit your lip and thought for a bit. You guessed maybe Hinata and Kageyama weren't as close as you thought. You stuffed your phone into your pocket and headed to your class, taking your seat behind the blonde, Tsukishima. "Hey, Tsukki," you tapped him.

"Hmm?" He hummed turning to face you. Class hasnt started yet, so you placed your plastic bag on the desk, smiling. "Want a meat bun?" His eyebrows went up before he glared at you, then nodded. You beamed at him as you handed him a bun, watching him take a bite.

"Thanks," he says and turns back to his seat. "Oh yeah, and don't call me Tsukki." He went back to working on some work that he had left to complete. You ate the last meat bun before placing the plastic bag into your backpack.

—

During lunch you decided that you would stay in the classroom, you didn't bother to go find another spot to sit or anyone to sit with. You slipped on some headphones and shuffled your favorite playlist, smiling at the tune. You ate your food that you had prepared as you doodled on some homework that you had finished.

You were so into your doodles that you almost didn't notice the freckled boy trying to get your attention. "Hello?" You looked up at him, smiling instantly at the cute boy. "W-wow, hey!" You slipped off your head phones and paused your playlist. "Im Tadashi, Tsukki's friend."

"Ah, you're from the volleyball club huh?" You smiled and took a quick bite of your food before turning your attention back to the male. He smiled and nodded his head, "yeah, you're kageyamas friend uh.. y/n?"

"Yeah, it's nice to meet you," you said and he scooted close to you. "What are you drawing?" He took a peek at your sketches and then looked back up at you, smiling. "Ah, sorry this is unrelated but– your eyes are so pretty," you giggle, cupping the males face, making him giggle as well.

"You know, you're very open," Tsukishima adds, turning around in his desk to face both you and Tadashi. You took another bite of your food and then leaned back in your desk. "Well, what's wrong with that?" You ask, smirking, "it makes it easy to talk to people and make friends."

Yamaguchi giggles a bit at your comment, but you weren't sure why. "Maybe if you were more open Tsukki, you'd have more friends," yamaguchi laughed out, causing you to also burst out in laughter. Tsukishima tried hard to act offended, but couldn't help but crack a small grin at his friends comment.

—

After school you decided to go to the gym again with Tsukishima and Yamaguchi. You walked next to Yamaguchi and you two talked and laughed on the way there. "Volleyball is pretty fun! Have you ever played?" He asked and you smiled, nodding. "My old friends from Nekoma let me play with them sometimes," you blurted, bouncing with each step at the happy memory.

"N-nekoma?!" Yamaguchi gasped, jaw dropping. You nodded, furrowing your eyebrows. "Yeah, why?" You questioned, also noticing an intrigued glance from the taller male. "You moved from Tokyo? From Nekoma High?" He asked as you guys stepped into the gym.

"Yeah, I'm from Tokyo," you smiled, you and Tadashi following Tsukishima like puppy dogs, continuing the conversation. "Y/N!" A loud voice called and you turned to see Hinata running full speed at you. He stopped on his heels, infront of you with a big smile. "Hi!" He smiled widely and bounces.

You wave a small goodbye to Tadashi and Tsukishima as they go to set up and you turn back to the orange headed male. "Whats up Hinata?" Nishinoya and Tanaka trailed after Hinata, "you dont have friends here yet right?" Tanaka asked and you tilted your head.

"Ah, well its only my second day here. I only have Kageyama but hes so grumpy and busy all the time, but I think you guys are pretty cool," you giggled, swinging one of your legs to a random tune playing in that head of yours. "Do you want to walk home with us today? We're gonna stop by the coaches store after practice," Noya spoke up, hope in his eyes.

"Of course! As long as they have meatbuns," you closed your eyes, smiling at the thought of meatbuns. "Wow, you must really like meat buns. Kageyama said that you bought some this morning," Hinata jumped up and down in place to keep his legs warm.

"Yeah, theres a convenience store nearby my house on the way here, so I had to get meatbuns!" You heard Daichi calling the boys to huddle, so you took a seat near the side of the gym near where the managers were standing. You worked on some homework, once again letting your mind wander as you doodled on the page.

You decided to take a break and went on your phone. You were mindlessly scrolling through social media for the rest of the practice, not once noticing the time that passed by until you felt quick repeated taps on your shoulder. You jumped and saw Hinatas big goofy smile in your face.

"Lets go go go!" He jumped and rushed out the door, leaving you shocked and rushing to grab your stuff before running after him. You saw Kageyama, Tsukishima and Yamaguchi waiting outside the door, watching you and hinata rush out the door. "Noya and Tanaka had to leave early so its just us!" Hinata informed you. You guys head to the store, kageyama standing on the opposite side of the group of you.

"Hey Kageyama look," you grabbed a bag of candy off one of the shelves and held it up for him to see. "You used to eat this all the time in first grade," you giggled and inspected the bag. You decided to purchase it and some meatbuns before you guys finished your walk home.

It was nice to talk to new people, new faces, but you really wanted to spend time with Kageyama.

"Kageyama, do you want my mom to give you a ride home, my house is right around the corner," you say, stuffing a meatbun in your mouth while shoulder bumping the male playfully. Hinatas expression was confused, but slightly worried. "Kageyama are you okay?"

Kageyama looks up at Hinata and nods his head "I'm fine." He said, completely ignoring what you had asked him. Thinking he was maybe being stubborn you poked his ankle with the toe of your shoe, "atleast give me an answer Tobio."

"I'll walk home by myself," he muttered and sped up his pace, leaving you behind. You slowed down until you were next to Tsukishima and continued to eat your meatbuns. "Why do you let him treat you like that?" Tsukishima asked, taking a sip of his drink.

"Like what?" You asked, staring at the blonde with a look of utter confusion, making him nod. "He just ignores you or brushes you off half the time." He states before waving at Tadashi and Hinata that turned down different roads. "He's always been like that, even since we were children, hes just stubborn."

Tsukishima scoffs lightly. "Stubborn," he repeats softly, then turns to face you. "Ill see you tomorrow shorty," he says before slipping on his headphones and taking a right, leaving you to go left. You thought about what Tsukishima said, what did he mean? Kageyamas just like that, right?

© tomura-heart — all rights reserved. reposting, modifying, or copying is not allowed. you may translate with my permission and correct crediting. do not read my writing as asmr. do not plagiarize.

#as i am*series #kageyama x reader #kageyama tobio x reader #kageyama tobio fanfic #kageyama tobio au #haikyuu fanfic #hq fanfic #haikyuu x reader #kageyama tobio #kageyama

[iliumheightnights]

Let Me Make You Proud [2] | Tony Stark x Son!Reader

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Tony Stark & Son!Reader

Part 1

Summary: After leaving his old life behind, (M/N) Stark carves out his new life. He thinks about all of the memories he left behind and makes his own new family. However sometimes destiny intervenes. 

A nine year old (M/N) Stark stood behind a curtain looking out into the audience. It was his first big concert and he was excited for a Solo he had.The chair reserved for his father was empty. He scanned the audience for his father, he promised he would come to this one. (M/N) had been so excited when his father told him he would be there. As he reached the back of the crowd he realized his father wasn’t there...yet. He could just be running late. 

The teacher called for all the students to get into position and (M/N) hesitantly got to his spot. The curtain drew back and the kids started their concert. He couldn’t help but frown a little at all of the parents and guardians there, supporting their kids. He looked over at the chair again hoping to see his father, but it was still empty. 

The concert was going swimmingly. The other students were having a great time, (M/N) on the other hand wasn’t. It was getting closer and closer to his solo and his dad still wasn’t there. Eventually the time had arrived, he walked to the front of the stage and began his solo. Looking into the audience his heart fell as his eyes found the empty chair. The eyes of all the other parents were like daggers staring into him. He could feel tears building up in his eyes, and he began to shake. The ending couldn’t come soon enough.

The concert had come to an end.  (M/N) sat on the edge of the stage watching kid after kid leave with their parents. “(M/N) are you alright?” Looking he saw his teacher sitting next to him. (M/N) only nodded and looked at the seat with his father’s name on it. She followed his line of sight and immediately understood. She put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry (M/N). I know you were really excited for him to see you perform. I don’t know if it means anything but I thought you did splendid.” He smiled at her. “Thank you Miss.” The two stayed on the stage for half an hour with most students already leaving. Yet no one had come to get him yet and his teacher’s face had become one of worry and frustration. “(M/N) I’m going to call your parent’s and make sure everything is alright okay?” She stood up and walked away a bit before calling.

(M/N) could tell by her voice that she was frustrated but not at him. She never got mad at him, always his dad. After a bit she hung up with a huff and walked back over to him with a smile on her face, he knew it was a front. She sat back on the stage next to him “So I called and Happy should be here soon for you.” Of course he would. The teacher tried to pass the time with him talking about the concert and how well he and everyone did and that she would love to have him perform a solo again.

After another fifteen minutes, Happy finally arrived. He walked in with a smile on his face as he approached the two. “Ready to go kid?” (M/N) didn’t say anything as he jumped off the stage and started to walk to the car. “Hey what’s wrong kid? Not happy to see me?” (M/N) could already hear the teacher start her rant to him and knew he shouldn’t be there to hear it. He stepped outside and got into the car. He didn’t have to wait long before Happy got into the driver’s seat and began to drive them home. “I heard you did really good in the concert.” (M/N) wasn’t in the mood to talk, he watched the city lights fly by outside his window. “I’m sorry buddy. I forgot and your dad got really busy.” The boy didn’t move, only kept watching out the window.

Once they arrived back at the tower (M/N) slowly made his way back in. His big night had been ruined. This wasn’t the first time his dad did something like this, but it still hurt. Wanting to see his dad he took the elevator to the lab. He could see his dad through the glass, he was slunched over his table, asleep. He took note of all the blueprints and machine parts surrounding his dad. It was in that moment that he realized his dad loved working more than him, and if he wanted his dad’s love he’d have to change. That was the moment he stopped being (M/N) Stark.

…

(M/N) was snapped out of his thoughts by a tugging at his pants. Looking down he saw PRYSM looking up at him. “What are you doing?” Ah PRYSM, so pure, so innocent. “I was just thinking.”  He looked back up at the school across the street. The same one he went to in what seemed like a lifetime ago. “OOOOOHHHHH. What are you thinking about?” (M/N) motioned for PRYSM to follow him and started walking again. “Just thinking about my past.”

It had been roughly two years since he had left the tower and the avengers behind. He missed them, he missed Clint and Wanda. He even missed his dad. When he had first left the tower Tony had freaked and tried everything to find him. He flew around the city in his suit, so did Rhodey. He heard people say they saw spiderman looking as well but he wasn’t so certain about that. Then his dad made a television appearance begging him to come home and that he was sorry. The comments from people after that made him furious. He probably just wants attention. I’d leave too if he was my dad. That boy probably had too much on his shoulders. People blamed both him and his father. The last thing that his dad did was offer a cash reward for anyone who brought him back home. That caused him tons of problems, he had to watch over his back even more. It was like he had a target on his back. Eventually his dad pulled that down and people didn’t care about him again. Like usual.

He hadn’t talked to Clint for a long time. They talked for a bit after (M/N) left, he wanted to keep him involved. But as he started to travel the world and discover new things he started to drift away. They still kept in contact, talking every now and again but it was clear there was a rift. He hadn’t talked to Wanda, he wanted to but didn’t want to. He knew she was furious at him, he could feel it.

“So then I was like there is no way you could make that basket but then he did! It was crazy! I’m telling you (M/N) the kids basketball games get intense! You should come next time.” How could someone NOT love PRYSM. They just get excited over everything. The two continued to walk through the streets of New York, gaining attention from people seeing a robot just roll down the street. Eventually the two made their way to a warehouse which (M/N) converted into his current home. “You know I’m not really into going and watching sports P. I’d rather much go to the zoo.” He said while taking off his coat. The robot’s eyes widened. “We should TOTALLY go. I LOVE the zoo!”

“Did I hear zoo!?” (M/N) turned to see a person rush from the kitchen. “We going to the zoo? I’m so down!”

“Calm down Doreen. No one’s going to the zoo.”

“WHY NOT!?” Both Doreen and PRYSM shouted.

“What’s going on?” All three turned to look at the new person entering the building.

“Thank god. Kamala please tell them we aren’t going to the zoo.” (M/N) tried beginning with her.

“Why not? I love the zoo.”

“Ha! That’s Three against one. We’re going to the zoo. Everyone get your shit!”

(M/N) couldn’t fight against it. He was outmanned and outgunned. To be fair...he also wanted to go to the zoo. That’s how he found himself with his friends making their way to the zoo. Walking through Central Park this time of year was always nice. He looked over at Doreen and Kamala. He remembered the first time he met them. They were trying to ‘rescue’ him, since they saw his dad’s tv appearance and thought he was missing. It was hilarious Miss Marvel and Squirrel Girl, the heroes he never knew he needed. After explaining everything he remembered Doreen directly stating “We’re your family now.” and they’ve been friends ever since. He was lucky to have them. 

“That’s it. I need some tunes, PRYSM can you play something? Please?” Doreen basically shouted and Tippy-Toe nodded in approval. Damn he loved that squirrel. “I sure can!” PRYSM started to playing music and Kamala and Doreen both shouted in excitement and started walking to the beat.

“I be Spike'd out, I could trip a referee” Doreen sang followed by Kamala singing. “Tell by my attitude that I'm most definitely from-” 

“Hit it (M/N)!” Doreen shouted at him.

He couldn’t help the wide smile that came to his face as he started to sing. “New york! Concrete jungle where dreams are made of. There’s nothing you can’t do!” Doreen and Kamala joined in with him. “Now you’re in New York! These streets will make you feel brand new!” They started to dance as they made their way down the path. People watching them go, some laughing, some recording, but they didn’t care. In that moment it was just them having one hell of a time. (M/N) had started to sing again around his friends, he started being himself again. Away from his father’s shadow he began to bloom.

…

Back in the tower, Tony sat on (M/N)’s bed. The room hadn’t really been touched in the two years his son had been gone. Dust had started to gather on many of the picture frames and collectibles. It was a constant reminder of how much a failure of a father he was. He realized just how distant and cold he had been. Pepper, Rhodey and Happy found him many times asleep on that bed with red and puffy eyes.

He held one of (M/N)’s sketch books in his hands. Opening the book he started to flip through the sketches. The book had started out with character and designs for stories he had been thinking of. But as Tony continued to flip through the book it became less and less creative designs and more blueprints for machines and inventions. Tony hated this, he hated that he made his kid give up the things he loved to do just so he could feel loved by his own dad.

He could feel tears streaming down his face as his hands started to shake. It had been two years and he missed his son so much. He just wanted to hold him again, to try and fix things. Tony’s relationship with Peter was...Strained. He couldn’t look at Peter without feeling guilt and regret. Peter tried his best to make him feel better but it didn’t help. Not until (M/N) was back.

“He always did love to draw.” Tony looked up at the voice. Clint stood in the doorway looking at him. “He wouldn’t want you to waste away in this room ya know?” He looked back down at the sketch book, running his hands over the creative designs. “I just- I don’t know what to do. I want to talk to him. I want to apologize. I miss him so much. He’s been out there for two years, I have no idea where he is or if he’s okay and it keeps me up at night.” Clint gave him a sympathetic smile before walking into the room and over to the glass windows looking out into the city. “He’s okay. He’s a lot stronger than you think he is.” Tony could only nod at that, he might not have had a good relationship with his son but Clint did. If he says he’ll be okay, he’s okay. “Still I just wish I knew where he was.” Clint didn’t look back at Tony and debated on saying anything. “The last time I talked with him he was in London.” Tony’s head snapped up and Clint could feel his eyes burning into the back of his skull. “You talked to him? When? Why didn’t you tell me?” Tony stood up and made his way to Clint who turned to face him directly. “Yes, I have. Last time I talked with him was four months ago, he said something about coming back to New York. And I didn’t tell you because he wanted his space. He didn’t want you coming after him.” Tony couldn’t decide if he was happy his son could be back in New York or angry that Clint didn’t tell him about him.

“Do you think he’s ba-” Before the two could continue their conversation Steve bursted into the room. “Get your gear. We have a problem.”

…

The seal enclosure always was (M/N)’s favorite part of the zoo. Doreen and PRYSM practically ran away once they entered the zoo. He and Kamala sat down on a bench looking directly at the seals. He could feel Kamala looking at him. “What is it?” He turned to look at her,she looked like she was hesitating to say anything. “I was just wondering. You’ve been back in New York for months now. So why haven’t you tried talking with your dad again? He obviously wants to see you again. He wouldn’t have made that tv appearance if he hadn’t.”

“I still can’t believe he plays that even after two years.”

“It’s because he means it (M/N). I think-”

The two were interrupted as a figure was thrown through the air and crashed into the seal enclosure. (M/N) recognized who it was immediately. “Peter?” People started running out of the zoo in a panic. Through the crowd he saw them, the avengers. They were pushing past people towards Peter. “What’s going on!” he saw Doreen and PRYSM run towards them. “We don’t know!” Kamala started to say before a ship was above the zoo. A blue woman with a staff on top. (M/N) knew who it was. “Hala.”

“Who!” Yelled the other three.

“She’s a kree who tried kidnapping metahumans years ago. Guess she’s back for round two.”

(M/N) then heard a sound he hadn’t heard in years. He would know the sound of the repulsors anywhere. He looked up and watched as his dad flew over his head, firing on Hala’s ship. It couldn’t breach it’s shield’s however. Hala pointed her spear and fired a laser cutting through anything it touched. The avengers scrambled out of the way.

“OH. MY. GOSH! Guys this is our time! We gotta help them!” Doreen shouted.

“Absolutely” Kamala agreed. “What about you (M/N)?”

He watched as Hala fired on the avengers. His family. No one fucked with his family. “Damn right I am.”

“I...I’m just gonna...be over here.” PRSYM rolled out of sight faster than ever.

“Oh this is gonna be so fucking awesome!” Doreen shouted. 

The three broke up and went in different directions. Hoping they could perhaps distract her enough. (M/N) let his powers engulf his body in a flash, putting him in the suit he made in case things like this happened. He had used his powers here and there but didn’t rely on them. Hala fired again making some rubble fall, Steve pushed Clint out of the way but before they could stand back up she pointed at them and fired. (M/N) quickly jumped in front of them and put up a barrier blocking them from the ray. “(M/N)?” he looked back and smiled at the men who looked both relieved and shocked that he was standing there with them. “Hey Clint,Steve. Long time no see.” (M/N) turned back to the barrier, pulled back his arms and pushed sending the ray back at Hala, causing an explosion. “Get her staff!”

While the avengers were shocked he was there, they knew it wasn’t the time for a reunion. Everyone sprang into action, each trying to reach Hala. Having to doge moving lazer fire wasn’t as easy as they made it look on tv. Kamala and Doreen got close before they were through back by Hala. Tony,Rhodey and Sam tried getting her from the sky but she wasn’t making it easy. 

When (M/N) saw his chance he took it. He used his powers to launch himself into the air. He had almost reached her when she turned around and fired her staff directly at him. He formed a barrier blocking the brunt of the attack, however trying to fly and block was a lot for someone who wasn’t trained. He couldn’t hold it any longer and his barrier exploded pushing him to the ground. Before he could hit the ground he felt strong arms surround him. Looking up he was greeted by piercing the white eyes of the spiderman mask. “(M/N)! Are you alright!” (M/N) let out a laugh and patted the side of his face. “Never better spiderboy. Never better.” Peter sat him down on the ground  “Look (M/N) I’m-” He held a hand up to Peter’s face. “Now is REALLY not a good time for this. Now get your ass in gear and get that staff!” Peter watched (M/N) run off. “Damn that was kind of hot.”

“I wonder how good Iron Man’s armor really is!” Hala fired her staff and hit Tony square in the chest. This caused his suit to power down and sent it falling to the ground. (M/N) watched in horror as the suit came falling down. “DAD!” Using his powers he rushed over and launched once more into the air, grabbing his father. “God you’re suit is so freaking heavy!” as the ground came closer, He brought his knees up and kicked them out using his powers to cushion their landing. (M/N) was out of breath and fell on top of his dad’s suit. “Can you hear me? You okay in there?” With the power off it was hard to hear but he heard it. “I’m alright. I’m glad to see you kid.” (M/N) couldn’t help the smile. “Glad to be back.”

“ENOUGH!” (M/N) turned to see Hala bring her staff up. “I SHALL HAVE MY ARMY!” She brought her staff down and the portals began to open up around all the avengers. He watched as one after another was sucked up. “(M/N)!” He watched Kamala and Doreen get sucked up too. “Oh. Can’t forget the father and son!”  He could feel tears building up, he lost his friends. Letting his anger out he created another barrier around his father and him. Hala’s portals couldn’t reach them. “So be it. I’ll be back. I’ll always come back.” With that Hala disappeared back into her ship before it took off into the atmosphere.

He brought down the barrier and stared up at the sky. He fell onto his hands and let out a scream. His cries echoed through the ruined zoo. He felt a strong grip on his shoulder, He looked up into the face of his dad. “(M/N)...” The two looked at each other for a bit before (M/N) fell into Tony’s arms. Hugging him. “I wasn’t strong enough. I couldn’t save them.”

Tony pulled back and stood up, bringing (M/N) up with him. He shook his head. “This isn’t your fault. None of this is your fault. If you weren’t here I probably would have been taken too. We’ll find them.” (M/N)’s face became serious before he nodded his head. “We’re gonna find them. And we’re gonna get them back. And we’re gonna kick some ass.” Tony smiled at his son. His son was right in front of him and he had grown so much.

“Yes we will!” Both men looked down and saw PRYSM looking up at them. “Hi Mr.Stark it’s nice to see you again.”

Tony let out a laugh before becoming serious. “How are we going to find them. And we’ll need more help.”

(M/N) smirked and held up his phone. “I got close enough to throw a tracker on her ship. I got their location right here. As for the help...I know a person.”

Twenty minutes later the three of them stood outside a garage door. (M/N) looked at his dad. “Before you say anything...I thought it was only fair I had one too.” He laughed at his dad’s face when it scrunched up into a confused look. Moving back to the garage He knocked once,paused and then knocked three times. “What exactly are we doing here?” Tony asked his son. “Getting help.” The garage opened and the three came face to face with a pink tipped blonde haired girl. 

“Hey,Gwen. I need your help.”

A/N: Hope you guys liked part 2! I loved introducing some of my favorite marvel girls. As you can probably guess there will be a part 3 coming.

#marvel #marvel imagines #marvel imagine #marvel x male reader #marvel x male!reader #tony stark #tony stark x male reader #tony stark x male!reader #tony stark x reader #tony stark x son!reader #tony stark x stark reader #tony stark x stark!reader #tony stark x son reader #x male reader #x male!reader #x reader #male!reader #male reader insert

[writinginthedarkwood]

Oni! Katsuki Bakugo x Reader: More than Meets the Eye.

You shouldn’t be walking around in his territory... the Oni of the mountains has a lesson for you. 

Another edition to my yokai au! All parts are listed in my masterlist which you can find here, if you enjoy this part and want similar content! -> Master List

Warning: NSFW

You took a deep breath and smiled. The air up here is so crisp and clean, the scent of flowers hit your nostrils as you sat down, you noticed you can see where the river disappears into the forest from up here. The tree’s look like one big bush, you thought to yourself and smiled. This was always worth the hike, just to get away for awhile.

“Off to waste your time up in the mountains again are you?” Fathers wife had hissed over her shoulder, not even turning from the vegetables she was chopping. You stood awkwardly for a few moments before stepping towards the door again. “Such an air head of a girl...” She muttered. “What kind of wife would you make, wasting time in the outdoors like a young boy?” She smirked, tossing the cut vegetables into a pot of boiling water. “I’ll tell you what kind of wife. A bad one.” She stirred the hot liquid with a large wooden spoon.

“Yes Madam Mirabelle.” I silently slipped my shoes on. My hand reached behind me for the door knob. “Are you giving me attitude little wench?” She whipped around, you flung the door open and quickly shut it behind you, hearing the thud of the spoon hit the back of the thick door just in time. She was yelling, rattling the window.

You let your feet carry you down the stone pathway out of your little village. By sun down, your father should be home from the market and a false sense of peace will blanket over the house again. You tell yourself you don’t mind, she makes father happy. She even speaks differently when he’s home, her voice a completely different tone.

The breeze brushed your hair over the blush on your cheeks, the sun kissing the exposed skin on my legs. The grass tickled your wrists, the long blades wrapping around your hands as you leaned back on them.

In the distance a beautiful red crowned crane preened it’s feathers by the bank of the river, just down the hill. It’s a bit far, but you pull the leather bound journal from your rucksack and start to sketch the details of it. “I wonder if I could find red ink in the next town overs market, it shouldn’t be too long of a walk...” You spoke softly to yourself, almost humming a little tune.

The beautiful bird spread its wings, taking off suddenly, along with smaller song birds scrambling from the trees. The leaves trembled, and a large oak suddenly toppled over. You quickly stood up to get a better look at what’s causing all the commotion.

A terrible sound, a sound louder than the boom that followed after a tree on your fathers property was struck by lightning. The crashing sound echoed through the entire valley.

 It sounds like an army, how can something be so loud? More tree’s fell, whatever it is, it’s coming this way. Your heart slammed against your rib cage and your flight instincts kick in.

The muscles in your legs stung as the incline steepened, the mountain terrain is getting quite a bit more difficult to navigate the further you run up.

I need somewhere to hide, now!

The cliff ahead had an opening under the overhang, like an entrance to a cave? It doesn’t look like it goes back very far, but it should have a place for you to crouch down and try to hide. You dodged large puddles of mud and used your hands to help sturdy yourself on the ground, practically crawling on all fours. It’s taking every bit of your strength to pull yourself over the lip of the rock and onto the flat surface at the mouth of the cave. Your scurried inside the cool damp space and hid behind a boulder. 

You heard another terrible sound, the crashing thunder before two feet hit the ground with a loud smack, followed by a deep snarl. Whatever it was, it was dragging something large behind it, a sickening dragging sound across the wet rocks. You sat completely frozen, a sharp part of the stone was digging into your back, you didn’t dare move away. 

You heard the light clinking of two flint stones coming together with a small spark, after what felt like an eternity the moving of a pile of wood into a pit, quickly followed by the smell of smoke.

