#edit: i was so impressed that i managed to make someone laugh through the net i forgot to wish you a lovely day too.

[ohnoyizhan]

I hope you're having a lovely day❤️️ Your tags are funny! It became a habit of mine to scroll down the post and through them because I KNOW I WILL LAUGH

I am glad i can make you laugh with my silly tags. I’ll try to hone them better now that i know, but idk if i’ll manage lol. (prolly not)

Thank you for sending me this.

#answered #wow my silly tags got an ask on its own #jesiyathatsit #edit: i was so impressed that i managed to make someone laugh through the net i forgot to wish you a lovely day too. #here- have a lovely day!!

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Quarantine: A Love Story: {That Fourth Of July👀}

Chris Evans x Reader

Warning: Cursing, Lite Angst, Plot, Stand Alone/Addition Chapter, Flirting, Slow Burn, Tease

Words: 2.7k

Note: This is a standalone/addition chapter. I wanted to give you guys a glimpse of what Fourth Of July was for Chris and Reader as it is referenced a lot and does hold significance for both of them. This is where it all began.

I hope you guys enjoy this. If you enjoyed this LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG.

As always, thank you for reading!!! ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Slightly Interactive***

Previous Chapters:  Q1 |  Q2 |  Q3 |  Q4 |  Q5 |  Q6 |  Q7 |  Q8 |  Q9 | Q10 | Q11 | Q12 | Q13 | Q14 | Q15 | Q16 | Q17 | Q18  | Q19 | Q20 | Q21 | Q22 | Q23 | Q24 | Q25 | 

~~~~~~~~~~~

-Fourth Of July, 2017- 

“I can’t believe you said that to him,” Tara said as everyone around you busted out laughing.

 You did your best to stifle yours, but it was difficult. You took another swig from your beer bottle and leaned back to brace your elbows on the lounger behind you. Your elbows bumped into someone, making you tilt your head backward to see Scott sitting there. He winked at you before he took a sip from his bottle, and you did the same.

 “What was I supposed to say? Hey, I like the way your swim trunks look on you?”

 “I think that would have been better than you’d look a lot better with them off,” you replied.

 Snickers followed.

 “Okay, Ms., I always know the right thing to say,” Scott began. “Let’s say you approached whoever it is that you’ve been eying all night. What would your opening line be?”

 “Oh no, you will not drag me into this,” you objected.

 “No, no. I think that’s a good question. What would you say?”

 You sighed and guzzled from your beer bottle, trying not to answer.

 “There are many variables. With you, you probably just wanted to get your tip wet,” you blurted out.

 “Okay, let’s say you also wanted what I wanted, the same thing. What would this opening line be?”

 You thought for a few moments staring down the beach at nothing in particular. After a few moments, Chris’s face came into focus as he walked toward the group of you from the direction you’d been looking. Of their own accord, your eyes roamed over him, taking in every detail the dwindling daylight allowed. His khaki shorts fit his frame perfectly, clinging to the right places. You could tell he was slim but also that he had plenty of muscle mass. When your eyes took in the unbuttoned salmon color short-sleeve button-down he wore that showed his white undershirt, it gave you full sight of the muscles he was still sporting thanks to Marvel.

 He was a good looking man. There was no denying that Scott’s brother was a good looking man. It was clear with how many conquests he’d had and how many women lusted after him. You sunk your teeth into your bottom lip and traced the spout of the bottle along your mouth, completely unaware of what you were doing. As he got closer, your eyes met, and Chris’s eyes zeroed in on your mouth.

 “You look like you were made for sin, and I have a long list of ways we can do it together. The list begins with suck, but there is no end to what I want to do to you,” you said as you stared at Chris.

 No one around you spoke, but you wouldn't have known if they had. All you saw was Chris. The way he looked at you made you feel--plain and simply feel, and you hated it. Over the last few months, you’d taken notice of this lingering thing between you. Whenever you looked at each other, spoke to one another, or even hung out together, it was present. You didn’t know how to explain what it was, but just because something couldn’t be explained didn’t mean it wasn’t present, no matter how you wished it wasn’t so.

 Everyone around you erupted with applause forcing you to look away from Chris’s eyes.

 “Impressive,” Tara complimented.

 “Shiit, I’d take you up on that offer,” Scott added, making you giggle.

 “No end, huh.”

 Embarrassment filled you, but something else entirely brought your eyes to Chris, who was still looking at you, and the way he was doing it made a slow tingle journey up your spine.

 “What about a game of football before we lose the light?”

 With that, everyone began to scatter to make it down the beach to begin a friendly game of football. Only this was not a friendly game of football. It was a teasing one. You and Chris were cast on opposite teams. After one play, it was clear to see that everyone was either drunk or very tipsy because no one made a touchdown or even came close to it. All anyone accomplished was stumbling over their own feet, bumping into each other, and nearly losing the ball to the water. It was a mess, but a fun mess.

 Play after play resulted in absolutely nothing but a face full of sand, or your legs tangled with someone else’s and plenty of laughter. Halfway through the game, in a play that Scott formulated, he thought it was a good idea to throw you the ball expecting you to cross the volleyball net being used as the goal point. With the ball in hand and several beers and glasses filled of dark and light liquor in your system, you attempted to run for the goal. You heard the loud cheering of those around you and dodged everyone who was coming at you. You felt like you were Tebow, Romo, or even Sanders. It didn’t take you long to start feeling yourself and begin imitating the Heisman pose every chance you got. Everyone erupted with laughter at your antics. When you thought you were home free, someone threw you over their shoulder and ran you to the water, then threw you in.

 Your scream was loud as you sputtered from the water in your mouth and the sheer shock of the temperature of the water. When you stood, you saw Chris standing there with the football under his arm.

 “Cool off.”

 You couldn’t help but laugh, as did everyone around you. Taking the opportunity of Chris being distracted, you ran to him then tackled him sending him back into the water as an incoming wave crashed over the two of you. When you came up, you saw everyone running to the water shouting as they began flinging water everywhere.

 Chris had a smile on his face watching you stand. “Ha, you cool down!”

 He laughed but then charged you, making you take off down the shore as if you could outrun him. Within a few seconds, Chris managed to throw you over his shoulder again and began wadding out to the open sea. Your laughs melded together until he tossed you over again. The two of you remained in the water playing together, laughing and just enjoying each others company.

 By the time you returned to the sand, you were soaked, and because you hadn’t gotten to take off your clothes before being mercilessly thrown into the water, your clothes were also drenched. In the bathroom, you thought of your options. You could always just walk around in your bikini. It wouldn’t be inappropriate because you were at the beach after all. It may draw eyes to you, though, you thought. You began to regret your bikini choice, mainly the bottoms that left very little to nothing to the imagination.

 As you dried off, you peeled off your clothes off of your body and examined yourself. After contemplating your options for a few minutes, you heard a knock at the door. When you opened it you saw Chris standing there, shirtless. His eyes looked over your body twice before you realized you’d fully opened the door rather than cracked it. Fixing your mistake, you left your head poking out.

 “Hi.”

 Chris cleared his throat, then dipped his head before he spoke. “Em, since it’s my fault, here you go.”

 He held out the shirt he’d been wearing earlier. Just looking at it, you knew it was going to be oversized on you.

 “Uh,” you began while slowly reaching for it.

 “Take it as a peace offering,” Chris added flicking a lopsided grin on his face, a grin you met with rolled eyes.

 “You’re lucky this is my only option, but don’t you think this makes up for what you did,” you teased, taking the shirt

 “Oh really. What do I have to do to make it up to you then?”

 The way he asked had you meeting his eyes, and that was where they stayed. You bit your bottom lip then looked away. “I’m sure you can figure something out with all your—experience.”

 You smiled, then held up his shirt. “Thanks.”

 You closed the door, then threw on the shirt and tried to find a way to rock it without it looking like it wasn’t a planned look. It took you longer than you liked, but when you finally made it out of the bathroom and back to your friends, you were comfortable with how you looked. Everyone was now around a bonfire broken off in their own conversations as a movie played on the projected screen. You didn’t see Scott right away, so after getting your phone, you found a free blanket and laid down, getting comfortable.

 About ten or so minutes, Scott joined you, filling you in on his quick sexcapade. As you listened to him, you thought, of course he’d disappeared for a little fun. You didn’t knock him for it; hell, it wasn’t a bad way to enjoy the Fourth of July. By the time he finished giving you all the details, everyone had begun making their way to the beach to watch the fireworks that would blast out over the water. You told Scott to go ahead and save your spot so you could grab another beer.

 At the back of the lawn, where there was a makeshift bar set up, you rummaged through the bucket searching for the beer you wanted, but you couldn’t find not even one.

 “I think I took the last one,” a familiar voice said.

 You turned and saw Chris standing there in a tank that showed off some of his tattoos and your favorite beer in hand.

 “Seems you did.”

 “If I gave this to you, would I then have made it up to you?”

 You smiled and stepped closer to him, close enough to take the beer with no resistance. “Nope.”

 Chris smiled while staring down at you. You didn’t move and decided you wanted to see what he would do. The way he’d been looking at you all night had finally had your curiosity overflowing. You’d heard the rumors and stories of the conquests Scott’s brother had and how he enjoyed one night stands. You were not above them, especially if the man was good looking and not an asshole. Chris licked his lips, then spoke.

 “So what do I have to do?”

 “I think what you have to do might be the same as what you want to do. If that’s the case, try it.”

Long moments stretched with the two of you gawking at each other, both waiting for the other to make their move. You decided that if he made a move, you wouldn’t reject him, but you would not be the one to make a move. The first thunder of fireworks exploded across the sky, lighting up the lawn with bright red light. Everyone at the shore erupted with applause and cheers, but you and Chris still held each other’s gaze.

 He lifted his hand, hesitated, then lowered it to your cheek. He then slid his thumb across your skin. You didn’t know if he were wiping something away or just touching you because he wanted to.

 “What do you want, Y/N? hmm?”

 He looked lost in your skin as his fingers continued to enjoy its suppleness.

 “For you to take what you want,” you slid in, walking away from him toward the shore.

 Every few steps, you looked back at him only to turn back around in a teasing way. You were teasing him and hoped he took the bait.

  -Chris-

He wanted to take the bait more than anything. He had been watching you all night, and he had seen you staring right at him with what you’d said about your chosen pick up line. He wondered if you were gearing it to him. he wondered about it so much that it drove him crazy the whole day. He purposely threw you in the water, knowing you hadn’t brought a spare change of clothes. It was slightly manipulative, but the part of him who decided was not the logic-driven Chris. It was the desire-driven one.

 From the day he’d met you, he knew you would be a problem. He knew you would tempt him in a way he hadn’t been before, a way that made him uncomfortable and went past wanting to stake a claim sexually. For months, your intellect tempted him. The mental sparring that was so natural with you was attractive as hell. Then the whole night peeks of your body tempted him coupled with your wit and charisma, which made it incredibly difficult to resist you.

 Earlier in the bathroom, he didn’t know if you’d opened the door so widely on purpose or if it was unintentional. He’d imagined pushing you back until your ass collided with the sink, then he imagined hoisting you up and kicking apart your thighs. He’d wanted to push those skimpy bikini bottoms to the side so badly. He’d suppressed the urge, but the sight of you in his shirt didn’t help matters. You looked like his. As he approached the crowd at the shore, he decided he’d claim it because possession was nine-tenths of the law, after all.

 “Oh my god, it’s beautiful,” you said with a gasp as you gaped at the sky in awe.

 The colors that light up your face had him even more hypnotized with you. The wind blew, and the hem of his shirt lofted enough for him to see the almost thong cut of the bikini bottoms you wore, and he moved before he even thought not to. He rested his hand at your pelvis and waited. It took a few seconds, but you placed yours over his and made a swirling “s” along his skin toward his forearm.

 “Fuck,” he whispered.

 The hushed word brought the eyes of Scott and Tara. They both looked at him quizzically, silently asking him what was wrong. That was all it took for him to remember his promise to Scott. When Scott looked away, Tara’s eyes remained on him. They seemed to be sorting through his layers until they found what they wanted. She lifted her hand and tapped his temple, then turned back to the fireworks. Fuck, he thought.

 No matter how badly he wanted you, he couldn’t have you. The facts were simple—you weren’t his. You can’t possess that which isn’t yours and that which does not want to be possessed. Softly he sighed and lowered his hand from your body. You didn’t let it fall, though. Instead, you hooked your fingers with his and held him. His eyes lowered to your entwined fingers, and he hesitated for longer than he should have. When he glanced back up, your eyes were on him, but your lip clenched between your teeth.

 Another crack of fireworks lit up the sky, but your attention was on him rather than the green in the sky. Every color was your color, he thought, then wondered if these colors would still look good glowing off of your naked body. Recognizing his thoughts, wants, and desires were dangerous, he released your hand the minute you directed your attention to something Scott was saying. You kept your hand out, waiting for him to take it again, but he didn’t. Instead, he took several steps back.

