#but other things are still fun to attend even when less than warm and sunny ideal

[thejilyship]

Taking the Lead

For @jilychallenge August 2021 Theme: Summer Prompt: "I saw you staring and so decided to try to put on my suncream ~sensually~ but omg the lid just popped off and the whole bottle came out stOP grinning oMG" @thejilyship v @sirenicc I did not think I was going to get this done! Also it's fem!jily. No one should be surprised at this point.

WC: 3.5k AO3

A leadership camp was the absolute last place that Jamie wanted to spend any part of her summer. She and Sirius had made plans to go white water rafting, concert hoping, castle hiking, dive bar hunting and he’d even promised to attend a total of four sperate ballets with her. She did not have time to spend a week in the middle of the Scottish hills singing camp songs with a bunch of people that she didn’t know.

She didn’t need a leadership camp. She was, as almost every single one of her teachers and professors had said, a natural born leader. Some of her teachers had said this with admiration coloring their tone, and others had said it in a ‘your daughter really needs to stop getting the entire class to break into song in the middle of third period’ kind of way, but either way, they had all been in agreement.

She took the bus to camp so she would be less inclined to run off in the middle of it, and she went to the main building to sign in, which she was informed would be hence forth called ‘command center.’ She refrained from rolling her eyes.

She accepted her key and went off to find her dorm with her yellow duffle bag resting on her hip. Since they were all adults, they weren’t making them sleep in groups of twenty or so, and were instead grouped into fours. Jamie’s cabin was number five, which was her lucky number, and so far the only good omen she had gotten from this place.

She knocked before she pushed the cabin door open. Two of her three bunkmates were already there, setting up their beds. A redhead with striking green eyes and a petite brunette with springy hair and a gorgeous smattering of freckles. Jamie smiled at the two of them and they smiled back.

“Hey! My name is Lily,” The redhead held out her hand, bold and assertive. Jamie didn’t think she was in much need of a leadership camp either. “This here is my best friend, Mary.”

“Lily and Mary, it’s nice to meet you both. I’m Jamie.” She pulled her duffle off her shoulder and claimed the open bottom bunk. “Are you best mates in the camp sense, or have you met before today?”

Mary laughed, “Best friends since we were eleven. I dragged Lily along to this camp because I’m incapable of leaving home without her.”

“And it sounded like fun!” Lily added, looking back at her curly haired friend. “Did you know that this camp has a ropes course?” She asked, turning back to Jamie.

“A rope course? And that sounds like fun to you?”

“Of course, it does!”

“Wait until we’re actually on the ropes course,” Mary chuckled, “Lily is afraid of heights.” She tilted her head toward Jamie and raised her brows.

“I’m not afraid of heights,” Lily argued. “I simply… do not… like them.”

“Right.” Mary laughed.

Rooming with best friends might not be the best case scenario, as they already had someone to pair off with for all the group activities they were bound to do over the next week. They had a fourth roommate yet, so Jamie would reserve her pessimistic judgment until then. In the meantime, Lily and Mary seemed like nice people who she could eat meals with if nothing else.

“There’s also a lake,” Lily apparently still found the need to explain why she thought this camp would be fun. “And the weather is supposed to be brilliant this week. Sunny and warm!”

“I’m here for the seminars and workshops, not for the lake.” Mary said.

“You can be here for both.” Lily shrugged. “And, as much as I love you, I’m here for the arts and crafts, camp food and fun activities.”

“Arts and crafts is an activity. And this is a camp for adults, do you really think-“

Lily cut Mary off with a scoff. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. “If you think I didn’t check before I agreed to come, then you have another thing coming, MacDonald.” She turned her phone out so it was facing Mary, and Jamie a bit. Jamie was able to see colorful pictures of string bracelets, painted pottery, and she couldn’t tell what else.

“Well then,” Mary shook her head. “I hope you get to live out your summer camp dreams.”

“Thank you.” Lily nodded, looking rather smug. It was a look that worked for Lily. Her cheeks took on a dusting of pink, her green eyes grew brighter, and she sat up taller. Jamie turned to her duffle to avoid being caught ogling.

There was a knock on the door and the three girls turned in unison.

“Hello, I’m Emma Vanity. I guess I’m your fourth.” She gave a sharp wave and then looked at the three taken beds before her eyes fell onto the unclaimed top bunk above Jamie.

“I’m Mary and this is Lily,” Mary pointed at Lily, who offered a bright smile.

“And I’m Jamie Potter.”

“Potter?” Emma’s brow shot up. “As in Potions by Potter? Are your parents Fleamont and Euphemia Potter?”

“It’s a fairly common last name,” Jamie shrugged. She wouldn’t have added her last name if she had thought someone would recognize it.

“Right,” Emma laughed and dropped her bag to the ground. “Well, either way, I’m sure that you are a greatperson to share a bunk with.” She knew who Jamie was, that was clear.

“Mary’s mother was a circus performer if that interests anyone.” Lily had pulled out a bag of jelly candies and tore one in half with her front teeth. Jamie smiled at her appreciatively.

“Does she still perform?”

“No, she retired when I started school.” Mary said. “But she does teach trapeze classes down at the local leisure center.”

“They’re great fun.” Lily nodded. “Should we go and find ourselves some lunch?”

“I hope you know that they aren’t going to serve bad camp food.” Mary pushed herself off Lily’s bed. “Are you two coming with us?”

Emma looked at Jamie, and since Jamie had no desire to be alone with Emma just then, she smiled at Lily and nodded. “Sure. I’m always ready to eat.”

“I’ll come too,” Emma nodded. “I’ve already memorized the layout of the camp, so you can all follow me.” And then she was walking back toward the door.

Lily, who had just proven herself to be very familiar with the camp, was looking at Emma’s retreating figure with raised brows, but she didn’t say anything and just hopped off her bed.

“Off we go then,” Mary bit her bottom lip and followed Lily. Jamie closed the door behind them.

The sun was out, and it was warm, which Jamie hadn’t fully appreciated before Lily had told her that they could expect this weather to last all week. And she hadn’t known there was a lake. That hadn’t been on her list of fun summer activities she wanted to do with Sirius, but she hadn’t been a beach in a while, and while she was sure the beach on this random camp lake wasn’t brilliant, it would be nice.

Especially if Lily was also there to talk it up.

oOo

Jamie gravitated toward Lily over the next couple of days. At first she thought it was because the other girl’s positive attitude was contagious, and while it was, that wasn’t the sole reason.

Jamie had developed a little bit of a crush.

Except not really, because Jamie had never once developed a ‘little’ crush in her life. It took exactly one day for her to realize that she was already deciding how the two of them would find time for each other after they left camp. Two days in and she had decided that their first pet would be a short haired cat named Mr. Tums, preferable all black.

Three days in and she was almost certain that she was in love.

Not in love in love, she understood that was ridiculous.

No, on day three, she was simply falling in love.

It would be a few more days until she was actually in love.

Lily had her shoulder length hair in twin braids today. Whisps of baby hairs framing her face and she kept reaching up to brush them away from her eyes, which only drew more attention to her eyes and her hair and all the other parts of her face that Jamie couldn’t stop staring at.

And at the moment, she was wearing a bloody bikini as she sat on the towel next to Jamie’s on the small beach the camp had to offer. A bikini.

Jamie was doing everything she could to ignore the bikini, but it was there, and showing off every soft curve and gentle swoop of Lily Evans’ body. Jamie was in a t-shirt and boardshorts, because she couldn’t possibly exist in the space next to Lily Evans wearing anything less than this and keep the ability to speak.

Not that her ability to speak was getting her far. Lily was doing most of the talking.

“What do you think?” Lily reached out and nudged Jamie on the shoulder, her bubblegum pink nails scraping lightly on the sleeve of Jamie’s t-shirt.

The quirk in Lily’s brow let Jamie know that she had missed something. Keeping her clothes on may have left her with the ability to speak, but Lily wearing that bikini had hindered her ability to listen. She’d been so focused on not staring at Lily that she hadn’t remembered to pay attention to what she was saying.

“What do I think about what again?” Jamie asked, not bothering to pretend that she had heard Lily. The knowing smile on Lily’s face should have made Jamie a bit self-conscious, but she liked how smug Lily looked knowing the effect she had on Jamie. She also wanted Lily to know that she liked her, especially since Lily had not acted as though knowing made her even the slightest bit uncomfortable.

“I was asking for your opinion one what we should do this evening. I want to watch the sunset over the lake, but I don’t think I can stay down here until then. I’ll fry. So should we go to the craft cabin and make some more bracelets,” She held up her rope bracelet covered wrist and shook it, “Or should we have an early dinner?”

“Don’t we have a class to go to before dinner?” Jamie asked, looking out at the water after briefly glancing in Lily’s direction.

“I didn’t sign up for anything. Did you?”

“Probably not.” Jamie shrugged. “Mary isn’t upset with you for ditching her?”

Lily snorted. “I’m hardly ditching her. Besides, she knew I wasn’t going to be signing up for anything that wasn’t required. I came for the crafts and the beach. And to share a bunk with her.” She was smiling at Jamie, she could feel it aimed at the side of her head.

“Alright, well then, I think we should stay down here for a while longer and then go and get some dinner. I didn’t really enjoy the bracelet making.”

“You’re just upset that I’m better at it than you.”

“No.” Jamie shook her head. “I can honestly say that I’m not upset because you’re better than me. I’m upset because I can not figure out how to do it at all. All five attempts turned into a tangled knot of colorful string and heartbreak.”

“You picked out great colors,” Lily had her lips pressed together when Jamie mustered up the fortitude needed to face her. She used all the strength she had to keep her gaze on Lily’s face and then let out a huff and laid back on her towel.

“Thanks a million.”

“Of course.” She reached out and patted the back of Jamie’s hand, her bubblegum pink nails drawing Jamie’s eye. “If we’re going to stay for a while more, I should put on more sunscreen.”

Jamie reached for the bag on her right and handed it to Lily and then shut her eyes. She couldn’t watch Lily put on sunscreen. She knew that she wouldn’t handle that well. Especially not when Lily seemed to be in a mind to tease the shit out of Jamie. Which Jamie knew she deserved after the entirely unsubtle way she had told Lily and Mary about her ex-girlfriend. She had blushed immediately after saying it and then muttered about needing a restroom.

Lily hadn’t brought up any exes at all, but she had followed Jamie on Instagram the first night, and it didn’t take a whole lot of work to figure out that Lily also represented a letter or two from the alphabet.

Jamie bit down on the tip of her tongue and wondered how long she would need to keep her eyes closed before it would be safe to open them.

She heard the cap of the sunscreen pop open and started counting, figuring three minutes to be ample time. She took the time to take a few deep breaths, have a few imaginary conversations with Sirius where he called her a dumbass, whacked her over the head and told her to make her move, and then tried to clear her head of any and all nonsense.

“Where do you head back to after this week?” Lily asked, and Jamie almost opened her eyes.

“Winchester. My brother and I are staying with our parents for the summer, and we have a lot of plans. This camp actually threw a bit of a wrench in our plans, but da wanted me to come here.”

“He didn’t want your brother to come?”

Jamie snorted. “Can you imagine? I mean, da did ask him if he wanted to, but Sirius is very… anti-group activities.”

“What plans were ruined?” Jamie turned her head and opened her eyes, figuring the sun screening was done with now.

It was not.

Lily was rubbing it into her shoulders, her hands moving slowly and her nails contrasting sharply with the pale tone of her skin.

Jamie’s mouth went dry and she tried to swallow.

Lily’s brow went up and Jamie cleared her throat. “Ballet.”

“What?”

“The ballet. I got Sirius to agree to go to a few different shows with me, which he never does, and I’m missing one of them to be here.”

The tip of Lily’s pink tongue peeked out from between her lips and Jamie bit down on her own tongue. What was it about this girl that had Jamie acting like a randy, seventeen-year-old, boy?

“The ballet? I didn’t picture you-“

“I’m actually a ballerina.”

Lily blinked her big green eyes and brought her shoulder up to her chin.

“I mean, I saw the pictures of you with your dance bag, but I guess I just…” Jamie hadn’t posted any recent pics of her in anything dance related, and so she smirked at the knowledge that Lily had been snooping.

“You didn’t picture me as a ballerina? What kind of dancer did you think I was?”

“Honestly? I thought you were a theater dancer.”

Jamie chuckled. “I mean, I have dabbled in the theater.”

“Dabbled? I think it’s you use of words like ‘dabbled’ that made me think theater actually.”

“Dabbled is a normal word.”

“Sure, and it made me think ‘theater kid.’” Lily turned back to the bottle of sunscreen and picked it up, squeezing some onto her hand before she angled one of her legs and started rubbing her hands together. The point of her toe, the angle of her head, it was all deliberate. Jamie knew that it was all deliberate, but she didn’t care. She watched on bated breath as Lily started working the sunscreen into her leg. She started at her upper thigh and worked her way down to the ankle, slowly, making sure to cover every inch of skin.

“How long have you been a ballerina?”

Jamie had to unclench her jaw to answer. “Since I was about five.”

“And when did you dabble in the theater?” Lily’s voice was even and normal, like she wasn’t currently putting on a show for Jamie. She should have kept her eyes shut. She should close her eyes right now, but she knew that she wasn’t going to.

“Um… I think the first musical I was in, I was eight? Mum was helping out with…” She trailed off as Lily angled her other leg and started on that thigh. “Mum was helping with costumes. It was just a small local production.”

“Of what?”

“Fiddler on the Roof.” Jamie hoped that she was answering Lily’s questions, but she really wasn’t paying attention to what either of them were saying. For the first time since she’d seen Lily in this stupid bikini, she was allowing herself to look at her. She was drinking it in.

Jamie was pretty sure that Lily said something else, and half of her brain heard it, though it took a while to get it all pieced together. “I’ve seen Fiddler on the Roof. Mary was a theater kid, so I’ve actually seen a lot of musicals.”

“Good.” Jamie nodded, even though she knew that wasn’t really a top notch response.

Lily picked up the bottle of sunscreen and popped the cap open again, and Jamie could feel the pop in the back of her teeth. She watched Lily tighten her hand around the bottle, squeezing more onto her open palm.

“I might need your help with my back-“

About two seconds before Jamie would have had a heart attack and passed away right there on the small camp beach in the middle of nowhere, the top of the bottle came off and, with Lily still squeezing the bottle, the sunscreen went everywhere. It splattered all over Lily’s lap, chest and towel. It got on Jamie too, a large glob landing on the lens of her glasses.

They both froze for a minute before Jamie looked up at Lily from her one clear lens. Lily’s cheeks were bright red and she was looking at the still dripping bottle as though it had purposefully ruined her plans to send Jamie to an early grave.

The building tension crumbled like a saltine cracker.

“That’s what you get,” Jamie said, reaching over and wiping a large glob off of Lily’s nose. Then she started laughing as Lily turned to look at her. Her cheeks stayed red, but she cracked a grin. “That was totally deserved!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Lily shook her head and dropped the offending bottle. She started smearing and wiping at all the excess sunscreen, wiping her hands on her towel to get it off. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

Jamie started laughing harder. “You’re a liar.”

Lily bit down on her bottom lip, still shaking her head. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You most certainly do know what I mean, and now you’ve made a mess of yourself.”

“The cap broke! I don’t know why you’re telling me I deserve it.”

Jamie reached over and swiped at another glob at Lily’s shoulder. “Sure, Evans.” She whipped her hand so it landed somewhere in the grass and then got another glob from Lily’s hair. “So that’s just how you normally put on sunscreen?”

“Of course it is.”

“I can’t wait to see how your normally put on your pajamas tonight.”

Lily’s face went a shade or two darker and Jamie laughed again.

“You know what, if I was putting it on… a certain sort of way, it was only because you were looking at me-“

“I hadn’t been looking at you!” Jamie took her glasses off and carefully went about cleaning them. “I had very deliberately not been looking at you. You waited until I was looking at you.”

Lily was quiet until Jamie looked over at her, having to squint in order to see the look on her face. She put her glasses back on to confirm that she was looking smug. She was. “Okay, but then you couldn’t take your eyes off me.”

“Have you ever heard the phrase, in for a penny, in for a pound?”

Lily narrowed her brow in confusion. “I have.”

“I’ve only ever had fancied three people in my life, including yourself,” Lily sat up straighter and Jamie felt her cheeks heat but shook her head. Lily had already known that Jamie fancied her. “Yes, go and head a preen over it.”

“I am flattered,” Lily, still covered in globs of sunscreen, waved her hair back over her shoulder with one of her hands. Then she looked at Jamie expectantly.

Jamie sucked in a sharp breath through her nose and released it all at once. “Where do you live, Evans? And how far is it from Winchester?”

“And why do you ask?”

“Because I’ve a feeling that we’ll have some unfinished business come Friday.”

And then Lily laughed, and Jamie felt it all the way to the tips of her toes.

#jily #jily challenge #fem!jily #jilychallenge #my fic #fel writes jily

[sunnysidekit]

Summary: All is fair in love and war. And boxing, too, apparently.

Pairing: Ben ‘Benny’ Miller x F!Reader (no y/n, reader’s boxing nickname is ‘Nyx’)

Warnings: Language, mentions of violence.

Word count: 2.2k

My masterlist

Everyone likes a good mystery. Don’t even try to deny it; whether you like Sherlock Holmes or if you’re more of an Agatha Christie fan, none of us can really escape the allure of a good conundrum every now and again. Some people can stare in the face of their mystery and not recognize it for quite some time, while others can practically smell them from a mile away. Ben Miller is part of, well, both groups.

Personally, he likes mysteries and surprises and such, but his army days have taught him all of those are a bad thing. A mission can collapse after the smallest detail changes, after all. Sometimes those missions are called off; other than the fact that he can’t do his job when that happens, he’s not really bothered by it. But when something catches him and his team by surprise during a mission and they have to get on with it anyway, things tend to… let’s say, not end well for everyone. And that’s gently put, of course.

Which is why when he’s at home between deployments, he likes his simple habits. They provide joy and adrenaline, and boy does he need both to function well. One of those habits is boxing. He likes it because of its simplicity; you punch your opponent, they punch you back, and so on and so forth until one of you stops. He’s good at it, too. Will always says that’s because he practiced a lot on him when they were younger. Ben says he’s the one with the good genes. Their mother was a fighter, too, after all.

The other reason he likes boxing is because your opponents always try to surprise you with a little mystery move. It’s fun for him to figure out how to respond in a split second, and the rush he gets when he does so successfully is almost unparalleled. Today, though, the only real surprise is the sudden appearance of his very own mystery. And, hey, you might know where this one’s going: it appears in the shape of a woman…

Benny whoops when he kicks open the door to his old high school gym’s changing room, but it sounds a bit less enthusiastic than it did after his last match. He knew he should have listened to Will and gone somewhere, anywhere else than back to Red Feather Lakes, but he’s not about to mention it when he can already imagine the smug grin spreading across his brother’s face.

He won, that’s what counts. And it’s not that bad to have done so after what is sure to be America’s easiest boxing match. That just means he’s good at it. The crowd went just as wild as it usually does, even though there were significantly less attendants than two weeks ago. Somehow, none of the arguments he tells himself really convinces him.

“All right!” Catfish says triumphantly from behind him. “Looks like all that training paid off, didn’t it?”

“Yeah…” Benny trails off as his slightly blurry vision comes back into focus. There’s someone sitting on one of the benches, someone he doesn’t know. It’s a woman; her aura tells him she’s all business, but her clothes tell him she also definitely plays. “Who’re you?”

The woman doesn’t respond immediately; only after half a minute of casually typing away on her phone does she look up and meet his eye. “Name’s Val,” she says, her facial expression one he can’t quite place. “And I’m about to ask you something you won’t be able to ignore.”

It’s important to notice that Benny isn’t particularly patient in his post-fight high, something Frankie knows very well. He becomes a bomb of electric energy that, once set off, won’t stop until every single muscle in his body gives out. And he’s about to be set off.

“Val, is it?” Frankie smiles at the woman, swiftly moving his friend to the showers. “Why don’t we talk while he cools down, hm?”

“You’re not the one I want to ask a question,” she says calmly, not taking her eyes off Benny. “You’re a Delta boy, aren’t you? I can see it in the way you fight. It takes regular boxers years to develop such a sensitive, quick response capability.”

“Yeah, and?”

“And that makes me think that oaf out there’s a long way from even thinking of acquiring your skillset. It’s impressive how easily you had him on the mat.”

“Ma’am, if you want an autograph-” Frankie tries, sensing the ticking time-bomb next to him is about to blow, but Val immediately interjects.

“Which is precisely what caught my eye. These men are no challenge for you anymore, but I think I know someone who could be. Should you accept their invitation, that is.”

“Do I know him?” Benny narrows his eyes at her, trying by god to figure out her angle in all of this. She smirks and closes her eyes a few seconds longer than a normal blink would take; touchy subject, maybe? Or perhaps he’s right and he has seen the guy before.

“You might have seen them around, sure. But I doubt you’d remember them.”

“So, what? I say yes and I’ll fight your friend here next week or something?” Benny snatches his towel from his bag and snaps it against the wall in annoyance.

“I’m afraid my friend’s a little more… complex than that, Mr. Miller.”

“Hey, uh, no thanks,” Frankie cuts in, waving his hands as if to dissipate the words in the air. “He doesn’t do illegal fights.”

“He’d have plausible deniability,” Val says with a slight tilt of her head, then turns back to face Benny and hands him a business card. "Anyway, the choice is yours, Mr. Miller, not your friend’s. I don’t need an answer right now. Do take your time to think it over, sleep on it a bit. Once you’re a little more comfortable with the idea, give this number a call. I’ve got a feeling they’d very much like to bruise that pretty face of yours until it looks like a Monet.”

She gets up from the bench and walks out of the changing room without looking back. Benny slips the business card into his jacket pocket, something that catches Frankie’s attention.

“Don’t do it, Ben,” he sighs. “I’m serious. You could get arrested, get your ass thrown in jail. You’ll get kicked out of the army.”

“Stop whining, Fish. I’m not gonna do it anyway.”

Despite explicitly telling Frankie he wouldn’t do it, here he is, standing outside his local gym with his phone in one hand and the curious looking business card in the other. There’s not a lot of info on it, but, hey, what did he expect? That an illegal streetfighter would publish their own name, address and contact info on a bunch of business cards?

There are only two things printed on the grey little card: Nyx, which must be the fighter’s nickname or something, and a phone number. It’s been in his jacket pocket ever since he left his old high school, but it felt like it’s been burning a hole in it the entire time. It’s exactly as Val said it would be. He can’t get her proposition out of his mind, no matter how hard he tries.

She’s right about the competition. They’re no match for him, not the ones here in Red Feather Lakes. And, sure, he could always just sign up for something three towns over, but it wouldn’t matter much. How she found out he’s in the Delta Force is beyond him, though. It’s policy not to broadcast such a position if you want to stay in it. Maybe she has connections in the army…

That’s another thing; his place in the army. It would be gone as soon as he gets caught, and it’s not like he’s got great job prospects waiting for him back home when all he’s done for the past ten years is train to get where he is now. No college degree, no other jobs to list on his resume, no wealthy parents to fall back on… His whole life would go up in smoke.

But it does entice him. He technically does illegal things for his job all the time, and the matches he engages in when he has some down time aren’t really scratching that one particular itch anymore. Let’s face it: one phone call can’t hurt, right? He can still refuse, say no, put his foot down. Maybe even convince this guy to go legit.

He pushes the little green receiver on the screen, then puts his phone to his ear. The dial tone beeps three times before someone picks up. He opens his mouth to say something, but the person on the other side is quicker.

“Ben Miller, I presume?” It’s… a woman. But not Val. “Val told me you’d be giving me a call.”

“And you’re…” he quickly flips over the card just to be sure, “…Nyx, then?”

“Got it in one. I do so hate it when Val forgets to mention my name in the initial interview.”

Benny huffs out a confused laugh. “Interview?”

“You aced it, by the way. Not saying too much is best when talking with my… let’s call her my associate,” the woman says. Her voice is softer than Val’s, and a lot smoother. It sounds like what taking a sip of hot chocolate feels like. “Shall we get on with it and discuss the rules of this little arrangement?”

“I don’t-- rules? I haven’t even given you an answer.”

“Oh, don’t fool yourself into thinking you’ve got any restraint left,” she chuckles. “You want to tell me you called just to say hello to a total stranger?”

“No, but-” Benny splutters, but he doesn’t get to finish his sentence.

“Then your answer, even if you haven’t given it to me yet, is as clear as the Pope’s Holy Water. Now then, the rules. In order to keep you in the warm, sunny, light side of the law, I’ll arrange a time and place. All you have to do is show up.”

He can’t help but grin. She’s clearly on top of this whole cloak and dagger operation, that much he can tell. Who she is, though, he can’t say. Not yet. Maybe he’ll recognize her when he sees her. “What about my gear?”

“Do take it with you, please. I’m not a charity, giving away free gear to any John, Charles or Mary.”

“All right,” he says, clicking his tongue. “Anything else?”

“Val will pick you up and get you back home safely, so don’t worry about the whole transport situation.”

“This doesn’t sound very... safe. I mean, you do realize this sounds a lot like kidnapping, right? Or murder, or something like that?”

The woman laughs. It sounds like the melody to a song he knows but has never heard at the same time. It’s the kind of laugh that makes everyone around laugh as well. “Why would I tell you all this and then still proceed with it if my intent was malicious? You can easily call the cops and have my dear Val arrested for whatever crime you think me capable of, and that wouldn’t be very good for my business.”

“Fair enough.”

“Speaking of Val, she’ll pick you up next Wednesday at nine.”

Benny kicks a piece of gravel onto the street next to him and swallows away the last of his pride and dignity. “All right, I guess I’ll see you then.”

“Good lord, I can’t believe Val forgot to tell you that, too,” she laughs again, then clears her throat and continues a lot more seriously. “I only dance in the dark. Have a good night, Mr. Miller.”

Usually, waiting takes ages, but not this time. For Benny the rest of the week practically flew by him and before he knows it, it’s already Wednesday. He went training with Frankie just like any other week, only this time he accidentally forgot to mention his fight with Nyx. He told himself that the less people know about his, uh, date, the better, but he also knows Frankie would have immediately pulled the plug.

Val arrives at nine o’clock sharp in the front seat of a cab, which is no surprise. The drive that follows doesn’t take very long; he also isn’t blindfolded or anything like they do in the movies. The car stops in front of an old warehouse in the east side of town, and that’s when Val turns around in her seat and very concisely tells him to get his ass out of her cab himself, since she’s not going to hold open the door for him.

Instead of driving off, Val simply pulls the keys from the ignition and tosses them to him, calling it his ‘insurance policy’. Then she waves her hand as if to tell him to hurry up and get inside, which he promptly does.

Well, that whole dancing in the dark reference seems to have been meant literally; as soon as the warehouse door closes behind him, an inky, suffocating darkness envelopes Benny and makes a shiver run up and down his spine. He takes a few tentative steps, holding out his arms and moving them around to make sure he doesn’t hit anything while he walks.

Suddenly, a voice calls out to him from a bit further into the sole, big room this warehouse seems to consist of.

“Good evening, Mr. Miller. Let’s get swinging, shall we?”

A/N: Hey there, you made it to the end! Thanks for reading through the whole thing, I hope you liked it. If you’ve got any suggestions or spotted a mistake or two, don’t hesitate to tell me so that I might fix it. I hope you’ll stick around for round two!

#ben miller x you #ben miller x y/n #ben miller x reader #benny miller #frankie morales #triple frontier #garrett hedlund #garrett hedlund fic #garrett hedlund fanfic #my writing

[nctsoftskz]

Shy love | bang chan

Word count: 2.7k Pairing: shy! reader x e-boy!, skater! Chan Genre: fluff, romance, cliché af A/N: I know I’m very absent and it’s badly written, but I’m not at my best rn and I suddenly got into my Chan’s feels (i dreamt about him last night 🥺) I’m sorry!! i stg he’s too handsome to be real 

Sitting on the bus with your headphones, you dramatically watched the scenery went by at full speed. You needed to go at the other side of the town for an appointment and you decided to try another route to reach your destination point. You had always ridden the train, but at those hours, it was most likely to be packed, and you hated it. Here, you were sitting at the back of the bus, not a lot of people around you. As you neared another bus stop, a group of nine boys mounted the bus, laughing and holding cans of beer and their skateboards or scooters. They were pretty loud, earning side glances from other people riding the bus. You quickly looked at each of them, but you brought your attention back to the cityscape out of the window.

After a few more minutes, the boys had quieted down a bit, giggling and snickering here and there, but something felt odd. You felt like someone was staring at you. You truly hoped that it wasn’t someone creepy, that it was just someone that tried to recognise you.

You turned your head in direction of the staring and you met big hazel eyes. Your heartbeat started increasing and you started feeling hot, studying the boy’s face for a few seconds before looking away out of embarrassment. You felt him doing the same and when you stared at the floor, laughter getting louder on the boy’s side. He looked at you again, but you ignored him, trying to focus on your music and the rainy streets. You pressed the button to stop the vehicle at your bus stop, gathering your stuff and putting your raincoat on. You gulped and gripped a handle, preventing you from falling. As you were about to go off the bus, you stared at the hazel boy one last time and hurried to your appointment, running in the rain.

