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#and even less say out loud. or type down. because presenting them is materializing them
willreeder · 2 years
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Week 8 Reading Holdaway and Sipe
Big Take Away Holdaway:
At school, instructional reading is nowhere as enjoyable for kids as reading at home with parents and popular kids' book is. This study was designed to try and make reading in the classroom as enjoyable in the classroom as it is at home reading children's books. They used smart ways like compiling a big book, so kids did not have to strain their eyes and read new material more enthusiastically. This was more enjoyable for the students and teachers. 
Big Take Away Sipe: This article is taking a look at expressive engagement in the classroom. Expressive engagement should include the five different types of responses but also needs to take into account the four considerations which are culture, readers, texts, and teachers. Expressive engagement is deeply pleasurable for children and helps with engagement and literacy and should be encouraged.
Nugget: I really liked reading the section titled “Role Playing as a Reader- A Neglected Feature of Literacy Learning.” I really liked reading this section because there was a lot of good new information presented to me. Very young children engage in independent activities with their favorite books. Even though they cannot really read it, yet they can still engage with their favorite texts. Also, what was interesting to me as you got younger in the age of children and as they were less verbally equipped as older kids actually the greater distance from surface verbal features of the text. As we got younger, they interacted more with the texts. This was very interesting to me. 
Readerly Exploration: For this readerly exploration I chose to explore relationships with other people through reading by using texts as a shared experience with another person/other people or to gain insight into the perspective of another person. I did this by choosing an expert from the assigned reading and I shared this with my roommate who is a physics major to get his insight and perspective on it. I choose him because while he is a physics major, he does want to be a professor one day so getting his insight on an education article intrigued me. “How he heard it was these experts were saying kids get more out of story time and reading for pleasure than they do reading exercise. Learning to read to be literate is not as exciting. Usually, you can get more out of activity when you get enjoyment out of it than reading for the sake of reading. He gets more out of reading when he enjoys it and through the passion of reading you can become literate along the way and become more focused and invested in what you are doing and along the way become literate.” He liked the two experts I read to him. I read him the opening paragraph and then the first paragraph after the title “Role Playing as Reader-A Neglected Feature of Literacy Learning.”
Readerly Exploration Reflection: 
First, I read the article assigned to me. It was a fairly enjoyable article, and it was an interesting topic. I agreed with much of the article because it right by making reading in class more enjoyable for students and teachers it can become a more engaging and fun time helping with literacy. Then I chose two experts after I was done reading and shared them with my roommate and asked his opinion on them. Honestly, he gave a fairly good answer and went a lot deeper than I expected. He is an extremely smart physics major and likes being annoyingly smart in everything. So, I think he enjoyed this opportunity to show off his brain a little. I did enjoy listening to his response because I share similar beliefs to what he said, and he captured the essence of the article by just listening to me read out loud two paragraphs from the article. This made me engage more with the text because I had to search for just two paragraphs, I wanted to share that I felt captured the entire article well. This made me slow down and really interact more with the text. Also, by hearing his take on what he heard he reinforced some of my ideas and even said some things that I had not thought about before. This was an enjoyable learning experience. 
Source: Holdaway, D. (1982). Shared Book Experience: Teaching Reading Using Favorite Books. Theory Into Practice, 21(4), 293. https://doi.org/10.1080/00405848209543021
Sipe, L. R. (2002). Talking back and taking over: Young children’s expressive engagement during storybook read-alouds. Reading Teacher, 55(5), 476.
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winderrific-moved · 3 years
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so what if anything can and will make me cry. am i not allowed to do so ?
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Fic: What We Don't Know Can't Hurt Us
Fandom: Triple Frontier
Pairing: Frankie Morales x Librarian!Reader (cishet female) meet-cute
Warnings: No warnings really, some language and mention of masturbation and sex. Reader doesn't like kids. Yearning. Frankie is a TOTAL DILF SWEETHEART. Sad ending.
Summary: Reader is a librarian who has to temp at the kids' section desk from time to time which is a pain because she doesn't like kids. And who is a regular if not a very hot, scruffy-looking dad with the very polite and mild-mannered daughter? Sparks fly but some things maybe aren't meant to be.
Words: 5,155
a/n: Just to be clear, this one doesn't end well. I just wanted to write something sad, I guess.
Oh, shit, there he is again. The Hot Dad.
You straighten a little in your chair and once again curse the fact that you’re working in the children’s section at the library: the only desk that isn’t adjustable. You prefer to do your service desk duties standing up, not only for ergonomic reasons but because you hate how patrons look down on you – literally – when you’re seated by the desk. Also, you tend to slouch and it’s not an attractive look. And at the kids’ section, you’re all supposed to work on the same level as the little tykes. And you’re not particularly keen on those.
You are, however, keen on hot dads. God knows you only get them once in a blue moon and if they show up, it’s usually in tow of a whole clan of children and a wife. But this dad has been in once before when you’ve had desk duty and you saw him stop at the shelf for picture books about divorce and pick out a few. You also heard him tell his little girl that she shouldn’t bring the books she chose to her mom’s. Divorcee, so fantasizing was even more allowed – although he probably had a girlfriend. Guys like that always do.
“You don’t want to lose them, sweetie,” he had explained patiently to his daughter. “You can keep them in your room at my place but if you take them to your mom’s there’s a risk you lose them and that means I have to pay for them. You see, we’re only borrowing these books, that’s what you do in a library.”
You had smiled an inwards smile when listening to him. There was nothing you loved more than parents who actually seemed to understand that all the material in the library was free at one simple condition: return it in time, in the same condition as you borrowed it. A lot of people did not seem to grasp this and made a huge deal when they failed to meet these conditions and were faced with late fees or even had to compensate for lost books. But when parents who knew how to use a library include their offspring, explain how it all works for them, well, that’s how you foster a new generation of good library patrons.
This dad did just that. And he was very careful with the books, prompting his daughter to be the same. Every book she pulled out of the stacks, he helped her put back in the right place. That’s practically marriage material right there and it was enough to make you weak at the knees, to be honest. After almost ten years working in a public library, you were disillusioned about people in general and their intelligence in particular. Sure, you liked your job enough to not cry in the mornings when you had to leave bed, and you did enjoy the work itself (mostly), but… having to deal with people was exhausting. Having to deal with little people even more so, and the worst was having to deal with adult people who had little people with them. Parents.
Hence your absolute obsession with Hot Dad who was soft-spoken, really good with his kid, understood to appreciate the library and its services, nodded his hello to you when passing by the desk, didn’t make a mess, clearly read to his kid regularly and encouraged her to read for herself. You just didn’t get to see people like that so often, and it triggered your interest. You allowed yourself to daydream about him.
Francisco Morales. You remember his name from his last visit, when he and the kid came up to the desk with their haul. You always encouraged patrons to use the self-service check-out (the less you had to do deal with them, the better), but for this guy you were more than willing to go the extra service mile, even with the kid staring at your every move from across the desk as you registered all the loans. You silently gave her plus points for not trying to “help” like some kids did, and for the quiet but clear Thank you she gave you without prompting from her father.
You’re busying yourself with the returns, loading them onto a cart, when you hear a soft, deep voice go Excuse me behind your back. You twirl around and see Morales, pulling his baseball cap off his head to reveal curls that would make any hair model cry of envy.
“Sorry to bother you,” he offers. Take me now, you think to yourself but instead, you give him your brightest customer service smile, the one you rarely give patrons.
“No worries, how can I help?”
“We’re looking for picture books about farm animals. You don’t happen to have those separated? I noticed you have some subject areas separated.” He gestures back towards the picture book stacks where his daughter is quietly perusing.
“We don’t, but I think we have some Julia Donaldsons available, let me come and have a look.”
You don’t always offer. With most patrons, you’d tell them to look under D for Donaldson and then smile sweetly and ask them if they’re okay to do it themselves. You can’t do everything for everyone, that way they’ll never learn. But for Francisco Morales and his well-behaved little girl, you’re absolutely willing to make an exception.
There are some Donaldsons that the girl, whose name you learn is Sofia, eagerly accepts when you present her with them.
“I love fawm animals,” she sighs happily as she browses the first one. “Do you?”
“Who doesn’t love animals?” You make the effort to small talk although communicating with kids usually makes you awkward.
“What’s youw favowite? Mine is bunny. And howses. And lambs.”
“Goats! I love goats, they’re so cute and sweet and playful.” You almost add something about goats being the devil’s favorite animal as well but manage to stop yourself in time.
“Is there something else you want to ask the librarian?” Morales asks his daughter. “If not, I’m sure she has a lot of work to do, and we shouldn’t keep her any longer.”
“I’m here to help,” you shrug and give him a little smile: not a polite, impersonal one that you’d give a patron, but a more intimate one. A flirty smile. “You just need to ask.”
The smile he gives you back is warm and grateful, and you realize that he doesn’t have different facial expressions for different people. He doesn’t work in customer service because if he did, he’d know the difference. Not that you ever thought he worked in retail or anything like that, well, maybe a hardware store, but no. He just doesn’t seem like the type. The way he moves his body suggests something a lot more physical.
Oh, you’d like to get physical with him, alright…
All the sucky library-themed pick-up lines flash through your head. Can I check you out as an overnight loan? Can I insert my private collection into your empty stacks? My reference desk or yours? Am I being too loud, well, you’ll just have to shush me with your lips. You’re like an overdue library book because you have fine written all over you.
Worst part is, if Hot Dad Morales tried any of these on you, you’d probably forgive him and go for it. Maybe. You’re really not that simple, but a girl can dream, right?
The kid thanks you and you return to the relative safety of the desk and the mundane task of alphabetizing returns. You need to calm the fuck down and act professional. Daydreaming is fine but you’re barely toeing the line.
God, you need to get laid. As if that’s something that one can remedy just by walking into a store and ordering a medium dick with a side of hands and tongue.
📚📚📚
The next time you see Francisco and Sofia Morales, you’re taking your lunch break in the small park outside the library. It’s a sunny day and you didn’t fancy sitting in the breakroom with your salad, listening to colleagues talking about who cares what. So you took your lunch box, fork, and water bottle, and went to sit on the park bench the furthest away from the swing set and sandbox. The weather is nice and you enjoy yourself and your break from the library’s chat service. You never know what you’re gonna get when you work the chat: a stupid question about opening hours which anyone could google the answer to, or something more complicated like requests for books with partial or no titles, rarities, or subject areas that you don’t know much about. That’s when you get to use your whole competence and really dig deep, think outside the box, solve problems. You love it but it’s challenging at times, and takes a lot of energy. Your outdoor break is welcome.
“Hi!”
You hadn’t noticed the girl walking up to you and the greeting startles you.
“Oh, hi.”
“We’we wetuwning the animal books,” Sofia informs you seriously. You have to smile.
“Good job. You want more of those or something else this time?”
“Mowe. Will you help me find some?”
“I’m not working the desk at the children’s section today but my colleague there will absolutely help you. Just ask her.”
Now you see Morales walking towards you from the swing set, carrying the large, flowery canvas tote that says “book bag” he always brings to the library.
“Hello,” he nods with that warm smile that he definitely gives everyone. “Sofia, don’t disturb the lady on her break. I’m sure she wants some peace and quiet before she has to go back to work.”
Jesus fucking Christ. How does this man just know shit like this?
“I’m sowwy,” Sofia immediately offers. “I wanted to say hello.”
“Don’t worry, it’s okay,” you allow, although technically, he’s not wrong. “I’m almost done. It was nice to see you. I hope you have a good visit to the library.”
“Thank you!” She skips along and Morales chuckles as he takes off his baseball cap and scratches his head, swipes his long locks out of his forehead, then puts the hat back on.
“You’re her favorite, you know,” he tells you. When you raise your eyebrow, not comprehending, he hurries to elaborate. “Of the librarians. She says you’re the best.”
“Thank you, but whatever for?” You know you do a good enough job at your usual position and that your regulars appreciate you, but you are also very aware of not being at your finest in the kids’ section.
“You have to ask her,” Morales grins as he looks out for his kid, who has returned to the swing set and is pumping her legs on the swing, brows knitted in concentration. “But she’s very taken with you. I think it’s because you’re very calm and focused with her.”
Calm and focused??? You almost laugh out loud. That’s everything you’re not when you’re at the kids’ desk.
“Thanks,” you manage, because you have to say something.
“She’s also really interested in your tattoos and I definitely think she wants to get her nose pierced now,” Morales goes on. “I told her that we don’t comment on people’s appearance, but just a heads up, she might ask you about those.”
Ah, the unpredictability of children.
“I appreciate it.” You really do. You don’t mind talking about your tattoos or the septum ring you have but if a kid suddenly asks about it, you’d rather be prepared.
“Anyway, sorry to intrude on your lunch.”
“No worries,” you reassure him. “You can… sit down for a while if you want to? I have ten minutes left.”
Your heart beats faster at your proposal. It’s not exactly appropriate but you just want to enjoy his company for a moment. And discreetly sniff him because he smells so fucking good, woodsy and smokey but with a hint of… vanilla? You’re terrible at recognizing smells but it reminds you of some aroma reeds you had a couple of years ago that smelled like a wood cabin with vanilla sugar spilled on the floor. You loved it but like everything you love, it was discontinued.
Morales looks over at his daughter before nodding, the book bag slipping down from his shoulder as he places it next to the bench.
“If you’re sure?”
“Wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t.”
He likes your straightforward answer, you can tell from how his eyes crinkle a little and how relaxed his body language is when he sits down.
“I’m Frankie, by the way,” he says, like he just remembered that introductions are a normal part of human interaction. He extends his right hand to you and as you accept it and tell him your name, you can’t help but marvel at how huge his hand is. Big, warm, slightly damp but not in a weird way.
“Nice to meet you, Frankie.” Frankie. Francisco Morales is Frankie. It suits him better than Francisco, to be honest.
“And that’s Sofia.” He points to the girl who seems content swinging by herself. You realize you’re expected to say something nice about her to the proud dad.
“She seems sweet.”
“Yeah, she’s awesome. And she loves coming to the library, it’s all she talks about when I have her.” He clears his throat and adds: “Her mother and I got divorced quite recently. I only get her five days every other week.”
“Sorry to hear that.” Shit, it’s divorce and custody talk from the start. You have no idea how to respond to that.
“That’s life,” he shrugs, “but I figured that going to the library every time I get her could be a good routine to ground her. And then we have books that we can read together for her entire stay.”
It’s definitely a good routine as far as you can tell.
“When I was between nine and thirteen years old, my dad would take me to the local library every Monday evening,” you tell him, smiling at the memory. “My dad never opened a book in his life but he patiently read the auto and tech magazines while I collected half the kids’ section with me. When I went to tell him that I was done, he always pretended to object to the amounts, but then he’d help me carry it all to the car.”
As you tell him this, you’re looking at him, no, staring at the patchy, grey-splashed beard he’s sporting. It’s the most fascinating thing you’ve ever seen. What’s the story there, why doesn’t it grow evenly? Is this a thing? You don’t have enough experience in the field of facial hair. Is it genetic? Is it always like this?
He keeps looking at his daughter as he listens to you with a small smile on his face, clearly enjoying your little anecdote.
“That’s lovely,” he says, turning his attention back to you when you’re finished. “Dads and daughters, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
You pick up your phone to check the time. Shit. You have to return to the chat.
“I gotta go. Lunch break’s over.”
You collect your things and stand up, brushing off your skirt. Frankie stands up as well and picks up the book bag.
“I’ll see you in there?”
“I’m not a the desk today.”
“Oh.” He seems disappointed, his eyes flickering from you to the ground. “That’s too bad.”
“And the kids' section isn't my primary department.”
“The bad news just keep on coming, don't they,” he jokes as the two of you start to walk towards the entrance. Sofia jumps from the swing and comes running.
“She's not at the desk today, daddy,” she tells Frankie precociously.
“I know, mija. We'll have to ask someone else about the animal books, okay?”
Sofia doesn't seem too happy with this solution but nods. You take your leave before she has the opportunity to ask about your body modifications, and disappear through a door marked “Staff Only”.
📚📚📚
The following weeks you seem to see Frankie everywhere. You run into him at the supermarket and get drafted into advicing him on what cereal to buy for his kid. “Something healthy, but good so she'll actually eat it.” How the hell should I know? you want to scoff, but you're simping for him enough to help him choose something you'd never in a thousand years touch yourself. You see him in town one afternoon when you're running errands and he suggests you grab a coffee - holy hell, in your book that's a fucking date - but you decline as kindly as you can, citing a busy schedule when in fact you're mostly just scared out of your mind. The daydream is becoming a little too real and you're absolutely not ready for that, especially not because of the kid. If it wasn't for Sofia, you could have dared the leap, but dating a guy relatively fresh out of a marriage, and with a kid to boot? No, that's asking for trouble and you don't want trouble.
One afternoon at the kids' desk, you once again get to help Sofia find books, this time on sharks.
“She went from farm animals to sharks in one week,” Frankie confides in you when the girl is sitting quietly in a reading nook, carefully studying every page and occasionally widening her eyes at what you suspect is pictures of shark teeth. “It's sharks this and sharks that. She asks if there are sharks in every body of water she sees, from the pond in the park to the ditch outside my parents' house.”
“Have her watch Jaws and she will never want to think about sharks ever again,” you suggest, earning a laugh although the idea was probably a little bit on the morbid side.
“Maybe, but that would probably scar her for life. I actually want her to learn how to swim.”
“Then best not.”
You pick up a couple of books someone else left behind on a table and make a gesture that says I have to re-shelve these, come with and Frankie follows you to the right shelf.
“You know, she talks about you as her friend at the library.”
Now, some people would find that adorable but you don't. You're not friends with this kid, you're in a position where you could possibly influence her keenness to literature and literacy but you will always risk critique from her guardians. Being a children's librarian is like a hybrid between being in customer service, and being a teacher. You get to form young malleable minds but you are always subjected to criticism, even when you've done nothing wrong. Kids are patrons, like adults, and to have them see you as friends is only going to complicate things.
“That's nice,” you reply carefully, not really sure what else to say. It's so hard to talk to parents sometimes, one wrong words and you're basically Satan, you can't know because you don't have kids yourself, how dare you not worship the ground my offspring just vomited all over?
“You're definitely her favorite librarian.”
That you can take. You have a couple of adult patrons who come in regularly and prefer to get their reading recommendations from you. They always have time to discuss literature and they bring you a box of chocolates for Christmas.
“Well, she's easy to help. She always knows what she wants and she's polite. And quite easy to please,” you smile, meaning every word. You don't mention that the only time you like kids is when they're like Sofia is right now: reading quietly in a corner, handling the books with care.
“You're my favorite librarian as well,” Frankie adds, and now that sweet smile he's always wearing when you see him is shy. There's definitely a red tinge on his cheekbones as well and it makes you want to lean forward and kiss him on his goddamn mouth with that goddamn full lower lip that he sometimes sucks into his mouth or fucking licks...
“How many librarians do you know?” you ask and manage to sound easy-going, or at least you think so. The laugh Frankie produces is low and rolling and it makes your stomach coil in on itself. Fuck him and that deep voice he rode in on!
“Got me there. It's basically you and Mrs Wilkerson, the school librarian who scared the shit out of me when I was in elementary school. She made sure I didn't step foot in a library until, well, now.”
“Oh, I so wanted to be a librarian like that when I was a kid!” You grin at Frankie's horrified expression. “No, no, hear me out! I always had this idea that those librarians led these super rich, fulfilling lives as night-time vigilantes or that they were actually millionaires who spent their free time floating around in pools with fancy drinks in hand.”
“Were you... a normal child, besides these illusions?” Frankie teases you and before you can stop yourself, you're slapping his arm playfully. Like a girlfriend would. Or someone more intimate than a Favorite Librarian, at any rate.
“I'll have you know that the voices in my head are saying that we had a very normal and healthy childhood,” you reply with as much dignity as you can muster, while desperately wishing for the phone to ring or another patron to ask for your help. But no, the ones present seem to be managing on their own - except for one mom who seemed to have overheard your joke because she is now staring at you with hesitation in her eyes.
It's Sofia who comes to your rescue with her request of being taken to the bathroom. By the time she and Frankie are done there, your colleague has come to relieve you of your duties at the children's section.
📚📚📚
You knew of course that it was coming. You may not be that experienced in the terms of dating and relationships but you weren't stupid and you had some experience: Frankie was going to ask you out. It had to happen. Technically, it had already happened that afternoon in town when he asked you out for coffee. He maybe didn't see it as a date, but you certainly did.
It happened when you had just started your shift in the children's section and it was a fucking mess. A class of kindergarteners had just left and the teachers hadn't bothered to keep them in check, so there were not only books on every available surface, they were also put in the wrong way and in the wrong places. Your colleague who you were relieving stayed behind to help you, feeling too bad to leave it all to you.
That's when Daddy and Daughter Morales showed up. You weren't really happy about the existence of kids in the first place but made an effort for Sofia, who brought you a drawing she had made in preschool that day. It featured some figures in green, slightly reminiscent of animals and one human but you wouldn't be able to tell. Luckily, Frankie explained it to you.
“She's waited all day to give you this drawing of you with goats.”
“Wow,” you manage. “Thank you, Sofia, this was so kind of you.”
The girl is beaming with pride. “Will you put it on the wall?”
“Super probably!”
“I can see you're busy,” Frankie notes and ushers Sofia along. “We won't distract you. Come on, honey, let her do her job now and maybe you'll get to talk to her later.”
You nod your thanks and focus on cleaning up the entire department before you colleague leaves and Frankie and Sofia come to the desk to borrow this week' picks. Sofia seems uncharacteristically giddy.
“Do you want to come with us to the awbowetum?” she asks with a wide, expectant smile. Fuck shit ass hell.
“We're going on Saturday,” Frankie fills in, “and we were both hoping you'd want to join?”
Saturday. Thank goodness.
“Sorry, I work on Saturday,” you say, trying to sound rueful. It's true and you're relieved about not having to lie. “But thanks, it's sweet of you to ask.”
Sofia is clearly disappointed and so is Frankie, but he masks it better.
“Some other time, yeah?”
If it were only him, you'd tell him it wasn't a good idea. But you can't say that with the kid right in front of you. You may not like kids but that doesn't mean you want to scar them for life.
“Yeah, maybe.”
You loan them the books and as they leave, Sofia waves happily at you and Frankie shoots you one last smile that makes you press your thighs together in your seat.
Come Saturday, you're by your usual desk in the section for adult fiction and you almost fall off your chair when you see Frankie come up the stairs and straight up to the desk.
“Hi.” He's had a haircut and a shave and looks different. Still good, but very different. The dark locks of his hair are more tamed. The mustache is still there but you miss the patchy beard.
“Um, hi? Where's Sofia?”
“In the car, with a friend. We're going to the arboretum.”
“Right. I hope you have a good time, the arboretum's lovely.” You still don't understand what he's doing here and he seems to have some difficulty in telling you. Moving his weight from one foot to the other, he scratches his neck and looks down - why does he have to be so freaking cute? - before looking up at you.
“About that... I wanted to apologize. I wasn't sure it was a good idea to ask you to come with, but Sofia was so persistent. She likes you so much. I didn't mean to put you on the spot like that. I'm sorry.”
“That's alright,” you brush it off because there's not really anything else you can say. “Don't think about it, just go have a good day.”
“I also wanted to ask if you wanted to go grab a drink with me. Just me. Maybe next week when Sofia's at her mother's.”
Fuck, there it is. His hopeful face makes you hate yourself for the answer you have to give.
“I'm not sure that's such a good idea, Frankie,” you begin carefully. “I'm really flattered, but you're... recently divorced with a kid. That's a lot of baggage and things could get complicated. I don't want to get caught up in that.”
You've practiced this speech at home but it still breaks your fucking heart because Frankie is so good-looking, kind, funny, and sweet. You would've asked him out yourself already if it wasn't for the baggage. Fuck, you masturbate to the thought of him, for crying out loud! You imagine what it would be like to be with him, to make dinner together and watch movies and go to bed and wake up in each other's arms. You think about sex with him a lot. You make an effort with your appearance those days you know he'll show up at the library, you don't even mind the kids' section that much anymore because you get to talk to him.
You are fucking in love with him, or at least the idea of him because you don't know much about him, only that he used to be a pilot in the special forces but now he trains new pilots, he has best friends who are like uncles to Sofia (and who have been asking about this mystery librarian she always keeps talking about), he likes cooking and loves baking with his daughter, he hates working out but knows he should take better care of himself, hell, you even know what brand of milk he buys.
He's clearly disappointed but keeps a brave face, one that you can see right through because he wears his heart on his sleeve.
“I understand that,” he says quietly, mildly. “I'm sorry, I hope I didn't embarrass you.”
Jesus fucking Christ can this man not???
“No, don't worry. I'm sorry I couldn't give you the answer you wanted. It's just... not a good time.”
Shit. You shouldn't have said that. Now he might think it could be a better time later.
Frankie nods and smiles sadly. “Yeah, you're probably right.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Yeah, me too.”
He clears his throat and nods. “I better be going. You have a good weekend now.”
“You too.”
He shoots you one final smile before he turns around and leaves. As you watch him go down the stairs to the exit level, you just want to call his name, do your run through the airport and hurry after him, throw yourself into his arms, kiss him, Jesus, imagine that somewhere there's someone who'll get to kiss him some day, tell him that you made a huge mistake and you want to go out with him, you want to have drinks with him and dinner and breakfast and lunch for the rest of your lives because nothing would make you happier than making him happy. You want to be the reason his eyes crinkle and his cheek displays that little dimple that makes you lose your train of thought every time you see it.
But it's not for you. People with kids need to prioritize their kids and you know that you can't be anyone's number two. You don't want to get caught up in custody disputes, you don't want to be "your father's new slut", you don't want to be anyone's stepmom. You don't want to have to spend five days a week in the same house as a five-year-old. Being in a relationship is difficult enough as it is and if you can make choices that avoid some of the problems, you're going to make them, no matter how much it hurts.
And it hurts. A lot. But so much in life hurts and you've made it through before.
He must already be out the door, probably in the car. Does he say something about this to his daughter and friend? Is it a female friend? No, it must be one of his army buddies, probably one of the brothers.
You pull up Frankie's profile in the library database and see his phone number. You could call him anytime. Or send a text. Keep talking to him, flirting.
Shit. It's a bad idea.
A patron approaches the desk and you force yourself to look mild and service-minded.
“Hi, do you have Hate To Want You by someone called... Ray, I think?”
“Please hold a moment, I'll check.” You stifle the sigh that threatens to escape you and hope that the day will be busy so you won't have time to think about Francisco Morales again.
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bananaofswifts · 3 years
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By Paul Tingen
From sketches to final mixes, engineer Jonathan Low spent 2020 overseeing Taylor Swift’s hit lockdown albums folklore and evermore.
“I think the theme of a lot of my work nowadays, and especially with these two records, is that everything is getting mixed all the time. I always try to get the songs to sound as finalised as they can be. Obviously that’s hard when you’re not sure yet what all the elements will be. Tracks morph all the time, and yet everything is always moving forwards towards completion in some way. Everything should sound fun and inspiring to listen to all the time.”
Speaking is Jonathan Low, and the two records he refers to are, of course, Taylor Swift’s 2020 albums folklore and evermore, both of which reached number one in the UK and the US. Swift’s main producer and co‑writer on the two albums was the National’s Aaron Dessner, also interviewed in this issue. Low is the engineer, mixer and general right‑hand man at Long Pond Studios in upstate New York, where he and Dessner spent most of 2020 working on folklore and evermore, with Swift in Los Angeles for much of the time.
“In the beginning it did not feel real,” recalls Low. “There was this brand‑new collaboration, and it was amazing how quickly Aaron made these instrumental sketches and Taylor wrote lyrics and melodies to them, which she initially sent to us as iPhone voice memos. During our nightly family dinners in lockdown, Aaron would regularly pull up his phone and say, ‘Listen to this!’ and there would be another voice memo from Taylor with this beautiful song that she had written over a sketch of Aaron’s in a matter of hours. The rate at which it was happening was mind‑blowing. There was constant elevation, inspiration and just wanting to continue the momentum.
“We put her voice memos straight into Pro Tools. They had tons of character, because of the weird phone compression and cutting midrange quality you just would not get when you put someone in front of a pristine recording chain. Plus there was all this bleed. It’s interesting how that dictates the attitude of the vocal and of the song. Even though none of the original voice memos ended up on the albums, they often gave us unexpected hints. These voice memos were such on‑a‑whim things, they were really telling. Taylor had certain phrasings and inflections that we often returned to later on. They became our reference points.”