You’d heard stories of great warriors living way up in the hills, their battle cries able to freeze the bravest of soldiers. They posses immense strength, and have a dangerous temper, but nobody really lived up here, wouldn’t we have heard from them before? 

Your legs felt tired from holding your position so long, if whoever is in here is building a fire, surely they would be distracted now, you could slip away.

You shifted your feet just a bit and moved as slowly as possible, working your way to the edge of your hiding place. With a sudden rush of bravery you peered around the edge quickly, only to be met with a pair of blazing red eyes. You screamed and fell onto your back, staring up at a fuming, peculiar looking man with crossed arms. His hair was very vibrant, almost white and stuck out in a lot of directions. His face was angular, and his jaw jut out in a vicious under-bite, his eyebrows were furrowed and his mouth curled up into a mischievous smirk.

“So you think you can hide in my territory and hit me with a surprise attack?” The man rolled his eyes and scoffed. “You would never stand a chance, just look at your puny arms! And where is your weapon human? Stand up and fight me like a man!” He shouted, his voice bouncing off of the cave walls. 

You couldn’t help but let out a small giggle, you quickly covered your mouth with wide eyes. “You dare laugh at me?!” He grabbed your wrist and pulled you to your feet. “I’m the greatest Oni to ever walk this disgusting Earth and you will respect me!” 

It was your turn to roll your eyes. “You don’t seem very scary... and you’re burning your deer meat by not rotating it.” You pointed to the carcass he had placed over the fire. It was sizzling on one side, the other completely raw. You pushed past the angry man and turned the deer on the spit, keeping the meat from being burnt. “Hey I know how to cook just fine! You distracted me!” He was yelling still, the echo of his voice in the cave run in your ears. “Well YOU scared me! I was having a pleasant afternoon before you tore through the forest!” You sat down by the warm fire and brush the wrinkles out of your skirt. He stomped over to you and stared daggers into the top of your head. “It’s MY forest and I can tear through it whenever I want!” 

He leaned down and sniffed you, taking a deep breath. He narrowed his eyes and leaned down to look you in the eye. “You smell like the lillies in the river, but I can also smell something...” He scowled. “Disgusting.” 

Your jaw dropped open and you looked away from him. “How rude!” He sat down beside you and you turned your face away from him. “What kind of fowl monster do you live with?” He covered his nose after taking another deep breath. Your face paled, the blood draining from your cheeks. You didn’t move your mouth, or even begin to speak but the Oni knew.

He stood up again and crossed his arms, this time his face was just slightly softer. He didn’t shout but his voice was commanding. “Your trespassing can’t go unpunished, but I do see now that your not a threat, just look at you! Covered in bruises.” He stuck out a hand and set it on top of your head. “I could use another warrior, I’m looking to expand my clan further into the north.” He smirked. “You’d have to stay here and train with me. I’d expect nothing but complete loyalty to your leader!” 

“You want me to fight for you?” You raised an eyebrow at him with a smile. You looked down at your dress and soft hands. Women aren’t supposed to fight, they’re supposed to bare children for their husbands and take care of the home. “But I’m a girl.” You said softly. 

“Some of my finest warriors are females! That means nothing to me.” 

You smiled and nodded, standing to look at him. “Yes sir!”

“Close your eyes. Tell me what you hear, Lilly.” His voice was low and raspy in your ear. Your new name always came as a pleasant surprise when you heard it, almost like you were expecting him to call you by your birth name, but he always refused. The cold winter air was frigid against your cheeks, the sensation of being freezing was almost clouding your thoughts, but you took a deep breath and listened to his instructions. 

“I hear the water under the ice, it’s moving quickly.”

He said nothing, you continued. “Something is trying to cross... It’s too heavy... I can hear the ice cracking.” 

“Good, what is it Lilly? Can you smell it?” You took a deep breath through your nose, the air burned as it traveled through your head. “No I just smell...” He growled, not pleased. 

“Wait it’s... the smell of a deer?” 

You opened your eyes and looked around the tree. A beautiful buck tapped tentatively on the frozen rivers edge, looking unsure of itself. “Should we shoot it?” You reached for the arrow in it’s quiver. Bakugo covered your hand and pushed the arrow back down. “No, this buck taught you a lesson. Out of respect we’ll leave him be.” You nodded in agreement. You caught his eye, the two of you sharing a brief moment of intimacy, just to quickly look away.

That’s how it always was, the touch of your hands brushing against each other when reaching for the same thing, your breath catching in your chest with a simple catch of his gaze. 

But it always sparked for only a moment, then back to normal.

“Are you hungry Katsuki?” You were the only one who could call him that. The rest of the clan hardly dared to call him anything but sir. “I brought bread and cheese along with us. We could take a break for supper.” He leaned against the tree trunk and took a swig from his canteen. The liquid dripped messily down his chin. “I suppose we could just head back to camp, I don’t want to travel without the sun.” The daylight is so short this time of year. The Oni could travel with limited clothing covering them, they’re built much better to withstand the cold. Bakugo never said it, but he never took you hunting at night to keep you from freezing. He didn’t have too, you knew he treated you different than the others. 

You are different, so very different.  

You walked in comfortable silence, taking your time walking toward the line of smoke that signaled you home. The forest felt very sleepy, no birds chirping, no bugs singing. Just the occasional rabbit running through the leafless brambles. “Could you tell me a story about your village Lilly?” Bakugo asked with his stern voice. “Of course Katsuki, what do you want to hear about?” He thought for a moment and stopped walking, turning to you with a familiar grin. “Tell me about that place with the drinks and the music again!” You turned to him with your own smile and a small laugh. “The pub?” He nodded jumping on a snowy rock and crossing his legs. The wolf fur around his shoulders slipped slightly, and he pulled the snout of the animal over his head like a hood, fixing it. This was the Katsuki you knew better than everyone else. A selfish, terrible fighter with countless deaths on his hands.

And a curious and often sweet yokai. 

“Well during the day, you could walk to the pub and order home cooked food for pieces of silver. A beautiful woman would bring it to your table, and you could eat with your friends.” You paced back and forth, telling your story with long drawn out words, the way he liked to hear it. “And then at night, they would light a fire in lamps to keep the building lit, and musicians would play the lute and drums for you to dance too.” You twirled around, your layers of fur spun with your body, your feet gliding across the frozen ground. “Won’t you join me for a dance Katsuki?” You bowed to him, sticking out your hand. The Oni’s cheeks blushed profusely, he shook his head and grunted. “A-absolutely not! I don’t dance!” He twisted his face in irritation. “Oh come on! It’s just the two of us. Don’t you want to pretend you’re in a pub?”

“I have you tell me about the human world so that I can laugh! Not because I would ever want to go there.” He muttered and you rolled your eyes. “Fine I guess I’ll just dance by myself!” You hummed a tune and spun on your heels, you held your arms out like you were dancing with a partner and smiled. Katsuki gazed at you dreamily, your beauty always warming him. He watched you without you knowing, your eyes closed enjoying your fantasy. He longed to rush to you, grabbing you in his strong arms and holding you tightly, but he could never.

To love a human is to die, Bakugo thought. Such fragile, breakable creatures. One push and they could break their bones, some wake up with ailments nobody can explain and they perish within days. To be a human is to be at the bottom of the food chain he thought.

But you, every part of you was hypnotizing to him. Your gorgeous eyes, your bravery. Your wonderful and gentle heart. You were to always sleep in his tent because it was the warmest, you never were sent on raids, he would rather cut off his own leg and beat his enemies with it than ever truly use you as a weapon. But you are strong in your own ways, in just a few short months you’ve turned to the way of the Oni. Traveling with him across the lands, learning to use a bow and gaining skills other humans could never achieve by just spending time with the yokai. 

Bakugo couldn’t just be in love with you, you consume him. Every breath he takes he breathes for you.

You laughed, a sound like twinkling bells, but your giggle cut short with a yelp as you lost your footing on a patch of snow. 

Katsuki burst from his seat, a small explosion rocketing him to you in a flash. He caught you in both arms around the waist, pulling you to him before you could hit the ground. Your body pressed against his chest, your faces just a small space apart. “K-katsuki...” You whispered close to his jaw. 

The Oni panicked and dropped you on your bottom to the ground. You hit the ground with a clumsy thud and you groaned. “Hey what did you do that for!” 

“You need to learn to watch your step! You could have cracked open that tiny skull!” He shouted as he stuck out his hand to help you up. “You still didn’t have to drop me! You can be a real bastard you know.” You rejected his hand and helped yourself to your feet, brushing the snow off of your clothes. “Being a bastard has gotten me far in life! I’m the chief of my own clan, I have plenty of gold and mead. I have everything I want and it’s all thanks to being a cold monster.” He stepped ahead of you, tired of wasting daylight and trudging on. You stepped after him, jogging to stay close to his side. “You can say all that you want that you’re some kind of wicked and evil commander but I know the truth Katsuki!” You teased. He growled and balled his fists, walking faster. “You’re really a big sweet heart!” You poked his arm with a grin. He stopped in his tracks again. “It’s Chief Bakugo.” He said quietly.

“What?” You asked confused. He didn’t look you in the eye, but spoke louder. “I said it’s Chief Bakugo! I’ve been soft on you too long!” He was yelling. You stepped away from him and put a hand to your chest. Not used to him lashing out at you. You’d seen him treat the others that way, but never you. “What are you saying?” You asked quietly, the shock overwhelming your emotions. “I’m saying you need to toughen up! You’re practically useless to the clan at this point and I can’t take it anymore!” 

If someone was there in that small patch of forest, they would have heard both of your hearts shattering like broken glass.

You were silent for a moment. Your brain rushed a thousand scenario's in your head, playing each one out quickly. You could run, use your knew skills to find a new town, never looking back. You could scream in his face, telling him that you wish you had never met him. Bakugo waited for you to do one of these things, he hoped you would, but you chose to do nothing of the sort. 

“What is this really about, Katsuki?” You spoke softly and put your hand on his stiff shoulder. Subconsciously he eased at your touch, your loving hand shooting warmth through his entire body. 

Bakugo felt the anger boil up inside of him and then disappear, he could be angry for days, but something about you pulled out all of his irrational thoughts. He spoke to you honestly. 

“Why do you have to be a human?” His voice cracked. “A tiny, fragile mortal!” He spoke frantically, his voice laced with something you had never heard from him before.

Fear.

“If something ever happened to you, beautiful Lilly.” He touched your hand. It was soft and warm. “I would die.” His eyes glistened with the hint of tears. You smiled softly and touched his face, kissing him gently on his cheek. “You love me Katsuki, don’t you?” His face eased, he closed his eyes and relaxed into your touch. “With every bone in my body, I love you Lilly.” He smirked. “It’s annoying.”

You burst into a fit of laughter and wrapped your arms around his neck. “I love you too, and if you love me as much as you say, I know you will never let something happen to me.” 

The drum circle played loud and energetically. For one night, the Oni danced with glee under the stars. The warriors had held their weapons to the sky with guttural cries just a few short hours ago, cheering at the ceremony of a life time. Their chief had taken a wife under the full moon, the wolves howling a mile away on the cliff sides in respect. For one of the most feared yokai to ever life, a true master of battle was retiring from war to start a family. 

You sat happily adorned in red paint, and shells strung on fishing line as jewelry around your neck. You were sitting by your new husband, watching your clan mates dance proudly with drinks in their hand. “Who is that over their, Katsuki?” You pointed to a different kind of yokai, one you had never seen before. He wasn’t dancing, rather smiling proudly while displaying his muscles for a few pretty sprites who had joined the party. You were used to the Oni, but so many new magical beings had been appearing lately. “Ah, an old friend of mine. It’s rare he leaves his shrine.” The man had long red hair, it stuck out of his head in a point, and flowed down his back. He had sharp teeth like a dog, or maybe a lion. “Is he Oni?” 

“No my love, he’s a guardian. A Koma Inu.” He tilted his head in the red haired yokai’s direction. “A Lion Dog.” The Koma Inu smiled brightly at him with a wave.

As the night dwindled away, the Oni showed no signs of stopping their dance. 

You yawned as you saw the peak of the sunrise, and leaned your head against Bakugo’s shoulder. He enveloped you in his arms and picked you up, cradling you to his chest. He carried you away from the noise, to a familiar place.

The cave where you first met, just a few short minutes away from camp. He set you at the entrance and you took his hand, walking inside. It was warm in here, a fire already started. He guided you to a plush looking pile of furs, it looked much more comfortable than the straw piles you’ve been sleeping in while camping. You laid down and closed your eyes nestling deep into the pile with a smile. You waited nervously for him to lay down beside you, picturing the deep and passionate kiss you were about to receive.

Your eyes shot open as you heard Katsuki’s steps start to walk away. “Hey! Where are you going?” You asked with a frown. “Aren’t you tired?” He asked with a straight face. “Yes but...” You tried to choose your next words carefully. “It’s our... wedding night...?” You pushed your hair back exposing your collar bones and batting your eyelashes. “Is something in your eye?” He asked. 

You sighed and laid back down, rolling away from him. “What’s wrong?” He touched your back with his foot, giving you a light push. “You’re supposed to join me! We’re married now?” You looked up at him, his face burning crimson. You sat up and giggled, pulling his hands down so he would sit with you. “Katsuki have you ever... I mean, are you nervous?” 

“I don’t get nervous!” He started to spit out, before you pushed him down by his chest. The two of you hit the soft furs with a light thud, your lips crashing down onto his. You tangled your fingers into his hair and he gasped into your mouth. His hands ran along your body, removing pieces of clothing with tearing fever. The shells around your neck were ripped off, scattering across the cave floor. Your breath caught in your throat as he let out a growl into your mouth, his excitement growing and grinding against you. He flipped you onto your back, dragging his teeth across your skin, his sharpened canines trailing a small amount of blood in little nicks on your sensitive neck. You cried out, he gripped your hips harshly and pulled you into the position he wanted. You clawed at his shoulders, egging him on. He was happy to oblige by pushing his length inside of you without a lot of warning. You couldn’t help but moan in shock, your body adjusting to the sudden intrusion. He gave you a moment to breathe, just moving himself slightly, feeling your walls loosen and slick, you relaxed and took a deep breath, blowing the air out in a small o shape. He softly kissed your forehead and began picking up pace. He leaned on his elbow while looking down at you. You held his shoulders and your eyes rolled back into your head as he thrust into your hips hard, pulling himself out of your body almost completely before slamming back into you over and over again. You couldn’t do anything but catch your breath, gasping and moaning in his ear. Bakugo let out small groans, he tried to muffle them by clamping his mouth shut. He started to move faster, his movements becoming unhinged and wild. Your moaning encouraged him. Your climax built, you felt it burning inside of you. With his left hand Bakugo gripped your chin, holding you by your throat lightly. He grinned as your walls tightened around him, he felt your orgasm boil over and explode with a few more pumps. You clawed down his body, squirming and crying out. His mouth slacked and he let out a quiet groan as he finished ropes inside of you, still moving harshly against your throbbing slit. 

The cave was very dark when you woke up, the morning light not quite reaching this end of the cave and the fire had burned to nothing but cinders. You rolled over and happily placed a hand over your soul mates face, he was sleeping soundly, his breath whistling through his bottom teeth. He sleepily threw an arm around you, pulling you close to him and beckoning you back to sleep. You snuggled deep into his chest and thought for just a moment about your old life?

“What kind of wife would you make, wasting time in the outdoors like a young boy?”

A perfect one for an Oni, you suppose.

Did you catch who’s going to be added next to this AU?? He made a guest appearance... I hope enjoyed another fantasy fic! This one has been half done in my drafts for ages... -Bambi

#inthewoods yokai #bakugo x reader #bakugo lemon #katsuki bakugo #katsuki bnha #bnha fan fiction #bnha #my hero fan fiction #bakugo fantasy au #bnha fantasy au #monster bnha #yokai bakugo #oni bakugo #requests #bnha requests #Kirishima Eijirou

[fenheart87]

manikin

Lukanette 2020 Exchange piece For @the-alice-of-hearts, enjoy! 

Marinette was on a mission,step outside of her comfort zone and again echoed by her technical design professor to be more daring and assertive and bold. She needed to round out her styles and portfolio as much as she could to make herself a more attractive candidate for any applications she submitted or even just expanding her online commissions and bulking her portfolio that way if she chose to start out on her own. It was difficult to just be set in one style and make it big when just starting. Mari figured that she would explore as much as she could before committing to one genre or style, it would keep her far from being burnt out like some of her fellow classmates.

“Hey Nathaniel! Have you seen Juleka?” She called out, walking a bit faster to the redhead who waited for her to join him.

“She was around this morning but I haven’t seen her since. Have you tried calling or texting her?”

“Yup, nothing but silence though. I’m out of touch with everyone’s schedules the more time goes by.”

“Is she complaining she can’t be super Mari and be our everyday ladybug again?” Marc teased, sneaking up and poking the shorter girl’s sides resulting in a squeal.

“Marc!” She smacked a red clad shoulder before they disappeared behind their boyfriend. “Stop doing that!”

“Stop making it so easy?” Nathaniel offered, smirking at Mari’s adorable pout.

“I hate you. I really do. Welp, if Juleka is busy and you’re both too shy to play model and dress up and have proof of it, I guess I need to find a model.”

“I’m pretty much free if you need a mannequin, class ends at three for me this week.” Marc offered kindly, green eyes peeping over Nathaniel’s shoulder.

“Oh wonderful! I found another sample fabric I wanted to try for you!” She did her jump and hip shimmy, ignoring the giggles.

“Only exception being Thursday, that’s date night this week.”

“Fine, have your boyfriend Marc on Thursday, I get your girlfriend Michelle the rest of the week. See you later!” Mari dashed away, giggling as the bright red spots on Marc’s cheeks.

After walking around campus and deciding against searching too far as she still had classes, she was no closer to finding her muse model but it did nothing to dampen her good mood. It was a sign that meant she would just have to explore the in and outs further and stay away from her usual haunts. Instead of using her eyes she decided to let her ears guide her, Marinette glanced around a few times and focused on conversations instead of what people were wearing, hearing the emotions in their voices. With the new mindset, carefully the young designer wandered around and sketched some expressions, new emotions to craft into fabric choices and color schemes to make them come alive as clothing to wear the emotion plain as day. There was a ton of laughter and giggles around her until she got closer to the library. The sound of a guitar drew her in like a sirens song.

Marinette needed a break from all the walking and climbing she had done so far and decided to stop by the library for the few books she had on hold. Skirting around the cliques that hugged the stairs more often than naught, the petite designer made her way into the library. Seeing Max working the check out desk, Marinette bee lined for him, smiling wide enough to crinkle eyes just slightly.

“Marinette, how are you today?” Max greeted, shuffling books around to scan them and write the names on the cards for the reserved items.

“I should have a few books on hold, all fashion related of course, there was one that was checked out but if you could see if it’s been returned?”

“Sure thing, book title, author or DEWY code?”

“There’s several, here’s my card.” Marinette held it out for Max to scan, rocking on heels slightly to a rhythm she could hear every time the door opened.

“Ah yes, you have five reserved and it looks like two have not been checked back on yet. Would you like me to check the return bin?” Max asked, finding the appropriate stack of books and setting them on the counter.

“Yes please, even if we can find one more that makes it easier to study and hopefully pass with flying colors.”

“Fashion has always been a huge part of you Marinette, as long as your heart is in it then you’ll pass with flying colors.” Max smiled at the rare blush on the young woman’s face, “I’ll check the returns for you, be right back.

Marinette breathed deeply to calm her sudden nerves, her friend’s unwavering faith in her abilities always managed to take the designer off guard but she wouldn’t change any of them for the world. While waiting, she filled out the cards for the books in the pile to make Max’s job easier but kept getting distracted by the wonderful music that kept sneaking through.

“I managed to find both luckily, if you could fill these out then you free to chase whatever has you so distracted.” The glint from his glasses made Marinette squeak in embarrassment as being caught.

“Thanks Max!” Quickly she stuffed the books in her backpack and marched at a reasonable pace to the door and only let out the breath she was holding once outside.

Students shuffled to and from the library, stopping to chat quietly or bask in the music for a moment before continuing their way. The solo guitarist was the center of attention, playing a mix of old and new songs. The overall genre seemed to be with the intent to soothe stressed students and teachers alike as they passed by, Marinette could feel herself relaxing and her creative block lifting. Deciding to obey her muse, the slim young woman snagged a bench that was being vacated by a couple who had finished their coffees. Unsure how much time had passed, the designer lost herself to the world of inspiration, completing outlines with notes and vague sketches with the knowledgeable experience telling her to be swift and flesh then out later.

The music had become a soft and sweet ballad, just hovering in the background for anyone to notice or ignore if they were passing by. Marinette took a quick glance at her outlines and notes, polishing little things or rewriting fabric choices, her eyes fell to the musician that she could finally see and she froze. This was exactly what she was looking for, his expression spoke of calm but hid the slight anxiety every time he started a new song. When he suddenly changed tunes and a couple stopped fighting because the music took over made his lips quirk in a faint grin. His clothes were made to blend in, ripped jeans and combat boots topped with a plain Jagged tee and lightweight layered Hoodie. That did absolutely nothing to help hide his hair with the blue tips, was that a tongue ring?! Marinette felt the need to sketch and design and she had to see what color his eyes were.

Swiftly but carefully she put away her supplies and made her way to the musician that was quietly packing away his guitar and removing the tips from his case. The designer caught his attention and when the weight of gaze met hers, Marinette just blurted out what came to mind.

“You’re hot, can I undress you?” With a squeak, she smacked her face with her sketchpad and took a few deep lungs full of air. “I’m sorry! I want your clothes- I just, you were playing and sound sexy- GOOD SOUND! I really like you- YOUR  style it’s mysterious but like nice- I really want to undress you- I mean I-!”

“Deep breaths.” His melodic voice cut through her anxiety like a hot knife to butter. “I’m Luka.”

“Ma-ma-Marinette!”

“Nice to meet your Ma-ma-Marinette. You’re an artist too?” He nodded causally to her sketchbook.

“Yes. Fashion designer. Project.” Few more deep breaths. “I need to branch out and try a new style and I usually create women’s clothes. So my professor told me to challenge myself and your music inspired me and when I looked at you, you’re perfect. That is- I mean, if you wouldn’t mind being my model?”

“So do I get to undress myself or is that your job?” Luka teased with a grin, causing Marinette to hide her face again with a squeak. “I have a crazy schedule but I’d love to help.”

“I have time on Tuesdays from two to five, Thursdays from five to seven and Saturdays after the morning rush so more like three or four to eight.” She rattled off, pulling out her planner to his amusement.

“Okay I’ll have to check my schedule, two of my classes are up in the air. How about we exchange phone numbers and then I can text you what’s my schedules going to look like? It changes week to week.”

“Most musicians do it seems, one of my best friends is a DJ and he takes all kinds of gigs so it’s hard to sit down and catch up.” They traded phones and saved their numbers before swapping back. “Some of this we can do via Skype if needed, you have to be comfortable with the design too and just wearing it to help my grade.”

“Seems like you’ve done this before.” Luka stuffed his phone into his pocket and packed away his guitar, shouldering his case.

“Fashion student, too broke for mannequins so I lure in unsuspecting folk with delicious free pastries from the best bakery in town.” She teased with a huge grin.

“Well then, I look forward to those pastries.”

Waving, they went their separate ways and Marinette had a skip in her step that had been missing due to the stress. Texting her other friends that were her usual models but this time with ideas of clothing to compliment the designs she had drafted for Luka. Everyone had a positive response and she had just enough people for a full collection, Marinette was sure to blow this project out of the water.

- - - 

Luka stared down at his phone with a smile. As far as first impressions go, he didn’t think negatively of Marinette. It was easy for the musician to recognize the spark of creativity making her blue bells shine and the dark circles the byproduct of sleepless nights from the muse keeping her awake to do her bidding. Her song was the dead giveaway, it was beautiful but unfinished with the crash of crescendos and decrescendos in spots, showing she was afraid to stay loud and bold.

“That had better not be another cat meme.” Juleka muttered, sliding into the booth across from him.

“Nope, I just got asked to undress for a pretty cute girl.”

“What girl wants to see you naked?”

“Not naked, she wants to dress me up.” Luka corrected, waving the waitress over so they could order. “Caramel cappuccino and one hot fudge vanilla shake.”

“Design student or art student?” Luka had no trouble hearing his sisters mumbles, even over the din of the coffee-shop.

“Design student, I guess she felt a good vibe with the music I was playing and she got bit by the creative bug.”

“Not the only one that got bit.” Juleka smiled innocently as the waitress set down their drink orders. “When’s your first fitting?”

“I don’t know, I told Marinette I would text her my schedule for the week once I figure it out.

"Well them, you had better bring me back an eclair and a chocolatine, try the macaroons.” With that cryptic advice, Juleka took her drink and left her brother confused. A ding from his phone had him opening a picture of a very familiar face forwarded from his sister.

Is this the ‘go get em tiger high-five from you?

You hurt her and you’ll answer to your future sister-in-law.

Thanks for the vote of confidence.

#lukanette-exchange #lukanette 2020 #marinette dupin cheng #marinette freakout #luka couffaine #flirty #lukanette endgame

[myownworldstayout]

New Friends Ch. 12

Ch.1 / Ch.11 / Ch.13

(Are you ready for more fluff?? you’re gonna get more fluff.) (also, It’s long so warning lol)

“Marinette, I love these dresses!” Aurore sang, twirling around in a sleeveless purple dress, which stopped short just above her knees.

“The casual outfits are quite nice as well.” Kagami complimented, studying her black, ripped jeans and rose red top, matching her black boots.

Marinette blushed slightly at the praise, though it was hardly noticeable since she was still fiddling with another outfit on one of the manikins. 

“Thank you so much! I figured you guys would like those.” 

“I still can’t believe you made these.” Wayhem commented, picking at the collar of his bright green, short sleeved shirt. 

“Do the jeans fit okay?” She asked, turning to get a good look at the three. 

Wayhem grinned. “They’re perfect.” 

Marinette smiled brightly, nodding with satisfaction as she focused on the manikin again.

“It’s a shame Felix couldn’t come to your house with us. He’s missing out on some great fashion.” Aurore giggled, sitting down on the chaise and smoothing out her dress.

“Actually, I already gave him an outfit. He’s gonna meet us at the concert.”