You found yourself riding the bus more often, a public transport less used by people during rush hour. This time, it was sunny, and you had your sketchbook in hand, trying to draw the boy that you saw last time. You still sat at the back of the bus and music was your only friend, helping you to focus on your artistic task. When you looked up to crack your neck, you immediately sank your head back in your drawing, noticing the skater boys boarding the bus. You held your breath, as if it would make you smaller and voices you recognised started getting quieter, noticing that the boys stood a bit further away from you than last time. You exhaled and forced yourself to not look up, not wanting to be caught staring. Each time one of them talked, you wondered if it was him speaking or not, some voices sending more chills in your body than others.

Lowering your music to hear your stop announcement, you focused on your drawing again as you heard that you still had a long way to go. “Hum, excuse me? Do you mind if I sit here?” a deep yet gentle voice asked and you looked up, immediately shutting your sketchbook. You nodded and clumsily gathered your stuff to make room for him. It was the hazel boy. “What’s your name?” he asked, and you felt like dreaming. Was he interested in you? “I’m… Y/N,” you quietly said and took off an earpiece, briefly looking at him. “And you are?” “I’m Chris, but everyone calls me Chan,” he answered, and you nodded, not really knowing what to do. You were panicking and anxious, whereas Chan looked extremely chill next to you. You stared at his friends, who were looking at the two of you with playful eyes, mocking and teasing their friend for approaching you.

“Don’t mind them,” he said as he followed your gaze, making you turn your head to look at him, “they’re making fun of me, not you, but don’t worry.” “But why are they behaving like this?” you asked and he chuckled. “I’m actually the only one that has the guts to go talk to a girl,” you nodded and clutched your sketchbook against your chest. “Oh, you draw? That’s so cool,” he said as he pointed your small black book and nodded again, smiling. “Yes, it’s one of my hobbies, along with painting,” you said and Chan’s mouth opened to form an “o”, impressed. “That’s so sick,” his smile showed dimples and you felt your breath catching in your throat at the sight, “can I see it?” “Oh hum, I’d rather not if you don’t mind,” you awkwardly said and your grip on your notebook tightened, but you were immediately relieved when Chan nodded. “It’s okay, I know it can be pretty personal, one of my friends over there also likes to sketch but he never shows everything to us,” you gratefully smiled at him and he sent it right back to you, eyes turning into crescent moons. You looked away, flattening your floral dress on your thighs, not knowing how to keep the conversation going. “If I can’t get to see your artworks, can I get your number instead?” you cleared your throat and pursed your lips at his words, not expecting him to be this straightforward. You thought two seconds about it and nodded, making Chan’s smile widen. You shakily took the phone he was handing you and double checked that you entered your correct phone number and gave it back to him with a shy smile. 

“Well, it was nice to meet you, Chan, but I’m going off here,” you mumbled and the boy grabbed his skateboard and stood up with you. “Wait, you’re going off here as well?” you asked and he nodded, making your brows furrow. “I don’t live far from here, so I can be around you a bit longer. Only if you don’t mind, I can jump right back in the bus if I bother you.” “No, not at all, it feels kind of nice to have someone with me,” you said as you struggled to put everything in your bag. Chan stood in front of you and held the bottom of your bag, allowing you to put everything in it like you wanted. “Thanks,” you mumbled and slightly shook his head, telling you that it was nothing.

You got to meet Chan a bit more than only in the bus. You were slowly warming up to each other, feeling like a teenager in love when you looked at him. You knew that his looks wanted to make him look unapproachable, but when he was in private, he was a whole other boy. He was smiling, very touchy and gentle, making you crazily blush when he was around. 

One evening, you were bored as hell and your parents had to attend a professional meeting together. You texted Chan around twenty minutes ago, but you were still left unanswered. You sighed, pondering about going to bed early or just watch a series. As you were about to go fetch yourself some snacks in the pantry, your smartphone emitted a sound, notifying you from a message.

I’m skating right now, do you want me to come over? you read his text and sighed, still undecided about what you actually wanted to do. Can I come watch you instead? You sent back and locked your phone, dropping it on the bed. His answer wasn’t long in coming. Of course, honey. Make sure to bring a sweater or something warm, it’s getting windy 😉

You smiled and sprung from your bed, putting a sweater above your t-shirt and a pair of leggings before leaving your room. You grabbed water from the fridge, as well as snacks and two apples. Locking your front door, you ran to the bus stop as you heard the bus coming, signalling your presence to the driver to make him stop. Once you arrived at the skatepark near the beach, the salty wind made you inhale deeply, loving the current atmosphere. You noticed only two skateboarders, recognising Chan as one of them. The rest of the people populating the park were skaters, sending ticks mid-air as you passed by them. You carefully walked to Chan, who noticed you and sat on his board while waiting for you. You handed him a bottle of water and an apple, surprising him by your gesture.

“Thank you? That’s so nice of you,” he said gently smiled, watching him gulp down a few sips of fresh water in one go. “You must be tired and thirsty, so I thought that I’d bring something for you,” he passed his arm around your shoulder and drew you towards him, swiftly kissing your temple. Your stomach churned at the action, it was the first time that he showed you affection aside from flirting and complimenting you. You looked at him and he chuckled, his fluffy hair dancing with the wind.

“What? Want me to do it again?” you giggled and looked away. “Not for now,” you answered as you observed the riders clapping and cheering at each other for a trick they managed to succeed. “Wave to me when you want affection, then,” he winked and you shook your head with a smile, stuffing his apple in his mouth. He slightly turned his head away and grabbed your wrist, only to allow him to properly bite into the apple. He munched on it with a happy smile, wiping the juice of the fruit falling from his lips with the back of his hand. “It’s nice to take a break from skating with you,” he said out of nowhere as his eyes got lost in the sea in front of you. The sun was about to set, and the last rays warmed you up from the chilly wind, goosebumps flooding your body. “I feel at peace when we’re together,” you mumbled as you bit into your apple, “I feel like all my worries and anxiety suddenly vanish, it almost feels weird to feel good.” “I’m glad you feel like that when I’m around,” he looked at you with a soft smile, his foot on his board, making it roll back and forth. He stood up, gently letting go of the hand you didn’t notice him hold and speeded on his board, showing you off his skills. You didn’t really care about skateboarding, the only things that mattered to you was the smile on his face when he succeeded a trick or when he looked at you.

Without having him noticing, you took your sketchbook out of your bag and found a pencil in the back pocket and started sketching Chan as he was waiting for the park to clear out a bit. He had the top of his board in his hand, looking away from you with the beach behind him, looking like he was posing. Maybe he was, but you were too immersed in your sketching to care. You curled up a bit on yourself, trying to keep the warmth as close to you as possible. Chan stayed like that for a few more seconds, allowing you to finish the rough draft of his silhouette. Then, he started riding his board again, sometimes closing your eyes to remember details of him and his handsome face.

“Have you gotten bored?” Chan joked as he came back after a while, wiping the light sweat off his forehead and sat down next to you again. You chuckled and put your pencil down, closing the notebook between your fingers. “Nah I’m fine, let’s say that I suddenly got inspired.” His eyes went from your face to your notebook and he pointed at it. “I still can’t have a look at it, can I?” you shrugged and he faked an annoying huff, pushing his hair back and deeply breathed. “It’s not that good, but you can see it. Only that page, I’ll murder you if you flip through it.” He smirked at your warning and opened the sketchbook, his eyes widening at your drawing of him. “It looks so good! So real!” he said as he took a closer look of your piece of art. “I want a poster out of that, Y/N, you’re so talented.” “Chan, it’s just a rough sketch,” you humbly mumbled as you tried to get your sketchbook back, but he extended his arm away from you, teasing you by trying to flip the page with his thumb. “Stooop,” you whined and Chan smiled, softly grunting as you laid your hand on his thigh, shifting your weight to try and grab your precious item.

“I’ll give it back to you only if you kiss me,” he said in your ear and you almost fell at his words. You looked at him and your eyes widened at your sudden proximity, red softly decorating your cheeks. Chan was smirking as he still held your notebook above your heads, arm slowly going numb as you took your sweet time to stare into each other’s eyes. You slowly leant and grabbed his jaw, making sure that he wouldn’t move his face as you kissed the soft skin of his cheek. He huffed as you ruined his entire plan but gave you your sketchbook back anyway. 

“You’re so not funny,” he mumbled as you put everything that belonged to you in your bag. Zipping it up, you smiled at him and went to sit on his legs, surprising him. You weren’t usually the one to initiate skinship, but he wasn’t complaining when you did. Chan’s arms wrapped around your shoulders and thighs, enveloping you in a tight embrace. His nose touched your neck and you gasped as you felt his warm lips laying a soft kiss on your sensitive skin.

“Not here,” you whispered, and he laughed. “Come on, it’s just a kiss on the neck, it’s not that deep,” he stated and you heavily blushed, pulling the hood above your head and nestling into his neck. He smelt like cologne and laundry, it was very comforting to be in his arms. Chan’s hands drew you a bit away from him, making you turn to the side, your legs wrapped around him. You were now straddling him, and Chan rested his head on your chest. You rubbed the back of his head and he sighed in content, tightening his grip around you.

“I love you,” he mumbled, completely out of the blue, which startled you. “Come again?” you said, not sure that you heard him quite right. “I love you,” he didn’t hesitate to repeat, his hands going under your sweater and t-shirt, softly rubbing your back as he looked up at you from his spot in your arms. “Since I saw you for the first time, you’re constantly running in my mind. I never told you that but, when we first met in the bus, I almost went off with you like the second time, but I didn’t know what to say or do when I’d reach you. I’m glad that my friends pushed me to come and talk to you because I’ve never been this happy since I’m seeing you.” You laid your hands on his shoulders to make him properly look at you and he had the most delicate eyes that you’ve ever seen on him. Cupping his cheeks, you smiled, softly bumping his nose with yours. He chuckled but you both became serious again, Chan’s eyes leaving yours to land on your lips. He looked back up at you and you nodded, allowing him to capture your lips in a sweet kiss.

Your mouths moved in sync, the kiss bringing you nothing but happiness. Chan had managed to break down your ice walls, comfortably installing himself and his love in your heart. It felt warm, he knew that he was in a good and safe place, and so were you. Chan, under his skater, e-boyish appearance, hid a loving heart, filled with attention and kindness. He felt like trusting again, and he was right. Having you by his side made him feel like nothing could hurt him. You protected each other’s hearts, and that’s the only thing that the two of you needed; someone caring and loving.

#i love chan :( #i miss writing for him :(( #stray kids imagines #stray kids #bang chan #skz imagines #skz soft #skz chan #skz chris #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #stray kids soft hours #chan x reader #stray kids reactions #bang chan stray kids #bang chan x reader #stray kids au #stray kids scenarios #chan fluff #christopher bang #chan soft #bang chan au

[sunflowerspectre]

Strange Magic | Ballroom Blitz

This is a 5k commission for @krystalmoonfae

Title: Ballroom Blitz Summary: As a newfound couple, Marianne and Bog work on grasping their new normal while trying to merge both of their kingdoms and cultures. Seeing as both sides have a ball quickly approaching, they see it as a great chance to be able to teach the other about their cultures. Rating: T for mentions of drinking (and Griselda) Tags: fluff, ballroom dancing, cultural differences, minor politics, minor mentions of discrimination 

Read it on Archive of Our Own

Commission Me | Tip A Writer | Twitter

Ballroom Blitz

“Is all of this really necessary?”

Marianne looks over at Bog as he stands in an uncomfortable stance, looking himself over with bristling wings. She has to admit, it does not suit him (some part of her whispers how fairy clothes never will and she needs to stop expecting them to; that it is okay that it does not). She does not need to worry about fitting in anymore, she thought that she already accepted that.

Bog is not Roland, she reminds herself. He will not give her grief if she wears something out of season or if his outfit is not up to par and ‘perfect.’ Bog cherishes individuality, he does not squander it. Which is why, even if he will not outright admit it, he hates trying on these ridiculous clothes. But he will, at least, try .

Bog glances at her from the corner of his eyes as she takes off the vest given to him, fluttering around the room in disarray as if any of the other vests already tossed around will be any better. He can see the worry and frustration in her brow. He will try anything and everything for her.

“Calm down, tough girl,” Bog tries to ease the tension.

“I can’t calm down.” Marianne admits, “I just want this to go well.”

Marianne plops down on the flowery bed with a tired, frustrated groan, her wings spreading out behind her. While her father was not thrilled about the idea of Bog being in the castle, nevertheless actually being inside of her room, he can not exactly keep the other King out; his daughter, after all, is an adult. However, she knows that Bog’s visit is kept on a need-to-know basis, as is all of his visits.

Which is  exactly why this ball is so important. She is not ashamed to be with Bog, but she is ashamed that everyone is trying to get her to keep it a secret, like it’s a scandal. She is tired of people, especially her father, telling her what is and is not acceptable for her; the latter, she hears much more than the former. She can decide that for herself; and she has decided. She wants Bog and she wants everyone else to realize just how wrong they are about him.

“Do you know how much easier it will be if this goes well,” Marianne ventures carefully, her voice soft. Bog flitters above her, hand outreached to hold hers, his wings clicking to create an insect-like noise that she relishes in; something about it brings comfort to the silence that has befallen them. The spikes of his armor and skin would destroy the delicate bed (a mistake they will not be repeating since it was so hard to explain in order to get it replaced).

Marianne takes the outstretched hand, a soft smile on her face as she notices the nervousness in his expression. She continues softly, a soft blush brushing her cheeks. Her stomach flutters and she loves that he can get this reaction out of her just from being around her, that he brings this side out of her. She thought that after Roland, the butterflies that had once fluttered in her chest were dead, but Bog - he had brought them back to life without even trying.

“I just want everyone to see you the way I do.”

His forehead pressed against hers as their eyes close; he relishes in how warm her skin feels against his forehead. She can feel the comforting coolness of armor, pleated skin. His face is always the safest place for her to touch; the twigs are not as sharp, there’s less barbs for her skin to catch on.

“I know how everyone else sees me.”

Venom seeps into his voice, if a bit unintentionally, but Marianne can hear the hurt underlying in it. “And it’s - sweet - that you are trying, but I do not really think -”

The longer he talks, the more she wants to just scream how this is exactly why she wants everyone else to see him the way she does. Why she wants those stupid fairies to realize that Bog King is not as scary as they all make him out to be - well he can be, but that is far from the only thing that he is.

Marianne places a long finger to his lips, a soft smile on her face. He takes the hint and closes his mouth, stopping himself to let her speak.

“I’m tired of the court talking about you the way that they do.” Marianne softly admits.

She never elaborates on just what they say, but Bog imagines that it’s nothing he has not heard before. Her voice turns more bitter, almost venomous and frustrated.

“I’m tired of Dad acting like there are better suitors out there. I don’t just want everyone to see as equals, you deserve it. You deserve for them to see you as the Bog King. The king I know you are.”

She flushes when she realizes just how gushy she sounds. She never meant to go on a tangent, but when she starts, it is hard for her to get herself to stop talking. All of the things that she has been pent up come flowing out like a busted dam.

Bog sighs softly, his expression softening as he flutters down to her. The sharp edges of his armor and skin cut at the delicate flower petal, but he knows this is going to be much longer conversation than he imagined. He appreciates her enthusiasm, but he gave up on that dream before she even thought of it. He knows that the divide between their kingdoms is large; while it is making its progress, there are still many hurdles for them to fly over. Every step forward feels like it is followed by two steps back.

“They’ll never see me as equals to fairies,  tough girl.” Bog speaks up; his expression more somber, solemn as if he already accepted his fate. As if he knew that he would never be enough for her.

Marianne, however, just grins viciously, her teeth gleaming like the devil he knows that she can be. Each time, that grin always reminds him exactly what he loves most about her - her strength, her rebellious side, her sense of justice, her wickedness. Her refusal to abide by their rules of her and to stand by her choices - even when that choice is him.

“I guess we’ll just have to give them no choice.”

_________________________________________________

Fairy balls used to not be the dread of her existence. Marianne remembers a time when she used to look forward to it. She used to love to dress up and to dance, even if her voice carried a bit louder than quiet conversation would allow or she missed a few steps during the dance or she stepped on someone’s foot. The more she looks back on it, the more she realizes that she never quite fit in during the balls even if she did at one point enjoy it.

So if she never fit in anyway, what was the point of trying to fit in now? She may as well do what she wants, have fun, and most importantly, get her dance with Bog. Her original plan was to talk to them, get them to agree to not only Bog attending, but to have her dance with him as well. But she is a princess. Soon to be queen and she will dance with whomever she wants.

If the elders refuse to see him as her equal, at the very least this (very public) dance will help her subjects see him as such. It’s admittedly a bit backhanded. But she knows that someone such as Bog dancing with their crown princess will make their courtship hard to ignore. Harder to try to talk her out of. Harder to slip under the rug or excuse. The more public and more aggressive she is about the fact that Bog is her partner, the less of a choice they have about ignoring him.

They can not outright deny him entry if he has an invitation, she reminded herself; the courts may not like it, especially her father, but they are all too proud to deny their manners as a host. Otherwise, she imagines Sunny would have been kicked out long ago despite Dawn constantly vouching for him.

“Should we be worried about how long they’re taking,” Sunny speaks up, anxiously, from beside her; unlike most of them, Dawn did not have to choose his outfit with the elf already being one of the most fashionable among them. She almost thinks it is a shame that Dawn has not seen him yet.

Marianne glances toward him, but otherwise appears not nearly as concerned. She continues to absently sip at the grape-based wine served, almost lazily, with the peace of mind that if she spilled any than at the very least, it would not show up on the dress. While not caring much about what the others think of her outfit - considering that she has already gotten more than a few stink eyes - she is looking forward to showing herself off to Bog. Dawn had worked hard on this particular dress, with Marianne’s own input, for weeks in preparation for this. The dark purple silk was carefully dyed with wine, intricately sewn in with matching petals. She felt the color was a good way to assert herself as royalty and, admittedly, it is also just her new favorite color. The overall plan is that the neighboring political figures will not make any mistake on who the crown princess is, which will make her dance with Bog an even bigger event.

But now that the ball is in full swing, an appearance from either Dawn or Bog would make them fashionably late; something that is usually more her style than her sister’s. As crown princess, she actually took her duties in getting the ball ready more seriously, which made her almost dangerously early. Her father was thrilled that she was showing more of an interest and she did not want to ruin his good mood by telling him she was only making sure of things this time around since Bog would be joining them.

“Dawn always takes longer to get ready for these things,” Marianne reminds him, “And with a new person to dress up….”

She trails off with a bit of a shrug. It is nice for her sister (her loyal, always by her side sister) to offer to take over Bog’s clothes for the ball; Dawn all but gave her no choice when she found out. While she imagines that Bog is not having the best time, she can not help but be curious as to what Dawn put him in. Out of the two of them, her sister has always had the best taste in fashion and understood the dynamics of being a seamstress must better than herself.

Not too much later after her words, Princess Dawn’s appearance is announced by one of the guards. Considering this is one of the larger balls the kingdom throws, a majority being fairies and political figures from neighboring fairy kingdoms, their father had insisted on the more traditional approach of having each guest carefully announced. Not the worst idea until someone - or two someone - are late.

Considering that there are most everyone is there, and whomever is not by now is considered by most to not be coming, Dawn’s announcement draws a bit of attention. Most of the fairies of their own kingdom pay her no mind, used to at least one princess being late, while their other guests at the very least, turn their head to glance her way. Most just continue their slow dances and hushed whispers - whispers that, with her late attendance, seem to get a smidge louder than normal among their visitors.

To their father’s credit, he does try to greet her, but Dawn wastes no time in going in for Sunny, grabbing his wrist, then dragging him out to the dance floor. Dawn barely even greets her own sister, a smile stretched out on her face wildly, and Marianne just returns the smile as she sips at the glass. She can see her father’s disappointment from here as some of the dancers glance at Dawn and Sunny with uncertainty.

But if the attendees thought Dawn was scandalous, Marianne can not help but grin wickedly when she thinks about the stir her and Bog will cause. She knows she will get an earful later, but she also knows that a statement like this can not be dismissed.

When the guard announces Bog’s arrival, instead of the hushed whispers growing, all sound seems to stop. While the musicians eyed each other uneasily, their music coming to an abrupt stop as an uncertainty washes over them all, the sound of Marianne’s shoes against the solid floor are the only thing echoing across the ballroom.

Marianne grins viciously, her eyes lighting up as Bog enters the party. Her sister did a dastardly good job. Forgoing too much that would cover his armor and rip due to his thorns, Bog instead wears a deep purple toga, made of a thicker fabric with layers. The fabric wraps from just beside his neck across to his hip, giving him the illusion of being covered for the sake of the event, but is open enough to reveal the intricacies of his armor and give him room for his large shoulder plates. It does not go unnoticed by Marianne that they, likely intentionally if she knows her sister, match.

“Care for a dance, Bog King,” Marianne bows deeply, one foot behind the other while her hand stretches out to him in an offering. She winks at him as she meets his gaze, relishing in the way it almost makes him flustered.

Bog matches her grin, shamelessly looking her over as he appreciates her choice of dress. The silky fabric is as dangerously scandalous as he is.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

They walk to the middle of the dance room, many of the guests parting to give them plenty of space, their heads are held high as Marianne evens her breathing. She does not even bother to glance at her father, instead only giving a small wave to Dawn as her younger sister openly encourages her.

A small nod to the musicians is enough for them to start up the music again. It takes a moment for the music to build, with Bog and Marianne taking that time in getting in the proper position. They stand facing each other, one hand behind their back, the other outstretched to barely touch their palms together.

As the music begins to pick up, Bog brings her closer just as they practiced before they start to go into a full swing. With each flare of music, Marianne moves - a kick of her feet, a twirl. All while maintaining her hold on Bog’s arm.

The longer they dance, the more she realizes that - for the most part - everyone has parted away from the middle floor to leave them both the space that they need. Either they realized just how dangerous her kicks are or they do not want to get close to the Goblin King. Like a weight lifted, she realizes she does not care.

All that she can focus on, as the background blurs around them through spins, turns and careful steps, is the fact that Bog is not missing a beat. They move together like one through a series of classic, yet dramatic, dances. The music echoes in her chest as it pounds in her ear, she counts each beat as thinks about where she has to step next.

“Purple suits you,” Marianne comments softly when Bog brings her in close. Her hand moves from position to scrape her nail along the underside of his armor at his neck. He almost growls, but instead grins deviously.

“Your hand is not in the right place, princess.”  

Marianne does not move her hand. She just grins, her hand briefly going to his face.

“I beg to differ, Bog King.”

She is lightly pushed away as they part, her going into a twirl before coming back into his arms. As their dance closes, Bog makes a point to dip her a bit deeper than customary with his face too close to hers to be mistaken for casual. His hand is tight at her waist, with no sign of letting go. As much as she tries to hide it, with them so close, he gets a good glimpse at the flush dusting her cheeks.

“You’re a pretty good dancer,” Marianne compliments as they part, Bog maintaining his hand on her waist.

Marianne does not miss the way that the others return to the dance floor as her and Bog leave it. Granted, some go back to the wine bar as soon as her sister stumbles her way to the floor with Sunny back in tow. But at the very least, she knows that their message got across - especially as she looks at her father, who looks two glasses away from passing out. Despite knowing that, and knowing the lecture she has in her future, she can not help but feel elated at just how much fun it was. Her heart racing, cheeks flushed, she hopes that the ball in the dark forest - an event only a few nights away from this one - will be just as fun.

Bog draws her in close, his teeth bared in a predatory dangerous smile.

“You did pretty well yourself, tough girl. Now, it’s my turn.”

__________________________________________________

Marianne is a little more worried over Griselda being in charge of her dress, however at Bog’s reassurances, she takes a deep breath and lets go of the reins. After all, who would know what is more appropriate for a goblin ball more than the previous queen? If she can put her trust and faith into Dawn, she can do the same for Griselda, especially after all that his mother has done for them (if in a bit embarrassing manner).

But, almost embarrassingly so, Marianne is left in the dark as to what to expect for the ball in the Dark Forest.

Her father tried to instill fear and caution in her over attending an event by herself, at night, in the Dark Forest, surrounded by goblins. Dawn tried to imagine something hauntingly beautiful, and made a few passing comments about Griselda enlisting her help with the dress to make sure it balanced goblin fashion and fairy well; though she complained more often than thought that she is unable to attend as the goblin ball, as she would be too busy attending the elves’ own soiree with Sunny.

Bog, however, would just give her teasing comments here and there about preparing herself to see just how different a real party is compared to the one that the fairies had. While that idea is exciting - thrilling - she is a bit nervous. Especially since she knows that, just like the one in the Fairy Kingdom, this event would also have other representatives from different sections of the Dark Forest and who knew what else. She knew that she could protect herself and that Bog would stand up for her presence there, but she still remembers just how scary it was when she first accidentally stepped into the Dark Forest and feels that same fear bubbling under her skin at the idea of being introduced to so many unknowns. She is sure that Bog felt the same anxiety, however, about attending the fairy ball.

And she also has to remind herself that this is what she wants. She wants to be kept on her toes. She wants the challenge. She wants to learn more about Bog and his world, just as he did the same for her. More importantly, this is exactly what she always dreamed of (with a few minor things changed here and there such as actually dating the Bog King).

Griselda helps put the finishing touches up on the dress. With Dawn gone to the elven ball, Griselda puts her all into making sure each detail is perfect a mere hour away from the event. The previous queen is already dressed - with jewelry adorning her horns, but lacking shoes - and Marianne can not help but wonder if she should expect the other goblins to be dressed in something similar - and if going without shoes is the norm.

“You look - beautiful,” Griselda gushes, brushing a tear away from her eye with her pinky claw, “Boggy is just going to love you - well, he already loves you dear, you know that, but when he sees you in this dress - I better be getting grandchildren out of this.”

Marianne flushes deeply, eyes darting around as she can only laugh a bit nervously at the sentiment, especially knowing that Griselda says it so sincerely. Griselda immediately, lightly, scolds her for fidgeting as she finishes sewing up one last spot to make it the perfect fit. Marianne catches glimpses of herself in the mirror - and more she looks at it, the more she falls in love with what Griselda and her sister have created.

“-Is it normal not to wear shoes,” Marianne asks, hesitantly as she eyes Griselda’s toes balancing her as she stands up on them to reach a specific spot. Marianne glances down to her own feet, wiggling her toes, unsure about how she feels about the possibility of dancing barefoot  and the more fairy part of her is a little worried about just how dirty her feet would get. She also already knows how Bog’s thorns feel when they prick her finger, she can’t imagine what would happen if he stepped on her toes while barefoot.

“Goblins do not need shoes, honey,” Griselda explains gently, “Our skin is tough and we’re made for running through stones and bark and twigs, not soft dirt and flowers.”

She gently pinches at Marianne’s skin as if to emphasize her point, “But do not worry about it dearie, I made a pair of shoes - with your sister’s input mind you - that will work perfect for tonight.”

_____________________________________________

“Is she here yet,” Thang attempts to whisper, his voice harshly cutting out.

“No.” Stuff rolls her eyes, crossing her arms, “If Queen Marianne was here, we’d see her.”

“ Oh.”

Bog sighs deeply, trying to fight the incoming migraine as the two smaller goblins debate about whether or not Marianne is at the ball yet. He leans on his staff, tapping his foot impatiently as he debates about searching the castle himself for his mother and Marianne. He hopes, at the very least, his mother did not put something ridiculous on Marianne; she would look beautiful no matter what she wore, but his mother’s atrocious ideas of fashion are (at times) a bit much to swallow, especially at formal events. But even he is starting to get impatient over his mother taking too long.

He notices his mother arriving first; it is hard to not notice her. Unlike the fairy ball, with formalities and announcements, Griselda comes in loudly and proudly - immediately calling out to the old politicians that she recognizes, waving to them enthusiastically. Bog sighs at the way some of the others street clear of her as she plows her way through the dancing crowd just to say hi to any given person.

But then he turns to see Marianne. Gorgeous, stunning, beautiful Marianne. Looking as if she belongs to be there as any of them do. The black dress she wears has thin, translucent sleeves that wrap around her arms, connected to the dark collar at her neck, her dark purple wings looking more like an elegant cape behind her as her sword glimmers at her hip. He glances down and is surprised to see that instead of her normal cloth and vines around her feet, she instead wears shoes that look suspiciously like his armor just dyed; they match the armored bracelets at her wrists.

She looks every bit like the future Queen of the Dark Forest should be.

Marianne’s eyes meet his - the dark shadow around her eyelids highlighting the gleam in her eyes and the flush of her cheeks. She holds her head high as she walks to him, with most of the goblins parting out of her way while others linger to look at her in curiosity.