Sketching Sessions
“The instrumental sketches Aaron makes come into being in different ways,” elaborates Low. “Sometimes they are more fleshed‑out ideas, sometimes they are less formed. But normally Aaron will set himself up in the studio, surrounded by instruments and synths, and he’ll construct a track. Once he feels it makes some kind of sense I’ll come in and take a listen and then we together develop what’s there.
“I don’t call his sketches demos, because while many instruments are added and replaced later on, most of the original parts end up in the final version of the song. We try to get the sketches to a place where they are already very engaging as instrumental tracks. Aaron and I are always obsessively listening, because we constantly want to hear things that feel inspiring and musical, not just a bed of music in the background. It takes longer to create, but in this case also gave Taylor more to latch onto, both emotionally and in terms of musical inspiration. Hearing melodies woven in the music triggered new melodies.”
Not long after Dessner and Low sent each sketch to Swift, they would receive her voice memos in return, and they’d load them into the Pro Tools session of the sketch in question. Dessner and Low then continued to develop the songs, in close collaboration with Swift. “Taylor’s voice memos often came with suggestions for how to edit the sketches: maybe throw in a bridge somewhere, shorten a section, change the chords or arrangement somewhere, and so on. Aaron would have similar ideas, and he then developed the arrangements, often with his brother Bryce, adding or replacing instruments. This happened fast, and became very interactive between us and Taylor, even though we were working remotely. When we added instruments, we were reacting to the way my rough mixes felt at the very beginning. Of course, it was also dictated by how Taylor wrote and sang to the tracks.”
Dessner supplied sketches for nine and produced 10 of folklore’s 16 songs, playing many different types of guitars, keyboards and synths as well as percusion and programmed drums. Instruments that were added later include live strings, drums, trombone, accordion, clarinet, harpsichord and more, with his brother Bryce doing many of the orchestrations. Most overdubs by other musicians were done remotely as well. Throughout, Low was keeping an overview of everything that was going on and mixing the material, so it was as presentable and inspiring as possible.
Mixing folklore
Although Dessner has called folklore an “anti‑pop album”, the world’s number‑one pop mixer Serban Ghenea was drafted in to mix seven tracks, while Low did the remainder.
“It was exciting to have Serban involved,” explains Low, “because he did things I’d never do or be able to do. The way the vocal sits always at the forefront, along with the clarity he gets in his mixes, is remarkable. A great example of this is on the song ‘epiphany’. There is so much beautiful space and the vocal feels effortlessly placed. It was really interesting to hear where he took things, because we were so close to the entire process in every way. Hearing a totally new perspective was eye‑opening and refreshing.
“Throughout the entire process we were trying to maintain the original feel. Sometimes this was hard, because that initial rawness would get lost in large arrangements and additional layering. With revisions of folklore in particular we sometimes were losing the emotional weight from earlier more casual mixes. Because I was always mixing, there was also always the danger of over‑mixing.
“We were trying to get the best of each mix version, and sometimes that meant stepping backwards, and grabbing a piano chain from an earlier mix, or going three versions back to before we added orchestration. There were definitely moments of thinking, ‘Is this going to compete sonically? Is this loud enough?’ We knew we loved the way the songs sounded as we were building them, so we stuck with what we knew. There were times where I tried to keep pushing a mix forward but it didn’t improve the song — ‘cardigan’ is an example of a song where we ended up choosing a very early mix.”
Onward & Upward
folklore was finished and released in July 2020. In a normal world everyone might have gone on to do other things, but without the option of touring, they simply continued writing songs, with Low holding the fort. In September, many of the musicians who played on the album gathered at Long Pond for the shooting of a making‑of documentary, folklore: the long pond studio sessions, which is streamed on Disney+.
The temporary presence of Swift at Long Pond changed the working methods somewhat, as she could work with Dessner in the room, and Low was able record her vocals. After Swift left again, sessions continued until December, when evermore was released, with Dessner producing or co‑producing all tracks, apart from ‘gold rush’ which was co‑written and co‑produced by Swift and Antonoff. Low recorded many of Swift’s vocals for evermore, and mixed the entire album. The lead single ‘willow’ became the biggest hit from the album, reaching number one in the US and number three in the UK.
“Before Taylor came to Long Pond,” remembers Low, “she had always recorded her vocals for folklore remotely in Los Angeles or Nashville. When I recorded, I used a modern Telefunken U47, which is our go‑to vocal mic — we record all the National stuff with that — going straight into the Siemens desk, and then into a Lisson Grove AR‑1 tube compressor, and via a Burl A‑D converter into Pro Tools. Taylor creates and lays down her vocal arrangements very quickly, and it sounds like a finished record in very few takes.”
Devils In The Detail
In his mixes, Low wanted listeners to share his own initial response to these vocal performances. “The element that draws me in is always Taylor’s vocals. The first time I received files with her properly recorded but premixed vocals I was just floored. They sounded great, even with minimal EQ and compression. They were not the way I’m used to hearing her voice in her pop songs, with the vocal soaring and sitting at the very front edge of the soundscape. In these raw performances, I heard so much more intimacy and interaction with the music. It was wonderful to hear her voice with tons of detail and nuances in place: her phrasing, her tonality, her pitch, all very deliberate. We wanted to maintain that. It’s more emotional, and it sounds so much more personal to me. Then there was the music...”
The arrangements on evermore are even more ‘chamber pop’ than on folklore, with instruments like glockenspiel, crotales, flute, French horn, celeste and harmonium in evidence. “As listeners of the National may know, Aaron’s and Bryce’s arrangements can be quite dense. They love lush orchestration, all sorts of percusion, synths and other electronic sounds. The challenge was trying to get them to speak, without getting in the way of the vocals. I want a casual listener to be drawn in by the vocal, but sense that something special is happening in the music as well. At the same time, someone who really is digging in can fully immerse themselves and take in all the beauty deeper in the details of the sound and arrangement. Finding the balance between presenting all the musical elements that were happening in the arrangement and this really beautiful, upfront, real‑sounding vocal was the ticket.
“A particular challenge is that a lot of the detail that Aaron gravitates towards happens in the low mids, which is a very warm part of our hearing spectrum that can quickly become too muddy or too woolly. A lot of the tonal and musical information lives in the low mids, and then the vocal sits more in the midrange and high mids. There’s not too much in the higher frequency range, except the top of the guitars, and some elements like a shaker and the higher buzzy parts of the synths. Maintaining clarity and separation in those often complex arrangements was a major challenge.”
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comehomeducklings · 3 years
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Past [Part 2] (Obsession)
A/N: Some chapters will be named with either “Past,” “Present,” or “Future,” then their numbered part coming right after it. This is to confuse you less when flashbacks or anything happens. As you have probably noticed, it says “Past” for Part 2. This is going back near when Tom and her just met. Thank you for reading! <3
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
Tom Riddle's Moodboard
Main Character's Moodboard
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1940 - 3rd year
“Potions is not that bad, I swear. You just have to be good at measuring.”
At the table, my friends and I are discussing our classes this year. Potions being one of my favorite topics. Devyn absolutely loathes that certain class. We have to drag her there to make sure she doesn’t skip. Poor girl tries her best to not mess up but the cauldron always ends up blowing up. I even watched her do every step once, never missing a beat. The potion still ended up failing, even though she did everything correctly. She gave up after a while, who wouldn’t. I help her do extra assignments for extra credit to keep her grade up. She also studies with me to make sure she can memorize everything and pass her tests. Amelia is pretty good at the class, she’s luckily paired with Devyn most of the time. Carrying the potion to success, with a little bit of my secret help. It’s not cheating, it’s using your resources.
I’m resources.
“Potions is not that bad,” Devyn mocks me. “If it weren’t for you two I would have gone insane in that stupid class.”
Amelia just laughs at her while eating her hash browns on the plate. She reaches her hand out to take some more eggs.
“You were able to do it before. Not the way you were supposed to, but it worked,” Amelia says.
“Exactly, just start doing it your way at this point. I don’t think Slughorn will care how it’s done, just how it comes out.”
Devyn nods her head and points at me with a fork. Her mouth full of food so she settles for that response. My plate doesn’t have much other than some bacon and fruit. I’m not usually a breakfast eater. I get my appetite at lunch and dinner time. It’s just too early for a bunch of food smells, the smells make me kind of nauseous. I’ll eat though, enough to hold me off till lunch.
The chatter in the lunchroom rises by the minute. Everyone refilling themselves before their busy day. All energy levels rising while everyone wakes up from their groggy morning mood. While my friends finish eating we continue to talk about our classes and share the schedules for this year. Most classes we had were the same except for our electives. I tried taking as many electives as possible. My family back home never really did magic. I actually came a year and a half late since my family wanted me to have a normal school experience. I learned to do everything without the use of magic, the only thing my mom taught me was the floo network, creatures, and plants. I would often accompany her to Diagon Alley when she shops. I got an Owl for my 10th birthday. A cat would have been amazing if I wasn’t allergic to it. My owl is a brown and white-furred barn owl. Don’t ask me why I named it Bartholomew. I was ten okay, give me a break. Speaking of the floo network, my mom had to chase me through it quite often because I kept teleporting everywhere. I once ran into the Ministry of Magic’s building and got lost. They had to take me home to my parents. Their faces told me everything I needed to know about the punishment waiting for me.
Halfway through the second year is when I came to Hogwarts, a second letter coming that year asking my parents to let me learn more there. So when they finally let me attend, everything was pretty new to me. My mother was the magic one in the family. Her grandmother, my great-grandmother, before her had the magic gene. Going to school was the same experience as going from a muggle-borns perspective. The difference is, I knew more about its existence. I would look at yearbooks my mom had from when she went here. She earned a lot of titles, all the achievements being recorded down. I always wondered why she never wanted me to come here. Did something happen to me, to her? I’m guessing she just wanted a normal life with dad. He has always supported her through everything. A love, a bond like that is hard to come by. He would also learn about magic right next to me. At least, the stuff my mom allowed to let us know.
That’s why I want to learn as much as I can, of what’s available. Why learn math in the muggle world when I could be learning divination. Spells of all types, potions for everything of inconvenience. My chores could be completed with just a flick of my wand. I’ve lately been learning wandless magic, on my own. Albus has helped by providing me with material to study that type of magic. The only thing I’ve managed so far is a spark coming from the tips of my fingertips. Sparking hope that I could actually, maybe, achieve that level. Now I won't get my hopes up, but that can lead me to a certain advantage in dueling. That being one of my weakest skills. Always panicking, saying any spells that pop up in my mind, and making random movements coming from my wand. Often confusing who I’m up against, although they recover from that confusion fairly quickly.
Riddle, met him once. One too many if you would ask me. I dissuade ever wanting to speak to him. Arrogance and pride flow through his tongue like second nature. I do take pride in succeeding above him in 3 classes. He is 2 classes above me but, that’s not the point. I do admit, he’s attractive. Only a little though, how else would he charm his way through the professors and students.
“Alright, I’m ready to go. You guys done?”
“Yeah,” I say. Devyn and I start leaving our seats and heading towards the huge doors.
Amelia hurried from her seat, a few steps behind since she took some fruit with her to eat on the way. More and more students also started making their way towards the first period. Not wanting to be blamed for the loss of house points. This system causes so many fights, everyone’s competitive side getting the best of their common sense. I would be lying if I said it didn’t get the best of me before. Amelia being her usual bubbly self skips backward while chatting with us. Before we could warn her to stop, she pushes someone ahead of her. Both falling down, hitting the floor. She spins her head extremely quickly, her hair sticking in her mouth from the force of the wind.
“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” she explains. Quickly trying to digest her situation. I make my way towards her and pull her up. I fix her robe and dust off any dirt on the cloth from the floor.
“Clearly idiot, can you not use those bug eyes of yours to see?”
Devyn and I make eye contact. We understand that there are witnesses here, and one of them is bound to snitch on us if we fight. A huge scene would probably make Amelia feel even more embarrassed as well. Instead, I guided Amelia by her back. We continue on to class while I comfort her. Devyn is staying back to “talk” to the guy. Lestrange is in for it now, any poor soul would be when in the fiery path of her anger.
Devyn’s loud yells could still be slightly heard when entering the potions classroom. First class of the year, and day. On Slughorn’s table, I can see a vial with the wideye potion contained inside. I set Devyn’s textbook on her station, turning to the page that contains information on the potion. Hoping to save her confusion and time.
“Welcome, welcome! Nice to see some old faces, and new ones,” he says with the biggest grin on his face. “Today we’ll be learning about the Wideye potion. Can anyone tell me what this potion does?”
I quickly raise my hand, rather eager. I did some reading about a lot of potions during the summer. Trying to get a headstart on my studies. This potion being one of them. Only 3 students raised their hand, one of them being me. The other, well, Riddle.
“Yes, go ahead and answer,” the professor looks my way.
I smile, “The wideye potion prevents the person consuming the liquid the ability to fall asleep. Which is often used in the medical field to wake someone from a sleep caused by a blunt force or drug.”
“Precisely! 10 points.”
I look back rather smugly at Riddle, rather happy I got chosen instead of him. I know, he could have easily answered that too. I’ll let myself bask in the small achievement for now. 30 minutes of class is just spent writing down notes, preparing us for the potion we will make. Note-taking is my favorite, especially the little doodles I get to make. We use a feather instead of the regular pen. I found it rather amusing and liked the certain feeling of writing with it. The dipping noise that the point of the feather makes when hitting the liquid ink is a very profound sound. No real writer’s bump forming on my fingers.
“That’s enough writing, I need you all to prepare your cauldron, gather the materials you need, and start your potion. If done correctly, tomorrow when we add the finishing touches and check on it the potion should be a blue/green color,” Slughorn comments. “You have 10 minutes to study your notes, then the rest of the class to make your potion. No looking back at your notes after those ten minutes.”
After scanning my notes, I stand up and walk towards the ingredients on the shelves. If I remember correctly my potion requires snake fangs, standard ingredient, and wolfsbane. I gather all that in my hand and set it down near my cauldron. Before I start, I take a moment. I’m missing something, I’m sure there was another ingredient.
Wolfsbane, check.
Snake fangs, six of them.
I have the measures of Standard ingredient.
There’s one more, I try to look around the room. Then I remember that we get an automatic failing grade if caught cheating. There’s no way I’ll let my grade drop like that. Over something so small and inconvenient too. Making my way to the shelves, I scan over the ingredients over and over again. Trying to see if any of the names pop out to me.
No.
Definitely not.
That’s an ingredient?
I don’t even want to know how that one was obtained.
This one, of course it’s this one. I even remember putting a star next to the name in my notebook. Dried Billwig stings, I believe six of them were needed. All that time wasted. Hurrying to my seat I get to work. The time goes by quickly, all that could be heard was the sizzling and whooshing of our potions. I almost knocked down my vials a couple of times. Someone actually did, their time spent on cleaning the glass off the floor. After heating the first three ingredients, I crush them together in the mortar. Then stir clockwise from what I recall, three times specifically. Finally, I wave my wand over then leave it to brew.
Just in time from the looks of it. I glance at Devyn to see how it went for her, and she looks pretty proud of herself. I take that as a blessing that it didn’t blow up this time of round. I’m guessing she took our advice and did it her own way.
A student raises his hand, “May we leave?”
“Oh yes yes, go ahead. No assignments for the first day, only the potion you made in class.”
Before I leave the classroom I examine Riddle’s station. He already left the room. His potion looks similar to how mine turned out, his workspace thoroughly cleaned. Everything used properly placed back to where it should be. Perfectly spotless, not a single speck of dust in sight. All done without magic too, surprising for someone born into the wizarding world. When I mentioned that I met him once, it wasn’t much of anything. The only way I know how he really acts is through other people. Much admire his intelligence and strong will. Others are jealous of the potential he holds for the future.
Girls are already trying to slip love potions into his drinks. I would feel bad if he wasn’t so rude to them. Only just before touching the disrespectful line. He almost drank one of their attempts before. Wouldn’t want to imagine how that turned out. Tom riddle, in love. That man probably doesn’t know the feeling of happiness, let alone love. I feel bad for his future girlfriend, she’s going to have to deal with a handful of baggage.
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“How much do you want to bet Nott will demolish him?” A Gryffindor girl to my left whispers.
Nott, part of Riddle’s group from what I’ve seen. They all eat lunch together and talk to one another so it’s a reasonable guess. Very talented duellist, one of the bests here.
“I hate to admit it, but he’ll definitely win this. I’ll still have hope for the other guy though,” I whisper back trying not to sound mean.
Nott and the other Slytherin boy are up right now. It’s a courtesy for the audience to stay quiet until someone casts the first attack or defense. From then on all you will hear is shouting of encouragement and the opposite. Nott’s eyes are focused, zoning in on the opponent before him. His wand is steady, mouth slightly parted to breathe through better. Whole-body alert and tense waiting for something. From what I'm getting, I believe he’s waiting for the Slytherin boy to go first. Nott casts spells quickly and thinks them through decently. Sometimes you're not able to create a counter-spell quick enough to defend yourself against him.
Riddle’s group and himself are near the corner of the platform. All seemingly analyzing every breath he inhales and exhales. I finally hear the whoosh of a wand and a whiz of light fly past the platform. The glow from the spell lighting our faces for a millisecond. Nott quickly counters that spell and moves to cast his own. Magic flies across the platform, all of our eyes going back and forth like a ping-pong match. The Slytherin boy starts breaking a sweat. He’s only been able to get a couple of offensive spells in there, most of his plays spent throwing off Nott’s. If he doesn’t turn the battle soon, the outcome will become very clear.
It is a little less exciting since we only know a handful of spells. So whatever you know from your own studies you use in these duels. When we move up the years the class will become more serious and dangerous. Right now it’s just to teach us how to counter and cast quickly. The proper etiquette and movement. You use spells that you know, they aren’t supposed to harm someone. Either stun them, make them fly back, or disarm. Most of those spells require a little of a higher level, most of us not even knowing of its existence yet. So what’s mostly cast between competitors is a basic spell to exert force. That force should be aimed for the legs, or the wand to disarm that way. The way someone can win here is to make their knees or hands touch the floor, or disarm their wand. As I mentioned, it will get more intense as time goes by. We're only just starting 3rd year right now, a lot more charms will be learned later on.
I shake my head to get rid of any lingering thoughts. My attention goes right back to the duel taking place in front of me. Nott quickly aims a spell at the knees and manages to bring the other boy to his knees.
“Mr. Nott wins this duel! Please step off the platform, we will evaluate your performance.”
During the practice duels today, you watch it, think of ways to help the person improve, and point out things they might have done wrong. At the end, the professor picks people raising their hands to allow them to give their feedback. Participating is part of the grade you get in here. I personally prefer giving feedback then dueling. I’m not the best at casting, I do give out good defense spells though. That should mean something, I hope.
“Let’s start with Nott, does anyone have feedback for him?”
A couple of people spread apart raised their hands. One by one they all ask questions and give feedback. They mention his feet and posture when he stands. Arms fully stretched out where it would have been more flexible to bend it slightly. When he casts he shouldn’t be walking backward. They shortly switch to the other boy’s questions and feedback. The way he never gave himself the opening to cast an offensive spell often. He would move around his area a lot. Almost slipping off the stage during one of those movements. Tom and his group privately discussed with one another. They’re probably giving Nott their own feedback and suggestions privately.
“Now, Riddle I want you to come up and…,” he scans the room for another student. After some time he points his finger at me. “You.”
I could have had a smooth sailing class. I was so close to not having to go up there. My hands start sweating a bit, my anxiety jumbling my thoughts together. Riddle’s already up there and soon to be on his side of the platform. Taking his wand out and wandering his fingers over the design. I gulp, a big toad stuck in my throat. I wipe my hands on my robe and start up the stairs. Riddle seems as unbothered as ever. We bow, turn, then walk ten paces back. During this time I try predicting who will cast first. I don’t know him very well, I’ve also never seen him duel.
I take my dueling stance and wait for the signal to start. Hoping, praying, that I don’t embarrass myself. Slipping up is not allowed, not when going against him.
~////////////////𓆙////////////////~
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@empath-bunny
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sendmyresignation · 3 years
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In Defense of Teenagers:
Ok so. There seems to be a general consensus that Teenagers doesn’t fit on the black parade or that it ruins the trajectory of the album or that the song order of bp needs to be changed to fit the b-sides and drop Teenagers, or it should have just been a single- basically any option other than its inclusion between Sleep and Disenchanted would have been better. now, i’m not here to tell anyone that they’re wrong- i just want to offer an alternative perspective because i truly believe Teenagers is right where it belongs and that its inclusion on that album is, in my opinion, completely necessary to the album’s narrative arc. I want to focus on the way Teenagers builds into the foundation of the Concept Record, the way it bridges the gap between Sleep and Disenchanted so as not to delegitimize Disenchanted’s impact, and the fact that no other available material fits into the struggle the Patient endures at the end of the narrative (sorry this got LONG here’s a read more)
So, before we get into the meat of Teenager’s narrative significance, i wanted to briefly mention the way it makes Black Parade a more cohesive whole in relation to the material it is mimicking. Like Black Parade as an album is structured very differently from Pink Floyd’s The Wall- but it takes a lot of the same beats and recontextualizes them for a new purpose. Both records use war and relationship troubles and school and drugs to create an atmosphere that leads to disillusionment. In The Wall, this is quite literally the protagonist, Pink, building up “bricks in the wall” that isolates him from the rest of society and lead to a downward spiral into cynicism and hate. But Black Parade uses the same tools that The Wall does to say something different- things, specifically the actions you've made or the trauma you've endured, haunts you and makes your life seem insignificant in the face of what happens to you and those regrets are what causes the Patient to fall into a cycle of damnation and cynicism. This is representative of the Patient's descent through the afterlife- each new "layer" of the Patient's exploration is equivalent to a brick in The Wall's metaphor. Additionally, in this new context, this song in particular takes The Wall’s discussions of adolescence and the vice-grip control older generations attempt to force on teens and the disillusionment with the future and retells it from a new perspective- both literally in the fact the song is now more reflective of the 2000s post-9/11 and post-columbine culture, but its also literally from the perspective of the Patient as an adult. Teenagers, as a result, becomes a necessary piece of that puzzle- it is the refraction of Another Brick in the Wall repurposed to mean something new entirely- it’s no longer about kids being forced into complacency by a cruel education system from their own perspective (the children’s choir allows them to speak for themselves) but about the ways in which adults see those kids and why they decide to enact actions similar to those within The Wall. I mean even the imagery used in the song’s music video is purposely almost plagiarizing The Wall- it feeds into a separate analysis of the video and song outside the narrative as well- which i don’t have time right now to get into, its just very interesting that the band is bodily removed from their instruments at the end of the video and the teenagers in the audience have rendered them incapacitated (“they’re looking for a rockstar to kill” anyone?) it's the metaphorical tearing down of the wall from a completely different perspective. Anyway, the work Teenagers does for the narrative is it fits the album into the Concept Record Cinematic Universe- it is a piece that evokes the material it is influenced by to build off of the old to create the new- without it, the connections to The Wall would still be there, sure, but it wouldn’t be as complete- you cannot recontextualize the album without the foundation of Teenagers.
Teenagers is also, at its core, a subtle subversion of genre- using the blueprint of a specific kind of song to center the song within the timeline/narrative. In this case, the same way I Don’t Love You mimics and exaggerates the emotive and plaintive 80s rock ballad, Teenagers twists the classic rock of a bygone era to specifically call back on the stadium rock anthem.  Black Parade, on the whole, does this quite frequently- most of its songs take pre-existing genre cues and subverts them in ways that play off of the expected tapestry of a concept record to create individual sounding songs that seamlessly transition into one another yet remain entirely separate. It maintains their presence as scenes in a larger tapestry- specifically the fabric of the Black Parade being a morality play. This serves two purposes, it allows for this exaggeration of genre to become a motif within the work (see mama, cancer, house of wolves, i don’t love you, wttbp -> they all play with a different, varied song type/structure that is distinct from each other) and it plays off of existing genre-stereotypes in ways that contribute to the songs overall function. I Don’t Love You, for example, undermines the fundamental purposes of sappy power ballads- to express one of the two dualities of love songs: the cheesy unconditional “i will love you forever” types or the plaintive, melancholic end-of-relationship song by instead focusing on the complexity of a not-quite-finished relationship. The ballad then shifts from an expression of love to one of human loss- and the loss is less about the individual speaking, but moreso about what the other character has become - it’s a mourning not for the relationship, but for the person themselves, who they used to be in a way. It shifts from the one-dimensional view of what a ballad can achieve and instead infuses the anger, the resignation, the drama, the transformation- it humanizes a very stock genre full of platitudes and uses our expectations to create something more interesting. Similarly, Teenagers takes a tired genre and utilizes the working mechanisms of its typical song structure to subvert and repurpose those into commentary- its literally a stadium rock song that devolves into a chant. Looking at the loud drumbeat that resonates in your chest, the all together now as a command that lures the listener into singing along, the addition of more chorus vocals at the end like a crowd is shouting along, the screaming and the solo on after another like the song is falling apart a little bit, all of these elements build into a song literally meant to be infectious and replicated by the audience. Herein lies one of the songs many interpretations- humans can be easily influenced by the media they consume, the perspectives they are fed. What happens when the view that we have of adolescence is cloaked in mistrust and violence? This aspect of the song is less about the band reconciling teenagers being moved to committing acts of violence and more in analyzing how an audience can be persuaded into believing the erroneous view of teens as fundamentally destructive- are you not repeating the chorus? do teenagers not “scare the shit out of you”? Obviously the band doesn’t want you to believe this but it does what you to think about why this perspective is so common. It's a cultural subliminal message that is present in songs and tv and books that we simply do not question- it is a chant we cannot help but join in on. Teenagers is a replication of that process, but is clearly just subversive enough (both as a piece of genre and just as a song in general terms) that the listener knows its commentary and not itself propagating that viewpoint. Every song on Black Parade does this kind of “genre-bending” to make a point in some way or another, so it's a significant reason Teenagers fits into the albums cohesion.
But,Teenagers isn’t just important to the album in its sound- it lyrically parallels Disenchanted in a way that effectively moves on from Sleep without losing the album’s emotional momentum. Sleep, conceptually and lyrically, is a very heavy track- its influence from the Dune soundtrack’s Final Dream turn a cinematic, swelling piece of instrumentation into an oppressive blanket of noise that bears down on the listener and the lyrics are referential to the patient believing themselves to be irredeemable and monstrous. It's also inspired directly from Gerard’s vivid and violent night terrors during his stay at the paramour- including a recording of Gerard’s recollection of those dreams, that mentions being choked, seeing loved ones die, burning alive, etc. To transition directly from such a dark, personal subject into a reflective acoustic number about the narrator’s adolescence would be tonally inappropriate and almost laughable- it would stop the progression in its tracks, while also doing a disservice to Disenchanted. Having a break is necessary! And it's even more appropriate for that break to be a song about teenagers considering Disenchanted is so nostalgic. Additionally, Teenagers brings up a really interesting narrative thread about the Patient becoming disenchanted with the youth that then directly transitions into a song about him losing faith in his values and sense of self- they are directly correlated conceptually. Looking deeper, Disenchanted is a punk song. sort of. more specifically, it is the foundation of a punk song that becomes a ballad through narrative framing- it takes punk cliches (running from the cops, the crowds, the imagery of guillotining traitorous rich celebrities) and turns them wistful and sad because the Patient is looking back at something they no longer understand or identify with, it allows the narrative to illustrate how the Patient feels like their life was worthless and didn’t amount to much and they’re just another stupid punk kid who grew up and didn’t achieve anything. and you can’t get to this point from Sleep because it would weaken Disenchanted’s impact, make it seem insignificant and petulant in the face of Sleep’s heavy and grand sorrow. Lyrically, you need Teenagers to bridge the gap between the war metaphors and the visualizations of hell and the all-encompassing nature of cancer in order to redirect the focus to the Patient and limit the scope of the narrative at the end of the album. Teenagers, within the story, then functions as the Patient reflecting on the nature of youth and, in the wake of Mama’s “we all go to hell” rhetoric, comes to the conclusion that teenagers are wholly violent, easily manipulated, and unsympathetic. It's another step in the Patient removing his own agency and viewing his life as predestined at the same time it allows the “plot” to focus back on the more nostalgic and mundane aspects of the patient’s life. Doing so makes Famous Last Words so much more significant because it forces the Patient to reconcile with his past before he can move forward (whether that's living or dying its still applicable). so, Teenagers is very important to the overall “plot” of Black Parade- it is fundamentally necessary for the pieces to fit together.