 He stood there debating with himself, going back and forth, telling himself to take your hand, but the second he even moved a muscle, he chastised himself, telling him to resist. This was the process for several agonizing minutes. With his eyes glued to your ass and the skin that taunted him every time the breeze blew, he fought the urges that came over him one by one. When he looked up, he found your eyes on him. You looked so good, as if you were the child of two pure angels. There was an innocence about you that he didn’t understand, and something that radiated off of you that had him coming to one final realization. You deserved better than this. He saw you held our hand out to him, but the only thing he knew he should do was walk away. So, he backed away, all the while staring into your eyes. The confusion he found there, he understood. He was confused too. The hurt was what took him by surprise. Unable to stomach it, he turned and walked away from you, the colors and the light you brought.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag List:

@chaneajoyyy @sonjashuterbugjohnson @kikimiyazaki @bellaamor88 @toniilaney @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @ajspencer1892 @ashanti-notthesinger​ @90sinspiredgirl @titty-teetee @evemej @areubeingserved @theskullgoddess @caramara3 @champagnesugamama @minton131 @pananegra @scoop93535 @try-n-pronounce-it @momobaby227 @alyxkbrl @dumbchick @behindthesehazeleyes27 @blackmissfrizzle @chris-butt​@nervousninjatheorist @dangerouslovefanfic @give-me-a-million-dollars-pls​@thinkxlovexloud @swinchestersgirl @angrybirdcr @d1ff3r3nt-b34uty-official​@twinx007 @a-dizzle777 @ab-baybay @patzammit @anandalambert @kreolemami @aysha1447@cutewylie @disaster-rose @wondersofdreaming @lo-cheu @livinglifeformemyselfandi @magdelen69  @renfrewscorner @thevelvetseries @mery-be @hakunalive4eva @snowpiercer21​

@youurkryptonite @mizcaptainphoenix @bobbdylann @amennariee @emilykjh @littlepreciousangel @ssaarroonn @thummbelina @sweetlittlegingy @art-estrange​ @torntaltos @rynabarnesrogers @rororo06  @likesfairytales​@anotherblackfangirl @bernie-k @theonewithherheadintheclouds @hista-girl @coldmuffinbanditshoe @jennmurawski13 @deathstroke-terminated-deez-guts @mrsbarnes- rogers @maxcullen @shadyskit @itsallyscorner @someone-really-bored @thejemersoninferno @cristinagronk16 @shakemeupthanks-blog @productofchina @acciolove724 @straightforwardly @zsuzstyina @acevansss @amelatonin @evansgirl7 @vintageembrace @maverickabull   @almosttherebutnot @jd-now-jq @winchwm @periodtcevans @est1887 @deadlymistress24 @thotti3par7on @sunkissedebony97 @turn-thy-paige​@nerdybitchpudding

@priya212 @sadishdelray @jesseswartzwelder @pivictorious @anat2507​ @raveviolet @rdjparker @actorinfluence @sadishdelray @ljstraightnochaser @winterboobear11 @awaywithtime @evermcfearless @tashawar @dwights-new-plague @renfrewscorner @euphoric05 @baby-iyania @041802 @marvelatthis30 @martinafigoli @spxcecxramxl @brownskinafro @ani808 @creolemami @queenwinchester2 @dragonballluver @kailyndavillier @thelilbutifulthings @problackasfwilson @miss-jackson500 @ibe-erynn @mizzzpink @thejeneralvicinity @siempremamita @theladybiers @literaturefeen @richonne4life @scifi-fantasist @tenaciousperfectionunknown

@disconectedswift @i-lie-here-charmed @bamakakechick @chuckbass-love @captainchrisstan @dragonballluver @buchanansebba @timotheessoleil @onetwo3000 @letsdothemonstermash @euh-say-what-now @dragonballluver @myakai13 @jillanaholland @queenwinchester2 @likesfairytales @kemkem101 @cessamjrmr @letsdothemonstermas @blackmissfrizzle @melanicia @badkittybang @queenwinchester27 @jd-now-jq @doublesidedscoobysnacks @sophiealiice @mirmirmur @redhairedfeistynerd @nico-diangelo-grey @amazonian-strap-queen @imaslutforcaptainamerica @ibe-erynn @wintermoons @tstark-94 @cookinggurl43​ @shar74nett @shining---h somethin  @deadpixie22 @jasmindaughteroftheworld @smediumsmeatbae @letsdothemonstermash @almosttherebutnot @munteanhore @blackgurlkillinit @madixii @guardian-tn @sohalia01@xoxloaveasre @lickmymelaninn @crist121 @jovanaprime @tashawar @rainbowkisses31 @chrisevansfanfic @wonderlandfandomkingdom @partypoison-00 @rynabarnesrogers-reading​@danna-wana @live-laugh-love-ki

@queenoftheworldisdead @reveviolet  @pretendlifeisnormal @dragonballluver @southerngracela @fanfictionaffair @sullyosully @naturalthrone22 @kittykatlow @peggyslegion @readerforwocfics @almosttherebutnot @yourroyalthickness @beccacupcakesxo @rhyrhy462 @littlepreciousangel @queenshikongo3 @simply-heaven @chezdricks @mangos4u @cltex84​ @petty-bitch-akira @buchanansebba @cevans-fics @littleheavensangel2 @niquemorris @pretendlifeisnormal @derogatorylanguage @leopardandpink @chuckbass-love @imaslutforcaptainamerica @offrostandstarlight @jillanaholland @ukmkhan @sweetst24 @musicallyinclinedthings @liquorlaughslove​ @toni9​

@ramp-it-up @october505 @k347 @liquorlaughslove @thotti3evans @reignandrain @shar74nett @littlebabexdebby @laricebabe @est1887 @songtoyou  @msblkfire84  @bforbbgirl @acciolove724 @shipatheart @captainchrisstan @ramp-it-up @brownskinafro @jhayes6984 @badbo1-evans @ak329 @msblkfire84 @jovanaprime @poshgirl2 @marvelatthis30 @cleopatra-knowles @littlepreciousangel @youremysuperstar @alookintohersoul  @xsweetdellzx @cxmfort @i-just-like-fanfics @storiestoldbyjazz @jennmurawski13 @imthewarmpenguininthemiddle @helenasmirkedno @labella420 @roseasweet  @6lackfiction @chezdricks @krrose3 @parkker-barrnes @lilac-tea-time @elisaboricua

@secretswiftymarvelfan @kaiya-ch4n @zeelmol @maeleeme @7soulstars​ @talley84 @thesecretlifeofdaydreamss  @kalesrebellion​ @msblkfire84​ @queenshikongo3​ @tantricevans  @harrypotheadnerd​ @mrs-captain-evans​ @cevans-fics​ @pretendlifeisnormal​ @tenaciousperfectionunknown​ @fanfictionaffair​ @blackgurlkillinit​ @cessamjrmr @sohani02 @baby-i-am-fireproof @annabarbara101 @koko-michelle @inmoix @rainbowkisses31​ @jbrizzywrites​ @m90schick 

***There are a few that are bold that I tried to tag but your @ wasn’t coming up. I’m not sure why. I’m sorry.***

#quarantine: a love story fic #q standalone 1 #Chris Evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x black reader #black fanfiction #quarantine fanfic #angst fanfic #slow burn fanfic

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Sweethearts

Troy Bolton x Reader

Words: 4327

Summary: Following the efforts of a smaller, eviler version of Sharpay, the reader doubts her abilities and her relationship. Troy must restore her faith in herself in time for the perfect Valentine’s day dance. 

Notes: Can I Have This Dance is literally my favorite scene from the whole series so I had to use it for this. Highly recommend listening to it before reading to get the feel.  Let me know what you think! I’m so sorry it's so long, but I really loved getting into the romance. I’m pretty proud of this one, so just a little extra love would be very appreciated.  (There’s also a 17 Again reference in here, if you catch it) Also, I couldn’t decide which gif I liked more, so I had to use both!

-

You couldn’t help the slight squeak of fear in your voice as the group of girls walked towards you. 

“Hi Sharpay.” You greeted anxiously. She flipped her impossibly shiny blonde hair over her shoulder. She really was terrifying when she wanted to be. 

“I heard that you might be signing up to perform in the Sweetheart’s Showcase.” She raised an accusing brow. 

“Oh, um, yeah.” You stammered. “I was thinking about doing a duet with-”

“Blah blah blah, I know that. What are you wearing?” Her glare intensified, as did your confusion.”

“I-I don’t-” “Just make sure it isn’t pink, okay?” Sharpay ordered and her little pack nodded in agreement. “Pink is my color.”

“O-okay.” Was all you managed to say. She and her posse strutted off, but Madison gave you a lingering stare. You gulped. Sharpay may be the leader, but Madison was the shark of the group. Once she smelled blood, she would not be stopped. And ever since you’d started dating the basketball captain…

“Guess who?” A pair of hands covered your eyes. Maybe it was from his time spent on the roof, but Troy always smelled like fresh summer air. 

“Hmmm… Mrs. Darbus?” You giggled. Troy’s arms wrapped around your middle and lifted you off the ground, making you laugh more. He swung you around before setting you back and spinning you so you were facing him. 

“Ha ha.” He snarked, eyes sparkling in a particularly suspicious way. “What did ‘Her Majesty’ want?” You shrugged.

“She told me I couldn’t wear pink for the show case because it’s ‘her color’.” You laughed. “I wouldn’t dare try to outshine the Princess of Pink.”

“Yeah… about the showcase…” Troy looked at the floor. You felt your heart drop a little.

“You want to back out, don’t you?” You sighed sadly. “I mean, I get it. Performing in front of everybody freaks me out too-”

“Woah woah woah.” Troy laughed, that sparkle shining brighter. “I was just hoping that you would wear this.” He dangled a chain in front of you. The necklace was a stunning heart-shaped charm made with little red gems.

“Troy.” You gasped, a smile stretching from ear to ear. “It’s beautiful.” 

“I figured you’d be stressed out over the showcase and the paper so I thought you’d like a little early Valentine.” He shrugged and you pressed a sweet kiss to his cheek before turning around so he could put it on you. His fingers grazed your skin as he draped the chain around your neck.

“I wish I had something for you.” You whined, draping your arms around his neck as his arms fell to your waist. 

“Just promise me a Valentine’s Day kiss and that is all I need.” He grinned and pulled you closer for a kiss. 

It was quite a shock to the status quo when you and Troy started dating. The shy editor of the school newspaper and the star player of the basketball team made an interesting pair. But when Mrs. Darbus paired the two of you together to paint set in detention, something just… happened. You opened up around Troy more than you could with anyone. You helped him realize that there was more to him than basketball when you got him to sing with you at your vocal recital last year. Somehow the two of you just worked. 

“I hate to interrupt,” Taylor scoffed. “But the yearbook won’t edit itself.” You gave your best friend a look and Taylor smirked. 

“Sorry Troy.” Gabriella laughed, grabbing your hand and dragging you down the hall. “We’ll see you at lunch!” The three of you rushed down the hall and Troy went to go find Chad.

“Ugh, he is so dreamy.” Libby, one of Sharpay’s sophomore groupies, sighed. Madison made a sound of disgust. 

“And yet somehow he got stuck with that.” She watched you vanish into the journalism classroom and closed her locker. “Shouldn’t the Crowned Prince of East High be with someone a little more, I don’t know, worthy of his attention?” 

“Who, like Sharpay?” Libby asked, applying another coat of lip gloss. Madison smirked. 

“Yeah.” She turned her head to the jersey-clad boy retreating down the hall. “Like Sharpay.”

-

“So can I have this dance?”

“Can I have this dance?”

Your eyes were locked together as the room erupted with applause. You were in Troy’s arms before you had the chance to move. 

“You guys, that was amazing!” Gabriella squealed with excitement. 

“I couldn’t imagine anyone better to sing it.” Kelsi smiled, tucking the music into her folder. Even Taylor was impressed.

“I still think you two should give it a shot.” Troy nodded towards Taylor and Chad. You laughed into his shoulder as excuses tumbled out of their mouths. 

“Let’s go, I think my mom is making some nachos.” You laced your fingers through his and told everyone you’d see them tomorrow. After practice rehearsals were exhausting for Troy, but he knew how happy it made you. Besides singing with you was the perfect way to relax after a long day of practice of running and shooting hoops. Plus, your mom made killer nachos. 

His truck sputtered to a start and he winced. You giggled and earned a playful glare. At least it started this time. Sometimes, the two of you were stranded in the school parking lot until Troy could get his truck to start. You never minded. With minimal bumps and jolts, Troy was able to get to your house. 

“I think the song is really coming together.” You said as the two of you made your way to the front door. “Ryan said he’d love to choreograph something for us.” 

“How sweet.” Your door opened and Madison gave you a seemingly innocent smile. You stopped so suddenly Troy almost walked right into you. 

“Maddie.” You tried to seem pleasantly surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“Didn’t your mom tell you?” She laughed and pulled you inside- rather forcefully you might add. “My mom and her are in the same book club! She invited us to join you guys for dinner.” She looked over your shoulder and a little menacing glint appeared in her eyes. “Oh, hi Troy.”

“Hey.” He greeted uncomfortably, following you inside. 

“I hope you don’t mind the extra company tonight.” Your mother beamed. “Julie was saying how excited Madison has been to work with you two for the musical and I thought it’d be fun for you kids to get to know each other.”

“That sounds great, Mr.s Y/L/N.” Troy put on that charming smile of his and pulled your chair out for you. Madison stood for a moment, as if she was expecting him to do the same for her. Being a gentleman, he moved her chair back before taking a seat. 

“So you guys were talking about your number for the Sweetheart’s Showcase?” Maddie asked, eyeing Troy in a less than subtle way. He glanced at you with the same slightly scared look he had when he had to sing with Sharpay at the resort. 

“Uh, yeah. Ryan said he had some choreography in mind.” Even after over a year of dating, sometimes the way he looked at you still gave you butterflies. “I mean, I think just singing would be fine-”

“You guys have to dance.” Maddie blurted. She flipped her hair over her shoulder- just like Sharpay, but like, pettier. “What I mean is, it would be so romantic, don’t you think?” 

“I agree.” Your mom said excitedly. You shot a look. 

“I’m sure what Ryan has planned will be great.” You concluded, hoping to drop the subject. You didn’t really want to discuss your super romantic duet in front of Madison. 

Dinner passed painfully. The only thing keeping you from screaming out in frustration was Troy’s silly antics. From funny faces to pretending his chips were fighter planes, he distracted you from Madison’s subtly back-handed comments. The adults mistook them for compliments, but you knew exactly what she meant. 

“Wow, I am totally beat.” Maddie exclaimed just as the parents started to go out to the porch, like adults do. 

“Oh, I guess we’ll call it a night.” Her mom frowned. 

“You stay and have fun, mom.” She smiled sweetly. “Troy can give me a ride. Right, Troy?”

“Um,”

“Great!” She practically skipped  to the front door. 

“You really are too good to be true, Mr. Bolton.” Her mother gushed before stepping out onto the back porch with your parents. 

“I’ll walk you out.” You said, not really sure if you were irritated, confused, or a little impressed. 

“You’re coming to the game tomorrow night, right?” Troy asked as you made your way down the front steps. Madison was already in the front seat, checking her reflection in the mirror. You shrugged. 

“Actually I was thinking about catching a movie.” His shoulders sagged with disappointment. You shook your head. “Of course I’ll be there!” You exclaimed with a laugh. Troy put his hands on your cheeks and leaned in for a goodnight kiss. 

“Oh Troy!” Madison called from the truck and the two of you pulled a part. “I should be getting home. I’m totally-” She yawned dramatically, “exhausted.” Troy sighed, settling for a light kiss on your cheek. “Goodnight.”

“Night.” He reluctantly ran to his truck and you went back inside. Before the door closed, you couldn’t help but smirk as you listened to the sputtering sound of his truck refusing to start.

-

The sound of the crowd was a driving force on it’s own. Troy raced across the court, keeping his eyes locked on his teammate. Chad passed him the ball and he made the shot, that satisfying swish of the net drowned out by the cheers. After a tiring week of practice and rehearsals, his body was pumping with adrenaline. 

“Go Troy!” He picked your voice out over the chorus of cheers. He found you at the edge of the bleachers towards the top and flashed you a smile before taking off again. Gabriella helped you hold up your #14 sign and Kelsi came back from concessions with the popcorn. You and Kelsi weren’t usually ones for sports, but ever since you’d started coming to games you’ve all had a blast. The buzzer sounded. 

“That ends the third quarter here at Wildcat Stadium,” The announcer’s voice boomed. “Hornets 40, Wildcats 58.” 

The fans hollered and you caught Troy’s eye again, giving him a grin that lit up the gym. He pressed his lips to his fingers and pretended to toss the air-kiss like a basketball. You pretended to catch it, accidentally stepping in the strap of the purse behind you.

There was a wave of gasps from the crowd and both teams stopped to see what the commotion was. Troy looked up to see a horrified Gabriella and an empty space where you had been standing. 

“Y/N!” He yelled, running across the court to where a group of people had gathered, including the school nurse. 

“Give her some space! Back up!”

“Let me through! That’s my girlfriend!” Troy pushed his way to the font. You were on the floor, but you were sitting up, trying to catch your breath. 

“Is she okay?” Gabriella yelled down at him. Behind her, Maddison tossed her purse over her shoulder and vanished into the crowd. 

“I think I'm okay,” You groaned. “Just got the wind knocked out of me.” You tried to stand, but cried out when a sharp pain shot up your let.” 

“Take it easy,” Troy soothed, kneeling at your side. 

“Where does it hurt?” The nurse asked. 

“My ankle.” You moved your leg so she could examine it. 

“Looks like it might be sprained.” She sighed. “Let’s get you to my office and take a closer look, okay?” 

Troy put your arm over his shoulder and helped you stand. The nurse took your other arm and gave Troy a reassuring smile. 

“I can take it from here. You go win this game, Mr. Bolton.” 

“But-”

“I’ll be fine, Troy.” You kissed his cheek. “Go get em Wildcat.” The nurse helped you limp out of the gym and Gabriella and Kelso followed close behind. 

Sharpay watched the whole scene from the very top of the stands, eyes narrowed with suspicion. She had seen Maddison pull her bag away just when Y/N fell and it definitely was not a coincidence. The little pirana was playing a dangerous game and Sharpay was not about to let her win. 