She tries her best to focus solely on Bog, remembering to keep her shoulders back and walk with the confidence that she needs right now. The dark, low lights of the cavern inside of the hollowed tree are unexpected - lit mostly by fireflies and moonlight that beams in through the skylight. She glimpses the various types of goblins around her - batlike ones whose arms reach to the ground to support their weight, ones with ears larger than their bodies or some larger than she thought goblins could even be. The diversity among them is so vastly different than that among the fairies, from their sizes to features, but she feels an odd sense of welcoming that all of them are Bog’s people.  

The music is deeper than she anticipated - tight strings with an ominous undertone. As if it is background noise to an anticipated fight. She supposes that that is not entirely wrong, given that she remembers just how Bog taught her how to dance.

“Wow,” Thang whistles, the sound sharp and crass against the rugged music playing, “She looks pretty evil.”

Marianne raises a brow, nose scrunched at the compliment, She is but bites her cheek for now. She is used to the ‘compliments’ people give her - pretty, quirky, awkward. She is used to what Roland used to pass as compliments, but (especially knowing Thang) this does not feel backhanded. It does not even feel like an insult either. But if it is a compliment, she is not sure what exactly it is supposed to mean.

Bog immediately bows to her, causing Stuff and Thang to stumble, squawking in surprise as they do the same. From the corner of her eye, she can see the other goblins do the same. She feels a sense of honor and pride, as well as absolute adoration from Bog being as bold to do something that clearly meant a lot to his people.

“I believe it’s time to dance, tough girl,” Bog takes her hand as he stands up straight, “Do you remember what we practiced?”

Marianne bares her teeth in a wild grin. She remembers exactly how to do this. For as often as she practiced dancing with him for the fairy ball, they practiced twice as much for this. She knows that if something goes wrong someone could get hurt - and she can not imagine what would happen if that person was accidentally Bog.

But she has faith in herself - and in him. She thinks that she has a good enough handle on this to do it well.

“How could I not?”

Bog guides her to the floor with an elegance. At his presence, the goblins make a very clear circle around them to give them plenty of space. She would be more worried about hurting someone if they did not.

Bog gives a nod as they part, gaining a few feet between them. Unlike the close, slower and more calculated movements of the dance they performed at the fairy event, this one starts at a distance as they draw their weapons. They close in with his staff against her sword, circling each other as they bring their weapons down against each other.

“By the way,” Marianne asks softly, eyes still on him- each movement she makes feels natural to her, with her sword acting more like a third limb than a weapon. “Was that earlier?”

“Which part,” Bog almost laughs, but his voice comes off hesitant, “What did my mother do?”

“No - your mother was fine,” Marianne assures him as their weapons hit each other once again, twirling around like this - she can not help feel the parallel to their first fight. “I meant Thang.”

“Thang?”

They stumble - for a brief moment, their dance stutters in an awkward pause as their weapons slip out of their hands and into the air. Their staff and sword glide pass each other in a fumble. They move fast, and as one, to cover the mistake - grabbing each other’s weapon in an elegant switch that causes the crowd to gasp, not noticing it as a mistake and instead as (what Dawn would call) a power move, as they continue on.

“He called me evil.” Marianne states carefully, unsure if it would come off insulting and this time, she is careful to hold onto Bog’s staff. The weight of it is unfamiliar, if oddly comforting, but considering she practiced with only her weapon, her words come out a bit slower as she concentrates more on her movements. “Is that - I mean, is that a good thing or -?”

This time Bog does laugh - bellowing and deep, it echoes through the room as he grins madly at her. Their dance picks up the pace as their conversation blurs among the clash of her sword against his staff.

“Evil is a compliment in these parts, tough girl,” Bog explains, a wicked grin on his face, “Evil is not malicious - but of strength, mischief - rebellion.”

Marianne lets out a quiet oh. She supposes that makes sense, if she squints. To fairies, evil means darkness, malicious intent. But hearing his version of it, she wonders just how much their version of ‘evil’ is just based in prejudice against the Dark Forest.

They come together closer as their dance starts to slow, neither out of breath as everyone watches them carefully. Marianne can hear Griselda already clapping, but for once, Bog does not pay much mind to his mother’s embarrassing attention.

“And there is nothing - ” Bog states, his voice low and soft. Their weapons are down, still against each other as Bog leans into her, close to almost whispering into her ear, “- nothing more rebellious than a fairy princess and a goblin king.”

#krystalmoonfae #strange magic #fanfiction #politics #cultural differences #fairy goblin #bog king #marianne #ballroom #myworks #fics #fic

[aprilsrant]

Praised be writer’s block | Young!Remus Lupin x Slytherin!Fem!Reader.

SUMMARY: in the midst of an upcoming war and worries about the future, (Y/N) bonds with an unexpected person, golden boy from gryffindor house himself.

WORD COUNT: 3,000, more or less…

A/N: this is my first time doing this, so if you have any suggestions please let me know! also, if you can, reblog so it can reach more people, it’ll help me a lot.

All of this wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for @peeves-a-legend​, which btw is an amazing writer. I can’t thank you enough!

Masterlist.

The gif below is not mine, credits to the original maker. And yes, I see robert sean leonard as a young!remus, but you can imagine whoever you want.

In one of the few sunny and warm mornings left of the season, (Y/N)’s mother had dragged her to Diagon Alley to buy her school’s supplies. The term for her sixth year was about ten days away from starting and going there didn’t thrill her anymore. She had retarded the visit as long as her mother’s patience lasted (which wasn’t a lot considering the woman had belonged to Hufflepuff), and no one had been succesfull on finding the reason, althought her mum suspected it. 

(Y/N) hadn’t felt the rush of excitement run through her body in a long time when she thought about going back to Hogwarts, and buying supplies meant she was only a step closer. Her first two years were more than she could ever ask for, but everything came crashing down on her at the young age of thirteen. 

(Y/N) had started to notice the repulsive look on people’s faces whenever she tried to help them, all looking down at her green robes as if she had grown a third arm or a second head overnight. She realised, with now a heavy weight on her heart and a new insecurity over her mind, that not all Hufflepuffs were kind and inviting. Maybe, she supposed, they were too proud to accept help from anyone else. 

Or perhaps, (Y/N) was too naive to think she could defy centuries of old stereotypes and unhealthy competitions while wearing a green and silver tie.

But the rude comments and weird stares had not affected her in such a long time. She didn’t show them how angry she got about those and how much she wanted to scream at those Gryffindors to get over themselves, because if she did, she was proving their point. All snakes, young or old, end up being violent creatures. Instead, a new feeling of uneasiness had settled in her mind, washing away her minor problems.

Peace no longer reigned over the Wizarding World. Rumors of a war were spreading like wildfire. Voldemort’s ranks got bigger and bigger with the passing time, and more muggle families and muggleborns were being wiped out, like they meant nothing. In those dark times, not having magic or being from a family with the wrong kind of ancestors, could determine your doom. 

In her case, she wasn’t at the top of the Dark Eater’s food chain as a halfblood, but that didn’t ease her nerves. She was more worried about her father, a muggleborn, her grandparents and several other friends. Many of their families wanted to go into hiding and she knew that this year and the others to come, Hogwarts wouldn’t be so magical.

Once they passed through the brick wall at the Leaky Cauldron,  their first stop was the Apothecary, which (Y/N) had refused to enter because of the disgusting smell of bad eggs and something more repulsive she didn’t identify. Instead, she decided to visit Quality Quidditch Supplies. It’s not like she played the sport, Merlin knows how awful she was at throwing or hitting things, and playing as Seeker was not an option. But she always attended the matches, channelling every single piece of energy her body had onto cheering for Slytherin’s team. 

(Y/N) made her way to one of the corners of the shop, wanting to see the newest Quidditch gloves her best friend had talked about so much in her letters. Maybe she could get her a new pair for her birthday, so she could start the season with brand new gloves. But looking at the price, she realized a cheappier gift would have to do. Her family wasn’t the richest and she knew her parents were struggling with money lately.

“Expensive, aren’t they?,” asked a voice from behind her. She turned around, one of the gloves still on her right hand, and noticed that the voice belonged to no other than Remus Lupin. She was lying to herself if she said he wasn’t good looking. Those dark brown eyes and soft hair had gotten to her when they were in their fourth year. (Y/N) had spent weeks, maybe even months, crushing on him and, of course, annoying her friends to no end about how perfect he was and how he was one of the few decent members of the lion house. But she never tried anything, she had a long list of excuses that, maybe, exceeded the many numerous reasons why she liked the Gryffindor so much.

“Definitely,” (Y/N) finally answered with a grimace in her face, “I thought I could get a pair for my best friend’s birthday since she’s a Chaser, but I’m not so sure now”.

Remus offered her a small smile and muttered something about how her best friend would appreciate anything she would give her. After that, neither of them said anything and only the noise of other people’s chattering could be heard. She looked around the store, trying to think about something that would lead to more talk, while Remus put his hands in his jeans’s pockets and changed the weight of his body to his left leg. 

A few more seconds passed and (Y/N), not tolerating the awkward atmosphere anymore, was the one to initiate the conversation this time.

“So, um, Remus, are you, um, planning on joining the Gryffindor Quidditch team? Since, you know, you are… here”. 

Merlin, her sister was right, she did need to start socialising more.

“Oh no, not a chance,” he answered letting a snicker escape his lips. (Y/N)’s mouth turned into a little smile because of the sound, not noticing at first. “I’m just here because of James and Sirius, they wanted to see some new brooms that came out this…”.

Remus words were interrupted by the same people he’d just mentioned. James Potter and Sirius Black, the most known students at Hogwarts, were walking towards them. (Y/N) tried to put on a neutral face, not showing her true thoughts on the two boys.

It wasn’t that she hated them. At some point, she had found her pranks on those horrible Slytherins funny, but after last year her opinion on them changed drastically. It appeared to be that they couldn’t distinguish who were the “good” Slytherins therefore they’d just played cruel jokes on every single member of the house. Or maybe, they didn’t think Slytherins could be nice and decent people, so all of them deserved to be made fun of.

“REMUS!,” they both shouted at the same time. Almost everyone in the shop turned to see them, and as (Y/N) moved uncomfortable with a scowled look because of the new, and unwanted attention, she wondered why they had to be so bloody loud all the time. “We were looking for you, but it seems you have found some company”.

Remus’s cheeks changed to a soft crimson after Sirius’s comment.

“Careful now, Rem, snakes tend to bite and some of them are poisonous.” James’s eyes shined with mischief as he spoke.

(Y/N) rolled her eyes at that, but instead of keeping quiet as she normally would, she responded to Potter’s remark, surprising the others and herself in the process.

“Excellent observation, James. Now, how much time did it take you to come up with that and for how long you’ve been wanting to use it? Perhaps, it was after that particular Quidditch match where Slytherin shredded you into pieces ”. 

His face no longer showed a fun expression, but, in it’s place, was a face with narrowed eyes trying to hide the fact he had been caught. (Y/N) smiled at that, she was not this kind of person but it was good to see Potter embarrassed after he had humiliated her in front of half the school just a few months ago. She knew Sirius wanted to say something to save his friend, but as his mouth was starting to open to spill some sarcastic or stupid comment about her house, Remus stepped in.

“Sirius, don’t say anything, just leave her alone,” he began, giving the pair a pointed look with his eyebrows raised, “we were only talking, there’s no need to start acting as if she’s going to bite my head off”.

Dumb and Dumber, as one her Slytherin friends liked to called them, stared at Remus like he had transformed into a Hipogriff. (Y/N), as surprised as she was, glanced at him with a confused, yet somehow grateful, look on her face.  In return, he smiled at her and grabbed his friends from the shoulders, making them walk towards the door while mentioning something about having to meet up with Peter at Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor. 

Before reaching the door, Remus turned around, let go of Sirius for a moment and waved at her with a grin, one that made her cheeks blushed and her stomach flipped.

|||

It had been months since the interaction between her and Remus, plus James and Sirius. A small smile and a certain glow in her eyes stayed present on her face for the rest of the trip to Diagon Alley with her mother, who had not missed the sudden shift in her daughter’s appearance.

She hadn’t talked much with him again (only a few more times because of their prefect meetings), but the little interactions between them remained. Like the gentle and kind smiles they would send to each other while walking in the school grounds and greetings from afar with a short wave of the hand.

Winter break was just around the corner when they met again. Both wrapped around heavy coats, gloves and scarfs protecting them from the cold wind and the freezing fog. (Y/N) would have been pissed about her feet getting wet from the snow if it wasn’t for the outstanding landscape it created. A pure scenery, grounds and trees and roofs of the castle covered in white, in such terrible and corrupted times. 

“Lovely, huh?,” he mouthed. 

What is it with this boy and sneaking up on people?

(Y/N) nodded, still unable to tear her eyes from the view. When she finally did, she became aware of how close they were, elbows almost touching. Releasing a shaky breath, that quickly changed into what it looked like fog, (Y/N) peered at him. The end of his nose was red, matching his cheeks, while his lips were pale and dry from the weather. It was an adorable sight, perhaps even more worthy of her attention than the snowflakes falling from the sky.

“What makes you go to Hogsmeade on this particular frosty afternoon, (Y/N)?”

“I could ask you the same thing, Remus,” she exclaimed, the corners of her mouth quirking up as she mentioned his name, “but, if you really like to know, I’m heading there because I forgot about some Christmas’s presents. What about you?”

Without perceiving it, they had both started to walk towards the small town, making their way through the layers of snow. 

“I just, um, wanted to visit Hogsmeade one last time before, you know, going home.” For a moment, (Y/N) had the idea of hearing some kind of hesitation while he spoke, as if he wasn’t entirely sure of what he was saying. 

This time, (Y/N) would not let the conversation turn awkward so rapidly, after all this was her chance of having an actual opportunity with Remus. So she swallowed the majority of her nerves, which were quite a lot, and planted a smile on her face. But before the words could come out of her mouth, Remus himself had beat her.

“Would you like to come to the Three Broomsticks with me?,” he questioned. 

It took her a few seconds to understand what he had asked because of how rushed he’d spoken. Her eyes widened at the notion of going on a date with him. Was it even a date? A small voice wondered inside her head. Ignoring it, she replied with a short yes. His entire demeanour immediately transformed. Remus’s eyes didn’t hold too much worry now and a large smile decorated his face. 

The trip to the popular pub was shorter than it normally was, but (Y/N) guessed that had been for how much she and Remus talked while walking to the town. When they arrived, the warm and cozy ambient, although a bit smoky and crowded, received them like a bright lamp post in the middle of nowhere pointing out the pathway. Even if (Y/N) loved winter and snow, a hot butterbeer didn’t seem too bad after being exposed to the cold wind.

Sitting down at one of the tables from the right corner of the shop, right next to a large window and giving the back to one of the walls, she could see the entire place. But her eyes were now glued to the Gryffindor seated in front of her, who was trying not to look like he was going to pass out from the nerves of having a date (was it a date?) with the most gorgeous girl in Hogwarts, maybe even the whole world.

They passed the rest of the afternoon getting to know each other, chatting regarding the things they loved and hated from Hogwarts; complaining about professors and the amount of homework they sent; laughing because of some ridiculous story told by Remus (he swore his breath got caught in his lungs as he watched her throwing her head back while letting out a loud laugh, eyes shining with happiness and not caring, for the first time, about the looks from the people in the place). They discussed their favourite muggle authors, the most amazing films that had ever been made and their dreams after finishing their education. 

(Y/N) had felt herself falling all over again for him while watching him talk about how much he’d loved being a professor and being there for his students. The passion and shine in his eyes rivaled even the brightest star in the night sky. 

And Remus had seen the same expression in her face when she talked about becoming a known writer in both the muggle and wizarding world. Despite her excitement, he recognised something else in her eyes, perhaps uncertainty or even sadness. When he asked about it, (Y/N) confided in him the fact she was scared about trying it.

“What if it’s a waste of time? What I’m supposed to write about?”

“It won’t be a waste of your time if it makes you happy,” he reassured her, “and the ideas will come to you, don’t worry. You can even write about us.” (Y/N)’s eyes quickly made their way into his after hearing that. “I mean, about this part of our world”. She couldn’t help but feel quite disappointed. 

“Wouldn’t I be violating the Statute of Secrecy?”

Remus raised his shoulders a little as he pressed his lips together, clearly trying to stop a smile from forming in his face. 

“It’s not like the Ministry is going to find out,” he whispered, so only (Y/N) could be able to listen to him, “ who’s going to tell them about it? Me?”

A scoff left her mouth and she rolled her eyes playfully at him. Was this really happening? Remus Lupin, the boy she had a crush on in her fourth year, sitting in front of her, encouraging her to follow her dreams.

“Is the Golden Boy and Prefect of Gryffindor House actually saying that I should just break an International Law?” she joked while shaking her head in disbelief, “McGonagall would be so heart broken”.

Now it was his time to roll his eyes. Directing a smirk at her, he leaned back in his chair, more relaxed and with a new light glowing around him.

“Look, I would love to write about this world. But ambition is not the only trait that got me in Slytherin,” (Y/N) declared. She beamed when he furrowed his brows together in confusion, getting closer to the table and placing his elbows on top of it. “Violating that Law is having a death wish and self preservation is one of my top priorities”.

“I can’t help but agree to that”.

The hours kept running and people began to leave the pub, but not them. They had stayed until the owner told the teenagers he was closing. Not (Y/N) nor Remus had noticed where the time had gone. Quickly, they collected all of their belongings and left the establishment in a hurry. (Y/N) didn’t want to think about the punishment they’d received if they were caught.

Fortunately, they made it to the castle in one piece. Once they were a few meters away from the entrance, they started to laugh. None of them knew why, it just seemed like a good time to do it.

“What happened to you and your advice of breaking the rules?” (Y/N) said in the middle of a laugh.

“I hope this doesn’t become a tradition, Mr. Lupin, Ms. (Y/L/N),” a stern female voice said in front of them. Professor McGonagall was standing gracefully in front of the door, her arms crossed over her chest and a furious expression implanted in her face.

Remus and (Y/N) looked at each other, the same thought running through their minds. They were so screwed.

|||

December 25th.

Dear (Y/N):

I’m sending this letter to wish you a Merry Christmas and a great New Year, even though it’s not the 31st yet, but well… that doesn’t really matter right now.

I remembered you talking about how much you wanted to read more classics, and I couldn’t help myself. Inside the box, you will find Frankenstein, by Mary Shelley, and Wuthering Heights, by some other lovely woman named Emily Brontë. I’m not so sure about why you would enjoy them as much as I did, but maybe they’ll inspire you on your journey of becoming a writer. It won’t hurt visiting new worlds to fill your mind with ideas.

Also, and I hope this doesn’t bother you, the books are not brand new. They were read by me and have some marks on the pages, but I don’t like giving new books as gifts. I think that if they were used, they are even more special and hold more value.

Can’t wait to see you once the break is over.

Sincerely, Remus John Lupin.

|||

The grin on her face never abandoned her after reading Remus’s letter and opening the silver paper with golden stars all over it, in which he had wrapped the two books he had mentioned. In fact, it lingered on her for the rest of the day, accompanied with a special and renovated brightness in her eyes.  

Before letting the owl return back to its owner, (Y/N) gave her some food and water, and when it was ready, she attached a small box with red paper on the exterior and a green bow at the top. She had also prepared a gift for him, even if it wasn’t that meaningful (at least, that was what she thought). (Y/N) only hoped he would enjoy the chocolate stash, full with different muggle and wizarding ones she had thought he could try, while the owl stepped away from her windowsill.

Around eight p.m, she finally went to bed and despite spending the day interacting with her family, (thing that tired her out pretty quickly), (Y/N) was more awake than ever before. Laying down on her bed with a cup of tea and an old blanket that had once belonged to her sister, covering her legs, she grabbed one of the books Remus gifted her, ready to dwell in Mary Shelley’s world. 

#remus x reader #remus lupin x reader #young!remus lupin #young!remus x reader #marauders imagine #harry potter #harry potter oneshot #harry potter imagine #marauders era #fluff #sirius black #james potter #petter pettigrew #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin x you #slytherin!reader #slytherin #remus lupin x slytherin!reader

[dirtymercy]

𝕄𝕌𝕊𝔼 ℙℝ𝕆𝕄ℙ𝕋𝕊 ;   ｒｅｐｏｓｔ，  ｄｏｎ＇ｔ  ｒｅｂｌｏｇ.

BENEDICT BRIDGERTON

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭  𝐝𝐨  𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲  𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐥  𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞?  

   Though he does not spend much money on fragrances, he does have a bottle of perfume scented with jasmine, though it does not smell sweet so much as delicate. When he bathes, it is typically with some light oils to scent the water, like lemon and rose. It is never very heavy upon him, and his natural scent is a soft musky smell. He is not terribly fancy with such things, and enjoys the plainer scents of soap as well, which is more common. He sometimes smells of smoke from cigarettes or the sweeter smoke of cheroots, mixed with the burning of firewood, especially cedar or pine, things his clothes and hair pick up from his surroundings.

𝐡𝐨𝐰  𝐝𝐨  𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲  𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩?    

   Benedict is usually a fairly sound sleeper. He does not toss and turn much, unless there is something heavy weighing on his mind. He dreams fairly vividly, though does not always remember his dreams come the morning. He generally sleeps naked, because he’s a fucking menace, but does not sprawl out much nor curl up into a ball -- he’s somewhere in between. Unless physically exhausted ( or drunk ), it can sometimes be difficult for him to fall asleep very quickly. He enjoys reading before bed on occasion, though that tends to keep him mind awake too much rather than lull him to sleep. He is not the best riser, and can be a bit sluggish at times, which can affect his mood. That is unless he has good company.

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭  𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜  𝐝𝐨  𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲  𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲?    

   Typically Benedict is a fan of string instruments in almost any style or composition. He is a little too familiar with the pianoforte, listening to his sisters practice on end to varying degrees of proficiency, though he does enjoy it when performed well, which does not include suffering through the Smyth-Smith musicale every year. He does not mind certain styles of opera, though prefers the Italian style above all others. Generally he prefers music without lyrics and singing, enjoying orchestral compositions best of all.

𝐡𝐨𝐰  𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡  𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞  𝐝𝐨  𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲  𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝  𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠  𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲  𝐢𝐧  𝐭𝐡𝐞  𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠?

   While he’s not terribly vain, he does make attempts to look presentable, to put a comb through his hair as his mother would often needle at him as a child. He keeps a clean shaven face, which is a little bit of a task with how naturally hairy he is. Dressing always takes a little bit of time, particularly if there is some outing or event he plans to attend. He likes a neat appearance, even if he tends to mess it up during the course of the day, and is often to end up with wrinkles in everything by nightfall. Even with how much time he takes to appear his best ( in part for his own satisfaction, in part to keep appearances up ) he is a fairly timely man and does not often run late.

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭  𝐢𝐬  𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫  𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞  𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠  𝐭𝐨  𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭?    

   ROCKS. Benedict collects rocks! He usually choses them to mean something, found on important days or in memorable places. He keeps them in a glass bowl at My Cottage, and as a similar collection back home at his bachelor lodgings on Bruton Street. Before then, they were kept in his desk drawer at Bridgerton House. He’s never needed to label them, as he has a sharp memory for why he selected them in the first place, and doesn’t typically forget. Some of them are interesting looking, some of them are quite plain -- he is by no means a geologist and does not know what kind of rocks they are at all. But they all have some meaningful story attached, pleasant or unpleasant as they may be, and he does keep them all. 

𝐚𝐫𝐞  𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲  𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭  𝐨𝐫  𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭  𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝?    

   He is entirely right handed. Though he is not completely miserable with his left hand, he lacks all the steadiness, strength, and grace that he has with his right. He writes, draws, paints, sword fights, and does just about everything else with his right hand too. 

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭  𝐢𝐬  𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫  𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐨𝐧?    

   Like most men of his time, Benedict was raised in the Christian faith. He is not terribly dedicated to it in his late twenties onwards. He was raised to believe in God, which dictated there was some order designed and created for them all, but Benedict is less concerned with the particulars of when it meant to be a man of faith. He believes that, whether or not it is God or some other power moving like a current through everything, some things have to be meant to be. It’s the only way he can explain to himself his father’s death, which otherwise seems like such a random and cruel occurrence. So because of that he believes in some kind of fate ( which is also solidified by Sophie ) but further questions this idea of God and religion, for how could a good man like his father be taken from them as he was? Especially with Hyacinth not yet born. He has never been the most dedicated of philosophers, and tends to default to something in between destiny and random occurrence as the rule of the universe with notable exceptions.

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭  𝐢𝐬  𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫  𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞  𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭?    

   As a rather talented swordsman, his favourite sport is certainly fencing. He finds boxing enjoyable to watch, but doesn’t care to participate. He also loves horse racing and is a fairly accomplished equestrian in his social circles. He has won a number of races in Hyde Park and at estates around the area in races hosted by various members of the community. He enjoys the activity less for the competition and more for the exercise and fun of it all. It’s one of the reasons he is not the most avid player of Pall Mall, and tends to avoid the competitive nature of the rest of his family in that event.

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭  𝐢𝐬  𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫  𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞  𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐲  𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠  𝐭𝐨  𝐝𝐨  𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧  𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠?  

   When Benedict travels, he always enjoys riding around on horseback to see the towns and landscape from above, taking in as much as he can. He does not enjoy carriage rides as much as he enjoys mounting a horse of his own, though will be a passenger when necessary. He does not, however, travel outside of England very often. Unlike Colin, he does not yearn to travel the world so intensely. He likes the countryside here just fine, and finds all the relaxation there that he could want. He should travel, however much he doesn’t -- for someone so bored with his social circles, a bit of adventure would do him good, and exercise his mind in seeing new places and learning new things. 

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭  𝐢𝐬  𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫  𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞  𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝  𝐨𝐟  𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫?    

   Though he is a true Londoner, accustomed to the dark sky, low ceiling, and rainy days, he is more a man of the country where the fairer weather seems to live. He enjoys the sunshine, the warm breezes, even the dire heat. He loves the springtime and summer, bathing in the sun, laid out in the grass, and yes, even going for a dip in the lake. In the days of his youth, he especially enjoyed the sunny days spent at Aubrey Hall, where he has many of his best memories. The fair weather holds those memories too, which is perhaps why he enjoys those days best. He does not greatly mind the rain either, though his body likes the heavy downpours less and less as he ages. The longer he lives at My Cottage the more the rain affects him, making him stiff and sore as he inches towards middle age and above. Still, a rainy day to remain inside and spend with his family is far from unappealing to him. 

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭  𝐢𝐬  𝐚  𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐝  /  𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐞  𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫  𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲  𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞?

   Benedict is not a fan of rats at all. He finds their little teeth creepy and as a child use to dream about them gnawing through his walls. To this day he does not like them, but won’t shriek at the sight of them. He will, however, jump away and avoid them until they’ve disappeared, and he is fairly strict with his staff about making sure no rats survive in his house.

tagged by: @chadming <3 tagging : IF YOU SEE IT, DO IT !!!

#x. benedict bridgerton / about #x. benedict bridgerton

[wangxiangiftexchange]

Winter Solstice Gift for missyriver

This is for @missyriver, I hope you enjoy! Have a great holiday season!

Setting: During a cultivator’s conference with the goal to help rebuilt the prosperity of the Jin clan, Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan spend a nice evening in Lotus Pier.

*****

Wei Ying was bored.

Since he was only allowed to attend half of the meetings, Wei Wuxian found himself having lots of free time, and nothing to do to fill it. Well, not exactly. He could train with the disciples or go harvest the lotus seeds in the many ponds and lakes that surrounded the pier. He could galivant through Yunmeng with a bottle of liquor like he used to. But no matter how hard he tried, Wei Wuxian could not bring himself to do any of those things. The days when he could do such things with a free spirit were long gone and being in Yunmeng for such an extended period of time was bringing back memories. Memories of sunny days splashing through the lotus ponds with his shejie and harrowing days of training by his brother’s side. Memories of his adoptive parents’ dead bodies in the hall and the image of Jiang Cheng clutching Yanli’s dead body and looking at him, tears streaming down his face begging him to do something.

He shook the thoughts away. There was nothing he could do. What was done was done, and now he had to focus on what he had, not what he’d lost. But that proved to be much more difficult than he’d imagined. Every bit of Lotus Pier was covered in memories of his past life, and who he’d been before. And no matter how hard he tried, the memories still crept in.

Lan Zhan’s most recent meeting was supposed to end in an hour, so he still had a considerable amount of time to fill, and he’d be damned if he let it be filled with sorrowful musings. At this time of year, as the Dongzhi festival was approaching, all the shops would be selling their best dumplings, so Wei Wuxian decided that he would go into town to get some for him and his lover. On his way there, a light snow descended from the sky and he couldn’t help being reminded of that night he’d spent in Lan Zhan’s jingshi, after his reincarnation. A small smile made its way to his face at the thought. Even with all the commotion and emotional upheaval that had taken place after his reincarnation Lan Zhan had been there with him. By his side. And truly, he couldn’t have asked for more.

There had been a time when Wei Wuxian would have been one hundred percent sure that he would never like, let alone love, the cold and uncaring Lan Wangji. He laughed at the thought. How things could change. Now all that kept him going was the comforting sound of Lan Wangji’s voice and the safety he felt when he had his gentle lover’s arms around him. And perhaps, he thought, perhaps tonight he would show him just how much he meant to him.