Another larger aspect of Teenagers' importance is that it introduces the fate versus free will internal debate central to the ending fourth of the record. The song lays the foundation for this thematic idea by being about the fated violence of the youth and how they cannot help but to respond to their world with anger and cruelty. This realization about adolescence by the Patient leads to him perceiving his own youth as destructive and worthless and in following the themes of guilt/regret and damnation it's this violence that began his path to hell or his current state of suffering.  In that vein, Teenagers leads into the idea that your life is predetermined or that there is a destiny that we all have (in the Patient’s case its the absence of a future, or “a lifelong wait for a hospital stay”) and no matter what, you cannot fight that. While Mama gives a blanket statement about how "we all go to hell", Disenchanted centers the Patient's specific destiny by saying his whole life has led up to his illness and, looking further, there is the implication that life before that was retrospectively pointless. So, as previously mentioned, Disenchanted begins, structurally and lyrically, as a punk song- this sort of expression of youthful existence that, in any other song or under another faster instrumentation, would fit on some basement demo from 1986. But it doesn't stay that way, instead it actively subverts the genre it's cliches are lifted from- thinking specifically about “we ran from the cops” and the “roar of the crowd” that is juxtaposed with the change in structure  or theme. Namely, punk songs (speaking generally here) aren’t wistful because there isn't really a sense of legacy in punk music. There's history yes, but most songs are about the immediacy of emotion, not existential questioning. The retrospective nature and the shift into a ballad structure are elements reflective of a change in the main character brought on by the disillusionment present in teenagers from a punk kid to a dying young man looking back on the banality of youth and the hypocrisy, the trauma and the lack of agency. It's so much easier to think that nothing matters and the perspective makes it so much easier to give up.
This build from Teenagers into Disenchanted regarding the Patient's fate allows Famous Last Words to become an even stronger end because it's in direct opposition to that perspective. Famous Last Words is a song that screams fuck fate and fuck the past- the only thing that matters is moving forward. The image of the Patient keeping on whether he’s walking into the afterlife or continuing to stay alive as long as possible becomes something difficult, something he had to fight to achieve - he had to struggle to find a new understanding. That he can't be "afraid to keep living" or "going home" and that these are concrete actions, a use of free will. And that free will is very specifically defiant. Regardless of how you view the Patient's end, he makes the conscious decision to accept the present and move forward. We are not fated to die alone, nor is life worthless. Black Parade proves that the opposite is true, that we must grow to accept the value of life, and it's so much stronger having the Patient actively reject nihilism and apathy. Ultimately, Teenagers introduces the main thread of the final songs and without it, those songs would be narrative incomplete.
So, Teenagers has a valued place on the album sonically and within the narrative whole, that much is clear. But another reason that the album order of Sleep, Teenagers and Disenchanted is important is that none of the other material written for the album comes close to filling its place. In this case, I am going to be specifically talking about the b-sides since the demos are incomplete and we have no idea what the final version would have sounded like (but I would contend they don’t fit either). Beginning with the easiest song to discard from the narrative- My Way Home Is Through You has its moments in the lyrics but it's completely out of place musically- plus the tone is a little too hopeful for this point in the album which does not gel with Disenchanted’s hopelessness. It's also incongruent with the album since Disenchanted is effective as the only “punk” song on a record that plays with and explores genre and having this come before it would ruin the previously mentioned motif of each of the songs being individual and unique in form. Also, it really adds nothing to the fate vs free will theme- meaning its placement would weaken the disenchanted/flw combo ending. Moving forward, Kill All Your Friends seems to fit, considering its cynicism and nostalgia, but the bridge (“you’ll never get me alive, you’ll never take me alive, do what it takes to survive and I'm still here") doesn’t fit the Patient’s slow decent into apathy at all and contradicts Disenchanted’s loss of faith in the idea of living- it's too hopeful and centers survival and resilience in a way that makes it an ineffective substitute for Teenagers as a bridge song. And finally, Heaven Help Us is too religiously centered- it would refocus the fate vs free will discussion in the context of god/angels when that isn’t a theme in the album up to this point (hell is the grounded point of the album- the protagonist has already accepted their fate by Mama- having a reconciliation with a lack of faith or the absence of God seems completely out of left field when its just not an established part of the narrative) Black Parade is actually one of the mcr albums with the least references to god/angels in the heavenly religious sense- more centered around the human struggle against determinism: the usage of damnation is Catholic inspired but divorced from the division of hell vs heaven and is instead about guilt and worthiness and agency. The presence of angels or god or any divinity would simply weaken the narrative by expanding the album's focus outside its own limitations. Also, the Patient isn't ever a martyred figure, if anything he is purposely pathetic. Including any comparison of the Patient to Christ ("give you all the nails you need") or a saint unravels the key feature of the Patient's character: that he is insignificant. His insignificance and his struggles with his past actions make him a character who must find the strength to live through the guilt and pain to prove that everyone is worthy of life. The overarching purpose of Black Parade is emphasizing that no matter what we've done and how dirty we feel, we can move forward and either accept our afterlife or we can find value in being alive. Because of this contradiction, Heaven Help Us destroys the central theme of the entire album if it is included. With all of this in mind, it seems to me that the b-sides are their own nebulous thing- they don’t tonally fit on Black Parade (though I do think they fit together and are interconnected thematically) but any of them would break the flow since they seem angrier and gritter in a way that is noticeably absent and would be at odds with from a lot of Parade’s resignation. They also just do not complete the narrative, they are simple not as good as Teenagers at bringing all the pieces together.
If I still haven’t convinced you, a bonus reason Teenagers is a valuable memeber of the Black Parade tracklist, Ray was the only one who believed in the song- he called it genius (x) so listen to mr chemical romance himself telling you the song is Good and Important :)
anyway now you should, at the very least respect teenagers based on a couple thematic ideas expressed here, if not also understand why it’s imperative to black parade as an album, as well as the narrative itself. <3
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btswishes · 3 years
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Love me for who I am now
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Bucky x Reader ( Chapter 1 )
Part1 / Next 
Summary: You apply for the Stark internship and end up getting it, so now you have 5 months to make a good impression to continue working with the Avengers.
A/N: This is my first Marvel fic and I am taking it as a challenge. It is opposite of what my account was made, but here I go. Sorry for any mistakes made, hope you enjoy it even a tiny bit.
Word count:  3,281
Warmings: fights, harsh language, not part of the original MCU 
Y/N- Your name Y/L/N:  Your Last Name
                                   --------------------------------------
  Through sleepless nights and dark circles, books and pens, through months of work you reached your goal. The moment you received the acceptance letter from Stark University you almost flew out the window without a fear in your mind. This was it!
  Time had passed since that moment, but it is still engraved in your mind- a memory keeping you strong during the hard midterms and piles of work, even the small glimmers of regret. Trying your best wasn’t an option, you could do only that and no less. It was no easy task, lost social life as much as you tried to keep it. You were really lucky you had good friends that understood and supported you. University wasn’t easy for anyone making this one even tougher. People of all ages, backgrounds and cultures were piled up with you in this building. The best of the best as the slogan said, the ones that proved themselves and emerged victorious.
  When you were young ,you used to spend a lot of time with your uncle at his places outside the country. He would introduce you to his work colleagues and things you had never seen before. There was a time where you would spend months on end with him. Not many memories were left from those moments in your head. At one point you spend a few years with him, your mother thought it would be good experience for you and it turned out to be nothing but the truth-at least you hoped so. You learned a lot from him and his friends, it felt like each spend day would offer you more knowledge in areas you never knew of. Computer work, ways of thinking and so much more that had become second nature to you.
  The sky was tinted in a wash of oranges, reds and yellows bleeding one into the other, swirling around the sun emitting them. The day was ending, but you found yourself filling up an application in the library, covered by the silence and smell of exam worry.
  Sponsored and founded by the one and only Tony Stark, this establishment offered an internship. Being part of the Avengers, Tony didn’t let just anyone from the students attending in, even if they were the best labeled by the school. It had been a year and a half since you started pushing yourself harder to be able to apply and there was nothing that could stop you. Pressing your finger over the enter button was very nerve wrecking yet simple. Even if it didn’t work out this year, you planned to do it again and again ,till he had no other choice but give you a chance.
  Usually F.R.I.D.A.Y. went over everything and left only the applications worth going over by Tony himself or Pepper. The next 5 weeks for you were very stressful, but there was nothing more you could do but wait and focus on your own work. The first person you wanted to tell about this was your uncle. He went to work in some distant place where they had no internet so you switched to mail. Not as much paper under his name passed through your hands, as he had stopped answering you. You missed him, but the muddy childhood memories kind of compensated for that.
“Did you send it in?” the phone muffled a bit the sweet voice coming from the speaker 
“Yeah, a few days ago actually.” You answered with a gentle sigh
“And no answer yet?” the girl’s pitch rose at the end of the sentence, amazed at that what she just heard
“I know, I know. Think about it though Nea. Who knows how many applications get submitted. Someone has to brush through them after all.” defending the situation was a form of coping for you, made you feel hopeful.
“So you are trying to tell me Tony Stark’s interface or whatever it’s called, can’t sort them out in a couple of hours? Come on Y/N! You and I both know you are trying to make yourself feel better.” The small pause made you anxious over what Nea said “Listen.” A breathy start of the sentence “ I don’t mean to brag, but I think I am one of the people who know exactly how much you deserve this. You were never the studious type, plus that you were gone for years on end with that mysterious uncle of yours. I never expected you to suddenly go for Stark University. Your dream changed you, from this quiet kid to crazy ol’ you right now on the call with me.I ain’t letting you bust yourself up over this just because it didn’t happen the first time around-”
                Ding ding
  Nea’s deep speech was cut off before she could unleash herself completely, by the slight ring of your phone’s notification.
“Who tf has the audacity to text while the great me is giving this legendary –“
                Ding!
  The second time the sound sung out made her choke up with anger, you could almost see the fumes coming out of the phone.
“WHO IS IT!” a loud hiss pierced your ear
“Maybe if you gave me a minute I could answer your question.” Pulling the call down, your finger ran over the screen to the email, making your notification lamp blink like a car. Almost instantly it opened before your eyes and you gasped. The action made you swallow suddenly and cough out a bit ,giving poor Nea an idea about the level of shock you were in.
“What?What? You can’t just almost die and not tell me what is going on.” She proceeded with a not so tasteful interrogation.
“I-…they accepted my application…” at the end a small smile flowed over your lips contorting the sound coming out
“Stop!?” she choked up as well “You gotta be fucking with me!? No fucking way this is real!”
“I am honest. It says here that they liked my skill set, my grades and the way of thinking I presented in my essay. I got the spot Nea! I fucking did it!” you threw the phone on the bed letting it bounce as you started dancing.
“Of course you did! I told you! You will be working with THE AVENGERSSSS!” at some point it sounded like your best friend was more excited than you “When do you start?”
“Well…” taking a second to calm down and re-establish contact with your phone, you looked up the schedule that came attached with the email “…ok…so it says here that I will be starting on Monday so~ in 2 days? “
“So soon! Any requirements for the job miss Avenger’s sidekick?” and the teasing begins
“A list, surprisingly.” Rolling onto your back, you held the screen away and above your face, scrolling past “ I guess my first job will be with Dr. Banner in the lab. Apparently I will be given some sort of assignments throughout the 5 months work span. I will be monitored by Dr. Bruce Banner and the grading, I guess if you can call It that ,will be done by Tony Stark himself.”
“Basically Hulk will be your babysitter.” once this girl starts teasing she never stops even in amazing situations such as this one, good thing you loved her “That sounds so cool though! You will be able to meet Captain America and Black Widow~! I am so jelly of you I swear! When you leave work make sure to wait for someone from the group to walk by, omgggg I am fangirling so much right now.What if you go to dinners with them!?AAAAA!”
“Fun thing about that.” Your eyes landed on the last paragraph of the email “It says here that I am supposed to move into the compound and stay there till further notice. The whole idea is that if I do things well I will get a permanent job. Weird…” you hummed
“Weird !? How? That is so cool! Who knows you might even become an Avenger! You will be living with them anyways.” at this point Nea was either not breathing or hyperventilating so fast you couldn’t hear it
“Don’t be ridiculous.” your attention landed once more on the thought process you had a moment ago “I don’t get one thing. They say here that my PE grades combined with my IT and overall studies make me a great candidate, but I don’t remember sports being a requirement at all, or even providing them in the first place. Does it mean that if my grades were low in that department I wouldn’t have gotten the spot?”
“I guess people of science aren’t that flexible. Who cares anyways! You got in, no ifs and buts. I am telling you, at this point you could be an Avenger.” poor girl began thinking of names and suit designs for you “ Hurry up and pack those bags before I drop by with take away, so we can gossip over Steve Rogers’s abs.”
“Um…don’t get me wrong he is super hot, I just see the Cap more like an older brother figure than anything.” It was true, you looked up to him since the first time you studied about the Civil War. Fearless, gave his life in a way for his people, astonishing man over all.
“Hey! Let me drool over him! You were always more of a Winter Soldier fan anyways.” Nea pouted audibly . Her words made some lone memory pop up in your head, but it was as murky as the rest. “I don’t know why I am interested in him. Somehow his look is very nostalgic and rugged. Anyways. ”you shook your head out of the mental image of the soldier “I will go pack up, tell my parents and fix up all my documents. Probably find some stuff from former Stark employees online. I want to have a bit of an idea of what he expects and what I am getting myself into.”
“Fine fine, you could have just said you like troubled guys. You were the one who was happy Loki got a second chance after all. I will be over in like 3 hours.” She informed you
“Hey! He deserved to redeem himself, he was used!” a firm Loki supporter as always “Ok then, see ya.”
   Hanging up the call you placed your phone to charge and rolled off your bed. The email gave vague information about what you needed, but clothing wise you would still be able to come home and get stuff if you had to. What was on top of your priorities were papers, documents, all your research materials and tech. Those things had to be organized no matter what ,since they got you this far in the first place.
  Nae came over as planned and you two had a nice sleepover talking about you know who. The night came and left, letting the morning find you in your bed at 11am. Your forearm rested on top of your forehead in a relaxed manner, letting enough space for an exhale to linger in the air in front of you. Your mind was going over everything that was about to happen to you. It was one of your dreams, you worked for it nonstop day in day out, so why were you so worried about meeting the rest of the Avengers? Maybe it was just anxiety or fear of the unknown, yeah made sense.
  All you did during the day was make lists for every piece of tech you were binging with yourself. Things seemed to be in order, but worry kept nibbling on your bones. The moment of truth finally rolled up and so did your suitcase in front of your house. Nea came to send you off as she promised.
“Sweetie, make sure to call us every day. Eat well, don’t overwork yourself and-“ your mom went off with caution about anything and everything that came to mind
“Mom, you know I am going 3 blocks down from here right? Plus I can come home at any time I want to. I am not moving to Mars or getting arrested.” You smirked the panic away from her, giving them a big hug.
“Call me or text me when you get there.” Nea pulled you in, whispering in your ear as quietly as possible “And don’t forget to sneak me a booty pick of good ol’Cap. You know what they say-”
“That is America’s ass.” Your voice came out in a mocking tone
“That i-…let me at least finish it by myself! Geez!” she pushed you towards the door “Ok ok, go now before you spoil me something else” her arms crossed in front of her chest
  The walk wasn’t that long, you were too invested in your own thoughts to notice when the time and distance had passed. The glistening windows of the compound building shined into your eyes. Your lungs filled up with a breath that they kept in for a moment, before releasing it back in the outside world. Pulling out the documents you stepped in. The fresh smelling air hit you making you close one eye for a second.
People were walking around you fast and concentrated. Some looked in a hurry, others were on break with a cup of coffee and a strain-leaving expression.
 Your feet, as slightly shaky as they were, took you right up to the front desk were a lady with a dark rich red colored uniform looked at you. She flashed a professional smile, her eyes asking for your purpose.
“Um, hello. My name is Y/N -Y/L/N.” she saw the logo on your papers and gasped
“You must be the new intern Mr. Stark told us about.” She signed something and reached out “Can you give me your hand for a second.” Your fingers didn’t go past the surface of the desk when she pocked your skin. Pulling in your extremity, your palm wrapped around the spot that began to sting a bit “Don’t worry about it. This is your identification pass. Fancy, no?” she smiled winking. Her body stood up as she pointed at the elevator far in the back of the foyer.
  Instructions were given with each step of the way, calming your nerves a bit. The moment you found yourself inside the elevator she pulled your hand to the sensor on the wall next to the buttons.
Recognized: Code 2514. Welcome Miss Y/N  
 Your head shot up when F.R.I.D.Y.’s voice echoed in the small space. The women smiled giving you a small nod and stepped out of the vicinity. Once her body was outside ,the doors slid closed. Over them glowed a protective blue light layering over the material like a soft veil.
 It felt like you weren’t moving an inch. Your body flinched when the sun stung at your eyes from the window. Your gaze landed over the view of the city, as you went higher and higher, ascending into the clouds  The blues and yellows were covering the inside of the elevator, such vibrant and lovely colors warming your body. For a moment your heart felt heavy- lost memory tugged onto it again. An often occurrence lately, yet you kept brushing off as deja vu. 
Floor 134. Welcome to the Avenger’s compound Miss Y/N
“134!?” the numbers cracked out with your voice. The interface made you turn towards the opposite opening doors revealing a room as big as a hall, if not almost a stadium. The ceiling was high being the lid to this round area. Your heart beat increased pumping blood to your body, dilating your pupils at least twice their original size. It look amazing, almost like you had just entered heaven. The walls were white, the furniture was perfectly placed and cream colored. Stepping outside you jumped at the sound of the elevator doors closing behind you. 
“Wow” escaped your lips, your hand pulling the suitcase closer. So this was the common room or the shared space. The windows were so big they were practically a wall of their own. The bright rays were making themselves at home giving the white paint a new color with each passing minute. The ceilings were probably the equivalent of 3 floors in height. There was this weird feeling of home inside, a bit of isolation maybe mixed in. 
“Miss Y/N?” your head swung to the side when you recognized that shy but bright smile. Throwing the papers on top of your suitcase, you extended your arm at the man.
“Ah.” Good thing your mind automatically responds politely to people without you giving it much thought “Dr. Banner. It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance.” you shook his hand gently a couple of times and let go ,finding the papers and showing them to him “My name is Y/N-Y/L/N.” gentle bow and a smile followed the words skillfully chosen
“Welcome Welcome. Tony is out right now so I might be the only one actively walking around the compound. Well…”he scratched the back of his neck, lightly hunching over with a sheepish smile “I am one of the people you will be working under anyways, so I guess it is good that I came to get you. I would love to show you the lab, but I am sure you would like to set up your things first.” You nodded and he showed you to your room. The corridor had 3 tall doors scattered on the walls, all looking modern and elegant.
“This is the side where usually we have our female members. Natasha and Wanda will be your nextdoor neighbors. Hope it won’t be any trouble.” Bruce looked at you ,when an aggressive shake took over your neck
“No, no. Not at all sir. I am very grateful to have such amazing heroes next to me. As a matter of fact won’t they be troubled with me here?” and here came the normal anxiety that you had for everything
“I am sure they will like you. Don’t worry about it.” Bruce stepped next to the door and waved you over “You don’t have a key or a door handle as a matter of fact. Tony’s idea, don’t ask. If you got up here on your own I assume he made the girls downstairs give you an identification implant. That is basically your entrance for everything here. Kind of an Avengers thing.” You nodded and him wiggling his fingers like a spell. Placing your hand on the door like he told you activated F.R.I.D.A.Y.
Recognized: Y/N. Access and ownership granted.
  The metal frame slid open and you found yourself standing before a big room. It was nicely furnished. The desk was big enough for you to work on it and have everything around. Bookshelves empty and ready to be used on your left and a large bed on your right flush against the wall. The window was once more its own wall right in front of you standing behind the desk. The bathroom door was opening a space before the shelf the same color as the paint in the common room.
“I will let you set up. If you need anything F.R.I.D.A.Y. is always here. The room is interactive, you can ask exactly what works under the interface’s control. The door is one.Take your time.”he was on his way out “Would you like some coffee or tea?”
��I would like some tea, thank you very much.” Bruce flashed you a smile “F.R.I.D.A.Y. the door please.”
Door closed 
  Done as said and requested, clicking behind you. 
Would you like an extensive list of my functions as an assistant?
“Please do.”
62 notes · View notes
writingsbychlo · 3 years
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starry night | chris beck
word count; 9241
summary; chris beck delivers flowers to you five times.
notes; this was originally called ‘candy cane lane’, but I changed it up a little.
warnings; none!
When Chris had started working in a flower shop, it was to pay his way through college. He was getting a degree in medicine and it wasn't cheap, and he needed a simple and easy way to make cash that wouldn't take too much out of him. He wasn’t big on anything social, and so working in a bar or restaurant didn’t seem like the best fit, and unfortunately for him, all the library jobs had been snapped up at the beginning of the year. Supermarkets were a no go, he hated the people that came through and how rude some of them could be, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to get a job in a coffee shop.
Working those machines might as well be rocket science.
The little flower store on the end of his campus road had been hiring, and eventually, he’d become desperate. It wasn’t his usual gig, he wasn’t sure how he felt about it, to begin with, but it offered decent money, reasonably flexible hours, and the boss actually let him study on shift when it was quiet, and so it actually gave him more free time than he had before getting a job.
Then, he’d started to warm up to it. It was always cool in the summer and warmer in the winter, keeping it temperate for the plants, and it always smelt good. He made friends with a man named Mark who came in every so often to buy new plants to study, he was becoming a botanist, and they bonded over the serene quietness of flower shops for studying and bad jokes.
Little old ladies pinched his cheeks, the tips were good, and it helped him clear his thoughts to be able to do menial tasks like spray the flowers with water every other hour to keep them wet enough, and to sit behind the cash registers. It was a simple Christmas present from said botanist friend that really inspired his passion, though. More of a gag gift, he was sure that was its intention, but he’d started to take it seriously. Chapter after chapter on the meanings of flowers, how to send hidden messages through plants, and something about the way of communicating in ways other than words had spoken to him.
After that, he’d been able to offer a service of sending messages through flowers. He’d become a more popular salesperson, and he’s shifts had increased, and he loved doing it. He loved the physical way that a message could be conveyed, beautiful explosions of colour to mean ‘I love you’ or ‘Happy Anniversary’, and so he’d started to invest his time in that. Nobody had been all that surprised when the older man who ran the shop had left it to him when he passed, not even Chris himself, and so he’d finished up his degree and started working at the flower shop full time.
Mark had taken on a part-time job there, as well as his internship in a clinical research lab, and they’d hired an extra hand at the register. It made him happy.
Less so, when he had an influx of orders overnight, and instead had to focus on building bouquets to be shipped instead of the garden expansion he was making, but happy nonetheless.
He was twenty-seven custom orders in, Mark already out running the standard bouquets for delivery, and he was stacking them by the garage door, wrapped in ribs and pretty vase-boxes, all ready to go. Licking the tip of his finger to flick the paper over, he let out a sigh, two sets of flowers on one page, his rows raising. It wasn’t unusual for there to be multiple sets on one order form, but as his eyes scanned over the list of preferences, scents and colours, as well as the messages they were wishing to convey, one of his brows rose up.
One request for the pretty set of pink roses and lilies that he’d loving crafted himself, a collection of flowers that signified an apology, and he was always happy to offer advice to any guys who came into the store to buy that set. It was usually a guy fresh to a relationship, messed something up by refusing to unfollow another girl on Instagram, or just saying the wrong thing in front of his friends, introducing a girl as his friend, that one always made him giggle. The second was curious, though, and it made his lips quirk up in a slight smirk at the insinuation of it. Red roses and tulips, a darker and more seductive bunch; new beginnings and early love, and he was willing to place his last dollar on it being an affair.
It felt even more sure when he noticed that the delivery address was that of an office block, and not a home address, a man’s name instead of a woman’s. In the personal notes section, there were no names, and so that was an option ruled out for getting to the bottom of the situation, but he wrote out gift cards, one with swirling writing for a heartfelt apology and the other with a sickly-sweet pick-up line and what he assumed to be an inside joke.
Curled ribbons and plastic wrapping, and the two bouquet were standing side by side for delivery, the van chugging as it was pulled back into the driveway, reversed up, and his blond-haired friend rounding the vehicle, looking utterly worn out, and it was only halfway through the day.
“You’d think it was Valentine’s Day, or something. This is crazy, it’s November!”
He took off his cap, running a hand over his hair and scratching lightly at his scalp, before placing the embroidered garment with the company logo back onto his head. “I’ve got something that’ll cheer you up!”
“Oh, yeah? Is it the rest of the day off?”
“Uh, no.” He deadpanned, his friend laughing as he came to stand by him, and he motioned towards the collection. “However, it is a rather exciting combination. These two-” He tapped at the boxes holding them firm at the base. “-are going to the same place.”
“And that is exciting why, exactly?”
“Because one is supposed to symbolise asking for forgiveness and all that, and the other symbolises new love and beginnings and all that. They’re being delivered to an office block, not a home address.” It took Mark a minute to process it, and Chris watched the gears turn in his friend’s head, before his jaw was dropping, and he let out a disbelieving laugh.
“Oh, and you think it’s a.. y’know.” He only nodded, and he began to load up the other orders into the van, a printout sheet of new addresses and order numbers on the tags, the delivery sheets loaded onto a clipboard to be signed for at each location. The empty van was once again teeming with bright flowers and artfully arranged bundles. Securing them all down and making sure they wouldn't tip over or get crushed during the ride there, he was confident they were ready to go, almost all of them set up, before he was staring at the two he’d recently made once again, his curiosity getting the better of him. “You want me to try and find out while I’m there?”
He almost agreed, it would have been so easy, a simple way to put his questions to rest, but he was invested in it now, and so he already knew what was coming. “No, I’ll deliver these ones myself.
Mark only nodded, slamming and locking the back of the van doors, double-checking the hatches for fresh air were open to stop them from wilting in transit, and then he was back up into the main cabin. The loud sounds of disco music exploding from the van radio as he started it back up, reversing from the driveway and setting off on his next round of deliveries.
Scooping up the first set in his arms, Chris patted down his pockets in search for his keys, finding them in his left side back pocket, unlocking his car with a click of a button, and setting the first batch on the passenger seat. The second soon followed, and he used the seatbelt to secure them in place, rolling the windows down as he set off, programming the address into his SatNav.
It was a short drive, twenty minutes maximum, even with traffic, the tall and shining office building one that he was vaguely familiar with towards the inside of the city, harsh rays of winter sun reflecting off of clean glass windows, all the way up to the top floor, and it was so tall that as he stared at it, he swore the building was swaying. With a bouquet in each arm and the clipboard tucked under one, he backed his way through the polished glass doors, a company insignia printed onto the glass, and he almost wanted to check his shoes for traces of at the appearance of the clean white lobby.
Large tiles of marble flooring, specks of grey flickering throughout them, and white leather couches along some of the walls on one side of the lobby, a waiting room. The other had various coffee and tea machines, recyclable cups and sugar packets, as well as a range of fruits and muffins, and he wanted to scoff a little at the ostentatious nature of it all. The desk was empty as he finally approached, though he could hear chatter in the background, behind reflective glass panels that he couldn’t see through, one-way glass he assumed, and as he balanced the bouquets up on the counter, an older woman, approaching her fifties he presumed, came out, a wide smile on her face as she brushed down the material of her skirt.
“My, my, aren’t those beautiful? Unfortunately, I don’t think they’re for me.”
“Well, ma’am, unless you’re a ‘Mr Robert McKinley’, I’d have to agree.” She chuckled, nodding her head as she looked at them before picking up the phone, and typing in an extension. Lifting it to her ear, she balanced it there against her shoulder, smiling at him once again.
“I’ll just have his assistant come down to collect them and sign for them for you, lovely.” He nodded his head, turning away to be polite as she chatted away on the phone for only a moment, confirming that there was a package to be sorted out, and he twisted back to look at her as she put the phone down. Manicured nails tapped at the desk for only as second, an awkward silence forming, and one of the elevators let out a small ‘dinging’ sound as it was clicked into use, the numbers on the screen above the floor counting down, coming all the way from the twenty-eighth floor. “Would you like a candy?”
He jumped a little, turning back to look at the woman who had now sat down a little distance from him, behind the computer at the desk, and she turned to him, raising up a bowl of neatly wrapped candies, and placing it up on the glass counter for him to reach. He didn’t, but she was staring at him expectantly, and so he plucked the first one from the bowl, offering her a simple nod of his head, and tucking it into the pocket on his shirt.