Aurore sat up. “Really?” 

“Yep!”

During lunch period that morning, Luka invited them to go to Kitty Section’s concert. They were holding it in the square this time, and the crowd was hopefully going to be big. Aurore and Wayhem were more than happy to go, since they always loved Kitty Section’s concerts, and Kagami promised to work something out in her schedule. Felix was reluctant at first- concerts were always so loud and pushy -but when Marinette excitedly agreed to go, he gave in.

The group became so hyped for the event that they decided to dress up for it as well. That was when Marinette remembered she had some outfits at home that she’d been working on. So Aurore, Kagami, and Wayhem came to the Bakery to try them on while Luka prepared for the concert. 

“The real question is how you convinced Felix to come to the concert in the first place.” Kagami said, shifting comfortably on the chase next to Aurore.

“What do you mean?” Marinette asked obliviously, pulling one of the pins from between her teeth and sticking it into a skirt.

“Felix hates concerts.” Kagami stated bluntly.

“I can’t imagine Felix liking anything loud or crowded to be honest.” Wayhem joked, slipping his hands into his pockets.

“Pretty much. His exact words were, ‘why listen to music at a loud, people-infested park when I could listen to the same music alone in my quiet bedroom?’” Kagami smile.

Aurore and Wayhem laughed at that, but Marinette furrowed her eyebrows.

“Why do you think I convinced him though? Maybe he decided to just try it out on his own.” 

Wayhem scoffed and lightheartedly replied, “You kidding? He was so going to stay home until you said you were going.” 

“He did suspiciously agree right after you did. Even though he said no the first time around.” Aurore joined in, a coy smile spreading across her lips.

Marinette pursed her lips, turning back to her project to hide her embarrassment. Felix didn’t agree just to be with her, right? 

The image of him walking her to her house around the first time they met flashed through mind.

She shook her head.

He just wanted to go to the concert since everyone else was going. They were all friends, after all. It would be silly to stay home instead of hanging out with all of your friends.

Yes, it had nothing to do with her, and this certainly wasn’t going to be another Adrien situation.

Marinette stilled.

Adrien.

“Marinette, are you alright?” Aurore asked, noticing her pause.

She drew in a breath, steeling herself. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine. I was just thinking about..”

“About Adrien?” Wayhem finished, sitting down on the floor next to Marinette’s rolling chair, across from the girls.

Marinette nodded in confirmation, keeping her eyes on the skirt.

The group quietly waited, their gaze soft, understanding. Marinette would speak if she wanted to do so.

“They haven’t noticed my unofficial absence for weeks.” she finally began, more of thinking aloud. “They didn’t care that I haven’t spoken a word to anyone, that they haven’t talked to me for weeks. It wasn’t until I actively ignored Adrien that they got upset.”

Marinette sighed, massaging her temples. “It’s like they don’t even care about me as a person. It’s all about their egos or hurt feelings or something just- just all about them.”

The group nodded along, letting her work through her thoughts. Though Marinette appreciated it, it also sort of ached. Because she had never had something like this before. Not with Alya, or Adrien, or anyone else she knew for years in that forsaken classroom. It was always “Marinette, you’re overreacting”, “Marinette you’re being ridiculous”. It could never be, “you have a right to be angry”, or “your feelings are valid whether they completely make sense or not”.

Come to think of it, even despite Lila’s influence, they’d had trouble before. Mostly when Marinette decided to have any sort of feelings besides pure happiness. Of course, Alya and the others weren’t entirely to blame. Adrien was normally the one to scold her on that front. 

She looked back up at the others. They sat there patiently, waiting for her to either finish her concerns or change the subject. It was her choice.

She reveled in that thought. Her choice. It felt as if this entire school year had flown by without giving her a single glance. She’d been forced into more things than she liked to admit. 

Being ladybug, for example. She loved Tikki with all her heart, but Marinette still found herself a tad bitter about how she got the miraculous. Would she have accepted if Master Fu asked her straight up? Probably not, but it still would’ve been nice to get a say in the matter. 

The point is, choices seemed to be new for her. She was sad that it turned out this way, but if it meant she could make choices, that she was finally free in a sense..

“There, done.” Marinette then smiled, leaning back to check her work.

Aurore and Wayhem gasped.

“Oh, Marinette, it’s beautiful!”

~~~~~~

Felix grumbled to himself as he got ready for the concert.

Why did her agree to go to this? Concerts were loud and crowded and everything he despised, really. Why couldn’t he just stay home and watch the concert live at the very least? That’d be much more preferable.

He pictured Marinette’s smiling face, her eyes shining with excitement and anticipation. 

“You’re coming too, right Felix?” She had asked.

Seeing that expectant and hopeful look in her eyes… how could he say no?

He remembered her quietly squealing a “yes!” and pumping her fist in the air when he said he would go.

The group was surprised, though none argued. Especially when Marinette started rambling about “New outfits” and “Fitting sessions after school”.

A frown tugged at the corner of Felix’s lips.

They were all at her house now, getting ready for the concert. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to be there. Unfortunately, he needed to come home first to inform his mother about the new schedule and do a few things.

As expected, she was more than eager to let him go to the concert.

“When are you going to invite them over?” she asked for what felt like the fifth time that week.

“When I feel the time is right.” Felix said, repeating the same answer he always gave. 

His mother put on a pout, but only huffed and left the room to start supper. 

Felix smiled towards his mother’s antics as he straightened his new tie.

Marinette had shown them lots of sketches for clothing designs, but her actually making the clothes was a completely different story.

And she’d done and amazing job. The clothes she made for them not only fit their personalities well, but also seemed like they could be bought from a store.

Felix noticed a few crooked stitches and some loose buttons, usual mistakes that are perfected over time. Considering she was only fifteen, the handiwork was extremely impressive in his opinion.

The outfit wasn’t all that different from his usual one. He still had his black dress pants and dark grey vest. However, his familiar, lighter grey of a button up, long sleeve shirt was replaced by a black one with the sleeves stitched up to his elbows in a quarter sleeve style. Instead of his black tie, Marinette gave him a striped green and black tie to use. How she got the measurements was beyond him, because the clothes fit perfectly.

“Have fun at the concert sweetie! If you need me or your father to pick you up, just give us a call.” His mother cooed as he opened the front door.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Felix said with a small smile, waving and walking out the door.

-

The walk was longer than what he was used to, but he left earlier than necessary so he took his time. Nevertheless, he still got there about twenty minutes before the concert started. A few people were lingering in the square, either curious about the commotion or waiting for the concert to begin. In the center of the square, right in front of the glass pyramid, Felix spotted Kitty Section preparing themselves for the performance. Luka was tuning his guitar with Juleka, Rose was checking the sound system, and Ivan was testing his drums. 

Felix noted that the others were wearing their normal outfits while Luka was obviously wearing a “Mari original” as they called it. He was wearing a dark-ish blue, checkered button up shirt with black jeans. His shirt was unbuttoned to reveal a navy blue t-shirt underneath. In the middle of the navy blue T-shirt was a white jagged stone, similar to the black one on his white t-shirt he normally wore.

Luka glanced up, smiling when he noticed Felix. 

“Hey! I see you’re wearing your new outfit, too. Mari did a good job, as always.” he commented, setting his guitar to the side and standing up.

Felix nodded with a smile, looking over his clothes once more. He ignored the side glances he received from his classmates. He figured they wouldn’t be pleased of his presence, but he was here for Marinette, not them.

Speaking of which, “Where are the others?” 

“They’ll be coming soon, don’t worry. Marinette wanted to make last minute tweaks on the other’s outfits.” Luka explained, waving off the question. “I didn’t expect you to come. Concerts don’t seem to be your thing.”

“They’re not. I only came because-” Felix cut himself short. Telling Luka his real reason for coming probably wasn’t the best idea.

Unfortunately for Felix, Luka was good at filling in the blanks.

“Because Marinette wanted you to, right?” he finished with a knowing smile. 

Felix gave him a glare in response, not denying or confirming anything.

Thankfully, people were already starting to pile into the square. Therefore, Felix and Luka were quickly surrounded by chattering fans, distracting them from the conversation. 

“I have to go up on stage. Good luck finding Mari in this mess.” Luka chuckled, before disappearing into the crowd as well.

Felix hummed in displeasure, turning on his heel and heading for the back of the crowd. Maybe it would be better to find them if he weren’t so smothered.

“Felix, there you are!” 

He stopped, looking in the direction of the familiar voice he’d come to know quite well.

What he saw brought his thoughts to a screeching halt.

It was definitely Marinette- you could tell from her signature ponytails and unmistakably bright smile -but her clothes almost made her seem like a different person entirely.

She wore a pitch black blouse which was tucked into a bright red skirt covered in black polka dots that hung just above her knees. Her black heels, which were red on the bottom, drew attention to her toned legs. Now that Felix thought about it, Marinette’s arms were pretty toned as well. She was fit in general, to be honest.

A light blush dusted Felix’s cheeks as he pushed the thought out of his mind.

“What do you think?” Marinette beamed, twirling to give him a better look. 

Felix swallowed, briefly at a loss for words. Could you blame him, though?

“Did you make that?” he managed to ask.

“Yeah! It’s not too bad is it?” Marinette said shyly.

Felix shook his head almost vigorously. “No, It- you look-” he paused, taking a second to compose himself. “You look.. Stunning.” 

Now Marinette blushed, a delightful pink that somehow complemented the outfit. 

He pulled a soft smirk, but then it faded as he looked her up and down again and squinted.

Marinette frowned. “What is it?” 

“Do you mind if I try something?”

“Try something?” Marinette repeated, blinking in surprise.

“Yes, with your hair if that’s alright?” He said, reaching up and gently touching one of her pigtails in thought.

“O-Oh, uh- Sure, I g-guess.” Marinette stuttered, her blush deepening.

Without another word, Felix moved around behind her, carefully starting to pull the ribbons out. It might have been his imagination, but Felix thought he felt her shiver when he started combing his fingers through her hair to straighten it out.

“Alright, I’m done.” He stated after a few minutes, stepping around to her side again.

Marinette brought her hands up to her hair, lightly feeling around to figure out what he did. 

“Thank you.”

Felix shrugged. “My uncle is a fashion designer after all.”

Marinette smiled, opening her mouth to respond when someone else called out to Felix.

“Felix! We finally found you! Oh, and you have Marinette that’s even better!” Aurore shouted over the crowds, moving towards them with Wayhem and Kagami in tow.

“Wow, I love your hair.” Wayhem complimented when they caught up to the two.

“Felix did it.” Marinette grinned, absently touching her hair that had fallen around her shoulders.

“Felix did?” Kagami raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk playing at her lips. 

The blonde didn’t respond, keeping an indifferent expression. That might have been more condemning than if he had said anything at all.

“Well, it totally makes the look.” Aurore smiled, pulling a pocket mirror out of her purse and handing it to Marinette.

The hair-do looked much nicer than Marinette expected. Apparently, Felix took out her two pigtails, using the two ribbons to tie her hair into a half up half down style. This caused it to look like she was wearing a big red bow instead of her ordinary ribbons. Having her hair pulled back certainly topped off the outfit as Aurore had said. The red bow brought out the skirt and the hair that fell around her shoulders, along with her bangs, shaped her face nicely. 

“Wow..” Marinette muttered, brushing her bangs somewhat to the side.

“Mhmm~” Aurore hummed with a smile, taking back the pocket mirror. 

“We should get to the front, or somewhere near there. The concert is going to be starting soon.” Felix spoke up.

“Yeah, but there’s so many people..” Kagami said with a frown, standing up on her tiptoes to look over the growing crowd.

“Oh, let’s hold hands so we don’t lose each other!” Wayhem suggested, grabbing Aurore and Kagami’s hands. 

Felix winced, though no one noticed.

Aurore grinned, turning and grabbing Marinette’s hand.

Marinette turned to Felix, holding up her hand.

“So we can stay together.” She smiled.

Felix hesitated. He didn’t like touch. Never enjoyed physical contact with anyone, really. Even his mother, who he loved dearly, was someone he could barely stay around for long due to all the hugs she smothers him with.

There wasn’t a specific reason he hated being touched, he just did. Felix assumed it was mostly from his father, but he couldn’t tell for sure.

That was why he was surprised when he took Marinette’s hand. Because he.. He actually didn’t mind her touch. It wasn’t all that bad. Her hand was warm and her grip gentle, loose enough that he could let go if he wanted, but tight enough that they shouldn’t be separated.

Her grip then tightened suddenly to keep from losing him when they got deeper into the crowd.

For reasons unbeknownst to him, Felix squeezed her hand back. 

He caught a glimpse of Marinette glancing back at him in surprise, before turning her attention back to the crowds.

“Alright, Paris, are you ready!” Luka called over the microphone.

The group stopped. The crowds cheered.

Marinette didn’t let go of Felix’s hand. Whether she was distracted by Luka or just didn’t think about it, Felix found that he was okay with it. 

The music began, causing Felix to look at the stage as well. Half way through, Marinette and the others started dancing. He didn’t join in, but his hand swung around with Marinette’s occasionally. That was when he noticed she was still holding Aurore’s hand as well. In fact, they were all still holding hands. To stay together.

That’s right. To stay together, nothing more. Felix reminded himself, even if he wasn’t sure why he needed to remember that.

-

The concert lasted for about an hour, along with a few added encores.

“And now,” Luka began, wrapping up the show. “I’d like to make a special shoutout to the girl who not only made my outfit for tonight, but also designed Kitty Section’s costumes and album covers from the beginning. Mlle. Marinette Dupain-Cheng!”  

Felix saw Marinette’s eyes widen as the spotlight landed on her.

Luka grinned, walking to the edge of the stage and holding out his hand.

Marinette, still in shock, slipped her hand out of Aurore and Felix’s grasp and took Luka’s hand.

He ignored the sudden coldness he felt from Marinette’s absence as the girl was pulled up on stage.

“This is also a ‘Mari Original’.” Luka announced eagerly, gesturing to Marinette’s outfit.

The ravenette smiled sheepishly, fiddling with her skirt a bit to contain her nerves.

The crowd gave a hearty round of applause. Her friends clapped the loudest, of course, and Wayhem whistled. 

“That’s all I’ve got folks. Thank you and goodnight!”

~~~~~~~

Marinette’s heart pounded against her chest even half an hour later. Luka did love his surprises, she just wished they didn’t involve so many people.

“Where does this go?” Wayhem asked, holding up a box of sound equipment. 

“Over there is fine.” Luka answered, pointing to a few other boxes nearby.

Wayhem nodded, hobbling off in that direction. Marinette giggled at the odd posture.

It was nice though, she thought, being appreciated. Getting the credit she deserved for her work. What did she do to deserve these wonderful people?

“I~ think that’s everything?” Aurore more of asked, looking around the now empty stage.

“Yes, I believe so.” Felix agreed, crossing his arms and searching for any lost or forgotten items as well.

Marinette smiled towards the blonde. He’d been full of surprises that evening. Since the first week she met him, actually. She was also happy to say that the outfit she created looked good on him.

“Thanks for helping out guys.” Luka said appreciatively, setting the last few boxes onto their stacked pile. 

Juleka, Rose, and Ivan mumbled their “thanks” as well- Rose being as cheerful as ever. Marinette and Felix might rival Chloe in low popularity at school at the moment, but they still helped out.

“You don’t have to thank us.” Kagami insisted. Her phone then buzzed in her pocket, and she sighed when she saw the message.

“My driver’s going to be here in a few minutes. Anyone need a ride home?” 

Luka scratched the back of his head. “Actually.. Can you take Juleka and I home? It’d be hard to take all of the boxes home and mom doesn’t have a car..” 

Kagami smiled. “Of course, it’s not a problem.”

The exchange seemed to remind Felix of something, and he turned to her. 

“What about you?” He asked, glancing at her as he took out his phone and pressed on his mother’s contact icon.

“Sorry?” Marinette blinked, looking at Felix and standing up on the stage.

“Do you need a ride home?” he elaborated, waving his phone slightly.

“Oh no! I’m alright, thank you-” 

Marinette then paused, and looked to the streets. It was getting a bit dark. 

“On second thought, that would be nice.” she smiled.

Felix returned the smile, before walking away to call his parents.

-

Marinette yelped as she stumbled down the steps of the stage, right into a firm pair of arms. 

“Are you alright?” Felix asked, concern lacing his tone.

“Ah, y-yes. I’m so sorry..” she sighed, struggling in his arms to stand back up.

Felix lifted her to her feet. “It’s fine. As long as you’re alright.”

Marinette blushed, suddenly noticing how close they were and Felix’s lingering arms around her waist. She lightly touched her right cheek, which she somehow managed to scratch on the way down.

“Honestly, I don’t know what possessed you to where heels. You can barely walk around in your usually flats.” he then added, frowning at the injury. 

Marinette chuckled, shrugging her shoulders. Though his tone was sarcastic, she knew he meant it as more of a joke than anything. It was hard to read Felix when they first met, but after a few weeks of hanging out with the group so much, she managed to figure him out a little.

For one, he wasn’t as stone cold as he appeared to be. Felix might be brutally honest and strongly opinionated, but he did care. She’d seen it over the past few weeks. He just had a hard time expressing his emotions.

Not to mention that ever since he arrived at school, Lila hasn’t bothered Marinette as much- if at all. She couldn’t begin to explain how thankful she was for that. 

“The car’s here. Are you ready to go?” The blonde in question interrupted her thoughts, gesturing to a grey car that had just rolled onto the street. 

Marinette nodded, saying a quick goodbye to the others and following Felix to the vehicle. 

Felix opened the back door for her, which she found sweet. When she got into the car, though, Marinette was a tad surprised to see Felix slide into the seat next to her and close the door.

She looked to the floor to calm herself. Taking deep breaths, smoothing out her skirt, fixing her hair. The car pulled onto the street and started towards the bakery.

“T-thanks for the r-ride.” she finally said, wincing at the stutter.

Why was she nervous? It was just Felix.

Just Felix. Marinette mentally repeated. 

“It’s no trouble.” Felix assured, brushing off the comment. 

“I didn’t know you had a chauffeur.” She commented thoughtfully.

Felix glanced at her from the window. “Well, I would certainly hope so. My family does own and run several banks around the country.”

Marinette’s eyes widened. “Wait, really?”

“You didn’t know?” Felix raised his eyebrows, straightening in his seat.

Marinette shook her head dumbly. Then again, how did she not know Felix’s family ran the banks? She’s known him for weeks hasn’t she?

The boy stared at her for a moment, then simply hummed and turned back to the window. 

Silence filled the car. Marinette found it frustrating. Usually, she could talk about anything or everything with Felix. Now, she was at a loss for words. Why was that?

-

When the car stopped in front of her house, Marinette shuffled out of the vehicle, Felix following behind her.

“Thanks again for the ride home.” she said, throwing him an appreciative smile. 

“Any time.” Felix replied softly. 

A frown suddenly flickered across his face and he lightly touched the side of his lips. “You’re lipstick’s a little messed up.” 

Marinette blushed, bringing her hand up to fix the error. 

He was looking at my lips? 

The thought nearly gave Marinette a heart attack, and she shoved it to the back of her mind. That didn’t mean anything. Felix was just observant like that.

“No, wait- you missed- here let me do it.” 

Before Marinette could respond, Felix was in front of her again. He tilted her chin upwards, gently grazing his thumb across her lips.

Marinette’s heart skipped a beat at the gesture and her eyes flicked to his.

His eyebrows were knitted together as he focused on fixing her makeup. It was all too obvious that he wasn’t trying anything.

“It’s such a lovely shade of red..” he murmured absently, stroking her lips one last time for perfection.

Oh, if Marinette thought she couldn’t blush any deeper..

The poor girl was about to blabber out some sort of reply when a car horn blared next to them, signaling for Felix to hurry up. The two jumped apart, glancing at the impatient chauffeur. 

“G-Goodnight!” Marinette nearly squeaked, holding back another cringe of embarrassment. 

Felix gave a small smile, though, not seeming to mind. “Yes, goodnight.”

With that, he got back in the car and left. 

Marinette went back inside as well, hand on her lips and thoughts racing about the night she just had and the new feelings she might have just experienced.

Tag list: @unabashedbookworm @bluerosette23 @minightrose@kuroko26@im-here-for-the-content @angstyrastuff @clumsy-owl-4178 @fanboy7794@choaticneturcl @bigcheeseyboi @burntnugget-tae @ayuchan07@honorisfortheweak @knightrose15 @mjisntme@rhub4rb @simplythebestbug@wilhelmares@zebrabaker@dargeon-lissa @kristycocopop @alumneia @kaydenth3gayden @thornangelic727 @flirtshobi @whatamessofwords

#Felinette #Felix Culpa #New Friends AU

[satorutini]

Star Boy (M)| pt 1

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: fluff, angst, eventual smut

wc: 5.2k

note: wasn’t the fic I was supposed to be working on but ended up revising for two hours anyways. a revived fic I wrote in 2017 that i can’t remember if I ever posted or not but I’m actually excited to pick it up again! breaking it into 3 parts for now. Not edited. 

Synopsis: Having fallen into a mundane routine between home and work, you’ve led yourself to believe there isn’t much room in your life for romance. However, fate seems to have other plans in store for you the morning you wake up to a sketch you’d made, come to life - and claiming to be the love of your life.

The life of working in an office was mediocre. Wake up, rush to work, stare at the same four grey walls for eight hours, with the exception of lunch breaks in the staff room, which contained off-white walls and even a cheesy hang in there! poster of that unfortunate cat hanging on for its dear life that someone tacked up above the refrigerator for kicks. It only managed to make the whole scenario more depressing, to be honest. And yet, no matter how dull or how monotonous your life seemed to be, there was one thing you still shamefully clung to, shown in your advocacy in semi casual Fridays, in the carefully organized calendar you kept beside your computer monitor, in the sketch book hastily shoved  beneath a pile of paperwork from prying eyes - your pride. And that was why when your coworker sidled up to your cubicle thirty minutes before the end of your shift with the stupidest proposition she'd come up with so far, your immediate answer was, "Hell no."

June pouts, leaning all her weight over the back of your desk chair so that you roll much too close to the desk for comfort. "C'mon, it's just me and Hoseok and his friend, it'll be fun, I promise!"

"That's what you said last time!" You turn abruptly in your seat with a glare, nearly knocking June over. "I know I don't get out much, but I really don’t think a blind date is the best idea.

“Hoseok said he might not even show up.”

“I refuse to be someone's third wheel. Or fifth wheel. Or fifteenth."

Your friend's pleading look quickly 180's to one of concern. "Have we always made you feel like that?"

You sigh, running your hands across your face, ignoring the way June visibly cringes when you pull back with streaks of mascara across your palms. "No, of course not. It's just that ever since you and Hoseok started sleeping together-,"

"-I said it wasn’t anything serious-"

"-I feel like I'm intruding on something." From the very beginning of your employment, you had spent pretty much every work day comfortably squashed between June and Hoseok, your closest friends and coworkers. The three of you were practically inseparable; the three musketeers, the power team of the company's advertising department. Yet one drunken night about a month ago, when you had left early in the middle of your groups weekly tradition of let's find a cool new way to get plastered in favor of sleep, whatever unspoken tension that had been building between your friends had finally reached its peak. You found out only by calling June the next day to ask if she had seen your jacket anywhere - apparently left behind at whatever bar you had been loitering - only to have a very hung over Hoseok answer the phone, thinking that it was his. What came next was a lot of shouting and screams of disbelief on their end, while you stared at the phone in shock until you assumed it was the appropriate time to hang up (specifically when Hoseok's yelp of pain turned into something that sounded a little too much like a moan). Both approached you on Monday morning red in the cheeks, completely avoiding eye contact. You had promptly swiveled around in your chair to look at June with a smirk.

"So when's the wedding? Can I be the flower girl?"

"Y/N, shut the fuck up."

You hadn't missed the fond smile that Hoseok hid with a duck of his head.

Now, June studies her nails in faux disinterest. “Fine, I'll let it slide this time, but only if you tell me you have something better to do first that doesn't include your sketchbook and a bottle of wine.”

You open your mouth to make up some sort of lie, but the knowing look on your friend's face has you coming up short. You huff. “You're right, I don't. But I'd much rather stay at home tonight. I'll go with you guys next time, alright?”

“Alright,” she reluctantly complies, bending over for a moment to pick up her bag on the other side of the cubicle wall. June hesitates, peeping around your doorway. “And you're sure this has nothing to do with-,”

“Go already!”

Standing to usher her out of your cubicle by the shoulders, you shove her towards where Hoseok waits patiently by the elevator. He gives you an enthusiastic wave. “You coming, Y/N? I heard on the news we’re supposed to be able to spot a shooting star tonight. I know this great bar where-,”

June shakes her head, undoubtedly giving him a sour face out of your view. Hoseok makes a nearly identical pout. You roll your eyes; they're made for each other.

Your friend wraps you a tight hug before waltzing off to link arms with Hoseok. “Have fun on your date!” The elevator doors slide shut just as June flashes her tongue.

Despite your insistence, by the end of the night you had ended up exactly where your friends had expected you to be; curled up on the sofa with a half empty wine bottle and drawing in your sketchbook in the light of your TV.

A feeling of loneliness settles over you like a weighted blanket, makes your hand drag heavy and your lines drawn darker. Somewhere, deep in your chest you know the biggest reason you refuse to stay out with your friends on a night like this is that it hurts too much. More and more often lately you've become more consciously aware of couples; huddled in the corners of your favorite café, strolling down the grocery store isles playfully debating that night's dinner and who's turn it was to cook, sitting hand in hand at the library or just bumping into them at the street. Hell, even your supervisor had just gotten engaged. And as happy as you were for them, it stung to be around. At your age, so many people were already getting swept off their feet and settling down. You wanted that, but with your career finally kicking into full gear, it always seemed like there was no time for mundane things like love. Curling further into the couch cushions, you can't help but think woefully that a little company wouldn't be so bad.

The lines on your sketchbook paper soon enough become the clear image of a man. His expression is somber, much like a reflection of your own feelings. He likes wearing layers, you muse, but draw him in a comfortable hoodie with a rose insignia over where his heart should be, big enough that you could imagine a smaller person sliding into it to share the spaces left beside him. He's not buff, and his legs are a little slim, but he's lean in an attractive way that quirks your lips upward. You give him a mop of black hair, too lazy to search around for your colored pencils and spend the most time drawing out his eyes. They're gorgeous and deep, almost feminine, with a dark, near tired look to them that turns a soft gaze into a rather hard glare.