-

The show case was just a night away and your ankle still ached whenever you stepped on it, even after a week. You tried not to let it show when Ryan was teaching you the steps, but they hardly let you practice at all. Taylor was furious you were still going through with it. Mrs. Darbus was at least more than willing to let you rehearse during homeroom. 

“And, one two three, one two three,” Ryan tried not to sound irritated when Troy took another wrong step. 

“Sorry.” He grimaced. Ryan just took a deep breath. 

“Just start from ‘wherever we go next’.” He instructed and you tried to remember the steps. “And one two three and lift-” Troy lifted you up and spun the way Ryan showed him. When he set you back down, you stepped wrong. 

“Ow!” You cried, stumbling backwards into the piano. 

“That’s it. You can’t do this anymore.” Taylor said sternly. “You’re going to hurt yourself even more and then you won’t be able to dance at all.” 

“I can do this. It already feels better.” You insisted and she scowled. Troy took your hands in his, the sweetness in those perfect blue eyes just making you feel even more guilty. 

“We can figure something else out.” He felt awful for even pushing you this far. Tomorrow was Valentine’s day and you’d barely had a quiet moment, let alone long enough to destress. “How about we just call it a day? We can go to a movie tonight and just hang out. Just you and me.” You shook your head. 

“I can get this. I just need a second.” You felt ridiculous storming out with crutches, but it was what you had. Troy moved to follow, but Gabriella shook her head. 

“Just give her a minute.” 

You didn’t notice the troop of girls following you to your locker and you were too frustrated to care. You could get this right. Troy had worked too hard with after practice rehearsals and countless hours going over the music with you for you to mess all of it up now. Sometimes you couldn’t help but think he was too good for you. 

You opened your locker and watched dozens of paper Valentine’s float to the floor. At first, you thought this was a sweet gesture from your boyfriend. Then you actually read them. Talentless Freak. Get off the stage. East High’s Resident Loser. 

“Looks like Y/N has an admirer.” Madison sneered and her group of underclassmen terrors erupted with cackles, drawing more people out of Darbus’ room. You set your crutches to the side and picked up one note in particular. Troy’s Tragic Charity Case.

Your heart dropped and the laughing just got louder. You couldn’t even run. You had to stand there and listen, looking at the cruel smirk on Madison’s face as the words echoed in your head over and over again. Charity Case. 

“Y/N- oh my god,” Gabriella exclaimed, looking at the mess of fake Valentines. “Let’s get out of here. Taylor.” 

“I’ll drive you home.” Taylor picked up your crutches and the two practically guarded you as you made your way down the hall. 

By the time Troy got out into the hallway, most of the girls were gone, leaving only the notes scattered across the floor. He didn’t find you until you were already at Taylor’s car. 

“Wait!” He yelled before you closed the door. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going home.” You sighed, brushing away a fallen tear. “Everyone is right. I can’t do this. Even if my ankle was fine, I couldn’t pull off something like this.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“I’m sure you can find a better partner, Troy. There are girls that would kill to perform with you.” Or sprain a few ankles. 

“Kelsi wrote that song for us.” If he kept looking at you like that, you’d break completely. 

“I’m sorry Troy.” You shut the door and Taylor drove off. Gabriella put a comforting hand on your shoulder. You couldn’t bear to look back. 

“It appears that I’ve lost three students.” Mrs. Darbus sighed, waiting for him back at the doors. “Care to explain?” Troy ran his fingers through his hair. 

“She’s not going to perform and I can’t do it without her.” He couldn’t imagine singing something so personal, so full of emotion, with anyone but the girl that he loved. Mr.s Darbus just gave him a knowing smile. 

“I suggest talking to her, Mr. Bolton. Show her the truth.” He opened his mouth, but she stopped him with a wave of her hand. “You’ll know what to do.” Her expression changed. “Now, I'm afraid that there’s quite a mess in the hallway I must take care of. As well as a few girls to track down.” She bowed her head and went inside. 

Troy’s head was spinning. He needed to fix this. After a few ideas came to mind, he pulled out his phone. Mrs. Darbus was right. He knew what to do. Hopefully. 

-

A light knock on the door pulled you from your sanctuary of blankets. Your mom slowly opened your bedroom door with a small smile. When she heard what happened, she had no problem calling you out for the rest of the day. 

“Why don’t you come down for some dinner, sweetie?”

“I’m not really hungry.” You pulled a loose string from your quilt.

“I really think you should come downstairs.” Her smile grew suspiciously and she left the door open a crack.

Eventually, your curiosity got the better of you and you tossed your blankets aside. The lights in the kitchen were off and the doors to the patio were open. You stepped outside and gasped. The twinkling lights looked like stars and little notes hung from the trees. In the middle of it all stood Troy and a candle lit dinner, complete with a bouquet of chocolate covered strawberries. 

“Glad you could make it.” Troy beamed, motioning for you to sit down. You did and he passed you a basket of breadsticks. “Don’t worry, my mom helped me cook.”

“Troy, this is…” You couldn't even find the right words. You started to read some of the notes. Deserves a standing ovation. Her recital rocked the house. She’s the best friend I could ask for. 

“When I saw what those girls wrote, I wanted to show you what East High really thinks of you.” Troy explained, placing a hand on top of yours. “Sharpay even wrote one.” You both laughed when you read it. She’s one of the few people I can bare sharing the stage with. You blew out a breath. 

“The thing is, I can handle being called talentless and all of that.” You took the folded piece of paper out of your pocket. “This one just… I don’t know.” Troy gently took it from you , his hand tightening around your as he scanned those four awful words. At first, he didn’t get it. You had changed him in all the best possible ways. You made him want to be himself. You inspired him not to be scared of what everyone thought. So how could someone say you were just a charity case?

“You-” He took a deep breath, still wrapping his head around it. “You don’t actually believe this, do you?” You shrugged. 

“I mean… sometimes, I guess.” You tore off a piece of bread and rolled it between your fingers. “When it’s just the two of us, I feel like nothing else matters. But when I see you out there on the court, I can’t help but wonder… why me?”

Troy almost looked hurt. He started gathering little heart shaped pieces of paper from the tree and walked around the table. You stood as he put the notes in your hand, reading aloud as he handed each to you. 

“September 17th, 2006. The day that we met. When we got stuck painting sets, you were one of the only people to talk to me about something that wasn’t basketball. You made me feel like a regular guy.

“October 31, 2007. The night I convinced you to come with me to Chad’s Halloween party. I was a pirate and you were Elizabeth Bennet. That was the first time that you really opened up and were able to be yourself around people who weren’t just me and Gabriella.” His eyes locked with yours. “Look at the back of your necklace.”

You flipped the heart charm around and read the date engraved in the silver. 

“January 3rd, 2007.” You felt tears building. “My recietal.”

“Being on that stage with you made me see a whole different side of both of us. Our voices fit together like we weren’t meant to sing with anybody else.” He brushed a hair out of your face. “It was the moment that I realised I was in love with you.”

“I love you too, Troy.” You cried, closing the space between the two of you. He was right. It felt like you weren’t meant to kiss anyone else. When you pulled away, you were both grinning. “Do you think we can still perform? It’ll be difficult but I still want to sing.” He just grinned bigger and kissed your forehead. 

“Ryan and I already have a plan. You just have to come to rehearsal tomorrow morning.” You nodded and the two of you sat back down to finish dinner. 

-

You couldn’t remember the last time you were this nervous. You and Troy were learning and rehearsing with the system all day and the number would hopefully be unforgettable. But there was so much that could go wrong and you were absolutely terrified. You nearly jumped out of your skin when Sharpay appeared behind you. 

“You don’t have to worry about Madison. She has enough detention to keep her from anymore plotting. And I had no problem reminding her who was in charge of any and all sabotages.” She smirked, eyes scanning your outfit. “Good choice.” And that was probably the closest thing to approval from Sharpay Evans that you would ever get. 

Ryan came to make sure everything was secure and connected, reminding you when you needed to stand and be ready. He assured you everything would be fine. 

“Looks like you’re on.” He gave you an encouraging thumbs up. You took a deep breath and used your crutches to walk across the stage. The audience murmured as you sat on the swing that hung from the ceiling. The lights were bright enough that you couldn’t see Troy stage. You gripped the necklace around your neck for courage. There was no backing out now. 

“Take my hand. Take a breath. Hold me close and take one step.” As you sang, Troy slowly made his way onto the stage. His smile made your nerves disappear. “Keep your eyes locked on mine and let the music be your guide.” With every word, Troy walked closer to the swing. His eyes asked if you were ready. You gave him a small nod and he swept you up in his arms as you both sang the chorus. 

“It’s like catching lightning, the chances of finding someone like you.” The choreography was a stunning mix of lifts and spinning in Troy’s arms, your feet never even touching the floor. “It’s one in a million, the chances of feeling the way we do.”

Troy lifted you up one more time and set you down gently before beginning the next verse. 

“Take my hand, I’ll take the lead. And every turn, will be safe with me.” He twirled you slightly and you fell back for him to catch you, kicking your leg out so your skirt flared. “Don’t be afraid, afraid to fall.” His strong arms wrapped around you and he swung you around. “You know I’ll catch you through it all.” He let go as you were pulled up into the air. The audience gasped. You had forgotten they were there. “And you can’t keep us apart.”

“Even a thousand miles can’t keep us apart.” He almost forgot the words as the light practically made your white dress glow against your skin. Your necklace sparkled. As cliche as it sounded, you looked like an angel. 

His wires lifted him up to meet you. 

“Cause my heart is where you are.” And so the floating waltz began. “It’s like catching lightning, the chances of finding someone like you. It’s on in a million, the chances of feeling the way we do.” You felt like you were dancing on clouds. Troy couldn’t stop beaming. 

“And with every step together, we just keep on getting better.”

For the bridge, the wires had you circling each other on opposite sides of the stage, slowly getting closer. 

“Oh, no mountain’s too high and no ocean’s too wide. Cause together or not, our dance won’t stop. Let it rain, let it pour, what we have is worth fighting for.” You finally came back together. “You know I believe that we were meant to be.” With Troy holding you, you leaned back into another tumbling spin in the air. 

The final chorus slowly brought you down to the floor, you sitting back down on the swing. 

“So can I have this dance?” Troy stood in front of you, bowing to kiss your hand as if he was really asking. 

“Can I have this dance?”

-

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination;  @mylovegoesto;

#zac efron #troy bolton x reader #what team? #WILDCATS #once a wildcat #high school musical imagine #can i have this dance #troy bolton imagine #zac efron imagines

[detectivesplotslies]

Boldly Going Going Gone

Oumota Week 2019 - Day 4: Fake Dating  / University

Description: Kaito's having enough trouble getting to class on time every week, and now he's found a distracting classmate that has his mind wandering all the while he's there! Word Count: 4228

Read on AO3 here

Note: This one’s been a bit delayed but I had this idea for it back during oumota week and I wanted to definitely get it done so here we are, late but better than never! Thank you @ryouverua & @sleeby-witch for beta edits and help <3 And a HUGE shout out to @golden-redhead for doing so much hard work organizing @oumota-events it was so great! Enjoy~!

---

Kaito Momota was always talking about getting ahead, pushing forwards, doing more. The impossible is possible; you just have to make it so, right? Well he was feeling a tinge of regret that his advisor had agreed wholeheartedly when making his schedule for that term. Back to back classes, club meetings, and a ton of volunteer work later, he knew that next year he might have to cool it on the impossible and try for the functional. 

In theory, the half hour between his History of Astronomy class and his Advanced Astrophysics class should have been enough.  When they had originally chosen those times, neither the rooms or the professors had been decided. How was he supposed to know the lectures were going to be on the exact opposite sides of the campus? Or that Prof. Jiha liked to go on long tangents that went overtime, had a strict attendance policy, and usually excused them a good 15 minutes late? Meanwhile, Prof. Idabashi always started punctually on the dot. There was no way to catch a break here! For the past two weeks he’d been running across campus as best he could and both times Kaito had arrived late and sweaty, hunting down a free seat at the back of the lecture hall while everyone watched. At least he could drop his workout for the day from his schedule. He didn’t mind all eyes on him, but he really wished he could get a seat in the front for once. 

Now, three weeks into classes, not much had changed. As usual, he was hurrying into the room with a quick apology shouted to the prof, who just nodded and continued to outline today’s topic, galaxy formation apparently, and looked for a seat. For once there was one near the middle of the hall, and despite having to push past a few people to get to it, it was his! 

Kaito sat in the seat, plopped his bag down, books on the fold out table arm for the lecture hall chair, and sighed. He received a shush from either side and a giggle from in front of him as the occupant turned to glance back at him briefly and roll his eyes. Kaito managed an apologetic look, but he found himself staring at the boy who laughed. Most of the other students were dressed more seriously, or at least comfortably, but this guy looked like he was dressed for a rave. Bright neon colours, netting, tight clothes, bracelets, and a black and white checkered scarf to top it all off - it all clashed so gratuitously that it felt like an assault on his eyes. His staring was met with a mischievous grin, and Kaito felt the heat rushing to his face. The boy turned back around in his seat, dark purple locks bouncing with his head as he did. Was he a non-major? Arts or theatre maybe? He stuck out like a sore thumb covered in kiddie bandaids. Kaito swore he hadn’t seen him before in any of the other classes he was in, or even this one. Then again it’s not like he’d met anyone new in Astrophysics yet given how he was always late and no one stuck around afterwards so maybe- 

Someone next to him dropped a pen and reached for it his peripheral, and Kaito snapped out of it. Right, the lecture! He hurriedly flipped through his books for the notepad and started copying out what was already on the whiteboard, attention back to the professor where it was due. He swore he heard that giggle again, though, even though that purple-haired head never turned back. 

Soon he settled into note taking and asking questions when the professor prompted, asking for expansion on things, and clarification. It wasn’t the coolest thing to do, but this stuff would be good to know in space, and he wasn’t gonna ignore it just because it wasn’t likely to be on the exam. Even so, with all the engagement, he kept stealing glances at the boy in front of him. He’d propped his phone up in a rainbow-patterned mug on his desk arm. Why did he have an empty ceramic mug in class anyways? Everyone else had paper cups from the nearby café. He hoped it was empty at least, or that poor phone was being punished. The boy had no paper or pen out, and he was alternating between picking at his nails and tugging at his hair idly. He didn’t ask any questions, either, but Kaito supposed that was normal enough considering the class size of 200. But something about him just kept distracting him from taking notes, despite the fact nothing he did was particularly attention grabbing. Maybe it was because of how little he was doing? Eventually Prof. Idabashi started to list the readings for next week, and Kaito turned to pick up his bag and stow his notes.  Not a minute later he looked up and among the first few to filter out of the class, the checkered-scarf kid was gone. For a second, he’s disappointed - he really did want to ask what his major was - but Kaito’s schedule waited for no man, and he headed off for a club meeting, scratching the back of his head as he thought. He kept his eyes peeled as he walked through the quad, but no telltale checkers.

Next week, Kaito arrived late as always, and had less luck with a seat, having to cram into one on an aisle in the very back left. Terrible view, and straining to hear, he tried to catch up as quickly as he could manage. Everything was very mathematical today, so he copied and figured he’d read it all over after. 

His eyes scanned the auditorium below him, hoping to spot that same guy. Why was he hoping again? Regardless, there he was, near the center, tugging at his purple locks again and- did he have a pie on his desk? With a spoon in it?? Was that allowed??? Kaito watched as this tiny guy took down an entire blueberry pie before the lecture even ended. Honestly, it was kind of impressive. 

It was because he was watching him that this time Kaito saw how quickly Checkers left, shoving the whole pie tray and that same mug into his bag in one fell swoop, swinging it on his back and hopping over the others in the row on the way to the door. 