When he spotted the dumplings that looked the most delicious, he quickly bought some and hastily walked them back to the room he and Lan Zhan had been given for their stay in Yunmeng. His lover wasn’t back yet, so he would have time to prepare a nice dinner for them to share. His earlier thoughts were all but wisps in his mind, now replaced with the thought of a nice evening alone with the handsome Lan Wangji. He truly was very lucky.

Once the table was nicely set up, Wei Ying took the liberty of pouring himself a cup of liquor while he was waiting. His musings were no longer centred on the people he had lost, and the hell he’d been through, but what he had. He still had Lan Zhan. And he didn’t have to wait much longer to see the face of the only person he could truly trust to come back.

Lan Wangji looked tired. It would seem that the days meetings had not gone as he had planned, and it was clear to Wei Wuxian that this little evening of relaxation was well deserved for his companion. Just by looking at the little creases in his lover’s delicate features and seeing his slightly less that perfectly straight posture, Wei Ying could tell that the day’s events had taken quite the toll on Lan Wangji. He would ask him if there was anything he could do to help, when the time came.

“Lan Zhan,” he called out, quickly getting up to greet the other man. “How was the meeting?” Lan Wangji’s eyes did a quick sweep of the room before coming to rest on Wei Wuxian. “Long.” He spoke quietly, placing his Bichen on the nearest surface and going to sit at the table that Wei Wuxian had prepared for them. “Let’s eat.” Wei Wuxian sat back down, now face to face with the handsome man. Although he hadn’t said anything about it, Wei Ying could tell that Lan Zhan had been pleasantly surprised by what he’d prepared. He had gotten so accustomed to being with Lan Wangji that he could almost read him like an open book. The thought made him smile warmly. Most of the time, he could tell exactly how his lover felt, and to have such a connection with another person felt very rewarding.

The meal went by in comfortable silence, broken only by the sounds of the wind blowing around the light snow outside and the clacking of chopsticks. The smells of candles and warm, freshly cooked dumplings filled the air. It was rare for the two to get such peaceful alone time and Wei Wuxian was very proud. But it wasn’t over yet.

As soon as they’d both finished their meals, he rapidly cleared the table before grabbing his lover’s hand and leading him to the docks that connected their rooms to the rest of Lotus Pier. “Let’s go for a walk” he suggested, and Lan Zhan nodded. At first, they walked in silence, and seeing as there was no one around, Wei Wuxian did not let go of Lan Wangji’s hand. After a little they arrived at one of the many dock endings located in Lotus Pier, where a small boat lay waiting for them.

“Since we were interrupted by Wen Ning last time, I thought that maybe we could go for a boat ride, just you and me.” Wei Ying offered, a warm inviting smile on his face. A small smile appeared on Lan Wangji’s face as he took a seat at one end of the boat.  Wei Wuxian then sat at the other end, grabbing a seal from inside his robes, and sticking it at the back of the boat. Slowly the boat left the dock, creating small ripples in the previously clear surface of the water. The night was slightly cold, but it wasn’t cold enough to freeze the ponds, although there was a light snow on top of the many lotus plants. “It’s been so long since I was able to truly enjoy the lotus ponds.” Wuxian said with a slightly saddened smile. “I remember when my shejie would invite me to pick lotus seeds with her, and we would spend hours in these boats, just having fun. Jiang Cheng was always jealous when we came back,” he laughed, “He would get angry at us for not inviting him, although he would never admit it. But the next time we forgot to invite him again, he would always throw a tantrum.” The small smile on his face had grown with the happiness of the memory, but there still lay sadness within his eyes.

Which Lan Wangji noticed. He promptly gathered a few Lotus stalks in his hands, before taking the seeds out and handing some to Wei Wuxian. “Thank you” he said, and Wangji just nodded, before returning to his previous sitting position, except slightly closer to the other man. “Wei Ying,” he whispered, his low voice laced with what Wei Wuxian had come to learn was love and adoration. “Lady Jiang would not want you to look on these memories with sadness.” Wuxian smiled. “Of course not. “Then he laughed. “She’d also be very happy that I am here with such a handsome man as yourself.” The light of the moon illuminated the faces of both men, making Wei Wuxian’s flirty expression very clear. Wangji pulled away slightly. “Shameless.”

“Lan Zhannnnn!” Wei Wuxian whined as he practically threw himself on top of the other man making the boat shake precariously. After a while of simply laying on Lan Wangji he picked his head up and looked straight into the eyes of his lover. “I am very happy to be here with you, Lan Zhan.” It wasn’t rare for Wuxian to be so plainly honest with his feelings in such a direct way, but every time he did it, it still made Lan Wangji’s heart beat a little faster than it did before. “Mn” he answered. No words would ever be able to summarize the amount of love he held in his heart for Wei Wuxian. It was the controlling force of his life, what he breathed for, what he woke up for, what he dreamt of. And it was finally his, after sixteen years.

He wasted not another second in thought, gently bringing his lips down onto Wuxian’s. His kisses were always soft and adoring, lest he hurt his love in any way. And Wei Ying’s response was immediate, securing his arms around Wangji’s neck and pressing his lips against Lan Zhan’s passionately, as if he were a dying man sharing his last kiss. Which he might as well have been with all the people out there who still wanted to kill him. But with Lan Wangji by his side, he could never be hurt by anyone anymore. He was happy, safe and loved.

After all, Wei Wuxian could never truly be bored with Lan Wangji by his side.

#missyriver #wangxiansolstice20 #*fic20 #*gifts20

[scribble-blog]

A Bird in the Hand (is worth the Bee in your bonnet)

Hey everyone!!!!! Somehow I started writing a ChoDamian one shot (and then I just kept writing.) This is entirely the Maribat discord’s fault. Enjoy!

The first time Chloé meets Damian Wayne, he is 11 and she is 10 and they both hate the world and are desperate for their parents’ approval. He doesn’t talk to her but she can sense it on him like the sunny flora perfume masks her mother’s cold personality and unused heart, the way her daddy senses weakness in his opponent’s when it’s time for re-election, the way she finds out each secret her school mates have so they will never try to turn on her and hers. Damian hates the world, and wants his (polite, distant, but still somehow open) fathers approval.

The first time Chloé meets Damian Wayne she decides she hates him, too.

Their parents talk for what seems like hours and Chloé checks her nails with the bored expression her mother taught her and she doesn’t let Damian Wayne catch her staring as she tries to figure him out. He glares out of a window and doesn’t look at her once.

Infuriating.

The second time Chloé meets Damian Wayne, he’s at least learned to be enough of a gentleman to talk to a lady when presented with one. She raises her nose in the air when he (clearly forced by his father) asks her to dance at the Wayne Gala that her mother attends more for the sheer status of it than any true enjoyment. He holds himself a bit different, looks more human and less ready to rip out the throat of anyone that gave him a funny look. She opens her mouth.

“I’m not going to da-“

“Clary would love to go off and dance with you,” Her mother says sugar sharp behind her, and Chloé grits her teeth and takes his hand.

“I wouldn’t want to dance with you for all the money your daddy has.” She tells him, scathingly, to his face. “Be lucky you’re in my mother’s good graces.”

“I might be, for all the money my daddy has,” he returns coldly, his green eyes cutting. She misses Adrien, his mother who is warm like summer and his father who is brisk like autumn and him, Adrien, bright as spring. “But you aren’t.”

“Like you were waiting in a line to sweep my off my feet,” Chloé sneers. “Looks like we all have to do things we’d rather spit on to get mommy or daddy’s approval.”

His grip on her hand tightens infinitesimally. His face, already blank, shuts down further.

“I’ll count the minutes until we’re both free.”

She lets her manicured nails just dig in the tiniest bit. “Only if you’ll let me count the seconds.”

The third time Chloé meets Damian Wayne, he’s more human-like than ever before, but she supposed she’ll give him the year of growth since the last time they’ve run into each other.

Richard Grayson-Wayne has taken over while Brucey-Bear, as her mother simpers, is in absentia. They poor boy sweats as he talks to her mother, hashing our some business deal that his adoptive feather could have turned with a few easy words and a smile.

Her mother’s lips curl into a grin like a shark tasting blood.

“You should really be sending out warnings,” Chloé says flippantly. “If it’s going to get this easy now that your daddy’s gone, my mother could send someone who isn’t nearly as tough as her and they’d still run roughshod over your incompetent brother.”

To her shock and - delight, where did that emotion come from- he actually rolls his eyes. “If my ‘brother’ was fumbling any more, he’d be putting the whole company in your mother’s pocket.”

She startles them all with a surprised laugh, and stops it the second it’s out, but it’s enough for all three of them to look at her. Her mother, cunning delight, Grayson, surprised bemusement, and Damian Wayne, self satisfied and smirking.

After a second the two adults go back to talking and suddenly it is just her and Wayne, tasing quips about the way her mother is practically pouncing on this poor man like a lion on a gazelle.

“Shouldn’t you be against him being this bad at business?” Chloé finally says. “After all, it is your daddy’s money that being washed into my mother’s wallet.”

And Damian snorts. “I thought you didn’t care at all about my Daddy’s money.”

She gives him a sidelong glance. “Well, I don’t at any rate.”

The fourth time Chloé meets Damian Wayne, it’s been four years and he’s apparently been presumed dead for half of it. The later half, but now both he and Bruce Way are available for her mother to shove her towards, and so she goes. She’s tired of Hawkmoth, tired of Paris, but also already tired of New York with her mother, and Damian looks so... drained. So unlike the boy she once gave one sharp laugh to.

“Cory doesn’t mind, do you, darling,” Her mother titters and Chloé grits her teeth.

“Her name is Chloé,” Damian says, and Chloé’s heart skips a beat.

“It’s just a little nickname,” her mother laughs it off. Damian’s eyes are on her, and she can only guess at what he sees.

“We’re old enough to wander away while the adults are doing business now,” he tells her, scowling. She takes the hint and starts marching away, letting him follow her. There’s a small park right outside the building, and she misses Parisian air but this is the closest substitute she can get.

“You lives with your mother, right, Wayne?” She asks him once they’re both on a bench outside, away from the looming presences of their parents. It feels easy and freeing to say these things here, where she doesn’t live, to a boy she’s met three times before and shared one laugh with. “Was it easier or harder?”

He grimaced, but doesn’t answer immediately. She, for once, gives someone a bit of time and space.

“My mother is not a good person.” He finally says. “Her rules were easier. My father’s are more rewarding.”

She desperately tries to pretend she doesn’t want to cry. She has never wanted anything but her fathers time and her mothers approval. Damian seemed to have his fathers approval, and at least when he had been with her, his mothers time. “What if there aren’t any rewards. What if no matter what you do you only get the same thing, over and over again. What if it’s all good things but you don’t care anymore.”

He looks uncomfortable. She realizes she’s let a tear fall and she hardens herself again. “Ignore me. I- I didn’t say anything.”

They sit in silence. When his phone vibrates and he tells her their parents are done negotiating, they take the elevator back up in silence. She exchanges her polite goodbyes with Mr. Wayne.

Damian catches her shoulder before she walks out again though.

“Stop thinking about the rewards. Just find something good. And hang on to it.”

She thinks immediately of the few times where she became Queen Bee. The few times where she did something unequivocally right.

She’d already lost it.

The fifth time she meets Damian Wayne, she’s been Abeille for three months.

It had taken time to convince Ladybug. Time to convince her classmates. Her- employees. But she was trying to hold on to something, no matter how fragile.

She finally got it when she’d stumbled into the bathroom just in time to see Marinette transform into Ladybug.

“A bathroom, Dupain-Cheng?” Chloé had said in shock. “Hardly high security.”

Marinette had screamed.

Chloé hadn’t even, like, blackmailed her into giving her the comb. She’d just- kept her mouth shut. Kept the secret. Made an excuse or two for Marinette when she was dead on her feet.

There’s been some akuma that just wouldn’t quit, and Ladybug has shown up at her window. She’d said yes. New suit, new look-

Abeille.

And now she was looking at Damian Wayne, who made her- wake up, who reminded her of why she’d felt good as Queen Bee, who- was looking at her.

“Bourgeois,” he greeted. “Not even a welcome?”

“My mother isn’t here to force us to play nice,” she teases. She should be - running away, should be playing the part of the bitch, should be doing anything as long as it doesn’t allow Damian to bring up her weakness from before.

Instead she smiles. Friends are weird like that, she’s realized since Marinette Chose her again. “What brings you to France?”

“Some extended business of my father’s” he shrugs. She remembers the way he had hunched petulantly at 11, looking half ready to attack someone if it got him out of their first meeting. He looks- better now. More whole. Less feral. “It’s a long term deal, I believe. A month, at least. I believe we’re searching for a school I can temporarily attend lessons at, while I’m here.”

“Our daddies can pull some strings. You should come with me to Francois DuPont.”

The thing is, she means it. She imagines being able to see Damian’s dumb face everyday and it’s not a bad thing. She imagines him meeting Mari and Adrien and she doesn’t cringe away.

The next day Mme. Bustier announces a new students.

Chloé has met Damian Wayne countless times before she realizes she wants to hold his hand.

And possibly, like, save him from Akumas but in a Superhero sweeping off their Sweetheart way more than her everyday “let’s save Paris” activities.

Marinette, the traitor, laughs at her.

“It’s normal to have a crush on someone who you like, and you enjoy their company, even if I don’t get it,” Marinette makes a face, probably thinking of that rocky first few days. Why was it whenever Chloé brought a friend to class they immediately and very accidentally made an enemy of Marinette? Was it just rich boys in general?

Adrien was encouraging, but the boy was so wholesome and supportive he might as well be a house foundation. Chloé couldn’t tell if he was behind her because he thought it would work or because he just wanted Chloé to be happy and this is what Chloé wanted.

But for once, Chloé is scared.

Adrien was safe to latch onto. Adrien was her brother, her friend, her constant and confidante.

Damian Wayne is, without question, a much worse crush to have because it’s real.

She suddenly regrets ever making fun of Marinette and her inability to hold a conversation with Adrien.

She doesn’t stumble and fumble and bumble but she does start glaring at him whenever he comes near her and she starts ghosting him because she doesn’t know how to handle this-

And then Robin starts showing up to Akuma fights.

It’s funny, how absolutely angry someone can make her. At one point, that someone had been Marinette. After that, Lila before she, Adrien, and Mari has dethroned her. And now-

“Watch out,” she snarls as Robin steps in at just the wrong moment, again. She manages to avoid him with her venom but only barely, and the akuma breaks away.

After the battle, she hunts him down. “Listen to me, Birdbrain. Ladybug might have accepted your help, and you might have a few years on us as heroes, but when Ladybug makes a plan- you follow it. This is our home, our villain, our fight, and you stepping in it like you understand what’s going on and how we work is going to get somebody hurt.”

“Abeille,” Ladybug says softly, and Chloé almost growls.

“No. I’m tired of him waltzing in like this, usually ruining the plan and setting us back. Either he steps up and starts acting like a part of the team, or he stops showing up at all, because as much as you hate to admit it, he’s doing more harm than good.”

Robin’s face twists, and she can just somehow feel that he’s going to say something that will make her angrier, and without thinking, she punches him. It cracks the knuckles of her hands, blooming with dull pain, and he cradled what looks like is going to turn into a nasty bruise on his cheek.

She bounds away before Ladybug or Chat or, god forbid, Robin could say anything else.

She finds herself later on Mari’s balcony. She gets fed cookies and swaddled in blankets and Mari just- listens. About Damian. About Robin. About her mother.

Damian lets her know two days later that he’ll be returning to Gotham in a few days. Ladybug tells her the same thing about Robin when they meet for patrol.

“He wanted me to pass on his apologies,” Marinette says gently. “He looked so awkward the whole time too. Said he wasn’t very good at making friends or keeping them and France didn’t seem to be helping him with either.”

It hits Chloé like a drum then.

Of course. Of course her dumbass friend was also a hero in his off hours. Was she ever going to make a friend who didn’t run around in a cape or a skintight suit?

“I have to go,” she says, and Marinette squeezes her hand.

She taps against the window she knows is Damian’s, for fucks sake, is he in a coma or something? He finally opens it, and she tumbled in and takes a chance.

“I know you’re Robin,” she says, and she watches him tense up, his eyes shifting as if looking for a way to lie. She doesn’t let him. “Pollen, buzz off.”

The transformation drops, and she is not Abeille. She is not a Bourgeois. She is just Chloé, standing in front of him.

“I think I’m in love with you,” she says, more honestly than she’s ever said anything. “And I have no clue what to do about it.”

He laughs, sharp, just the once, and her shoulders raise up, and she gets ready to- she doesn’t know, maybe throw herself back out the window?- when he grabs her hand.

“Chloé,” he says wryly, “your right hook is incredible.”

And then he kisses her, and she can’t exactly argue about that.

“We’re going to Gotham,” Chloé slaps the papers down in front of Marinette. “We took down Hawkass, Adrien’s already agreed, fuck the class-“

“Is this a kidnapping?” Marinette says calmly, stitching elegant embroidery into a pair of shoes. “Or do I even get a say?”

“You have a say. Your say just happens to be, ‘yes, Chloé, I’d love to run away to Gotham with you and Adrien to escape Paris and the memories of the terrorist who ruined our lives.’”

“There’s actually a pretty great fashion program at the university there,” Marinette says, handing her an open envelope, and Chloé sees the acceptance letter.

“You got in. Actually, fuck, you knew I was gonna do this and you applied preemptively.”

“Yes, Chloé, I’d love to run away to Gotham with you and Adrien to escape Paris and the memories of the terrorist who ruined our lives,” Marinette says. “When is Damian expecting you?”

Chloé just groans.

TAGLIST:

@ash-amg @vixen-uchiha @redscarlet95

#@redscarlet95 sorry this isnt daminette but i wasnt sure if youd want to be tagged in all my writing or just the daminette stuff! #lmk and ill remove you if you want #maribat #chlodamian #OOPS IT 2.5k WORDS

[absconditum-imaginaerum]

ꓘ | EUNWOO

EUNWOO | ꓘ

WORDS | 7,650

NOTES | Baseball AU, Minuscule angst like maybe 1%, 99% fluff. Because I die for Eunwoo in a ball cap and jersey a little bit every time I see it. Plus he’s just the biggest, sweetest, cutie pie of all times. 

For the third year in a row, you’d gotten roped into selling tickets to the baseball games for the rec league. Some conniving plot of the coordinator had tricked you into giving up your peaceful pre-weekend days to sit in a dusty shack looking booth to coax as many passersby as you could to buy a ticket—whether or not they attended the game was really none of your concern; your main priority was raising money for your local recreational boys baseball team. There were many in the city, but this team had the burned-out stars, the ones that didn’t play college ball then move on to bigger and better things, the high talent that didn’t even bother try out for that college team. There were some boys on that team who really could hit with the best.  

The coordinator was close friends with your family, and for once the coach and the coordinator weren’t the same person. The coach also happened to be a close friend of your family. It was a scam, really, that got you to volunteer. You liked watching the games; they were fun especially when the crowds got involved, and your team happened to be playing a rival team who had a couple of pretty cute dudes on it, and you got free concession so there was really no reason to not sell the tickets.

At least the chair they’d given you this year was actually cushioned, and the booth seemed to have had a little renovation done to it, so it wasn’t as dusty and creaky as previous years, which made it much more approachable. There was a small fan mounted on the inside, so you had circulating air for the first time. You forced your best jovial attitude and happily greeted everyone who came up to buy a ticket for the couple of days in advance that you sold them, almost selling out before the game. The team was a bit more promising this year than prior years, most of the older folk having moved on from playing recreational sports. A few of your friends were even down to go to the game, so at least you wouldn’t be lonely—aside from the company of your family.

The sunny Saturday afternoon of the day of the game came quickly, and you sold the remaining tickets far before the game would even start, leaving you free to burn your legs on the plastic chairs that the stadium got, brand new. The rec team had come a long way from playing on a park field to actually having their own little stadium. It wasn’t much, but sometimes vendors came around and there were a couple of food stalls—nothing major, but it wasn’t a pee-wee field anymore.

You found your seat with your friends, throwing your small jacket over the seat to prevent most of the burning as they fawned over a couple of the players you used to go to school with, out across the field for warm-ups. You mostly ignored their chatter, downing half a bottle of water in the blistering late-afternoon heat. The soft sound of pop music in the background could hardly be heard over your friends chattering about a boy whose name you were familiar with—Kim Rowoon, the star and pitcher. Of course, so cliché to fawn over the pitcher; they got most of the attention even though they seldom played the whole game. He was always the opener, having unprecedented stamina and incredible recovery time between games.  Behind the pitcher was usually the catcher—a veteran, Lee Hongbin—as the second most fawned over. Usually built boys with legs most girls would love to sit across.

Neither of them was really your type; they both had qualities you admired, but didn’t hit the right chord. The only one on the team who even remotely caught your eye, and it was probably because you saw him practicing a lot, was Cha Eunwoo, the first baseman. The park they used to play at was really close to your house, and now abandoned he spent a lot of time out there doing conditioning work or tossing it with some buddies from the team; sometimes you saw him at the batting cage when you went to blow off steam. He had a smile to die for, and the blush that crossed his cheeks when he’d meet eyes with you was simply adorable.

Aside from all of that, you were really there to watch baseball and take pride in your local team, to cheer with the surrounding fans and support them as ballplayers. So, when the game started, you were far more invested in that than whatever your friends continued to chime about to each other. You enjoyed your free snacks and ice-cold drinks, the summer sun shifting over the field to be right in the fielder’s eyes. It was a serious disadvantage always handled well.

A couple of fly balls came your way, sitting basically on the foul line; dangerous line drives that were better handled by those equipped and paying attention, exactly not your friends. Thankfully, you were surrounded by many avid fans who all brought their own gloves to catch those fly balls. You hooted and hollered for every base hit by your team, the surrounding fans drowning you with their deeper, louder voices. It was only a season opener, but the energy felt like a championship game.

The locals had done well through five innings, keeping the opposing team from scoring while hitting in a few of their own. Your legs were getting antsy, ready to be stretched after all the sitting, but it was two innings to go before the stretch. The only standing time came when you all were participating in a cheer or singing along to popular ballpark songs; it proved well enough to satiate you for the time being.

And lucky that it did. A pop up came toward your bleacher area, as they usually did with right-handed hitters. You lost it in the sun, trying to shield your eyes. Your first baseman, Eunwoo, was doing the same—though he was far more experienced tracking the ball in the sun than you were and with his ungloved hand shielding his eyes, he stutter-stepped his way over to the dividing wall before meeting eyes with you for a moment.  He firmly planted his hand atop the wall you were sitting over and hopped the height of it, effectively falling into your lap, but the ball fell into his glove for the third out of the inning.

The crowed roared when he revealed the ball in his glove, but you were a blushing mess with all six feet of his sweaty, handsome frame cradled halfway in your lap. Your hands weren’t sure what to do now that they were holding him somewhat propped up. He turned his head up to you, peering at you from under the bill of his ballcap.

“Thanks for the assist,” he told you with a small smirk and you swore a wink before you were helping him back over the dugout.

Your friends were hollering for a different reason, teasing you about the look on your face, the undoubtedly fiery blush across your cheeks and the nerves in the shakiness of your voice when you replied, “You’re welcome?”

It was hard to focus on anything but him for the remainder of the game, especially when he kept glancing your way, and there was definitely no mistaking it. The sun had disappeared behind the stadium wall, leaving it mostly shaded aside from the far outfield, so there was no reason for him to be turning his head in your direction. The game ended soon enough, thankfully, with a score of 5-0.

That was the first real run-in you’d had with Eunwoo outside of normal conversations.

As time went on, outside of the games, you caught him at the park practicing more than normal, but you’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t go check more often because you had to admit to yourself that perhaps you didn’t feel the same way about him as you used to anymore. He was a real, tangible human being that you had normal encounters with, and for some reason it hit you like a bus after the game that day. He wasn’t out of reach; he was a normal guy who happened to play a sport on a popular team. You couldn’t deny the presence of butterflies in your stomach when you thought about him anymore, like you had up until now. It felt like you were fawning over another untouchable celebrity for the longest time. Perhaps it was the way he was swarmed by other girls after the games, asking for photos and autographs, especially when the team was invited to travel—they felt like a regular old major league team sometimes.

The summer nights were still chilly, so you donned a light sweater whenever you went out to clear your mind on a late-night walk. You would never deny yourself even the thought of catching Eunwoo tossing the ball around at the park, even at nine in the evening, when the sun had gone down and was quickly fading away from twilight and into night. Sure enough, as you crossed the field you could see a couple of figures—one stature you could assume and the other you could recognize.

You crept up to the chain-link fence around the batter’s box and soundlessly looped your fingers on the temperate metal. Eunwoo was tossing the ball with Rowoon, which wasn’t unusual since they seemed to be pretty close friends on and off the pitch. But Rowoon wasn’t used to you like Eunwoo was, so when the taller of the two bodies saw you, he stopped with the ball for a moment before chucking it far over Eunwoo’s head and into the dirt of the batter’s box, rolling in the grass and up to the fence where it chimed a bit.

“Nice throw, dude,” Eunwoo scoffed and turned to go retrieve it, “star pitcher, psh…” he scoffed under his breath. It was hard to see under the one light that did give the field slight visibility, but he noticed you almost right away when he came to get the ball at your feet, albeit on the other side of the fence.   He uttered your name as he approached the fence, suddenly far less concerned with the ball as the light from the one post glimmered off your glossy eyes as he looked right into them.

“It’s late, and getting cold,” he spoke softly as he, too, linked his fingers on the fence.

“It is,” you agreed, looking up at him, “And yet, here you are, begging to chastise me for being out?”

His gaze glanced away from you with a shy smile, caught in the act despite its hypocrisy.

“I suppose Rowoon didn’t like that I was just creepily looming over here; a star pitcher would never throw a ball so wild,” you laughed, knowing the exact thoughts going through Eunwoo’s mind when that ball came flying over to you. He sighed, having been reminded of both the ball and Rowoon who was undoubtedly questioning what the younger was doing, up at the fence with a stranger lurking.  Speaking of the older male, he was quickly making his way over to the fence to see what all the action was about himself.

He seemed to recognize you well enough, as he addressed you soon after with, “Hey, you’re the girl from the season opener!”  Nice, that’s how he remembered you, your eyes surely widened with shock as you trembled with Eunwoo over your lap for an inning closing catch. “I didn’t realize you and Eunwoo were actually that close?” he questioned, eyes looming over to Eunwoo who hardly paid him mind, but managed to answer.

“We’ve been coincidentally coming around this park for a while now, and occasionally see each other at the batting cages.”

“The batting cages? You play?”

“No, no it’s not—”

“Maybe you can toss the ball with Eunwoo for a bit; I have to get going and the guy’s relentless,” Rowoon laughed, roping you in, involuntarily, to play catch with Eunwoo. “See you later, bud, and try not to stay out so late!” he chimed, clapping a hand across Eunwoo’s shoulder and went to the bleachers to grab is bag before heading off.

“Wow, he really did leave you just like that.”

Eunwoo laughed shyly. “I do drag him out here, often, and late usually. I probably deserve this.”

Your fingers tightened around the fence. The Eunwoo was really standing in front of you, fingers linked in the same fence as yours, donned in ripped black jeans and a plain white shirt with a backwards cap to complete the look.

“Eunwoo,” you muttered, garnering his attention, “It’s late, and getting cold.”

“It is,” he replied, mimicking you.

“Eunwoo,” you chastised.

“Come throw the ball with me? Just for a little bit? And don’t even try to say you can’t throw; I’ve seen that arm in action.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you looked away from him, ready to turn and head home with no reply until he placed his fingers over yours through the link fence. “Please?”

“Fine, fine!” The smile that tugged at the corners of his lips perhaps made it all worth it as you tugged away from the fence to make your way to the break to allow you in. He gathered the ball from the dry grass and threw you an underhand pass.

“There’s another glove in my bag if you want to use it. It will be a little big, but—”

“It will be better than catching your bullet passes with my bare hands,” you replied with a laugh and dug through his bag for the worn leather and fitted it over your hand. It was quite a bit too large, but it would have to do as you stepped into a pass, throwing some heat with it.

“Alright, I feel it!” he answered with a nod, appreciating you throwing some fire his way, too.

He took it easy on you with the passes, and in turn you threw him some difficult digs, some jumpers, some perhaps a little too far to reach but Eunwoo nabbed every single one of them. It was for his practice, after all, not yours. You threw the ball around for another half an hour or longer and Eunwoo got the hint that you were about done the closer you got to him with every throw, until you were pushing the ball into his gloved hand with a laugh.

Despite all your throwing, Eunwoo pouted. “I can see why Rowoon gets so tired of you!” you exclaimed playfully, lightly smacking his large glove against his shoulder as you shimmied it off your hand.

“You barely threw with me for half an hour; I have that guy out here for hours in the blistering sun,” Eunwoo replied, as if it was supposed to make you feel better, but you feigned abuse—you barely threw the ball with him for half an hour when you weren’t even going to throw it with him at all. “Not that I don’t appreciate it!” he exclaimed, noting the quirk of your brow as his glove dropped into his bare hand when you tugged your own out of it.