"Cute," you muse aloud, lightly running a finger across the product of your lonely night. A sudden change of tune on the television draws your attention to the screen. Having left it on the news and forgetting to have changed it, a you watch as a broadcaster straightens up with a plastic smile.

"Tonight on the 10'oclock news, we have sightings of a shooting star-,"

With gasp, you stumble off the couch and make for the window, knocking over the bottle of wine in your haste. Pulling up the blinds, you press your face to the cool glass like a kid in a candy store and wait. Sure enough, within minutes, a streak of light paints it's way across the night sky, over the quiet city. You feel almost childish squeezing your eyes shut and folding your hands, whispering over and over again. "Please, please, please." I don't want to be alone anymore.

 When you open your eyes, the shooting star is long gone, and you suddenly feel foolish. Putting the blinds back in place, you trudge back to the sofa only to moan in dismay. "Dammit!"

The open wine bottle had fallen onto the couch, spilling the remains of the drink into the cushions and all over your sketchbook. Tears prick your eyes as you rush to grab towels from the kitchen. In thirty minute's time you were able to soak up most of the excess wine, but the overwhelming smell of fermented grape still made you wrinkle your nose. Your sketchbook was severely damaged, your latest drawing stained deep purple. Hopeful that they could be saved overnight, you remove your creations from the binding and spread them out one by one throughout your apartment to dry. Running out of space, you place your last one on your bedside table, looking in disdain at the wine stained drawing of your conjured-up companion. "At least I don't have to color," You mumble, thumbing the edge of the sketch where the pencil had smudged at his arm.

Crawling into bed, you can feel the inkling of hope from wishing on that star be swallowed by a growing cloud of discontentment.

 You wake up warm, and uncomfortably so. Sweat dampens the back of your neck. There's a fleeting thought of a problematic AC, but sleep still riddles your bones, and despite the heat, the bed is so comfortable. The added factor that it's a Saturday morning - a whole day to yourself with no work and no worries - makes you feel all the more inclined to stay put. Stretching your legs and squirming a bit, you pause in half conscious surprise when your left foot comes in contact with something solid on the opposite end of the bed. You wiggle your toes around a bit; maybe you'd left your shoes or a book on your bed last night without a clear thought. Deciding that cleaning was a concern for another time, you aim to kick the object off the edge to make leg room. That is until you're suddenly smothered into the mattress by an arm and a leg, lazily thrown over you on top of the comforter.

"Stop moving around already, we've finally got a day off."

You freeze, but more rendered by absolute terror than by the command of the gravelly voice that grumbles just above your ear. Even with the comfort acting as your only barrier, you can feel every bit of weight and bodily heat weighed upon you; his foot between your calves, the knee at your hipbone, the arm loosely wrapped around your waist. The person shifts in his sleep, seemingly satisfied with your compliance. But you're wide awake.

It's a good three seconds before you go into complete fight or flight mode. Kicking away the impeding leg and slipping from the stranger's grasp with a yell. Snatching your phone and the lamp off your bedside table, you nearly yank the plug out of the outlet.

The intruder slowly sits up, bedraggled and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He looks up at you in confusion, quirking on eyebrow as you brandish the lamp at his head like a sword.

"Where's the fire?"

"W-Who are you?!" You glance about the room, searching for signs of any sort of forced entry. Everything looks the same as last night, the drying pages of your notebook scattered across the desk and dresser untouched. Last night…"Oh god," you mumble, pressing your phone to your temple. "How drunk was I last night? Did we…?"

You look back over at the stranger sitting fully clothed and much too familiarly on your bed. The man huffs a laugh, a smug grin on his lips. "I think you would have felt it if we did anything last night." Cringing back into the closet door, you tighten your grip on the lamp. The man must realize that was the wrong thing to say, because he quickly back tracks, dropping the smug expression. "I-I mean when I got home last night, you were already asleep, and I was dead tired so-,"

"Wait what do you mean home?" The lamp feels slippery in your grip; the way he uses the word so loosely as though he had laid a claim to this place for as long as you have. "This is my apartment, this is my home and you're breaking and entering."

The stranger stands up at this point, hands cautiously held in front of him as though facing a frightened animal. "Woah, woah, slow down sweetheart," When he takes a step closer, you raise the lamp, threatening to swing. He immediately stills, wincing at your bewildered expression. "Y/N…"

 "How do you know my name? Who are you and how did you get in here?!" You're on the verge of hysterical at this point, improv weapon shaking the slightest in your hands. Shaken and confused, you want to cry; this wasn't how your peaceful day off was supposed to start. You flinch when the man slowly reaches into his back pocket, only to reveal a basic, black leather wallet. He flips it open to reveal his ID, and you risk a few steps forward to snatch it before scurrying back to your corner of the room. "Min Yoongi, 24," He reads aloud for you. "I'm your boyfriend."

"My-my what?” A shaky laugh works its way through your chest. “I - sir I don't have a boyfriend, haven't had one since college.”

Yoongi frowns and opens his mouth to protest, but you're already tossing him the wallet to pull out your phone. “I don't know what the hell we did last night, but I was obviously very drunk. I'm sorry it has to turn out like this, but if you don't leave in the next ten seconds, I'm gonna have to call the…”

You trail off at the sight of your lock screen, a picture you swear wasn't there the last time you checked - just before you went to bed.

“Did we…possibly go anywhere last night?” You mumble, studying the two faces that smile cheerily back at you. A boy and a girl that eerily looks like you stand under a cherry tree in what looks like a city park, wrapped up in each other's arms, laughing into the camera. “That's not me, is it?”

Yoongi looks up from where he stares hard at the floor and dares to take a step forward. "C'mon, Y/N,"

You shake your head, unlocking your phone to frantically scroll through the camera roll. Much to your astonishment, row after row of two months' worth of pictures of you and him filter in between photos and screen shots that were already there. “That can't be me…”

 The last picture of you is dated back a week ago, a weekend at home that you were sure you had spent with June. That memory now defied with the image of you snuggled into your supposed boyfriend's side. Min Yoongi was knocked out, swathed in a hoodie and snoozing with his mouth slightly agape on what looked like the seats of a subway.

"I don't understand," You whisper, horrified as you thumb through the rest of the photos. "Why don't I remember any of this?" When you get nothing in response, you try for an easier question. "How long have we been together?"

Min Yoongi studies his socks, ducking his head. "About three months." His voice wavers with something that sounds a little like hurt, but his expression is unreadable. Arching a brow, you scroll three months back to discover that he’s right, the strange pictures stop after around the holiday season.

“Okay then…how did we meet.”

“At a coffee shop,” He responds softly and sharply looks up at your disbelieving laugh.

You shake your head. “I’m sorry, that just sounds like the most cliché thing-,”

“It was the fifth café on the street you take to walk to work, the one you stop by on Tuesdays and Thursdays because you normally prefer tea over coffee, but Monday and Wednesday nights are hell at work." Yoongi interjects, face set in determination. "I was standing next to you in line that day. You were asking for the sweetest thing on the menu, and I had leaned over and said you wouldn't have to look too far. You had just laughed and told me to go screw myself.” He mutters the last part with an inkling of a fond smile playing on his lips.

"It was raining," he continues, beginning to move one step closer with every pause. "And your jacket was grey, and your hair was wet. You were late for work that day, but still took the time to buy me an Americano and scribble an apology on the receipt taped to the cup." You're almost toe to toe now, his chest pressed into the top of the lamp shade, and although you should have probably brought the damn thing across his head by now, there's something genuine in the way he talks like it was a real memory that keep you rooted in place. You manage to whisper hoarsely, "I'm never late for work."

It was the truth. Over time your life had become so routine, you had no reason to be late. The proof was in your perfect attendance record.

Yoongi shakes his head. "The next day I saw you, I bought you coffee in return, but you wouldn't accept it until I let you buy me one as well. And after that we just kind of…"

He shrugs, tugging uncomfortably on the collar of his hoodie with one hand and pushing your now useless lamp to the side with the other. "Please, Y/N,"

You stare at him for a moment, brain lagging from shock. His features seem so familiar, but it's hard to put a finger on exactly where you've seen them. The curve of his nose, the shape of his eyes - you want to reach out and trace them with your fingertips just to assure that you're not dreaming, and yet, none of the memories he speaks of, none of the pictures on your phone seem to bring the whole story to completion.

Sliding past Yoongi to make for the bed room door, you set down the lamp and turn to Yoongi with a resigned sigh. "Look, I just…I just need a moment to wrap my head around this, alright?"

Yoongi nods wordlessly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, refusing to meet your eyes. "Just stay in here while I clear things up, please," You stop half way through closing the door to throw over your shoulder, "And don't touch anything."

 June picks up the phone on the last ring, sounding ten time more awful than you feel.

"What the fuck, why is my volume up so loud?"

"June, I need you to answer something really, really weird for me."

Your friend huffs into the receiver. "My dear, it's nine in the morning, I’m not sure I have the energy for trivial shit right now."

"No, no, just hear me out," you protest. Sitting on your living room sofa, you glance every so often in the direction of your bedroom, ear straining for the sounds of movement or opening drawers. "What was my screen saver the last time you saw it.?"

"Fuck, I dunno, the view of the skyline from our floor of the building?" You sigh in relief; so you definitely weren't delusional.

"And have I ever told you about seeing someone? Like have you seen me hanging around with some guy, preferably a little around my height, black hair, deep brown eyes, a little glum looking?"

June grumbles over the phone. "What kind of question is that? No, I haven't - Y/N, are you seeing someone?"

You hear something like bedsheets shifting and a petulant groan from somewhere behind June and almost scoff; Hoseok is there, of course.

"No, no, just-," The sound of shuffling feet and the slide of a dresser drawer catches your attention. Shit. "You know what, never mind, forget I asked anything."

"Wait, what? Y/N-!"

"Tell Hoseok I said hi!"

You quickly hang up and storm into the bedroom, fully prepared this time to kick some ass. What you don't expect is to walk in on a shirtless Min Yoongi digging through your dresser.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

The man looks up, blinks, completely unphased. He holds his shirt in one hand and a drawer open in the other. "I slept in the clothes I came in last night." Yoongi wrinkles his nose. "I was just gonna change while you were on the phone."

"Into my clothes?" He makes sure to give you a wide berth as you approach the dresser. Fully expecting for him to have been going through your sock drawer or something, you nearly reel backwards when you're greeted with the sight of men's clothes, messily folded and shoved into the compartment. Yanking open two more drawers you could have sworn contained extra pajamas and workout clothes, you find the same thing. Flinging open the doors of your closet, you also discover half of the closet space is taken up with oversized hoodies and men's wear.

"Did you happen to shove shit in here while I was gone?"

Yoongi shrugs, and you struggle to keep your gaze above his shoulders. "I live here."

It takes a moment for you to fully process this information, taking in a broad sweep of the room. Nevertheless, here and there are tell-tale signs of not one but two people sharing your space. The newfound clothes, a silver watch much too big for your wrist placed by your jewelry box, a second pair of slippers. A second set of towels and an additional toothbrush in your bathroom. A kumamon mug - which, although cute, is definitely not yours - stored neatly beside your morning coffee cup. Several pairs of sneakers perfectly lined up next to your own shoes. You don't live alone anymore, but with another person, a boyfriend, and the whole set up look so homey and so surreal you can't even stand to be in the apartment much longer.

After kicking Yoongi out of the bedroom to change clothes, you rush out the front door with a short, "I'll be back in a minute," in a desperate rush for fresh air. Except after you've calmed down, a minute becomes the morning, and then the most of the afternoon as well as you find small errands to do to keep yourself busy. Anything to give you a valid reason not to step back into that apartment. As the sun starts to go down and you've meandered around the local grocery store a little longer than you normally would,  you check your phone for the first time in a few hours. June has blown up your notifications, with ten missed calls and a whole goddamn paragraph about stranger danger, interrupted by a few concerned texts from Hoseok. At the very bottom of that list is two missed calls from Yoongi. You don't bother to wonder how he got your number; it probably appeared just as sporadically as everything else did. Reassuring your friends of your safety, you decide you've hid out long enough, and the low rumble in your stomach agrees with you.

The apartment is lit only by a lamp in the living room when you return home to find your new roommate sitting anxiously on your sofa, phone in hand.

"I was debating whether or not I should call you again."

You remain silent, stepping out of your shoes in hopes of slipping into the bedroom without conversation. "I was worried about you."

He sounds so sincere it catches you off guard for a moment, pausing in the doorway. "I just needed some time to think." Yoongi nods in understanding, and for a moment, the two of you hold each other's gaze. This time, you really get a good look at Yoongi, who still wears this morning's clothes and looks so wary and worn out in the dim lighting. His black hair hangs low over his eyes, and for a second you wonder just how concerned he was. Somehow, even worry looks flattering with his features. He now looks up at you expectantly, and you find yourself debating whether or not to join him on the couch. As part of your usual routine, you would have normally spent an hour or two in front of the television to unwind from a long day. Judging from Yoongi's expression, the way he ever so subtly left enough space next to him, in whatever reality he came from, that part of your ritual had not changed. It's almost a tempting offer, to curl into his side and space out for a few moments, to try to shoulder off the unshakable feeling of being a stranger in your own home.

Nevertheless, you retreat to your room with a heavy heart and an empty stomach, making sure to close the door behind you. Even walls apart, his presence is still known to you, tiny bits and pieces of this stranger strewn about your room, fitting together almost seamlessly. Changing out of your day clothes, you sigh at the sight of what could only be his shirts folded neatly beside your pajamas in the dresser drawer. You wonder if the version of you Yoongi knew ever slept in his shirts. The very thought of slipping one on had you shoving the drawer back into place.

"What the hell," you mutter, tossing your jacket over the back of your desk chair. It's only then that you take notice of the black hoodie, also carelessly thrown on the seat. It's simple and plain, much too large to be yours, but when you look inside the neck of the garment what surprises you is that there's no label.

Frowning, you flip the pullover upside down, searching the hem. "Maybe he ripped it off," you muse out loud. Dismissing the oddity, you begin to refold the hoodie when you see it - the rose insignia sketched in the style of your hand, etched into the shoulder of the fabric. Running a finger over the patch, you shake your head in disbelief. "How…"

And then you remember: the shooting star, the spilt wine, the mess you had made of your sketchbook. Hoodie in hand, you cautiously make your way over to the bedside table where you had last placed your latest piece. Searching around the sides of the table, you find the half-crumpled piece of drawing paper having fallen to the floor in your haste to escape this morning. Evidence of the wine still stains the paper in dark red hues, yet what surprises you the most is that the paper is blank. You flip the paper around frantically, searching for any signs of eraser marks or smudged pencil.

"There's no way…" you whisper, looking at your bedroom door as though you could see him right through it. It was impossible, the thought of your drawing coming to life. The very boy you had drawn on a lonely whim, now lounging on your couch with the premonition that he's your boyfriend?

You let out a dry laugh; did the heavens think you were in that much need of company?

Neatly folding the drawing paper, you tuck into the farthest space of the drawer of your bedside table, one place you've discovered has been left untouched by his presence.  The walls seem even thinner now as you settle into bed, far too consciously aware of your new lodger’s presence. Much to your relief, Min Yoongi sleeps on the couch.

It wasn't particularly hard to evade Yoongi, seeing as he didn't seem to exist outside your apartment and the café on the way to work. Your coworkers seemed to have no clue of his existence either, nor any of your immediate family. Coming home after he did was the most painfully awkward part of the day, the two of you falling into a courteous routine of soft-spoken hellos and how was your day's. He never pushed you, always bid you good morning if he happened to catch you before work or good night before you scurried into the security of your room. You could tell it pained him to see you actively avoid him like the plague day after day. Yet despite how disgruntled he may have seemed; his actions spoke louder than words. And little by little you had found yourself drawn to Min Yoongi in a way that some part deep in your heart already knew you would - you had made him, after all. It takes a good two weeks before you venture to join him on the sofa after a day at work. Trudging into the apartment with stiff joints and a headache, the sofa looks all the more welcoming with him sprawled out across half of it, already dressed down in a tee shirt and basketball shorts with one arm thrown around the back while the other props up his head. Yoongi's eyes drag from the television screen to where you loom over him, eyes flicking over your twisting fingers and uncertain expression. You point a bit childishly at the vacant spot at his side. "D-Do you mind if I sit here?"

The man feigns disinterest, turning back to the screen with a shrug of indifference. "It's your apartment."

A little deflated but still determined, you settle into the space beside him, ignoring the way your heart hammers in your chest when your shoulders brush. In all the time he's been here, since the morning you woke up beside him, this is the closest you ever been. And for a split second, you assume your little effort is all in vain until you spot the small smile that tugs at the corners of his lips.

More often than not, you find yourself scrolling absent mindedly through the photos that had appeared just as spontaneously as your new roommate, and had even taken the time to sort them out into their own album on your phone. There were pictures of the two of you – one taken at the local lake; a blurry street side selfie taken by a shaky hand; another in some sort of studio of the two of you sat in front of a large desk, you perched on his right leg, smiling down at him with a set of headphones looped around your neck. Most of the album, though, contained plenty of candid pictures him - asleep on the bus, behind the counter of the café, handing you a drink with a shy smile, capturing him mid forkful of food. It felt as though you were peeking through an intimate part of someone else's life. But it was you in every photo, your hands in his, your lips to his cheeks. A stranger with your face. And you were often reminded of this when Yoongi said something that you supposed was an inside joke that would make you shift uncomfortably or Yoongi duck his head in embarrassment. He was so real in every possible way, with no shortage of his own memories of you. It was hard to believe he was only a figment of your imagination.

You had drawn out the perfect boyfriend - and you didn't even know him.

#bts fic #yoongi fic #yoongi x reader #bts x reader #yoongi fluff #yoongi smut #yoongi angst #bts angst #bts fluff

[ask-de-writer]

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : Part 9 of 83 : World of Sea

Return to the Master Story Index

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SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

Part 9 of 83

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

copyright 2020

written 2007

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users   of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may   reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information   remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in   my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical   compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story?  Read from the beginning.  PART 1 is here

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Chapter 3: Of Silor and Crabs

The next day, while they were processing the Glue Fish, it became apparent what Roper was up to.

“Look!” said Kurin, just below a shout, “Roper and a couple of little kids are taking out a boat!”  She dashed quickly for the rail, to see better, and came back laughing.

“What’s so funny?” asked Marad.  “I could use a good laugh.  These cookers stop being fun after the first few minutes.  It’s not like making crab cakes.  That I can do as long as there’s crabs and paddle duck eggs.”

“Roper and the kids have taken out crabbing ring nets.  That must be what he wanted the depth to bottom around here for.”

Marad joined her in laughter based on superior knowledge.  They both knew that crabs liked shallow reefs.  Still, they wished the children well for their enthusiasm.  “Maybe they’ll catch a flounder or some other bottom fish in one of the nets,” said Marad with a smile. “I’ll cook it special for their dinner if they do.”

On the small boat, Roper was directing the others (after all, the expedition was his idea).  Any other time, the foray might not have been so well received, but busy parents wanted their scampering progeny out from under foot.

“Be sure to get those knots tight Luin,” he directed unnecessarily, “and you, Moren, pay the lines out carefully so there are no tangles.  We don’t want Silor saying anything about our seamanship.”

Luin looked up from her chore of fastening the floats to the extra long lines.  “That’s sure.  He wanted to come with us today ‘to keep us safe.’  The Captain really lit into him for something yesterday and ordered him not to come with us this morning.  I saw it.  Oh, the baits are all secure and the floats are ready.”

“Let’s put the first one over the side,” said Roper suddenly hesitant, now that his plan was actually coming together.  “Then we’ll put the rest in a big circle, so when we’re done with the last one, we’ll be ready to pick up the first one.  Unless someone can think of a better way to do it?” he questioned at the last.

Luin and Moren looked quietly at him for a moment.  They understood.  Even in play, command could be difficult.  They shook their heads.  “It’s a good plan.  Let’s do it.”  The first net went over the side. It took a long time to reach the bottom.  There was a comfortable amount of slack when it did.  The rest of the nets went just as neatly and without a hitch.

The circle complete, it was time for the first net to be retrieved.  The problem was that it didn’t want to be brought up.  Luin hooked the line beneath the float with a boat hook and hauled it in until it went tight, coiling it neatly as she did so.  She had an odd, concentrating look as she pulled.

“Something’s holding it onto the bottom,” she said decisively.

“You mean that it’s snagged on something,” Roper said in exasperation.

“No, I mean that something is holding it down there.  I can feel it moving around.  I think that we can get it if we all pull steadily on the line for a while.  Every time it moves we can loosen its grip a bit”

Roper thought it over for a short time and agreed.  All three began pulling steadily on the light rope.  It was not long before whatever it was came loose from the bottom, and they could feel it flailing about on the end of the line, all the way up.  As the net came into view, a fathom or so down, they could see it through the murky, rippled water.

Moren said excitedly, “I never saw a crab that big!  Look at those legs!” They gazed in awe at what they had.  The crab was wider than the net.  If it had not entangled some of its legs in the meshes they’d have never got it all.   Its shell was green and pale white, a foot and a half across, but the wonder was its legs.  They spanned just over a fathom from claw tip to claw tip and the creature was flailing them about, trying to get a purchase on anything.

Luin stopped them from just dragging it aboard.  “That thing’s big, and we know that it’s strong.  How will we handle it?  It’s wider than the boat.”

After some thought Moren said, “I don’t think that it can lift me.  If I get on its back, you guys can catch the legs one at a time and tie them together with the string we brought for tying claws shut.”

All agreed, so they hauled it on in.  It wasn’t easy, but they got it into the boat.  Moren jumped onto its back and they found that it could lift him — and it wanted back into the water.  It was quite insistent about it but the children were equally determined that it would stay in the boat.  First Roper caught a leg and held it while Luin tied it with string.  Another flailing leg took him in the ribs, but he held on to that one as well, and Luin bound it to the first one.  A mad tumble of crab and children resulted in a big crab, unable to move, its legs all tied with string, and now freed from the ring net.

Setting the net back out was put off while they went to try the next net in high excitement.  It was empty.  Luin neatly coiled the lines and stowed them.  The third yielded two crabs of the same type but smaller, one about three feet across, and one nearer to four.  While they battled the four foot wide crab, the three footer cunningly sneaked over the side and got away.  Each of the remaining crab rings gave them a crab in the five foot size range.  By now, the group were seasoned warriors and secured their catch without too much trouble.

“I don’t want to go back yet, but we need to find out if these crabs are good ones to keep,” pronounced Roper.  After only a brief consultation, both of the others agreed — with both parts of the statement.  Reluctantly they rowed back to the Longin.

Silor, seeing very well what the children had caught, leaned over the rail and yelled at them.  “Throw that trash back into the water!”

He planned to duplicate their feat in a few hours and be hailed as a hero before the whole ship.  Unfortunately, his call brought old Sorra to the rail to see for himself.  “Broad-legs!” he cried out.  “They’ve caught Broad-legs!  Somebody help get them onboard!”  That brought every crewman in earshot, and Sorra had strong lungs.

Roper, Luin and Moren were brought aboard in triumph, and the boat was lifted up on davits and brought aboard, crabs and all.

A large trap, using two rings, the smaller over a fathom across, was quickly devised.  The glue was barely set on the Strong Skin strips of the hoops, by the time it was covered with net and taken out to test.  Apprentice cooks were set the task of making ring shaped pieces of Glue Fish offal, since it had worked so well as bait.

Men and women were trying every way that they could think of to get the big crabs aboard their boats.  The rings were so large that they were difficult to handle.  So, while big crabs were being caught in plenty, as the children had found, the trick was keeping them.  Many times there was the splash of a crab getting away.  There were also times that the splash was someone caught unaware by a Broad-leg and sent to join the fish.  

Roper, Luin and Moren were crushed.  They found the Broad-legs and they were not being allowed go back out there.  Of course, the chaos was fun to watch.  Master Juris watched with them for a while before wandering off, a thoughtful expression on his face.  

The children were giggling over Milfor’s third dunking of the day when a shadow fell over them.  Looking up they saw the large, red haired figure of First Officer Kotance looking sternly down at them.

Without preamble, he said, “You have violated the order given by lead deck-hand Silor.”  He flourished his long knife in an intimidating arc from the children to their crabs.  “You should have thrown your crabs overboard.  If you give me that big claw there, I will overlook the infraction this time.”

Shocked, now that they knew the value of what they had caught, the children mutely allowed the piracy.  Kotance strolled away with his booty, whistling a merry tune.  Kurin came over and joined them.

“That was nice of you to share one of your crabs with Kotance.  It will help him to feel more at home on the Longin.  The Council assigned him to us from the Grinna as a replacement for Amus after he died, you know.”

“We didn’t share, he took,” said Luin angrily.  “He said that we disobeyed Silor’s order to throw the Broad-legs back but he’d overlook it if he could take a claw.”  Kurin was shocked.  In all of her life no such thing had never happened on the Longin.

“I thought that you were helping Marad,” said Roper, both to change the subject and curious at the same time.

“I was, but Master Juris needs me in the shop and I’m his apprentice,” Kurin said.  “So I‘ve been replaced.  I came to get you.”

“Us?” they chorused.

“Yes, if you want to help, come to the boat-shop with me.”  Trailing Roper and the two smaller children like a benign comet, she made her way to the nearest companion-ladder and down to the second deck.

When she got to the shop, a boat was already in chocks, waiting.  Master Juris handed her a tallow-slate upon which he had sketched with his usual precision.  “Here, Kurin, is what we need to do.”

She looked and whistled in astonishment, “How many boats do we need to do?”

“Five,” he answered.

She took down a tallow-slate of her own and began calculating for a few minutes, deciding on the number and size of the parts needed.

Master Juris said nothing when she had brought the children into the shop. He too had been watching young Roper for a possible apprentice.  He just looked on as Kurin set them to work.  Luin and Moren were having a great time with the gloriously messy work of winding glued Strong Skin strips onto a mandrel to make the necessary struts for the lifting tackle.

Using standard patterns taken from hooks on the wall, and a keenly honed rocker knife of expensive Wing Ray tooth, Kurin cut parts for sheave pulleys from larger pieces of Strong Skin, showing Roper how she wanted them glued and stacked.  Master Juris was working on the parts of a small windlass designed for the job.