When a chime sounded throughout the lobby, the sound echoing off of every hard surface, Chris’ attention was drawn to the clicking of heels on the smooth stone flooring. A pretty blouse that looked like it cost more than his entire outfit and a fitted pencil skirt that was sitting just below your knees, your were a professional vision. Except, your hair was a little messy, and there was a wide grin on your face as you typed rapidly on your phone, not even needing to look up to do the walk, but your expression made you look much more approachable than the usual businesswoman.
You clicked off your phone only a few feet away from him, looking up as your gaze went straight to the flowers at his side instead of him, but it gave Chris the chance to take you in just for a moment, and fully observe you, Up close, you were even prettier, soft skin and pretty hair that shined under the lights, and whatever the shade of lipstick was that you were wearing was perfect, because it suited you like it had been made for you.
You reached out, straight past him for a second, and the receptionist gasped, reaching for the bowl of candy, but you were quicker, your hand scooping up a little collection of the sweets and pulling them back, a sound of victory sounding from you, and she mumbled under her breath playfully, rolling her eyes and threatening to start hiding the treats before she ran out, but you only chuckled, unwrapping one and placing it against your tongue, lips brushing your fingers as you turned to him, and he forced his eyes away from your mouth, a blush on his cheeks.
“Oh, wow. Check these out.” You turned to the receptionist, motioning to them, and she only nodded her head, the sounds of a printer firing up in the back room, and she disappeared to collect the sheets, leaving the pair of you alone. “For Mr McKinley?”
You leaned over the counter, snatching up a pen from the other side, and he only nodded, producing the collection sheet, and pointing out the spot that needed singing, the scraping of the pen on paper filling the silence as you signed in both boxes, handing it back to him and tucking the pen behind your ear. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Fire away.” You grinned, unwrapping another candy, leaving the wrapper on the glass alongside the other one, a cheeky move he was sure you’d get reprimanded for by the receptionist who kept a beautifully organised and clean desk and foyer.
“There are two bouquets here, both with flowers that have very different meanings. Can I ask why?”
You hummed, staring at him for a minute as you chewed slowly, before swallowing the sweet in your mouth and smirking slightly. “I’ll answer your question, but only if you answer mine first; what do the flowers mean?”
Chris grinned, unable to hold it in, because he loved getting to talk about his passions, especially when he could show off a little in front of a pretty lady, and he nodded his head. “Pink roses and lilies are an apology, but red roses with tulips are for new love.”
“And do you have any theories?”
“Just the one, but I’m waiting for it to be confirmed.” He chuckled a little at the devious look that flashed over your features as you pulled the red roses bundle toward you, nose pressed into them for a second as you inhaled deeply, a little sigh leaving you afterwards.
“I’m trusting you here, but you’re cute, so I’ll tell you.” Heat rushed to his cheeks, head ducking for just a second, before he was looking back up to catch your gaze, brows raised as he waited excitedly, leaning in to meet you as though a scandalous secret was about to be told, and he supposed that’s exactly what it was. “There’s another receptionist, and intern back in there, fresh out of college, just a year below me, and he’s definitely fucking her.” You tapped a finger against the red roses, before your gaze was flicking to the second bunch, still by his arm as he leaned on the counter. “However, a couple of days ago he had a lunch date scheduled with his wife, and he missed it. I couldn’t find him anywhere, and I couldn’t find the intern either. Not hard to connect the dots.”
“Oh, so he’s covering both of his bases?”
“For sure.” You grinned, backing up a little bit to grab the second bundle, and adjusting them in your arms for balance. “Angie had probably realised too, and dashed in there to tell the girl that she’s got flowers coming.”
You were making your way over to the elevators, and he followed after you, pressing the button to summon the lift, and it hummed to life behind closed metal doors. “You know, since we just became partners in crime, maybe I should get to know your name?”
“Well, that was smooth.” You laughed, the doors opening up, and you stepped inside, placing one bouquet on the floor at your feet and holding onto the other. You caved, giving him your name as he placed his hand over the door to stop them from closing, ad he repeated the name to you, testing it on his tongue as he learnt it. He gave you his own in return when he asked, and when you said it back, his smile widened, already liking the way his name sounded coming for you.
You typed a code into the pad on the wall of the elevator, the screen flashing green as your programming was accepted, and he stepped back, grinning as you waved your fingers at him, the doors closing as you disappeared from view. He snatched up his clipboard on the way out, unable to contain the smile on his face.
Chris Beck hated making deliveries, but this one hadn't been so bad.
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There was a genuine smile on his face as he stepped through the glass doors of the lobby, smaller and simpler bouquets this time, both matching and nothing special, but he’d tasked himself with delivering them personally because he’d recognised the name and address immediately, his encounter with the cute assistant he’d met only two weeks prior flashing through his mind as he’d insisted on delivering this order himself, Mark smirking and helping him gather the flowers as soon as he’d spilled all about you.
Now, he had two sets of pretty pink flowers in different shades, and a single red rose in a sleek plastic wrapping, all wraith ribbons wrapped around them were bundled in one arm, the other holding onto his clipboard, and the desk was once again empty as he approached. A bell, sleek and shining silver, and it was a new addition, definitely not present last time, and he eyes it suspiciously for a moment, before pressing a finger against the top lightly, just twice, a little ringing sounding out around the lobby.
A head of curly hair popped out from around the glass, much younger than the previous assistant, and wearing a much tighter skirt, and she grinned widely as she stepped forwards. He couldn’t deny that she was beautiful, fiery red hair and a wide smile, lips painted with red lipstick, and she seemed sweet, but far too intimidating for him to ever consider. Her heels were so tall that he wondered how she even walked in them, long and thin points creating the stilettos.
“Flowers?”
There was an eager tone to her voice, and he put the pieces of the puzzle together, assuming this to be the intern, his eyes flicking down to her name badge for a second, reading it as ‘Clara’. “For Mr McKinley. Is his assistant free tom come and sign for them?”
The woman paused, rolling her lips a little and nodding her head, a coy look on her features before sitting down in the chair and spinning in it to face the phone, lifting it up to her ear and dialling a short connection number. He didn’t seem to need to wait long, before she was summoning you, a ‘flower delivery’ to be claimed, and she was far too excited, only confirming his doubts that this was definitely the mistress. “She’ll be right down.”
“Fantastic.” He wasn’t sure she even processed his words, before her eyes were closing in on the flowers, and he ignored it, turning back to look at the elevator, waiting for the number on the twenty-eighth floor to light up, a number flashing over the screen. It paused on its descent this time, stopping at the eighteenth floor, and then again at the twelfth, and he assumed that somebody else had joined the journey for a short while.
When the doors finally opened, you weren’t built typing away this time, a grin on your face as your eyes swept over the entrance for him, and he waved his fingers again, straightening up from the desk.
“It’s my partner in crime, back again.”
“Missed you too much, just had to return.”
“Of course, you did, because I’m awesome.” You came to a stop before him, peering up at him through bright eyes, and he swallowed thickly, a little nervous but very excited, and he tried to remember any of what Mark had taught him, his friend being far better with the women than he was, and everything from the last-minute crash course he’d been given upon leaving the shop forty-five minutes ago seemed to have gone blank. “So, what really brings you here today?”
You gasped a little as he shifted to show you the collection, sliding the clipboard closer, and you were presented with a pen from him, floral patterning woven along the body, your thumb clicking it on to sign for them. When you passed it back, you shared a look with him, both of your glances flicking over to the intern who was still admiring the flowers, completely oblivious.
“Hey, Clara?” Her head snapped up, pale skin heating with colour as she flushed, and he suppressed a chuckle. “Mr McKinley is in meetings all afternoon, but he’ll want to approve these flowers. Can you put them in water, and I’ll call to have them sent up when he’s ready?”
She only nodded, more than happy to take a gift that she knew one of was for her into the back, hands reaching over to gather them all up. He almost missed it, watching as all of the flowers were taken, too busy watching the way you rolled your eyes at her when she looked away, fond but still a little cool, and he bit at the inside of his cheek to contain his amusement. It was just as she was leaving that his mind cleared, and he cleared his throat.
“Wait, wait, hold on!” She turned back, brows raised, and he reached over, letting her take a step forwards so that he could reach, plucking the single rose from where it was laying over the top of the two. “This, uh, this is actually for you.”
He presented it to you, your eyes widening a little, and you looked between him and the flower several times. His heart was in his throat, worry you were going to reject it, before you were giving him a different smile than he had seen yet, something softer and more endearing, and you plucked it from his hands, bringing it to your nose. “You’re just a big flirt, huh, Chris?” Your eyes fluttered for a moment, before you were looking back up to him through your lashes. “Thank you.”
“It’s no problem, honestly. I own the shop, the least I can do is give my partner in crime a pretty flower.”
You scoffed, but it was out of friendship and playfulness, not judgement or rejection, and silence fell between you both once again. The plastic in your hands wrinkled as you twirled it, wrapping the curled ribbon around your finger for a second, and letting it jump back into place when you let it go. “You busy? Got a packed store to run back to?”
Your question caught him off-guard, and he struggled to find words for a second, before clearing his throat and shaking his head. “No, uh, no. Clear day, actually. This was the last order.”
“So, you’re free for an hour or so?” Chris nodded his head, licking at his lips as he became a little nervous once again. “Well, why don’t I give you a tour? We’ve got some pretty cool stuff here, and I’ll fix you up with a drink from the coffee bar before you go.”
“This building has a coffee bar?”
“You bet it does.” You teased, turning on your heel as you took his question as acceptance, and he scooped up the clipboard, following after you as you made your way to the elevator, and this time when it opened, he stepped inside with you. As soon as the keypad lit up, prompting you to enter your four-digit authorisation code and make a floor selection, and you paused, finger hovering over the electronic selections. “What do you wanna’ see first, then?”
“You got an office?”
“I sure do.” You grinned, tapping for the twenty-eighth floor, and the machinery soon hummed into life, gears jerking smoothly into motion and soft music playing over the speakers in the background.
The ride was quiet, and he twisted his head as though the walls were interesting, just to take them in and hide the expression on his face as he watched you twirl the rose he’d given you between your fingers. There was a tag, one that he hadn't yet seen you read, and while all it contained was his number and a sign of his name, he was still a little nervous for your reaction to it, so he was glad to watch you place it onto your desk to be returned to later as you showed him around.
The building truly was impressive, large floor to ceiling glass windows on one wall of your office, staring out at the city below and giving a view so stunning and far that he could see all the way out to where the concrete faded away into greenery along the horizon, and he was a little taken aback by it all. Dipping the rose into a mug of water from the office kitchen, you promised to transfer it to a vase when you got home that evening, and you showed him all around.
Up and down on the elevator, proudly showing him every aspect of your workplace, and somewhere between the in-house gym and the coffee bar you’d boasted of in the staff food courts, you’d made him promise a tour of the flower shop sometime.
Way over an hour had passed in total, and he would’ve been more than happy to let that go on and on, for the rest of the day until the sun was setting, just to sit on the stools at the high tables at the coffee bar, getting refills on his coffee as he watched you drink herbals teas and chat about everything you got up to in the day, but your boss was paging you again to ask where you were, and he had his own job to return to at some point. You seemed hesitant at first, but had eventually divulged him with a guest security code for the elevator, logging him under your name, so that in future, he would be able to bring the flowers straight upstairs to you, and come and see you whenever he stopped by.
With a to-go cup in hand that had your number written on the cardboard holder, you’d escorted him all the way back to the lobby, pressing a friendly kiss to his cheek as he stepped between the doors, waving a little with what he knew was a goofy smile, waiting until he could no longer see you as the metal doors slid shut to reflect his image back at him, before he was bidding the two women at the reception desk a goodbye, and pretending not to know that they were eavesdropping, because he was floating far too high to care right now.
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Chris hadn't been surprised at all when the next batch of flowers had come through, because you’d told him days prior that he could be expecting another batch of apology flowers to come through. Your work had been busy lately, you’d told him so yourself the few weeks that had slid past since you’d exchanged numbers had been filled with an abundance of texts.
Sharing texts had rapidly become phone calls in downtime, exchanging social media and sending one another dumb jokes and funny pictures throughout your workdays. He knew that your job had been getting harder lately, the run down to Christmas making everything a little more difficult, and that you’d been swept off of your feet because your boss had been, too. Eight-hour shifts had become twelve, day through to night, never seeing the light of a winter day unless it was through the windows of your office as you worked, and he had a sympathetic guilt twisting in his gut.
Two bouquets to make up for the lack of time that your boss had been able to spare for either of the women in his life and you’d looked positively exhausted as you came out of your office to greet him at the top of the elevator. You had a frown on your face that barely lifted into a smile as you saw him, even though he knew you were happy to catch sight of him. The usual shade of lipstick that projected boldness and power was gone, your face free of makeup entirely, and styled hair now just pulled up into a bun.
He wondered how long it had been since you’d had a full night’s sleep.
“Hey, sweetheart. How’re you feeling?” You only shook your head, sniffling a little as you suppressed a yawn, before taking one of the bouquets from his arms, and inspecting it carefully.
“These are beautiful.”
“I put a little extra ribbon on them, just for you.” He winked, and that had earned him a little chuckle, glancing at him over your shoulder as he followed you through to your office, and placing them down on the cabinet near the doorway to be distributed when your boss had a free second to look at them. Chris felt his own eyes widen in shock as he looked around, the stacks of paperwork littered around the surfaces were astonishing, and there was other mess scattered among that.
Stationary littered the desk, clearly trying to get everything sorted, and almost every draw in the room was half-open, your heels kicked off by the edge of the desk and there was a clear spot against one of the walls where you’d been sitting, a patch clear with papers spread out around you, wording and statements on them that made his head spin as he looked at them. Business definitely wasn’t his forte.
You rubbed a hand over your forehead, cursing a little as you tried to find a pen that wasn't a highlighter, and he didn’t miss the crack in your voice as you scoured the paper stacks. Leaning down to pick one up from the dropped pen pot on the floor, and offering it to you. A little sigh passed your lips, before you were taking it from him, clicking it into action and signing your name on both of the forms to confirm the delivery, a simple ritual of habit by this stage, as he knew that even if you didn’t he wasn’t risking any legal action from you.
You rubbed a hand over your forehead afterwards, rolling your shoulders and shaking yourself down as you tried to hit that reset button on your mood, but it wasn't working, it didn’t take a genius to see it, and so he reached out, placing a comforting squeeze to your forearm, fingers slipping a little lower to latch onto your wrist loosely.
“Okay, you’re a little overwhelmed in here, huh?” You let out a weak laugh, glancing around yourself and nodding. “It’s time for a break. Take your lunch break now, we’re getting out of here.”
“I can’t leave, I have too much to do. I’ll just get something from the food courts, a sandwich, maybe.” You slumped down into your desk chairs, the wheels on it carrying you backwards slightly, and he placed his hands on his hips, shaking his head at you.
“You have to go. It’s doctor’s orders.”
“Which doctor?” You scoffed, rolling your eyes at him, and he gasped a little, hands finding your own and pulling you to your feet, despite the whine that you let out.
“This doctor. I went to medical school, I get to give the orders. You, my dear, need one hour of rest and relaxation from your workplace, stat.” You started up at him for a second, seeming to weigh it out in your mind, but he wasn’t backing down, and he swore he saw that realisation click within your eyes, because you caved.
Slipping your heels on and grabbing your jacket from the back of the door, you logged your timeout of the building in the lobby with Angie, who cooed at you a little as she watched you go, a pitiful look on her face as she knew just how hard you were working too, before his hand was settling on your lower back.
A ten-minute walk, finding a table in a small pizzeria on the corner of a street, one that he’d been dying to try for months now, and a quick order, and you were slumping down tiredly against the table. The workload always increased at Christmas, sales shot through the roof, all the expansions of your company were filing for Christmas bonuses, parties, annual reports and then, of course, there were the usual rises and falls in statistics over the year that needed to be dealt with.
It was chaotic, to say the least.
Over a hot and freshly baked pizza, your selection of toppings, and a soda that made you wrinkle your nose from the fizziness within, you looked like there was a little more life within you when you’d been leaving.
You spilled it all to him, telling him every struggle you’d been facing, and while he didn't understand half of what you were saying, he was more than happy to just to listen. He couldn't offer much advice, or anything of the sort that might be helpful, but it seemed that just being able to talk to someone had made the day a little brighter.
The chill in the air and the biting winds had made you wrap your coat around yourself even tighter on the walk back to your work, but there was more of a pep in your step and a lighter tone to your voice, a little more chipper and slightly less drained as you began to make your way back across the carpark. His arm was sitting around your waist, keeping you pulled up to his side against the cold of the winter. Instead of guiding you over to the door, though, his first stop was his car, ensuring that you couldn't see what he had placed on the passenger seat until he was ready for you to see it.
Leaning yo back against the cold metal, he unlocked the car, making you promise to cover your eyes, and while making a few jokes about how you were sure this was how friendly guys would kidnap a girl, you did as he’d asked. You gasped a little at the rustling of fabric in the wind and under his hands, seeming to guess what it was before ever seeing the gift, because a wide smile spread over your features.
“Is that what I think it is?”
“Depends, what do you think it is?” He teased, making you wait a little longer, and you dragged your lower lip through your teeth, a hopefully look spreading over what half of your face he could actually see.
“Flowers, maybe?”
“Then you would be correct!” Your hand fell away from your eyes, taking a second to blink back into adjustment of the rays the winter sun gave off, before you were brightening up even further at the bundle he was holding in his hands.
Soft petals in different shades of yellow, some duller and some standing out to shine like the sun, but it was a stunning bunch all over, and he’d been sure to pick the freshest and best-looking plants from each pot as he built the bouquet especially for you before leaving for his delivery. He let you stare at them for a second, running a finger over some of the petals, sniffling the collection carefully, and admiring each individual plant, before finally looking back up to him, a brow raising as you waited for an explanation on the plants.
“I just thought yellow was a bright colour. Nothing particularly special about these ones, I wanted to cheer you up.”
He scratched nervously at the back of his neck, and you hummed happily, bringing them up to admire once again, before letting out a happy little sound from the back of your throat, one that made his cheeks flush with embarrassed warmth, bringing a pink tinge to the pale skin. “Don’t yellow roses mean friendship?”
His stomach dropped a little, but he swallowed thickly, and nodded. He was impressed that you knew that, a random fact to know, but he almost felt like he was being friend-zoned by the statement, even though he was the one who’d given you the flowers. It was only a few days ago that he’d realised he might have feelings that weren’t going away any time soon, the original fascination and infatuation was becoming something a little deeper, he often found himself thinking of you when he was at work and filling or orders, or at home cooking, or even letting his morning coffee. You seemed to be on his mind a lot nowadays, and he was beginning to regret the yellow rose choice, worried he’d sent the wrong message. How ironic.
“Well, I’m really glad you consider us friends, Chris. I think you’re great, and I hope we’re friends for a long time.”
He tried to contain his disappointment, nodding his head as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. Walking you up to the front door, both of the receptionists made a point of fawning dramatically over the flowers in your arms as you signed back in, exactly an hour later and perfectly on time for the end of your lunch break, but with a lot more joy and a rejuvenation for the work you were doing, enough to carry you through the rest of your day.
Standing at the elevator and waiting for it to arrive, his cheeks were warm enough as it was, the attention you were getting front he not-so-discreet spying of the receptionists making him even more nervous, but if Angie and Clara were watching then that's their choice, because he didn’t have much left to lose, now.
Cupping your cheeks in his hands, he made sure that you were looking at him, a soft and shy smile on your lips as he thumbs smoothed over your skin, trying to reassure you without using words. “Chin up, sweetheart. You’re gonna’ be just fine, okay?”
“Okay, Chris.” You nodded your head, words whispered as you agreed with him, and when he pulled you a little closer, you tipped your head to meet him, his lips pressing to your forehead in a tender kiss, his heart leaping in his chest as you did. The elevator dinged, and he snapped away from you, both of you lingering for a moment longer, something unspoken laying between you, but it was broken as a colleague stepped out of the box, excusing himself as he squeezed past you, and the moment was over.
Waving goodbye, he wiggled his fingers in response to you, and he took a moment to himself to steady his racing heart once the doors had closed with you inside. He bid his farewell to the two women ogling him with wide eyes from behind the desk, trying not to let his nervousness show, to be confident like Mark had taught him to be, and it lasted all the way to the car, before he broke it with a ragged sigh and a little cheer to himself, immediately dialling his best friend on the car’s phone as he pulled out of the parking lot.
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It was the kind eyes of Angie that met him as he stepped into the building, palms sweating a little and a shake to his breath, and the flowers in his arms were practically vibrating with nerves as he approached the front desk. Placing them down on the glass surface, she admired them quietly, taking a look at them all before he was being offered the candy dish that she usually had hidden, and he took a peppermint gratefully, red and green swirls along it through the clear wrapping, the festive theme of the late December days was shining through.
“Only the one bouquet this time?”
“They, uh, they aren’t for Mr McKinley.” He mumbled, unwrapping the hard sweet and shoving it wrapped into his pocket, placing the treat on his tongue and sucking on it lightly for something to do, sweetened mint flavours exploding over his senses.
“Oh, so these are a pretty bouquet for our lovely (Y/N), then?”
He could only nod, wondering absently whether or not sweat was beginning to physically show through his shirt, and just how fast his heart was going, because he felt like he was about to pass out. “I think she’s in a meeting right now, but I can get them sent up for her, if that works for you, my dear?”
“Can I just go and drop them off in her office? It’ll make a nice surprise for her to come back to.”
She considered it for a moment, mulling over the security risk and all other options, and he was ready to give up, before she eventually agreed. “Alright, but only if you tell me about the flowers. She’s been telling me all about the pretty bouquet you make with meanings, even showed me your website.”
“She did? She does?”
Pride flushed through his system at that knowledge, and Angie seemed to pick up on it, her face cracking in an even wider smile. “Yes, and they were all beautiful, but I don’t remember this set on there.”
“It’s new, I made it. It’s a personal one, I suppose.”
“It got a name, yet?” He mulled it over, staring down at the pretty bunch in his hands. Dark shades of blue and black, splashes of purple that were speckled with white, and he decided it resembled the night sky rather nicely.
“What do you think of ‘Starry Night’?”
“Very fitting.” She confirmed, and his heart managed to slow a little in his chest as at least one thing on his to-do list became sorted. “So, blue roses, but what are the rest?”
“They would be black pansies and gypsophila.” She hummed, continuing to fix him with that curious gaze, and he knew that wasn't going to cut it. “The blue roses are for mystery, and gaining the impossible. I dye them myself. Black pansies mean broken love, which, I guess isn’t totally suitable here, but combined with the gypsophila, it’s more like the chance of a new beginning, and not necessarily unrequited feelings.”
“You really like her, huh?”
“That obvious?” He grinned, knowing that his feelings may as well be lit up with a neon sign above his head. “You’ll get them to her after her meeting, then?”
“Of course, I will.” She took them over the desk, writing down a memo on her notepad so that she didn't forget, and he watched as the pretty bundle was carried away. “Did you leave a card, or do you want to write a note?”
“Just tell her to text me if she likes them?” She beamed, nodding her head, and he backed away, turning on his heel, a little disappointed that he didn’t get to give them to you himself, but simultaneously relieved at the fact, because he could feel his pulse racing right to the tips of his fingers with how intense it was.
You’d clearly had a busy day, because it wasn’t until Chris was shutting up shop that he finally felt his phone buzz, doing his last check over of all the systems and machines, when a text from you came in, diverting every ounce of attention that he had.
[stardust 🌌 ✨] so, do these flowers have a hidden meaning, or did you just put them together because they look good?
He grinned at his phone, shaking his head slightly as a laugh left his lips, and he leaned on the wall, fingers hovering over the keyboard as he thought out his response.
> a little bit of both.
It was a few minutes before you replied, this time, a photograph coming through, of you carrying your flower out of the building, setting off towards the elevators from your office, if he was depicting the background correctly.
[stardust 🌌 ✨] gonna tell me what it is, or do I have to google it?
He paused, not quite having got that far, and the relief of not having to explain his feelings or you before had drowned out the fact that he’d have to tell you at some point, and his heart was leaping into his throat.
He gave himself a minute, checking over the locks and windows to make sure everything was sealed up, setting the thermostat and setting the alarm, not yet activating it, but making sure that everything was done, right down to holding his keys for the main door in his hands. Locking up the building, he sealed down the metal guard, triple checking the padlock, and making his way to the car.
Engine on, heaters up, his lights being the last to flood the parking lot as he tried to man up, before finally bringing back up the unopened message, taking the notifications and opening his texts.
> long story short, I’m trying to ask you out. using flowers, because words normally fail me in times of importance.
He let out a slow breath, running a hand over his face and just hoping that it was acceptable, his phone buzzing before he’d even managed to start up the car property for his journey home. His hand hovered over where it was laying on the passenger seat, considering whether or not to pick it up, before forcing down his nerves and reaching for it.
[stardust 🌌 ✨] friday night work for you?
He stared at the message for a few seconds, confirming that they were real, and he wasn’t just making it up because it’s what he wanted to read, before letting out a loud and victorious set of cheers for only him to ever know about.
> I’ll pick you up from your work at 5.
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Chris was sitting in one of the white leather chairs that had been scattered around the lobby, shifting slightly awkwardly, nerves getting the best of him. He knew you wouldn't stand him up, but as the clock ticked over past 5:10 PM, he worried a little that you were trying to find a way to let him down, having decided that you’d changed your mind on wanting to go out with him, and he tried to steady his nerves.
Brushing over the flowers in his hands, he adjusted his grip on them a little, not wanting the plastic to become damp with his sweaty palms, and swallowing thickly again. Finally, the elevator doors chimed, and he let out a nervous sigh, taking a deep breath and sliding his eyes shut as he calmed himself down, certain that his heart no longer had a rhythm and was just beating erratically and rapidly like the seismograph in a disaster movie.
Twisting his head a little, he let out a deep breath, watching as you came toward him, looking far more casual than he had ever seen you ever had before. Jeans and jumper, a striped scarf that looked suspiciously handmade in the sweetest of ways, and sneakers on your feet instead of heels, dropping your height down by a few inches, and he was so used to looking straight at you, never needing to look down, that it caught him a little by surprise.
“I’m sorry I’m late!” You looked a little flushed, sounded slightly out of breath, and he realised you must’ve been rushing, not stalling, and he felt a little calmer at that thought. Placing down the flowers on the chairs, he stood up properly, letting out a slow breath.
“Don’t worry about it. You look beautiful.”
“I thought I’d change, heels and pencil skirts are great for work, but not so comfy for a first date.” There was a bag on your arm, which he assumed your business-wear was stuffed in, and he gave himself a moment to take you in. He liked you better this way, you looked more like yourself, the version of you that he knew you to be from hours of late-night calls and texting, weeks of getting to know one another, both in-person and via messages, and the formal outfits he was so used to seeing you in were just a cover for the real you.
He realised he’d been staring too long, jumping slightly in his panic, before turning away and grabbing the bundle that he’d brought with him. “I brought you flowers. Not as special as normal guys, since I own the flower shop and it's not the first time, but I did create this bouquet design just for you.”
“I think it’s pretty special.” Your words were whispered, taking the bundle of flowers and bringing them into yourself to admire delicately, a combination of red and white roses, with green bells peppered throughout. “Okay, so, let me guess on this one.”
He only nodded his head, watching as you considered the bundle, licking over your lower lip and taking it hostage between your teeth as your thoughts whirled before his very eyes.
“White roses are innocence, right? Seems fitting for a first date. Red roses are romance, of course.” You smirked a little then, glancing up at him through your lashes, and he grinned, feeling totally at ease now that he was under your gaze. “What about the green ones?”
“Green bells. They’re for good luck.”
“Well, I don’t think you’ll need any luck, you’ve pretty much already got me wrapped around your little finger, Chris Beck.” You adjusted the flowers in your arms, taking his hand with your other one, and lacing your fingers together, and he squeezed back in security as heat flooded over his face in a warm blush. “However, I do think it’s sweet, so I’ll accept it.”
“I wanted to do something Christmassy for you, but I didn’t want to go with any of the typical ones. Holly, mistletoe, poinsettia, they didn’t feel unique enough.”
“I don’t know, I think mistletoe can be good.” You leaned in a little, his brows raising slightly as your wide smile dimmed down, the humour of the moment changing, and his free hand found your waist, fingers playing with yours on the other, and he pulled you a little closer, taking the hint that you were laying down.