“Do you even know what time it is?” you asked, turning to head towards the bleachers.

“Time for you to entertain the idea of a late-night coffee with me?” he asked, catching up with you.

“I just came out here to do all kinds of favors for you, didn’t I?” you shot back, turning to him a little too quickly. Eunwoo, entirely unprepared for you to stop and turn so suddenly, bumped right into you and had to grab your elbow to stop you from falling right onto the metal bleachers.

“Ouch, that was a little sharp,” he replied and dropped his gloves to the bench, feigning injury to his heart as he placed his free hand over it.

His warm breath expelled across your forehead as he held you close, quite a bit longer than truly necessary, but you weren’t complaining. You glanced up, right into his deep chocolate orbs which dazzled in the moonlight like fine gems. He looked so different with his hat on backwards, pinning his hair back from his forehead. Determination clouded his eyes, but you knew he was enough of a gentleman that if you rejected him one more time, he would let it go.

“You know I didn’t mean it that way,” you replied as a whisper, finally able to find words at all.

“I don’t know, it feels like you did,” he replied, a whisper as well, and finally let go of your elbow. Your gaze couldn’t help but drop from his and down to his chest as you thought of something to say.

When his breath hitched in his throat, you looked back up to his face. Your hand, more or less on autopilot, rose to press your palm flat against his chest, over his heart, right where his hand previously resided. This was far beyond the extent of any previous physical contact between the two of you, save for the season opener, so it was a little different as well as a little unexpected.

His flesh was warm through his shirt, but your hand dropped from his chest to dangle back at your side. He lifted his bag from the bleachers, hardly moving enough to do so, and never once broke eye contact with you as you looked up at him. Soon, your gaze turned away from his, tilting your head down to stare at your feet.

“I’m just playing with you,” he told you with a lighthearted chuckle, his slender index finger turning your jaw back up to look into your eyes again.

“It doesn’t feel like you’re playing,” you replied with a pout, which he promptly returned.

“Then maybe you should get to know me better; perhaps a late-night coffee run would do the trick,” he replied, trying to pull a fast one on you.

“Smooth and clever, Cha Eunwoo,” you answered, narrowing your eyes and reached up, cognitively this time, and pushed your hand against his chest to push his tall form back half a step. He was still giggling, that dazzling smile across his lips put a fluttery feeling in your stomach again.

“I want to get you home before you get sick,” he cooed back and placed his hand on your shoulder after noticing your shivering, somehow finessing you around him and gave an encouraging nudge against your back to have you leading the way.

It was a quiet walk side by side with your hands stuffed deep in the kangaroo pouch of your sweatshirt. His hand closest to you was also shoved into his pocket while the other held the strap of his backpack totting his mitts and balls. He took slow strides to keep pace with you as you meandered with your eyes trained against the dimly illuminated sidewalk, noting the cracks and crevices that adorned each slab of concrete.  

“You’re awfully quiet,” he commented, just to break the ice.

“So are you,” you retaliated since he hadn’t really been making an effort to strike up conversation until now.

“I’m usually quiet. What happens to my outgoing, friendly, can-sell-anyone-a-game-ticket, super eager and talkative salesgirl when she leaves the booth? Does she forget that she can get anyone listening to anything she has to say?”

“You make me sound like some important celebrity,” you replied, unable to stop the laugh that cracked from your throat.

“You make me feel like some important celebrity, the way you tip-toe around the team in general sometimes,” he replied.

“You’re our regular ol’ homegrown superstars. You are important celebrities.”

You were looking at him now, and he was you, as he stopped in his tracks. “We’re just worn out, washed up, amateur ball players who have a good hometown fanbase. We’re just regular people; I thought you would have felt that all the times you’ve come around to see me messing around at the park.”

The blush that pricked your cheeks was inevitable with a statement as ominous and vague as that. You were sure he’d noticed you from time to time, but the way he said that made it sound like he noticed you a lot more than you wished. You wanted to disappear, the way he looked at you with brows raised as if in question.  

“I don’t come around to see you, Cha Eunwoo,” you bit back as a weak defense. He’d let it slide, this time, and just chuckled as you continued to walk. He noted your shivering, and wanted to do something more for you but felt it would be a little taboo, given the situation.  You tried to stave them for the moment, but failed miserably with the nod of your head, somewhat dismissing him as if to say it’s okay—you could feel him looking at you. Despite that, he stepped a little closer to you in matched steps, sharing if even a sliver of body heat with you, until you were in front of your home.

“I’m sorry for keeping you so late; I didn’t know it was going to get so cold,” he told you, looking over to your front door after swinging around to step in front of you.

“It’s not your fault,” you muttered back quietly.

“Are you coming to the game on Saturday?” he asked you, hopeful.

“Do I ever miss a game, Eunwoo?” you asked, slyly checking to see how much he paid attention to you, since he seemed to be so focused on how much you paid attention to him.

“Never,” he replied—correct.

“Then, I’ll see you at the game on Saturday,” you replied with a soft smile, not even waiting for his nod as you turned to your door, shoving your key into the hold to unlock it and left him on your step.

Part of you begged to peek through the peep-hole, pretty confident he was still standing in front of your door, but somehow you thought better of it and flicked on your porch light so he’d be able to see at least a little bit. His grip tightened around the strap of his bag as he took a deep breath.

“I can’t tell when you’re playing with me, and in what way you’re playing,” he sighed and glanced at your door before taking off.

You had your usual first base front row seats with all your friends who were there for each other while you were there for the game. Peculiar, the way Eunwoo seemed to avoid eye contact with you at all costs as he tossed the ball around to warm up with his teammates. Even when the ball rolled toward the dugout, he wouldn’t even look up to acknowledge you, knowing full well you were there.

Part of it stung a little bit, which was strange for you to admit considering how adamantly you were about shutting him down just a few nights ago. Maybe he paid attention to you a lot more than you had convinced yourself—in fact, he had to. All the time you’d been thinking about how he focused on you paying attention to him; he’d have to be paying attention to you to know.

The announcements began shortly, listing off the players as the game got ready to start. It was a warm late summer evening, comfortable enough without a sweater despite the one that was tied around your waist. You had a glove on one hand and a drink in the other, hair in a ballcap specially made for you and you ignored the chit-chat going on around you of people paying less than zero attention to the game as you got as cozy as one could be in a plastic bleacher seat.

Rowoon pitched a perfect opening inning, leaving it pretty boring for everyone else as the home team switched to batting. The first couple of batters were a bust, but when Rowoon hit a base hit, your friends went nuts. They were die-hard Rowoon fans, for a lack of a better word, and fawned over him from atop the dugout. Some called out to him, and he’d acknowledge them briefly which sent their little hearts in a tizzy.

It was things like that which made all the boys feel like superstars. Girls fawned over them like professional athletes, despite how adamant Eunwoo was about reassuring you that they were just regular people. Sometimes it felt that way, but most often times not as much.

A no run inning ended when Rowoon was forced out at second base, and the teams switched bringing the home team back onto the field again. The game didn’t get really interesting until the fifth inning or so when Eunwoo hit a three-run homer far into the grass beyond the outfield. He jogged slowly around the bases and part of you hoped that when he came up to first, he’d turn to at least look into the crowd.

The runs really started taking off after that, a few scored by each team among the subsequent innings, eventually resulting in a two-run win by the home team. While you cheered gleefully with the crowd, it wasn’t long before you grabbed your things with the intent of filing out like everyone else, despite normally staying after the game for a bit.  Only then did Eunwoo glance up to find you as he headed into the dugout, watching you turn to leave which was pretty unusual.

“Grab my bag, would you?” he asked Rowoon, only looking at him long enough to confirm a nod before he was pushing his way around the stadium, trying to follow you most of the way.

He called your name a few times, perhaps not loud enough, so he tried again a bit louder. A couple of people glanced over to look at you, but you clearly had every intention of leaving the stadium without an imminent interaction. Once Eunwoo got into the stands, you were pretty much a wounded duck. He called your name a couple more times, asking you to wait up as he high-kneed it up the steps until he could take a gentle grasp of your arm.

“Hey,” he cooed quietly, a thick sap dripping down your spine as he took you by the elbow to turn you towards him, the rough fabric of his batting gloves scraping at your skin.

Your eyes met the gloved hand first and followed it up to his face. He was a little sweaty, beaded against his forehead with his hair pushed slightly to the side in a somewhat disheveled mess even under his ballcap. There was some squealing in the background that you didn’t quite register of girls that were interrupted by security and hauled away from you. Unable to find the correct words, or even any words at all, you stayed quiet.

A moment of pretty uncomfortable silence passed in which you were just looking at him. His eyes shifted away from yours with an inaudible scoff while he thought of something to say. When he did, his eyes shifted back to yours.

“Can we talk?”

If you weren’t nervous before, your heart was pounding in your throat now. After you’d turned fully towards him, you could feel his gloved hand slip from your arm and hear the Velcro holding them together being torn open as he tugged them off and stuck them in his pocket.

“I don’t think this is a good environment,” you reminded him, but part of it was just an excuse to get out of it—it was already awkward enough.

He was gnawing on his tongue, gears turning to come up with a solution.

“Eunwoo,” you cooed back, although it wasn’t as sweet. Your hand came up to press against his chest the same way it had the other night. His eyes shot back to yours, almost freezing the words in your throat that you managed to choke out. “I have to go,” you finished, hand slipping down his chest before he caught it with his. His hand swallowed yours, gripping it against his chest as he looked at you, a soft shake of his head which was meant to be more convicted got lost somewhere along the way.

“Please?” he managed to squeak, feeling your hand slip a little further so he tugged it harder. You could feel the way his heart raced under your palm. “I know you’re leaving like this because I’m dumb. I just want to explain—”

“Let’s compromise,” you interrupted. He seemed interested in cooperating because he stood quietly, albeit his hand was still clutching yours. “If you give me a few hours, I’ll meet you at the park, and we can talk there.”

He’d take it, firm that you’d keep your promise and he dropped your hand to let you go. You turned away from him without another look, another word, and headed out with the remainder of the crowd while he stood there in the empty bleachers. Perhaps it was better this way; you were giving him an opportunity to get his thoughts in order for a constructive conversation, while you gave yourself some breathing room to get over the feelings you had in the pit of your stomach throughout the game.

You went home and took a shower, got some food and tried to relax a bit. You’d texted him a time and even though it was pretty late, he still agreed to meet. The sun had already gone down so as you headed out, you pulled on a loose hoodie to keep you warm out in the cold—who knew how long you were going to be out there—and began your trek to the park, but not without a special something.

When you came up to the chain link fence, you could see he was already there, laying in the grass and throwing a ball in the air—a dangerous game to be playing considering if he missed the catch it would hit him probably in the face. Either way, you carefully stacked the cups in your hands to free one of them, enough to wrap your fingers through the links and jingle them quietly.

He rolled over, spotting you in the shadows just out of reach of the lone stadium light. Slowly he got up and approached you, feet dragging somewhat through the dirt as he made it to the fence, linking his fingers through it and against yours.

“It’s getting cold out,” he uttered to you, as if it was the scenario with Rowoon all over again, as if it was a do-over.

“That’s why I brought coffee,” you replied, still trying to balance both cups one on top of the other. He followed you along the chain fence to the opening in it where you handed him a cup. He took it with both hands gratefully, but was still more focused on you.

“Perhaps it’s unconventional and inappropriate, but may I hug you?”

You took a deep breath, “I don’t see why not.”

He took you around the shoulders and tugged you smoothly into his chest. He was fresh, a familiar teakwood scent filling your nose that buried in his hoodie. You couldn’t help but nuzzle into the front of his shoulder, especially as he leaned his head against the top of yours. The strong scent of coffee wafted through the open air, interrupting more pleasant smells from time to time until he finally let you go.

It was a silent walk over to the bleachers, which he led you passed out into the open grass which was still plush and full of summer life. He plopped into the grass first, reaching out as a support for you to sit down next to him which you took hesitantly until you were seated next to him.

“You’re very sweet even when you’re mad at me,” he commented to you, looking down at the coffee he cradled in both of his hands.

“Who said I’m mad at you?” you questioned, taking a sip of your steaming cup—far too hot to be drinking just yet.

“It goes without saying,” he replied. Ouch, were you that obvious?

“You wanted a coffee date, and I was a little harsh, and I regret some things I said so, I figured it was only right that I bring you some coffee.”

The heavy exhale that came from him almost startled you. This conversation was probably going to be a lot more difficult than he originally planned, not that there had been extensive planning going on while he tried to figure out how to approach it. He practiced what he was going to say, only to scrap it and start over, eventually just heading to the park to toss the ball and try to forget, hoping that winging it would be okay.  

You watched his profile, watched the way he swallowed, the way his breathing was a little choppy as he queued something to say only to trash it once more. His fingers were picking at the hot sleeve around his cup, spinning it in the grass as his gaze cast into the abyss.

“I am a little upset with you,” you finally said just to break the silence.

“I know,” he replied shakily, “and you deserve to be. I’m actually surprised you stuck to our meeting. I probably wouldn’t have if I was you,” he added honestly, but he still wouldn’t look at you. “I’m just a dumb boy who doesn’t deserve your attention.”

“You’re not dumb,” you quickly replied, “but you are a boy, and that causes some problems.” Even he gave a weak-hearted chuckle at your small jab.

You reached out to press your hand against his chest over his hoodie. His chest expanded quickly with his sharp inhale, his heart banging against your hand, against the cage of his chest. His hand left his coffee for a moment to clutch over your hand against his chest again, this time a little more afraid it would leave before he was ready. Still, he wouldn’t look at you, afraid of the gaze you might greet him with.

“Even if you didn’t deserve my attention, I can’t help but give it to you sometimes,” you whispered to him, hoping that would get him to turn, but he was stone cold. You watched the way his jaw clenched, nerves a little more than pre-game jitters coursing through his veins; you could tell.  You frowned, scanning the side of his face with a sigh, taking in every last detail of his profile.

“Eunwoo,” you whispered. Only then did he look over at you.

“Why?” he asked. “Why do you?”

You shook your head with a shy smile, casting your gaze away. “Because. You’re sweet, and you treat me as far more than just the girl who sells out your tickets. You talk to me like we’re just two people, equals. I thought about it and, you’d have to be paying attention to me to notice how much I pay attention to you, right?” you asked, but it only brought out his nerves again. The blush pricked at his cheeks and he turned to try to look away from you, but your fingers furled against his sweater to feel his raging heartbeat.

It was pretty clear he had no intention of looking back over to you, so, despite his disenchantment, you pulled your hand away from his chest, but wrapped it around his near bicep as you laid your head against his shoulder.

“How’s your coffee?” you asked, reminding him of its existence.

“It tastes like you’re too sweet to me,” he replied.

“That’s a lie and we both know it,” you laughed; you really hadn’t been very nice to him lately.

“You’re mad at me and you still bring me coffee? You still meet with me when you know I don’t deserve it? I’ve stonewalled you most of this conversation and you still show me affection?” he inquired.

“Eunwoo,” you growled; he was being a little difficult with you now and you couldn’t tell if it was because he really was that dense or if it was because he just wanted to avoid the conversation all together. You slipped your hand back over his chest, trying to tell what he was thinking by the pace of his heart. Met with a rickety inhale, he finally looked at you.

“I can’t handle you,” he growled, brow knitting together as he glared at you, watching your eyes scan over him. You turned on your hip, rolling onto you knees to face him and brought your hand up to cup his soft cheek. His eyes fluttered a bit, still trying to watch your gaze which was oh so gentle as you looked at him. His tongue couldn’t help but peek out to moisten his dry lips before swallowing hard.

“Tell me more, let’s have a conversation,” you encouraged, tracing against his sharp jawline with the soft tips of your fingers, stroking against his cheek, clouding his already muddy thoughts as his eyes fluttered closed.

“I can’t handle the way you look at me,” he started, a little shaky but a start nonetheless.

“Say more; is it a good look or a bad look?” you asked, looking over his face as he leaned into your touch.

He hissed, inhaling sharply, “A good look, I think,” he replied. “At least, I want it to be.”

“Why do you think it’s a good look?” you asked him.

He was clawing at the grass, one hand weaved through that while the other lay in his lap, left there from clutching over your hand against his chest that was still occupying the sharp features of his face.

“I don’t know… It’s always gentle; maybe this isn’t the word but… wanting? It makes my heart beat hard, makes me short of breath,” he uttered, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth.  “You’re always gentle with me, in everything. The way you look at me, the way you talk to me, the way you touch me, the way you handle me… even when we’re joking around and being a little rough, you’re still gentle.”

You reached up to brush his hair out of his closed eyes, carding it away from his forehead only to trace back down the side of his face.

“So gentle,” he almost whined, turning into your hand, lips brushing against your palm, the cushion of your thumb.

“What else can’t you handle?” you asked, looking over his face, the consternation that crumpled it in certain places as he tried to piece together some thoughts, anything to give you a coherent sentence.

“How I feel about you,” he finally managed as his eyes opened, brow still furrowed as he feared a disappointed look on your face that he never got. You looked at him tenderly, waiting for him to explain.

“Tell me more,” you requested again and settled onto your ankles with your legs tucked underneath you, fully attentive to anything he had to say because you knew he wouldn’t say it more than once. You watched as he swallowed hard, eyes glancing away from you for only a moment; his fingers were picking at the grass again, you could hear the roots pop when he dislodged some blades.

“I wanted to tell you this the other day,” he began, “when we were talking about how you see us as some type of celebrities. I wanted to tell you how equally untouchable you feel to me; that having affectionate feelings for you was laughable and futile because you’re so out of my league—”

“Weren’t you the one telling me that we’re just regular people?” you asked him with a soft chuckle, a smile that dazzled him so and sent sparks through every vein in his body. “Silly boy, don’t you know how into you I am?”

He almost pouted, that was the way you would describe the look on his face. The hand that rested in his lap rose to touch gently against your jaw, his glossy eyes shifting from yours down to your mouth.  Eunwoo’s long, soft, slender fingers filed into the hair under and behind your ear to tug pleadingly against the back of your neck. He brushed his nose against yours, nuzzling affectionately as your breath mingled with his. You knew he wouldn’t, he wasn’t that bold even if you were giving him all the signs.

“Maybe I could use a reminder,” he uttered breathily, fanning it across your face but most particularly against your lips where a smile broke. You pressed a hand against his chest, but instead of leaving it there to feel his heart, you had different plans.

“Then you’ll have to catch me, superstar,” you told him and pushed him down onto his back, scrambled to your feet and took off.

Eunwoo could feel the adrenaline spike up into his throat as he flipped over in the grass, digging in with his feet to take off after you. One short glance over your shoulder and you squealed—he was closing in fast. You ran as fast as your legs would take you over to the chain link fence of the batter’s box where you knew he could easily corner you, but he got a touch against your hip barely at the edge of the dirt.  You choked a shriek back as both of his large hands engulfed your hips, tugging you back into him just over home plate to wrap his arms around you and bury his face against the crook of your neck.

“Got you,” he muttered, swaying with you a bit as your messy feet worked through the dirt.

“You’re faster than I gave you credit for,” you told him, the last part coming out as a half-sigh when he boldly pulled back just enough to kiss against your neck, passed the hood of your sweatshirt. Your hands tightened over his, having been placed there when he brought you against his body.

“You ran right for this fence and gave yourself no chance, you wanted me to catch you,” he growled playfully against your ear as he continued to walk you towards the fence. It rattled a bit when he turned you around and pushed you up into it, taking the links between his fingers as he pinned you in.

“As if I thought I ever had a chance of out running you,” you breathed, eyes glancing from his glossy lips and up to his eyes as he stood against you, the warmth of his body transferring to yours as your hands furled in the fabric of his hoodie around his waist.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lip as he unlinked the fingers of his right hand from the fence, just to take your chin between his thumb and knuckle of his index finger.

“You never had a chance,” he whispered, leaning in with the tilt of his head to brush passed your nose and take your anticipating lips against his. Your tightening knuckles tugged at his hoodie, pulling him a shuffling half-step closer to you as his other hand withdrew from the fence to take both of your cheeks in his warm palms. The kiss lingered for a moment, melting you in his grasp until he pulled away for a moment, only to lay another gentle peck against your mouth and his eyes fluttered open to look at you. You were still relishing, eyes closed and brow slightly furrowed, hands still tugging at his dark hoodie and you swallowed hard. His fingers were soft against your neck, carding through some of the hair that playfully laid around your ears and nape, thumbs stroking against your cheeks.

Words queued up in each other’s throats, begging to say something about the magic sparking through your veins, but the both of you paused and waited for each other, resulting in a couple of dazzling smiles and soft chuckles until you pushed into him, pressing your face into his shoulder as you wrapped your arms around his middle. His heart was steady, hands gentle as he cradled you against him and he kissed against your head.

You took his hand and laced your fingers with his in an attempt to tug him back over to the cups, tall and half-full with cooled coffee, but he took your far cheek with his far hand and tugged your face just a tad so he could press his lips into your cheek.  

“How are you going to break it to the guys?” you asked him as he tugged his hand from yours to collect the baseball he was tossing to stuff in his pocket and his coffee cup and you collected yours as well before he took your hand again, turning to take you home.

“Well, when we win our next game, I’m probably going to climb on top of the dugout and smooch you in front of the whole team on camera on the jumbotron,” he told you matter-of-factly.

“Eunwoo!” you gasped and looked at him incredulously, but knew he was fibbing with the shy smile that broke against his lips and softly shook his head, and brought your laced hands up to his face to kiss the back of yours.

“They can just keep guessing. I’m sure they’ll figure it out,” he answered and leaned over to steal a quick kiss. Already, he couldn’t get enough.  

#eunwoo #astro #eunwoo scenarios #eunwoo fluff #astro scenarios #astro fluff #cha eunwoo #eunwoo imagines #astro imagines #kpop fluff #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #it's called k because the backwards k signifies a strikeout in baseball #ha I'm so clever; ailea shut up

[fructuyeux]

CANADA-20 (xxx) COVID-19

3/13/2020 - 3/22/2020

By: Rayce R. Rayos

This undertaking was planned as a daringly creative escape from mounting internally & externally placed workloads, & was slated to take place during the UNLV 2020 Spring Break.  In concurrence with the vacation was the ever-increasing, ever-diversifying socioeconomic fallout, mandates, & obstacles associated with the first global pandemic that I have experienced in my lifetime.  I’d be remiss to not admit that the cheapened airline, lodging, & transportation prices were viewed as a silver lining in an otherwise hysteric & strange time in human history. The following account of the trip is intended to recount the experiences & knowledge gained (from what is remembered), and aid in the recollection of the associated photo-documentation conducted during.

DAY 1 - 3/14 - 7.5 miles

The outgoing flight 1224 from McCarran International Airport to the eventual destination of Niagara Falls, New York was delayed, unbeknownst to me, & so the trip began with a frantic drive to the airport with a hastened goodbye to my roommate & lovely daughter (who wanted dearly to join her father in Canada).  The flight was delayed by an hour, & I made it on the plane.

A quick stop in Denver, CO was followed by a landing in Fort Lauderdale, FL.  Upon landing, the Spirit Airlines attendant notified me that my flight to Niagara Falls had already left (to the complete fault of their flight coordination), & that I’d have to spend the night & following day in Broward County, 15 miles North of Miami.  I was frazzled & upset to have started my trip with such a complication, but after the airline was able to change my ticket free of charge, I decided to extend my trip an extra day. So, I asked them to book my returning flight for a day later (3/20 → 3/21), to which they agreed to do for free, utilizing a COVID-19 flight disruption program.  I booked a room at the Vacation Inn in the middle of the night, & recalibrated my trip schedule.

The following morning was a beautiful sunny day in South Florida, & after resting my luggage at the motel for the day (for a fee), I skateboarded to SE 17th Street, hung a right, & breezed through a few miles of million-dollar homes & yachts, over the Causeway Bridge, to what would eventually become Fort Lauderdale Beach Park.  Full of families & largely free of fear, the beach was warm, sunlit, & vivacious.  The locals were out in near-full effect, & I spent the entire day with the rays on my back, the water at my waist, & a respite of relaxation before ensuing madness. I even struck up a conversation with some fellow beachgoers as a result of my Kobe Bryant tattoo, & learned a good deal about quotidian life down there.  I got a workout in on the beach equipment, & some peaceful serenity as I stared down the horizon beyond the Atlantic.  I returned to my motel to acquire my bags & make my way to the airport en route to New York… Little did I know that a bar, Bimini Bay to be exact, neighbored my motel.  I found myself entrenched in an environment eerily similar to that of the Huntridge Tavern, although this spot was half the size with raunchy anal porn playing on multiple screens throughout all of the 5 walls.  Throwing brews back & chain-smoking with the locals to country music was a familiar feeling, & instilled in me further the universal nature of letting loose.  That being said, I lost track of time & had to hightail it out of there via a gentleman’s Uber to the airport.  Another flight ran after & barely boarded in the nick of time… My time in South Florida was as serendipitous as flight disruptions can be.  The most lingering aspect of my time spent there was, indubitably, the sunburn that would come to stick with/on me for the remainder of the vacation. Perhaps the worst case of the sun’s kiss I’ve come to bare.  Before fully coming to this realization, I’m on a plane to New York.

DAY 2 - 3/15 - 10.47 miles

Upon being alive on arrival in New York state at 2 AM in the morning, I resolved to sleep in the IAG airport for the night, especially considering my phone charger at the time had been severely out of whack.  There I lay, curled on an airport bench in Niagara Falls for the night with blistering skin & a scent of fresh tobacco smoke (& ass).  I distinctly recall wrestling with the time I should render myself awake, eventually settling upon 9:30 AM. It was at this time that I found myself the only visible individual in the airport terminal; no staff, no bags, no patrons, nothing.  The unexpected isolation harkened memories of the film 28 Days Later.  Once the drool was free from my chin, I hailed a Lyft to the American-Canadian border, specifically the entrance to the Rainbow Bridge; it was along this ride that my driver informed me that the American dollar was fairly strong against the Canadian dollar to the tune of 1 USD = 1.33 CAD (roughly). This would come to be an extremely welcomed caveat to the remainder of the trip, as most every purchase converted to about 75% of all prices quoted in Canada.

When the border was reached, there I stood as a man with his spirit & belongings intact, & began my trek over the bridge to a foreign land.  With frequent pause, the majesty of the falling water on a brisk Spring day will play in my mind for years to come.  Pictures were taken, deep thought was attempted, & it was a stark moment of gratefulness for the life I have been given.  Next was passing through Canadian Customs at the north end of the bridge, & after being grilled for a moment as to my intentions for entering, the officer pointed me in the direction of the bus stop from which my Greyhound was leaving in less than an hour.  From the Rainbow Bridge to the Whistleblower bridge 2.5 miles north, I was blessed with a walk of forced clarity as I hugged Niagara’s riverway with 75+ pounds of much needed possessions.  I found myself doubting my ability to invite others with me on trips in the future out of a fear for unintentionally inflicting similar tasks upon them.  Nevertheless, I made it to my Greyhound in time and rested on the ride to Toronto.

The recuperation was much needed.  When I awoke I found myself in Canada’s largest city (& the 9th-largest in North America), Toronto, Ontario.  Excitement coursed through my capillaries & once departing from the bus on foot, it was straight to my ‘Chinatown Guest House’ to set down my things & get on the go… this was not the case.  A whole fiasco followed where I was unable to contact the host, thereby unable to access the place I had paid to stay for the night (& the night before, despite Spirit having different plans on DAY 1). The first two Torontonian hours were spent in a Chinatown chicken spot (Gdou’s) where I struggled to gain the cellular abilities necessary to overcome this debacle; I bought a new charger & charger port at the market center across Spadina.  I grappled with frustration in a very real sense, but was utterly appeased to find that I had been sent an email containing the entry instructions from Booking.com.  Relief rushed over me. I grabbed my bags, & hunkered down in a room with a wooden balcony & stunning view of Downtown Toronto to boot.  I showered, shat, & escaped into the city heading South on Spadina.  A brief stop at the famed ‘Graffiti Alley’ along with a trip to the marijuana grocer located me in the heart of the Fashion District, a sector largely reminiscent of Williamsburg, BK (as hip, although much smaller).  After a lovely skate to the harbourfront I was able to catch the sun set behind a vast array of monolithic condos & headquarters. The sun was able to get quite low, however, after having nestled between two skyscrapers, & that shared scene on the pier between myself & just a handful of individuals was quite a sight.  Heading south afterwards, I rolled by the Toronto Music Gardens, through Coronation Park, & through a series of railway tracks amidst arenas (BMO Arena), Centennial Park, Lakeshore Boulevard, & an array educational campuses.  Once Dufferin Street was reached, I headed toward Little Portugal.  On the way there I stopped short (per the advice of a local) & turned north up King Street. Halfway home I stopped at the restaurant Thai Place Too & enjoyed some steaming seafood Tom Yum fit with stimulating conversation from the waitress.  I paid my bill, thanked those there, & pushed onward on King Street traversing a barrage of tunnels, city folk, & shopping centers.  At this juncture I recall being bummed by the lack of nighttime activities, & decided to stop at a bar near my place for the night called Wide Open.