Over the next few weeks, the boy Kaito only called Checkers continued to be a spectacle to anyone taking an interest. Flicking elastic bands at classmates, miming all of Professor Idabashi’s gestures, and even painting his nails at his seat. That last one should have caused a fuss, given the smell but no one else seemed to care. The student body’s apathy was strong. He’d seen him in bright pink, yellow, lime & purple, and even a traffic cone orange ensemble. Spotting him was never a challenge no matter where he sat. He was never on his phone, it just sat next to him propped up in the mug, but he took out an old school gameboy, a slinky and even some YuGiOh cards. 

On the day it rained Kaito had been soaked hair to toe, and when he walked in late it was Checkers who started a wolf whistle that spread embarrassingly through the hall as others joined in until Prof. Idabashi called for some professionalism. Kaito sat in the very back that day even with the free seats closer, his face red under the wet hair hanging loose.

The next week, however, his History of Astronomy lecture was cancelled. 

Kaito hadn’t really thought about it until he was headed to Astrophysics, but he could sit beside Checkers and actually ask him about why he had that mug today if he wanted. There was no other reason, of course. Why would there be another reason? He was just curious. With nervous energy and anticipation, he got there early by 15 minutes, and stepped into the hall, looking through the auditorium seats to realize that Checkers wasn’t even here yet. Great… So Kaito hovered at the front of the room, awkwardly leaning against the wall, smiling and nodding at the professor as he arrived. He ended up holding open the door and greeting most of his cohort as they came in too, asking how their other classes were going. He was laughing so hard at one of his classmate’s jokes that he almost missed the short boy in the checkered scarf ducking past him and racing up the aisle to a seat two steps at a time. He hopped down a row and sat next to someone, but there was still a free seat just past him. Kaito quickly excused himself from the conversation to a much confused classmate who was halfway through the next joke, and chased after him. 

Kaito headed down the row, carefully so as not to knock anyone. The boy looked up as he passed in front of him and sat down, purple eyes following him to the spot. Kaito grinned, lifted a hand and said, “Hey!” 

“Uh, hey,” Checkers said with a quick smile before going back to reaching into his bag. It hit Kaito then and there that watching someone over multiple classes was not the same as actually knowing them. They hadn’t even talked that time he was shushed. How do you even start a conversation without letting on that you’ve been essentially creeping someone? Despite the realization, he kept the grin plastered on his face and started to take out his notes. 

Kaito tapped his pen idly and gave the boy a sidelong glance. Today he was wearing a magenta shirt with some bright yellow diagonal stripes over teal leggings, and his checkered scarf, of course. He slid out of his bag a pack of gummy worms, a pair of chopsticks, and the rainbow mug, placing each on the desk-arm carefully. Then he plucked up his phone and placed it in the mug, and Kaito’s eyes widened. Of course! He could ask about that like he planned and use it as an opener! How had he forgot? “What’s that for?” Kaito asked, pointing at the mug that had the phone sitting in it with the pen in his hand. Checkers looked at him, expression painted with disbelief, and dramatically lifted the mug by the handle. “It’s for bringing a beverage to your lips! You know the handle’s really important for not burning yourself. I’m surprised a future rocket scientist doesn’t know that! They must have lowered their standards,” he answered smugly with a wide grin as he waved the cup about. “I know what a mug is!” Kaito sputtered. “I meant that,” he jabbed at the phone. He immediately regretted it.

“Ohhhh, you mean the smartphone! It’s a wonderful device, for all sorts of things, like asking dumb questions on calls, on text and on the internet! You should totally get one, you’re a natural!”

“That’s not what I- oh nevermind,” Kaito said, crossing his arms with a newly flushed face. Now he just looked like an idiot, and maybe the answer was something just as obvious. The boy tilted his head, loose hair bouncing around. He placed the mug down carefully, and tore open the gummy worms wrapper, and offered it. “Aw c’mon now, learning new things is what we’re all here for riiiiiight? Worm?” Kaito eyed the gummies a moment, then reached and took one. “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

He popped it in his mouth to chew on. “Plus you deserve a treat, since you made it this time.” Kaito glanced back to see that same mischievous smile he saw the first time he looked at him a few weeks ago. Through the mouthful of worm he asked, “What?” “Oh, but I would definitely say your hair product of choice last time was much better. Rain water really does that look good.” Before Kaito could respond, Prof. Idabashi started talking below them at the front, quieting everyone and announcing the lesson for the day, while referring everyone to the syllabus. Once he turned to write on the board, Kaito pivoted back to Checkers, seeing him with the phone in his hand briefly before he placed it carefully back in the mug. “What was that about my hair??” He asked in a harsh whisper, earning a few glances from those around them. The boy just placed a finger to his lips and grinned. “Shhhh, it’s class time for good boys and girls. Don’t you have to pay attention or something?” “But-” “Shhhh,” He repeated with a giggle, sitting back in his seat with his arms crossed behind his head. 

Kaito frowned and got to copying down the topic for the lecture. What a hypocrite, telling him to pay attention when he never did himself. True to the trend, not even 15 minutes into the class, the gummy worm bag and the chopsticks were picked up, and Checkers began to eat them like they were noodles. He dangled them above his mouth precariously to drop and catch in his mouth, though sometimes awkwardly landing on his nose. A couple tumbled to the floor. Then he switched to stretching the worms out obnoxiously in front of him, one end between his teeth, the other pinched in the chopsticks until they snapped. It was completely ridiculous. It was distracting as hell. He wasn’t sure when he’d stopped writing and started to stare, but he noticed when he was caught, since Checkers made eye contact, grinned with the worm between his teeth and waggled his eyebrows. Kaito looked away immediately, red-faced, back to the board, cause oh man that was rude of him, no matter what dumb slacker stuff that was- Kaito felt a nudge on his arm and glanced back to see the bag of gummy worms poking him, offered once more. He took one and opened his mouth to thank him, only for the boy to put a finger to his own lips again, reminding him to shush. Kaito rolled his eyes but grinned, and ate his gummy worm while he caught up on his notes. His neighbour went back to eating his more dramatically.

At the end of the lecture, the professor alluded to the breakdown for the exam, and Kaito raised his hand to ask for clarification. It sounded like something he must have missed at the beginning of one of the previous weeks. He got his answer, and turned to-

Checkers was already gone, with half of the class filtering out while he and the professor had talked. Kaito frantically looked, shoving his stuff into his backpack and swinging it over his shoulder before he ran down. But even as he made it to the hallway and craned his neck to look over the packed crowd of students he didn’t see him. Damnit, he hadn’t asked his name yet!

Kaito took a breath and kneaded his brow. Alright, that’s fine. Even if his motto had given him pain this term, the impossible was possible. He’d get to class early next week, even with History of Astronomy. He clenched a fist and headed off to his club meeting, thoughts preoccupied.

He made his plan.

Next week, Kaito borrowed his roommate’s bike. He could get to his criminology class without it if he left earlier, and Kaito promised him some takeout on the way back, even though he offered the bike without expectations. Next step to the plan was getting the seat right next to the door in History of Astronomy, and packing his stuff as soon as Prof. Jiha started winding down. Sure he couldn’t run out of there while he was still going, but as soon as he stopped Kaito was ready. 

He slapped the bike helmet on his head with a crunch of the spiked hair beneath it and pedaled his way across campus with plenty of time to spare! Kaito parked and locked the bike, heading into the hall with the helmet under his arm. He had about 5 minutes, and he scanned the already seated students. He didn’t see him yet, so took up his spot by the door, waving and smiling as people as they arrived. But the minutes ticked by, and he started to frown a bit, glancing back into the hallway a few times. Where was he? Did something happen? There was no sign of the dark purple locks or the bright startling fashion anywhere as he stood there like a store greeter. The Professor called the attention of the class, and Kaito reluctantly left the door, looking over the auditorium one more time. His heart caught in his throat for a moment when he scanned the crowd and caught sight of a checkered scarf; but he then saw it was someone else with the same one, a girl with blonde hair in two ponytails and a hoodie. With a sigh, he went to grab a seat before the lecture finally started. Ironically, it one of his usual bad seats at the back after how long he waited. 

Whatever reason Checkers had for being absent, Kaito couldn’t guess it. He just didn’t know enough. Kaito took his notes and watched the door through the whole lecture. Next week was their big exam, today was their review. He’d have to be there next time. All Kaito had to do was do the same thing he did today, arrive nice and early. Hell, he sort of had to do that anyways, they didn’t let you into exams late!

A week of studying hard, couple more promises to his roommate, a secured bike, and a confident attitude later, Kaito was ready! He was gonna pass his exams with flying colours, he was gonna finally get that boy’s name, and he was gonna do both today! History of Astronomy’s exam was a snap, because honestly the calculations and theorems were a lot simpler back when everything was done from the Earth’s surface. Space travel was a great advance, but it had made measurements regarding stars a lot more involved. Kaito handed in his answers and luckily there was no way to go over time when an exam was happening. He was out of there on the bike, grinning the whole time, going over his Advanced Astrophysics under his breath one last time. 

He arrived at the class first for the most part, a few stray keeners already in their seats. Kaito didn’t wait at the door this time, no he had a plan. He grabbed himself a seat near the center, on the aisle, and put his backpack and helmet down on the spot next to him. He’d wave him down and say he’d saved him a seat! That’s easy enough right, and all he needed to throw in was how he never caught his name. Perfect. The tension in his stomach eased just like that. He got his pen out for the easier part of the day. Tests were so much less trouble than this. He waited, watching the door and clock. 

His classmates started to arrive. Some seemed animated, some lethargic. A good few looked like they hadn’t slept, and one looked to be on the verge of tears. Kaito winced sympathetically and flashed the girl a thumbs up. Exams were definitely hard on some people. He wouldn’t want anyone to fail if they could help it. Kaito was getting anxious about something else, however. The seats were filling up quickly and there was no sign of Checkers. He checked the clock. 2 minutes left to go. Even that girl with the blonde twintails wearing the same scarf was there, hurrying passed him for a seat near the middle. Kaito looked to the door, hopes plummeting as the teaching assistant closed it. The test was starting.

Kaito started to write, answers quick to his fingers, but his thoughts lingered elsewhere. Was he ditching the exam? Why would he do that, it was more than half their grade! So irresponsible! He crossed out a line as he realized he’d started to write an answer on the wrong section, in the clash between the stream of questions in his head and on the page. Gritting his teeth he focused on getting the exam done, pushing the worries back for later. 

When it came down to it, the test itself wasn’t all that tricky. Kaito had studied plenty, he knew the material. He checked it over, handed it in, and with a half hour remaining, gathered his things to leave. He stepped out into the hall and the worry came back with a rush. Pacing a bit he tried to think. Maybe he was sick, maybe he told the professor and was excused. Maybe an emergency had come up. Maybe he couldn’t get to the exam because something happened to him? He stopped pacing abruptly, that thought settling like a stone in his chest, hard and painful. Kaito shoved it and the others away. This was hardly the time for worst case scenarios, especially ones he couldn’t help with. Believe in a better answer and he could work with it. Today’s exam was the last class of the term. If Checkers was a non-major like he thought, how was he gonna run into him again? Not that it was that important but… ah screw it, it was. He really wanted this and he wasn’t going to let the fact it seemed impossible be the end of it. He tried to think of another link, like his roommate would. The clothes? Maybe there was a shop or brand he liked? The gummy worms? Probably not track-able. The scarf? It was pretty unique, except for that one girl-

Kaito’s eyebrows shot up. Maybe she got it the same place he did? Maybe she knew him! As though on cue, the girl with the blonde twintails walked out of the exam room, looking like she wanted to go collapse. Well it was worth a shot! Kaito walked up to her hopefully and stepped into her path. She looked up at him in confusion. “Hey! Sorry, this might be a little weird, but I was wondering where you got that scarf. See there’s a guy I’ve seen in class with it, but he wasn’t here today, but I wanted to ask him something,” Kaito rambled, smiling the whole time, and scratched the back of his head. God, he hoped he wasn’t off the mark, for all he knew those scarves were everywhere. She squinted at him for a moment in silence, looking him over, then her eyes widened and a mischievous smile, one that reminded him of a certain someone, appeared on her face.

“OH you must be Tardy! Yeah, the scarves are custom, but I know where he is,” She said, inspecting him closely. He took a step back. “Tardy…?” Kaito asked, brows furrowing. Did he know this girl? Or did she think she knew him from somewhere. “Yeah, the guy who’s always late but built! You’re never in frame in the shots cause of where the door is, but he always gives me the scoop,” She said with a laugh, and hooked his arm in hers. “C’mon, we don’t want to be tardy, Tardy!”

Suddenly, Kaito was inexplicably being led down the hallway, his destination a mystery.  He decided not to mention the bike he had, despite the helmet under his other arm she had clearly missed, he could always come back for it later. This had to be more important. She started talking about things he did that were apparently hilarious that she wished she was there for. That she somehow knew about?? Kaito nodded as she spoke a mile a minute, and caught-on along the way. She’d been seeing videos of the class. She’d been sick for weeks and couldn’t get out to them. Ouma, Checkers’ actual name apparently, had been going for her so she didn’t have to drop the course. She couldn’t afford an extra term’s tuition and he’d hear none of her dropping out nonsense- wait- THAT’S WHAT THE PHONE IN THE MUG WAS FOR, FOR FILMING WITHOUT HAVING TO HOLD IT. Kaito felt like kicking himself, it made sense, he had just been so stuck on the mug itself. He wasn’t ditching afterall, he wasn’t in the class. So he was never a hypocrite for not listening, either. You can really get a lot wrong without some key details.

Eventually they made it to the theatre building. Kaito grinned. At least he had been right about something! She stopped them at a small out of the way classroom door, with a small paper sign bearing a checkered design along its border. A pair of masks doodled on it, the comedy and tragedy faces, and below them was written “D.I.C.E. - Daring Improvisational Candid Entertainment!!!!” 

She opened the door, and inside were a bunch of other students in checkered scarves. They waved their hands about, shouted, pleaded, sang, threw things around, and there in the middle was the boy with the purple locks, Kokichi Ouma, standing on a chair, poised as if commanding them into battle. He glanced up from the scene to the door, spotted Kaito, and grinned. 

And Kaito grinned back.

#oumota #oumotaweek #oumotaweek2019 #kaito momota #kokichi ouma #university #au #fic #my writing #my content #my oumotaweek #<3 #dice #just something fun and fluffy

[darks-ink]

What A Nice Surprise CH.9

Since Tumblr still hates line breaks I’m gonna try something new with them today. If you see this post with (---) breaks it broke spectacularly and I edited them away without changing the author note. As you do.

First Chapter - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter AO3 - FFnet

Jazz stepped off of the stairs and into the lab, and Danny floated in right behind her. Their parents didn’t look up, laser-focused on… the Ghost Catcher? The invention laid on the table in front of them, partially dismantled. The netting, he noticed, had been removed entirely.

“Mom, dad?” Jazz asked, carefully.

They looked up simultaneously, startled, eyes opening wider when they saw him floating beside Jazz.

“Oh! We hadn’t heard you, either of you.” Maddie turned off her blowtorch and put it down. “I’m sorry, we were so busy we must’ve been zoning out.”

“It’s alright,” Danny assured them, ignoring Jazz’s annoyed nudge. Clearly she didn’t agree, and in most cases he would, too; his parent’s obsession with their work could be aggravating at times. But considering what they were working on, their new stance on ghosts, it made him think that they were trying to be nice. To change themselves, and change their inventions along the way.

Jack put down his tools as well, pulling off his goggled hood. “Jazzy-pants, did you want to talk to us as well, or were you just dropping Phantom off?”

“Oh, well, actually.” She shifted, uncertain, and now Danny was the one to nudge her, encouragingly. “I was thinking… could I invite some ghosts here?”