“Maybe just this once.” He teased, nose bumping against your own, and he could still taste the sweet honey on your breath from the herbal teas you were always concocting, warm breath shared between you. As your head twisted to close the gap, he became acutely aware of the lingering feeling of not being alone, the both of you jumping and snapping apart a little when the loud crashing of a mug on the floor sounded out loudly.
Two sets of voices cursing followed it, Angie’s and Clara’s heads both ducking down behind the desk as they looked at the mess on the floor, and his jaw dropped as he released the two had been watching on eagerly this whole time, and he’d been so wrapped up in you that he hadn't realised there’d been an audience all along.
He would’ve been embarrassed, had it not been for the way your face pressed into his shoulder as you tried to contain your laughs, and he found the amusement in it too, his arm slipping around your waist as he matched your laugher, shaking his head as he watched the two women try and clear up the split coffee and smashed mug.
“Hey, ladies, I’ll see you Monday!”
The popped back up, sheepish looks on their faces as they nodded, and he gave them both a little wave, letting you tug him along by the hand that was still connected to your own, towards the open doorway of the building, a chill rolling in. As you stepped out, a chill took over, and his hand slipped from yours to sliding around your waist instead, pulling you closer to him, and you guided him over to where your car was parked, and he was more than happy to simply follow.
“So, what do you have planned?”
“I thought something a little more relaxed would be fun. How do you feel about a tree lighting ceremony, and some street food?” You curled into him a little more, a happy sigh leaving you.
“Sounds perfect to me.”
Unlocking the car, he let you go, long enough to put your back in the trunk and lay your flowers out on the front seat, locking it back up as you deemed yourself ready to go. “Ready to go?”
“Yes, but just one thing, first. Something I’ve been waiting weeks for.”
His brows raised, lips parting to ask you waist it was, but your hand latched onto the front of his shirt, tugging him forward as you leaned up, and he groaned a little, a soft sound but vibrating through him as your mouth closed over his, soft and warm, lips pressing together, and a shock ran along his entire body. His hand slipped to your waist, one cupping your cheek as he pulled you a little closer, pressing you back into the car as your bodies came flush up together, and he felt like his legs were going to give out underneath him as you sighed out against his mouth, a breathy moan carried with it.
Twisting his head to the side, he barely pulled back for breath before he was diving right back into you, more confident and passionate this time with his movements. He took control, feeling the way you sagged into his hands as he did, lips working with yours in an intimate dance of their own making, slow and teasing movements, before finally he was pulling away, just far enough to press his forehead to your own as the two of you panted lightly, trying to catch your breath.
“Worth the wait?” He mused, feeling your breathless giggle wash over his lips, before you were leaning up just enough to peck his lips once more, and his lips were still pouted, chasing after you as you backed away for a second, before he was licking over them and cracking his eyes open to look at the adoring expression on your face.
“Definitely worth the wait.”
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Text
You (Part 2)
Now you see me, now you don’t!
Part 1 | AO3
Felix Graham De Vanily was, in his own humble opinion, special. 
He was smart.
He was composed.
He knew exactly what to say and when, and he could make people see exactly what he wanted them to see.
He wasn’t his cousin, after all, almost identical looks aside. Adrien never knew when to speak up, or when it was better to stay quiet. Never knew how to hide his thoughts and keep his - utterly unrealistic, when it came to his father - hopes in check. And he might be smarter than Felix gave him credit for, but all that intelligence left him as soon as his friends were concerned.
That was what all his flaws boiled down to, really.
Adrien made the fatal, unforgiving mistake of caring too much. Always had.
(It was what Felix liked about him, deep down. Adrien was genuine, in everything he felt. Felix envied him for the ease with which he made friends.)
But.
Felix wasn’t like Adrien at all. He was too smart to care for people - his mother aside - any more than he had to. Mundane distractions. Friends, crushes - all things that would only deter him from his path in life: high above the crowd, always the center of attention, yet unreachable. Playing everyone, but gone before anybody noticed.
It was a glorious but lonely road. No, scratch that. It was a lonely but glorious road. Much better.
He didn’t need anything or anyone.
He was the sole and solemn genius of the family.
He was a magician, who didn’t need any fancy jewelry to work miracles - just the right distraction and disguise.
He was-
“Ow!”
Groaning Felix looked at the little bite marks on his finger. 
“Were you even listening?! Or did you just wait for an opportunity to stab me in the back?”
The black and white bundle of fur and betrayal on his lap meowed and swiped at his hand, now out of reach.
 “I knew you couldn’t be trusted.”, he grumbled and shoved the traitor off of his legs, but couldn’t help but smile when he smugly licked his nose - as if to say: I'd do it again. “I raised you too well. Now, where was I?”
He sighed.
“Ah, yes. I don’t care for anyone - please stop scratching that ear, honey, it’s not healed yet - because I'm just too smart for that. So it’s utterly impossible that I, Felix Graham de Vanily, am in love with Dupain-Cheng. Got it?”
His cat, the little bastard, answered by knocking his pencil box over and started to chew on a pen. Felix narrowed his eyes.
“Oh? You dare doubt my word?”
With quick fingers he stole his cat's spoils and placed it out of his reach.
“Quite bold for a creature without opposable thumbs, hm?”
Insulted, the poor, thumbless pet retreated to his laptop and laid down on the keyboard - causing the screensaver to give way to the last opened tab. Which was Marinette's Instagram page.
“Wah!”
Hurried to hide the proof of his interest - as if she might somehow appear in his room if he looked at her picture for too long - he shooed his pet away and closed the tab. Said pet meowed smugly and, upset about being chased away from two spots already, sat down on his pillow. Great.
“You did that on purpose!”, he accused his cat. “But that tab proves nothing. It was merely a passing interest in her admittedly wearable work. It has nothing to do with any confessions - faked confessions, or that she can apparently recognize me in disguise, or the very neutral fact that she is cute, by some people's - not my own! - standards.”
His cat blinked. And sneezed onto his pillow.
“Bless you. Now move, or I’ll use you instead of a bunny for that hat trick I’m working on.”
Sighing, Felix let himself fall backwards onto his bed, grabbing the fleeing cat and burying his face in the fluffy fur.
“Oh, to be a cat!”, he wailed into his involuntary comfort pillow. “With no troubles except how to best annoy his owner.”
 The poor animal hissed and escaped his grasp, saving himself from the bitter fate of a comfort pillow.
 “Run, you uncaring monster.”, Felix sighed, “Leave me to my worries. Which don’t include Marinette at all, by the way.”
He sat up and watched as the little traitor turned to sulk on his dresser.
“Stop looking at me like that. Even if I had a short bout of interest - possibly even infatuation! It’s already all but cured.”
He nodded to himself, ignoring that the disinterested cat had begun cleaning his leg instead of listening.
“School's closed, after all!”, he hummed, scrolling through the news on his phone. “And social contacts are to be reduced to the bare minimum. So I’m not going to see her again before this passing interest has... well, passed.”
As if in response to his words, his laptop started to ring and the monitor lit up with the picture of blue, blue eyes and a smile that could melt the stars off of the sky. Not that he paid attention to such things.
“Oh no, no, no!”, he panted as he fell out of his bed and stumbled towards the computer. “Incoming Skype call?! Oh, come on!”
The ringtone repeated itself and Felix jumped.
“What am I gonna do? What am I gonna do?”
Panicking, he looked at his pet.
“What the fuck am I supposed to do?!”
The addressed party blinked. And went back to licking his nuts.
“Argh! I am surrounded by incompetence!”
Taking a deep breath, Felix straightened his vest and cravat - just because he was staying at home for the foreseeable future didn’t mean that he would dress any less professionally.
“Who needs your advice anyway. I can do this.”
He straightened his back and sat down on the chair in front of his desk.
“I am Felix Graham de Vanily, the best actor in all of France and the United Kingdom, not in love with Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and I can totally answer a Skype call.”
Before he could think again, he pressed the green button.
“Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng!”, he greeted overly enthusiastic. “We meet again.”
“If you can call it that.”, Marinette laughed with the voice of a goddamn angel. She was wearing a white, polka-dotted pajama top, was illuminated by early-noon sunlight falling through some sort of window in the ceiling, and her hair – was – down.
If this was some sort of cosmic test, it wasn’t fair.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your virtual company?”, he said quickly, trying not to think too much about how her hair looked even softer than the fur of a certain cat. Then, for good measure, he added: “Miss me already?”
Marinette disappeared  for a moment, before returning with a sizable stack of papers.
“As much as I could do without my favorite pain in the neck, we have a school assignment to do. You know, since school is closed?”
She leaned in and he held his breath.
“Did you even notice? I haven’t seen you last Friday.”
What was he supposed to answer to that? Oh, I noticed alright! It kept me from embarrassing myself by avoiding you, because my brain got all mushy ever since you fake-confessed to me pretending to be my cousin?
Ha! Fat chance.
“Aw, worried for me?”, he improvised, as usual, by being sarcastic. “Let me soothe your concern for your favorite pain in the neck: I merely got tired of cosplaying Adrien. I'm a very busy man, you see?”
She rolled her eyes and somehow managed to make it look cute.
“Of course you are. Well, hopefully not too busy for a presentation on marine biology, due next week.”
He blinked.
“Excuse me?”
“You know, the one Adrien and I are supposed to do?”
Felix Had Questions. For example:
“How was I supposed to know that?”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t hack into Adriens E-mail account. I saw you present homework that you couldn’t have known about if Madame Mendeleiev hadn’t emailed you, as Adrien.”
She raised an eyebrow, in a way that could almost be described as playful.
“Plus, you seem the type to do that.”
He scoffed and crossed his arms, as if it would hide his racing heartbeat.
“First of all: No, I am not breaking into my cousins account. I may like to prank him - or rather everyone, really - but that goes a little far. Secondly, that Lila girl was only too eager to do homework with Adrien-Me, so I could keep up with every assignment once I could get her hands off of me.”
“I thought a magician never revealed his tricks?”
True. But he had wanted to see if she would get jealous. Which she didn’t. Which was expected and totally fine by him. He didn’t care anyways.
Lucky for him, Marinette wanted to tease him more than an answer.
“Well, I hope your work ethic is better when it comes to presentations. I'll send you the materials!”
A click later, his laptop alerted him of One New Email, containing no less than twenty-two pages of material. He raised his eyebrows.
“Not to crush your little illusion of me as a hard-working student, but that looks like awfully tedious work. What makes you think I would voluntarily do homework meant for Prince Charming?”
The sassy little smirk she'd shown him during their battles of wit last week returned.
“You mean, aside from the fact that, once school is open again and Adrien is back, your little trick with pretending to be him will be revealed? And that I’m your best chance not to be chased out of town by a very angry Chloé Bourgeois? Not to start with Alya, Rose and Juleka, who still haven’t forgiven you for that stunt you pulled the last time you were here.”
Sound argument, he had to give her that.
“Pah!”, he said, just for the sake of irritating her. “So what? It’s not like it was my idea to move to Paris anyway!”
That was at least partially true. His mother had insisted to come back to France, mostly because she wanted to keep an eye on Gabriel. But he hadn’t been against it either.
It wasn’t like he had friends in London anyway, and in Paris it at least didn’t get boring, with all these butterflies and superheroes. Plus, he wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he had missed Adrien. That boy could use a little family - once Felix was done pretending to be him. 
Marinette hummed and tapped her chin impatiently.
“Well, then see it as the prize you promised me after our little insult-match at the Trocadero.”
“Wait, wait, wait!”, he held up his hands. “I already settled that score, didn’t I? You confessed to me, remember?”
“I practiced confessing to Adrien with you, you mean.”, she reminded him with a raised eyebrow – Ouch, by the way – before leaning back in her pink chair. “And that was because you talked me into it. I never told you what I wanted, did I?”
Well, fuck. Not that the prospect of working with Marinette was that unpleasant, but in his current state of emotional confusion, it would only be detrimental. He needed an out, an excuse!
“Why would you want to work with me anyways? I would have thought you'd jump at the chance to do something with Prince Adrien of Dreamland. Why settle for the pain in the neck?”
Marinette sighed.
“Adrien is still recovering from his flu, and given the current, ah, global situation, I thought it would be better to put his health first. Besides, you're my favorite pain in the neck.”
“I'm flattered, darling”, he said, trying not to sound like it was as true as it was, “but-“
“Oh my gosh!”, Marinette interrupted him with a shout, and suddenly her eyes dominated the entire screen, as if she were mere millimeters away from her own computer. “Felix! What is that?!”
“Huh?”, he made, eloquent as usual. He turned around, just in time to see his traitorous cat jump from the dresser right onto his lap. Apparently, now that Felix had someone else to talk to, the little bastard felt neglected. 
“You mean him?”, he asked, turning back to the screen with the cat in his lap. An inhuman squeal came from the other side of the line and Marinette sacked back into her chair, which spun around its axis, like, three times in a single second.
“Felix Graham de Vanily!”, she said with all but glowing eyes. “Show – me – the cat!”
Since her voice made absolutely clear that it had been an order and Felix had always had a strong survival instinct, he obediently held up the little monster. Who let out a plaintive little “Mow”, but otherwise submitted to his fate.
“Oh my gosh!”, Marinette repeated, “He's adorable!”
“You think?”, Felix said dumbly, at a loss for how to react to this sudden change in situation.
“I do! I do! What's his name?”
“Uh...”, Felix thought, debating whether a lie would save his reputation. “Uhm...”
“Don’t tell me you named him Felix Junior!” She turned towards the cat in false exasperation. “Did he name you Felix Junior?!”
The cat that was most certainly not named Felix Junior meowed in his feline confusion.
“No, of course not!”, Felix snapped back, sinking into the chair as if it might have mercy and swallow him.
“Then what's his name? What, for God’s sake, is this pretty little kitty called?!”
What had his life turned into?
“'dini.”, he mumbled, hiding his face behind the cat.
“What? Speak louder!”, Marinette demanded, and so he accepted his fate.
“Houdini!”, he groaned in embarrassment. “I named him Houdini, alright? I was eleven!”
For a moment, the line went quiet. Then, inevitably, Marinette burst out in laughter.
“For real? I can’t believe it!”
Sulking, Felix turned away from the screen, but immediately Marinette stopped.
“No, no, no! Bring Houdini back! I love his name, okay? Give him back!”
“You're not telling anybody of him, got it?”, he hissed, cheeks as red as Ladybug's suit. Marinette snickered. 
“Of course, I promise. Houdini will be our little secret, alright? Now bring him back!”
Satisfied, Felix turned the chair back towards the laptop and placed Houdini on the desk. The curious thing didn’t hesitate to lounge onto his keyboard and examined the camera, much to Marinette’s delight.
“Oh lord, he's so cute!”
Felix sighed and leaned back.
“Believe me, he knows.”
“He looks just like you!”
At that, Felix spluttered and jumped up again.
“W-w-what?!”
Internally already setting up the equation: “Marinette thinks Houdini is cute, and Marinette thinks Houdini looks like Felix, then Marinette thinks Felix is cute?” he was about two seconds from fainting.
“He's got a little tie, see?”, Marinette giggled on, ignorant of the thought-spiral she'd sent him into. “Just like you!”
Oh. She meant the patterns of his fur, which admittedly looked a little like he was wearing a tie. Of course.
“Who's the most adorable thing in Paris? You are!”, Marinette continued with her shameless adoration of that undeserving little brat, who currently Mow-ed happily at the screen. Pah!
“Just so you know, he bites people for fun.”, Felix badmouthed his own pet, absolutely not because he was jealous. “You can’t trust him. He'll act sweet, but as soon as you're not looking he's got your fingers between his sharp little fangs!”
“Eh, I can handle it.”, Marinette shrugged and immediately went back to admiring Houdini. “You're a good kitty, aren’t you? The best, the best! Yes, you are!”
“No, he's not!”, Felix insisted through clenched teeth. “He's moody and arrogant! Nobody likes him, that's why I took him in! He thinks it’s fun to hurt people, he holds grudges forever and he's incredibly annoying when he's bored!”
Wait, was he still talking about the cat?
“You just like him because he looks all cute and innocent, but if you knew him, you'd never even want to be in the same room as him.”
Marinette had gone quiet on the other side, and Houdini narrowed his eyes at him in betrayal. Then she shrugged.
“If you don’t want him anymore, I'll take him in.”
“What?!”
She would have to pry the little shit out of his cold, dead hands!
“Did you not listen to a word I said?” he asked, trying not to let on that he didn’t actually dislike Houdini.
Marinette smiled.
“Sure. But I still think he's a good kitty.”
“But why?”
She hummed, pushing her stack of papers aside so she could put her elbows on the desk. Resting her chin on her hand, she looked up in him.
“Most cats are. You just got to give them a chance to come out of their shell.”
“But... But he's mean!”
“Maybe he's just lonely. Maybe he needs some friends, and then he'll learn to be nicer. I can wait.”
He was not blushing!
“Why would you want to? There's lots of better cats, you could just pick one of them right away.”
“Yeah, well, I want Houdini. All cats deserve a chance. Even the meaner ones.”
She smiled down at the black and white loaf that purred on his keyboard.
“In my experience, peop- cats only show their best sides if you give them a chance to open up. If you're too quick to brush them aside as hopeless, or mean, you might miss out on the most wonderful personalities underneath. And I think Houdini is one of those.”
And then, because the universe just wanted to see him fall, she winked at him. Jesus Christ!
“Anyway, I'll give you some time to read through the material I sent you. Message me once you’re done, we've got a lot of work ahead. Bye!”
Before he could realize what she had said, the window blanked and closed on him. Disappointed that his fan had vanished, Houdini meowed and returned once again to Felix' lap.
“Bye.”, Felix stammered belatedly. What had just... How could she go around just saying things like that? And then hang up?!
“Ugh, Houdini!”, he lamented. “Look what I have become!”
Reduced to a beetred, stammering, weird-cat-metaphor-using fool!
The cat gave a smug “Mrow” and headbutted him in the chin, but Felix didn’t have it in him to complain.
“Fine,” he sighed in defeat, “you win. So what if I like her?”
Houdini purred.
“You do too, don’t you? Bet you'd bite her anyway.”
He purred on, unperturbed.
“Knew it.”
He sighed once again.
“She's right, though. You are a good kitty. Deep down.”
Houdini meowed and licked his finger, just where he'd bitten him earlier.
“Well, now you're just sucking up to me! Two-faced little demon. Mwah!”
He pressed a small kiss to the top of his furry head, then rolled the chair closer to the desk and opened his emails.
“Alright, then.”, he tried to motivate himself, “let's show Marinette what a good kitty- what a good person we are and do our homework.”
At that, Houdini promptly stood up and jumped onto the bed, leaving him alone with twenty-two pages of reading material.
“Bastard.”
- - -
Bonus:
Ladybug, crashing through Felix' window: Felix Graham de Vanily!
Felix: Ladybug?!
Ladybug: I have it on good authority that you own a good kitty! It is crucial for the safety of Paris that I pet him right this instant!
Felix, remembering her right hook: ... sure?
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Can I request a fluffy little fic with Klaus? And like he’s always super supportive even if he doesn’t quite understand what you’re doing, he’s kinda always like “fuck yeah look at you go!” I could really use the love lol
A/N: Hey Nonny. I didn’t know what sort of things you meant, so I defaulted to what’s familiar for me: the struggles of higher education.  I hope you enjoy it, and that whatever you’re doing, you know it’s amazing because you’re doing it 😊 Word Count: 1944 Content Warning: mild language, brief references to drugs
You groaned, your head hitting the table as you stared down at your circled answer, the wrong answer again. You were determined to keep taking this practice test until you got it right, until all of the answers felt like second nature. Except you kept making the same mistakes over and over again instead. 
Your pen sailed through the air, causing your best friend, and eternal headache, to duck with a chuckle as it clattered against the wall. 
“I see studying's going well,” he teased, walking further into the room.
“Klaus Hargreeves, unless one of the assortment of pills I just know are in your pocket right now is a magic one that will help me remember this shit, I say this in the most heartfelt and loving way possible: piss off.”
He pressed his hand to his chest dramatically. 
“Exqueeze me?” he trilled, “I come to make sure you’re alive, as you’ve not been seen in days, and this is the thanks I get?”
“I’m serious Klaus,” you sighed, running a hand through your tangled hair. “I need to study.”
He looked you over, taking in the bags under your eyes, your rumpled clothing, the sag of your shoulders. You were overworking yourself, as self-destructive in your own way as he was in his, and it pained him to see. 
“You need a break,” he said, crossing over to you and sweeping you up in his arms, toppling your chair in the process and surprising you with the strength hidden in his arms. 
“Klaus,” you whined, struggling ineffectively from your position pinned to his chest in a bridal carry. “No, I don’t have time for a break right now. Especially not the kind you mean.”
He sat down on your bed, keeping you in his lap and began carefully finger-combing through the knots in your hair.
“I have no ulterior motive, mademoiselle,” he hummed. “Only your wellbeing in mind. Relax with me for one hour,” the worst of your knots gone, he laid down, tugging at your arm to try and get you to join him. “And I will leave you alone for the rest of the night, or even help you to study, if you want.”
“I don’t want...chemical aids.”
He scoffed. “Who do you take me for? I know you better than that.”
“Then how could you help me? You don’t know anything about the material. Or testing.”
“I’ll...hold up your charming little flash cards, or read you the questions. I don’t know. Sit next to you and cheer enthusiastically whenever you get a question right and burn the whole book if it claims you’re wrong?”
You couldn’t help the giggle that slipped out, and were glad of it when he flashed you that dazzling grin. The longer you sat, awkwardly leaning and half in his arms, the harder it became to resist his temptation.
“Fine, one hour,” you said, attempting to be stern as you relented, curling up against his chest.
“No more, no less. And then we shall study until our eyeballs fall out,” he promised, fingers crossed behind your back as he held you.
~
Your hands shook nervously and you thought for sure you were going to sweat through your blazer as you paced the hallway outside the small lecture hall. You checked the notes you had tucked in your pocket and licked your lips to try and wet them, not that your equally dry mouth and tongue made much difference. 
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen of the board, distinguished faculty, and guests,” you muttered for what felt like the seven-hundredth time today. “No, that sounds stupid. Why am I calling the faculty distinguished but not the board or the guests? Maybe I should just do ‘good evening ladies and gentlemen of the board, faculty, and guests,’ but that sounds weird too.”
You flopped against the wall, groaning in frustration. This presentation was the moment, your time to shine, or to crash and burn, dictating potentially the entire rest of your career. And public speaking was not your strong suit. 
“Y/N?” your advisor said, poking her head out into the hall and giving you what was surely meant to be a reassuring smile. “They’re ready for you now.”
You took a deep, shaky breath. “Okay, thanks, Linda. I’ll be right in.”
This was your thesis you were about to defend. You had spent more than a year researching and writing it. So why did you suddenly feel like you knew less than the day you walked into your first “101” class? 
“Time to face the executioner,” you muttered to yourself, squaring your shoulders and walking in behind Linda, feet carrying you slowly down the aisle to the podium. 
You paused, taking a moment to arrange your notes and scan the crowd, looking for someone who looked friendly and unassuming, maybe a kindly librarian type, to focus on while you spoke.
Instead you locked eyes with a familiar, wholly unexpected pair of green eyes. You frowned, about to call out and ask what the hell Klaus thought he was doing here, when you remembered exactly where here was. You cleared your throat and tried to school your face to be placidly blank.
“Good evening,” you started, gaze still fixed on his face. “I would like to thank everyone for their time and attendance, um here, um today.” 
‘You’ve got this,’ he mouthed silently.
You smiled, launching into your presentation proper with gusto. 
Every time you felt yourself hesitating or fumbling, you sought him again, and his awed little smile bolstered you, reminding you of all the late nights he had spent up with you, watching you from your bed as you paced the room or sat hunched at a desk, thinking out loud or talking to him about it all, offering little suggestions (never that helpful) or affirmations (always very helpful) occasionally, just to remind you that he was there, for you. 
Before you knew it, your time was up and you exited the room to a smattering of applause. Out in the hall, a pair of warm arms wrapped around you from behind and lips were planted on your cheek. 
“That was brilliant! You were brilliant!” Klaus said enthusiastically before dropping his voice to purr in your ear. “And the whole ‘genius’ thing is very sexy.”
You felt your cheeks blush heatedly. “I’m not a genius, Klaus.”
“Well I had no idea what you were saying, other than super smart stuff, so I disagree.”
You slid out of his arms, although he did manage to keep one circling your waist, and started walking, planning to stop at the 24 hour cafe on campus for a quick pick-me-up and then head home. Klaus followed, holding you as close as you’d let him, planning to go anywhere and everywhere you wanted and nowhere else.
“How do you know it was super smart then, if you didn’t know what it was?”
“Because I know you, and you’re the smartest person in the world.”
“I am not,” you countered, giving him a gentle shove, blushing even harder now. 
“And because all those stuffy old academic types in there were impressed.”
“You think so?” you asked hopefully. 
You felt like you couldn’t get a read on the room the whole time you were presenting, and their questions had been extremely critical. 
His eyes twinkled as he stared down at you. “I know so.”
~
Before you knew it, graduation had crept up on you. You sat in the hard plastic chair in the stuffy canvas pavilion, surrounded by all of your classmates, and waited. It had been hours, and would be hours more, and you just wanted it to be over. No one was there for you, no one cared if you even got this diploma. You could probably slip out the back and be gone before anyone realized, the only sign of your absence the awkward pause when your name was read. 
It had always been this way, all through your schooling. Your parents didn’t really understand your career choice, or didn’t have time to come for campus events. You didn’t have a lot of friends due to the demands of your program, and your own innate awkwardness. Instead of being a celebration of your achievements, graduation felt like another reminder of how alone you were, how most people would never remember you unless you did something embarrassing like trip and fall off the stage. 
Making excuses and muttering apologies, you slipped out past the rest of your row of fellow graduates and out into the fresh air and bright light of the campus lawn. You breathed a deep sigh of relief, taking off your mortarboard hat and unzipping the robe-like graduation gown about half way. 
“Y/N?” you jumped at the sound of Klaus’s voice, not expecting him to be here of all places, and especially not coming out of the tent you had just exited moments ago.
“Klaus!” you gasped, hugging him. “What...what are you doing here?”
“I came to see you, obviously,” he said, booping the end of your nose. “So when I saw you looking like you might be making a break for it, I followed.”
“Oh.” You were flattered that he would attend or managed to spot and recognize you in the sea of identically dressed co-eds, confused how he’d found out the date and time, and a little annoyed that you’d been caught. 
“Were you running away?”
“They can mail me my diploma,” you said with a shrug. It wasn’t quite an answer, but it said everything it needed to.
“Y/N,” he sighed, placing his hands on your shoulders. “You know I don’t understand all this college, academic, brilliance stuff. But I know it’s supposed to be special and important and one of those things you’ll always remember.”
“Because it’s supposed to be a celebration. Only I don’t feel like celebrating alone.”
“Well, you’re not, are you?”
“My classmates don’t count. I barely know them.”
“I meant me.” He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re not alone, because I’m here. I’ll always be here.”
You smiled softly, staring into his green eyes, so tender and full of love, as you remembered all of the times he had been there already: how he’d gone to the post office and held your hand when you mailed out applications, how he’d listened to you practice for your admissions interviews for days on end, every late night study session and “study” session, every distraction from anxiously awaiting a grade, pulling you up when you sank into a slump or felt like a failure and cheering you on for your highs and successes. Klaus had never been through formal schooling, had no desire to for all that he was clever. But even though he never knew what the hell was going on, he was there for you through it. 
“I should have known that,” you murmured. “After all, you always have been before.”
“Even geniuses can’t know everything,” he countered with a shrug and a smirk, before leaning down to press your lips together softly. 
You wrapped your arms around his neck, stretching up on your toes to bring you closer to him as his hands slid down from your shoulders to rest on your waist, an embrace as much as a kiss. You became dimly aware of the sound of applause from inside, signalling the end (finally) of the current speaker. Reluctantly, you pulled away.
“I guess I should probably get back in there,” you sighed. 
“Only if you want to,” he said, thumbs tracing circles on your sides. “I’ll support you either way.”
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incorrect-mha-bnha · 4 years
Text
Trans Bakugou HC????
His first genuine smile happened after waking up from top surgery to see himself finally weightless after years of drowning. No one would ever forget how bright and alive he seemed as tears fell down his face in the hospital. Kirishima could have sworn to hearing a laugh slip through at one point, but of course that was denied.