What was to begin & end as a night of the all-evasive ‘one brew’ quickly accelerated into a merry time of mutual drunkenness & fun.  A couple dental hygienists befriended me at the bar, & not far to follow were a West Indian techy working for Google & an Irishwoman on her way out of town.  My memories of what exactly transpired are quite shaky, but an unflinching enjoyment of that particular night at the bar lasts.  I got home at an ungodly hour & crash-land in my bed.

DAY 3 - 3/16 - 7.53 miles

Similar to popping out of bed due to a frightening nightmare, “Where’s my fucking board?!” was the thought & simultaneous phrase that opened my eyes that morning.  I was still drunk, so a hangover wasn’t an issue, but discovered a damn large lump on my right posterior parietal bone & a pool of blood in the sheets where I slumbered. I racked what was left of my brain as to where/how/why this injury came to be sustained, but to no avail.  In hindsight, it’s consistent with braceless backwards fall, & vaguely recall attempting to ride my skateboard back home equipped with a BAC of full-blown ‘no bueno’.  Nevertheless, the pain wasn’t of serious concern (although I had plenty of time to reflect on the very real possibility of me now having to operate in a concussed state). What was of concern was my skateboard, my iPod, & my eighth of weed that I had yet to dip into.  I began retracing my steps and was welcomed with open arms by my beautiful black, four-wheeled bride waiting for me at the front doorstep- Check 1.  I scooped up my board, got dressed & readied for the (likely music-less) day ahead, had a solid conversation with my father, & cleared my stuff from the house just in time to be 4 hours late for checkout.

In one of the more daring tactics employed on the trip, I stashed my big purple duffle bag (containing clothes & other non-essentials) & my backpack (containing my laptop, passport & other very-essentials) in the empty garbage bin to the side of the front door.  This was a huge gamble, & one that would weigh somewhat on my conscience for the coming hours, despite heavy medication- re-upped on weed, Check 2.  During my second trip to Graffiti Alley I encountered a bum in mid-tweak repeatedly pulling his pants up & down amidst a backdrop of beautiful art, & naturally this struck me as microcosmic of the whole of Toronto.  The bar I had chanced upon the night prior didn’t resume service until 4 in the evening, & so I had a few hours to kill which were spent speaking with various loved ones & contemplating last night’s events as I bobbed & weaved a hangover.  4 o’clock rolls around & I walk into the bar greeted by a smiling bartender with an unclaimed red iPod.  THIS WAS A PERSONAL WIN OF GREAT PROPORTIONS, & solidified my successful navigation through mindless debauchery abroad- Check 3.  I felt the proverbial wind was once again behind my back, & opted to knock out the city’s landmarks North of Spadina Avenue, largely via Adelaide & King Streets until Yonge.

Post-modern magnificence a la architecture kept my chin up as I managed to dodge pedestrian after pothole after Porsche.  Sundown was not far off & the gleaming beams reflected softly off the mirrored panels some seventy-five plus stories on all sides.  A real embodiment of the term ‘hustle & bustle’ was laid out in front of me, complete with a citizenry whose diversity mimicked that of my own home a world away.  The gritty attitude that I’ve come to associate with East coast cities (specifically the colder ones) was alive & well here, evidenced in reluctance to help guide tourists or even tell the time of day. I loved it, & judged it as genuine more so than anything else.  It should also be noted that the music playing in my ears throughout my time in the ‘Six’ was exclusive to the stylings of Drake, a rapper native of the city with references to its contents (streets, sides of town where the pretty girls sleep, subpopulations, parks, etc.) found abundantly in his lyrics.

When Yonge was reached, I peered west to a ton of things going on, but elected to go east.  This turned out to be a wise decision. After a few blocks I was greeted by the area of town most closely associated with the Toronto skyline & its historical foundations on the illustrious Front Street. Here is where I stood mouth agape with the enormity & incomprehensible complexity of the city on full view.  I touched the base of the CN tower & spent a good amount of time in awe as it registered (despite the Stratosphere being superior in my eyes), traversed the Railway museum set just outside of Olympic Park, gazed upon the Rogers Center where the Blue Jays come to bat, & ended at the water of Lake Ontario at the sandy Harbour Square Park where some solid skating took place.  After some time, the thought of my possessions having lasted (or not) in the trash receptacle all this time prompted me to retrieve them, & so back to Chinatown I booked it.  The moment of truth arrived when I got off my board at 83 W. Sullivan Street, & lo & behold, my stuff was nestled just as I had left it some 5 hours before.  Feeling giddy from the travel-savvy risks taken, I was on to grab dinner with an old colleague of mine who happened to be doing her post-baccalaureate studies there.  T. & I, a former classmate at Valley High, met at what we would come to find as nothing more than another closed restaurant with a COVID-19 newsletter plastered on the door.  We deliberated playfully on what we should now do, & after having happened upon the  ‘T O R O N T O’ sign & all of its illuminated glory, a 6-pack of Stella Artois from the rather hidden LCBO in the mega-commercial Eaton Center became the night’s main entree.  Polite exchanges with exceedingly conversational locals made for a nice segue as we awaited our second Lyft ride to the Harbourfront.

The Harbourfront Centre was largely uncrowded as temperatures dipped below zero (Celsius, of course), & after a brew-cigarette combo, it was in an instance that snow began falling from the blackened sky & onto everything in sight… including our unsheltered selves.  It was as surprising as it was splendid (at least for a desert cactus like me) to have been outdoors somewhere prior to snowfall & then to behold its beginning.  A few days prior, I had been notified that the ski lift an hour North of Ottawa whose mountain I intended to shred had been closed, & so, I found myself with a decision to make: stay in the Toronto area an extra night or board the bus I had booked & crashing in a twin-sized bus seat for the night & do who knows what in Ottawa…  Motivated by the phrase, “What the hell are you going to do in Ottawa?” I chose the former & began searching for a nearby hotel room.  My homegirl, sitting beside me, of course overheard, & more-than-kindly offered a guest room in her condo as a suitable place to rest my head for the evening. I accepted, & we whisked ourselves out of the snow to a 12th-story condo in the 95+% Chinese suburb of Markham, ON.  An once-schoolmate was changed into a dear friend after having exhibited flawless hospitality in the form of whiskey, toast, toothpaste, a bed & sublime conversation.  We jabbed & joked in Francais (with hers being superior to my own), & this was a much-needed introduction to everyday dialogue in the different tongue of the Quebecois whom I would spend most of the days to follow with.

DAY 4 - 3/17 - 4.38 miles

I awoke early in the morning after not being able to sleep too much due to my skin’s incessant irritation, as well as a pseudo-insomnia I’ve come to expect from myself when on vacation.  To fill the time between my awakening & my host’s, I read as much of The Four Agreements, by Don Miguel Ruiz as I could retain, ending with the last chapter left unread.  As a result, the mantras prompted by the book that one is to agree with from within his/herself resonated with me.  They are ‘be impeccable with your word,’ ‘don’t take anything personally,’ ‘don’t make any assumptions,’ & ‘always do your best.’ Fondly, I looked to these statements as a source of my second wind around this time, as the physical toll of my endeavors began somewhat to present themselves.

When T awoke, we engaged in parley for another hour or so before trudging to the neighborhood bus/rail station where she purchased my ticket & we ran goofily to make the train before the doors swiftly shut.  During the train ride back to Downtown Toronto I was able to sit quietly in my thoughts, as well as get some business dealings out of the way via phone.  The walls flanking the tracks were riddled in graffiti of both very high- & very low-quality pieces on fleeting displays.  We were headed to Union Station, the hub for all non-automobile commutes in the metropolitan area, & second-largest transportation facility in North America, servicing some seventy-two million humans yearly.  A stunning structure of Greco-Roman design with pristine pillars, it was a treat to walk the halls of such an obviously integral establishment.  Soon we said our brief farewell & parted ways so that she could go to school & I could purchase a rail ticket to Ottawa, ON- set to leave later in the day.

I purchased my rail ticket to Ottawa for 6:30 PM & stashed my luggage at the bagging station inside the terminal, leaving me with 3 ½ hours to get the last of my rocks off in a city unique to itself. I went straight for Yonge-Dundas square after having caught a glimpse of the scene days prior, & once in the center I felt a likening to Times Square, both personally & perceivably.  There was no better wayward idea at the time than to bust off some skate tricks in the center of such commotion, & was able to have a solid 15-20 minutes on the board before security (much like their American counterparts) gave me the good ol’ boot.  Onto St. Lawrence Market I dashed, the bayside market most closely associated with Canadian grub.  Here I tried peameal for the first time, & was left affirmed of Canadian courtesy, although the meal itself wasn’t anything to write home about.  Yet another stop at Tim Horton’s for some pastries seemed in order before heading back to Union Station.  Back at the staging port for my bus it was revealed to passengers that there was a 50-minute delay- just the break I needed to step out & smoke a potent bowl.  When I did finally step outside after a few lefts & maybe a right, there in front of me stood the Scotiabank Arena where the Toronto Raptors (reigning NBA Champions) play their home games.  To be frank, I was at the rear of the practice court, but nevertheless, happy to happen to be there. The train boards, takes off, & a long list of Canadian towns were slept through & bypassed in the dead of night.  I hailed a lift from the Ottawa Train Station to my hostel for the night. The place served as the first jail in city, & had since been neatly converted into a hostel with guests sleeping in tight-fitting ‘jail cells.’  I was on floor 6 in cell number 613, the quarters of a long-gone inmate by the name of Angelo Villamino. I relished this opportunity to mix the excitement of historicism with the usually lull nature of lodging.  The rest itself was subpar as my skin had begun peeling profusely during the day, & remained red hot during the night.

DAY 5 - 3/18 - 16.24 miles

Morning comes quickly & I am tasked to clear my cell of my things in a playful return to freedom.  Breakfast was held in the dining hall of the jailhouse, aptly ascribed the ‘oldest dining hall in Ottawa.’ After replenishing my body, I held my bags at the front desk, & hurled myself into the city; I had a little over one hour to squeeze as much of the country’s capital into my memory banks as possible.  I began by searching for the Parliament building (more like a castle) where the bulk of legislation for the world’s second-largest country (in landmass) largely transpires.  No Prime Minister Trudeau or politicians in sight, as the effects of the Coronavirus pandemic amplified by the day.  I believe this is the day that the Prime Minister of Canada closed the southern border to incoming Americans, followed swiftly by our President’s mutual refusal of incoming foreign travelers at the border.  Admittedly, this was not of concern to me, as I figured (& thankfully was later proven correct) that a U.S. citizen would be permitted to come home.  In hindsight, I perhaps predicted such measures being taken & allowed them to expedite my plans of getting to Canada before being unable to enter as an American.

Anyway… by Parliament I glided taking whatever pauses necessary to piece together how things came to be as they are up there from an academic perspective, but carefully preserving the right to take the utmost tourist-y photos (much like others do at 1600 Pennsylvania).  A breathtaking building it was indeed, & that was just the view from the street!  I continued along my path, circumnavigating the center of the city which took me to Victoria Island & into the province of Quebec for a brief moment (although I was not aware of the provincial border at the time).  Like my time in Niagara, I elected to skate from a southern bridge to a northern one, the latter being Alexandra bridge over the Ottawa River.  What a special moment this turned out to be as my wheels clanked over the wooden boards of the bridge, seemingly to the dismay of the townspeople.  I was not the least bit concerned for this harmless transgression, as I had been otherwise captivated by my backside view of Parliament sitting atop its hill.  It felt as if I had been transported to Transylvania, & the Victorian edifice gave me a sense of passion for human ingenuity.  I made it back to the HI Ottawa Jail Hostel, aligned my belongings, & requested a ride to the Ottawa Greyhound terminal to catch my bus to Montreal. Here is precisely where Francais surpassed English as the primary mode of communication for the foreseeable future.  The beloved Quebecois are very proud of their Francophone heritage, as it is the written language on road signs & nearly all signage everywhere (with a distinctive lower regard for English).

Arrival in Montreal occurred after the couple-hour bus ride.  Immediately I was made aware of the foothold in normalcy that the French language commanded there, mainly because everything was in French (& not always in English).  Outside the bus station, during my coordination with my Airbnb host, multiple homeless individuals approached me in search of loose change or a cigarette. This would be otherwise unworthy of mention had it not been for their guttural requests being in a language outside of English; I remember finding it striking to conceive a natively French-speaking bum whose domain I was now a guest in.  My stuff & I made yet another march to the place I would come to call a temporary home- the apartment of Alix & Marion.  I was mid-toke when my host, Alix, motioned to me to come to the stairs at the foot of the door & take my entry. A simple ‘bonjour,’ we greeted each other with, & I demonstrated to her that I would prefer to speak in her primary language in an effort to sharpen my own ear & mouth, to which she gladly agreed.  The remainder of our exchanges over roughly the next 48 hours took place in Francais, with varying degrees of contextual & vernacular depth.  The common Montrealaise person is a French-speaker with a veritable accent when they switch to English.  As the old addage goes, when in Rome, do as the Romans do.  I met this challenge to navigate a new cityscape & probe its peoples in an embracing way with occasional angst, constant excitement, & most profoundly with a thirst for knowledge.

My goods were locked away in my room, I had just showered, so I grabbed my board & set sail in search of the city’s lifebloods. Beginning in Chinatown (which usually tends to be either exactly or nearby places I stay in cities), I opted to head west in search of Le Plateau & Mile’s End, sections of the town celebrated for the globality & execution of their cuisinieres.  Some poutine boeuf hache from Main Deli on Rue Ste. Laurent seemed the right call, & turned out better than my imagination had guessed.  From Mile’s End southward I was bound, seeking to lay eyes upon L’Universite de Montreal.  Little did I know it was set atop one of the many tiers of Mt. Royal at the city’s center.  Getting there was rather trying, but the views of Quebec’s largest city at night from the campus, coupled with the exhilaration of board-bombing down the occasional hill, left little to be desired & much to be remembered.  Further south of the University lied L’Oratoire de St. Joseph (St. Joseph’s Oratory), a Catholic-driven destination featuring towering stained-glass windows, a gathering hall for services that rivaled the most Mormon of Tabernacles, along with a balcony’s viewpoint all its own.  After struggling to find the exit from the Oratory, I found it in my best interest to begin the journey back to my bed.  A complete encircling of Mt. Royal park was supposed to cap the day’s adventure as night had already befallen hours before.  Perhaps fate had other plans in mind.

My phone had been rendered useless at this point, & I had little more than my intelligence to rely on to get me back home.  Unfortunately, my mental capacity had waned significantly over the course of the day’s doings, & over the next 2 or 3 hours I could be plainly seen wandering somewhat aimlessly from roadside map to roadside map.  The outcome of being well off-track was spectacular, however.  I cannot help but feel I got to experience the city in a different & daring light.  Half of me wanted to return home, & the other half wanted to investigate each eye-catching facet; more often than not, I let the need to investigate prevail & tacked some formidable mileage onto the invisible odometer of my skateboard throughout the night.  After some much-needed guidance from a man walking & a bus driver, I was able to piece together just enough of my surroundings to locate 1223 Rue Ste. Elisabeth. Before heading home, I stopped into an Indian restaurant called SpiceBoys, where I requested tandoori chicken with curry rolled into naan bread.  The only problem was that their card terminal was unable to accept any of my debit or credit cards, & so, with one stroke of effortless Indian-Canadian kindness, I was gifted a hearty dinner for the night free of charge.  With the help of daylight, the next day I uncovered that I had thoroughly explored Downtown Montreal (via Rue Ste. Catherine), the Red-Light District, the Quartier Latin (Latin Quarter), & the Quartier des Spectacles (Entertainment District).  I crept back into the apartment, which creaked with every floorboard, into my room & resigned to fatigue.

DAY 6 - 3/19 - 8.64 miles

I remained asleep in my quarters for the morning’s entirety, having groveled thirteen hours through the mandatory regeneration of my body & mind.  Near this time I had an extended conversation with my hostess in which I requested to place my bags there after check-out the following day & attached reasoning to the request… completely in Francais! She was more than accommodating.  Awakened & thoughts of the night prior still scrambling my brain, I showered (peeling skin off myself for the vast majority of time in the water), clothed myself in some hot shit, & set out to cross the St. Lawrence River.  The cartographic struggles that were now in the past (plus a charged phone) helped me immensely in getting to my desired destinations in the coming days.  I set out southward on Boulevard Rene-Levesque seeking to hit Griffintown & St. Henri before taking the Wellington Street bridge over to the L’isle de Ste. Helene (St. Helen Island).  The riverfront at Sq. St. Patrick was an intoxicating mixture of sights & sounds; inlaid with a frozen stream, industrious (sometimes abandoned) infrastructure, & graffiti/street art that seamlessly colorized a scene already full of vibrance made for a quite memorable portion.  At the point where most individuals had turned back due to the icy paths & an increasingly disinviting ambience, I progressed under Highway 10.  On a route I was positive few or none had taken before, I stood roadside at dusk having to think intensely upon my next move & if it was the correct one.  Wrong ones were made, gloves were dropped, but in time & effort I was able to find Avenue Pierre-Dupuy.

For a handful of kilometers, I skated along the shipyard gazing upon the city that I had been so immersed in & with.  I was trying to practice kicking & pushing in the ‘goofy’ stance, so that I could face the spectacles & not apartment complexes (to mild avail).  Before I knew it, I reached Parc Dieppe (Dieppe Park), a park on the north tip of the Cite du Havre & the starting point of the Pont de la Concorde (Concord Bridge).  I would begin crossing without giving myself the time to let fear fester.  Cars sped by at a half-meter’s length as my wheels rolled over tidbits of gravel, & more present in my mind, over a large body of water.  I recall taking a few moments of pause at the bridge’s midpoint to survey my surroundings, & beautifully dominating they were.  Humbled I felt, truly.  As if my existence equated to a ripple in the river below, & with my individual ripple I can become a hurricane, or mud.  The end of the bridge was a comforting sight.

To reach L’isle de Ste. Helene was the goal for the day & having gotten off the east end of the Pont de la Concorde, I was finally there.  A long walk up the eastern coast of the island awaited me & was met with a heart teeming with adventure.  Here I had time alone.  With no other humans nearby, I let my mind run wild with thoughts of the trip to this point & how, in the grand scheme of things, I felt I was at where I should be; perhaps not geographically as one’s physical station is usually inconsequential. But in my mental state I was home, & home alone at that.  Onward & northward I strode through the Parc Jean-Drapeau, laying eyes upon the ‘Biosphere’- a spherical structure on the island meant to champion ecology.  Trees & ice accompanied me on the brisk walk to the north end of the island.  There, Pont Jacques-Cartier (Jacques Cartier Bridge) awaited me in all of its steel beam splendor.  Thankfully, the lanes of traffic & the pedestrian walkway had a divider between them, as well as a protective gate on the side where one might otherwise go overboard.  This was all I needed to hop back on my board & skate my weathered boots over the St. Lawrence for the last time.  On the bridge there were workers toiling away & the dazzling light sequence of the bridge itself made for a surreal experience.  In the distance I could see the bridge, lit in rainbow colors, that I had crossed merely an hour or two before this new bridge that served as my current vantage point.  Thoughts on the ephemerality of my existence at large (exemplified by having been way over yonder ‘then’ & here ‘now’) & the absolute need for self-belief against a vacuum of chance pervaded my tiny brain.  The Pont Jacques-Cartier provided a special moment in my life that I can attest to having been rarely duplicated before.  For reasons beyond me, I shed a tear & smoked a bowl before getting off.

Once off, I felt my way through Gay Village & back down into the Quartier Latin where I stopped for dinner at a quaint, but busy, Napoli Pizzeria.  The owner was Italian.  The waiter too.  Both spoke Italian, English, & French, but after a while a Mexican family of 6 on vacation from Monterrey was seated, & the working duo displayed their aptitude in the Spanish language as well, going so far as to tell jokes anecdotally.  I grinned & shared in the aura of the exchange, although I likely resembled a dirty drifter in the corner.  Coming from such worldly humans, naturally the smoked salmon pizza topped with capers & onions was not lacking in the least bit.  So, I ordered a large box for take-out after munching away the smaller portion & took my leave.  On the way home, I stopped at a Second Cup Coffee Co. location & had a brief verbal volley with the barista in request of a cheesecake. He complimented my accent when speaking French, & even likened it to that of a French person (maybe meaning not Quebecois), despite glaring difficulties in my comprehension & rebuttals.  Riding an emotional (& literal) high during the descent of a simply remarkable day of jam-packed novelty & sensation in all forms (sights, sounds, smells, tastes, touches, introspection), I returned to the apartment for  my last full night in the region.

DAY 7 - 3/20 - 2.42 miles

My time in Montreal was now nearing an end, & I began to hold thoughts of coming home in high regard.  When the sluggishness of sleep washed away in the shower (insert skin peeling of the largest proportions here), I readied my luggage & cleaned my temporary room as best as I could to eliminate all signs of a horrific sunburn & accompanying cranial gash.  With the green light from my hostesses to store my luggage in the apartment until the night’s 10:50 bus ride to Plattsburgh, NY, I was intent upon checking off the last few Montreal-bound goals that remained.  This came chiefly in the form of a desire to reach the Mt. Royal lookout in order to take in the city-sphere from its namesake mountain.  Originally, I had intended to skateboard there from the apartment, but after a few blocks of dousing rain, I called an Uber to scoop me up (after finding out that Lyft doesn’t yet operate in Quebec) & take me.  The friendly Uber driver, Vincent, let me out at the drivable point closest to the Chateau Mont Royal, & didn’t hesitate to call me crazy for being there in such ferocious conditions.  He pointed me in the proper direction which was aided by a fellow human headed toward the same spot as myself.  Precipitation worsened as the half-mile March was underway, but it was worth every goosebump & raindrop once I reached the outlook.

A dreary backdrop of low-hanging, gray clouds & the smell of rain caressed the skyline’s perimeter in a way that rang true & imprinted upon me a stunningly naked Montreal.  An intimate version of the city it was, gripped by the unknown like the rest of the world, yet resilient enough for entrepreneurialism to survive in pockets.  Having already been to many of the places now set in my sight made the moment all the more fulfilling & full circle.  A naive feeling of having ‘conquered’ the city laid bare before me was soon supplanted by the revelation of the realer self-conquest. Half-frozen water panging my face & wind gusts pulling & pushing without cease proved no match for the firmness I had found, in feet & fortitude.  This was the quintessential culmination of the week I endured, & one one-hundred percent befitting of such a voyage.

I made my escape of Mount Royal with haste before my inadequate (but stylish) clothing proved a fatal error.  Originally, I had the notion to return to Main Deli because my last meal there was so damn good, but in the moment I opted for Schwartz’s Deli across the street in the name of variety.  A heaping steak sandwich slatted between two tiny slices of wheat with mustard proved to be the house specialty, & was served less than a minute after being ordered… It was alright.  Homeward bound with a full stomach, I decided to walk into a store that I had held in the back of my mind after passing by my first day there, Cul-de-Sac.  This place was happening!  The owner of the store was gracious in her conversation as I browsed.  I eventually confessed my inspiration(s) gained from her shop (& plans to recreate in a respectful, homage-paying manner).  We spoke at length about various topics, from our being of parents, to our being of owners of similar retail operations, to her allegiance to Quebec & not the whole of Canada.  In fact, she was the foremost messenger of the separatist mentality that the people of the Quebec province displayed, on their countenance & in their conduct.  I purchased a few of the items in her shop, she threw me some good stuff for free, & we wished well upon each other at my exit.  That was the last recreational stop in Montreal, & soon thereafter I retreated to the Quartier des Spectacles to acquire my things.  I was graced with the time to charge my phone & rest my bones for about 45 minutes.  It was during this time that a cherished exchange between myself, Alix, & Marion (a hostess with whom I’d only spoken with via Airbnb messaging up to this point) occurred.  It had become expected that I was asked what I did with my day, & that is how the chat began.  I explained the day’s travels, thanked the duo for being a source of comfort & ease at the beginnings & ends of trying days.  I also thanked them for putting up with my butchering of their language (as each inhabitant of the apartment was from France) for the sake of practice, which they met befuddled & were quick to praise my ability to communicate/intonate in their complicated speech.  They even went so far as to say that my speaking has a native’s accent & were super appreciative of my having taught myself over the last couple years.  A mutual encounter I cannot help but feel it was, & I remain grateful for their pleasant & inviting demeanors.  I climbed down the long stairwell of 1223 Rue Ste. Elisabeth once & for all & signaled for Uber to take me to the Longueil Metro.

I had arrived at the bus station with plenty of time to spare, having somewhat learned the errors of my ways.  I was serious about not wanting to cut anything close with such little time left for my returning flight home. I waited patiently at my gate for my bus to arrive & whisk me away back to the states for my 2:59 AM flight out of Plattsburgh, New York (Upstate).  Sadly, the bus’s arrival time came & went, & at the mention of the ticketing booth agent, I waited another 45 minutes for it.  Having received no notification of cancellation from the bussing company, no accurate updates on the whereabouts of the bus, & minute after minute shaving away from takeoff time, I was forced to call an Uber to pick me up from the metro station & take me to the border- this cost one-hundred Canadian dollars.  We stopped at an ATM, grabbed some snacks, & finally Ridaha & I were on our way.  A fruitful & insightful chat aided us along the drive, & I was able to disentangle much French from this nice Tunisian man.  An hour passed & we arrived at the U.S. border.

As the car pulled up to the border, U.S. Customs agents ordered repeatedly for my driver’s documentation.  A brief argument between an unsuspecting Ridaha & an extremely serious officer took place.  The very odd circumstances were eventually explained, Ridaha was directed to make a U-turn & head home while I exited the vehicle, grabbed my bags, & headed to the border patrol substation.  It was there that I was informed that I would need to call a cab (as Uber wasn’t functioning in this particular location), but to complicate matters drastically, the taxi services weren’t doing the ‘border run’ that night.  My heart fell into my stomach, & I had entered a phase of worry that I had yet to reach at any point along the trip.  Thankfully, one Officer Burdette walked me to the West Service Road behind the U.S. Border Patrol & Customs Champlain Station & pointed in the direction of the nearest place still open- a Peterbilt truck stop about a half mile down a pitch-black road.  He also made it a point to mention that if I attempted to hitchhike on main Highway 87, I would be arrested.  This oh so tangible road brought with it intangible emotion after emotion as I grappled with triumph & failure, each still hanging in the balance.  It had become very important outside of my own ambitions for me to make the plane & get home, & I was purely keen to not have loved ones worry about my wellbeing any longer.  A frantic mixture of skating & speed-walking got me to the Peterbilt stop, & by the grace of God, the taxi company agreed to send out a driver for me & get me to the airport from this largely equidistant pick-up point. While I waited in freezing temperatures in an Eddie Bauer peacoat on the side of the road at the smallest hour, another group of U.S. Customs agents spotted me & sought to question my being there.  They asked for identification & reasoning to which I was forthcoming.  They wished me well & left.

Thirty minutes later, a portly man of sound intelligence & world view taxied me to the Plattsburgh International Airport (after having stopped at an ATM for cash to pay him). I entered the empty airport at 2:30 AM for my 2:59 AM flight with the driver’s assurance that I’ll be able to get right through TSA & onto the plane.  More than sadly, he was mistaken.  The Spirit Airlines attendant had vacated his post thirty minutes before takeoff to aid the onboarding crew, as per policy, of course.  I rushed up to the barren TSA line & inquired about my chances of getting on the plane.  They responded that the flight door had already been closed, & that it was now an impossibility for me to board.  Needless to say, it was now impossible for me to get home on time, too. I felt I had fallen just short of a buzzer-beating victory that I had already affirmed to those who had expressed concern. I had begun to list the many variables that could have gone differently to get me on to that flight: 1) why didn’t my bus in Longueil show up or even notify me of cancellation? 2) why didn’t I deem the bus ride a lost cause sooner & get an Uber sooner? 3) why did we have to stop at an ATM so off-route when leaving Montreal? 4) Couldn’t they have held me & my driver up a bit less at the border? 5) Why couldn’t the taxi agency send someone a half-mile further than where they would eventually come to pick me up? 6) Why did this portly man with a good view of the world have to drive the speed limit? Would he have driven faster if I didn’t entertain his subjects? 7) Why the fuck does the agent at the airline counter leave the counter thirty minutes before a flight is scheduled to take off?

When the airline attendant did return, he was sympathetic to my cause & willing to help find a solution.  Employing a similar program to the one used at the beginning of the trip, he was able to book the exact flight for the following day free of charge.  This eased me greatly.  Questions & doubt lingered, but I soon picked my chin up & hopped in another cab headed for the America’s Best Value Inn. This would be my impromptu safe haven on this frigid Friday night, & I checked in at 3:30 AM.