Their parents exchanged glances. A frown creased Maddie’s brow when she turned back to them. “Like Sidney, or Queen Dora? I suppose that that’s alright. I guess the inter-dimensional phones work, then, Phantom?”

“Yep.” He nodded. “With your Fenton Phones and some of the technology from the Far Frozen Technus managed it. He promised to stop causing trouble in Amity as well, and that he would let me know if he wanted to come visit normally, but I’m not entirely sure I trust him on that.”

“Best not,” his dad agreed with a grimace. “That ghost can cause such havoc, and with his control over technology he can be hard to stop.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Danny shook his head. Then he realized that they had derailed the conversation and bumped Jazz a little forward again. “But, to get back to the original topic, I don’t think that Jazz was talking about Sid and Dora. Not exclusively, at least, right Jazz?”

“Uh, yeah, no.” She twirled a strand of her hair around her finger, a show of anxiety Danny rarely saw from her, similar to his own neck rubbing. “I was actually thinking… hoping… to invite other ghosts here as well? I know from Sidney and Dora that there are a lot of traumatized ghosts out there, and they can’t just go to any psychiatrist.”

She shrugged, gathering her confidence again now that she was in her element. “So I thought, why not me? I’m already helping Sidney, and I’m helping Dora, and I’ve got a phone that can connect with them while they’re in the Ghost Zone. Most wouldn’t even come by, I don’t think.”

“And if they do?” Maddie asked, frowning. “What if they’re dangerous?”

“I can stay close by, just in case,” Danny suggested. “Obviously it won’t be perfect, because I can’t be close enough for them to tell, but still. If something goes wrong, she just has to call and I’ll come. But I don’t think it’ll be necessary.”

Maddie clicked her tongue. “And why not?”

“Because most ghosts really could use someone like Jazz.” Danny’s shoulders sagged. “And even those who don’t will respect that. No one wants to see their fellow ghosts miserable. Even the most aggressive, the ones that hunker for a fight, prefer an opponent with a fresh mind and a healthy lust for life. Or, well, unlife. Ghost life? Uh, anyway. You get what I mean, right?”

She looked between him and Jazz, her stern expression softening. “Yes, I understand. Jazz, if you make sure you’re carrying equipment and let us know beforehand, I’m alright with it. Jack?”

“I agree. Let us check the gear beforehand, though, to make sure it all works.” He nodded, once, then smiled. “I’m happy to see you interested in ghosts as well, Jazzy-Pants, even if it’s in your own way!”

Smiling back, Jazz nudged Danny and said, “Yes, well, thank Phantom for making me think of it in the first place. And Sidney, I suppose, for mentioning that most ghosts are traumatized by their life and/or death.”

“Well, you’re welcome, I guess.” He laughed, floating closer to his parents. “Never knew that just acting like myself could’ve done such good, but I’ll gladly take it.”

She tsk’d and shook her head. “You’re an enigma, Phantom.” Then, turning to their parents, she said, “Well, I’ll let you three get working on ghost science then.”

“Good luck with Sidney and Dora,” Danny shouted back as she turned around. She waved a hand as she walked through the doorway, and he grinned.

“So, Phantom, any plans for today?” Jack asked when she was gone.

Shrugging, Danny turned to face them properly. “I was thinking of continuing the testing of my powers? I realized that we never got around to doing the last few, the less basic ones.”

Maddie frowned, thoughtful. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. That leaves mostly your offensive abilities, right? Ecto-rays, shields, telekinesis?”

“Those, and my ice powers, electric powers, and my Ghostly Wail. Not that I’ll show that last one, but still.” He scratched his cheek, mentally checking over his list. Ecto-ray, ecto shield, ghost stinger, ghostly wail, cryokinesis… and duplication, but he didn’t plan on showing that one. He mostly used it to protect his identity anyway. Splitting his strength across multiple bodies was rarely useful in a fight. “Yeah, that should be all of them.”

“Where do you want to start, kiddo?” Jack had bounced over to grab a notepad, which Danny guessed was the same one as earlier. Or maybe it wasn’t. Honestly, who knew with his parents. “Ecto-rays, maybe? We have equipment to measure the strength, and a shooting range for accuracy.”

“Sounds good.” Danny nodded, lifting a little higher in the air. “Where is this shooting range hidden, then?”

A beep and a grinding noise behind him, and Danny whirled around to see one of the walls opening up. His mom stood beside it, hand on a lever. “Right here.”

“Well, damn.” Danny whistled, impressed despite himself. He supposed it made sense that his parents had a shooting range in the lab, but he kind of wished he had known about it sooner. Could’ve helped a lot, back when he first started. “Is the strength-measuring-thing separately, or…?”

“No swearing,” his mom corrected with a tired but parental tone. “And no, as long as you hit the targets they can measure the strength of the blast as well. Their original purpose was to test our guns, after all.”

“Makes sense.” He floated over to the line on the ground, landing soundlessly. “Is this the place you’re supposed to stand, then?”

Jack wandered closer, flipping the notebook to a new page. “Yes, exactly. Can you hit the target with a couple of ‘normal’ strength blasts, first? And then after that we’ll test the range of your strength, the weakest and the strongest.”

“Sounds good to me.” He created a whirling ball of green ectoplasm around his hand, the light reflected on the dented steel walls around them. “Should I hit separate ones, or the same one multiple times?”

“Go for a wider range,” Maddie recommended from where she stood to the side. “It’ll give us a better idea of your aim, too. We’ve seen it in the field, but aim in the middle of battle and aim while standing still isn’t the same.”

Huffing out a laugh, Danny replied, “Yeah, no kidding. I thought I did a good job of teaching myself good aim until I had to fight other ghosts. No wonder people complained about the property damage.”

Lighting up his other hand as well, he stretched out the right in front of him. “I can start already, right?”

“Go for it,” both of his parents chorused, and Danny grinned. It felt good to release his energy without the threat of other ghosts for once.

After his years of practice hitting moving ghosts, the static targets were, well, easy targets. He made sure to modulate his strength, firing blasts and rays of moderate strength. The amount of power he would use against most of his enemies. The humans, he hit only with the weakest rays, and only ever to disarm, rather than direct hits.

“Good show,” his mom commented when he stopped. “Pretty powerful hits, though the exact strength varied a little. Stronger than most of our weaponry, though. And this wasn’t the top of your range, right?”

“Uh, no.” He watched as his dad copied over the notes from the computer. “This is what I usually use against enemy ghosts. I can go a bunch stronger, but usually that’s not really necessary, or it might be too dangerous if the ghost is harder to hit. If there’s a high risk of missing, I don’t want it to be at full power.”

“Good thinking,” his dad complimented, sticking up a thumb in his direction. “Now, have you ever tried out how little power you can put behind your rays?”

“Yeah, actually.” Danny shook out his hands demonstratively, a smirk crawling onto his face. “I only use the weakest of my blasts if I ever aim at human hunters. I never aim to hit them directly, either, only to disarm. And even then, as little power as possible.”

“Well, what d’you know.” Jack scratched his cheek, then shrugged. “Still, I would be interested in seeing the exact strength for that. Go ahead, Phantom.”

“Sure, alright.” He coiled up his power, then made a finger gun and released the tiniest amount of power as he could. The beam, thin and faltering, hit the target dead-on.

“Is the finger gun necessary?” his mom asked, tone somewhere between exasperated and curious. “Or is it just more fun, or more taunting?”

“A little of both,” Danny admitted with a shrug, shooting off another beam with his other hand. “At the weakest, my beams are only small, so its easier to expel them if I fire from a finger instead of the center of my hand. Plus it helps keep apart the different levels in strength – this way it’s easier to not accidentally fire off a full-power shot.”

“You’ve put so much thought into all of these things.” Maddie shook her head with a soft sigh. “But why?”

Danny snorted, turning to face her – and his dad – instead of the targets. “With my reputation I have to think of everything. Ghost hunters already vilify me for firing at them in the first place. Now imagine if I accidentally hit them strong enough to hurt? That would ruin me.”

Then he weaved his fingers together, cracking them loudly. “So, full power next?”

Both of his parents narrowed their eyes at the less-than-subtle topic change, but they let it slide. His dad quickly took note of the data, while his mom nodded at him. “Yes. The targets should be able to survive even your strongest, and the wall definitely will. So give it your all, Phantom.”

“Will do.” He grinned, widely, and grasped for as much power as he could. There was a hard limit to how much energy he could expel at once via his rays, of course. If he wanted to cross that, he had to dip into his Ghostly Wail – and risk transforming back because he expelled too much energy. That didn’t happen with his ecto-rays.

Not anymore, at least. Early on, everything cost way more power, and he had had way less stamina.

His aura brightened in response to the gathering energy, green ectoplasm wreathing his hands. Pushing them together and out in front of him, he fired a ray at his full strength.

The target groaned but, surprisingly, held on. It was, however, severely blackened.

Jack whistled lowly, impressed. “That was pretty impressive, Phantom.”

“Um, thanks.” Danny’s shoulders shot up, a green blush crawling onto his face. “I can, uh, fire a few more?”

“That would be nice.” Maddie looked over the targets with a grimace. “But maybe aim for a different one, just to be safe.”

“Will do.” He focused back onto his core, calling onto his internal ectoplasmic energy. Another shot was fired, and then a third. Finally he launched off a fourth.

“That’s all I can do for now, if we still want to test all my other powers,” he said, panting a little from the exertion. “In a regular battle I would try more, of course, but–”

“–But there’s no need for that now, no.” Maddie patted him on the shoulder. “It was pretty impressive, Phantom, especially those three in short succession. You did great, sweetie.”

The blush returned, and Danny stammered out a “Thanks.”

Jack finished writing, turning back to him and Maddie. “So what’s next? Another offensive power, or the ghost shield?”

“We can do my cryokinesis next.” Danny formed a snowball in his hand, throwing it up and down experimentally. “None of my other powers require the targets. Cryokinesis has a variety of forms, but I normally use it as a ray, similar to my ecto-ray.”

“Good, good.” She gestured over to the targets. “Go when you’re ready, then.”

He threw the snowball first, hitting the closest target dead-center, then followed it up with an ice ray. Ice crawled around the impact site, quickly covering the entire target. Danny let up his power, diverting the energy to form an ice spike instead. This, too, he threw, but at a different target. Another spike, and another hit as a metal target was pierced.

“How was that?” he asked when he turned back to his parents, grinning. But the smile fell when he noticed their frowns. “What? What’s wrong?”

The two of them exchanged glances. Then Maddie cleared her throat and said, carefully, “Are you aware that your… eyes change? When you do that?”

He blinked. Blinked again. Then pinched his nose. “Yeah,” he groaned, “Frostbite mentioned it, way back when I first got them. I kinda forgot. They turn blue, right?” Not the same blue as his human form, Frostbite had said, and the glow helped set them apart. But he really wished he had remembered before now. He could only hope that his parents would grow suspicious, wouldn’t link his human and ghost forms with this new information.

“So it’s normal?” his dad asked, sounding mildly relieved. “Strange though, isn’t it, for your eyes to change when you’re using this specific power?”

“Eh, not really.” Danny shrugged, hoping to play it off, so that everyone would forget it happened. “It’s pretty normal for really intrinsic powers, like my ice and Plasmius’ fire. His eyes get more pink and glowy when he uses that, to match his pink fire.”

Danny held out a hand, slowly building an ice sculpture in the open palm to demonstrate the change of eyes – and another application of his power. “It’s why some people think ghosts have elemental cores. All powers come from the same point in our bodies, the core, but the way it affects the rest of the body differs. It depends on the circumstances – the ghost, the power, and how it’s acquired. Cryokinesis for the Far Frozen yetis is normal, so it doesn’t change them when they use it, but I gained it later. Vice versa, if any of them developed, for example, ecto-electricity, I bet it would change something about their appearance, too.”

“That… makes sense.” His dad’s hand moved quickly as he scribbled all the new information down. “The implication that your powers aren’t set is very interesting, though. I wonder how they’re determined?”

“I dunno, to be honest.” His power petered off again, and he raised the statue to check its clarity. Crystal-clear – Frostbite would’ve been proud. “Some powers definitely seem to be pre-set. And to be honest, I seem to gain powers much more easily than many others. It’s adaptability, maybe? Because I fight so many diverse enemies, I develop a lot of diverse abilities?”

“That does sound logical,” his mom admitted. “It would certainly be interesting to research it further, perhaps speak with other ghosts about it. But for now, which power do you want to try next?”

He shrugged, the ice sculpture melting away again. “Ghost Stinger, I suppose. I assume you have a way to measure the charge, since that’s probably the part you’ll find most interesting?”

“Your… ‘Ghost Stinger’?” Maddie frowned, looking over at Jack and then back to Danny. “I don’t think we’ve heard that name yet.”

“Not?” Then he realized and groaned. “Right, of course, duh. My ecto-electicity, I meant. I call it my Ghost Stinger sometimes, since it’s shorter.”

“Not much shorter,” his dad muttered as he started digging through a box. “Ecto-electro sounds catchier, doesn’t it?”

Danny snorted. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. I tend to shorten it to Stinger. Easier to remember. But not very scientific, I’ll admit. It’s an older power, and an older name.”

“Jack, I’ve found it already, honey.” Maddie stepped closer, a machine with two cords running from it in her hands. The ends of the cables, she handed to Danny. “Take one in each hand and send the power through those. It was made to handle our inventions, so it’ll survive you too, I’m sure.”

“Are you sure?” Danny asked with a smirk, taking the ends in each hand. “Maybe put down the thing, just to be sure.”

She did, placing the machine on a table. “Well, do your worst, Phantom.”

Smirk widening into a grin, he did. Crackling green electricity sparked from his core, visibly running down his arms and into the cables. As the charge ran over the cables, his dad whistled once more.

“What a light show!” he called, joyfully. “You can see the power running from his core, look at that, Maddie! It’s incredible!”

Danny released the power, the air loud with static. “Thanks,” he huffed between breaths. “Glad you enjoyed the show.”

Both of them stepped forward, Maddie checking the data while Jack clapped a hand on Danny’s shoulder, ignoring the sparks that still bounced over his jumpsuit. “It was very impressive, Phantom. A scientific wonder, for sure, but also a beautiful show of your power.”

“It was nothing compared to the Ghostly Wail, power-wise. There’s a reason why I never use that power – and why I refuse to show it to you.” Danny grinned tiredly. “But thanks. It’s… nice, to have someone impressed over my abilities outside of, y’know, combat.”

“And what power,” Maddie commented, showing Jack the readings. “It was quite amazing, Phantom.”

Cold flushed down his cheeks, glowing green blush finding its way back. “Thanks. Both of you, really, thanks. But, um. Next power?”

“Shield or telekinesis?” Jack asked, accepting the topic change. “Both would be pretty similar to test, I think.”

“Let’s start with the shield first.” Danny prodded his core, checking his energy levels, but he had plenty to spare. No need to worry about running out and shifting back. “Since it’s a much older power than telekinesis.”

“The shield stops physical objects and ectoplasmic attacks, right?” Maddie reached into the box she had just put the electric machine in, pulling out a tube with tennis balls. “So we can test it with these, first?”

“Uh, yeah.” Danny floated towards the shooting range, hovering in the air. “Those’ll do just fine. I’ll go over here so the bouncing balls won’t wreck your entire lab.”

“Good plan.” She pulled out several balls, handing a few over to Jack as well. “We’ll circle around, try to get you from any direction. Start with a circular shield, and we’ll pause before trying a flat one.”

A green bubble made out of ectoplasmic glass formed around him, and he stuck up a thumb. “Hit me with your worst!”

The first tennis ball hit right in front of his face, and Danny reflexively flinched back a step. “Good throw,” he complimented his mom.

Many more followed it, thudding off of his shield from several directions. Like Maddie had said, his parents were circling around the bubble from the ground, hitting him from various angles.