With the children’s help, the first modified boat was ready in only a few hours.  There were four more to go, but before they did the next, they wanted to see how well the boat performed.

The hatch that made up the roof of the boat-shop was removed by the deck crew under Silor’s direction.  Working smoothly together, the deck-hands used the crane to remove the boat and put it over the side.  This was what Silor did very well.  His position as lead deck-hand was well earned.  His eyes missed nothing as he coordinated the work.  He saw Roper, Luin and Moren too.

The new crab nets were too large and awkward to lower along with the boat.  They were put on a hook and lowered, after the three fishermen in the boat were ready to receive them.

Balancing the rings across the transom on poles provided as part of the new rig turned out to be easy.  The fishermen plied their oars and pulled away from the ship.  Shortly, they attached tackle to the first net. As planned, it lifted free and swung back, clear of the rest of the nets, and was lowered by the small windlass.  When it reached bottom, a float was tied over the line, and the balance of the coil let go. As two rowed, one fisherman wound the next coil of line onto the windlass, and put it over the open-faced sheave.  As soon as this was done, the line was attached to the next net and the whole procedure repeated.  It was not long at all before the nets were all in the water.  The men then rigged a holding net onto the poles that had supported the traps, allowing the crabs to be kept in water, where they were quieter.

The first of the new system nets was brought up by windlass, which was plainly easier than lifting them by hand.  The net brought up two Broad-leg crabs.  As men and crabs ran riot on the other boats, this net was tipped over the holding net with a boat hook and a second boat hook encouraged the crabs to go for the water.  They fell cleanly into the holding net.  Fishers on the other boats stopped to watch in amazement and crabs escaped wholesale.

Moren, Luin, Roper and Kurin were busy.  Master Juris was directing what only appeared to be a bedlam in the boat-shop.  Freshly wound Struts were being racked to dry.  Pulley sheaves were being glued, pressed and stacked to dry also.  The windlasses were being fabricated.  In only a few hours of dedicated labor, the parts were ready.  The hatch that made the boat-shop ceiling was lifted off and the afternoon sun saw the first of the remaining four boats lowered into the shop by crane.

Busy parents came to the boat-shop seeking their errant offspring.  “Luin! Moren!  Roper!” they chorused.  “Come out and let Master Juris work!  You know better than this.”

TO BE CONTINUED

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#SEA DRAGON’S GIFT #Part 9 of 83 #World of Sea #Written by De Writer

[human-trash-fire]

Beautiful Disaster: Chapter 5 (Pynch Soulmate AU)

Alrighty my loves, this chapter has been a labor of love from the beginning. As you continue reading you will see art pieces and each is correlated with a song (those will be at the end), and references yet again will be made to the EMFS playlist (Ronan’s rehab playlist- I’ve actually made it on spotify! you can find it here)

As usual you can find this story on Ao3 @ glam_reaper 2 if you’re interested <3

TW: Mention of suicide attempt, a panic attack though not super descriptive, cannon typical language.

Iv.

You,

I made a friend last week.

I know for most people that wouldn’t be a big deal, but I assume by now You understand what that means for someone like me. I guess “friend” may be a generous term? I don’t know if we are there yet, Blue definitely disagrees with him “on principle.” 

You see, President Cellphone as she calls him, or Richard Campbell Gansey III (I know, what a douchey fucking name) is all boat shoes and privledge and perfect teeth. Gansey isn’t someone I’d normally associate with mind you, Henry kind of met my quota for rich extroverts in the inner circle, and yet…

So, here’s the story. I’m writing my last letter right? And I was so fucking lost. I decided to walk home from Nino’s- I thought maybe it would help me settle. And there, right around the corner is this fucking ‘73 camero. It should have been beautiful, really.. A classic like that? It’s a dream to look at. Only this fucking thing is the UGLIEST color of candy orange you could ever imagine… And it’s blowing smoke all over the damn place. I was honestly going to leave boat-shoes to call his daddy or mechanic or what have you, but he looked so confused. I offered to help him out and was able to get it running long enough to get to Boyd’s.

I expected him to just drop off “The Pig” (the car) like any normal person and come back for it, only I apparently made “quite the impression.”

Gansey ended up staying with me, prattling on about his Masters History program and some welsh king the ENTIRE time I worked on the damn car. At first I was tuning him out, but without realizing it I became completely entranced by the whole story. I’ve never seen such passion for anything, and I have VERY spirited friends.

He has one of those voices you know? The kind that can stop a room, raise an army, lead a nation. The kind that demands to be heard without ever having to raise itself.

That’s Gansey though.

I think he’ll be good for me, I don’t think he’d give me much of a choice in the matter though to be honest. He kind of adopted me this week? That should bother me and yet, being around him is just… It’s being included. It’s a sense of purpose.

I think he needs it too, he doesn’t seem to talk about negative things but you can tell, he’s haunted by something. That’s what solidified it for me really. He may be a senator’s son but he’s seen some shit. 

I wish you could have met him, I wonder if you would have been as intrigued by him as I find myself. 

Blue is being a total idiot about him, but I’m about 82% sure it’s because she is into him. I know for sure the feeling is mutual. It took Gans approximately 15 minutes after meeting Blue to ask me for her life story, offend her beyond measure, and then haul ass out of Nino’s. It was the first time I’d seriously laughed in so long. Have you ever been second-hand embarrassed for someone? It was that. 

I’m going to wrap this up now though, I need to head to Nino’s for my shift, Blue’s working so of course Gans is stopping by. He said he’s bringing one of his best friends with him, some dude named Noah. Apparently he’s pretty cool, so I’m moderately less apprehensive. He said he wished he could bring his other best friend/ his and Noah’s third roommate but the guy is staying with family for a few months or something. Idk? He doesn’t talk about the other roommate much. I honestly don’t even think he’s ever said his name. Who gives a shit though, I can barely handle one new friend, let alone a 3-pack of Ganseys. Good God… I hope Noah isn’t another Gansey…. Fuck.

Welp.

Here goes nothing.

*****

It started with a not-so-subtle idea from the esteemed Dr. Allen. “Show me what happened.” Ronan was never great with words before all this, and since… When he spoke it was usually a litany of curse words. So Dr. Allen had suggested art. In the weeks since his entombment in this fine rehabilitation center, Ronan had kind of already been doing what he was being asked to do now. Though, he didn’t mention it to Allen. He’d spent countless hours sketching his life, the whole thing, in snapshots inside that beautiful leather sketchbook Gansey had given him. 

He started at the beginning, pictures of Aurora and his brothers, the Barns, his father playing guitar by the fire. He drew their family vacations, the cows he used to sneak out and sleep beside when he was a child, the feeling of winning the Tennis State Championship when he was 15. He drew the bad things too, his nightmares, his drug-trips, that old stained couch in the basement of Kavinsky’s house. He put every piece of himself, all 22 years of memories down in that book, woven together with song lyrics in the margins. 

So when Dr. Allen asked him to look specifically to his addiction and create, he didn’t see a problem. He needed to return to school with a series anyways, Declan had called to inform him that strings had been pulled to allow him to finish his final semester at Georgetown, but he needed to walk in with something to show at the January exhibition. Two birds, and all that.

He settled on 7 pieces, each done in oils on canvas, each accompanied by a song. 7 moments in the life of his battle with addiction, from the beginning to now. With each stroke of his brush he felt infinesmally lighter, pouring his grief into the images before him. 

It started with “The Fall.” His father’s murder in reds and greys; fracturing lines and deep shadows. He mixed his paints with tears and used his heart to drag color across the canvas. For the first time in years, Ronan allowed the memory to consume him. He’d re-lived it plenty of times in his nightmares, but this was different. His hands shook, jagged strokes of anger and confusion bleeding through. He painted the brief moment, the final moment, when his world was whole before his teenage mind finally realized what it was he was looking at. His last free breath. And he painted his screams, the cacophony of pain, endlessly mixing with sirens until his vocal chords gave out. 

He drowned the canvas in un-kept promises and hung it out to dry with childhood dreams.

Then came “Chasing the Void.” It was a story told in stark lighting. High beams on a backroad, swirling smoke and broken bottles. It was white glasses and white-powder lines on shark-nosed hood. It was going 115mph, bones rattling with the beat of the bass in his sound system. Ronan painted a black tattoo, used the blood on his knuckles to tint bloodshot eyes. His brush moved with his mother’s disappointment and his brother’s anger. Whimsical lines and Gansey’s head shaking when he found Ronan passed out yet again. He painted the highs and lows when sobriety reminded him that he hated the face that stared back at him in the mirror. 

Each new piece he added to the collection was brought to Dr. Allen’s office. Together they worked through each memory associated with the piece and slowly Ronan felt the weight on his chest lighten. 

Gansey visited every Monday and Friday like clockwork. He kept Ronan apprised to all the goings on of Monmouth and updates on Matthew and Declan. Ronan never asked for them, but he appreciated it regardless. His current obsession though seemed to be a new friend, Adam something. He had been going on for 30 minutes now about how this man single-handedly raised the Pig from the dead. Ronan tuned out most of the conversation, but nodded at what he assumed were appropriate moments while sketching.

“Ronan, are you even paying attention?” Gansey asked, irritation only slightly evident.

“Mmm?” Ronan hummed. “For sure. Pig. Smoke. Some new guy.”

“Essentially. I was saying that Noah and I are heading to his second job, the man works 2 jobs and is getting a masters can you believe it? Anyways Nino’s, so Noah can finally meet him and Blue. Have I mentioned her yet?” 

Blue? He thought. Who the fuck names their kid Blue. “Once or twice.”

“Well they both work this afternoon, so I assume we’ll just hang there until they get off. Then maybe grab a bite. I wish you could come, I’m sure you’d get along nicely with Adam.” Gansey said, choosing to ignore the previous sarcasm and barrell on. Excelsior. 

“Doubt it.” Guy sounds like a douche.

“On that note, thank you for another lovely visit. I’ll see you Monday, Ronan.” Gansey gathered his coat and made his way to the door with a final wave.

Ronan waved back with a single finger and a saccharine “Bye, Dick.” Then shoved his Airpods back into his ears and lost himself in the EMFS playlist.

*****

As Adam gathered the tub of dirty dishes from above the trash and made his way back to wash them, he was lost in thought. These last two weeks, recent events, had been so much and yet he strangely was beginning to feel some semblance of peace. He knew that Blue had wanted him to write letters to help him cope. If he was admitting to it helping, he also needed to be honest with himself in noting that it may have been hurting just as much. He was falling in love with a ghost. A figment of his imagination that he could tell his every secret too, someone who listened without judgment; Someone who never asked more of him than he could handle. It wasn’t healthy, wasn’t what Blue had intended, of that he was sure. But, if it brought him peace and allowed him to sleep without seeing cold, dead eyes, then what was the harm?

He rinsed the mugs and plates loading them efficiently into the dishwasher, and dried his hands. As he moved to toss the towel into the bin, he heard the bell chime above the cafe door. He made his way slowly to the front, knowing that Blue was currently handling the register meant that he didn’t need to rush. On his way down the hallway he stopped to straighten a missing cat flier on the community bulletin board, taking a moment to snap a picture of the cat in question so he could be on the lookout, then continued toward the front; eyes glued to his phone.

He rounded the corner towards the coffee bar to the tune of laughter, it seemed Gansey had arrived. His eyes found Blue first. For all her insistance that she loathed the man in question, she was positively glowing, head tossed back in a hearty laugh. Lost in the bubble of charm Gansey operated in. 

“-And so I asked him, mind you I’ve had a lot to drink at this point, ‘Hey senator, why do you fucking hate poor peo-‘ Oh! Adam” Ganseys story of embarrassing his mother at one of her Republican fundraisers interrupted, as he caught sight of Adam sliding behind the bar.

“Hey Gans,” He smiled. 

“My apologies, this is Noah.” Gansey stepped to the side to reveal the man in question, and Adam’s breath stopped. 

There, eyes blue and wide with shock, mouth agape stood the man from the alley. The one whose scream still haunted Adam in the dark, solitary hours of sleep. The one that began his every nightmare of that night.

He was different now, tears weren’t pouring from his eyes to dance across the plains of his smudgey face. His blonde hair free of blood was slightly tousled, and his clothes were clean, albeit a little disheveled. 

“No,” the word was a broken noise, barely a word at all, closer to a sob. Gansey and Blue looked frantically between the two for what seemed like an eternity before Noah spoke.

“It’s you…” 

“Who? Noah, you know Adam?” Gansey’s voice was quietly confused.

Adam began to shake his head slowly, increasing with speed as his breath finally returned to him; Erratic and wild. Crocodile tears blurred his vision, and he finally croaked a simple question, “What… What was his name?”

“Ronan.”

“Oh, god” Blue breathed. 

Adam ran, desperately fleeing the scene and chorus of his name called from the front. Ronan, his name was Ronan. Adam couldn’t breathe. His pain fresh, an un-mendable wound reopened now that he had a name to grieve. He paused, only long enough to grab his messenger bag from the back, and took the alley door. 

Then he ran, faster than he’d ever remembered running. Tears turning the colors of the world around him to a haunting watercolor. His breath came in painful stabs, each beat of his bleeding heart an excruciating truth.

He somehow made it back to his apartment. The moment the door closed behind him he fell against it and slid to the floor. Ronan Ronan Ronan-

“R-Ronan.” He spoke the name the first time aloud, the feeling of its weight on his tongue was an answer to a question he’d been asking for a month. For a lifetime.

Adam didn’t know how long he sat on the floor, grief taking time and twisting it in on itself. An amalgam of pain, hopelessness, and questions. Gansey, Gansey knew Ronan, knew Noah. Noah the boy he’d last seen carted away in the back of an ambulance covered in red red red. Noah, who’d screamed for help like the world was shattering. Noah, who’d clung tightly to the shredded arms of a bleeding man in a dark alley.

Help me, his mind screamed, his internal voice morphing into Noah’s from that night. 

Help me, I’m not okay…

A key twisting in the lock above his head brought his attention to the present. Adam pushed away from the door, and waited as Blue made her way into his dark apartment. Night had fallen sometime since he’d been here, on the floor, lost in the alley. Lost in a name.

“Hey,” she whispered.

“Th-that was-”

“I know. Noah told us after you left. Adam, there’s… Adam. I need to tell you something.”

It was a concentrated effort to drag his gaze from the space between their bodies on the floor to meet her eyes. Lights from the street poured through the window in the living room, painting Blue’s honey warm skin in a haunting glow. He couldn’t bring himself to ask, so he waited. He watched. She brought a trembling hand to his, her brown eyes lined with silver, she squeezed.

“Adam, he’s alive.” 

A sob born of heartbreak and pain tore from his chest, he couldn’t form words. He broke then, completely and wholly. Blue came to cradle his head against her chest as he cried. Every hope he’d killed since the alley came barreling to the surface; All the pain and confusion, love and questions, beating like waves against the shores of his mind. Some minutes later he finally raised his head and met Blue’s eyes, her smile was wet and broken. He dragged his hand under his nose, across his eyes, and finally found the word to the question he needed to ask. “How?”

So Blue told him. Apparently, him finding Noah and Ronan in that alley, the tourniquet he’d made of his scarf, that extra minute he’d bought him had been enough. The doctors were able to stitch his wounds, and though it had been a close call, he’d pulled through. She explained that he’d had a hard life, though Gansey wouldn’t give details because he insisted those were Ronan’s to share when he was ready. He did however give her basic facts. Ronan Niall Lynch is an artist, a senior at Georgetown. He’s an orphan, and a brother. He’s an addict in recovery at a facility in Arlington, and Gansey’s third roommate. 

Blue explained that, when Adam was ready Gansey and Noah wanted to meet with him, to talk more. She offered to accompany him when that time came, but they all agreed they wouldn’t push him until he was ready. “Thank you,” he’d said to Blue. For getting the information. For telling him. For allowing him space. She understood that his history made this difficult, an addict for a soulmate was something he would need time to process. She eventually asked if he wanted to be alone and when he’d told her “yes” she kissed his forehead, and made her way to the door.

“Adam,” she paused, and he looked up. “We’ll wait on your text okay? Whenever you’re ready. But please check in so I know you’re safe.”

“I will.”

With a perfunctory nod she slid back out the door. 

Adam spent another minute in silence before dragging himself from the floor. He made his way in a daze to his desk and he collapsed into his chair. Slowly, he pulled out a blank sheet of paper. 

His hand shook.

He took a deep breath.

He wrote.

V

Ronan,

You’re alive…

**********************

Art Pieces and their correlating songs (linked):

“The Fall”  The War- SYML

“Chase The Void”  For What It’s Worth- Malia J

#bd au #pynch #pynch fic #Adam Parrish #ronan lynch #ronan x adam #blue sargent #gansey #richard campbell gansey iii #gangsey #soulmate au

[designsfromtime]

When It All Goes South: A Designer’s Nightmare

Back in 2013 a client named “Nicole” contacted me.  She had been searching for a designer to work with for several years and wasn’t satisfied with the “talent” she had found thus far. She stumbled across my website, found my contact information and gave me a call. She had a stash of fabrics and some basic ideas and we spoke on the phone at length . . . A conversation that lasted over an hour. 

I had been a seamstress since I was a pre-teen. My grandmother began teaching me to sew when I was a child and I sort of “fell” into historical costuming by happenstance in 2001. That happenstance being my 16 year old daughter wanting to join RenFaire with her friends and had to have a parent join with her.  I used my experience as a seamstress and began dabbling in historical clothing. I made our garb and it was “passable” - barely! LOL Of course I’m judging myself by my current abilities, but hey...we all start somewhere. 

Fast forward to 2012. My husband had died from on-the-job injuries sustained in his position as a law enforcement officer and the kids and I relocated to Bonney Lake, Washington. My husband’s death provided me and my adult kids with a generous retirement, so when we relocated to Washington State I was fortunate enough to retire as a Medical Transcriptionist and pursue my costuming full-time. 

Enter “Nicole.”

One of my biggest faults, if you can classify it as a fault, is that I am generous. Generous with my time. Generous with my talent. Generous with my friendship. And generous with my trust. This generosity gets me in trouble. It has for my entire adult life, and more especially since taking my talents public and opening my website and Etsy store. But it also has affected my personal relationships. I am a Leo. Astrology likes to paint us Leos with broad strokes. So, for the record, I’m not the attention seeking, spotlight loving, glory hog people may associate with being Leo, but I have a big old fluffy lion heart and I’m driven. 

Another factoid: I’m very intuitive. I won’t go into the “I see dead people” stories or the dreams that come true. That’s a story for another time. I’ve used that intuition as a designer. In most cases I can tune in with my clients and get a real ‘read’ on their tastes and have pulled off some pretty awesome costumes as a result. It’s why I like it when a client gives me the freedom to follow my creative inspiration rather than constrict me to follow “their” vision to the exclusion of my creative input. That’s the one time I will own my Leo-ness. I work best when I can take the lead as a designer, but I’m VERY sensitive to my client’s input. So my process is usually a 60/40 mix. 

After that long conversation, I didn’t hear back from Nicole until 2016. She’d relocated from New York to California and was now “ready” to proceed with a gown commission. Great! She sent me a huge box of fabrics and trims she had been collecting for over a decade. She had some great fabrics that I was itching to get my hands on, but she wanted her first commission to be made out of a blue “patterned” upholstery weight velvet she had in her stash. Not my recommendation to use upholstery weight velvet, but I will make do with what my client’s have - unless it’s simply too hideous or won’t drape properly.

I sketched out the gown she communicated she wanted, and pitched my ideas for embroidery, sleeves, and such. I took her deposit and when her reservation rolled around I began working. As I was in the process of embroidering the gown pieces, she called and pitched me the idea of me using a reproduction of an Elizabethan embroidery pattern used on waistcoats of that time period. She wanted her forepart “completely” filled with that pattern. I gulped, and agreed - even though I knew it would be extremely time consuming.  Now, mind you - - If I charged FULL PRICE for such a piece, using the standard fee scale for commercial embroiderers, it would have cost in the range of about $1000 or more!  But, I was more concerned with making “her” vision a reality and enjoying the creative process and I DIDN’T CHARGE HER extra! (Oh my god, what the hell was I thinking?). There’s that generosity getting in my own way again. 

We had continued to communicate over a period of time even after her commission was complete because I “thought” we had built a friendship. We had quite a lot in common - aside from our love of costume and RenFaire. What I was to learn later (at the beginning of 2019) was that she was my friend so long as she was getting something out of that relationship. Stay tuned, I’ll get there in the telling of this story.

So, I designed the blue gown you see in the link at the end of this page and shipped it to her. She was ecstatic with my work and immediately we began planning a “peacock” themed gown. As part of my process as a designer, I generally ask my clients to send me three pictures of their favorite gowns they’ve seen. There were no pictures she could send me for “reference” as this was her dream gown. I sketched out a gown, incorporating designs from a picture I had seen, and she LOVED IT. The only issue was the embroidery pattern. Did she want this Elizabethan style gown to be more “literal” in theme with peacock feathers and a full peacock, or just “touches” of a peacock theme such as the color of the gown. So, I began to scour the internet and vendors for anything to do with Peacocks. 

While I strive for authenticity in the cut of my design, my challenge as a designer is to meld the "historical purist" with my client's vision or "fantasy" and produce beautiful and functional ensembles that hit as many points as possible; and offer the public a vignette into each respective time period. While I adore projects that strive for more historical accuracy, what's more important to me as a designer is pleasing my clients, working within their budget, and encouraging their love and knowledge of clothing from bygone eras. So, while peacocks were not a historical theme for the 16th Century, I was game.

The gown went through several iterations in terms of embroidery patterns. Whenever I thought we had nailed down a concept (for the embroidery), she would call me or send me pictures and pitch more ideas for this gown. I’m always open to my client’s input, but the process just kept going...and going...until finally we had reached the date of her reservation!  She hadn’t even purchased her fabrics yet! The fabrics were actually the easiest part of the process. We knew what colors we were to use but she hadn’t purchased the yardage we had discussed. With time running short, and the fact that I generally have a very full commission schedule on my calendar, I rescheduled her peacock gown to my next available opening and pitched the idea of using some of her other fabrics and use the time I had to design something else. (See the Red Pomegranate Gown in the link at the bottom of the page). That brought us to about April of 2018.

Over the ensuing months, we continued to discuss the peacock themed gown and she could not settle on an embroidery pattern. I kept sketching, and keeping notes on her feedback, and searching for patterns that might work. She finally came to the decision that she didn’t want it to be too “literal” with peacock feathers AND a peacock portrait - which she had decided that’s what she wanted (a portrait). So, I began researching and sent her pattern after pattern after pattern. She finally came to a decision, and I breathed a sigh of relief. We had discussed this damn gown ad nauseam and I was ready to just get on with actually building it rather than to talk it to death.

With a final concept in mind - or so I thought - she went to the website where I purchase my silks and attempted to order the fabric in the colors we had previously chosen. However, the fabric we were planning to use was now out of stock. So, the gown was postponed ONCE AGAIN.

It was going to be some time before the fabric we had chosen would be in stock again, and because of that delay I had to give her reservation away to another client. I mean, this IS my bread and butter! And I had broken a hard and fast rule and hadn’t asked her for a deposit. How the hell could I when she kept changing the damn gown!  I charge by the pattern piece - Every piece I physically sew together, but the embroidery is factored into my estimates. The intricacy of the embroidery would affect my fees, so I couldn’t really nail down an exact number - other than the basic estimate I had worked up months earlier.

In the meantime, she had more fabric waiting to be used and I had an concept I thought would be beautiful: pairing a pale gold and cream damask brocade with a blueish-lavender silk and embroidering it with blackberries. I had my digital artist digitize the patterns: realistic looking blackberry clusters with multicolored leaves and glass beads to create the actual berries. So, when her reservation date arrived ONCE AGAIN, I was all set to start the embroidery process. But wait! NOW, she decided at the last minute that she already had a gold colored gown she had purchased years ago, and she really wanted to revisit the peacock gown. So, once again, we were back to discussing embroidery.

She kept pitching me wild ideas such as a peacock head and body on the bodice stomacher with the tail extending into the forepart. Huh?? Is this an Elizabethan gown or a Charles Worth gown? I mean, come on! I’m good but that wasn’t an idea that would translate into an actual finished gown, at least not an Elizabethan style gown. So, following her EXPRESSED desire not to over do the peacock theme I found a pattern that was beautiful and suggested we use it on the stomacher of the bodice and a mirror image at the bottom of her forepart. I sketched up the concept, and found a beautiful filigree embroidery pattern for the skirt facings - a style SHE had suggested. She had previously expressed she didn’t want to over do the peacock theme by adding peacock feathers, but now, once again, she was changing her mind. Now she DID want peacock feathers on the forepart and sleeves. OK!  We’re making some headway - so I thought.

She was in a car accident and suffered a head trauma. It wasn’t serious but it rang her bell pretty good but she had to have major dental work as a result, and then her son had to have surgery and she postponed the gown due to financial constraints.

When she was ready, we picked up where we left off a few months prior. With the main “peacock” for the bodice front chosen (or so I thought) I waited for her to send me her fabrics. I waited - and waited - and waited. Come to find out, the dye lot of the color she had chosen for the main color of her gown was MUCH different from the original swatch and she HATED the new color. So, now we were back to purchasing ALL NEW fabric swatches and deciding on what colors to use. FINALLY, after weeks of debate and more phone conversations, she decided on her colors. So, she purchased her fabric, and we were all set to proceed - so I thought.

It had been several months since we had discussed her final embroidery choices, so with her swatches and my sketch I created a design board showing all the concepts, colors, embroidery patterns, etc., that she had agreed to use. I then told her in order to proceed I would need her deposit. Now, keep in mind, I’d lost thousands of dollars already by giving her multiple reservations - turning away multiple commission requests in order to accommodate her. But she was my friend....right?

After receiving my design board she decided she did’t like the embroidery pattern that SHE HAD AGREED TO USE months earlier, and was now back to searching for a better peacock. I took a deep breath, and I drew on my professionalism, and said, “Ok. . . You tell me what you want to use.” She then sent me a drawing she had done years before - which she previously nixed because she had decided against peacock feathers and a peacock portrait! ARRRGHHHH! You feel my frustration yet?