Bakugou designed his hero suit to be a cross tank because he assumed his top surgery would have been done by then but sadly, kidnapping and hero bs got in the way. Now he has to wear sports bras under it until the appointment can be booked. Leaving him pissed and just slightly dysphoric out and about which helps aid his sour mood while training.
My poor boy Bakugou has D cups. Pray for him😔...No, but for real. The size of his unfortunate lumps caused a lot of dysphoria while wearing his hero suit. (Going back to the previous bullet) Because of their size, it was a lot harder to bind to satisfactory which led to a lot of methods being used until he just said fuck it and started weight lifting. (For those who don’t know, weight lifting turns breast tissue into muscle and some other cool pectoral shit. I know this because my Ma is a personal trainer.) It shrunk him down a few sizes while building muscle, giving the illusion of pecs so wearing a sports bra was bearable.
Bakugou went through many phases of figuring out who he wanted to be (that’s obvious but I’m not talking about gender wise) in terms of style and personality. He tried different types of styles until one stuck, now he looks like a gremlin in baggy clothes (on occasions). He also went through a makeup phase to try and darken his features.
When Bakugou is really dysphoric, he hunches over and grumbles a lot. Everyone usually stays away, discounting Midoriya and Kirishima. Them being the bravest and brightest always gang up on Bakugou to help bring his spirits and confidence up. Even let him get the anger out with a rough spar.
Bakugou changes in the bathroom of the locker room to avoid invasive eyes (Mineta) or is released 5 minutes early by his teachers to get a head start.
During his pre-top surgery days, Bakugou would wear a baggy shirt into the pool But practically avoided it altogether. The first person to really get him comfortable enough to uncross his arms in the pool, given that they somehow coaxed him in, was Kirishima.
Bakugou was never self conscious about his height, being visited by the height fairy during puberty but his hips and chest? Count them as life ruiners. Baby had so many dysphoria episodes in front of the mirror that he turned into an angry introvert.
T does a lot of shit to your body, one of those being heightening your aggression levels. If Bakugou was already slightly aggressive to begin with, his pleasancey took a nose dive after starting T.
Sigh, back on my KiriBaku bs but anyway. THE FIRST PERSON TO EVER CALL BAKUGOU MANLY WAS KIRISHIMA. AND THAT SHIT HIT DIFFERENTLY.
Uhmmm pro hero Bakuhou starting a fundraiser for trans kids and adults who are homeless, jobless (Aka struggling), in need of support or looking for others like them, searching for clarity, even protection. Bakugou is like the trans Jesus, that is all.
He literally hates what he feels like when someone points out that his mother and him look alike. Yeah, he fucking gets it but is there a need to point it out? Damn.
COMMITS himself to doing regular vocal excersises to lower his voice, even with T. His usual gruff tone is to mask the voice cracks he gets on the hormones, because that would be embarrassing.
When Bakugou got the call that he was going to get top surgery, he literally blew his phone up with so much excitment then burst into tears.
Showers suck- nuff said.
Midoriya was the first person to ever know about Bakugou being trans. So, he started bullying Midoriya into silence but soon realized the boy wouldn’t have uttered a word anyway and simply wanted to help and be there for him. Of course, Bakugou, being young and new to the life change, wanted everyone who had once known him as a girl to be gone. That meant he would try and remove Midoriya from his life for good but the green boy just kept on bouncing back. Imagine his surprise to know the one person with his secret would be attending high school with him. Shit got flipped.
All of the girls carry extra supplies for emergencies. Bakugou does too but sometimes a p*riod (I bleep because it can be a sensitive topic) just pops out of nowhere. It gets him frustrated and embarrassed whenever he isn’t prepared but the girls somehow always know the right timing to whisk him off to help or stealthily stuff some things into his pocket as they cross paths. It’s like a cartel of drugs but the girls are being true friends with pads in the end. Kirishima even got on the bandwagon and started carrying supplies for whoever may need it.
Bakugou refused to wear tampons, shit was a no go.
In the beginning, Bakugou would frequently steal one of the girl’s heating pads whenever the pain got unbearable. They hardly minded but Momo gifted him one as a present. He uses it all the time.
After he came out and became comfortable, Bakugou would joke about donating his lumps to the girls that bitched about being small chested. (We are looking at you Jirou). “Free unfortunate lumps for sale! I don’t want them, take the damn things!”, “Hey! Give me your chest, switch with me!”
Bakugou is a night dweller for many reasons. 1.) Time to not bind and give himself a break while doing stretches. 2.) snacks are Free real estate 3.) It’s easier to not bind while everyone isn’t there to witness him walking to relieve tension.
Bakugou once heard that frequent conception of coffee leads to a decrease in breast size by 0.3 cups. Bakugou ended up consuming so much that he stayed up for a total of 72 hours, almost overdosed, couldn’t sit still, finished everyone’s homework plus his own, deep cleaned the entire dorm and trained until he crashed. Now, he hates the taste of it but swears that his little shits shrunk a whole cup.
Imma say this loudly because it’s my favorite hc mostly because it’s what I do. BAKUGOU HATES WEARING LIGHT COLORS, THE BIGGEST FUCK NO GOS OUT TO WHITE SHIRTS. HE PREFERS TO WEAR DARK COLORS BECAUSE HIS BINDER IS BLACK. THE ONLY REASON HE WEARS HIS UNFORM, BEGRUDGINGLY, IS BECAUSE THE MATERIAL ISNT SEE THROUGH AND IT IS ALSO CRUMPLY. AKA, EASILY COVERS HIM UP BY GOING A SIZE UP.
His waist in snatched thanks to those bitch ass hips.
His first post surgery outfit was a very thin material white shirt because fuck yeah, get a view of his binder less chest under there!
Bakugou wears headphones while going about in public for a few reasons. 1.) He doesn’t like interacting with people and the headphones usually wards them off from bothering him. 2.) Loud music in his ears tends to tune out people misgendering him and transphobes being chucklefucks.
Bakugou got his respect to be called a guy from his family by blatantly ignoring anyone who called him by his deadman and/or used the wrong pronouns. “Bitch, suddenly I can’t hear. I don’t know who you think you are calling.”
Bakugou is very proud of any hair that grows on his body. (Sigh, take that how you wish). Literally prances around the UA grounds showing off even the tineiest hint of a beard, and raves over his growing leg hair.
Bakugou’s favorite movie is Mulan, fight me on that.
Bakugou’s life zeal is Be Trans Throw Hands
More to be added
Part 2
Part 3
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stillness-in-green · 3 years
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When MVA/MLA Arc gets animated, what will you be looking forward to the most? What (canon-compliant) additions and/or changed do you want or think Bones should make, if any?
There’s--a lot.  Does that surprise anyone?  There’s a lot.
o  I have been foaming at the mouth for voice actor announcements for almost a year now, particularly for Trumpet, Geten and RD.           Trumpet’s superpower is literally his voice!  I mean, nothing about that statement requires that voice be particularly entrancing, but it certainly seems like it should be, right??             Geten is a boku-type in the manga, but that was literally the only hint foreshadowing his pretty boy face through 21 solid chapters of Pure Feral Gremlin.  Everyone was shocked by Geten’s face reveal!  How do you maintain that surprise value with an actual voice actor in the mix?  Do you not even try?  Do you play up the disparity--in which direction?  I can’t wait to see what they do.           And Re-Destro!  Re-Destro requires so much range!  From his peppy, silly businessman persona, to the urbane commander, from the overeager yes-man to the raving zealot--who on earth do you get to believably cover all that ground?  I can’t even begin to guess, but I am living in anticipation of that article going up on ANN or the official Twitter sources.
o  I’m also much looking forward to getting official coloring on Trumpet and Geten.  Skeptic seems pretty straightforward--black, black, more black--and RD and Curious, we have color art for, but I wonder if Trumpet will also be all black clothes, to go with that dignified politician image of his, or if he’ll get some color to pep him up a little.  What color are those tinted shades of his?  His eyes?  The wicked-cool Sevens Loud?           I assume Geten is all wintery shades, but it’ll be great to confirm which ones.  I mean, we all assume he’s white-haired to better annoy Dabi with family parallels, but what if he turns out to be platinum blond?  And are his eyes blue?  Gray?  White?  What color is that awful parka?           Also, Re-Destro’s stress powers.  Having been writing them as black since at least August--Rorschach test blots are generally black, after all, and they’re the clear inspiration--I would much like it if the anime would have my back on this.  They made Destro’s mask a dark cinnamon brown, though, so I’m prepared to be unpleasantly surprised in this matter.
o  Predictable MLA adaptational choices aside, I’m also eager/anxious about how they’ll handle Spinner’s narration.  What I really hope is that they actually straight-up hand him ALL the narration duties--not just the stuff he dictates directly in the manga, but also e.g. the name and quirk explanation material that Present Mic normally gets, or the previews that are always handled by Deku.           The opening and closing sequences are another big structural thing, of course--based on the flashed snippets of Hawks and Endeavor in both our current and the previous OP, I’m expecting we’ll see at least a bit of something referencing the upcoming internship arc (which I expect to close out the season), but I hope the villains just walk away with the closing entirely.  I want my slice of life villainy ED, dangit.
o  Another thing I’m eager/anxious about would be Kotarou, and the Shimura flashback generally.  There’s a brittle edge of to Kotarou that I really love, and I hope he manages to keep it in the anime, despite the anime being generally not so great at moments that I would describe as “delicate.”  For example, I’d like it if he doesn’t get a super deep voice, and if they could manage to keep his pretty face, and capture how deeply bitter and tired he looks in the scene where he’s reading the letter Nana left him.           Also, I hope they keep the little montage bits and, crucially, the changes of clothes the family goes through.  We see Tenko in no less than five, possibly as many as seven, different T-shirts through the course of that flashback.  It seems like a small thing, but it’s one of the factors that makes me skeptical that AFO gave Tenko Decay, when so many days clearly go by between the opening with the man at the door and the tragic end.  It’d be nice not to see too much resurgence on that just because the anime can’t be bothered to come up with more than one outfit for the Shimuras.
I have enough issues with the anime’s usual adaptation choices that I’m trying not to get my hopes up too high on the actual content of the episodes.  The staff is diverting too much of its major talent to the movies (BAH) these days for me to expect the whole season to look all that great, and it’s never been particularly creative or daring outside of its climactic sakuga-heavy fight scenes anyway.  I’ve also long had a bone to pick with its scoring decisions, and am already eyeballing the climax of the RD/Shigaraki fight and imagining the minor-keyed terrifying dirge I fear the anime will play there, at the moment that Re-Destro (and, shortly afterward, Spinner) are supposed to be experiencing something akin to religious awakenings.           There’s also the issue of the violence and gore--judging by how the anime handled the scene where Shigaraki and Compress maim Overhaul, I have some severe reservations about how much blood they’ll be allowed to get away with, particularly in the scene where the League brutally decimates that CRC group and, of course, Shigaraki’s backstory.  I’m looking at MVA to serve as a preview for how all the same issues will be addressed in the War Arc.
That bit of pessimism aside, as to what I’m hoping they’ll add or change?  Well, off the top of my head.....
o  I would love to get a full episode devoted to the time the League spends fighting Machia.  Not that first tussle, but the six grueling weeks in the mountains.  There’s so much you could add there for character building and atmosphere that Hori didn’t so much as montage through.  Where was their food coming from?  How’d they pick out places to pitch camp?  How much access to news from outside did they have, and how frequently?  What were the circumstances in which Gigantomachia “told them himself” about his great sense of smell??  Stuff like that!             I don’t think we’re at all likely to get this--honestly, the series of late has had enough of a problem with trimming bits and pieces that I’m as worried about what they might cut as I am hyped about things they might add--but the one thing that gives me some hope is the training camp arc.  Specifically, the moment 1-A first gets to the Pussycats’ forest, they get jumped by earth golems, a fight that the manga off-panels entirely, but the anime spends a modest amount of time on, giving the kids a little bit of time to show off their moves and such.  I’d love to get something equivalent for the League.
o  On a similar note, I wouldn’t turn it down if they fleshed out some of those running street fights a bit.  One obvious thing comes to mind: there’s a weird jump in the manga between Skeptic and a horde of his golems being all but on top of Twice at the beginning of 233 and then that fight just--doesn’t happen.  There’s no mention of it at all.  I think the suggestion is that either Machia’s appearance or the tower going down interrupted it--Skeptic breaks off from his fight the same way Geten and Trumpet do theirs, shifting focus to protecting Re-Destro--but it’d be nice to see the anime touch on it.
o  It’d be nice to get a bit of expansion on the nature of the bullying Spinner endured.  We’re told he was, but was it limited to verbal?  Did he get beaten up a lot?  Was there an online element?  Deku’s our only other reference point for “bullied kid,” and whatever one might think about the story’s development of Bakugou’s mentality, it’s been made clear in retrospect that there was a lot more too that than just the matter of Deku’s quirklessness.  I’d love to know how Spinner’s bullying looked in comparison (not least because of some of the theories about Spinner and Deku needing to come to some kind of accord to free Shigaraki from AFO).
o  Make the Villa (both here and during the War Arc) look more realistic.  By which I mean, I know Horikoshi is capable of drawing interesting and lived-in interior spaces--he has an entire chapter dedicated to it in the 1-A dorm room contest, after all--but he normally doesn’t bother much with it.  At UA, it’s not too distracting, because we know good and well that that whole building is probably maintained by Cementoss anyway.  Ditto places like Tartarus (intentionally, dehumanizingly barren) or the League’s post-Kamino hideouts (abandoned homes and industrial spaces).  But the Villa?            For heaven’s sake, it’s called a mountain villa.  It has a clear reception desk on the ground floor; it’s obviously some sort of high-end hotel, if not an outright resort or rentable retreat lodge.  Speaking as someone who’s worked in one, places like that don’t look as fuckin’ bare as the rooms we see there always seem to.  For fanfic purposes, I’m happy to go on telling myself that e.g. the pool and the bar and the restaurant(s) and the gym are in the building Cementoss doesn’t tear in half, but it’d be nice if the anime could class the whole place up a little, maybe put some real furniture and decor in the rooms that are in use.  (Yes, I know this is a ridiculous nitpick.)
o  This is less a change and more a correction, but for fuck’s sake, BONES, give us white-haired Shigaraki.  The climax of Deika is a solid time for it, given that it’s obvious in the manga that Shigaraki’s hair gets paler in Deika--you can see it in the way Horikoshi inks it (which is to say, the way he stops inking it)!  I think if we ever get white-haired Shigaraki in the anime, a somewhat better time as far as narrative justification goes would be when Shigaraki gets out of the tube in the War Arc; you could easily justify it as a side-effect of the surgery.  Still, I’d rather see it here.  I want white-haired Shigaraki, gleaming and brilliant through the scattering ash in that crater, a veritable angel of sacred destruction.           Honestly, more than anything, the crater sequence is the one I hope I love.  It’s probably my favorite single moment in the entire manga, as Shigaraki wins over Re-Destro, Spinner and Gigantomachia in the same moment, and finally comes into his own.  If they can at least nail that, I’ll consider myself pretty satisfied.
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comradekatara · 4 years
Text
sunset glow - a short mai x ty lee fanfic for mailee week (PG, 3k words)
Stuck in a cell together, they find themselves, surprisingly, without a lot to talk about. They’ve just spent months traveling together and experiencing everything as a pair, but how do they talk about what just happened?
Ty Lee breaks the silence first. “Sad about your uncle’s record,” she offers.
“Sad about our future,” Mai returns dully, not taking her eyes off the wall directly opposite her.
It’s surprising, really, that they were put in a cell together. Surprising Azula didn’t forbid it. Normally any special treatment they receive on their travels is because of Azula, or if a certain type of man is involved then maybe Ty Lee, but Mai wonders darkly if her status as the warden’s niece is what’s helping them now. It figures that the one time things go favorably for her would still end with them both in prison.
Still. It is unnerving Azula let it happen.
“Do you think the Princess is alright?” Ty Lee asks, eerily echoing Mai’s stream of consciousness.
Mai cocks her head to look at her. She swallows. “I don’t think we’re gonna find out either way.”
Ty Lee stretches one of her arms sideways across her chest, then the other. She keeps her gaze on Mai. “Probably not.”
--
It seems that at night, the firebender guards extinguish the torches in the hallways and patrol with their own palm-sized flames. Ty Lee watches the guards patrol in the hall through the small slot in the door while Mai tries to get comfortable on their ratty mattress.
“It’s weird that they have firebender guards here, isn’t it?” Ty Lee remarks quietly. “You’d think they’d all be in the army. The Firelord talks like that’s where all our esteemed firebenders should be directing their ‘gifts.’”
Mai rolls onto her side and faces the back wall. “I guess bender guards make it easier to break up fire fights,” she says.
“Firebender guards and firebender prisoners, huh,” Ty Lee muses. “I thought they were supposed to be the best the world has to offer.”
Mai laughs out loud. Facing the wall, she doesn’t see that her laugh makes Ty Lee smile.
--
They get two interruptions a day. Every morning, a guard takes them to wash and relieve themselves. When they get back to the cell, there’s food and water waiting. The only other interruption they get is at night, when the guards take them to the latrine again just before lights out. If they need to relieve themselves any other time during the day, they have to call for a guard. Mai hates the way the guards look at her, with a mix of disgust and pity. Usually Ty Lee takes care of talking to the guards for both of them.
There’s only one mattress their first night and they share it. On the third night, the guards dump another mattress in the cell. It smells slightly better than the first. Ty Lee insists that Mai take it, and crawls onto the old one before Mai can argue. But even though it’s summer, it’s cold in their underground cell, so by the fifth night, they’re back to the original sleeping arrangements, squeezing as tight as they can onto the first mattress with the second one awkwardly on top of them like a blanket.
It’s not comfortable. They both thrash in their sleep when they dream.
--
By the end of their first week, they’re both starting to look disheveled, and Mai offers to braid Ty Lee’s hair. To her surprise, Ty Lee accepts. Mai sits on the mattress with her back against the wall and Ty Lee sits between her thighs, leaning her head down.
“Do you think our parents know where we are?” Mai asks as she works hair over hair. She’s trying to be both gentle and neat, but above all, to keep from touching Ty Lee’s neck and shoulders unnecessarily. Ty Lee is sitting stiller than Mai has ever seen her, and Mai just has the strange feeling that it would be embarrassing to touch her by accident when Ty Lee is making it so easy not to.
“My parents don’t even know I was with Princess Azula,” Ty Lee admits.
Mai tries to visualize Ty Lee’s family. When they spent time together as children, they’d mostly done so at the palace; it was always more of an effort for Azula and Zuko to leave the palace grounds than it was for Mai and Ty Lee to just come visit. But she vaguely remembers Ty Lee’s parents, a harried mother and disinterested father, overwhelmed by too many daughters who all had to look presentable and be excellent.
“It happened fast,” Ty Lee adds. “I was at work, then the Princess came to invite me to join her, and then we were on the road. So I just didn’t have time to tell them.”
A dot of sweat blooms on the back of Ty Lee’s bare neck. Mai stares at the hair in her hands and then back at Ty Lee’s neck in time to see a second dot of sweat materialize. She’s never seen Ty Lee up close from this angle before. She starts to wonder if Ty Lee might have made sure of that. If this might be a particularly vulnerable position for Ty Lee. If she sweats from the back of her neck when she lies.
If she agreed to let Mai braid her hair because she’s growing to trust her.
“My parents knew,” Mai says quietly. “A royal summons was basically the only way to get away from them. Otherwise I’d still be in Omashu cleaning up after Tom-Tom.”
Ty Lee swivels all the way around at the mention of Tom-Tom. As she turns, Mai’s hand grazes her neck. Ty Lee doesn’t seem to even register it, but Mai stares down at her hand as she processes the unplanned motion.
“How is Tom-Tom?” Ty Lee asks, looking fond and earnest. “Does he talk yet?”
Mai racks her brain. It’s only been a few months since she left Omashu, but life before she was involved in the war feels like a lifetime ago. “I don’t remember.”
--
Day seven and the guards give them their kindest indulgence yet. In the evening, Mai and Ty Lee are given an hour in the yard outside, without any of the other prisoners.
They step outside and Mai immediately tilts her head up to the sun, unable to resist the breeze on her face. “Close your eyes,” Ty Lee advises as she does the same thing, but it’s a second too late, and Mai is already seeing blue spots in her vision. She has to look down and blink repeatedly before they go away. Sheepishly, she closes her eyes hard before she tilts her head back up to enjoy the sunlight on her face again.
Ty Lee shifts beside her and their shoulders touch. Neither one moves away. “Okay, would you rather have to spend all day in the sun every day, or never see the sun again?”
Mai ponders that.
“Before we got here, I would have guessed you’d pick never see the sun,” Ty Lee adds, and suddenly the warmth of her shoulder is gone, and Mai hears the rustle of fabric as she moves away. “But now that we’ve been inside, is it different?”
Mai tilts her head back down and opens her eyes. Ty Lee is gone from eye level. She follows her voice and looks down to find Ty Lee laying on the ground, her eyes still closed.
“Yeah, it’s different,” Mai says, and she sits down to join her. She keeps her eyes open and looks down at her lap for a long moment before she lays back. “I pick sun.”
The hour feels like an instant.
--
On day ten, Mai tells Ty Lee about what happened with Zuko.
She feels stupid, because “girl talk” has never come naturally to her and she can’t imagine a less worthwhile subject than the shitty ex-boyfriend for whom she unintentionally gave up her freedom.
“It’s so stupid,” she says as she finishes her story. “There was no reason to fight Azula for him. It’s not like we were ever gonna get back together. I didn’t even like dating him.”
“You didn’t?” Ty Lee says, but her tone makes it clear that she knew this and said nothing.
Mai looks down at her hands. A flush tints her cheeks. Ty Lee spares her from having to answer by adding, “He didn’t seem like a very good boyfriend.”
Mai snorts. “He wasn’t. He was self-involved. I mean, I think he’s just caught up in his own shit.” She looks down, allowing her hair to fall into her face and hide her eyes as she goes on, “But... I don’t think it would have been different with any other boy.”
Ty Lee nods exuberantly. “Boys are exhausting,” she agrees. Her expression looks serious, and as Mai eyes her curiously through her curtain of hair in search of an underlying meaning, a twitch in her posture seems to convey assent. “It’s good that you’re single.”
--
The weird thing about sleeping side-by-side is how attuned they become to each other’s breathing.
Sometimes, Ty Lee wakes up in the middle of the night and when she opens her eyes and looks to the side, she always finds that Mai’s eyes are open too.
--
Day eighteen is different. The torches in the hallway come on like always, but the guard who takes them to bathe doesn’t show up until later. By the time she shows up, Ty Lee is already desperate for a bathroom. She starts to hurry out of the cell but the guard stops her. “Just her,” the woman says, jerking her chin toward Mai.
“What’s going on?” Mai asks, getting to her feet.
“Just come with me,” the guard repeats. “Your uncle’s orders.”
Mai barely manages to make eye contact with Ty Lee -- a fleeting, awkward, almost apologetic expression -- before the guard takes her shoulders and steers her away.
When they reach her uncle’s office, Mai finds him stuffing items into a bag. He tells her, without meeting her eyes, that there are rumors that a large military operation is heading for the Earth Kingdom. Many of the guards have been summoned to help with the invasion, and the Boiling Rock will be vulnerable. There are even rumors that they might miss a food delivery or two. He explains that it isn’t standard operating procedure for the warden to leave, but under the circumstances, and here he waves a hand at Mai...
“What about Ty Lee?” Mai interrupts sharply. “If you’re trying to protect me, you need to protect her too. She’s my same age and she doesn’t belong here either.”
But as with everything Mai ever says to the adults in her life, it falls on deaf ears.
They leave by gondola within the hour.
--
They spend the night at an inn. Mai gets her own room. Her uncle lets her in, but then he keeps the key. He tells her sternly not to leave.
It feels surreal to have privacy for the first time in weeks. More than that, really; it wasn’t like she had any real privacy while traveling with Azula. Even on the nights when she had her own bedroom, she could never completely rule out the possibility that Azula might intrude on her during the night and demand an audience for some new speech or change in plans.
She bathes, relishing the soap and towel, and then lays back on the bed for a moment. It’s such an improvement over what she’s become used to, but it’s also chilly and eerily quiet without Ty Lee breathing beside her. Mai gets up and rifles through drawers until she finds paper and ink and starts to write a letter.
There’s no way to send it. Prisoners of the Boiling Rock don’t receive mail. She writes until she’s out of space, and then she folds it up and puts it in her pocket for safekeeping.
--
The night the comet passes overhead, both Mai and Ty Lee are inside and very far away from windows. They don’t notice the streak of fire in the sky. They just live to experience its aftermath.
--
For Ty Lee, the aftermath is that one day they open the door to her cell and tell her she’s received a special pardon from the Firelord.
Ty Lee isn’t sure if this is good news or not, since it begs a follow-up question: who’s the Firelord?
Her shoulders collapse with relief when they tell her.
--
Mai and her uncle get word of the official change of regime while traveling by carriage from the first inn. A hiker literally runs through the road and screams the news. It sounds almost laughable before Mai realizes they’re still in the Fire Nation, and this guy is in Earth Kingdom robes, seemingly unafraid of where he is and to whom he is speaking. 
Mai’s uncle wants to make an immediate detour and go into hiding. He’s worried about the consequences for a man like him, someone who personally endangered the new Firelord, tortured him, and almost killed him.
Mai does not want to go into hiding at all. For once, she argues with her uncle with the intent to win. She points out that if the Firelord wants to find him, he will, and in the meantime, her uncle’s best chance at survival is if he makes it to the capital with the young woman who personally saved the Firelord’s life.
She wins the argument and they continue on course for the capital.
--
Mai’s welcomed with open arms, of course. Zuko gives her a teary apology, going on and on about how he was selfish and mean and he was only hurting himself more when he allowed himself to forget to respect her. It’s awkward but he means it, so Mai forgives him. They’ll never be together romantically, of course, but they agree they can be friends. With this out of the way, Mai asks her new friend for her first favor: for him to pull Ty Lee out of prison immediately. Zuko assures her that Ty Lee is already on her way. He sent the Kyoshi Warriors to pick her up. They’re bringing her back on the Avatar’s bison.
“By the way,” Zuko says, cracking a smile more sincere than any smile she’s seen on his face in years, “it’s time you met Aang and the rest of my friends.”
--
Ty Lee’s trip to the capital can best be summed up as a joyride. She also has an apology to make--to Suki, the leader of the Kyoshi Warriors, who happens to be piloting the bison today. But Suki is quick to forgive her. The two of them have been failing to hide their creeping respect for one another since their first meeting in the Earth Kingdom. As they fly (which is an absolute delight, and an experience Ty Lee will never forget), Suki shows Ty Lee how to use a fan, and Ty Lee returns the favor by showing Suki a thing or two about pressure points. By the time they make it back to the Fire Nation, Ty Lee has a job offer and Suki has a bit of a crush.
--
When the Kyoshi Warriors new and old dismount the bison in the palace courtyard, Ty Lee has to hold her hand above her forehead to see in the sun. It’s a beautiful day and the courtyard is bustling with activity. As she blinks her eyes repeatedly to adjust to the light, her gaze lands on a cluster of people gathered around an outdoor table. Suki pulls her over to the table by the hand.
Ty Lee’s eyes focus and she sees that the people are Mai, the Avatar, and some of his friends. They’re playing pai sho, Mai against the earthbender girl. The earthbender is winning.
“Hi,” she says, with an awkward wave.
To her surprise, the whole group greets her with, if not warmth, then at least a neutral friendliness. Introductions are made, and Ty Lee squeezes into a seat next to Mai, feeling a refreshing sense of ease when their hips touch the way they always used to on their shared mattress. There’s some small talk while Mai and Toph finish the game, and then as the sun starts to go down, everyone starts to disperse. Mai and Ty Lee stay outside.
“I missed you,” Mai says immediately, the moment they’re alone.
Ty Lee smiles. “Me too.” She reaches out her arm for Mai’s hand, her arm loose and limp but still purposeful, and Mai allows her to take it. “Did Zuko send for you?”
Mai snorts. “My uncle abandoned his post and took me with him. Either to keep me safe or use me as leverage, we’ll never know.” She looks like she has a suspicion, though.
“And the Princess?”
Mai drops her gaze and starts to pull back her hand. Ty Lee just holds it tighter, and Mai doesn’t fight back. “She’s not doing so well,” Mai admits, and her voice cracks. “But she’s not a threat.”
“Oh.” A few frightening images spring to mind. Ty Lee tries her best not to dwell on them. She adds, unnecessarily but honestly, “I don’t want to see her.”