DAY 8 - 3/21 - 0 miles

Today is my sister’s & my aunt’s shared birthday.  I wished dearly to be home by now next to my daughter, & to begin decompressing the week’s peaks & valleys. Yet, here I sit in the lobby of the cheap motel I spent last night in.  I’ve been in the same chair since 1:15 PM, & it is now 12:49 AM (with the exception of a few bathroom/water breaks & a brief standing up to accept ordered wings & garlic bread).  This unexpected & obligation-less window in time was spent formulating this transcript of a vacation I can confidently say will come to prove formative as life presses on.  One not soon to be forgotten, nor the lessons gained therein forsaken. My flight to Las Vegas via Fort Lauderdale, Florida & Dallas, Texas is due to leave in a couple hours.  With my lack of punctuality deeply ingrained, I resolve to close this memoir in saying that the constant struggle with mortality across Earth & in minds amidst these troubling waters was on full display in every city & each individual’s expression.  Death and Disease on the tongues of the media & man the world over, but life itself (outside of the biological & inside of the metaphorical sense) is to be explored & discovered lovingly… never to be shied away from or merely sustained.  With our collectively restricted circumstances reaching a fever pitch in what people can & cannot, should & should not, will & will not do, I resolve to digress & remain profoundly thankful for love, safety, health & home. 

[gumnut-logic]

A Ride with Pumpernickel

Okay, here is a fic that is the diametric opposite of the one I posted earlier today. This fic also sparks off the prompt @thunderstorm-bay threw in my direction...which incidentally was Virgil and the single word ‘fur’, something I forgot to mention in my last post. Thank you so much for the double spark of inspiration. I hope you enjoy this one just as much.

Anyways, I feel better about this one, probably because it is the kind of thing I need to write today. It is only a scene, no plot, not much at all, really.

Warnings: Total fluff, like fairy floss fluff, marshmallow fluff, my pancreas is groaning-type fluff. Also Virgil/Kayo with a touch of Pen and Ink, Warm Rain, several years after ‘Give & Take’, you know, that fic I haven’t written yet...way down the timeline.

Thank you for creating this fantastic fandom. I could not have done what I have without all your wonderful support. You guys, truly do fill my pen to overflowing ::hugs you all so much::

-o-o-o-

He was surrounded by snow.

It was something he had grown up with, but it was no longer something he was used to and he was cold. Tropical islands were so much warmer.

But Grandma was getting on in years and she had decided that this year she wanted a more traditional Christmas. And that meant Kansas and snow.

Virgil shivered.

The kids, of course, were excited. They were used to warm, sunny Christmases that consisted of days at the beach, bonfires and Uncle Gordon chasing them around the pool. Here it was the opposite. Early evenings, central heating and snowed in windows - not a great combination for two young and energetic children.

So, he had gone out on a limb and hired a horse and carriage, complete with driver. Open top, for a three-sixty view, and rugs and blankets to keep warm. A tour around the town with his family to see the Christmas lights on a quiet winter’s evening.

Kay hated the cold even more than he did and he had to smile at the parka she had holed herself up in. Her hood was rimmed with faux fur and it made her appear an exotic resident from the far north tundra.

Because she was the mom in this equation, both the kids were dressed the same way, running past like a pair of furry chipmunks. He grinned as he wrapped an arm around his wife. “They have enough insulation to withstand a nuclear winter.”

She shoved a jacket at his chest. “Unlike you, who would prefer to lose body parts rather than rug up.”

“There has to be a certain amount of experience for the experience to be worth it.”

“Tell that to your fingers when they turn black. You’re too used to the tropics, Virgil. You should know better.”

He sighed and took the jacket. As expected, it was a faux fur clone of hers except much larger to fit his frame. Shouldering it on, he had to admit, it was much warmer than the flannel he had been relying on.

“Why are we doing this?” She huddled next to him.

“Because it will be fun. An experience to remember.”

“Yes, I remember what it was like to feel my nose.” But her grumbling was mock at best.

He drew her in closer and nipped her nose with a kiss. “Well then, we’ll just have to snuggle up to keep warm.

“Mom! Dad! Hurry up!”

“Our bosses are calling.” He mumbled against her forehead.

“They can wait and learn patience.” She stood on her toes and caught his lips just briefly.

“They may eat the horse.”

“Then we can go back inside and get warm.”

He laughed and gave her another squeeze. “C’mon, love.” He pulled away gently and led her towards the carriage.

Both children were bouncing beside the elegant vehicle scrapping in the snow and alternating pummelling each other with the stuff.

“Hey, hey, cut that out. Don’t you want to meet the horse?”

Attention grabbed, the snow in their hands was discarded and Virgil led them up to the driver and introductions began. The driver was a crusty local Virgil remembered from his childhood. Back then he had been a young teacher at the school. He remembered the Tracy brothers, all five of them and had been quite happy to drive them around for the evening. Obviously more used to the weather, he had much less clothing obscuring his features.

“Okay, you two, climb into the carriage and let Pumpernickel do her job.” Kay had already climbed in and at a gesture from their mother, both ratbags darted into the carriage and snuggled up beside her.

Virgil frowned as he climbed on board, the whole carriage dipping under his weight. “Hey, I believe you have my seat. I get to sit beside Mommy tonight.”

Kay arched an eyebrow up at him and he grinned.

The two kids whined and complained, but after the obligatory grumbling, they moved to sit in the seat behind the driver. Virgil took up his cherished spot beside his wife and draped an arm around her shoulders.

Within a moment she was wrapped around him like an octopus crossed with a limpet.

He bit the inside of his mouth to prevent laughing out loud and inadvertently ending his life prematurely. “Okay, kids, now you can sit with Mommy.”

Two giggling lumps landed on the both of them, followed by a pile of blankets.

They were going to be very warm.

And his comms went off.

The whole family groaned.

“Daddy!” A pair of young green eyes glared at him in outrage. “You said we could go for a ride.”

He bit his lip, heart dropping through the floor of the carriage as he reached up a hand to answer.

“Virg! Why didn’t you tell me you were hiring a carriage?! And where is our invite? Pen loves that kind of thing.”

The relief was almost enough to stop him rolling his eyes. Almost. “Gordon, hire your own carriage.”

“But Virrg!”

“Uncle Gordon, where are your manners?!” Those young green eyes were quite capable of flashing at anybody in range.

“Ooh, is that my BLT I can hear? I’m feeling hungry again.”

“Uncle Gordon!”

Virgil sighed. If that got started, they could be here for half the night. “Gordon, we are only going around the town once. If you discuss it with Mr Burly, maybe he can take you and Penelope after the kids have gone to bed.”

“Burly? Really? Does he still have that curly moustache?”

“Since he can hear everything you are saying, you may want to consider what you say or forfeit your evening tour.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh.” Virgil grinned and winked in Burly’s direction. The older man smirked. He knew every Tracy brother, after all. “Now, leave us in peace. V and K Tracy and company are off the clock for the next hour. Non-negotiable.”

“Okay, okay. I get it. Signing off...as long as I get my BLT when you get home.”

“Uncle Gordon!”

Virgil snorted and killed the connection.

“I am going to have to teach him another lesson soon, I think.” But Kay was smiling as she said it. Well, almost.

“It’s his way, love, you know that.”

“Yes, well, I have my own way too.”

“No breaking the uncles. You’ll give the kids the wrong impression.”

“I will provide a role model in problem solving.”

He had to snort at that. “You could have a point.”

“I do have a point. A very pointy point.”

Well, he wasn’t going to argue. “Anyway, we have a voyage to make. Onward, Mr Burly, let us take these children on a tour of Christmases Past.”

Burly grinned at that and turned around to attend to Pumpernickel.

And even with his nose half frozen, Virgil truly felt warm, snuggled up with his family, as the carriage began its gentle sway into the evening darkness.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #kayo kyrano #virgil/kayo #warm rain #Gordon Tracy

[drink-n-watch]

We got somewhat buried in snow over the last few days. Actually, it’s not that impressive. It’s really a perfectly average amount of snow for February in Quebec and far from the huge snow storm they’ve been promising. In fact, it’s been sort of light on snow this year. In any case, it’s now a bright and sunny day and the gleaming, undisturbed white snow is reflecting everything so the glare coming through the window is crazy. You know that particular quality of sunlight off snow. It’s super sunny and cheerful and you can just tell it’s freezing outside. It’s a good day to stay indoors and watch anime. And this was a great episode for the occasion I might add. Before we get into it, how are you Crow?

Also, just so I don’t make him do it every time. This is a discussion of episode 80 of My Hero Academia. There will be some spoilers so if you haven’t seen it, you might want to do that first. Also, I will be taking plain text this week while Crow is in bold!

  I’m doing well, Irina. Thanks for asking! We just got a little snow here, too, but no sun. So it’s just gray outside. Weird snow, too — didn’t stick to the streets or sidewalks, but buried our cars. Well, my car. My wife’s car is in the garage.

Once more, the episode was essentially split into two halves. First off we needed to finish off that cliffhanger from last week. Bakugou and Todoroki, alongside Inasa and Camie are now faced with a gang of unruly superpowered children they need to rail in. This could have been a dicey situation, as we find out the childrens powers are way beyond that of past generations, but it was solved pretty quickly and thankfully without the need to explode any toddlers.

Our heroes simply created a playground for the kids using their own powers. They threw in a few tricks and a few pieces of advice here and there to calm the kids down. Before they knew it, they had won the class over and everyone was having a good time. It was an easy feel good scene, but it actually packed in a lot of world building and character development. Or rather it confirmed that development.

First we were introduced to the concept that powers are merging and evolving with each generation having more and more powerful quirks at younger ages. This could potentially become a serious problem as we have already seen the havoc that uncontrolled quirks can cause. And it’s a very interesting idea, this notion of a quirk event horizon. A point where so many individuals will have uncontrollably powerful quirks that they could viably wipe out a good portion of the population. Or alternatively that they would themselves not survive long enough to have children thereby creating a population crisis. In the MHA universe, it’s a credible premise that mankind could evolve itself into extinction.

That’s some pretty deep classic sci fi thought experiment. And it’s mighty sneaky of them to throw it into a narrative about the two most popular MHA pretty boys taking care of a bunch of kids. What do you make of it Crow?

It felt the same way to me — classic science fiction “what if.” I’ve often referenced Dune in my reviews, and I think there’s a case to be made that the scenario you just outlined, where the children don’t survive long enough to produce children, is something right out of the complex ecology of Arrakis. It’s almost like an evolutionary population control. Kids get too powerful for the world (or their parents) to contain? The population resets.

Overall, I thought it was an interesting concept, and a sign of a dynamic world. With Quirks becoming more unmanageable, something has to give. I think I would have liked to have seen some indication that the kids’ teacher, Komari Ikoma, was trying to come up with a new way to teach them; some way that indicated she and the teaching establishment she was a part of were trying to evolve new methods.

As for the character development part. The situation was resolved by using their quirks in a creative and cooperative way rather than a show of force. Each of them found the best way to do so according to their own skills. They knew how to capitalize on the opportunity once the kids started to be won over. But the idea started with Bakugou. More precisely, with Bakugou explaining that even if they do simply defeat the kids without hurting them too much, being defeated by someone you have no respect for is just humiliating and frustrating. It won’t win the kids over. They need to create a situation that the kids want to be part of.

First of all, that’s pretty smart, but Bakugou is supposed to be very intelligent. From the very first episode he has always been top of the class. In fact it’s nice to see it in action but it’s nothing new. What is new is that this particular bright idea can only come through empathy. Bakugou had to put himself in those kids’ place and that is not something he could have done in episode 1. Our little Baku is growing up. And it’s telling that he’s the only one that didn’t use his quirk at all. Just his words.

Also that advice he threw in “If you don’t stop looking down on others from high above, you’ll fail to notice your own weakness” (I’m paraphrasing here), hits close to home. It’s obvious that the events of the last two seasons have had an effect on him and it’s sinking in.

I feel a little bummed — I couldn’t find a name from the little ring-leader from Masegaki Primary School! One thing that struck me as I watched this scene is how easily it could have become hollow and saccharin sweet. But because it was the product of Bakugou’s authentic character development, and because he was so convincingly empathetic, I thought it worked and worked well. 

And though I’m really happy they didn’t have to resort to physical violence, I did think it was extremely cool that when the kids unleashed their attacks on our four heroes, they  weren’t even annoyed. No damage; not even enough to make them uncomfortable. I do so like moments like that!

In many ways, Bakugou’s character arc, his hang ups and obstacles are similar to Todoroki’s, which is probably why they clash so much. However, they are represented in opposite ways. Todoroki is the golden child who had so much pressure heaped on him that he’s come to deeply resent everyone’s hopes and expectations. It’s symbolized in his unwillingness to accept his own quirk, which is in many ways a symbol of a lot of the pain he’s suffered in the past. He has willingly hadicapped himself using only a portion of his power and strives only to be different than what is expected of him.

Bakugou comes from a much more modest background and has had forceful but supportive parents. Despite being in many ways perfectly suited to the golden child role, brilliant, often referred to as handsome, strong and healthy, he has defined himself solely by his quirk. So seeing a situation where Todoroki used both his ice and fire willingly — and just for fun at that —  showed the Shoto has come a long way to accepting his quirk, and by extension himself, and putting those difficult memories behind him. On the other hand, Bakugou avoided using his quirk or even taking the spotlight which tells me that this spoiled brat is finally maturing just a bit.

Remember when Todoroki was using his flame to help the kids warm their hands? That’s a great example of what you just pointed out. The Todoroki we met years ago would not have done that! We’d seen hints of that before, so what really blew me away in this episode was Bakugou’s restraint. Very impressive!

All of this development was great to see but there’s still one elephant in the room for me. I cannot forgive Endeavour, and I really dislike the series trying to sanitize him without any proper character building in that sense. Like I said, I thought it was interesting and gutsy to have an openly despicable “hero”. That’s something truly original as even the anti-heros we are used to are usually noble at heart. Endeavour was just a bad selfish and cruel man. But he was strong and wore the right colours. That conflict was fascinating to me. When did he become a tragic misunderstood soul who just wants to make the son he loves so much proud? Where did the guy who beat up that son when he was 5 years old, so badly that the boy threw up? You can’t just go from one to the other like that. Am I the only one bothered by this?

No. Two things bothered me about the scene where Endeavour reached out to Todoroki. First, you’re right — nothing he did in the past has been forgiven, if for no other reason than he has done nothing to atone. He did nothing to heal the damage he’d done. But what bothered me even more was that I found a small part of me hoping that Todoroki would make up with him. To see father and son reunited. 

Why would I want to put Todoroki through that? Sure, he’s conflicted, but wanting him to reestablish a relationship with the exact cause of that conflict is a really, really cruel thing to do! Do even I feel social pressure to conform to an ideal of family? 

I did say “a small part.” The rest of my brain was adamant in rejecting the notion completely. In fact, I suspect now that Endeavour has realized once and for all that he can’t step into All Might’s role — ever! — he’s reevaluating his life. I don’t know that he feels guilty, but he knows the strategy he had employed failed him. And of course it did. It was a terrible strategy. 

I have to give the show points for creating a situation that supported such a conversation, though!

The latter half of the episode started off rather mundanely. A time jump brought us to September and we learn through still scenes that the kids attended Nighteye’s funeral and the the internship program was being reevaluated. Duh! For the time being, everyone is back at UA and things are slowly going back to normal. More or less…

Aoyama has always been a fairly minor supporting character. I mean he’s always been around, but he’s just one more type of comic relief and hasn’t had many opportunities to distinguish himself. So when he starts to apparently stalk Deku, through cheese at that, I was really taken by surprise. I honestly said out loud, what exactly is going on here?

It was well done, constructed as an old school Hitchcockian suspense, with jump cuts and shadowy nighttime scenes and all those allusions of I know…. I really liked this turn. I was baffled as to where it was all going but I really liked it. I hoped we would have gotten a few episodes of this unsettling and yet hilarious atmosphere. The creative use of cheese was a great touch!

It was so unexpected that as the scenes played out, I was trying to come up with explanations. But we know that Aoyama doesn’t have an evil bone in his body, so whatever he was up to couldn’t be hurtful — unless he was actually a Himiko Toga replacement, but that couldn’t be because she’s more direct in her attacks. To be honest, I couldn’t figure out what was really going on.

In the end, it turns out that what he knew was simply that Deku was struggling with his quirk on a physical level and he felt a kinship with him because of that. An unexpectedly sweet reveal if a little cheesy.

I’m sorry…

Should I feel guilty for laughing so hard? I really like puns… I thought Aoyama reaching out to Deku was a sign of how much he had come to trust and respect him. The relationships within the class aren’t static, and I like that.

All and all, this episode was distinctly optimistic in tone, positioning most of the main cast in hopeful situations. It seems like a high before a low or a calm before the storm, but I’m happy to take it. It made me smile.

I’m really looking forward to seeing Kyouka Jirou play her guitar! We haven’t seen much of her since the League of Villains invaded UA. I’m curious if she’ll be her own guitar amp!

My Hero Academia s4 ep80- A Mild Cheese We got somewhat buried in snow over the last few days. Actually, it’s not that impressive. It’s really a perfectly average amount of snow for February in Quebec and far from the huge snow storm they’ve been promising.

#action #adventure #anime #Collab #episodic #My Hero Academia #shonen #super powers

[imperiousphasmid]

Hey!! If you're still doing the song asks thing, how about one or all of: Work Song, Almost, Movement, In the Woods Somewhere, and Sunlight. (Hope you're having a swell day!)

I am still doing it for sure!! Thank you so much for sending these; they’re so sweet and I had such a good time writing answers to them. I’ve had a pretty good day so far and I hope you have too, you lovely person. ♡ 

(I answered Work Song below and put the rest of the answers under the cut so it didn’t get too long for those of you who don’t want to read my walls of text.)

[Hozier Song Ask Meme]

Work Song- Is there anyone you’d sing a love song to, romantic or platonic? 

Oh absolutely, yes. My capabilities with singing are at least decent. I spent a number of years in choir. I still sometimes think of returning to it. I think music is one of the most powerful forms of expression available to us as humans and it has the ability to portray emotion in a different way than the spoken word. (Which isn’t to say one is more or less valuable than the other. Just different.)

I can be a romantic when it comes to some things, and there is something undeniably sweet and pure about the act of a serenade. To open up your voice and be heard is to make yourself vulnerable. In singing, especially.

I am also an avid car-singer and am certainly not above belting out love songs to - and sometimes with - friends at any given opportunity. After all, I always want my friends to know how important they are to me. There’s something freeing about borrowing the words of someone else to loudly proclaim your feelings. I have also dabbled in writing songs before as well. Picking notes and crafting harmonies to set a mood. My lyrical prowess does leave something to be desired, however.

Almost- Do you ever dance alone to music? 

Dancing is one of the most cathartic things in the world. Back when I was working, when I was the only one in the building, I used to put in earbuds and turn the volume on my phone to max and dance from room to room as I worked. I would move and spin and jump around until I was flushed and sweating and then dance some more. I loved every second of it. (I have a particular weakness for dancing to Florence and the Machine.) 

I don’t do it as much at home, which is a shame, but I am prone to putting on music while I cook or bake and swaying across the kitchen floor, slipping around in socks. Even when I’m sitting down and writing, I have a tendency to wiggle to myself if a catchy song comes on, swinging my head and tapping my foot against blank air. (I’m doing it right now! As I listen to Hozier, of course.)

Music has a way of moving us both emotionally and physically that is inherent to some degree to every human. Not just humans, either! It’s been proven that various animals enjoy music and even have their own unique preferences. It’s a beautiful thing. I firmly believe that anyone can dance and, more importantly, no matter your skill level, it feels wonderful.

 Movement- Do you perform in any way? 

Back in my school days (before college) I used to be involved in about every artistic venture available. I can technically play four instruments, although I won’t claim mastery over any of them. The closest would be piano, which I started learning around 17 years ago. I was in choir up through my junior year, and I spent four years in show choir as well. (Singing and dancing… at the same time.) I also participated in the school theatre productions, as well as attending theatre camps in the summers. At one point, it was my dream to pursue a career in acting. The only actual on-stage role I got in our high school productions, however, was as an extra in Grease during the spring musical my junior year. It was incredible fun, but also probably pretty accurate to the C- I received in acting class. 

Nowadays, I don’t do as much performing as I used to. Something about venturing out into the bigger world and leaving structure behind, I think. Now if I want to perform, I have to seek out opportunities to do so and there are so many options. I’m the tiniest bit more self-assured than I was back then, so I still hope to return to some things one day - acting especially. There’s something cathartic in being stripped of your own motivations, your own fears, and putting on a brand new face. I learned once that acting is not just about performing a role, but making it reality. In what other circumstance do you have the chance to truly become something else entirely? Something brand new and yet wholly formed.

 In the Woods Somewhere- Have you ever had a supernatural experience?

Hmm. Nothing specifically provable, necessarily. I’m willing to give a lot of leeway when it comes to the unexplained, however. While I don’t put much stock in the typical ghost story, I do believe that some things tend to linger. The woods have power. Moonlight illuminates things previously unseen. Certain places and objects are unmistakably charged with a kind of energy. One that tends to be felt at its most restless. 

I used to work at a movie theater and everyone who worked with me was convinced it was haunted. On one memorable occasion, a couple of coworkers came in to open for the morning and classical music was playing from one of the projectors like a radio. (Projector Two. I still don’t know how. It shouldn’t have been capable of that.) Going upstairs at night, sometimes you could feel the prickling of hairs on the back of your neck as if you were being watched from the flickering shadows in the darkest corners. One side of the room always seemed more unnerving than the other. (The side with Theater Two. It always seemed to be Theater Two.) Once or twice when I was alone, I could swear I heard the whispersoft sound of a voice over the mechanical hum of wires and towers, speaking just one word, maybe two. I could never tell what it was it had said. Or tried to say.

But I was never too scared. I greeted the empty halls of the building in the mornings and bid them goodnight when I wandered out the door long past midnight. I offered them kindness, and in return they always felt like a second home. 

 Sunlight- Do you prefer sunny or rainy weather, or somewhere in between?

Rain. I live for rainy days and nights. The weight of the sky before it lets loose, the fingertaps of thick raindrops against windows and rooftops. Living in the midwest, I’m no stranger to the roar of a real storm. But I am the kind of person who will keep the temperature inside steadily at 64 and bundle up in layers upon layers - sweaters, and blankets, and soft things. I’ll bake cookies to eat while they’re still warm and gooey, fresh out of the oven. While I wait for them to cool, I’ll check the lanterns. Fill them up with oil if it’s needed. Then I’ll huddle up in a corner of the couch in front of the wide picture window and turn the lights off to watch the skies flash above and count the seconds. The matches stay a short reach away. Just in case.

In the instances when thunder doesn’t rattle the windowpanes and the clouds don’t drip with inky lifewater, I am also the kind of person who waits for the summer rains to pour in sheets before running out with bare feet to join it in pattering against the grass. I love everything about the rain. I love the smell of it on the air when you can feel it coming (Won’t be long, now.) and the way small rivulets splash at your ankles as you walk through them after it stops. I go out of my way to wander through puddles just so I can watch them ripple out and then change into fresh, clean, fuzzy socks when I get home.

#anonymous #heiress answers #thank you #i love these questions #and they were so much fun to answer

[oh-ranpo]

Head Over Heart | (5)

Pairing: Harrison Osterfield x Reader Summary: One night at a red-carpet event with your friends changed everything. Word Count: 1.5k+

“You did what?”

“You were WHERE?”

“With who?”

You smiled as your friends reacted just as you had expected them to. You had woken up to several missed texts and phone calls from them, claiming that they had been worried sick after you disappeared from the red carpet event the night before. You had agreed to tell them everything over breakfast, and now they were all staring at you incredulously.

“Why didn’t you text us?” Ava asked, taking another large bite out of her toast. Her green eyes were locked on you, hanging on your every word. This was the most exciting thing that had happened in your friend group for a long time, and these girls lived for gossip.

“I was a little busy. Besides, I didn’t even have my own phone until the end of the night,” you replied, taking a sip of your mimosa.

“Imagine if Harrison would have responded to one of our texts,” your other friend Hannah commented dreamily. Ava and Lily both swooned at the thought. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, and you were momentarily distracted by the feeling of your phone vibrating against your leg. Your stomach lurched and another smile instantly formed on your lips as you checked it.

It was another text from Harrison. You hadn’t yet told your friends that, even after the event had ended, yours and Harrison’s conversation had not. You had stayed up a couple of hours after arriving home, the two of you texting casually back and forth. He was sweet. Even sweeter than you had originally thought.

“Too bad it was just a one night thing, though. I can imagine getting mixed up with any of those boys would be disastrous.”

Your fingers paused over your keyboard at Ava’s words. Your eyes lifted back to her as she was taking a drink of her coffee.

“Why would you say that?” You asked, trying to keep your voice light.

“Well they are famous, aren’t they? Not to mention Tom and Harrison live in London. Not exactly the best relationship combo.”

A tightness formed in your chest and you realized that she had a point. It wasn’t like Harrison lived in L.A and you could just hang out whenever you wanted to. Besides, it shouldn’t bother you because this was just a short little thing. Eventually Harrison would lose interest and the two of you would move on. Another pang filled your chest with those thoughts and you tried to push them away. It had only been a day. There was no room to catch feelings already.

Hannah and Lily nodded at Ava’s words and it seemed to be unanimous.

How about dinner tonight? You name the place.

The words were screaming at you from the screen of your phone, but with the way the conversation was going with your friends, you couldn’t get yourself to reply in that moment.

“Look at this! Here is a picture of YN talking to Robert Downey Jr!” Lily screamed excitedly, as she turned her phone quickly in your direction. You hadn’t even thought about there being pictures from last night, but you smiled at the memory. The other three girls squealed and started bombarding you with more questions, seeming to forget their previous scrutiny. However, that was all you could think about throughout the rest of the meal.

x.x.x.x.x.x

When you saw him for the second time, you couldn’t help but wonder how someone could look so good without even trying. You had chosen a restaurant that wasn’t fancy just so that you wouldn’t have the opportunity to feel under-dressed. However, when your eyes landed on him, you still felt completely ordinary. He was only wearing a plain black t-shirt and dark washed jeans, but he still looked better than you could ever hope to look.

“Hello,” he greeted, his accent still managing to shine through in such a small word. You smiled at him in return as he stepped forward, and at first you thought he was going to hug you. Seeming to think better of it, however, he simply turned to hold the restaurant door open for you.

It felt a little strange being out with him now considering you had known each other for less than 24 hours. However, thanks to the constant text conversations, it already felt longer than that. Once you were seated, you immediately opened the menu, even though you already knew what you were going to order. This restaurant was a favorite with your group of friends and you usually always ordered the same thing. For the most part, you just needed something to distract you from gazing into those beautiful blue eyes all evening.

“You know, I wasn’t sure if you were going to agree to have dinner with me or not.”

His voice drew you out from behind the menu, and you could see that he hadn’t even touched his. He was watching you, a small smile on his lips. You set your own menu down and clasped your hands together in front of you.

“Oh yeah? And why’s that?” You asked curiously.

“After how hesitant you were about attending the Avengers party, I was sure you were going to turn me down this time.”

“But I went, didn’t I? That should prove to you how careless I am when it comes to going places with strangers.”

You laughed to ensure that he knew you were joking, and a brighter smile lit up his face. He finally looked down to pick up his menu, but he quickly looked back up at you through his eyelashes, still smiling. You tried your best to calm your heart thumping in your chest in fear that everyone around you may be able to hear it. As much as you didn’t want it to, your friend’s words from earlier in the day kept creeping into your head.

“So how long are you in town?” You asked casually, as you took a sip of the water that that waiter had just brought out to you. The menus were now gone so there was nothing to distract either one of you.

“About another week or so. Then we get some time back home before Tom starts shooting for his next movie.”

You nodded but felt your stomach drop. A week- that wasn’t very long. Were your friend’s right? Would getting mixed up with this boy just end up being a disaster?

“You’d really like London. It’s not as sunny and warm as here, but you seem like the type of girl who could appreciate the city for what it is.”

The words took you by surprise. You had always had a yearning to visit that particular city, but the timing had never been right. You watched as his blue eyes sparkled, and another excited feeling swooped through your chest.

Slow down. You’ve only known this boy for a day. Don’t start planning trips across the world when you don’t even know him.

But you couldn’t help yourself. The way he was smiling at you, the way the two of you had immediately hit it off the night before… this was different. He was different. The feeling was enough for you to push all the negative thoughts away and just focus on the moment.

“I think I’d like to find out. Someday, that is,” you replied, your lips turning up at the corners when Harrison’s face lit up. The two of you talked casually for the rest of the night, and it was obvious to both of you how easy it was to be in each other’s company. It had been a while since you had so much fun on a date, and you could actually tell that he was having fun as well. Before you knew it, dinner was over and a sinking feeling filled your stomach at the thought of having to return home.

“You know, I hear the Pier is beautiful at night.” Harrison suggested as he held the door open for you once again. You hadn’t thought about going anywhere after dinner, so you had just opted for walking to the restaurant. You didn’t have your car with you, and you hadn’t seen him arrive in one either.

“Oh, it’s amazing after dark. How would you suppose we get there?”

A cheeky grin crossed his lips as he pointed towards a black town car waiting at the corner. It looked identical to the one that you had ridden in the night before and you gave him a look.