During these two years my brother - my ONLY brother - fell ill. He was a renowned physician who was revolutionizing orthopedic medicine using stem cells to regrow cartilage and other ground breaking treatments that were changing lives. He traveled all over the world teaching, and treating patients, as well as keeping a full patient load in his Bellevue, Washington practice. He kept his diagnosis secret - even from me. Turns out, he had pancreatic cancer.

Approaching January 2019 he had lost so much weight he was flesh draped over skeleton. I knew he was sick. I knew it was serious. My intuition kept telling me it was pancreatic cancer, though he had not confirmed my suspicions. I’d watched our grandmother succumb to the same disease. But stubborn man that he was, and dedicated to healing people, he refused to accept his mortality. He suffered two years WITHOUT PAIN MEDS in order to be able to legally treat his patients. Can you imagine? He would writhe in pain, screaming while his daughter held his hand all night, then get up in the morning and treat patients -  lying down in between appointments just to make it through the day. That was dedication! That is the kind of integrity he had. That was my beautiful brother. I like to count myself cut from the same cloth in terms of work ethic, but I pale in comparison to this man. He was a genius. I’m not fricking exaggerating out of familial bias. He wasn’t content just to understand bio-mechanics and the physiology relating to orthopedics. He wanted to understand the whole body - and he DID. He was hands down the BEST diagnostician I had ever seen in my 20 years working for multiple doctors as a transcriptionist.

Towards the end of January 2019, he called me and asked the kids and I to gather together so he could talk to us. “I have pancreatic cancer.” He admitted, “But I’m not giving up!” He rattled off the treatments he was still trying, and apologized when I began to cry. I cried like I hadn’t cried since my husband died. Three days later, we got a call from my niece telling us he was in the hospital and we’d better hurry. I sat by my brother’s bedside for about 12 hours - along with his wife, son, daughter, my kids, and a select few family and friends - and watched him slip away. That brilliant mind that had saved so many lives was riddled with toxins and infection and he was now septic. He kept shaking his head, trying to clear the fog that infected his brain - all the while stating, “I think I can beat this!”  He passed away that night around 10 pm. And I was now alone in this world without my brother.

Over the following couple of days, my assistant, Lalana, began fielding all my calls and commission requests. I was numb with grief. I worked just to keep from collapsing in on myself but I wasn’t functioning very well. My brother was the only sibling I had left in my life. His death took me back to the day my husband died, and it was all I could do to keep moving. We come from sturdy Scottish stock. My grandparents were farmers, and southerners who had survived the depression. I’m tough, but I know when to say “Uncle.”

To others I looked like I was functioning fine. But inside, i was hanging on by a gossamer thread so when Nicole contacted me TWO DAYS after he died and left a voice message about wanting to discuss her Peacock gown, I wanted to just run away and hide. I sent her a text message and explained to her that my brother had just died and that I was in a very bad place. She being a therapist I thought she would understand and could empathize. Instead, she said “I just need ten minutes of your time.” I read the text, took a deep breath and reiterated that I had just WATCHED my brother die and that I was depressed and grieving and that I couldn’t discuss her gown right now. I asked her to give me a couple of weeks to right myself and we’d pick it back up then. She’s a THERAPIST she’ll understand and respect that boundary, won’t she? -  I was wrong. 

Over the following two days, she continued to insist that she just needed ten minutes of my time, just TEN MINUTES and couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t talk to her.  I gaped as i read her messages. “Jesus Christ, why isn’t she getting it?” I thought. I took a deep breath, and tried again, this time a bit more strongly. I told her I was grieving, I was sad, I was depressed, I was crying intermittently, and that I simply didn’t have the energy to discuss her gown RIGHT NOW. Surely, that will get the message across? NOPE. She continued to harass me, stating she just needed to talk to me on the phone for ten minutes and then she would leave me alone to grieve. WTAF?

 I tried again to assert my boundary, clinging to my professionalism, but mostly trying to salvage what I thought was a meaningful friendship. I repeated that I wasn’t going to talk to her on the phone but if she wanted to send me a message by Marco Polo I would listen to it when I felt a bit better. NO! She insisted I discuss her peacock gown on the phone as she didn’t communicate well in text messages or emails, but that she just needed ten minutes. Reality?  There has NEVER been an occasion where this women only talked for ten damn minutes! I knew that! - And I wasn’t going to give in to her bullying. Once more, I wrote back that I could not talk to her about her gown, that it was the farthest thing from my mind at the moment. That’s when she did a 180% turn and I realized this woman is not my friend. A friend wouldn’t DARE ask me to set aside my grief to hear her ideas for a gown that had been DISCUSSED ad nauseam. She fired back in a vicious diatribe during which she claimed that she NEVER agreed to the embroidery pattern that I had used in my design board and that I was being unreasonable. “I” was being unreasonable?  Are you frigging kidding me?  

The more she pushed, and bullied, and accused, and attacked, the more I stood my ground and she went NUTS!  I realized then that I was dealing with a true narcissist. I’d been raised by a malignant narcissist so I knew what I was dealing with now that her sheets had been pulled. What shocked me out of my socks was that she was a THERAPIST?  My god!!!  How insensitive and selfish can you be? It wasn’t bad enough that I just lost my beautiful brother, but I was also facing the reality that the person I had confided some of my darkest, most painful moments - someone I thought was a friend - turned out to be using me. So long as she got her way, we were great pals. The SECOND she didn’t get her way she turned VICIOUS and turned on me. At that realization, I invited her to find another designer and that it was clear to me that we weren’t friends after all.

She continued to harass me and sunk to passive aggressive comments such as “I thought we were friends,” stooping so low as to contact another designer who had made her a Victorian gown (which she complained to me about in regard to the quality of her work) and proceeded to trash talk me to this woman. I know because she accidentally shared the conversation with me on Facebook messenger thinking I was this other woman. I got to see who she REALLY WAS - and yes, I called her out on it.  

Did I mention how much I abhor drama? 

She went on the Elizabethan Costuming page and posted a picture of the blue gown I made her and claimed it was “her design.” She stated that her previous designer had retired due to “arthritis” and that she was looking for a new designer to work with her. Pictures of my work are all over the internet, ya’ll! People on that page recognized it as my work and were outraged that she was accepting accolades for a gown she had not “designed” or constructed. Her only input had been providing the fabrics and telling me what pattern she wanted on her forepart embroidery. I then began receiving alarmed messages on Facebook asking me if I was no longer accepting commissions, and then in my Etsy store informing me that someone named “Nicole” was claiming she had made a gown that they knew was mine. When she was called out by people who knew my work, she began to bad mouth me and my integrity. She contacted the moderators of the Elizabethan Costume page on Facebook and portrayed herself as a victim - which they swallowed hook, line and sinker, portraying herself as professional and a therapist!  Eee Gods! *rolls eyes* They banned me AND anyone who called attention to her lies. Meh, so what. I wasn’t broken up about it. I banned her from my page, blocked her number and ended up having to SPAM her contact info on Etsy as she proceeded to bully and attack me for days following trying to elicit a reaction from me or engage me. The worst thing you can do to a narcissist is to ignore them. So, I did. 

So, what’s the moral of this story you may ask?  Well, I will tell you.

For all those who are self-employed, or are designers, I have this sage advice:

First, never, ever assume that friendly people are your friends. To quote a very old Scottish proverb: Bees with honey in their mouths, still have a sting in their tails.

Second, separate your business from your so-called friendships. I don’t care if it’s your BFF!  ASK for a deposit NO MATTER WHO THEY ARE! - And don’t put them on your calendar until they do.

Third, set boundaries for your time from the JUMP! Don’t accept calls when you’re off the clock - or sick, or your brother just died! Don’t make allowances for bad behavior because you are friends. Keep your business separate, that way your friendships stay CLEAN - - or, you’ll find out whether or not they really are your friends.

Fourth, anyone who tries to bully through your boundaries - even if they claim to be your friend or they’re a family member - should not be allowed to win by attrition.

Fifth, don’t take a difficult client because you “need” the money - it can, and often will, come back to bite you in the arse!!

Sixth, if a client contacts you and her name is Nicole F******* and she shows you pictures of MY work and wants you to design something for her. . . RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!!!

LINKS: 

BLUE GOWN:  https://www.etsy.com/listing/620394045/womens-plus-sized-spanish-gown-custom?ref=shop_home_active_46&frs=1

POMEGRANATE GOWN:  https://www.etsy.com/listing/605925091/womens-renaissance-dress-elizabethan?ref=shop_home_active_59&frs=1

#elizabethancostume #historicalcostume periodcostume costumedesigner renfaire

[path-of-my-childhood]

Aaron Dessner Talks Taylor Swift’s New Album folklore

By: Sam Sodomsky for Pitchfork Date: July 24th 2020

Like millions of people across the world, Taylor Swift spent the past few months in isolation, stuck at home, changing plans, reflecting on the past, and imagining new connections. One of those new connections was with Aaron Dessner, the multi-instrumentalist and producer from the National.

On release day, he called us from his home in the Hudson Valley to speak about their entirely virtual but highly collaborative process, sounding just as surprised as anyone. “Nobody needs to tell Taylor Swift how to write a song - and I certainly didn’t,” he says with a laugh. “But it did feel like we were going toe-to-toe pushing each other.”

What is your personal relationship with Taylor Swift’s music? I’ve always admired her craftsmanship and talent. But 1989 was the first one I was really listening to as a fan. My brother [Bryce Dessner, guitarist in the National] and I were in Iceland with [performance artist] Ragnar Kjartansson, and he’s a total Swiftie. It was the summer of 1989, and we’d be hanging out listening to it loud. Ragnar is an art historian, so he was just contextualizing every moment. It was a lot of fun. That’s when we became bigger fans.

When did you actually meet her for the first time? We met her at Saturday Night Live in 2014 when Lena Dunham was hosting. And then she came to see us play last summer in Prospect Park during this crazy torrential downpour. She was there with Antoni [Porowski] from Queer Eye. She talked a lot with my brother and me. That’s when we realized how much of a fan she was, and how lovely and down to earth. I don’t know that many people who have that sort of success, so it’s a nice feeling to realize they’re cool. That left a good impression.

She got in touch again at the end of April. I got a text and it said, “Hey it’s Taylor. Would you ever be up for writing songs with me?” I said, “Wow. Of course.” It was a product of this time. Everything we had planned got cancelled. Everything she had planned got cancelled. It was a time when the ideas in the back of your head came to the front. That’s how it started.

You ended up with a credit on 11 of the 16 songs. How did the collaboration get going? At the very beginning of March, Justin Vernon and I had gone to Texas to work on the new Big Red Machine album. I had been living with my family in France as COVID was starting to spiral out of control in Europe. I said to my wife that maybe they should come back to the States with me because I was worried about getting separated. So we got tickets, and my kids and wife flew to [the family’s home in] Upstate New York and I flew to Texas. I was there for a week, and by the time I got back Upstate, the borders were being shut and we got stuck. I have the Long Pond studio here, so in a way it was lucky.

I hunkered down here and started to write a ton of music - more than I ever have. I thought maybe they were National or Big Red Machine ideas or maybe something totally different. Things were happening.

So when [Taylor] reached out, I had this large folder of ideas that were pretty well on their way. She was very clear that she didn’t want me to edit any of my ideas; she wanted to hear everything that was interesting to me at this moment, including really odd, experimental noise. So I made a folder of stuff, including some pretty out-there sketches. A few hours later, she sent “Cardigan,” fully written in a voice memo. That’s when I realized that this was unusual—just the focus and clarity of her ideas. It was pretty astonishing. Over the next couple months, this would just happen; all of a sudden, I’d get a voice memo. And then another. Eventually, it was so inspiring that I wrote more ideas that were specifically in response to what she was writing.

When did it occur to you that an album was forming? There were moments when we started to reflect on what we were doing. The first three songs we wrote were “Cardigan,” “Seven,” and “Peace.” “Cardigan” is probably the closest to a pop song on the record—it’s this epic narrative. And then “Seven” was this nostalgic, wistful, emotional folk song. And then when she wrote “Peace,” I realized she can do anything! She is so versatile. It’s just a harmonized bassline with a pulse and a drone, and she basically wrote a Joni Mitchell love song to it. She only did one vocal take, and that’s what’s on the record.

Were you communicating through the whole process? Yeah. We were pretty much in touch daily for three or four months by text and phone calls. Some of it was about production and restructuring things but a lot of it was just excitement. We both felt that this was some of the best work we have done. That was a strange and surreal thing to have happen, especially at this time.

At one point I was randomly doxxed by right-wing conspiracy theorists who misidentified me as an Antifa organizer in Ohio, long story, but it was in the middle of all this work. I didn’t want to stress her out so I didn’t tell her. But at some point she laughed and said, “So you’re a notorious anarchist?” And I’m like, “Yeah, I was gonna mention that."

How did the collaboration with Bon Iver on “Exile” come about? Taylor wrote that one with the singer-songwriter William Bowery. When Taylor sent it to me as a voice memo, she sang both the male and female parts - as much as she could fit in without losing her breath. We talked about who she was imagining joining her, and she loves Justin [Vernon]’s voice in Bon Iver and Big Red Machine. She was like, “Oh my god, I would die if he would do it. It would be so perfect.” I didn’t want to put pressure on Justin as his friend, so I said, “Well, it depends on if he’s inspired by the song but I know he thinks you’re rad.” Which he does.

So I sent him the song and he was really into it. He tweaked some parts and added parts as well - the bridge where he says, “Step right out.” The end too, and his choral parts. It was fun because Justin and I work on a lot of stuff together, so it was very easy and natural. At some point I felt like a superfan, hearing two of my favorite singers. This was all being done remotely, but it was one of those moments where your head hits the back of the wall and you’re like, “Fuck. Okay.”

There is some fan debate over William Bowery’s identity - I’m not familiar with him. I’m not either. I haven’t actually met him because of social distancing, which is kind of funny. I think he’s a friend.

Did you feel the pressure of working with an artist at Taylor Swift’s level? I tried hard not to think about the scope or scale of making a record that would be heard by millions and millions of people. I did a pretty good job of tuning that out. Music for me is an emotional necessity. It’s therapy. It’s what I live and breathe. All these songs are things I was working on already, and we both felt there was some serendipity in the fact that we ended up in this situation together. I just stayed focused on that, on making this as good as we can.

As the release got closer, I almost thought it wouldn’t happen. Or maybe I just told myself that! The National guys will tell you the same thing - I tend to work until the last possible minute. I didn’t really have a moment to be like, “Holy shit! People are gonna hear this.” We were joking about it last night. I said, “So this actually happened?” And she goes, “Yep!”

What was it like working under total secrecy? There was no outside influence at all. In fact, nobody knew, including her label, until hours before it was launched. For someone who’s been in this glaring spotlight for 15 years, it’s really liberating to have some privacy and work on her own terms. She deserves that. At times, if I wanted friends to play on the record, it was a little difficult because you can’t send a file with her vocals. But everyone was cool. At the end, I reached out to some wizards just to add bits, and that was nice. It was kind of fun: “What? Why can’t you tell me, Aaron?” Then they start guessing. Everyone made a game out of it.

Is there any music that was left on the cutting room floor? There are things I feel could still be songs. It does feel like an ongoing collaboration. Now Taylor is starting to help with other things. We’re bouncing other ideas off each other, whether it’s Big Red Machine or other things. There’s a community aspect. I think that’s how music should be.

#the anarchist comment...please lmao =) #also this could mean she is writing for Bon Iver? or their side projects? now THAT I wouldn't mind at all #Aaron Dessner #interview #about taylor #taylor swift #pitchfork #folklore era #folklore album #release week

[anistarrose]

Ford in Amphibia - Chapter 2

Summary: Ford is subjected to mild bullying, and the gang decides to hunt an endangered species but makes an unexpected new friend along the way.

Warnings: none

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19375102/chapters/47328493

The Beginning

This chapter references a few more episodes of Amphibia than the last one, but doesn’t spoil any overarching plot details past the first episode, so it should be possible to read even if you’re not caught up. This is starting to look like it’ll eventually wind up as four-chapter fic, so stay tuned for more!

***

Ford sat on the couch next to Anne, watching intently as she flicked through albums of photos on her phone.

“Here’s my cat, Domino — oh, and here she is again, in my parents’ kitchen! What a little troublemaker!”

“She’s quite precious,” Ford agreed. “You say you have music on this device too?”

“Of course!” Anne answered. “I’ve got all the best tunes — stuff to dance to, stuff you can sing along with, stuff to listen to as you think about how far you are from home and regret your life choices —”

“Do you have anything by Eurythmics? Or Talking Heads?”

Anne stared at Ford blankly.

“Or do you prefer classical? The Planets by Holst, maybe?”

“Uh, I’ve got All Star by Smash Mouth —”

“Mention that song again and you’re dead to me,” Ford growled.

There was an awkward pause, and then Ford sighed. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be surprised that we appreciate different aspects of human culture. You’re young, and I… left my dimension a very long time ago.”

“That’s, um — that’s too bad,” Anne stammered, not really knowing what to say. “Uh… do you want to keep looking at pictures?” she finally asked.

Ford didn’t say no, so she opened a new album. “Here’s some of me and Sprig, and of some wildlife we saw the other day — oh, and here’s where I tried to teach Sprig how to use the camera! You can tell because it’s all blurry and —”

“Wait!” Ford interrupted. “Go back! To the one with the caterpillar — er, the cat-erpillar, rather!”

“This one?” Anne pulled up a picture of a black, orange, and red cat-erpillar glimpsed from across a meadow.

“That’s it! See the flame pattern, and those prominent tufts on the neck? That’s the endangered Sunburst Mountain Cat-erpillar!”

“Whoa, are you like a conservation expert?” Sprig asked, springing onto the couch. “Do you need to capture it and get it to breed with others of its kind to save the species?”

“Quite the opposite, actually,” Ford told them. “I need a sample of its chrysalis for my own use — and ideally I won’t seriously harm any specimens, but you never know!”

Noticing Anne and Sprig’s mildly horrified looks, he went on: “Let me explain. For years now, I’ve planning a mission to a very dangerous dimension, of which the atmosphere is contaminated with just about every pollutant imaginable. There will be zero margin for error on this mission, but if I inhale too many of those pollutants, they’ll almost certainly hamper my performance. So for the past few weeks, I’ve been searching for a solution…”

He pulled a carefully rolled-up piece of paper from his pocket, and spread it out in his lap to reveal a detailed scientific drawing of the cat-erpillar and its cocoon, along with a sketch of a mountain with wisps of smoke emanating from the peak.

“Every generation of the Sunburst Mountain Cat-erpillar pupates near volcanic vents, and as a result, they’ve evolved so that their chrysalides absorb and break down a wide variety of toxins. I learned of their existence shortly after coming to your world, and I’ve been trying to track one down ever since in the hope that harvesting some of that chrysalis material would help me design an air filter to get around that pollution problem — but unfortunately, the location of Sunburst Mountain has been lost to time, since those vents are dormant most of the year. The whole time I’ve been here in the valley, I’ve just been stumbling around blindly without glimpsing hide nor hair of any of the right cat-erpillar species.”

He flipped his paper over, and pulled out a pen. “The period of vent activity should only last another week or two this year, and at this rate I’m probably going to miss it — but if you could tell me where you saw that specimen the other day, then I’d have my best lead yet!”

“Cool!” Sprig exclaimed, at the same time that Anne spoke up:

“I gotta admit, tracking down a lost volcano sounds like loads of fun, but… cat-erpillars are a lot more dangerous than they look. Sprig can tell you about the Domino Two incident — did not end well for anyone, except maybe Domino Two herself.”

“Oh, I know how to handle myself, don’t worry! I’ve conquered many foes more deadly than a mere —”

They were interrupted by a yelp as Hop Pop jumped straight up, slamming into the ceiling.

“Darn it, Ford, I know you mean us no harm, but every time I walk by here I think there’s an owl perched on our couch and my heart skips a beat!” He rubbed his head, and began collecting the books he’d dropped.

Sprig snapped his fingers. “That’s it, an owl! I knew he reminded me of something predatory!”

“What?” Ford scowled. “I do not look like an owl!”

“Uh, except you kinda do!” Polly chimed in, bouncing into the living room behind Hop Pop. “There’s your big wide eyes, and the way your eyebrows jump up and your head whirls right around whenever you hear something behind you — oh, and the way your cloak billows behind you like giant wings!”

“You’ve got to be joking! I —”

“Such a majestic and terrifying creature!” Polly went on, tugging on Ford’s cloak. “You are the swift and deadly hunter I wish to emulate! Will you teach me your ways?”

Ford’s mouth opened and then closed, at a loss for words, but Anne cut in.

“Hey, that’s enough. Owls are supposed to be wise, remember? Ford set his face on fire less than five minutes after we met him. I think that instantly disqualifies him from owl resemblance.”

Ford just shook his head as Anne and Hop Pop cackled.

“And did you see how he slept on the couch last night?” Sprig added. “His face was buried in a whole stack of pillows and his feet were practically out the window! No majestic old owl would sleep like that!”

“I still want to see him in action, though,” Polly declared. “What do you hunt, old man? Tell me so that I may watch you and learn your ways of stealth and dismemberment!”

“I’m not planning to dismember any endangered species if I can avoid it,” Ford corrected her. “But you’re welcome to come with me anyways. The more eyes who know this area, the better!”

“Ooh, can we take Bessie?” Sprig asked. “Anne can drive us!”

Hop Pop’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know. I’ve got errands to run, and I’m not sure how I feel about letting you all run off without a chaperone…”

Ford stifled a laugh. “Hopediah, I’ve earned degrees in everything from cryptobiology to quantum physics — I’m basically the best chaperone these kids could hope for. Think of it as an educational outing!”

“Oh, well why didn’t you say so? That’s fine, then — just be sure to be back before nightfall!”

“Woo-hoo!” Anne cheered. “Time for an adventure with the weird hobo scientist from outer space that we adopted!”

“Adventure! Adventure! Adventure!” Sprig and Polly chanted. Anne joined in almost immediately, and after a moment, Ford did too.

***

“Okay, I think this is where we saw it,” Anne announced as Bessie the snail slowed to a halt at the edge of a clearing. The meadow was dotted with patches of mud, and seemed devoid of any life besides a lone chickfly that squawked and flew off as the gang dismounted.

“It looks… swampier than last time,” Sprig mused. “Did it rain over here or something?”

Ford knelt down in front of one of the patches of exposed mud, removing his glove to run a finger along the edge. “If anything, it looks like a creature tore up the grass at the surface while hunting here, revealing the damp earth underneath.”

“But these claw markings are huge! Whatever made them must be bigger than me!” Anne shuddered. “Ford, do you know why everything is so giant here?”

“Not for sure, but I can certainly speculate!” Ford’s face lit up. “For one thing, my preliminary scans have shown that there’s more oxygen in the atmosphere of this dimension than there is in the environment either you or I would’ve came from, which paleontology suggests may allow for life to grow larger.”

“Ugh, forget I asked,” Anne muttered, but Sprig bounded over to Ford’s side, eyes wide.

“Wow, really? If you and Anne keep breathing our air, will you get bigger too?”

“Not necessarily due to the oxygen concentrations,” Ford told him, “but that’s not the only difference between our dimensions! Gravity is slightly weaker here too, which most importantly means that it’ll be easier for the skeletons of megafauna to support their body mass, but also could cause Anne and I to pick up a few extra millimeters when our spinal columns expand. The effect should be subtle, but less weight pressing our vertebrae together means we’ll stand a little taller.”

“You’re not a majestic owlish hunter after all,” Polly groaned. “You’re just a nerd.”

“He’s a brave adventurer and he knows all about everything!” Sprig told her. “I want to be just like him when I grow up!”

“Two nerds,” Polly grumbled.

“Hey, guys?” Anne poked Sprig in the shoulder with a stick. “There’s something coming this way, and it’s kinda… on fire?”

“Where?” Ford leapt to his feet. “Is it a cat-erpillar?”

“No, it’s more like… an amorphous blob.” Anne pointed towards the creature, which had made its way almost halfway across the clearing. “I’d stay back, in case it explodes in our faces… oh, or you could just walk right up to it! That too!”

“Would you look at that!” Ford exclaimed, kneeling at the creature’s side. “I hadn’t expected to find any cryptozoological oddities I was familiar with here!”

“Cryptozoological?” Sprig tilted his head. “I thought that stuff was all bogus.”

“As in, like, cryptids?” Anne asked. “I saw a Moss-Man here once, does that count?”

Ford plucked a twig from the ground and placed it in the palm of his hand, which he then slowly extended towards the anomaly. The mass of its body seemed to be concentrated in a blob of mud that spilled across the ground with a radius of about half a foot and a height of about five inches at its highest point, from which several plumes of glowing green gas extended.

Two small, dark eyes blinked within the largest plume, and a muddy tendril extended from the creature’s base. For a moment, the mud began to pool in Ford’s hand, but then it pulled the twig back to its main body with a sudden slurp, leaving almost no dirt or moisture behind whatsoever. The twig vanished inside the muddy blob, and the creature gurgled in satisfaction.

Ford ran a hand through the fiery-looking plumes and Anne cringed, but he didn’t get burned. The creature’s flickering eyes widened as it responded with some semblance of a purr, apparently eager for more petting.

“Fascinating! I’ve encountered Scampfires back home, but I think this individual might be better referred to as a ‘Swampfire!’ Although technically speaking, there doesn’t seem to be any actual fire involved — I suspect it’s fueled by phosphorus and hydrocarbon compounds from that muddy blob of biomass, which undergo some form chemiluminescence to produce light without a substantial amount of heat.”

“Is it dangerous?” Polly asked. “Or will it help us on our quest?”

“Neither, I think,” Ford replied. “It seems perfectly content to just ooze along here and keep absorbing plant matter while we head on our way — although, I should really get a quick sketch first!” He pulled out a pen and notebook, adjusted his sitting position, and set to work.

“What happened to finding the cat-erpillar?” Anne groaned. “I thought that was some critically vital mission or something!”

“Oh, it is!” Ford told her. “But it’s not every day one gets to discover and catalog a new anomaly! You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if Swampfires exist in my dimension too, but are endangered due to habitat loss… Humanity really needs to do a better job of preserving wetlands and all the biodiversity they contain…”

Sprig peered over Ford’s shoulder at his work — a set of simple drawings, cartoonish yet detailed enough to capture all the details of the Swampfire’s form in multiple poses. “Wow! You drew that so fast!”