“I know. Me neither.” Mai’s voice cracks again but she doesn’t move her hand. “You know I used to always wish we could be in this courtyard just us. No royal siblings.”
A rush of warmth for Mai fills Ty Lee’s chest. “I did too!” she says. “It’s beautiful. It was so sad to only be here to experience, like, emotional mind games.”
Mai squeezes her hand. “You want to take a walk around the grounds with me?” She hesitates. “And then maybe if Zuko doesn’t have a room ready for you, we could share again. I think we’re getting the hang of it.”
They’re standing in the coutyard on the west side of the palace, with nothing westward but open field. The sun is on its way down the horizon. Mai looks completely content with the last touches of sunlight on her face.
Ty Lee threads her fingers through Mai’s. “Yes. Of course.”
And that’s how they spend one of the most beautiful nights of the summer together--their first night of freedom.
218 notes · View notes
flying-nightwing · 3 years
Text
Act II: The Racetrack
Hey guys! I’m not sure I’m entirely satisfied with that one, especially the dialogue feels off. But this is something to drag me out of my writers block so yeah I’m not at optimal capacity. Anyhow, I hope you still enjoy!
Side note, I think this is the fic I used the least italics lmao. Also this is semi edited
Part 1 in Masterlist! 
Part 3 is out now!
Pairing: Tim Drake x Reader
Word count: 3256
Warnings:
 regular amount of violence, language
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“Tim”
At the sound of his name, Tim jumped up from his sleep. He had no idea he had even closed his eyes, but there he was, sleeping perfectly still in his chair in front of his open computer. He blinked, looking down to his coffee, then up to Bruce.
“I’ve got a location”
That woke Tim up better. He was suddenly alert and attentive. “Where is it?”
“The Gotham Cup” Bruce replied, showing him two VIP passes to the Nascar race later that day. It made sense now that he said it, as the big crime families would meet there, as each one of them owned a racing team. “It’ll have to be a no cape mission, we’ll have to operate in broad daylight”
Tim nodded with a sigh. He wasn’t a fan of that type of recon, as he’d have to socialize as Tim Drake-Wayne the CEO and answer questions that would distract him from his mission. It also meant potentially dealing with press corps and cameras, which meant he’d have to be extra careful in his recon. At least the attention would be divided between him and Bruce.
“What time?” He asked.
“It starts at two, but the social event is on at one”
Tim looked down to his watch. It was now almost 11:30. He finished his now cold coffee and stood up with yet another sigh. “Guess I’ll have to go make myself presentable, then”
Bruce chuckled, but didn’t add anything more.
---
The sun was high in the sky and the racetrack was buzzing with activity. People with teams’ shirts and caps were mingling around, and the line of the bet counter was stretching all around the building. Tim walked beside Bruce, both of their VIP lanyards hanging from their necks and contrasting with their black dress shirt. They turned heads as they passed the lines and different booths, mostly ignoring the whispers that arose around them. They soon reached the VIP entrance, getting in without having to raise the badge or lower their sunglasses.
It still surprised Tim, even after all this time, the sheer power of the name Wayne. 
They climbed the stairs to the terrasse, where there were considerably less people, and those who were there were dressed in fancy clothes rather than fan gear. There was s soft ambient music playing in the background and plenty of seats under the roof’s shade. The whole place screamed money, yet Tim found it extraordinary bland. 
“You take ten o’clock, I’ll take two” Bruce instructed. “Meet at the bar for the start of the race”
“Got it” Tim nodded, checking his watch. He had exactly one hour and three minutes to try and find out more about which big shot would have beef with city hall. He began walking towards the rail, leaning on and pretending to be interested in whatever the entertainers were doing on the turf in the middle of the track. The seats around were gradually filling with fans who were willing to sit still for hours under the sun to watch cars drive in circles, eating their overpriced hotdogs. Tim didn’t understand the fun in that, but then again, they would probably not understand his idea of fun either.
With a sigh, he pushed himself from the rail and returned to his task. However, he didn’t see the person walking by and bumped into them. “Oh f--” He stopped himself from cursing out loud. “Sorry”
He paused, squinting at the semi familiar face in front of him. You smiled.
“What, no champagne to spill on me this time?” You teased as you recognized the handsome face from the gala the other day. The connection clicked in his eyes as he understood where he saw you before.
“Oh, hi!” He hurried to answer. “Uh, it’s you”
“So I’m told” You chuckled. He wouldn’t have recognized you on the spot, with your wide hat and brighter clothes. At first glance you seemed like a totally different person, but as he took in your features, it was obvious it was you.
He could recognize those memorable traits everywhere.
“So uh, you left before I could talk to you, the other day” He scratched the back of his neck. “I haven’t seen you much around either”
“I’m not from Gotham, so that would be pretty normal” You replied as you leaned on the rail. “I’m only here for a few days”
“Oh?” He asked, suddenly a little more interested. He raised his sunglasses on his head, looking at your directly. “I hope you weren’t too spooked by what went down at the gala”
You tsked, shaking your head. “Poor mayor” You sighed sadly. “It’s terrible what happened. At least no one else was injured. I was terrified when the smoke went off, but I’ll be okay”
He gave you a small, awkward smile. “Glad to hear it”
“So, do you have a name?” You changed the subject.
“Tim” He nodded, then told him your name in return. “Nice to formally meet you”
“Pleasure’s all mine” You gave him a charming smile. “So, what does such a handsome man do in such a place?”
He visibly blushed at your compliment. You could see he was not used to receiving blunt raises like that, but he really was handsome and you had to say it out loud. His bright eyes and sharp features drew you in just as much today as they did a few days back at the gala, where you had desperately wanted to stay and chat for a while before kidnapping the mayor. You still had time to spare today, so you wouldn’t miss your chance now.
“I- uh” He scratched the back of his neck, chuckling nervously. He didn’t seem like someone who would get nervous, but you thought it was cute. “My father, he wanted me to come with him. Publicity stunt I guess. What about you?”
“My cousin is a pilot” You lied easily. “I’m here for support”
“Oh! That’s great” He lifted the corner of his lips into a small smile. “Which car?”
Your expression turned sheepish. “... 43? 34?” You tried. “Something with a 4. I don’t know! I don’t follow the sport at all”
He chuckled. “Here for the free cocktails?”
“Guilty” You gave him a complicit grin. “Honestly my family just said ‘hey, let’s go to Gotham for the Nascar cup!’ and I followed because why not”
“I get it” He nodded as you began walking around side by side. He was more relaxed now, his hands in his pockets and his head tilted toward you. “My family does that all the time too. If one wants to go somewhere, usually the bunch follows”
“You have siblings?”
“Yeah” He grinned. “Four brothers and one sister, and I’m the middle child”
“Oh wow” You blinked. “How do you even deal with this?”
“By outsmarting them at every turn” He replied with a sarcastic sigh. “That and arming myself with enough information to blackmail them into doing my shit”
You laughed, throwing your head back slightly. You didn’t know, but his heart skipped a beat at the simple action. He thought it sounded like the sweetest melody he wouldn’t mind hearing again. “Sounds like a good survival strategy” You said. “So, you’re the smart one, eh?”
“I think I’ll go ahead and take this one” He nodded after a small pause. “You have no idea how low the bar is”
You laughed again, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “It sounds like a lot to deal with” 
“Do you have any siblings?”
You were walking slow around the outside part of the VIP lounge, under the sun. Clouds were coming and going, giving you intermittent moments of shade. It really was a nice day outside. You looked down. “No, not really”
You could feel his eyes on you, but it wasn’t harsh. Just curious, like he didn’t want to pry and ask. However, he had a gaze that seemed to see through everything at that moment, and you really didn’t want him to see through the half lies you built to avoid the truth. 
“I was adopted” You admitted, looking back up to him. That wasn’t a lie.
“Oh” He blinked a few times in surprise. “So was I”
Your eyebrows raised at his quick answer. You half expected the bundle of invasive questions that usually came with it, but at that moment it was clear he wouldn’t require further explanations. You were glad he understood.
“We already have more in common that I would have expected” You smiled sweetly. “I’m glad we bumped into each other again”
“Y-yeah, me too” He nodded with a timid smile this time, like that little shy front took over again. You deducted it returned when you made a move on him so far, but he didn’t seem to dislike it either. 
“Maybe we--” You paused when you caught a glimpse of the time on the giant board on the other side of the track. If you kept going on like this you’d miss your window. Shit shit shit. “Oh shoot”
“What’s wrong?”
You recomposed yourself and gave him an apologetic smile instead of straight up bolting away. “I told my mother I’d be down by the pits for the beginning of the race, she’s going to start calling me non stop soon”
His face dropped slightly in disappointment. “Oh, yeah, maybe you shouldn’t worry her”
“Sorry, Tim” You pouted, before lifting your finger and going to the nearest bistro table, and took a napkin from the fancy display. You then snatched a pen from a man walking by, ignoring his protests, and you wrote your number on the fragile material. yOu handed back the pen without looking at the angry man and went back to Tim, who had an amused expression on his face. “Here”
“Thanks” The smile returned on his lips as he glanced down quickly at the digits.
“Call me sometimes, yeah?” You winked, walking backwards. He lifted the napkin and nodded, then you were gone.
As you jogged down the secondary staircase, you forced yourself to put Tim at the back of your mind. There was no rule in your contracts to regulate your private life, but it was obvious you couldn’t let anything get in the way of your mission. You got down to the pits and sneaked in a small storage room, where a change of clothes was waiting for you. You pulled off the stupid hat and took off your clothes to change into a tight black suit and a holster belt for your gun and the roll of duct tape at the bottom of the bag. You finally pulled the black helmet as the finishing touch and got out undetected.
You returned into the pits like nothing, blending with the flow of people gradually becoming more important as you got closer to the garage #29. You really looked no different from the staff with darker suits, only missing the sponsors patches. Behind your visor you spotted the driver you were looking for, seemingly arguing with a blonde girl and walking away, throwing his hands in the air.
The timing couldn’t be more perfect.
You followed him as he watched intensely his cellphone, going somewhere quiet. He paused in a corner away from prying eyes, typing quickly. You stepped in front of him and waited a few seconds until his eyes lifted up to you.
“What the fuck do you want?” He grumbled. “Go back to work”
“If you’re asking so nicely” You said, pointing your gun at him as you dropped your bag on the floor. 
“Yo what the f--” 
You used his momentarily surprise to side step him and sneak an arm around his neck. He trashed in your hold until he went limp. You let him drop on the floor and began undoing his suit, pulling it off with a few difficulties when the limbs were concerned. You then slipped it on and bound the driver at the wrists and ankles, then taped his mouth and threw the roll on him. You returned to the pits, ignoring people who tried to talk to you, including the blonde from earlier. You went straight for the car and slipped in, only waiting for the crew chief to place one last word before you headed for the start line, getting into your designed position. As the other cars joined the start grid as well, you warmed up your tires like the rest of the pilots around you. You observed the commands of the car, making sure you hadn’t forgotten a function since your quick training in nascar driving. 
Soon enough, the lights turned green. You didn’t hurry like some cars, you opted to lay low in the main platoon. You would avoid getting attention to yourself that way. You especially chose an average team to hijack, so nobody would expect you to be leading or trailing behind. You made sure to spot your target a few cars in front of you; a bright orange car with the number 12 painted in blue. 
The pilot was your target. He was one of Gotham’s influential men, drawing attention with his sudden philanthropy gestures and involvement in city politics. He liked to flash his money out, and that apparently went through buying an entire nascar team and racing as the pilot as well. But his fervent support for Batman and his bunch of vigilantes got him a big red dot on the forehead by other influential characters of Gotham. Falcone did not appreciate the support for his enemy. 
You counted your laps, getting closer to the 34th. You launched your offensive, accelerating and taking your curves more towards the center. You swerved around cars to come head to head on the right of 12, taking your gun from the inside of your suit. You rested the nozzle on your elbow to stabilize your aim, then waited out the curve. As soon as the track hit the straight line, you shot three bullets in his neck and retreated your gun again. You saw the body fall back into the seat, the car losing control and crashing in another one. 12 went up in the air, flipping several times before the yellow flag went out. 
The medical staff hurried to the accident, and you knew they’d soon see the bullets and stop the race. So when the pits came into view, you got in. Staff were flagging you off, yelling at you in confusion as to your presence there. You only accelerated, knocking equipment as you went. You pulled the hand brakes to realize a 90° turn into the garages. People jumped out of your way as you escaped by the pits and to the outside of the stadium. You drove into several metal fences until you ended up in the fan zone. Only the security was there, but they were on foot or on segways, so they didn’t stand a chance. You tore through the Cup banner and drove straight for the highway. 
Drivers honked as you speeded by them, heading for the city before the police helicopters could spot you. The buildings would provide you with a much needed cover, even if the risk of you crashing would be greater with significantly more obstacles. As you entered the first shadow of the skyscrapers, you took an exit ramp to Chinatown. You accelerated in the traffic, rolling on the sidewalks and knocking down trash cans as you went. You crossed through five just-turned red lights, causing one small pile up at the junction of one of the big avenues. You knew the helicopter was hovering somewhere close, and the police began tailing you once you entered Gotham Lower. However, the motorcycles were no match for a Nascar grade car. 
However, you knew the game was on when you heard something being thrown onto your door and denting in the metal. A pointy end got through, and immediately, you knew what it was: Batman had entered the game. You were surprised he’d show up in the daylight. 
You were even more surprised when you noticed it wasn’t in fact Batman, but his pupil in red. He was on an unmarked motorcycle with a black helmet, trailing slightly behind so you couldn’t shoot him with a good aim through the window. So instead, you took a series of sharp turns in hope you could shake him off, as you didn’t have a rocket launcher to deter him from following you this time. You ended up in the Diamond District, where you decided to change your strategy. If he wanted a piece of you, he could have it. 
You made a last turn into a dead end alley, then made a U-turn and waited at the end. Soon enough, you saw Red Robin pull up at the other end. He put a foot down as he came to a halt, no doubt staring at you through the tinted visor of his helmet. You revved the engine a few times, your foot pressing on the gas pedal in controlled movements. He leaned on the bike, ready to accept your challenge.
Before he could prepare too much, you shifted gear and took off, clouding the brick wall behind you with smoke from your tires. He pushed the bike straight and accelerated too as you drove toward each other full speed. You were about to start a manoeuvre, but had to abort as three shurikens shattered your windshield. You stopped at the other end and faced him again, before punching your what remained of your windshield. Immediately after, you speeded toward him again. This time however, you didn’t leave him time to take out weapons. You deployed the emergency brake and gave a tug left to your steering wheel, making the rear of your car tracing an arch. Red Robin deducted your intention last second, and had to swerve into the pile of trash bags so as to not get violently reaped. You took the opportunity to drive off back into the streets, where the police presence had quadrupled and the traffic cleared. 
But you had a plan for that too.
As if on cue, two identical cars to yours pulled out from garages on both your sides. You changed formation, placing yourselves one after the other and changing the order every two intersections. When you felt like you had confused the police enough, you drove into an underground garage, forcing the police to slow down. You however, cruised over the speed bump without a hassle. After a tight, 180 degrees turn, you slipped into a side unit, where a member of your team closed the door right after. You stopped the car and heard the police fly by, holding your breath. Then, silence fell. You pulled off your helmet, then slipped out of the car through the window.
You took the phone your team member handed you, pressing the first and only number saved.
“It’s me” You spoke up when the other end picked up. “It’s done”
“Great work, (Y/N). Meet back at the corner of sixth and 24th” 
“Copy that” You replied and hung up, letting the phone fall on the ground and crushing it with your boot. You caught the bag with your change of clothes, slipping out of the suit and putting on the clothes to blend in outside. 
You sneaked out of the garage, regaining the busy streets of Gotham with a smirk.
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thatbloodymuggle · 4 years
Text
the one with the red dress
Tongue Tied (jj maybank) 13/?
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Rosie knew Kie would be pissed at her. Well, more so her parents. She'd managed to get a black eye, a large cut on her forehead, and three potentially broken knuckles in the two days before Midsummers. Not to mention the stitches on her right hand that she'd need to remove at some point soon. Long story short, she looked like a train wreck.
In Rosie's defense, she promised her friend that she'd go; not that she'd look presentable.
She cringed as she removed the ice she'd been holding on her knuckles. They were still very swollen and had turned a deep shade of black and blue. The ice numbed the pain, but Rosie knew the throbbing would be back soon. She grumbled to herself as she reached for the bottle of ibuprofen in her bathroom cabinet, swallong two pills dry.
Rosie stared at her injured hand for a moment in contemplation. She just had to injure the hand with stitches. Rosie figured she could at least wrap her fingers to stabilize it for the night. She reached for the medical tape in one of the drawers along with a cloth dressing.
Using her left hand alone to tape the right proved to be much more difficult than Rosie thought. She kept getting the tape stuck on her hand and had to use her teeth to tear it. Not only was it difficult to use her left hand, but each time she shifted her knuckles and wrapped the tape around them a sharp pain shot up her arm. She hissed as the throbbing returned, but the teenager persisted. Soon enough, she'd done a half-decent tape job that at least kept her from bending her fingers. She then wrapped a layer of cloth dressing around the three injured fingers to make it look cleaner.
Satisfied with her work, Rosie haphazardly shoved the tools back inside a drawer and exited the bathroom. She set off to her bedroom to gather the items she'd need for the party she did not want to attend. Kie would be arriving any minute now to pick her up.
Rosie slid open her closet door and rifled through her clothes until she spotted her mother's red dress. She ran her fingers over the chiffon material of the skirt. Rosie had been debating all day whether or not she wanted to wear the dress her mom had once worn to Midsummer's. It could be nice to have a piece of her mom with her at her first (and definitely last) Midsummer's, but on the other hand, Rosie was never the sentimental type. She pulled the hanger off the rack and moved towards her mirror. She held the dress over her body to envision herself wearing it.
A loud honk sounded from outside the house, startling Rosie out of her thoughts. Kiara must have arrived. She shot herself one last glance in the mirror. In the spur of the moment, Rosie folded the dress across her arms, grabbed her makeup bag, and hurried out of the house. Sure enough, Kie's car was parked in her driveway. Rosie had barely sat down in the vehicle when she was bombarded.
"I know you don't wanna go to this, but did you have to make yourself look like you brawled with an MMA fighter?"
Rosie rolled her eyes and set the folded dress and makeup back onto her lap. She reached with her left arm to close the door since her right hand was virtually useless.
"And what the fuck did you to do your hand?" Kie shrieked upon noticing Rosie's wrapped hand.
Rosie cringed at her volume, "Shit, Kie, chill out!"
Kie's yelling stopped but she stared expectantly at her friend, waiting for an explanation.
"You saw me yesterday. Unfortunately black eyes don't go away in a day," Rosie sighed.
"Well excuse me for not noticing your appearance--I was too busy watching JJ get arrested," Kie cried again, and Rosie shrunk in her seat.
Kiara must have noticed how loud she was speaking as she awkwardly cleared her throat and spoke again at a normal tone, "What about your hand?"
Rosie glanced down at her injured hand. The throbbing had turned into a dull ache, but Rosie assumed that was because she'd gotten used to the pain; not because it was getting better.
"Broke my knuckles. Probably."
Kie's eyes widened, "Broke your--Why are you so unfazed? Rosie, you need to go to the doctor or the ER or--"
Rosie huffed, fed up with her friend's nagging
"Kie!"
She stopped her rambling and stared at the shorter girl.
"They're just a little bruised. I'm fine, really!"
Kiara shot her friend an uneasy glance, but started the car anyways.
"I hope you know that if we didn't have a party to get ready for I'd be driving you to Urgent Care right now," the taller girl grumbled as she reversed out of the driveway and set off down the road.
"I believe you," Rosie laughed. She ran her left hand over the soft fabric of the dress in her lap. Kie glanced down and noticed the red material she'd missed before.
"Oh, you have a dress!"
"It was my mom's," Rosie sighed, "I don't even know if I'm gonna wear it though. Brought it just in case."
Kiara nodded, "Well if it doesn't work my mom has one you can look at."
It didn't take long for the pair to arrive at the Carrera household. It was a nice, large house on Figure Eight, but not nearly as large as some of the other mansions in the area. The two girls hurried inside despite not looking forward to makeup, heels, and dresses.
Rosie caught Mrs. Carrera's eye as she entered. The woman jumped in shock at the state of Rosie's face. Before she could say anything, Kie cut in.
"Don't worry, mom. I'll fix her."
The two girls giggled as they made their way upstairs to Kiara's room. Rosie eyed the dress hung up on her door.
"Well that's a pretty color," Rosie admired the dress.
"Would prefer a large sweatshirt and some sweatpants any day, but I guess it'll do for one night," Kie grumbled.
Neither girl was keen on attending the Kook get-together, but Kie was being forced to and Rosie would feel bad if she didn't help her friend out.
Kie started by setting to work on Rosie's beat up face. She dabbed layers on layers of foundation and concealer until the bruise was hidden. Rosie's eyebrows shot up as she glanced at her reflection in the mirror. No one would ever know she'd gotten into a fight.
"Wow, Kie. You know, you should reconsider your career path. Cosmetology might be right for you," Rosie teased. Kie brushed her off, and the two girls set to work applying minimal makeup and changing into their dresses.
Rosie frowned as she stood in her underwear staring at the red dress she'd hung beside Kiara's purple one. Should she?
She shouldn't.
Well, maybe she should.
Fuck it.
Rosie removed the dress from the hanger and slipped inside it. The fabric fit her skin with ease, and Rosie zipped up the back.
"I don't know, Kie, it's a little tight, don't you think?"
Rosie looked up from the dress at Kiara, who stood with her jaw dropped.
"Well you clean up nice!"
"I don't know, it feels weird," Rosie trailed off as she turned and saw her reflection in the floor-length mirror.
The dress fit her perfectly. The top half hugged her body and showed off the right amount of skin. Layered chiffon fabric flowed from the waist down with a slit on one leg, resembling the petals of a flower when she twirled. Rosie looked like a different girl; she looked like the an alternate version of herself. She looked like the girl that would have existed in her place had her dad not died.
But every girl loves playing dress-up every now and then, and Rosie was not an exception.
Rosie covered her awe with a snarky remark, "I look like I've gone full Kook."
Kie laughed, "We do look like bourgeousie pigs."
Rosie sat on her friend's bed as Kie picked up the two flowers crowns sitting on her desk. Both girls giggled as they made a show of placing them on each other's heads.
"Girls, are you almost ready? We need to get going soon!" Kiara's mother's voice yelled from downstairs.
"Be right down!"
-
While Rosie had fun getting ready with Kie, she remembered why she didn't want to come as they entered the party. It was full of Kooks and Rosie instantly felt out of place. She subconciously shifted closer to Kie as they walked through the house and outside to the lawn.
"This is disgusting," Rosie grumbled.
"Horrendous, really," Kie replied.
The two girls giggled and walked out onto the lawn together, avoiding interaction with anyone else. Kiara nudged her friend with a smile and nodded her head to the left. Rosie followed her gaze, and her eyes landed on Pope who was working behind a grill. Rosie and Kie set off towards their fellow Pogue, relieved to see a familiar face.
"Excuse me, sir, do we have to shuck these ourselves? 'Cause it might mess up my costume," Kie put on an exaggerated British accent.
Rosie giggled as Pope groaned and turned around, ready to deal with some snotty Kooks. A grin took over his face upon seeing Rosie and Kiara.
"We wouldn't want that, now would we?" Pope chuckled.
Rosie felt a little less out of place standing with two of her friends on the outskirts of the party. She could tell Pope was relieved to have his friends there too.
"That accent was bad," Rosie mumbled, earning an elbow in her ribs.
They stood next to each other and turned to face the party, observing the entitled, pompous crowd before them.
"You ever seen this many Kooks in one place?" Kie grumbled what they were all thinking.
"Yeah. Last year," Pope scoffed.
"We're in the lion's den," Rosie added, eyeing the crowd before her.
She scanned the crowd and her eyes landed on Rafe and Topper. She narrowed her eyes at the two boys just as Rafe turned in her direction. He met Rosie's glare with a menacing smirk. His face made her anger from the day before return, but she didn't want to be the first to break eye contact. Rafe tapped his eye and pointed at Rosie. 'How's your eye?' he mouthed. He cocked his head in mock concern. She narrowed her eyes further.
Pope tore Rosie away from her staring contest with the Kook.
"Either of you heard from JJ?"
Rosie reluctantly shifted her gaze from Rafe back to her friends.
"No," Kie sighed.
"What about you Rosie? Didn't you go down to the station?"
Rosie frowned and her stomach churned again at the reminder of what she'd witnessed yesterday. "Didn't see him."
Pope's eyes widened, "You went to the station? Why!?"
Rosie rolled her eyes, "Not important."
There was a moment of silence before Kie spoke again, "He'll be alright. He's got the survival instincts of a cockroach."
"It's all my fault," Pope hung his head.
The anger bubbled inside Rosie, but she didn't speak for fear of not being able to stop.
"You didn't do this, Pope. Topper almost killed you, remember?" Kiara spoke firmly. Pope merely  shrugged.
Their conversation was cut short as scattered applause sounded throughout the crowd. Everyone had turned to face the main door where the Ward family, minus Rafe, entered. Rosie was regretting coming more and more by the minute.
"Here come Lord Capital and the Exploiters," Kie scoffed.
"She's definitely gonna poke somebody's eye out with that," Pope muttered in reference to the flamboyant crown atop Rose Cameron's blonde head.
The three teenagers stood by the grill for a little while longer until Kie was summoned by her dad to speak to some family friends. Mr. Heyward called Pope over to get back to work, which left Rosie all alone. She shifted from foot to foot, unsure of where to go, what to do, or who to talk to.
"Come with me, she said. We'll stick together, she said," Rosie grumbled under her breath, mimicking Kiara's words just a few days earlier.
The last bit of light was leaving the sky, but the darkness made Rosie feel a little more at ease. At least she could hide from the crowd more easily. She weaved her way through the dancing bodies towards the nearest table of hor d'ouevres. Rosie's mouth watered at the large platter of assorted cheeses, fruits, and crackers. She didn't hesitate to fix herself a plate, piling it high with food. Rosie ignored the judging looks shot towards her for taking so much. She nearly moaned at the combination of expensive brie and grapes. Rosie had been living off of pre-sliced cheddar cheese for the past month, so this was certainly a step up.
She wandered over to the edge of the crowd to enjoy her plate of food. A waiter passed by Rosie and she snatched a flute of champagne from the tray he carried. The bubbly beverage tasted like heaven on her tongue. Rosie hated Kooks, but she couldn't deny that they had good taste.
Once Rosie finished her plate, she dumped it and began to look for Kiara. She walked around for a while, trying to get a good view of the crowd but to no avail. Even in heels she was too short to see above most people in front of her. Rosie huffed and decided to go to the bathroom first to wash her hands. With more bodies dancing than before, the lawn was becoming quite claustrophobic. She pushed her way up to the porch and into the mansion. The rooms inside were just as crowded.
Rosie weaved her way through the hallways for what felt like hours until she finally found a private restroom. She didn't hesitate to rush inside and lock the door behind her. She let out a sigh of relief and leaned against the wall. Rosie wasn't a stranger to parties; she'd been to many at the Boneyard and fair number of house parties. But this was different than any other she'd been to. This one was so suffocating.
She braced herself against the sink and looked up at her reflection in the mirror. But Rosie didn't see herself. She saw a girl living a lavish life with loving parents wearing her mother's red dress. Not an orphan who was bribed to come. Rosie frowned and sure enough, the girl in the mirror frowned back.
Rosie twisted the 'cold' handle of the sink and ran her uninjured hand underneath the stream of water. She splashed it over her face several times, letting the coolness sooth her. Rosie shut off the tap and looked back up into the mirror. This time, she stared back at herself.
The foundation concealing her eye had come off, exposing her black eye. Her mascara was smeared underneath her eyes, and her knuckles underneath the bandage were throbbing again. Rosie wiped her eyes with her thumb to remove the smudged makeup. She took the flower crown off her head and dumped it in the trash. Rosie looked like a mess, but at least she felt more like herself.
Finally, Rosie was satisfied with her appearance. With one last glance in the mirror, she exited the lavish bathroom. She set off back towards the lawn, but was halted in her tracks. Her head darted to her right to catch sight of Rafe and his goons running down another hallway. Rosie furrowed her brows, and didn't hesitate to hike up her dress and run after them. She wasn't sure where they were going, but knowing them, it couldn't be good.