Then, suddenly, a sound closer to a shink than a thud came, and Danny whirled around inside the bubble. Protruding from the outside was a card, it’s corner buried into the ecto-glass shield.

“What was that?” he asked, turning himself back to his parents, rotating the bubble simultaneously. “I thought we were using tennis balls!”

“We were!” his dad called back, a sheepish expression on his face. “But I was gonna hand you that card, and then I went to throw a ball and I threw the card instead!”

Danny started at the man, incredulous. Then he sighed, collapsing the bubble. The card, now freed, fell to the floor of the lab. “Really.”

“Sorry.” His dad ducked down, grabbing the card from the floor. Then he presented it to Danny again. “Here you go, kiddo.”

He took the card from Jack’s hand, flipping it over the read the other side. It was… a birthday invitation?

“What’s…?”

“It’s an invitation!” Jack boomed, grinning wide but a little uncertain. “For my birthday! It’s a week or two out yet, but I was sending out the invitations and realized I had no way of getting one to you.”

“Thanks, but, um.” Danny paused, looking at the card in his hands instead of his dad. “It’s… I’m just a ghost, you know? Why would you…?”

His dad swung an arm around his shoulders, pulling Danny in close to his side. “Well, Phantom, you’re like a son to me! So of course you’re invited to come, too! Ghost or not!”

Flushing bright green, Danny hid his face in his hands. “But-”

“No buts,” the man insisted, reaching to ruffle Danny’s hair with his other hand. “If you really don’t want to come I won’t make you, Phantom, but you really are invited. I’m serious, kiddo.”

Danny peeked between his fingers, locking eyes with the bright blue of his dad. “…thanks. I’ll, uh. I’ll be there.”

Maneuvering through the crowded living room, Jack glanced at the clock. The party had been going on for a bit, but not everyone had shown up. Not yet. He hadn’t seen Vlad yet, but that man had said that he wasn’t sure he could make it.

More importantly, Jack hadn’t seen Phantom yet. The ghost had said he would come. Had something happened? Had he simply gotten cold feet? Had he realized that more of Jack’s ghost-hunting family members would be present?

Spotting a messy mob of black hair pass him by, he grabbed Danny’s shoulders and pulled him towards himself.

“Danny-boy! Have you seen Phantom?”

His son blinked large surprised eyes at him, then shook his head in the negative. “Nope, sorry. But there’s still time, right? It’s not that late yet.”

Jack sighed, releasing his son again. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry for bothering you, kiddo.”

“It’s fine.” Danny patted his hand. “I’m sure he’ll show up-”

The doorbell rang, and lamely, Danny finished, “-before you know it.”

Laughing, Jack clapped him on the shoulder. “Looks like you were right. It’s either him or Vladdie, I think. Come, let’s greet him.”

“Um.” Before Danny could protest, however, Jack started dragging him along to the front door. How exciting! Danny hadn’t interacted with Phantom much yet, and Jack was eager to change that. The two were of similar age, he was sure, and they both looked like they could use more friends of their own age. Danny, especially, could use more close friends.

Sam and Tucker were nice, but they rarely came over anymore. And he didn’t know if his son had any friends besides those two. Didn’t think so, at least.

The door swung open, and Phantom flickered into visibility almost immediately. The ghost smiled up at Jack, and then glanced past him with a frown.

“Hey Phantom,” he greeted, ignoring this last bit and instead stepping aside to let him in. “Happy to see you made it.”

“Wouldn’t dare miss it,” the ghost replied, still staring at Danny instead of Jack. “After you went out of your way to invite me, of course I came.” Then finally he ripped his eyes off of Jack’s son to look at him. “I brought you a little present too. Do you want to unwrap it here, or later?”

“Oh, you didn’t have to.” But Jack grinned, wondering what the ghost could’ve gotten him. Were there ghostly birthday traditions? Did ghosts even celebrate birthdays at all, or did they celebrate something similar? A formation day? A death day? “Come, I’ll unwrap it in the living room. Can’t hide in the hallway the whole time.”

Phantom laughed, floating after him. “Yeah, right you are.”

Danny had fallen silent, trailing after them. Jack glanced over his shoulder to look at his son, but the boy was staring at the floor. Something strange was going on between him and Phantom, and suddenly Jack started to wonder if Danny’s excuse way before, that he “already saw Phantom so often”, had been true at all. Was something else going on between those two?

They entered the living room, and immediately everything quieted. It was as if everyone’s eye had been drawn to them. Not that this was entirely surprising; Phantom drew a lot of attention with his appearance.

The ghost, apparently made nervous by all the attention, drifted lower and further behind Jack. His son, rather than assist, strode forward and disappeared into the crowd. Jack would’ve tried stopping him, but for the moment Phantom was more important. He could figure out why Danny was upset with the ghost later.

Jack was about to ask Phantom for the present when he noticed his sister pushing her way closer. The woman burst through the crowd, face twisted in a scowl.

“Jack, what’s that doing here?” she yelled.

“He’s my guest.” He crossed his arms, staring her down. “Now, if you don’t mind, he brought me a present and I’d like to unwrap it.”

“Oh yeah?” She sniffed haughtily. “What happened to ‘all ghosts are dangerous’? To ‘never trust a ghost’? But hey, whatever. Your funeral.”

He rolled his eyes, making a shooing motion towards his sister. “Thank you, I must’ve forgotten all about our parents’ rants. If you can’t be nice, dear sister, please just leave my family alone.”

“Your family?” she hissed, narrowing her eyes at the ghost. But she stepped back, further into the mass of people, a sneer on her face. “Whatever.”

Phantom still hovered over Jack’s shoulder, nervously eyeing the crowd. Most weren’t as anti-ghost as his sister – gotta love that Fenton family ghost hatred – but several were out-of-towners who weren’t familiar with ghosts. Who hadn’t realized that they were real, apparently.

“It’s fine, Phantom,” he said, soft and soothing. “You’re my guest, kiddo. Nothing’s gonna happen to you.”

“If you say so,” the ghost muttered back, landing on the floor next to Jack. He reached into a pocket on his belt, revealing a small but well-wrapped present. Curiously, it glowed much like the ghost himself, the packing paper ecto-green.

“It’s, uh, from the Ghost Zone.” Phantom gestured at it with his empty hand. “As you can probably see.”

Jack took the present from Phantom’s hand, carefully. The wrapping paper was cold, with that barely-there hum of ectoplasm-infused material. “Is it some kind of traditional ghostly present? Or do ghosts not celebrate something similar to a birthday?”

“Eh.” Phantom shrugged. “Kind of depends on the ghost. Some remember their original birthdays and continue to celebrate those. Some celebrate their death days instead, the day they formed as a ghost. Some pick an arbitrary day, wanting the celebration but not knowing their birthday and not willing to celebrate their death. Most don’t celebrate anything similar, though.”

“Huh.” With this new information, Jack looked the present over once more. Then he carefully loosened the bow, opening the lid. And inside…

“Is that… fudge?”

“You like that, right?” Phantom sounded uncertain, a hesitant smile on his face. “It’s, um. From the Ghost Zone, but safe for human consumption. Wasn’t sure what else to get you.”

Jack carefully re-lidded the box, then wrapped his free arm around Phantom. “It’s very nice, Phantom. Thank you, kiddo.”

The ghost blushed, crumpling in on himself a little. “I’m glad,” he muttered.

“I’ll go put this somewhere safe.” He ruffled Phantom’s hair, then, side-eyeing the crowd, said, “You can go hang out with the other guests, if you want. If anyone gives you trouble, come to me or Maddie, okay?”

“I can take care of myself,” Phantom grumbled, but he nodded his understanding anyway.

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should have to.” Jack stepped further into the room, Phantom walking after him. Keeping to the ground to seem more human, maybe? In the hopes of not alienating himself as much? It would be exactly the kind of thoughtfulness he would expect from the ghost. “You’re my guest, Phantom, and I want you to have a good time too.”

Phantom huffed out a laugh, nodded again. “I get it, I get it. If there’s trouble I’ll come, okay? Speaking of trouble, though, I think I’ll start with Jazz, if you don’t mind. See how the ghost-psychiatrist thing is going for her.”

“Ah, yes, that sounds good.” Jack glanced over to the people who were now very much pretending not to watch Phantom anymore. “And it might ease some people into your presence, seeing you talk with more people first.”

“Yeah, exactly.” Phantom nodded, then flapped his hands at Jack. “Now go put that fudge away. I can handle it, alright?”

Danny watched his dad finally leave, resisting the temptation to sigh. He had only just gotten here, and he already wanted to leave. Or, at least, dispel the duplicate that was still wandering around. He couldn’t risk having Danny Fenton disappear right before Phantom appeared, but being forced to interact with himself was… uncomfortable.

Keeping a careful eye on some of the other guests, he wandered over to where his duplicate had been trapped in a conversation by Jazz. He hadn’t really been all that interested in Jazz’s success as a ghost psychiatrist – he heard enough about it during dinner and such to know it was a success. That, and the other ghosts were quite enthusiastic about it.

But his duplicate wasn’t as capable at keeping up with conversations as the real him. So to free Danny Fenton, Phantom had to come over and give him an excuse to leave.

He approached the two siblings, pausing next to Jazz and watching as she chatted up a storm against the blanked-out duplicate. She didn’t seem to notice him, so he cleared his throat.

Jazz started, head whirling around in a flash of bright hair. “Oh, Phantom! Sorry, I hadn’t heard you coming.”

The duplicate shot Danny a grateful look, diving back into the uncaring crowd. He didn’t respond, smiling at Jazz instead.

“It’s alright. How have you been, Jazz? Things been going alright?”

“Yeah, actually!” She brightened, animatedly moving her hands along with her story. “There’s been a lot of interest, even though most seem to prefer to stay anonymous. But a couple have come over, besides Dora and Sidney, of course.”

“Oh yeah? I had heard of Ember, that she was willing to stop attacking Amity in return for being allowed to come receive help, but I didn’t know there were others.”

She nodded energetically. “Oh yeah! A couple have come by to try, but the only repeated guests – besides Ember, of course – have been Johnny and Kitty. Their relationship is, uh.” She made a face, wiggling her hand a little. “Well, it could use some help sometimes.”

“Oh, definitely,” Danny agreed with a laugh. “You wouldn’t believe how often Johnny came to me for relationship advice. Like, come on, I’m a teenager with virtually no relationship experience. What was he expecting?”

Also laughing, Jazz shook her head. “And the thing is, Johnny looks so human! He could’ve gone to a regular human relationship expert and that could’ve solved most of their problems already! No knowledge about ghosts necessary.”

“You’re… You’re right.” Danny groaned into his hand. “I can’t believe how much trouble that guy caused me when he could’ve just gone to literally anyone else.”

“At least he meant well?” Jazz suggested, feebly. “And at least he won’t do it anymore. Speaking of disarmed enemies, however, I might be working on getting another off of your back.”

Danny dropped his hand again, looking at her. “Really? Who?”

“Desiree, the, uh, wishing ghost?” She twirled a lock of her hair. “I’m still working on it, obviously, but I think she does what she does because of her trauma. She already reached out to talk via the phone, but I invited her to come if she won’t mess with anyone.”

“Huh.” He thought that over for a moment, frowning in thought. “I’m not sure if that would work, though. I don’t think she can control which wishes she fulfills and which she doesn’t. Not currently, at least.”

“We’ll give it a shot anyway.” Jazz shrugged, glancing past him and into the crowd. “On an unrelated note, while Dad meant well when he invited you, I think he might’ve forgotten how many people are uncomfortable around ghosts. Never mind his ghost-hating relatives.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Danny huffed out. “And I mean, I understand, especially for the ones who haven’t seen ghosts before but…”

“But it’s not very comfortable.” She nodded understandingly. “Actually, I have an idea. Come on, I think you’ve been around long enough to be able to excuse yourself.”

“Have I?” Danny asked, but she had already grabbed his wrist and dragged him off.

“They’ll understand, anyway.” The crowd parted around them, Danny floating after Jazz. He had, previously, stuck to the ground in the hopes of calming the other people down. If he was leaving anyway, he might as well float and make it easier for Jazz to drag him away.

What? It wasn’t like he could stop her anyway. Even if he did use his superhuman strength to hold himself back, why would he?

“Jazz, Phantom,” Maddie said, apparently surprised to see them both approaching. “What’s going on?”

“I suggested that Phantom could leave,” Jazz started explaining, cutting Danny off before he could even open his mouth. “Since the other guests don’t seem that thrilled to have him around, and it’s uncomfortable for everyone involved.”

Their dad looked a little sad, but nodded understandingly. “Of course, kiddo. Like I said, I want you to feel welcome. And if you can’t be comfortable around the others, not yet, then of course you can leave.”

“I’m… Thanks. I’ll just…” Danny gestured with his hands, vaguely. “I’ll just… go, then. Um. See you guys another time? And have fun with the party.”

Jack smiled, and Maddie shook her head with a fond smile on her face. “Yeah, of course! See you soon, Phantom, and thank you for the fudge!”

His lip quirked up into a small smile, and he shot them a quick salute. Then he faded out of visibility, ducking back into the room he had previously left. Now all he had to do was merge back with his duplicate and survive the rest of the party.

Easy.

#danny phantom #dp fanfic #phanfic #dp fanfiction #phanfiction #jack fenton #maddie fenton #jazz fenton #danny fenton #dark writes #what a nice surprise #i've started adding readmores as one of the first things i do when prepping these posts #bc i kept forgetting them like a big idiot

[mf-despair-queen]

Your Yoda? More Like Han Solo! - Stiles Stilinski

Author: @mf-despair-queen

Characters: Stiles Stilinski/Reader

Word Count: 6,834

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Unprotected Sex, Bondage, Spanking, Hair Pulling, Doggy, Make Outs, Genital Stimulation, Many Star War jokes and pick up lines that’ll make you cringe and/or laugh

Notes: Written in roughly 9 hours, this was SUPPOSED to be out yesterday, May 4th, to celebrate Star Wars Day. But, it’s fitting too to come out on Revenge of the Fifth. Hopefully y’all like this. It’s just... relatively cheesy and something so Stiles, it hurts. Thanks to @savage-stilinski for editing for me as I went. And @malia--stilinski for suffering with my small snippets late last night. 

The school doors swung open with a loud clatter, Stiles Stilinski strutting through them with a loud, rippling grumble. The sound itself vibrated as it rumbled through the crisp May air, students stopping to send the senior weird looks. He put his hands on his hips, the sunlight hitting his back, giving him a glowing aura as he peered down the hallway at the confused spectators.

“What? Haven’t you ever heard someone say ‘good morning’ in Wookiee?”

The people staring at him turned away, rushing down the hall. Well, closer to sprinting away from the man. Stiles scoffed, cocking his head to the side. “Yeah, good morning to you too!” He called out, shoving his hands in his pockets. “You’re welcome!”

Stiles’ slight frown was replaced with a look of gratification as he strut forward, greeting everyone he passed by with a quick ‘May the Fourth Be With You’ and a wink. He ignored the scowls, stares and glances he got from people crammed at the lockers, trying to avoid interacting with the spastic man. Stiles didn’t care. He was elated.

May fourth gave him the perfect excuse to adorn himself in every bit of Star Wars merchandise he had, the day being effective known to nerds and fans as Star Wars Day. He woke up early specifically to shower and dress himself in his best star wars outfit: a white, long sleeved henley that was open at the chest with a blue sleeveless vest overtop, blue jeans that hugged his form perfectly to show his round ass and impressive package despite being limp, black boots that ended just below his knees that he was glad he found at the thrift shop, and a criss-crossing belt set up for his ‘gun’, which was a simple water gun because of Beacon Hills High’s weapon policy. He had swapped his normal Maverick backpack for a Star Wars themed one that jingled with random keychains he had collected over the years. He had packed a Star Wars shirt for his weight training after school, the off season between cross country and lacrosse meaning he had to keep himself somewhat in shape, even if he would only manage a few push ups before keeling over in agony.