“Thank you, I’ve been doing this for quite a while! Now, Swampy, if you could hold that pose for just a moment…”

Swampy, naturally, chose that moment to bolt, darting back between the trees with surprising speed as its lights dimmed.

“Drat. Well, what I’ve got down here is still better than nothing —”

“Hey, guys?” Anne asked. “Is it just me, or did a really big shadow just pass over us?”

In unison, the four of them looked up. Above, a massive shape blocked out the sun — a shape with wide eyes, a pointed beak, and long, silently flapping wings.

“Scatter!” Ford shouted as the owl dove towards the clearing, and the children bolted as its talons raked the ground.

***

End notes:

Thanks for reading, feedback/reblogs are appreciated as always!

This was very fun to write, as fics with Ford often are, because I got to use him as an excuse to ramble about science! Since Sprig showed an interest in science in “Family Shrub,” I figured he’d be pretty inquisitive, and look up to the whole adventurer-scientist deal Ford has going on.

Swampy the Swampfire, also known as the best character I’ve ever written about, is based partly off the Scampfires from Journal 3, and partly off of the “will-o-the-wisp” ghost lights, which are believed to be a result of gases produced in wetlands by decaying plants. (The endangered due to habitat loss detail Ford mentions isn’t a joke, either — according to Wikipedia, will-o-the-wisp sightings are rarer nowadays, and it’s probably because wetlands keep getting destroyed. We need to save the Swampfires!)

#amphibia #gravity falls #stanford pines #anne boonchuy #sprig plantar #polly plantar #fic: ford in amphibia #rosalia writes fic

[19mrs-barnes17]

The Move

Summary: You have moved in with your Aunt in Queens and are starting at a new school

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Part: 1/2

Warnings: anxiety?

Word count: 2,273

A/N: This is my submission for @beckzorz 1k writing challenge! Idk where this went lol, but, I had fun writing so enjoy! (Shoutout to @asphalt-cocktail for helping me out)

You were absolutely pissed. Why? Why do you even bother?

Your parents decided they were going to ship you off to Queens, instead of letting you get a job to help out so you could stay in Chicago. Now, you stood in front of  an apartment building, suitcase growing heavy in hand. There was dread in your heart.

Making friends isn’t easy when you have social anxiety. With friends you could switch from chatter box to complete silence fairly quick.  Sometimes within the same conversation. It was almost as if you had a social fuel tank and the more you socialized the more it depleted.

You’d have to explain yourself all over again, find a new lunch seat, and new places to belong. This made you anxious.

Nerves were spiking and your annoying 13 year old cousin, Alec, was not helping in the slightest. He was playing some game and shouting into his mic. You rolled your eyes as you unpacked, your room was right next door. Paper thin walls. Great.

“Dinner!” Aunt Clarissa hollered from the tiny kitchen. You were still unused to being cooked for, it was almost always you making your own meals. Chicken Alfredo to a cup of ramen. The result varied.

Dinner was quiet, fueled by awkwardness that you felt responsible for, and ended rather quickly. Alec was soon back on his game and Aunt Clarissa began to wash the dishes. You sat in silence, alone. This felt normal. But somehow with people in the room it became colder, more isolated.

Your first day began with a tour from Liz, who you assumed was that girl  everyone just knew. And then, lunch. Liz offered for you to sit with her and while you were grateful, it felt odd. It wasn’t where you belonged. They talked of homecoming and boys, while you doodled in one of your many sketchbooks. You were no mega talent, but, you had always had this itch to create something. Anything.

“That’s really good (Y/N). You should take art here.” Liz was leaning in to study your sketch of a table across the room, all you had so far was one boy. “You should talk to him.”

“What?” It was the first word apart from ‘hi’ that you had spoken all morning, and she seemed surprised. A small smile danced upon her lips.

You turned back to your sketch, filling in details and outlining the boy next to him so Liz wouldn’t think you were obsessed. When you could feel her eyes leave your work, your pencil gravitated back to detailing the first boy’s face. He had kind eyes. What Liz may or may not realize, was that they were on her and not you.

Class felt slow, introductions were not needed since it was second semester, and you were behind on all subjects. So much for relaxing this weekend. Thank  god you had Gym next, at least no homework could stem from that. Though, you wouldn’t be surprised.

Somehow the slow day was better. At least something was going on, now you sat a little apart from Liz’s group on the bleachers. You were currently doing your best to ignore their gossip until you heard a familiar name.

“Spider-Man? Isn’t that the guy who shoots webs?” Liz smiles, but her friends roll their eyes at your lack of knowledge.

“Yeah. He’s like our neighborhood’s personal  hero.”

“And Liz is totally in love with him.” Liz shoved her friend playfully as she laughed and confirmed the statement. The others began to throw questions at her and you started to tune out until a boy, one of the two you began sketching at lunch, shouted across the room.

“Peter knows Spider-Man!” His friend was quick to his feet, stammering over an explanation.

Now this, is interesting.

Peter, who was the only complete part of the sketch you had elected to move on from, tried to cover his friend’s mishap. It was clear he didn’t want anyone knowing about his internship with Stark Industries. You grew curious. Liz invited him and his ‘supposed’ hero friend to her party.

“Oh. And you’re welcome too (Y/N).”

Fuck.

You were the opposite of a party person. You were always in the corner on your phone, no one electing to talk to you. You were not a dancer and knew maybe four people there at least 90% of the time. But with her looking you straight in the eye so sweetly, you found yourself having trouble saying no.

“Yeah, sure. Text me the address and I’ll be there.”

Your Aunt was surprised that you had already had an invite to a party, but didn’t have a car to take you there. You were furiously texting Liz in your last class of the day while the teacher brought up the PowerPoint. 

Liz: Try asking Peter Parker.

You know the boy you were sketching at lunch?

I think he might live around your area.

Great. Now she was just enjoying matchmaking. You replied with a tongue sticking out emoji before pulling out a notebook and pen.

Peter’s locker was directly across from yours, but your nerves began spiking. How the hell do you just approach someone like this? What do you even say?

“Um, excuse me? You’re Peter right?” He was so distracted he nearly jumped at the sound of your voice behind him.

“Yeah. And… you’re, uh, (Y/N). Right?” He seemed to have the same nerves he had around Liz and you suspected he was the same with all the girls.

“Yup. Um, you’re going to Liz’s party right?” He nods. “Do you think I could tag along? My Aunt doesn’t own a car.”

“Oh, uh, sure. My Aunt May should be okay with that.”

“Cool. Uh, here’s my number and address. You’re a lifesaver.”  He slipped the paper in his pocket as you walked  away.

Over Your shoulder you shot him a small smile and a wave before heading to your bus. When he began to follow you nearly facepalmed, recalling that Liz said he lived by you. You sat in the empty second seat, right side of the bus, blocking the other half with your bag. Peter and his friend sat behind you. Your headphones were in, and the rest of the ride passed in a blur.

God certainly wasn’t short on humor.

Peter seemed equally shocked that you were both approaching the same lobby door, curious as to how you missed one another.

“I missed the bus this morning.” He stated, as if answering your thoughts. “May drove me.”

“Ah. Oh, Thanks.” You nodded and walked through the door he held open.

Outfits lay spread out on the bed, your mind doing calculations a mile a minute. Settling on black leggings and a Harry Potter t-shirt (Marauder’s Map), you began debating a jacket. When a knock sounded at the door you gave up and tied one around your waist, just in case.

Peter stood awkwardly in the living room/kitchen, your cousin bugging him relentlessly. He looked like a tomato. You chuckled at the sight.

“Is he your boyfriend? He won’t say anything but ‘um’. Is he why you moved here?” Now you were rendered speechless.

“I-uh. Oh Jesus, just go play your game, will ya?” You rushed Peter out the door, grateful  Alec lost interest. “Sorry about him.”

Peter shakes his head like its no big deal before glancing down at your shirt.

“My eyes are up here Parker.” His eyes widen and somehow turns a darker shade of red.

“I-I was just admiring your Marauder’s Map shirt.” You giggled at his frantic mumbling, shaking your head.

“Only kidding. Shall we?”

The ride is only quiet when Peter’s Aunt pauses or runs out of questions. She is an extrovert in every way and you wish some of that would rub off on you before you entered the party.

“May this was a mistake. Maybe we should just drop (Y/N) off and go home.” There was no way you were letting this kid ditch. If you were going, then at least you’d have company in that corner you always ended up in.

“He’s so stressed out lately.”

“What helps with stress is going to a party. So, we should go to the party.” Ned was anxious to get inside and he was the only one.

The three of you stood on the lawn, gazing at the already raging party within. You glanced at Peter and saw your own nervousness reflecting back at you.

“Not a party person?” Peter leaned over and whispered.

“Not even close. I'm terrible at saying no.”

Inside the noise was  pounding off the walls. Kids stood with actual red solo cups in hand like it was a teen movie.

Some kid was already picking on Peter and it's not even 2 minutes in.

“Hey. You're the new girl, right?” The stranger flickered a smirk  as you nodded. “I'm Flash.” His wink had you staring in disbelief. Why would you be interested in someone who literally just insulted a person right in front of everyone on a mic.

“And I'm, not interested. C’mon, let's go get a soda or something.” Peter and Ned did their best to hide smiles as they passed him by.

“That was great. Can you do that again cause I wanna sell tickets to that show.” A girl leaned against the wall, a small smirk on her lips. “I'm Michelle.”

“We could have a Ted Talk on how to not be an ass.”  You couldn't help but laugh with her at the thought. “I could do it in like two lines.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. It would go something like ‘Don’t be a dick. Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.’”  Peter nearly choked on his soda.

“You alright there Peter?” Liz appeared from around the corner, a look of confusion plastered on her face.

He smiles and nods, cheeks flushing. What a dork, you thought.

“Okay. Well... I'm glad you guys could make it. Have fun.” She was gone as quickly as she had arrived.

“I feel like my Ted Talks would have no chill though. I'm told I'm too open about topics that make people uncomfortable. Like periods and such.” Michelle glanced at you, smile growing.

“I think we'll get along just fine.”

It took you a few minutes to notice Peter and Ned had migrated toward the back door. You followed, sending Michelle a wave as you went. They became aware of your presence and their hushed mutterings ceased.

“Its okay if you leave us. Just so you know. You don't have to stuck around. We can find you later.” Peter didn't look you in the eye as he said this, instead opting to stare a hole in the floor.

“Oh.” That stung. You aren't sure why considering you hardly knew them. However, something had you feeling like this might've been your place. Ned. Peter. Michelle. You were a squad of misfits that seemed to piece together.

“He didn't mean it like that. You're more than welcome to hang with us.” Ned sent a sympathetic smile your way before leaning closer to whisper, loud enough that Peter could still  hear. “He’s just nervous.”

“What? Why? Cause of the party?” Ned shook his head and pointed at you. “Me? What did I do?”

Peter shook his head. He really was nervous. His hands were constantly on the move, in his hair or smoothing his clothes. His feet kept shifting his weight from one to the other.

“It's not something you did.”

“He just likes you.”

“Dude!”

“Is that true? Peter?” You felt bad because he clearly wanted to tell you himself. But, you couldn't help but smile at the fact that Peter had a crush on you.

Though you weren't quite friends, you could tell he was a good guy. You now knew the lovesick stares he had sent from across the room were directed at you, he had jumped at the opportunity to drive you, and personally came up to your apartment to escort you to the car.

“Peter…”

“I um…. I'm gonna get some air.” And just like that he disappeared out the back door.

You could see him pacing the yard, looking as though he was chastising himself. It was hard to contain your smile.

“I should go talk to him.”

“No. I'll talk to him. You enjoy the party Ned. Rock that hat with confidence.” He beamed as you stepped out into the yard and gave you a double thumbs up.

Peter's head whipped around at the sound of the door, face flushed.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” Your voice was small. Now you were the nervous one. “You okay?”

“Yeah, fine.”

“Liar.” He chuckles at this. A smile dances on each of your faces. “Is it true?”

Gulp. He nods.

“Peter…”

“Its okay. I get it. You don't feel the same. It's not like we've been friends for years. We're strangers.”

“Not for long.”

“What?”

“Well, Ned basically invited me into your friend group. So I'm not going anywhere. Because, for the record, I think you're a great guy. Also, I expect a seat at your table. Yeah?” Peter's smile widens at the prospect.

“Really?” You nod.

“I'm afraid you're stuck with me Parker.”

“I think I'll live.”

Something, whether it be adrenaline or courage,  gives you the strength to grab his hand and lead him back to the party. Or more specifically, the dance floor.

This was only the start. Maybe the move wasn't such a bad idea after all.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #beccas1kwritingchallenge #marvel #spiderman #spiderman homecoming

[shuttershocky]

12-year-old Sakura Matou, attempting to stay away from home for as long as she could, found a flyer that a girl in what looked like a nun’s outfit had just slapped on to a wall. The flyer read “The Hollow Shrine, supernatural solutions for all your magical mysteries and puppetry needs.”

Magic? As far as Sakura was aware, the only other non-Matou magi around were the Tohsakas, and there was no way they would take her back. She had no need for puppets, and she wasn’t even sure what she would get for an answer if she called but...

This ‘Hollow Shrine’ might be her only chance.

She pulled the flyer close to her and looked around warily, making sure there was no way Shinji was watching her nearby. Satisfied, she sprinted to the nearest public phone and, tiptoeing to reach the highest buttons, dialed the number on the flyer.

Three days later, Mikiya Kokutou had already snuck into the Matou home, careful not to trip the various bounded fields placed around the manor. (They were well constructed sure, but nothing compared to what it took to enter the office of his paranoid boss.) He took pictures of the massive pit of worms that stood before him, sketching its location within the map he drew of the manor in his notebook. His stakeouts of the manor had told him the Matous would be having dinner at this time; there wouldn’t be anyone down here for at least another two hours.

“Absolutely deplorable conditions.” He muttered. “Now to bring these photos to Touko-san and we can start discussing our legal optio-”

Legal options, however, turned out to never have been on the table at all. Several floors above the young detective, the Matous’ front door exploded open. With fire in her eyes and a salamander-skin glove outstretched, a young girl barged in on the stupefied family at their dining table.

“HANDS UP MOTHERFUCKERS, NOBODY MOVE” She yelled, pointing her gloved hand like a gun. Sakura blinked in shock. It was the girl from the other day! With all the flyers!

Two more girls filed in after her. One wore a red jacket over a kimono and a bored look on her face, and the other held a walking stick and had long, purple hair. Sakura’s eyes widened. The second one looked just like her.

“Tell me Shiki.” The girl with purple hair asked. “What does the interior look like?”

“Tacky.”

“Oh... I see. No great loss then.”

Sakura glanced back at the dinner table. Byakuya and Shinji had already taken refuge underneath, with Shinji in the process of peeing himself. Sakura’s grandfather, however, lay seated, though he shook with rage. He began to speak as a fourth woman entered the house.

“How. Dare. You.” He seethed. “None of you can even think about leaving this place ali-”

But his voice died in his throat as he saw who came in.

It was an older woman, wearing glasses, an orange jacket, and a shock of red hair. Grandfather sputtered and got up from his seat, stumbling backward. Sakura wasn’t sure, but it looked like Grandpa knew the woman. She seemed to carry that kind of aura. The kind that told you that you ought to know her. Or else.

The woman puffed on a cigarette as she strolled toward Sakura. Grandfather continued to retreat as she came ever closer, but she seemed to pay him no mind. 

For a brief moment, Sakura wondered whether she had made some kind of mistake in calling. The woman certainly looked scary to Sakura, but anything had to be better than being here.

Sakura quivered under her gaze.

“So you must be Sakura Matou.”

Sakura barely nodded before the woman scooped her up from her seat, and immediately began a series of rapid physical tests. Sakura had her eyelids pulled back, an arm stretched and wiggled, even briefly put upside down and held from a leg as the woman muttered a long string of unknown spells that tickled her a little, all while the Matous cowered nearby. Afterwards, the woman placed her back on to her chair, and spoke to the girls behind her

“Okay. Plenty of evidence of physical and sexual abuse, her hair color’s definitely the result of magical experimentation too. There’s even signs of some  power source being grafted into her lower body, I can’t tell what it is quite yet, but my best guess is they implanted something into her womb.”

The jacket-wearing girl, Shiki, grimaced. “Gross.”

The purple haired girl says nothing, but her knuckles whitened as they gripped her walking stick.

“What... What are you doing?” Grandfather spat, having finally regained some composure. “What the Matous do in their own home is none of your business Aozaki. Get out!”

The woman, Aozaki, lit up. “Oh yes that does remind me. This is a business after all.”

She turned to Sakura, the ghost of a smile on her face. Her glasses were gone. Where to, Sakura did not know.

“Hey kid. Got any money to pay for this little operation?”

Sakura shivered. She forgot to consider that hiring people over the phone also meant paying them. All she had was her little purse with all her savings from before her original family sold her off. She often thought it would be just enough to one day buy her escape. 

She wasn’t sure about that now. 

“N-no.” She said, her vision beginning to cloud behind tears. What would happen if she couldn’t pay? they wouldn’t just leave her here, right? 

“I don’t have much. But please take what I do have! I promise I can work off the rest!”

Aozaki’s face split into a wide grin, tracing a chill down Sakura’s spine as the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. common sense told her to be terrified of this Aozaki woman, and yet, somehow, she wasn’t.

On some level, Sakura knew the grin wasn’t meant for her.

“Alrighty then. Fujino, start taking the stuff on the walls. Don’t bend them - they look expensive - just lift them with your psychokinesis and put ‘em in the car. Shiki, fetch your boyfriend from the basement. He’s got himself stuck on the second bounded field and the alarm’s been sounding off since we got here; it’s driving me nuts. Oh and get the candelabras too on your way out they look nice. Azaka, wait til Ryougi and your brother are out, then burn the place down. Kill all the bugs you see. I’ll be waiting in the car with Sakura.”

The girls hurried to carry out their instructions. The girl called Shiki pulled out a fruit knife and headed down to the basement. Meanwhile, the artifacts in the house began to fly off the walls and shelves, smashing through their cases as their locks twisted in on themselves and broke apart, Fujino humming a tune to herself the whole time.  Azaka kept watch on the Matous. The woman called Aozaki then took Sakura’s hand, and began to lead her outside.

“Come along.” She said. “Can’t say I’m a good role model, but there’s a couple in the office that are as good as married already, and they could probably use a kid like you to practice on. Don’t get your hopes up; we don’t have a big place, we don’t even have a proper bed, but I promise it’s still better than being here. I know you probably want to find a proper magus family but trust me honey, they’re all as terrible as this one.”

Zouken screeched from his cover behind the table.

“You are dead, Aozaki! How dare you enter my home and take my proper-”

A second explosion tore through the dining room,  this time on the spot Grandpa was standing in. Worms, beetles, and other foul things crawled away from the burning wreckage and into the walls as fast as they could, but most of them died in the flames.

“I said hands up,” Azaka said. “You two, Under the table. Piss Baby and Piss Baby Jr. Run if you value your lives.” 

She doesn’t have to tell them twice. Tears making their faces as wet as their pants, Byakuya and Shinji get up and run. And run and run and run and run, past the women and through the broken, blasted doors and into the streets and out of Sakura’s life forever.

Touko’s grip on Sakura’s hand tightened and the two walked out of the manor, not looking back as Azaka set fire to the walls, incinerating the insects hidden within.

As the two approached a dumpty-looking, beat-up car, Sakura glanced up at her rescuer.

“A-Aozaki-san... I don’t want to sound rude, but isn’t this extremely illegal?”

Aozaki took another puff from her cigarette. Somehow her glasses were back on.

“Sure kid. Sure. “ She replied. “But so is everything else we do.”

Sakura’s hand tingled a little as she felt Aozaki’s magical pulse sweep across her body through their hands. She felt lighter. Stronger. Purple sparks began to dance in the spaces between her fingers. Sakura smiled.

“I think I’ll like it with you.”

Aozaki grinned again. It was warm this time.

“Oh you’ve seen nothing yet, kid.”

#i'm practicing present tense since i'm not very good at it #fanfiction #fate #kara no kyoukai #sakura matou #fate/stay night #Aozaki Adoption #shuttersfic

[minyoongijjangjjangmanboongboong]

Ephemera Chapter Twelve

Ephemera: In art, transitory written and printed matter (receipts, notes, tickets, clippings, etc.) not originally intended to be kept or preserved.

Alternatively, things that exist or are used for only a short time.

Description: Nobody knows who Vante really is. Everything about the popular artist is shrouded in secrecy: from his face to his name to everything in between. After years of working for his art gallery, Y/N feels she may just be the closest thing he has to a friend. Between her success at work and her relationship with campus hot-shot Jeon Jungkook, Y/N’s life has never been better. But is Jungkook truly who he says he is? And who will Y/N protect now that she knows Vante’s livelihood may be on the line?

Genre: Romance, Drama, Fluff, Angst

Pairing: Jungkook x (f) Reader x Taehyung

Word Count: 6.6k

Tags: Non-Idol!Au, Gang!Au, Art History Student!Reader, Film Student!Jungkook, Art Student!Taehyung

Warnings: Swearing and mentions of alcohol, although infrequently

A/N: Hello friends! Here’s another chapter for ya. I’m excited about what’s coming soon, so please stay tuned! And thank you guys so much for the support. It means the world to me. Please don’t be shy and send feedback, critique, questions, theories, and comments my way. I’ll be sure to respond to all asks I receive within a day of receiving them! Links will be added later!

And again, if you want to follow my Twitter, my username is @/plzpunchmebts. I’m super active over there and hopefully in the future I’ll do some livestreams/chats with you all!

- Mercury

Previous Chapter – Next Chapter

Masterlist

Weekly updates: Sunday, 1PM (PST)

Nara and I lay side-by-side on her bed, Hyun nothing more than a pool of white fur at our feet, as the television droned on, glowing through the bedroom, flashing like a lighthouse. She hadn’t asked why I’d come over still dressed to the nines in a designer dress, hadn’t really needed to, and had instead simply scanned my face, opened the door wide, and thrown her arms around my shoulders. An hour later and my makeup was long gone, feet red with blisters, drowning in one of Nara’s massive sleep shirts.

“How are classes?” I asked in the darkness, staring at the ceiling.

She hummed, rubbing Hyun’s side with her foot. “Good.”

I glanced at her out the corner of my eye and saw her face was blanker than mine. I turned onto my side and furrowed my brow, searching her profile. “Tell me the truth.”

She sighed, eyes slipping shut, and flitted her hand. “I dunno. It’s just…it’s a lot right now, you know?”

“English literature still giving you a hard time?” I asked, resting my cheek on my hand.

She pulled the covers up under her chin and nodded. “Yeah. And work. I tried to ask for more time off to work on my studies, but you know how it is…”

“Is there anything I can do?” I asked.

She laughed and patted my arm. “No. I just…need to get through it I guess.”

“Are you working late?”

She nodded. “Yeah, these days. It’s not a problem though. The neighborhood is safe enough.”

“Yeah, when you’re alert,” I said, poking her cheek. “But you’re spacey when you’re stressed. You sure it’s a good idea to work late?”

She shrugged and her eyes slid towards me, brows raised. “I mean, what choice do I have?” she asked, then grinned. “Us normal folks don’t have the luxury of being so rich we can buy thousand-dollar dresses then skip work on Monday.”

I laughed, flopping onto my back once more with a sigh. “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“Kinda.”

“All of it.”

“Yeah…”

I shut my eyes and exhaled, long and slow. “Taehyung is Vante.”

Nara was quiet for a while. I thought maybe she was processing everything, taking it in, but her silence stretched a little too long for that. “I saw it. On the news.”

“Already?” I asked, then shook my head. “Should’ve figured.”

She nodded. “People are really freaking out about it.”

“It’s shocking, I guess.”

She glanced at me, turning onto her side to get a better look. “You guess?” she asked. “I figured you’d be the most shocked out of anyone.”

I shrugged. “I don’t really wanna talk about it.”

She nodded. “I understand,” she said, then sighed. “All men do is lie.”

I laughed a little, rousing Hyun from his resting spot at our feet as he lifted his fluffy head to eye me sidelong. “You’re right.”

“Jungkook…,” she began, then stopped, clamping her mouth shut with a sharp shake of her head. “Forget it.”

Hyun sauntered over, the mattress bowing under his heavy paws as he slowly stepped toward us before falling in a heap between Nara’s chest and mine. I turned towards the big dog and reached a hand out, stroking his fur with shut eyes. the rhythm of the motion settled something in me and settled it enough for me to summon my voice.

“I told him I don’t wanna see him anymore,” I said with a nod.

Nara kept her silence for a few seconds before sighing. “Well, duh,” she said. “You can’t keep dating someone like that.”

I shook my head, my chest constricting. “No,” I said. “I mean…like I don’t want to see him ever again.”

Nara jolted upright and looked down at me. My heart jumped a little at her sudden movements, but when I opened my eyes to look at her, her expression was even more surprising. Furrowed brow, mouth agape…concern or disbelief? Maybe both?

“Y/N…,” she began, trailing off.

I inhaled sharply and snuggled closer to Hyun, holding him flush against my front as I rested my cheek on the side of his face. “What?” I asked, spooning him.

She sighed and leaned back on one palm. “Are you okay?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and buried my head in Hyun’s fur, nodding my head. “I’m fine,” I said, but the waver in my voice gave me away.

Nara let out a few frustrated sounds like maybe she’d say something, scold me, tell me it was alright, but instead she simply sighed and I heard the bed shift as she bundled herself back up beneath the blankets. Instead of saying a thing, she reached her hand out and began petting Hyun, stroking him like I was. I felt like a kid, holding a big teddy bear to keep from crying.

I was grateful to Nara in that moment. For a lot of things, really.

But mostly for knowing that if she asked me anything else, I’d break apart completely.

Professor Jung settled beside me as I sketched a rough human figure, copying the gesture of the student modeling in the center of the room. He cocked his head to the side, crossing his arms. My sketch, rough edges and dark, awkward lines that followed no real flow, was perhaps one step above stick figures. But as Professor Jung stewed over it, I didn’t get the sense that he was judging it. Instead, rather, that he was trying to understand it.

And that made me even more insecure.