“Tom let me borrow it,” he teased as he led you to the waiting car. Harrison even held the car door open for you, to which you thanked him, and then climbed inside. He climbed in right after you and leaned forward to give directions to the driver.

“Do you pull out all the stops like this for all of your dates?” You asked, turning in your seat to face him more. You gave him a playful smile, but he shook his head.

“Nah, this one was special.”

You felt your heart race at the words, and searched his face for any signs of a joke. However, his small subtle smile alerted you that this time he wasn’t joking. You swallowed hard, and turned to look out the window to hide your blush. You could feel Harrison’s eyes on you, but you suddenly felt very nervous. The amount of feelings that you had were building. And they were building much too quickly.

#love #harrison osterfield story #harrison osterfield x reader #harrison osterfield #harrison osterfield fic #harrison osterfield imagine #story #fic #imagine

[whoacanada]

‘Hot Jock Contest’

2k of date night auctions, shenanigans, and awkward first meetings. A Zimbits AU where Jack never overdosed and Bitty’s gay self is comfortable with being auctioned off for charity.

Rating: Teen, no explicit anything (not this time, lol)

(100% based off an ad I saw in passing for the Chicago Gay Hockey Association’s ‘Hot Jock Contest’.)

Jack rereads the email and fights a tightness in his throat at the image attached.

“Gay men’s hockey club is holding some kind of striptease disguised as a fundraiser. It’s the perfect place for you to spread your bisexual wings. You’ll get to see cocks in jocks, Jack. The kind you can actually look at, and, hopefully, touch.”

“Parse, I don’t know if that’s the kind of image I’m supposed to be cultivating, you know?”

Jack is eight months out of the closet and still horribly, desperately single; a fact made even less palatable by his ex trying to get him laid from a thousand miles away.

“Okay, that excuse worked until you got so backed up it started affecting your game. Look, at some point you have to make yourself happy, right? Coming out is supposed to be liberating and you’ve been wallowing in your freedom because people knowing you like dick doesn’t change the fact you’re still real fucking awkward, bud.”

“Thank you for the pep talk, Kent.”

“No, I mean,” Kent huffs like he’s the one suffering through this conversation. “Go out, have fun, get laid. And take Tater, he’s a good wingman.”

Ultimately, Jack folds like a cheap suit and finds himself in clothing that is far too tight, sipping on a craft beer that is too sweet, in a loud club full of beautiful people doing questionable things.

Jack doesn’t belong here.

“I still don’t think this is --”

“Zimmboni, relax! We find you cute boy tonight, no problem at all. How about that one? Nice legs? Nice face? Look good in your bed, ah?”

“Easy,” Jack throws his teammate a warning look at tries to focus on the parade of scantily clad hockey players looping the stage. “It’s not a meat market.”

Tater snorts. “Is always meat market. Just usually you are meat on ice.”

A beefy defenseman in a blue jock and matching harness stops in Jack’s line of sight and cocks a hip to display his bare backside and the tattoo of puck on his left ass cheek. Tater whistles and earns himself a wink.

“You’re not gay,” Jack chides.

“No, but I appreciate good physique.”

The lighting changes up and so does the music before a voice comes over the speakers announcing ‘special guests in the club tonight’ and Jack barely has time to duck his head before he’s hearing Tater’s name alongside his own.

“Crisse,” Jack curses while Tater stands to accept the resulting applause.

“AM HERE TO FIND ZIMMBONI CUTE BOYFRIEND,” Tater yells gesturing at a red-faced Jack. “HE LIKES BLONDES WITH SOFT HANDS.”

The crowd goes wild, practically drowning out the music.

“Well,” Jack peeks through his fingers and sees the glitter covered announcer staring him down, mic pressed close to his Providence Blue lips. “Lucky you, we have one of those up for auction tonight.”

Blue Harness comes to a stop on the other side of the stage with the other men up for auction and Jack tries not the stare, looking for the aforementioned blonde.

“Did you see him already?” Jack askes Tater, kicking himself for falling prey to his own curiosity.

“No,” Tater whispers loudly, “but always save best for last. You have to bid, or I bid for you.”

The lights go pink and Jack leans back in his chair, forcing himself to enjoy whatever is about to happen.

“Ladies, Gentleman, everything and everyone betwixt and between,” the MC teases. “Our last lot of the evening is a feisty peach from the sunny south who can out-skate, out-bake, and out-class just about any man on the ice.”

Tater wolf-whistles while Jack stares, lost in anticipation -- too preoccupied to comment on the fact ‘betwixt’ and ‘between’ are the same thing -- as the curtain slides back to reveal a short, adorable blonde with big brown eyes and very little covering his nearly perfect body. The man sees Jack, flashes a bright, teasing smile, and Jack’s breath leaves him.

“Our very own NCAA Champion, Eric ‘Bitty’ Bittle. Bidding starts at $500.”

Jack can’t make his voice work and someone else gets the first bid -- in fact, the auction is all the way up to $2000 by the time Jack can choke out “$1500,” but Jack’s voice is drowned out by Tater’s yell of “$3000!”, and Jack nearly gives himself whiplash turning to his teammate.

“What are you doing?”

“Bad taste for you to buy your own boyfriend, so I will buy for you. You will pay me back later -- I can be best man at your wedding.”

Someone else ups it another two hundred and there’s a slight commotion on stage. Bittle, ‘Bitty’ Jack silently corrects, has taken the mic and is assessing the crowd with an amused expression amid catcalls and whistles.

“Y’all, I’m very flattered, but you know you’re just buying a date, right? And you should also know I don’t put out on the first date.”

Some of the cheers slide to boos as Bitty hands back the mic before kissing two fingers and pressing them against his bare ass, skin practically glowing against the stark-white jock and thigh-high socks. Jack’s so light headed he’s going to pass out. He’s already dead.

Tater looks like he’s about to bid again when someone sticks a phone in Jack’s face and all hell breaks loose because Tater tries to grab the thing and by the time the dust has settled Jack is being ushered to the door and the auction is the least of their worries.

“All this press and you didn’t even get laid?”

“I knew it was a fucking mistake,” Jack grunts, trying to focus on his quads and fighting the heat in his cheeks as the boys keep chirping. He’s embarrassed for more than a few reasons. The pictures that popped up online, the call to his publicist, the fact he really wanted to win that date and couldn’t handle the attention long enough to pull it together.

It’s a lot of regrets to bring to a late-season home game.

Jack’s still going through his warm-up stretches when he starts hearing a tapping behind him -- he doesn’t look, he’s too experienced for that -- but eventually, the tapping becomes small voices saying, “Excuse me? Mister Zimmermann?”

Crisse. They’re being polite. He swipes a puck near his skate and stands, ready to plaster on a smile for whatever parent is pimping out their child for a game puck when he sees a familiar tuft of blonde hair through the glass.

Oh.

Bittle waves shyly from behind a whole slew of small children in Falcs gear, face pink with the chill in the arena. He’s bundled up tight, a blue and yellow scarf around his neck, looking embarrassed but determined. He’s as handsome fully clothed as he was barely dressed the night before.

Bitty calls out something over the kids' chatter, and Jack can barely make it out.

“I can’t hear you,” Jack tries, and Bitty shakes his head apologetically.

He swipes a few more pucks from the ice and shoves them through the camera hole before motioning for Bitty to follow him toward the penalty box, which is more of a task than expected as the seats are half full and cordoned off. Jack moves ahead and raps on the door of the penalty box until the attendant, Marcus, finally lets him in.

“Jack, what’s going on --”

“You see that guy?” Jack points to Bittle, who is trying to negotiate his way past an usher one section over. “Blonde guy they aren’t letting into 109, can you go get him?”

“You know I can’t leave, kid.”

“Ugh, fine,” Jack pulls off his gloves and sidles past Marcus to pull open the side door and step out into the stands, much to the shock of the dozen or so fans sitting in the first few rows.

“Zimmermann! What the hell are you doing?”

Jack sticks two fingers in his mouth and whistles loudly until the usher turns to see what’s going on, and Jack recognizes the staffer almost immediately. Unfortunately, he also attracts the attention of every fan the surrounding three sections.

“Hey, Christine! He’s with me! Let him through!”

She waves apologetically and Bittle, bright red with embarrassment, slides past the other attendees to reach Jack, who is back hiding behind the door as fans pile up behind the glass hoping for a photo. Eventually, Bitty makes it to the penalty box and Jack cracks open the door to let him in, but not before tossing a few bait pucks to the fans in the way.

“I don’t think any of those are going to kids,” Bitty chides with his delightful accent, collecting himself and making Jack’s heart melt even as fans keep slapping the glass hoping for more swag.

“eBay,” Jack mumbles, looking down because Bittle is a solid foot shorter than him in skates. Jack could lift him easily. “Probably. Hi.”

“Hi,” Bittle returns, the red in his cheeks still bright. “Hey, I thought you were going to win the auction.”

“What?”

Marcus coughs and says, “I don’t think you’re allowed to do this.”

There’s a pounding behind Jack and he catches Poots and Snowy making kissy faces at them. He can’t flip them off with kids around but they know he wants to, the look on his face is enough. Thankfully, Bittle laughs and blows a kiss back for good measure.

“I like him!” Poots yells, skating off. “I’m gonna tell Tater!”

“That’s what I was trying to tell you,” Bittle continues. “I thought you were going to win. Then you were just gone. Hurt my ego a bit.”

“Bad timing,” Jack apologizes. “I get skittish around cameras.”

“Mmm,” Bitty hums and turns around to look at the dozen people recording them on their phones. “And this is much more private?”

“Well, you picked the venue,” Jack fights a smile and summons his courage, leaning down to whisper in Bitty’s perfectly shaped ear, “and, you’re wearing clothes this time.”

Someone slams into the boards hard enough to rock the wall and Jack spins, dropping a protective arm around Bittle. It’s Tater, grinning like a damn loon.

“LITTLE B! YOU FIND ZIMMBONI!”

“I did! Thank you again for the tickets, Alexei,” Bitty shouts back, leaning into Jack’s side. “I’m very grateful.”

Tater opens the box door and leans in, “Zimmboni, see, I am best wingman, Kenny tell you this. Also, coach pretty mad, you should come do job, now. Paid to skate, not kiss cute boy. Do that after game.”

Bitty giggles and Jack looks up to see there are only seven minutes left on the clock. “Crisse, I need to go,” he curses, looking back down at Bitty. “Where are you sitting?”

“Section 113, but how am I supposed to --”

“Go back and find Christine, the usher you were talking to, tell her Jack wants you to go to Bob’s Box, she’ll take care of you. I’ll find you after the game.”

“Okay, ‘Bob’s Box’, I can do that,” Bitty seems only slightly overwhelmed by the orders but nods dutifully, stepping aside for Jack to pull open the side door. “Wait, who’s ‘Bob’?”

Marcus snorts and Jack fights a laugh because, of course, this hockey playing angel wouldn’t know. If Jack wasn’t in love before, he sure as hell is now.

“You’ll find out,” Jack teases, leaning down once more to whisper, “and maybe tonight you’ll get a chance to see me wearing nothing but a jock strap. If you want.”

He drops a quick kiss to Bitty’s cheek, heedless of the cameras, and hopes to god he hasn’t ruined everything. 

Evidently, he hasn’t because when he rears back, Bittle is staring at him with wide eyes and a bright smile, almost dazed.

“Oh, honey, I want that very much,” he sighs, reluctantly slipping through the fans and out into the stands, heading toward Christine. “See you soon!”

He’s beautiful. Jack might have a date. Hell, Jack might even have a boyfriend.

“Zimmermann! Close the damn door!”

First, however, Jack might have a League Fine.

#Zimbits #omgcp #omgcheckplease #jack zimmermann #eric bittle #Alexie 'Tater' Mashkov #Hockey Au #non-overdose #my stuff #my writing #fic #2k #charity auction #win a date #jock straps galore #no real warnings? #idk #look guys! #I'm writing again! #crossposted to Ao3 #<3

[maevefiction]

Your Light in the Mist - Chapter 5

I dropped my fork. “I’m sorry, I must have heard that wrong, because it sounded like you just asked me to become your employee.” Luke’s brow lifted.

“No, you heard it absolutely correctly. I did ask you to come work for me. For Prosper. Initially as Tom’s social media manager, and when that’s squared away, as Prosper’s social media director.” So many things I wanted to include in my reply instantaneously flooded my brain, but, as usual, it was miles ahead of my mouth and lord knew what would come out if I spoke. I decided taking another bite of my cannoli while they fell back in sync was the best course of action. Chewing slowly, I looked back and forth from Tom to Luke, then swallowed. I chose my words carefully, hoping to not be offensive.  

“Luke, I’m incredibly appreciative, but normally my role is to provide plans for social media managers and directors, which they in turn implement while working one-on-one with their clients. Direct client management isn’t really something I’ve done in a number of years, and I’m not sure it’s something I’m interested in, or even capable of doing again.” He fished some papers out of his bag and pushed them across the table.

“Anne Rice says you’re capable.” I snatched them up, holding in my hand a copy of my resume as well as an email from Anne, singing my praises. It appeared to have been sent earlier in the day. I laughed softly. Client testimonials were usually all anyone cared about, but I kept my resume posted on my website just in case. I didn’t think anyone had ever even looked at it, never mind taken the time to contact my former employers.

“Nice detective work, Luke. I’m impressed. But not only was that more than ten years ago, Anne doesn’t count. She has to say nice things…she’s a friend of the family.” He looked puzzled. “My parents owned a home right down the street from her in the Garden District of New Orleans. When she got wind of my new business venture she volunteered to be my guinea pig.”

Tom leaned forward, scrutinizing me skeptically. “You’re from New Orleans?” I nodded and slipped into an exaggerated southern drawl.

“Born and raised. Even rode on some Mardi Gras floats.” I shrugged and switched back to my regular dialect. “I never had a strong accent, and I’ve lived in New York nearly as long as I did in New Orleans, so it’s faded almost completely.”

Luke pointed his index finger at me. “You should know that not only did she reply to my email immediately, she gave me her number so we could speak. We talked for a good twenty minutes, and she told me she credits you with all of her social media success, including the idea for ‘People of the Page’.  She said you were the only one who managed to help her not only understand, but embrace the technology that allowed her to form deeper connections with her legion of fans. And, she wishes she could have held on to you forever, but she didn’t want to keep you from your dream.” He paused for a moment. I made no comment. “According to your resume, you’re also proficient in website design, graphic design and photography, which are additional assets you’d bring to the company. I’m assuming you do your own site?”

“Correct.” I opened my laptop, started Firefox, pulled up Prosper’s website and grimaced. “Who does yours? It’s…it’s…how do I do put this nicely?” I raised my eyes skyward in thought. “Nope, I can’t. It’s awful. You’re redirecting people to your social media instead of having an actual site. It’s all lowercase, and the italic version of your font is hard to read. There’s a generic, single email as a means of contact. I don’t see a phone number. And that black background…I just can’t even.”

Luke began rubbing his temples. “Admittedly, we’re lacking in that area at the moment.” I snorted. “Maude, this is exactly why I need you. As far as PR goes, I’m exceptionally motivated and skilled.” Tom coughed. Luke shot him a chastising look. “Quiet, you. I lighted out on my own because I know I have something unique to offer…genuine bespoke, personal publicity. What I didn’t account for is the amount of time and effort the social media aspect of it would require. Events, interviews, red carpets, networking, I can handle all of those things with very minimal assistance.” He frowned.

“Unfortunately, I’ve found that all too often I put social media on the back burner because I can’t keep up with it, and as a result I feel like I’m not delivering what I promised to my clients. A few months back I determined it was time to seek outside help, but not a single applicant met my expectations. You, however, exceed my expectations.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Luke, I always appreciate an ego boost, but let’s keep in mind that I didn’t apply for anything.” I put an elbow on the table and rested my chin in my hand. “I did agree to an initial consultation, and since you attended my seminar you know where things are supposed to go from there. Translation – not here.” I leaned back in the chair and linked my hands behind my head. “But, this is where we’ve ended up, and I would be remiss if I didn’t entertain your offer, however briefly. So, what the hell. Lay down the details. Especially the ones pertaining to compensation and benefits.”

************************************************ I stood staring out at the horizon as the waves hit my shins, wiggling my toes in the wet sand underneath the water. Finally, beach. Warm, breezy, sunny, quiet, beautiful beach.

After learning that Tom had no prior knowledge of Luke’s plan to hire someone as his social media manager, I excused myself so they could speak in private for as long they deemed necessary. That’s what I told them, anyway. In truth, I really just needed to get the hell out of there so I could attempt to process all this insanity… which I knew wasn’t even remotely possible until I was alone. Part of me hoped that ‘as long as they deemed necessary’ turned into several hours. Or days.

Luke had proposed an initial annual salary of one hundred thousand dollars while I was working with Tom, increasing to one hundred and twenty-five thousand upon assuming the role of Social Media Director of Prosper. I’d be issued a corporate credit card and expense account, and the company would cover all travel expenses. I currently grossed around forty thousand more than that a year on my own, but being stuck covering all my own travel costs made it a negligible difference. When I factored in the lack of income stability that goes hand-in-hand with self-employment, I’d probably come out ahead financially if I opted to accept the position.

When I pressed him to define my duties and responsibilities, he’d shaken his head and imparted that I was the expert, not him, and therefore I should implement whatever strategies I would have included if I had drawn up a proposal. Though I’d technically be an employee, he preferred that I handle everything on my own and retain complete creative control for the duration of my time as Tom’s personal social media manager. We’d step back and re-evaluate things when I was ready to take the directorial helm.

My spot near the water was becoming popular, with several children running amok carting floats, balls and a slew of other things ankle biters enjoy that destroy peace and solitude for the rest of us. I was walking to the opposite side of the property from Luke’s room where it was less crowded when the gravity of my situation overwhelmed me completely and began to literally pull me down. I sank to my knees on the sand, then tried to shift to a sitting positon as gracefully as possible and without flashing everyone on the beach. Again.

I rested my ass on the back of my calves, listed to one side using my arm as a support, lifted my hips a little, extended both legs at the same time, then pushed myself upright. Not pretty, I’m sure, but I had managed to keep my legs closed. I crossed them at the ankle just to be safe and began to mull over my options. “Okay, Maude. Crunch time. Don’t fuck this up.”

When I first started out, I loved every minute of my ‘job’ and had a burning desire to share my knowledge. Maude Gallagher, LLC was everything I had aspired to do and be. I ate, slept and breathed it like oxygen. I never stopped working, always a phone call or an email away from jumping on a plane. But over the past few years, it seemed that my interest in my own company was steadily waning. While I constantly updated my lectures, the material remained essentially the same and what I used to find fun had become work. Every proposal I presented to a client was unique, but at its core it was identical to all the rest. I still put forth 100%, and my ‘phoning it in’ was akin to someone else’s ‘gave it my all’, but something inside me had changed. What was once my life had become just a job, and that prompted me to consider that I might have missed out on actually living along the way. I kept on truckin’, as they say, because the money was so damn good and the idea of having a boss was horrifying after so many years of answering to no one but myself.

Now here I was, sitting on a beach in Kaua’i, wearing a dress and trying to ignore the sand working its way between my thighs, faced with the daunting task of deciding what the fuck I wanted to do with my life…keep running in place, monotonous but comfortably familiar? Or race off in a new direction, intriguing but entirely foreign?

My proposal for Luke would have advised him to have a website created, marketing materials designed, the existing social media accounts revamped and new platforms established with all of them monitored intensely. I also thought it best that Tom have his own photographer/videographer who’d travel with him to shoot on set, at events and in ‘normal’ situations when deemed permissible. He would have had to hire three or more individuals to meet these specifications, but if I signed on he’d only need me. When I thought of all the types of work involved, how it would be different every single day, that I could be creative again…there was no way I could deny that it sounded pretty fucking spectacular. But something was holding me back, making me hesitate instead of screaming ‘yes, I’ll take it!’…and that something was Tom. Though we’d just met a few short hours ago and I didn’t know him at all, I felt…well, I had no idea what it was, only that is was THERE and that it scared the living shit out of me.

************************************************ I was picking up handfuls of sand and watching it sift through my fingers over and over again when I noticed the long shadow to my left, growing ever closer. Khaki cargo pants followed. I looked up…and up…and up. The sun was almost directly behind us, bathing him in an ethereal glow. So, so beautiful. I licked my lips and wished he’d lose the T-shirt already. He squatted beside me, elbows on his knees.

“Hi.” The corner of his mouth curled in a half smile.

“Hey.” I wiped the remaining bits of sand on my dress. He gestured towards the ground.

“May I?” I nodded. He sat, crossing his legs Indian style, which I wouldn’t have believed possible if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. “Luke and I just finished chatting.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks for coming to let me know.” I started to get up, but he put a hand on my shoulder to stop me.

“I…erm…there are a few things I’d like to say before you go back to see him. If you don’t mind hearing me out, that is.” I shook my head.

“Nope. I don’t mind at all.” He ran his hands through his hair and met my gaze.

“Thank you, Maude.” He swallowed. It crossed my mind that he appeared nervous, but I dismissed it because I didn’t want to consider what that meant. I frowned, turning to look towards the ocean. I heard him inhale deeply.

“First, I want to apologize for losing control of my emotions and acting like a tit. My comment about social media being a waste of time and effort and doing nothing but spreading hate was uncalled for, and I in no way meant to devalue you or your work. All of the feelings I entombed broke loose and I’m so very sorry you had to bear witness to my little crackup.” I turned to look at him and patted his knee.

“No worries. Everybody loses their shit to some degree at one point or another.” He pointed at me, brow raised. “Yes, even me. But really, this was nothing. I once had a client scream ‘this mother fucking social media bullshit has ruined my fucking career and my cunt of a wife fucking left me and now I’m going to have to pay her a fuck ton of alimony and it’s all your fault, you stupid fucking fat piece of shit’ in my face.” Tom’s mouth was closed so tightly his lips were a tiny, thin line. “He was so inept that he accidentally posted a photo of his girlfriend sucking his cock across all his accounts instead of sending it directly to her phone. Best part was that he took the shot in the mirror so his face was clearly visible.”

He put his hand on mine. “Tell me who it was and I’ll happily beat the living shit out of him.”

“Thanks, but not necessary. I handled it. By slapping him three times. And telling him that if I ever heard even a whisper of him saying another derogatory thing about me I’d hunt him down, rip his nuts off with my bare hands and feed them to him for dinner.”

Tom’s eyes were as wide as saucers. “You did no such thing.” I laughed.

“Oh, but I did. And then I fired his sorry ass. And then his band fired his sorry ass. Last I heard he was broke and filing for bankruptcy. Karma, Thomas. She is indeed a wicked bitch.” Before I knew what was happening he leaned in and enveloped me in an embrace. Time came to a grinding halt and I was frozen in place. He rubbed my back for a moment and released me before I even had a chance to hug him back. He remained close, his face only inches from mine.

“Maude, you are an amazing woman. And absolutely beautiful.” I blinked. It was the only thing I was physically capable of doing. I considered telling him that being called fat was a common occurrence for me, though it did happen less now that I was a size 14 instead of a 24…and that it really never got under my skin. Because, fuck that. I had never been lacking in the self-esteem department no matter what the scale said. Or my mother said. I had just come to the conclusion that I’d save that particular tidbit for you know, never, when I felt something under my chin. It was Tom’s hand.

“Shit, sorry, I got lost there for a bit. Woolgathering.” He smirked as he slid his fingers and thumb along my jaw and slowly backed away. He put his hand over his heart.

“Second on my list of things to say… I’m afraid I have a confession to make.” I made a get on with it motion with my right hand. “Earlier, at Talk Story, my requesting you specifically to assist me may not have been entirely a happenstance of fate.” I raised an eyebrow.

“When I walked in, the desk was completely deserted so I wandered off to see if I could locate someone to help me. After coming out of a side room I glanced back at the desk, saw the lovely girls in their Loki shirts, realized they were all staff members, and admittedly panicked a bit. Not because they were fans, but because I had very little time and I knew they’d want a few moments with me and I just couldn’t squeeze it in. I’d worn the ugly shirt and cap so people would be less apt to recognize me for that very reason.”

I poked him in the chest. “You know you have to go back there, don’t you? That adorable girl Alani will die of heartbreak knowing that you were in the store and she didn’t get to meet you.” He grinned.

“I absolutely will. And I’ll ask for her by name. But, on with my confession. So, there I was, caught like the proverbial deer in headlights. And then I saw…you. You had two books in one hand, and a several spread out on a table. I heard your phone alarm go off, and I saw your lips move but couldn’t quite make out what you were saying. I watched you gather them up as if they were precious treasures, and I sneakily followed you as you returned them gently to their proper places. I saw someone with a very obvious love for books, who happened to be a gorgeous woman, a ray of light shining through the early morning fog.  It seemed logical that you were an employee, or perhaps the owner, but…here’s the confession part… I honestly didn’t care whether you were or not. I just had to meet you, and my book reservation was the perfect cover story in the event my logic was flawed. I hesitated when I was finally directly behind you, and when you turned around I almost lost my nerve, but when you looked into my eyes I knew it was now or never. ” He took a deep breath, and I noticed that his hands were shaking slightly. I reached out and took one in mine.

“I thought you may have recognized me, and was waiting for you to out me. I really was. Instead, you marched up to that desk, got my book and brought it to me even though you didn’t actually work there. You paid for the damn thing. And when you called me Indy, the fact that you not only picked up the reference but played along…” He shook his head and put his free hand on top of mine, sandwiching it between both of his.

“Which brings me to the third thing on my list of things to say. And it’s the last. On the street, when I said I wanted to find out who you were, and that I had never wanted to discover anything else quite so badly? I meant that, Maude. All the way down to the depths of my very soul.” I was speechless. Completely, utterly without words. He leaned in to meet my gaze.

“I don’t understand why, or how, or what the fuck it is exactly that I’m feeling…but what I AM certain of is that I’ve never felt it before and it’s glorious and incredible and terrifying all at once. And whether you decide to take the job or not, I still want to KNOW you, Maude. I NEED to know you.”

I smirked devilishly, hoping to add some levity to the situation so I wouldn’t totally freak the fuck out.

“Like, biblically?”

He threw back his head, laughing so loudly people down the beach turned to look our way. I started giggling, which turned into guffawing, and then the snorting started. He laughed even harder and soon enough we were both weeping and holding our sides, trying to catch our breath. I was wiping the tears from my eyes with the back of my hand when he whispered in my ear.

“Yes, Maude. Biblically. As often as humanly possible, preferably.” He pulled back so he could see my face, trying to analyze my expression to determine what I was thinking. I smiled softly.

“I want to know you too, Tom. In every way imaginable.” He grinned, then stood, offering me a hand up. I took it. “Let’s go see a man about a job, shall we?”

************************************************ Luke was overjoyed at my acceptance of his offer and after we all had a quick dinner he broke out the bottle of champagne he’d ordered. He placed a glass in front of me and began to pour. I held up my hand in protest.

“No thank you…none for me, please.” He cocked his head to the side. “Do you have any tea lying around? I’d love a cup if you do.” He went off to see what was in the kitchenette. Tom was pacing around outside, phone up to his ear, his free hand gesturing wildly. He’d just gotten word that Michael Keaton and J. K. Simmons had pulled out of Skull Island. I saw him tap the end call button and he walked back into the room just as Luke came in to tell me he hadn’t had any luck finding me some tea. He set the phone on the table.

“Well, it looks like the shoot’s been postponed until early 2016.” Luke shrugged.

“It happens, Tom. I wasn’t thrilled with either of them being cast, to be honest.” Tom sighed, then grinned at me.

“On the bright side, this gives us lots of time to get things up and running on the social media front.” I yawned. We still had a ton of details to work out as far as how we were going to proceed, but I was exhausted and needed some time alone to get in the zone for my two long days of seminars. Which would be my last, at least for a while. Knowing that felt…delightful, as much as it pained me to admit it.

“Gentlemen, I hate to be a party pooper, but I have two insane days coming up and need some rest so I don’t muck things up too badly.” They both awwweeed but I got up from my chair anyway, slinging my bag over my shoulder and picking up my shoes. “We’re still on for the museum’s hula class at five on Wednesday?”  

They nodded, and Tom rose from his chair, grinning like a fool. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. May I walk you to your room?”

I rolled my eyes. “If you must.”

He took my elbow and walked me to the door. “Oh, I must.”

I waved at Luke. “Goodnight, Luke…and thank you. If you need something, call.”

“Goodnight, Maude. And thank you. This is a game changer for Prosper, and I appreciate you being on board. I couldn’t make it happen otherwise.” He closed the door behind us.

Tom stopped out in the hallway. “Where is your room, exactly?” I headed for the stairs. We walked in silence, just basking in each others presence. I stopped in front of my room, found my keycard in my bag and opened the door. He pointed to the number.

“Oh, 203…you’re right above Luke.” I just stood there and watched his face, waiting for it to dawn on him. When it finally did, his mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, finally spluttering “Right above. Luke. Your room. Is.”

It was my turn to grin like a fool. “Yes, yes it is. If you take another run in the morning you may want to look up periodically. You never know, I just might forget to close the balcony doors again.”  

#your light in the mist #chapter 5