He was content with himself the second he walked out the door, not caring what people said or thought when they saw him jumping out of the jeep in the school parking lot or even the Starbucks down the street. The coffee he had bought sat in the netted drink pouch on the side of his bag, sealed tight to keep from growing cold or spilling as he bounced down the long hallways. Stiles loved - like, REALLY loved - this day just because it gave him and excuse to live out his favorite movies in multiple ways.

Sure, some people find it odd, but he knew he was. He embraced it, letting everyone know what he liked.

He pushed a locker shut, smiling widely. “Good Morning Princess,” he grinned, pulling the coffee from his bag. He held it out, giving a small wink. “May the fourth be with you today. Am I right?”

You gave him a blank stare, taking the coffee quickly before reopening your locker, blocking his face. “Morning to you too, baby,” you said, continuing to pile your books and binders into your bag. You popped the top of the coffee, sipping the scalding hot liquid, smiling to yourself. He always knew what you liked. “So, care to explain?”

“Explain?” he wondered aloud. “Explain what?”

You slammed your locker shut, leaning against it. You eyed him slowly, taking in every bit of his appearance. In all the years of being friends with the Stilinski boy, it never surprised you the extent he would go for this day. But this was a new look for him. Maybe it was the fact that you were going on four years of dating the man, but he looked unexplainably handsome dressed up the way he was. You fought the urge to lick your lips, not wanting to ruin the lipgloss you applied that morning already, and the desire to pull him into the nearest empty classroom to barricade the door and strip him. Your body was on fire just from looking at him, your loins throbbing with want.

“This,” you gestured. “And slamming my locker shut, nearly taking my hand with it.”

“At least it wasn’t Vader cutting it off with a lightsaber, am I right?” he snickered to himself at the lame joke he made. You rolled your eyes, humoring him with a small laugh of your own. “You know what it’s all about! It’s Star Wars Day! AKA the best day of the year!”

“Better than Christmas?” He nodded. “Better than your birthday?” He nodded again. “Thanksgiving?” Nod. “Our anniversary?”

He hesitated, knowing the implication behind your words. “That’s not nice,” he whined. “We know how good our anniversary is. Because Stiles gets to do many naughty things that day. In many different positions. How can we compare that to this?”

“Because I’m making you choose.”

“Y/N,” he whined, dragging out each syllable of your name. “That’s not fair. Sex and Star Wars are not on the same plane of existence. It would take jumping through hyperspace like… a million times to reach the same level!”

“Oh my God,” you groaned at him.

“Fine. This is the second best day of the year,” he huffed. “But, you never told me what you thought.” He dropped his backpack, doing a small spin before posing, almost stumbling in dizziness. “How do I look?”

“Um…” you paused, trying to find the right words. “Good? Handsome? Sexy?”

“Seriously?” he grumbled lowly.

“What?” You asked. “I’m confused. What are you wanting me to say? I don’t even know what you’re dressed up as!”

“How am I dating you again?” he asked quietly. “I’m Han Solo!”

“Why aren’t you Yoda?” You asked. Stiles’ lips pursed into a tight line.

“Because I’m trying to be the Han solo to my Princess Leia?” he said as if it were more than obvious. You stared at him blankly, making him roll his eyes. “Fine. If you want me to be your Yoda, your yoda I will be. Speak like this all day will I.”

“Please don’t,” you pleaded.

Stiles grinned, taking your hand and lacing your fingers together. “You very much I love. Now, go to class let us.”

He tugged you down the hall reluctantly. “Alright, you can go back to Han Solo-ing!”

“Han Solo I will not.”

“Oh my God, Stiles!”

~

He made jokes throughout the day, swapping between his ‘yoda-speak’ and normal star wars jokes, trying to impress you as if he were truly Han Solo. You bit your tongue the entire time, not wanting to ruin his happiness.  Admittedly, you hadn’t fully made it through the Star Wars franchise, something come up every time Stiles convinced you to sit down to watch them. Most of the times were because you would get called by your parents to return home early, their pissy attitudes ruining the mood to watch movies anyway, you fell asleep on Stiles’ lap while he ran his fingers through your hair, or you would end up making out through the important parts of the plot. Because of this, most jokes went over your head, leaving you lucky if you were able to decipher some of the things he uttered.

But you let him have his fun, knowing how much this day meant to him. Between school and supernatural events, it was rare to have some fun in Beacon Hills these days. The last thing you wanted to do was snap at him because he was going overboard, no matter how tempting it was. Everything he said was Star Wars related - he even made a Star Wars lunch. It was growing irritating, but you did you best.

His happiness comes first, you told yourself at least once an hour, the smile on his face brightening your mood the slightest bit.

It wasn’t until the bell rang at the end of the day that you were at your breaking point.

You and Stiles headed to the library to work on homework, Stiles giggling immaturely when you found a dark corner to yourselves.

“Welcome to the darkside, young Skywalker,” he spoke deeply as he collapsed into the chair, leaving you gritting your teeth.

“Would you rather follow the light?” you asked, Stiles beaming.

“But the darkside is awesome. We have cookies!” he laughed, pulling out a bag of your favorite cookies - Oreos. You blinked at it.

“How long have you had those?”

“All day.”

“How long have you been waiting to make that joke?”

He froze before saying, “All day.”

“I’ll forgive you this once,” you said quicky, snatching the bag before sitting next to him. You pulled out your books and pencils, Stiles following your lead.

“I didn’t want you to think I was playing you,” he hummed. “Then you would have just screamed ‘IT’S A TRAP’ at me for it.”

“Alright,” you sighed, nudging him. “Time to work.”

He flailed slightly, acting as if the light nudge to his side was a powerful shove. “Woah, princess! Careful!” he laughed, catching himself. “The force sure is strong with this one!”

The hold on your pencil tightened. “Stiles, seriously. It’s time to do homework. I want to get this done while we have time.”

He leaned on the table, staring at you. “You do know it’s Friday, right? We have all weekend to do homework.”

“I’d rather get it done now,” you huffed at him, leaning closer to him. His eyes darted to your lips a few times, struggling to maintain his gaze on your eyes. “I don’t want to fall behind. And if we get it done now, together, we can use the weekend for ourselves. My parents are going out of town for business, so…”

Your lips brushed his softly, both of you closing your eyes at the sparks and fireworks going off. It was a tender and brief kiss, but it let you wanting more. And you knew it was doing the same thing to Stiles.

“I’ll jump in my Millenium Falcon and travel through space to see you.”

You backed away, brow furrowing. “Stiles. Seriously?”

“Alright, I’m sorry,” he pleaded. “Moment ruined. I get it. Won’t happen again, princess. I swear.”

“It better not.”

He licked his lips slowly, rubbing them together. “If we finish the math homework, can we make out?”

You rolled your eyes with a smile, looking down at your book to avoid his stare. “Yeah, we can make out.”

Stiles grinned, running a hand through his soft hair, pulling out a pencil to start on the assigned math problems. He was eager to get through them quickly, the promise of afterwards weighing heavily on his mind. The sooner I solve these equations, the sooner I get time with Na-boo. He laughed to himself at his thought, choosing to stay quiet for the time being.

Rushing through the assigned math, he slammed the book closed the second he was done, turning in his seat towards you. You were still diligently working, Stiles couldn’t tell if you were purposefully taking your time to tease him or if you were struggling. He wanted to belt out all of the answers to speed up the process, his foot tapping anxiously as he kept a close watch on what you were doing. Finally, you shut you book, the problems left unfinished.

“You aren’t done,” he pointed out.

“I am for now,” you mused, turning towards him, moving your chair closer to him. “You know, it’s kind of hard to concentrate when you’re staring daggers into the side of my head.”

“I couldn’t help it. You’re simply Endor-able.”

You fought the frown that wanted to appear. You should have known that he would make another joke. You shook the pit inside you away, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Is that so?” He nodded slowly, his lips puckering with anticipation. Yours brushed over his softly as you spoke, never pressing against them fully. “Well, I’m glad you think so. And since you willingly complied with homework time, I will show you a better time now.”

You pushed your lips against his completely, his lips naturally overtaking them. His head tilted to the right, yours to the left, to get better access to the kiss, the low sound of lips connecting and disconnecting hovering around you. His hand met your waist, pushing up the end of your light blue ruffled top. He tugged you as close as he could with the restriction of the library chairs, your legs tangled together under the table. Your hands tangled in the hairs at the base of his neck, pulling him as close as possible.

Hs tongue passed over your lips, sneaking through a small opening to trace the lining of your cheeks. You mewled quietly into him. Hands moving down his shoulders to play with the buttons on his henley shirt. His own hand moved up your shirt and under your bra, the pads of his fingers skimming over your nipples. You both knew this wasn’t the place to do anything, though it never stopped you before. It wouldn’t be the first time if you found yourself between bookshelves, Stiles desperate to dig himself deep into you. But you wanted to keep yourself at bay, staying tame until later.

That didn’t mean you couldn’t have fun and enjoy yourselves.

He broke the kiss for air, a small string of saliva connecting your mouths. “God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, his voice deep and husky. His nose bumped yours, nuzzling together affectionately. “Have I ever told you how hot you are?”

“You know, you haven’t,” you laughed. “It’s always pretty, gorgeous, or beautiful. Never hot. So,” you mused, kissing him softly. “Tell me, Stiles. How hot am I?”

“You’re hotter than the flames of Mustafar,” he quipped, pressing his lips to yours. On instinct, your bit down on your lip, finding his instead. He yelped in surprise, pulling back and placing his fingers to it. It was red and swollen from the kisses, a tiny bit of blood coming out.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” you panicked.

“It’s fine,” he said gently. He pulled you closer, playing with you hair. “Accidents happen, princess. No harm, no foul.”

“You sure?” you asked.

“Of course, princess. I could never be mad at you,” he confirmed, giving a small smile. You returned it, pulling him close to resume your kisses. “You’re the Obi-Wan for me.” You froze. “Now, let’s get hoth and heavy with this make out. I love when you kiss me baby. But, I feel a great disturbance in my pants… But don’t worry. Unlike Han, I won’t shoot first.”

You pulled away roughly, Stiles looking rather shocked. “Alright. This needs to stop, Stiles. This is getting ridiculous! I get that you love Star Wars and it’s May fourth, but this is getting…” you paused, biting your lip. “Annoying. I’m sorry to say that, but it is! All I have heard all day is Star Wars jokes! You’re killing the mood by using Star Wars pickup lines. Yes, you look incredibly sexy dressed like this, but you’re dressed as Han Solo at school. You swapped your stud muffin shirt for Star Wars. There is a line, Stiles, and you crossed it hours ago! I’m just… I’m just tired of it.”

His face fell, his eyes glazing over with unshed tears. Your heart broke at the look on his face, your mouth opening to apologize profusely. But before you could, he was already throwing his stuff in his bag, zipping it closed. “I-I should go,” he croaked, his voice cracking. He stood abruptly from his seat, gnawing on his lip. “I-I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean it, Y/N. I’ll talk to you later.”

He ran off before you could stop him, your hand reaching out and barely missing the sleeve of his shirt. You frowned deeply, watching him furiously wiping at his eyes as he pushed his way through the doors. You slumped back in your chair, biting at your nails - a bad habit you seemingly picked up from the spazz you called a boyfriend. You felt horrible for what you said, the look on his face devastating. He meant no harm yet you threw it all back in his face.

“Damn,” you whispered to yourself, ruffling your hair. You stared at your books, your heart no longer in it to finish all of your homework. You didn’t care how it landed as you swept your belongings into your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. “I will make it up to him. I have to.”

Hours later, Stiles sat on his bed, watching The Empire Strikes Back for the millionth time. His focus wasn’t on his laptop though. His eyes were red, a pillow hugged to his chest. He was hurt by what you said, though he understood why you said those things. It just broke his heart to actually hear it. He didn’t want to cry, but he did. He wanted to forget, but he couldn’t.

His phone chimed from his table, the spazz turning to look at it. The screen lit up, a sad smile appearing on his face. He grabbed his phone, looking at the picture of you o his lock screen blowing a kiss at him. He let out an inaudible sigh, unlocking to read the message he got.

[Princess Leia 💞: My dearest Han Solo. It is I, your Princess Leia. Years ago, you asked me to be your girlfriend, and in that time, I have failed to do one simple thing for you: watch the Star Wars movies with the man I love. Now I beg you to forgive me in this struggle against May fourth and couples quarrels. I have placed information vital to this mission in your hands because frankly, you already own the movies. I will be by tomorrow at noon sharp to have a Star Wars marathon with you, the goal being to get through the originals. This is our most desperate hour - my most desperate plea. I’m sorry for what I said and I want to make it up to you. It’s no May The Fourth Be With You, but we can certainly have Revenge of the Fifth, right? Please, Han Solo (I CAN’T SAY OBI WAN KENOBI, IT RUINS THE MOOD), you’re my only hope.]

Stiles found himself laughing, more tears sliding down his cheeks, this time happily. You tried so hard to apply his love of Star Wars to your apology, planning to make a concerted effort to make it up to him, finally watching the movies from start to end. He placed his phone down, using the collar of his worn Yoda shirt to wipe his tears, shaking his head.

“God, I love you,” he whispered. Grabbing the phone, he took a deep breath before replying.

[Han Solo 💞: Bring popcorn.]

[Princess Leia 💞: Already bought it. And M&Ms.]

[Han Solo 💞: The Force is strong with this one.]

~

You shut the door behind you, kicking off your shoes before treading further into the house. You glanced at yourself in the hallway mirror in passing, adjusting the Star Wars shirt you bought last second that morning. You had to admit: you looked damn good. It hugs your form perfectly and you knew Stiles would love it no matter what. Satisfied, you continued into the house, calling for your boyfriend.

“Stiles? You here? I let myself in with my key!” you said.

“Living room!”

You walked in, finding the couch transformed into a comfort lounge. He had dragged every blanket in the house down, laying them out to make a comfy cuddle spot, the fleece Mets blanket ready to be draped over your forms. The pillows lined the back, more for Stiles than you. He was your pillow. He has cans of soda on the table, a bowl prepped for the popcorn and candy. The movies were on the tv stand, A New Hope on the tv already and ready to play.

“Wow,” you bemused. “You transformed this place.”

“Only the best for my girl,” he smiled, rushing over to hug you. Your bag hit the ground with a thud, returning his tight embrace. He pulled away, playing with a strand of your hair before taking in your attire. His breathing stopped, his eyes flickering. “I-I… Fuck.”

“What?” you hummed playfully.

“Just,” he breathed. “The way you’re dressed.”

“Just for you,” you laughed, spinning to show off the shirt you bought. “Though, I’m disappointed in you. You aren’t matching now. I dressed up just for you and you’re not showing Star Wars pride.”

He rubbed his lips together, backing towards the stairs. “Just. Make the popcorn and I will be down in a minute.” He tripped over the steps, stumbling to walk up them. “One minute!”

You giggled, picking up your bag and heading for the kitchen, making the popcorn as requested. He was back in the living room when you were done, wearing a black Star Wars shirt that almost matched your own. You grinned, flopping onto the cuddle couch. “That’s better. Now, come cuddle me so we can watch these movies.”

“Fine,” he chuckled, flicking off the lights, grabbing the remote, and dropping next to you. You curled into his chest, the popcorn dumped into a bowl on his lap. “No sleeping, princess. Alright?”