I tried to hide my work with my forearm, glancing toward the other side of the room where I expected to see Taehyung. Normally, he’d be the first to come over and help, or otherwise distract Professor Jung to take the heat off of me. But there was nobody in his light wooden stool, set up right by the window with the best natural light. With a deflated sigh, I glanced back down at my paper.

It was Monday and already the second day that week that Taehyung and I hadn’t spoken. I knew why. Of course, after revealing his identity like that it would be almost dangerous to return to everyday life. But part of me felt oddly guilty looking at his empty stool. Like it was my fault he had to go public.

“It’s a little stiff, Y/N,” said Professor Jung.

I nodded and rested my pencil on its side next to my fingertips. “I know,” I said with a sigh. “I think my mind’s somewhere else today.”

He smiled gently, the benevolent man, and gave my shoulder a pat. “Don’t worry. With everything that’s been happening these days, I wouldn’t expect you to be all that focused.”

I furrowed my brow and glanced at the man. “What do you mean?” I asked.

He stiffened. “Oh. I figured…well, at any rate, don’t worry too much.”

I blinked after him as he stood with a grunt and wandered toward another student. If nothing else, this whole ordeal had taught me to pay very close attention to the things people say in passing. I glanced back down at my artwork, abysmal and awkward, and inhaled sharply. I had a sinking feeling that something more was coming…

“Do you think so?” whispered a young girl beside me in the library.

I was stationed steadfastly in a corner beside the window, overlooking the sprawling campus, smooth white table beneath me and periodicals beside me. Nobody really came this way. I lifted my eyes to look at her. Petite and dark-haired and maybe eighteen, the girl’s eyes went wide and she turned slightly to offer me a view of her shoulder. She lowered her voice as she continued whispering with her friend, a young guy who kept casting me shifty looks. Was I paranoid or was there something they knew that I didn’t?

“Can’t be,” he whispered back. “That girl’s different.”

“You think?” asked the girl, just loud enough for me to hear. “I think they look the same…” She peeked over her shoulder at me and stiffened when she saw I was still looking.

I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms, raising my brows. “Are you guys talking about me?” I asked, surprised by my own reaction. Since when was I so direct?

The girl coughed a little and grabbed her friend by the crook of his arm, steering him into the stacks of books. “No! S-Sorry,” she called over her shoulder as the two disappeared quickly.

I sighed and gripped the bridge of my nose, squeezing my eyes shut. The whole point of coming to the library was to get some coursework done, since God only knows I couldn’t summon the strength to do it over the weekend. And even the peaceful respite of the library was riddled with distractions.

I peered down at my coursework, spread out haphazardly across the table, and sighed as I collected it. Messily, I shoved it into my backpack and stood. I didn’t even bother wrapping my scarf properly, simply shucked on my jacket, slung my scarf over my arm, and walked as quickly as I could through the rows of bookshelves.

But was it just me or did the library patrons give me funny looks out the corners of their eyes as I walked past?

I stood quietly beside the front door of the gallery as hordes of patrons rushed in, hoping to catch a glimpse of Taehyung in the flesh. Of course, he was nowhere to be found. But his stunt had successfully transformed Gallery V into a tourist attraction. All around, patrons chatted too loud for the ambient gallery and scuffed their shoes on the polished floor. Kids chased each other while parents took photos with the art. Not a single person approached me for a tour, likely because none of these people were looking to purchase any pieces.

I was half-tempted to just go home.

“This is insane,” Yuri whispered to me out the corner of her mouth, her eyes wide as she scanned the floor beside me.

I nodded. “I didn’t even see this many people at N Seoul Tower when I first moved,” I said, then sighed and rolled the toe of my shoe into the ground. “I bet Kwon’s having an aneurism.”

Yuri glanced at me and pushed a lock of dark hair behind her ear. “Speaking of Kwon,” she began, then pointed down at her shoes which, like mine, were sleek black ballet flats. She grinned. “Dress code’s officially been changed. Direct orders from Vante himself.”

I raised my brows. He followed through on that promise? I swallowed hard and hummed. “That’s good.”

“It’s because you started your whistle-blowing, you know,” Yuri said with a laugh. “Good things happen when nice people get pissed off.”

I chuckled and shrugged. “It’s bad to allow blatant sexism.”

“It’s also out of character,” she said with a grin. “You know, for you to stir the pot.”

I was about to respond, but a patron approached the two of us with a big grin. A young man with a slight build and big eyes smiled up at me with an expression I couldn’t put my finger on. He blinked a few times, mouth agape, as if he may say something at any moment. As if I’d be able to hear him properly over the shouting in the gallery…

“Can I help you, Sir?” I asked with a smile, resting my hands on my stomach and bending slightly to meet his eyes.

He blinked a few times before shaking his head and laughing. “Sorry! I was just a little starstruck.”

“S-Starstruck?” I asked, brows going low as my brain worked a mile a minute to figure out what he could possibly mean.

He grinned. “You’re her right?” he asked, then shook his head again. “Sorry, you’re that girl from the pictures, right?”

I took a half-step back and thought. “I…don’t know…?” My intonation lilted at the end and, taking my confusion as an opportunity to educate me, the young man held up his hands as if I might run away and grabbed for his cell phone.

“This girl, this girl,” he said like a mantra as he scrolled through his phone. Eventually, he held the screen out for me to see and both Yuri and I leaned in close to get a better look.

Before me was an online article, screenshotted and zoomed in to reveal a photo that I could vaguely place as having been taken in the grand ballroom. It was blurry and slightly tilted, but the image was clear enough. Two figures embracing in the corner of the room, half-shrouded in shadow, far from prying eyes. One, a tall, honey-haired man with good proportions and the other, a girl in a champagne-colored dress, face obscured in the man’s chest.

And it hit me like a freight train.

It was Taehyung and that girl was me.

I sighed as Yuri grabbed the phone and zoomed in even further, squinting at the photo with a gape. “Y/N!” she shouted, then seemed to remember her job as she cleared her throat and returned the young man’s phone. She turned to me with wide eyes. “Is that you?”

I rubbed my cheeks, shutting my eyes. “Yeah,” I said, sighing long enough to account for several inhales. After a few bracing moments, I opened my eyes and gave the young man a smile. “Excuse me, but where is that photo from?”

He furrowed his brow. “You really didn’t see it before?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Unfortunately not.”

“It’s from Korea Times,” he said, then clapped his hands. “Could I get a selfie with you?” he asked, smiling big and bright.

I gave him a bow. “Thank you,” I said with a smile before turning on my heel and striding quickly out the door and into the hallway.

Yuri gasped and jogged after me, Areum watching the two of us with mild interest from the front desk. “Wait! Y/N, where are you going?” she asked, holding on to the doorframe while casting worried looks over her shoulder at the crowded gallery.

I pounded the elevator call button several times, like that might make it come faster, and turned toward her halfway. “I’m have to talk to someone,” I said, tapping my foot impatiently as the elevator doors opened and a fresh gaggle of people flowed in a steady stream into the gallery.

She groaned and shook her head, leaning heavily on the doorframe. “But what are we gonna do here? You see how busy it is!” she whined.

Quickly, I rushed into the elevator and met her eyes. I gave a shrug. “You’re gonna have to figure it out yourself for now,” I said, smiling as I slammed my palm against the ground floor button.

Yuri gaped after me, and the last thing I saw as the doors shut was her knitted brows and slumped shoulders.

Taehyung swung open his apartment door with an expression of pure surprise. He stared down at me with wide brown eyes and hair once again unruly, draped in leisure clothes. “Y/N?” he asked, as if it was a question.

I crossed my arms and clenched my jaw. “Have you seen the article?”

“What article?” he asked, yielding to me as I slid past him into the apartment.

Unlike the first time I’d visited, the place was a mess. Shoes were strewn about, nowhere near the shoe rack by the front door. Throw blankets lay in heaps on the floor beside a single beanbag chair and PlayStation controller, empty beer cans littered the coffee table and the smell of coffee was strong in the air, even in the late afternoon.

I furrowed my brow and turned toward him. “What’ve you been doing the past few days?” I asked, resting a hand on my hip.

He flushed and rushed to begin picking up the mess around his living room and kitchen. “I-I, uh, I’ve been like…laying low?” he said, then shook his head. “I didn’t mean that as a question. That’s what I’ve been doing. Laying low.”

I nodded and helped him gather cans, following him into the spacious kitchen to toss them into the trash under the sink. “I got that. I mean like…what have you been doing?”

Taehyung patted his hands on his sweatpants and averted his eyes, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Um…well, since I can’t really leave the apartment I’ve just been…watching dramas and playing games.”

I cocked a brow and glanced around. “This really looks like a bachelor pad right now,” I said idly, sighing as I leaned back against the marble countertop. “Anyway, have you been on the internet at all?”

He hummed and shook his head, grabbing a mug of coffee and taking a deep swig. “No,” he said with a shrug. “On blackout days I tend to avoid the internet.”

“Blackout days?” I asked, then waved my hand to dismiss the thought. “Forget it. Artist thing, right?”

“Yeah,” he said, then crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side. “Anyway, you mentioned an article?”

I nodded and pulled out my phone, searching up the article that the young man had shown me. I scrolled to the middle and zoomed in on the photo, turning the phone toward him. He adjusted this glasses to see the screen better and raised his brows. I nodded as I watched him scan the article quickly, reading side to side.

“After revealing his identity as twenty-three-year-old Kim Taehyung, famed artist Vante is seen embracing a young woman at Ori Technologies’ charity gala…?” he read aloud, then shook his head. “Who even took this?”

I shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine,” I said, then shut the phone and pocketed it once again. The two of us exchanged a charged look. “What’re we gonna do about it?”

He raised his brows and rubbed his jaw, his grey sweatshirt bunching around the elbows. “I guess…we’ve gotta suppress the article. You…you definitely shouldn’t be involved in this stuff anymore.”

“What?” I asked, brow furrowed as I crossed my arms. “What do you mean I shouldn’t be involved? Haven’t I been involved from the start?”

He met my eyes and there was something serious in the set of them, in the way he revealed the whited beneath his irises, lowering his chin. “Y/N, this is a lot bigger than it seems. And the more intimately involved you are, the more vulnerable you are.”

I scoffed, leaning away. “Taehyung, that’s stupid. I’m the one who told you about all of this stuff.”

“Yes, because you were a pawn. Even Jungkook probably never wanted you to get this involved.” He sighed and rubbed his temples. “Listen, this isn’t just some argument between a gang and an artist. There are players involved that you don’t even know yet.”

Kim Namjoon.

I opened my mouth to retort, but something told me to keep that name to myself. Namjoon said he was part of this whole thing, that it had to do with him. And if that was the case, if I revealed that I knew his involvement…I was sure Taehyung would keep him from talking to me.

Truthfully, I’d hoped I could avoid taking Kim Namjoon up on his offer. After all, Taehyung was just as in-the-know, and he was someone I trusted. But this reaction was not what I’d expected. Looking at him, at the way he scanned me, made me feel fragile. Like he was trying to keep me from crumbling under the weight of something heavy that he carried without me.

At least Jungkook wanted to tell me everything…

“A pawn…,” I repeated slowly, nodding my head. I smoothed down my hair which had become messy from the dash over here, and pushed off from his counter. “You’re right.”

“Y/N, I didn’t mean it-,”

“No, you’re absolutely right,” I said with a laugh, shaking my head. “From the start, that’s all I was.”

He stepped toward me and reached out to grab my hand, but I took a step back. “I’m just trying to keep you safe,” he said softly, eyes falling to the floor.

I swallowed hard. I couldn’t be mad at him, not really. His intentions were good. “I understand,” I said, letting him take my hand and rub it softly.

What I couldn’t accept, however, was being made fragile by yet another man.

As he pulled me slowly against his chest and wrapped his arms around me, I hugged him back, shutting my eyes and leaning into him. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

For someone who had been pushing me for years to start becoming stronger, he sure had a penchant for treating me like I was weak.

“Thank you. I really only came by to let you know about the article,” I said, nodding as he sighed and held me tighter. There was something intimate in the way he embraced me, but all I could feel was a tightness around me.

Like I was being suffocated.

And God was I fucking sick of being suffocated.

I sat stiffly in a leather chair, staring at an empty white desk. Everything in this massive company was white: white chairs, white desks, white cubicles. Even the employees’ smiles were all pearly white. I’d never seen so many people so happy to be at work. As the receptionist led me through, I couldn’t help but feel slightly awed by the scale of the place. The walls were crawling with ivy, plants hanging in baskets all over the facility. Windows lined the walls on two sides, revealing an impeccable view of busy Gangnam below, the Han River sitting just beyond. Everywhere, employees were collaborating, one bending down over another’s cubicle to share reports, another group of three standing beside the coffee maker with pamphlets that looked not quite finished, another two sitting at a table by the windows, conversing over a single tablet.

Kim Namjoon had answered my phone call on the third ring an hour prior as I was walking out of Taehyung’s apartment complex. I’d only needed to say ‘Hello’ for the man to know exactly who I was. Without wasting any time on pleasantries, he simply said, Come to the company building, and hung up the phone. I’d assumed he was busy, as I could hear the sound of chatter behind him on the other line, and tried to manage my nerves before catching the subway over to Gangnam.

But still, as I sat with my knees bouncing and my palms gathering sweat, I couldn’t stop the incessant anxiety that pressed into the inside of my skull. I glanced around the large, empty office and saw on the walls were several shelves all filled with books. Perhaps if the circumstances were different, I’d have wandered around his office, running my fingers along the spines of all the books. Perhaps I’d have flipped a few open.

But instead, I was sitting with shaking hands and darting eyes and a racing heart and questions that only a multi-millionaire CEO was willing to answer. I checked my phone, clicking on the missed text from Nara that I hadn’t seen.

Nararawr: Girl, you’re on the NEWS news

Along with the text was an image of her television screen, that image of Taehyung and me hugging taking up half the screen as a news anchor seemed to be mid-sentence beside it. Beneath, the caption: Artist Vante’s Secret Lover?

I sighed, my head lolling down toward my chest, and let my eyes slip shut. “You seem tired,” said a deep, rumbling voice from behind me.

I jumped, clutching my chest as I nearly launched my phone across the room, and stood to greet Namjoon with a bow. Unlike the last time I saw him, he was dressed more moderately in a simple dark purple button-down and slacks, dimpled smile on his face and eyes softer than before. He looked at ease, comfortable, and that comfort radiated out toward me, settling my nerves just a little. He held out a hand for me to shake and I was quick to grab it.

“I just got off of work,” I said, then thought a moment and shook my head. “Actually…I guess I just kind of…left work.”

He laughed and gestured for me to sit once more. Gratefully, I obliged, smoothing down my skirt as I settled in. “You make a habit of playing hokey from work, then?” he asked, smiling as he laced his fingers in front of his chin.

I shook my head, waving my hands. “Not at all! In fact, this is the first time.”

“Hm,” he said, then laughed. “Well, this puts a damper on the job offer I was going to give you.”

I detected a hint of jest in his tone and, on a limb, decided to parry it. I sighed. “Darn,” I said, crossing my legs. “And here I was, ready to quit the gallery altogether.”

He chuckled and smiled. “How do you like it?” he asked before, noticing my confusion, shook his head and laughed. “Working for Taehyung, I mean.”

I sighed and reclined back against the chair, relaxing slightly. I drummed my fingers on the chair’s arms. “It’s fine,” I said with a shrug. “I’ve wanted to be in this industry for most of my life, so it’s really great that I’ve been able to land a job in my field so easily.”

Namjoon nodded, humming, and met my eyes over his knuckles. “He told me about you before all this stuff with your ex.”

My eyes widened. “H-He did?”

He smiled. “When you had your interview, I remember him giving me a call saying that you reminded him of someone close to him.”

“Someone close to him?”

“I’m not about to tell you who that someone is,” he said with a laugh, wiggling his brows. “You think I’m a snitch?”

I scoffed, crossing my arms, and cocked a brow. “You’re playing with me, aren’t you?”

He smirked. “Only a little.”

I sighed. “Well, as much as I’d love to continue this round of teasing, I actually came to talk to you about what we discussed on Saturday.”

“Ah, your ex’s motives?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Tae still won’t tell you?” He scanned me, and I had a feeling my next answer would be important.

I inhaled slowly, calming myself, and met his eyes. “He says he doesn’t want me getting involved.”

Namjoon chuckled and the tension in the air dissipated slightly. “What a joke,” he said, rolling his eyes as he leaned on his palm, running his fingers through his hair with his free hand. “He’s like that, you know? Like…a martyr.”

I sighed. “Boy, do I know it.”

“He thinks he’s the only one who can fix something,” Namjoon said with a laugh. “Even if it’s not his responsibility to fix it.”

“And…is this not his responsibility then?” I hedged, eyeing him to see if I’d pushed too hard. We had to follow his pace after all if I wanted information.

Namjoon laughed and raised a hand. “Patience,” he said, shutting his eyes. “I’m actually very busy. I wouldn’t have made time to talk to you if I didn’t intend on telling you what you want to know.”

I nodded. “What’s in it for you?” I asked, lacing my fingers atop my knee and scanning him. “Telling me…what’s the benefit?”

Namjoon tilted his head down and eyed me. “Ah,” he said, pointing at me. “Clever girl.”

“Are you gonna tell me?” I asked.

He smiled. “Well, I figure once I tell you, you’ll owe me.”

“Owe you what?”

“A favor.”

I sighed. “I promise you, whatever favor you want done would be better off given to someone else,” I said, bobbing my foot in the air.

He smirked. “I disagree,” he said. “In fact, I’d say the only person who can do this favor for me is you.”

“Hold on a minute,” I said, raising my index finger with a pout. “If this favor is so specific and important, then it seems a little uneven that all I get in return is information.”

“How about that job offer I mentioned before?” he asked.

I rolled my eyes. “I’m very happy at my job, thank you.”

He smiled. “How about your family members? Do they need jobs?” he asked, and there was a joking lilt to his voice that wasn’t quite all the way there. I suspected from his tone and the mischievous smile on his face that the man was quite serious.

I sighed. “Nobody I know is…,” I began, then paused.

Nara.

Working at that pet store all hours of the day, stressing about rent, unable to properly support herself…wouldn’t a job with this company do a lot for her? Being an English major, perhaps she could move up the ranks and help with international relations…

I met Namjoon’s eyes and shut my mouth. “Ah,” he said with a smile. “So there is someone?”

I set my lips thin and glanced to the side. “I…guess I can think of one person.”

He grinned and clapped. “Great! Well then, where shall we start?” he asked.

I raised my brows. “Start…anywhere, I guess…?”

“Well…I suppose the beginning works,” he said with a laugh. “I mentioned that Taehyung and I knew each other before. Well, each of us had our lofty dreams. He just achieved his before I achieved mine.”

“And yours,” I began, scooting my chair closer to his desk. “What was it?”

He smiled and his eyes want far away. “I wanted to open a transparent company,” he said with a nod. “Capitalism is a blessing and a curse. While it has the potential to offer opportunities for people like me to create a livelihood, it also has the potential to create power so large that it corrupts.”

I raised my brows. “You sound knowledgable about corruption…,” I urged, watching his expression go sour.

“Well, when you grow up poor you get to know corruption very intimately,” he said with a sigh. “It’s always the same: the rich exploiting the poor for profit, the powerful suppressing the weak. It never changes.”

“You wanted to do something different?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I wanted to make a company that people were proud to belong to. A place where secrets weren’t currency and competition was seen not as a threat to be eliminated but as a healthy challenge to be accepted. I wanted to create an environment where nobody is taken advantage of or pushed around,” he said, then sighed. “It was hard at first to find investors. Nobody wanted to associate themselves with a young nobody tech engineer. And moreover, I had no proof of concept. Just my convictions.”

“I’d have invested,” I said, mostly to myself, with a sigh. He met my eyes. “What you’re doing sounds amazing.”

He smiled and nodded, almost bashful. “Thank you,” he said. “Well, most rich people don’t think like you do unfortunately. It was nearly impossible to find any financial backing. It’s one thing to say you’re going to ethically source your materials and hire indiscriminately regardless of specs, but it’s quite another thing to prove to an investor that you can reasonably accomplish this without hemorrhaging money. Their money, to be precise.”

I nodded. “You were stuck, huh?”

“Yeah. Which is when Taehyung came and said he’d invest,” he said with a smile. “By then, he was pretty successful and had the extra funds to afford it, but I was hesitant to accept his investment. When money changes hands among friends, things can go bad really quick.” Namjoon sighed and shrugged. “We were lucky. Nothing like that happened.”

“You two must trust each other,” I said.

He smiled. “We do,” he said, then glanced over my head out into the sea of greenery and cubicles beyond. “At any rate, I felt like I was exploiting him. So I decided that the company had to operate on public shares and social media. And besides, I didn’t have any other investors. I’d always wanted to be a privately held company, but I had to bend otherwise I’d never have gotten the funding.”

“You had to compromise?”

“Yes,” he said, rubbing his neck. “Something I learned early was that if you want to manage a company, you have to be flexible. And anyway, I didn’t want Taehyung’s investment to go to waste. So I used it on creating a proof of concept and promotion online and before I knew it, I had people buying shares. Having Vante’s name associated with my company early on helped people trust me.”

“So Taehyung invested…?” I hedged, hoping he’d get to the part that connected to our current dilemma.

He nodded. “Yeah. And to boost my credibility, he became a major shareholder,” he said, eyeing me. “I hope you see where this is going…”

Slowly, I nodded. “If a major shareholder were to sell their stocks…,” I began, applying what little knowledge I had of business. But I didn’t need Namjoon to spell it out to understand what would happen to Ori Technologies.

“Our market value would crash with so many shares becoming available. You know that scarcity is what drives the price of goods in a commercial society, right?” he asked.

I understood indeed. “Ori would be ruined.”

He nodded. “And then some,” he said with a chuckle. “Someone really doesn’t like that we’re succeeding here,” he began, glancing at me out the corner of his eye. “And I have a feeling I know exactly who it is.”

I raised my brows. “You do?” I asked.

“But I can’t prove it,” he said, smiling slowly. “Not on my own anyway.”

I was quiet for a long moment, connecting the dots, before I sighed and met his eyes. “That’s where I come in, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “You’re close with one of the agents that they hired to get Taehyung to sell his shares.” Namjoon eyed me.

I shook my head. “I can’t,” I said. “I’m sorry, but I’ve stopped all communication with Jungkook. There’s no way-,”

“There is a way,” he said, lowering his gaze in such a way that felt vaguely frightening. I could understand his intensity. It was his livelihood at stake after all. “Taehyung mentioned that this boy has feelings for you.”

I sighed and crossed my arms, leaning back. “You want me to convince him to betray his company?”

Namjoon shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not saying that,” he said. “However you choose to go about it is your business. However,” he began, leaning forward across the desk to meet my eyes, “you need to get me proof.”

“I don’t need to do anything,” I said.

“Then that person you care for won’t have a position at my company,” he said with a shrug.

I stiffened, remembering Nara’s tired eyes, her absentmindedness, her stress. She hid it well, but I could see the threads that held her together unraveling slowly. Her boss wouldn’t so much as give her time off. And working those late hours…

I swallowed hard and steeled myself against Namjoon’s intense gaze. I inhaled sharply and furrowed my brow. “What do you need me to do?”

The sun had descended in the sky, leaving Gangnam in a late-autumn nighttime haze, the air crisp and the sky navy overhead. I shivered as I walked out into the brisk night, pulling my jacket closer around myself as my footfalls landed noisily on the concrete sidewalk. Namjoon and I had talked for a while longer, establishing a plan of action and a few rules: namely, that Taehyung must never know that we were working together. At least not until after we’d exposed whoever was behind this. He also gave me his personal contact information and instructed me on how to save his number so that Taehyung would never know it was him.

And so now, after years of having no contact under this name, I now had Kim Namjoon, CEO of Ori Technologies, saved in my cell phone under ‘Mom’.

I sighed as I continued down the quiet street, turning down an alley in the hopes of cutting my walking time short. I knew Gangnam about as well as the next guy, but I was well-acquainted enough to feel comfortable moving around in the backroads. After all, Gangnam wasn’t exactly famous for its crime.

Quietly, I walked down the empty alleyway, teahouses and off-the-beaten-path snack shops sitting on every corner in every intersection. When I heard footsteps approaching behind me, I wasn’t even surprised. Namjoon had mentioned this after all. You’ll likely be followed out of here, he’d said. But don’t worry. They’re not stupid enough to try anything in my neighborhood.

I sighed. All of this was beginning to feel overwhelming. What was I now anyway? A…triple agent? Pretending to work with Taehyung while I was really working with Namjoon to convert Jungkook so he would betray his fellow workers and work for Namjoon too…?

It was so complicated. And somehow, I was at the very center of all of it.

I glanced behind me and saw a darkly-clad figure with a slim, athletic build and a black face-mask covering his lips. His eyes were sharp, however, heavy-lidded, and focused right on me.

Was I really so tired that this didn’t even scare me?

But as I rounded the corner around the side of a tall building, aiming for the main street once more, I felt strong hands grab me by the crook of the elbow and yank me into the shadows. I shouted, but the strong hand clamped down over my lips to silence me.

Now I was scared.

My heart raced as this stranger pressed themselves against my back, and I writhed in their grip, struggling to break free. But by then, they had wrapped an arm around my waist and their grip was far stronger than mine. I kicked and thrashed and shouted, but most businesses were closed by then and nobody was around to hear or help me. Tears sprung to my eyes on instinct and I realized for the first time just how dangerous my predicament was. How dangerous it had always been, right from the start.

In a moment of blind panic, I opened my mouth and grabbed the stranger’s finger between my teeth, chomping down hard enough to hopefully gnaw through it, and the stranger yelped, briefly loosening their grip on my waist. Quickly, I wriggled free and fell to my knees, ripping my stockings and scraping my knees until droplets of blood formed on my skin. I scrambled to my feet and looked back with wild eyes at the person who had grabbed me.

To my horror, I saw none other than Kim Seokjin, wincing as he nursed his bitten hand. “Jimin! Come here and finish it! Bitch bit me!” Seokjin shouted.

And before I could scream or attack or run or eve react, a pair of hands was on my face once more and, along with them, a towel that smelled like sweet ether. One deep, frantic inhale and I felt my eyes slipping shut, my body going limp in this unknown man’s arms as Seokjin’s distant grumbling grew more and more hazy.

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