Rosie followed them down another hallway where they took a sharp left turn. She stayed a good distance behind so they wouldn't spot her. They continued down another hall before turning right. Rosie crept along the hallway slowly, trying to gage what they were up to before she showed herself.
"Your face looks really bad. Starting to look like your dad a lot more," Rafe's demonic voice carried through the hall.
Rosie's eyes widened as she realized who they were ganging up on. She didn't think before rounding the corner to face them. The hot temper she'd been growing accustomed to returned at the scene before her.
Kelce had JJ in a headlock so he was helpless against Rafe, who was taunting him. His other three goons lingered behind doing what? Rosie wasn't sure.
"You know, 5 on 1 isn't a very fair fight. But then again, you're useless without your goons, aren't you Rafe?" Rosie hissed from the doorway.
Rafe broke out into a grin and opened his arms in a welcoming manner, "Ah, there she is! Just in time for the show!"
"Let him go," Rosie spit.
"Rosie, get out," JJ growled, struggling underneath Kelce's hold.
"Aw, would you look at that! They're protecting each other, how sweet!" Rafe cooed.
The anger burned inside Rosie. The flames coursed through her veins, leaving her body hot with rage.
She stomped towards the blond asshole, "Let him go, dickhead, or I swear I'll--"
"You'll what? Show me up like you did last time?" he stepped forward and ran the back of his hand along the side of her bruised eye, "Nasty bruise you've got there. Wouldn't want another, would you?"
Three things happened all at once.
First, JJ let out a menacing scream at Rafe, "Get your filthy hands off her!"
Second, Rosie slapped Rafe with her good hand, making his head swing to one side.
Third, a man in a suit entered the locker room, preventing the fight from escalating.
"Gentlemen!"
Kelce shoved JJ out of his grip and stood by his friends, feigning innocence. Rafe lifted his head back up with a red handprint on his left cheek. JJ gripped Rosie's wrist and yanked her towards him. She stumbled over her wedges, but stood next to him.
"Is there a problem here?" the man in the suit asked.
"Pardon me, officer. No, there's not an issue. I just--"
Rosie watched as something changed in JJ's eyes.
"Actually, yes. There is an issue," he continued, "We got a criminal trespass in progress here. Beep! Call it in right?"
Rosie stared at him incredulously and elbowed him in the side, but JJ ignored her.
"Blatant disrespect for private property, I'm in violation of all kinds of shit, sir."
Rosie elbowed him in the side, but immediately regretted it as he turned his gaze upon her.
"Oh! And her too. Slapping someone does fall under the category of public disturbances, right?"
Rosie's eyes widened, "JJ, what are you--"
"But these young gentlemen," JJ toyed with Kelce's bowtie, "Caught us, sir, and they're about to take us away. And that's what you should do! Escort us out of here. "
Rosie tried to protest, but her attempts were made in vain as the man in the suit grabbed her by the upper arm and then JJ. She tried to struggle out of his grip, but he held her tighter. The man escorted the pair out of the locker room, but not before JJ had his last word.
"Fix that tie, son! You're lookin spiffy too," he pointed at one of the goons, "You Powerpuff Girls have fun!"
"You know Rosie, you look pretty hot for a Pogue!" Rafe bit back with venom laced in his voice.
Rosie's eyes flared, but her anger didn't match JJ's. He broke out of the man's grip to lunge at Rafe. Rosie could only watch as he ran forward. Kelce and the suited man ran forward to hold him back.
"JJ, let it go," Rosie sighed just loud enough for him to hear.
He reluctantly allowed the man to lead them back out of the locker room.
"Safe travels back to the cut!" Rafe called. Rosie showed him the freshly painted nail of her middle finger.
Rosie and JJ stumbled alongside the man, who jerked them out of the house and onto the porch.
"I can walk myself! I got legs, can you see that brother?" JJ complained, but the man only jerked them more harshly than before.
"JJ, shut up," Rosie hissed, but he ignored her.
"I really appreciate what you did back there, but let me just walk out by myself!" JJ continued his complaints.
The man's nails now dug into Rosie's arm and she tried to flinch away, but he squeezed her tighter. The lack of blood flow down her arm was starting to affect her bandaged hand, which now ached horribly. Rosie sighed, but didn't fight it this time. It's not like she wanted to be there anyways. And if they were getting kicked out, might as well leave with style.
"Mr. Dunleavy, I see you got your drink. Good, that's really nice of you. I'm actually gonna down that," JJ snatched the glass of whiskey and took a large gulp before carelessly setting it down.
The girl beside him couldn't mask the amused smile tugging at her lips. She knew what he was doing.
"Whoo!" he hooted, gathering more and more attention, "It's okay, everybody! Do not panic, leave it to the men and women in uniform!"
The man released their arms and Rosie sighed in relief. He pushed them towards the exit by their shoulders instead.
"Rose!" JJ pointed and winked at Ward Cameron's wife, "You look like Lady Liberty!"
Rosie released the laugh she'd been holding in. It wasn't like she cared about any of these people, anyways.
"Let go of them!"
The rest of the crowd silenced. Rosie's head shot towards the porch where Kiara stood.
"You can't just boot them! I invited them here, I'm a member of this club," she continued.
Rosie could see the embarassment on her parents' faces. The Carrera's allowed Kie to hang out with the Pogues so long as she didn't draw attention to herself. Because that was the number one rule of being a Kook: don't embarrass your family. But Kie didn't budge. She stood her ground.
JJ turned sharply and shoved the man away. He gripped Rosie's wrist for the second time that night, "Hey, mandatory power hour at Rixon's, Kie," he called out to the girl in the purple dress. "Pope, you as well," he pointed to the boy they were now passing.
JJ dragged Rosie away from the lawn.
"Kie, come on!" she called out, now fully onboard with JJ.
"Workers of the world unite!" the blond added.
JJ pulled Rosie along towards John B, whom she hadn't seen in two days. She stumbled over her wedges, but he held her steady.
"Colonel!"
"Captain, mission accomplished, sir!"
JJ released Rosie and the two boys saluted each other. She lunged towards John B and gave him a hug. He laughed, and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, dragging her along as their other two friends joined. The crowd watched in utter horror as the Pogue crew ran off from the party in a fit of laughter, but Rosie didn't care.
She was wrong earlier. Most girls love playing dress-up. Rosie just wasn't one of them.
Rosie forgot about her current dilemma with JJ as she stumbled away from the party with her friends. It was a blissful moment full of laughter and no worries. They clung onto each other and just ran to wherever their path led them.
Eventually, they stumbled upon a clearing near the water where John B had docked his boat. JJ and John B set to work starting a fire in the pit surrounded by old logs. Rosie plopped down on one of the sturdier looking logs and instantly sighed in relief. She hadn't realized how painful her heels were. It didn't take long to the get fire going, and soon enough, they were all gathered around it in a circle.
"My dad's already gonna kill me, so what's this mandatory meeting about?" Pope voiced Rosie's thoughts.
"You ready for this?" John B looked around the circle, building up the anticipation.
"The gold never went down with the Royal Merchant."
Pope rolled his eyes across from Rosie, "Here we go again with this--"
"Hear him out, all right?" JJ cut in.
All eyes shifted back to John B as he spoke, "It's been here the whole time. It's on the island."
Rosie's jaw dropped, "Are you serious?"
"Oh my god!" Kie's eyes widened.
"I'd like to voice my skepticism," Pope chimed in.
"I'm sure you would. But can I please present you my evidence, sir?" John B stood up from his seat and rounded the fire.
Pope waved his hand, "Proceed."
Rosie watched in awe as John B explained his discover. She could only watch speechless as he went on about how Denmark Tanny had buried the gold on the Tannyhill plantation before his death. All they needed was an original survey map of the property.
JJ hopped up from his seat and hugged his friend, lifting him off the ground, "I'm so proud of you right now," he grabbed his face.
"So what's the plan?" Pope brought them back to the task.
"Good question," John B nudged JJ off, "Sarah Cameron's coming tonight and she's gonna bring an original survey map--"
"Hold on," Kie cut in. Rosie sighed, already knowing what was about to happen, "Sarah? Why Sarah?"
John B proceeded to explain that Sarah had gotten him into the archives of UNC the day before, but Rosie felt herself zoning out of the oncoming fight. Her eyes shifted to the side where she caught JJ's gaze.
He quickly looked away, but she held her stare. In the chaos of the past hour or so, Rosie had pushed aside the events of the day before; and the events of the day before that. Guilt crept up on her over the fact she'd almost forgotten. Because what she saw in her car yesterday was something she could never forget. And neither was what happened at the movie.
Rosie continued to stare at JJ. She knew he felt her gaze, but his eyes remained trained on John B and Kiara. She frowned. They needed to have a conversation about, well, about everything. As much as Rosie wanted to ignore it and move on, she knew that it would only end up with her injuring another body part in an attempt to push him out of her mind.
Rosie must have stared at the blond boy for a while because by the time she was torn out of her daze, John B and Kie's fight was over and they were getting up to leave. She pushed herself off the log, but immediately flinched back at the pressure on her right hand. Rosie grunted in frustration and rose up from her spot.
"I'll put the fire out," JJ called as they all prepared to leave the site.
"Alright," John B called. He, Pope, and Kie walked away from the site, "Rosie, you comin'?"
"Yea," she sighed, "I need to piss, first. Gimme a minute."
Rosie waited until the three were out of sight to turn to JJ. He had busied himself with the fire, clearly avoiding her. She paused for a moment, unsure of what to say or do.
"JJ?" she cringed at how feeble her voice sounded.
He grunted, but continued tossing dirt over the fire. Rosie frowned.
"I saw you yesterday. Outside the police station," her throat went dry as she spoke.
He paused his movements before continuing again.
"I know."
He voice caught in her throat. He must have spotted her car. Rosie wasn't sure what to do. So she let instinct take over.
Rosie stepped in front of JJ, blocking him from the fire. He opened his mouth to protest but shut it as Rosie wrapped her arms around him. Her arms snaked up around his neck, and she let her head rest on his shoulder. His body tensed underneath her. She responded by pulling him in tighter. He sighed, but gave in and wrapped his arms around her waist. Her heart skipped a beat when he did so.
They stood in silence for a moment. Nothing needed to be said, in Rosie's opinion. She knew JJ. He didn't want to talk about it.
"What'd you do to your hand?" he grumbled into her neck.
"Got in a fight with my car window. I lost," she mumbled back against his shoulder.
"Dumbass."
She smiled softly against the fabric of his shirt and wondered if he could feel it. Standing wrapped up in his arms like this was euphoric. Rosie hadn't realized how strongly she longed for something as simple as human touch. But not just any human touch. JJ's.
Just as she closed her eyes in bliss, she was ripped from it. Something must have snapped inside JJ as his body tensed again and he shoved Rosie off of him. She took several steps back and shyly wrapped her arms around herself, feeling dejected. Rosie had never been a shy girl. Why was she acting like one all of a sudden?
"They're waiting for us," JJ's voice was smooth, as if nothing had just happened. He walked ahead.
He frustrated her to no end. Every time she actually wanted to open up and felt like confronting her inner turmoil, he pushed her away. But Rosie couldn't blame him, beacuse she did the same. It was an ongoing, vicious cycle. One opened up, and the other closed off. And Rosie was getting quite fed up with it.
Rosie resisted the urge to pull him back and followed a few paces behind. The unidentifiable feeling inside of her was beginning to boil over, and if Rosie didn't do something about it soon, she was bound to explode.
-
taglist:
@tangledinsparkles @lovelymaybankk @my--heroine​ @thelonelyumbrella @floretsoleil @flick24 @books-netflix-and-pizza@dad-ee-drea @dolanfivsosxox​ @anahgiedd @love-bean​ @maleriefay @mrs-maybank @shawnssongs​ @downbytheouterbanks​ @lostwnoah @2410slb​ @daygiowvibe​ @thesailbells​ @outrbank​ @kaelyn-lobrutto24​ @wicked-laugh​ @dr3am07​ @family-buisnes​ @mortilangdon​ @no-pouge-on-pouge-macking​
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more angst ik oops next chapter will be spicy tho 
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lieblingspulli · 3 years
Text
The Final Lily
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w.c: 3.8k
Jungkook x OC
Summary: Jungkook is a musical, artistic and Nighttime sky deity that falls in love with a mortal author. To keep her safe, he stays away and gives her gifts in order to make her dreams come true, even far after she has become a legendary playwright and has passed.
Masterlist!
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The theater began to feel stuffy as people piled into their seats. All Jungkook could hear was the elite of Paris chatting away and the usual theater conversations. Jungkook wiped away some sweat from the back of his neck. It was hot in here.
Being packed in a theater like rats with the sweatiest people Jungkook had ever seen was not on his itinerary for today. He had seen marvels that no one had ever seen before and yet he was here sitting next to a Vicomte and his wife who sweat like pigs. Jungkook was disgusted. He tried to hide it. Jungkook wasn’t here to converse with sweaty nobility, he was here for a play. Or more so a retelling of a poem. A really long one.
The French nobility around him seemed to ignore him entirely, which meant his disguise was working. He had begged for Jin to cloak him so that he was not noticeable tonight. Tonight was deeply important to him and Jin knew why.
Jungkook recalled his conversation with Jin earlier. He was unsure about how Jin would react.
“Are you sure you want to go down there in your state Jungkook? They can see you and immediately recognize you from a mile away.” Jin looked at him, uneasy about this whole thing.
“Jin, you know I have to. Today is too special for me not to.” Jungkook pleaded and gave Jin his doe eyes. “I haven’t missed this day for almost four thousand years. I can’t do this without your help.”
“Yoongi would get mad at me for letting you sneak down there, looking so obvious. You can’t just pop up in the middle of Paris and expect not to be seen in a dark theater when you’re literally glowing Jungkook.”
Jungkook felt the frustration building in his throat and huffed.
“I won’t get caught, I promise. Really!” He waited a second and stared at Jin pleadingly who was looking a great deal uncomfortable with the prospect of letting the younger god just waltz into a human packed space when he was at the peak of his power. Jungkook knew this. He knew the dangers of going out like this, and he knew Jin knew it too. He grimaced and pleaded with his eyes to Jin as he could see the wheels turning in Jin’s head.
“I swear to myself, if you get caught, you never asked me, okay? This is so dangerous, you don’t even know how much trouble I would get in if Yoongi found out.” Jin nervously bit his fingers and gestured to nowhere in particular. Jungkook just grinned and ran out.
As the theater filled and people in unnecessary frilly dresses took their seats, Jungkook gripped the theater ticket in his hands. He felt empty, even with this ticket in his hand. He should have been happy, but he wasn’t. Jungkook stared at the title of the play for a good ten minutes before the lights started to dim and it took his vision of the ticket away from him. Jungkook heard the presenter say something in French, but he didn’t bother to learn the language so it just sounded like curly language to him. He wished he did learn it though, he wanted to hear all the praises that his Asteria would have cried over. He wanted to commit every single one to memory so that maybe one day, he could tell her how many people loved her work. Jungkook frowned and tried to keep his tears in. His heart ached but it was too early for that. Taking a deep breath, he looked up and focused on the curtain opening as two people (clearly actors) were positioned by a fake pond and started their scene.
The next two hours were like a blur for Jungkook. He knew every single word of this poem, every single breath, every single tear and every single kiss. He knew the words by heart and he knew what each cue meant. He could even give Namjoon a run for his money if he told him that he knew the exact pace at which each sentence should be spoken. Jungkook may have been a patron of writing and inspired many great writers, but none moved him as much as this piece did. This piece felt like it was for his eyes only, and Jungkook was angry that it outlived the person who should be right next to him, watching the actors say their lines with joy. The stillness of the theater felt strange, it was hot and stuffy, but each person focused intently on the actors who were fake crying and fake admiring the water. He studied everyone’s face when the main lead met her love and asked about her gifts. He smiled when everyone else did at the scene where the lead, whose name was Isidora, finally got to kiss the man who led her to happiness. Jungkook loved every part of this play.
Isadora’s eyes glinted in the theater spotlight and suddenly she was gleaming with joy. Jungkook’s unintentional aura had made her gleam like moonlight and the play was phenomenal because of it. Every careful line was read by her actor with vigor and drama, eager to show the audience the power of love. Agapinor, Isadora’s lover read his lines with fervor. Jungkook studied their faces for a while before their scene was over, not listening to their words anymore.
He knew why the lead’s name was Isidora, and it made him smile with joy but also cry tears of grief. Isidora was Greek for ‘the gift of the moon’. This poem was supposed to be a gift of the moon but really, it was a gift for him. It was a gift for the moon. Jungkook clutched his ticket tighter as he watched Isidora be ripped away from her love and never see him again. The ending always made him emotional. He could hear the sweaty nobles gasp and he almost regretted coming here. It was always like this and had been for centuries. Jungkook quickly left before the lights even turned on in the theater, away from those smelly people and snobby politicians. Away from his gift and away from the words of his love.
Jungkook briskly walked out, careful not to bump into anybody and attract attention to himself. It was enough that the full moon made him practically glow, but his presence at the theater had calmed everybody and made them emotional. He needed to leave before he was spotted. His heart burned and his eyes stung, but he made it to the edge of the brick ledge, overlooking the canal. In the water’s reflection he could see the point of the Eiffel tower, a metal marvel that amazed him every time he saw it. Jungkook thought Yoongi would have liked to see it, but Yoongi wasn’t the type to roam the streets of Paris, or any other city for that matter. He was firmly against human contact and had stayed away for centuries from them. The last time Yoongi graced Earth was when he had to come down and fix Taehyung’s last great flood near Sparta. That was also the last time he had seen Yoongi so mad. Jungkook shuddered at the thought.
He kept staring at the Eiffel tower and eventually he could see little specks in the sky, reflected from the water. It always happened like this. The play and then the meteors. Jungkook wanted to catch every meteor and cradle them in his arms. He wanted to see her again. A silver droplet landed in the water and made the canal water clear up a little. Jungkook continued to observe the blurry specks until he looked up and saw them clearly, despite his tears. The moon seemed to shine a little brighter and the meteors sparkled beautifully in the clear night sky. Jungkook decided it was time to go and see them for real now. He walked away from the ledge and pulled his trench coat a little tighter in.
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Jungkook materialized behind a big oak tree that had been there for millenia. It was a very old oak tree, it should have withered long ago. But it was also a gift for him. Namjoon had perfectly preserved this grove in its entirety. The flowers here bloomed at the same time every year for hundreds of years. The grass never withered and the trees stayed green. The Mediterranean climate helped preserve the flora and fauna and Namjoon had even kept the pond the same for many years. It held the same beauty as it did when Jungkook was first led here. Even in the middle of the 17th century, this sacred place had remained untouched. Jungkook felt the cool breeze of the night and saw the same meteors he had seen earlier streak the sky with glittering white specks. Asteria would have loved to see the natural beauty of her special spot.
Tears welled up in Jungkook’s eyes as he carefully sat on the grass next to her pond. Little silver fish swam away from him as he touched a finger to the surface of the cool water. He tucked his sandaled feet under his thighs and crossed his legs over each other, careful not to pull the fabric of his chiton and so that the object he held in his hands could rest in his lap.
“I’m back for you my love.” Jungkook said to nobody. “Can I read to you? Just as you would to me, do you remember?” He managed to choke out, suddenly short of breath. The trees rustled with the slight breeze, but no answer. Jungkook was here alone, he knew that. But he still felt like he wasn’t. So he talked freely here, the only time he could talk to her with his real voice. Jungkook looked at the dartfish and nodded, ready to read.
He carefully opened the leather cover of his book and saw the charcoal markings inside the rough cover. This was the original book he had made her sign. In the bright moonlight, the leather and worn paper seemed gray rather than a faded brown. This relic was older than many buildings here, even older than the pantheon on the hill of Athens. It was made of real goat leather and rough scroll paper, made by artisans in her time. Jungkook ran his fingers along the paper and felt all the rough bumps. He didn’t touch the writing, afraid the charcoal would smudge as if it were fresh. He flipped the page and read the first lines of the book in his mind. He started to read out loud after he cleared his throat and wasn’t afraid anymore. His Asteria’s writing always made him less afraid. He read the first page and remembered her voice reading it. He breathed life into her words as she once did when she was creating them. Jungkook’s voice hitched at the end of the page when he read the same words Asteria had written as she began to voice her ambitions out loud. He could close his eyes and remember it like it was yesterday.
“I hope these words reach people outside of this small little village. I want them to be as famous as the classics.” Asteria whispered to herself as she scribbled some words in her newly bound book. Jungkook wanted to shout to her, “You will! I’ll make it so!” But he couldn’t. He couldn’t speak, so he only looked at her longingly from behind a thick tree, as if his words in his mind could reach her. But they didn’t. He watched Asteria continue to scribble on her first page of the book he had left for her.
“I also wonder if I’ll ever meet the man who left me these gifts. I hope it’s not Pheobos. His manners are worse than a pig’s. I want this man to be handsome and kind and loving. I hope I’ll get to see him someday.” She sighed out and shamelessly looked at the fish in the pond with longing. Jungkook was left with little restraint and wide eyes. She was so unabashed about what she wanted, he loved it. He wanted to give her everything she wanted and more. He wanted to love her better than any man could. Better than that Pheobos could anyway. Her tiny voice continued on with her proclamations.
“I probably shouldn’t be saying this but please, if anyone is out there and listening, Aphrodite, maybe? Let me see this man at least once in my life.” Asteria stopped writing and relaxed her shoulders as she watched the clear sky. “I want to see the man I’ve fallen in love with.” Her golden brown hair flew in the wind and it shined like golden thread. The breeze quickly died and she patiently stared at the glittering blue ocean, visible from her pond.
These words made Jungkook’s breath hitch and his heart flutter. His face felt warm and his ears, he knew, were red. He wanted so badly to just run out and say, “Here I am!” Jungkook listened in painful silence as Asteria waited for a sign, but Hobi had made the day too good, and nothing made a noise, not even with the wind. Jungkook wanted to throw a pebble or something to convince her that he was there and he would always be there. Asteria sighed and continued to write.
Jungkook clutched the book tightly but quickly let go in fear that it would crumble into ashes. He could feel his face still warm from his memory and he could remember how warm her presence had made him. Her entire being had comforted him, he wistfully wished for that again. He was afraid that his memories would turn to ashes along with his book, so he held it as if he were to hold her, never to let go. Jungkook squeezed his eyes as he let his tears run down his face and onto his hands. The silver droplets quickly disappeared and if anything, they made more meteors fall. He could feel the cool breeze caress his warm cheeks as if to comfort him, saying no more tears. He choked on his tears that quickly turned to sobs.
Everything in Jungkook told him that Asteria was his love and his only. Out of the millennia of him being alive, he only truly felt alive with her in his presence. Her warm smile and golden skin made him fall in love with her every time he pictured her in his mind. Her soft, delicate hands were made to write and he loved to see them work their magic. He fell in love with every part of her, from her fingers to her peach colored lips, to her eyes that held the stars. Jungkook could hear her laugh every time she smiled and he could hear it echo in his mind as he imagined her receiving the first copy of her book. He could remember her jumping excitedly as the publisher congratulated her for it. Her excited giggles were fresh in his mind as he sat here, centuries later without her.
Jungkook vividly remembered the touch of her fingers on his as they both reached for the pen she had dropped. When she looked at him, in his disguise of course, he had memorized the map of her face, the glint in her eyes and the beauty marks on her cheeks. He could paint a perfect picture of her just with his memories alone. Her insistent laugh as she apologized for being so unlady-like had been seared into his brain. Her tears had been solidified in his memories. Jungkook sobbed as he watched the meteors fall in grace. The moon mocked him with it’s glow. The meteors fell so beautifully against the midnight sky and the constellations his brothers had created that he wanted to snatch them and throw them into the ocean. Jungkook wanted to make her his. He wanted to bring her back and he wanted to show her the wonders of this new world. He wanted her to love him and he wanted to love her. He wanted to love her sunkissed fingers and her high cheekbones and her curly baby hairs and her smooth neck. He wanted to melt into her touch instead of his puddle of misery. He wanted to beg Taehyung and Jin to bring a soul back to life, even though none of them had the power to do so. He would traverse the planes of his own existence to bring her back. He would do anything for her gaze again.
Jungkook took a shaky breath and let the book float in his hands as it dematerialized into the space he called home. It would show up in his room later. Hands now empty of her writing, he felt uneasy again. Some tears made his vision blurry and he had cried enough times to know not to touch them or else it would make his eyes burn. His tears were supposed to heal him, as moonlight droplets usually would, but he found that his tears for her never did. They seemed to make his eyes burn and his heart hurt even more. Jungkook continued to observe this space, it’s natural beauty and the meteors that fell for her. He continued to wonder if he would ever see her again, in vain. Jungkook never got to hold her or kiss her or even tell her he loved her, but he just wished that she didn’t die feeling unloved. He loved her passionately and deeply, he stored her memories in his heart and locked them away for days like these. He seemed to find her face in every painting that Namjoon showed him. He found her words in every book he read.
Looking back down at the pond and the reflection of the stars in her pond, he finally spoke to her.
“I wish you were here to see how much you’ve come to be known.” The fish were startled by his voice. “I just wish I could have shown my true face to you, and loved you how you were. I wish I could have kept you with me forever.” Jungkook’s words died in the still air and he felt a tear slide down his chin once again. The meteors had slowed down and the moon was beginning to shift with the time he spent here. He never wanted to leave. He was so attached to this silly little pond, he felt like sleeping here if he could.
“Please say something.” Jungkook whispered. Nothing answered back.
The oak tree branches rustled with the slight breeze and he suddenly felt the chill. Asteria’s warmth was no longer here. Jungkook took this as a sign to leave.
As Jungkook leaned to push himself up off the ground, he spotted something glowing white in the moonlight. It caught his eye instantly, the object seemed to sparkle in the little moonlight that was left. He only realized what it was when he crawled over to it, careful not to block the moonlight.
Blossoming in front of his own two eyes was a delicate flower. It’s petals were soft, just like Asteria’s lips. The glowing white color brought Jungkook to the verge of tears. He trembled, afraid to kill it if he touched it. But he gently touched it anyway.
Right in the same spot that Jungkook watched his Asteria write her books for years was a delicate and fully blossomed white Lily. It’s leaves were strong and healthy, it’s petals soft and delicate. The strong floral scent of the lily hit Jungkook so hard, it brought him to full sobs again. The flower blossomed in the direction of the pond, but Jungkook felt like it was facing him, telling him it was okay. The healthy petals and yellow pollen spoke to him. They told him that this was it, without any words. Jungkook knew this was a sign and he sobbed into his hands, hating that he knew what it meant.
He knew that Asteria lived a long and good life. He wanted her to, so he protected her like a flower blossoming in his garden. Even after she was married and had kids, he left a white lily for her every day on this spot. Even when she stopped coming to their spot, he left her a blossom. Even after she was gone, he came here and left her a lily every day. Soon enough, he stopped coming too, too cowardly to face his grief of losing her. He could no longer see her or feel her warmth, so he no longer left her flowers. But this blossom, growing from this unchanging dirt that had stayed the same for centuries, it was for him. He could feel it. He somehow sensed that she knew he left her those things. This flower was proof. Jungkook softly caressed the petals and a silver teardrop fell on the ground beside it, making the soil become dark with fertility.
Jungkook sighed and furrowed his brows hard. Namjoon had taught him to manifest flowers eons ago, even if he did not have the power to do so. He felt like he had to, for Asteria. He needed to leave a sign for her spirit, so she could rest in peace. He needed to say something to her finally for the first time. So he tried.
Carefully Jungkook shifted himself to the space next to her flower and held his shaky hands just above the soil. Using the still fertile soil, he concentrated long and hard, imagining the scent and exact color of his new blossom. As he held his breath, he lifted his hands in a slow upward motion and felt a soft stem poke his palm. Jungkook opened one eye and saw a flower growing right before his eyes. In a matter of seconds his flower had opened and bloomed a bright orange lily with black specks on it’s petals.
The fertile soil and his heightened abilities had made the stem thick and strong, the petals seemed hearty. They gleamed with the bright moonlight. Jungkook admired his work and noticed that a vine off the stem had grown over to the white lily and curled around it’s stem. Jungkook’s burning eyes welled with more tears and he shifted his weight back onto his feet while sitting on his knees. This would be his final goodbye for her. A final gift to his other half. A final testament of his love, these blossoms would live eternally in this Eden of theirs. Jungkook slowly got up and willed the rest of his energy into one last star that shined bright in the sky. The closest one to the moon, he willed it to shine brighter than any other star in his night sky. Jungkook’s tears flowed freely as he walked away from his memory of her forever.
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