“I know.”

“And what’s the rule on kissing? Is it proper etiquette to kiss you? Or push you away to watch the movies?”

You glanced up at him, kissing him softly. “Between movies.”

“Fair.”

The afternoon flew by watching the movies, the second movie having just ended. As promised between each movie, you found yourself in a heated kiss, the empty bowl of popcorn resting on the table in front of you. Your bodies were curled under his Mets blanket, leg over his lap to press yourself together together. Your arms wound around his neck, tugging at his dark locks, occasionally massaging at his shoulders under his shirt. His were on your waist, keeping a searing hold on your already hot skin.

Your heads tilted in opposite directions, furiously kissing at each others lips. You didn’t care that your noses brushed with each movement or your teeth clashed. Your tongues swirled together between your cheeks, soft moans vibrating his throat. The noisy kisses filled the steamy air of the room, smacking together with every disconnect. Your chests were pressed to each other, hearts pounding hastily against your chests.

He pulled away from the kiss, running his hand over your breasts through the shirt. “So smart. So beautiful. Fuck, how did I get lucky with you?”

“I question that every day with you,” you told him, smiling against his lips. You dropped a hand under the blanket, unbuttoning his jeans and sliding in to feel his erection. He grunted softly, hips ucking into your touch. “You are so amazing, Stiles.”

“Don’t tease,” he whimpered slightly. You grinned, stroking him inside his pants, his breathing picking up. “I dunno if I can make it through the third movie, princess. I think we need to move to the bedroom. I need to be deep inside you. Fuck, I’m so horny for you.”

“Stiles,” you whimpered. His hand moved from your chest to your own jeans, following the lead on unbuttoning them. His hand slid between your legs, ghosting through your folds.

“You’re so wet,” he groaned. His cock twitched in your hand, wanting more. “I can just picture your wet little cunt around me. Oh god, I need it. Even if you ride me right here, I need you.”

“Fuck, Stiles,” you whined, two fingers dipping into your core. “God, Stiles. I’m so wet for you. I can already feel your giant cock inside me, thrusting as fast as you can. You hit all the right spots. You make me moan. You spank me. You pull my hair. Hell, choke me, baby. I don’t care. I just want to cum and feel you cum inside me.”

“Holy god. I love your filthy mouth,” he grumbled, pressing a sloppy kiss to your lips, tongues visibly battling. You stroked him faster, his own fingers speeding up. “I want to fuck you, princess. Right here, right now.”

“I know,” you told him, pulling away. He fell face first in the couch when you hand pulled out, his hand pulled free and your body vanishing from his hold. He pushed up quickly, finding you fixing your pants. You fixed your hair, straightening your clothes. “Unfortunately, I have to run a few quick errands right now. It should only take an hour or so, but how about you meet me back at my house to watch the last movie.”

“But-”

“I love you,” you whispered, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, bolting for the door. Stiles followed after you, attempting to fix his pants, the bulge highly evident. He palmed himself, standing in the entryway with you.

“You’re really going to leave me with this?” he asked, forehead wrinkling. “You turn me on like this and leave? What am I supposed to do with this little problem?”

“Stiles, baby. How do you normally get rid of an erection?” you joked, pulling on your shoes.

“What?” he asked incredulously. “Porn. Or your naked body.”

You pat his cheek, kissing his lips softly. “And, on your laptop, you have a private file of nudes that if I find out get leaked will result in your immediate downfall. By which I mean your balls ripped off painfully. Now, do me a favor, and don’t get off too much. Save some for later.”

You winked, slipping out the front door, leaving a flabbergasted boyfriend behind. He rubbed his face with his hands, making for his room. He wondered what you meant - what you had in store - but didn’t bother to stress about it. His focus was on the erection between his legs first.

~

He unlocked the front door to your house, the darkness inside overwhelming. He was confused. Your car was out front, but the house showed no sign of life. “Y/N?” he called, earning no response. He glanced at the time, a little over an hour having passed since you ran out on him. He run his hand through his hair, shutting the door behind him regardless. “Baby, are you home?”

Maybe she went on a stroll around the block? He tried to falsely reason, knowing it was not even close to being true. Using his phone for light, he weaved through the house to your room, furrowing his brow when he saw the light peeking out from under the door.

He knocked once. “Y/N? You awake?” No response. He furrowed his brow, knocking louder. “Y/N?” He shuffled between his feet, becoming more anxious by the second. He wasn’t sure what to do. Finally, he knocked again. “Baby, I’m going to come in, alright? If you’re asleep, I’ll leave.”

Earning no response again, he cracked open the door. Candlelight flickered on the walls, rose petals strewn across the floor. The low hum of Han Solo and Princess Leia’s Love Theme played through a wireless speaker perched on the computer desk in his sight. Stiles cocked his head in confusion, pushing the door open wider. Hs footsteps were slow to enter, but he froze the second he got in entirely.

You were laying on your bed, a fuzzy black blanket under you. You were resting on your side against some black pillows, a mountain of pillows behind you with a blanket thrown over it. There was a sign tape to the wall, an arrow pointing at the mound that read ‘This is supposed to be Jabba’, making Stiles stiffle a loud chortle. You had put up printouts of C-3PO and R2D2, Jabba’s minions,and even Boba Fett taped to the wall, attempting to recreating the scene from Return of the Jedi.

What caught his attention most was that you were clad in the familiar gold bikini Leia wore in the movie. The red, slowing veils covered the front and back of the g-string thong, the veil having shifted just enough to show off your ass. Your hair was tied in a tight braid that rested over your shoulder. You had done your makeup to perfection, rubbing your lips together. And to complete the package, you had a chain around your neck that was clasped to the metal grating headboard you had.

“Holy shit,” he breathed lowly. You gave a seductive grin, drawing circles on the fuzzy blanket.

“You’ve come to save me, my Han Solo,” you whispered, Stiles’ body flaring from simple words. He took small steps forward, unsure of himself. “Or, are you my Yoda? What should I call my savior from the cruelty of Jabba the Hutt?”

“Your Yoda?” He let out, licking his lips. He pulled his shirt over his head as he walked, dropping it to the ground without remorse. His biceps flexed and his pecs tensed, the hair on his chest and stomach deliciously dark. He unbuttoned his jeans as he inched forward, letting them hang low on his hips, showing off his v-lines. “I’m definitely your Han Solo, princess.”

“Then, don’t stand there frozen in carbonite. Save me, Han.”

He rushed forward, pushing the mound of pillows off the bed, rolling you onto your back. His lips found yours, kissing you fast and hard, the kiss far from clean. Your hands traced his torso, winding around his neck to tangle in his hair. He was tugging at the straps of the golden top, trying to rip it from your skin. He had to pull you from the bed to pull it over your head, the straps tangling before he got it off, leaving it dangling on the chain around your neck.

He went back to kissing you, palming your breasts in his hands, massaging the nipples between his fingers. You mewled into the kiss, letting his lips dominate yours completely. Your tongues tangled together, practically salivating into each others mouths. He pulled away to leave wet kisses down your neck, laying you back to the bed with his mouth attached to your chest. He rolled the nipple between his lips, flicking the hard peak with his tongue before kissing it swiftly. He growled against them at the sounds of your moans, kneading your other breast in his hand.

“God, Stiles,” you whimpered loudly, arching into him. You tugged at his hair, pushing him into your chest more. “I find your lack of nudity disturbing…”

He pulled away with a pop, a laugh replacing his ragged breathing. “Seriously?” he asked, looking up at you. You nodded with a smile, making his widen. “You have a completely different tune than yesterday.”

“I told you I wanted to make it up to you. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“I know,” he chuckled. He kissed down your body more, licking along the g-string. “You know, I should be saying that to you. You need to be more nude, princess.”

“I’m pretty sure I have less on than you,” you quipped. “I’m in a thong, Stiles. Waiting for you to spank me.”

“Holy God,” he groaned. “So hot.”

“Just remember, Stiles,” you let out, pushing up into him, connecting your lips. Your lips skimmed his as your spoke, your words seductive once more. “I like it rough.”

“Jesus,” he groaned. He slid down your body, tugging down the g-string and red veil that covered your core. You were dripping for him already, Stiles going slack jawed. “God, I definitely like this side of you. This… nerdy girl that I fell in love with when I was ten. And she’s all mine. God, you can’t be real.”

“Well, I am,” you hummed, trying to tug at his jeans. “Now, I suggest you shut up and fuck me. I’m quite ready to do what I was ready for over an hour ago.”

“Well, sounds like a personal problem considering you left me,” he snickered. “But, I get why you said not to jerk off more than once. Trust me, it was tempting. Those pictures I have of you are phenomenal. I love you. I love your body. I love your personality. And fuck, I could have easily came three more times.”

“Well, hopefully you can cum that many times inside me,” you said, voice tight. “I won’t be nice again, Stiles. Fuck. Me.”

“Such a foul mouth you have, princess,” he grinned. He rolled off the bed, droppings his jeans, shoes flying in different directions. His boxer briefs came next, erection slapping his stomach as it stood proud. The tip was red with want, precum oozing through the slit. He stroked himself slowly, watching the look on your face contort with desire. You licked your lips, ready to pounce if needed. The was taunting you, showing off the cock you wanted inside you this instant. “How should you be punished?”

You stared at him, a mischievous smile growing on your cheeks. You shifted positions, your legs spread wide to give him a full pussy shot. Your fingers ran over your folds, Stiles eyes narrowing on your actions, his orbs almost black with lust. “However you want,” you told him firmly.

He practically flew across the room, claws bared when he collided with your form. You let out a loud moan, Stiles buried deep inside you without much effort. He didn’t waste time, wrapping your legs around his waist, pounding himself into you rapidly. You moaned loudly, arms slung around his neck, head falling back into the pillows that were scattered across the bed. Your nails raked across his back, red marks lining his muscled skin.

His lips met yours, vehemently thrusting into you, his cock pistoning in and out at God-like speeds. Your moans vibrated your body, your form shaking under his hold. Even though he had barely started you were at your wits end, ready to cum multiple times from what he was doing. The way his cock hit your g-spot with every thrust made your body shudder, your core growing wetter with time. It made it easier for him to push faster and harder, the slick fluids coating his skin aiding his thrusts. His length rubbed against your walls, the sensitivity at max from the erotic circumstance you found yourself in. Whatever he did to you made you claw more at his skin, letting him do whatever he wanted to you.

“Fuck!” you cried out. “Fuck me, Stiles! Oh god, more!”

“You’re so dirty, baby,” he growled, sucking dark marks to your neck and collarbone. His thrusts got faster, panting from the way he pushed. “You like me pounding your sweet little pussy? You like me pleasing you?”

“God, yes!” you cried out. “Do whatever you want to me, Stiles. Just make me cum until I can’t see straight.”

“God, I love you,” he grunted, pulling out of you. You whimpered at the loss, feeling him flip your body to your hands and knees. You watched him scurry forward on the bed, unhooking the end of the chain around your neck. He shook free the bra from earlier, wrapping the chain around his hand until it was short and taut. He resumed his position behind you, smoothing his hand over your ass slowly. “You also have a fine ass.”

“I can say the same about you,” you hummed. “Yours is nice and round. And it has these cute little moles everything. And man, I love to smack it.”

“Like this?” he popped out, smacking your ass with a sickening crack. You squealed, whined and moaned at the same time, pushing your ass back against him.

“Again,” you pleaded, repeating the noises louder when his hand connected to your skin again.

“Dirty, dirty girl,” he grinned, his cock sliding your your folds teasingly. He carefully pushed in, pulling out completely to leave you crying for more. He repeated the process a few more times before stilling inside you, listening to your drawn out moan. “My dirty girl. She likes when I do her from behind, huh?”

“I do,” you whined, glancing back at him. “It the best feeling, Stiles. Now, please. Make me cum.”

He nodded, slowly building up his speed until he was pounding against your ass, the slapping of his hips against your skin loud around the room. His balls smacked against your folds with each thrust, Stiles fervently pounding into you. He tapped you sweet spot without trying, hearing you scream his name loudly.

He tugged on the chain, slightly restricting your airway. Spots formed in your vision, the lessening of air intensifying the feeling of his thrusts. You whimpered for him, pleading through broken words for more, telling him to do whatever he wanted to you. His hand connected with your ass, bright red hand prints stained on your skin. He pushed himself into you, chest heaving and cock twitching.

He darted forward, pulling the rubber band fro your hand, ruffling your hair free from the braid to grip it tightly. He tugged at it the same way he tugged at the chain on your neck, your moans freely filling the room. He grunted in satisfaction, pushing even harder than before.

“Go, Stiles! Yes! More, baby!” you screamed, Stiles more indistinguishable noises in agreement. He glanced hazily to the side, peering your forms in the vanity mirror in your room, licking his lips. Your breasts bounced with each thrust, your eyes tightly shut and your face displaying a look of pleasure. He could see the red lines across his back and the red on your ass, feeling fulfilled. The only thing he wish he could see as a cherry on top of the sundae would be you playing with your clit, but your shaking body told him that was impossible.

Maybe next time.

“Cum for me, princess,” he huskily spoke, goosebumps forming along your skin. You moaned loudly, pushing back to meet his thrusts, clapping skin growing louder. His thrusts were growing sloppy, both of you close to your end. “Cum, baby.”

You whimpered, body collapsing against the blankets and pillows in a fit of quakes. Your walls hugged him close, limbs giving into the orgasm that washed through your pores. Your knot inside you unraveled, toes curling repeatedly. You gripped at the bed as much as possible, your juices splattering your walls and down his cock. His own thrusts slowed, sliding in and out easily from the moisture along his length. You were warm around him, the tightness overwhelming him. He, too, snapped, grunting as he came. Strings of his hot seed spilled into you, mixing with your arousal in your core. Your walls hugged him close, milking him for every drop of the liquid you craved. He rode you both through your highs, prolonging your orgasm as much as he could.

Pulling free from you, he collapsed face first on the bed next to you, silence consuming the room. Your hand reached blindly for him, finally finding his and lacing your fingers together. You turned your head towards him, giving him a lazy smile.

“Hey, Stiles.”

“Hm?”

“Have I told you that I love you?” You pondered. He nodded. “Well, I’m glad. I hope you know how much I love you. Because, you stole my heart like the rebels stole the Death Star plans.”

Stiles laughed, turning to look at you. “I love you so much, just for that.” He shuffled closer to you, kissing you gently. “A girl after my own heart. Smart, beautiful and can quote Star Wars.”

“Only for you,” you told him. “I’m really sorry I snapped at you. I wanted to make it up to you, so I binged all since movies last night after I got home. And came up with this. Decorated, dressed up, and planned all of this. I wanted to show you I do care.”

“I know you do,” he whispered. “And this was fucking amazing, baby. It really was. I’m glad I have you.” He slowly unclasped the chain from your neck, kissing your neck. “I love you, Y/N. You are my Princess Leia.”

“I love you too. Thank you for being my Han.”

He grinned, kissing you again. “Now, can we watch Return of the Jedi? I was promised all the originals!”

“Needy bastard,” you grumbled, rolling away from him and off the bed. You blew out the candles, flicking on a light as you left the room. Stiles sat up, watching you leave, his mouth wide open.

“Baby?” he called. No response. “Princess?” Nothing. “Y/N!”

“Let’s go, loser!”

Stiles smiled, uncaring for his nude state. He ran after you, the two of you cuddled for another Star Wars movie to mark the year’s Star Wars Day.

Errthang Tag 2.0: @catcrown21; @parislight; @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone; @savage-stilinski; @honeymoonmuke; @rumoured-whispers; @youshiverwhenyouhearmyname; @caitsymichelle13; @addicttotw; @fox-lau; @xmadwonderland; @kaelyn-lobrutto24; @lobrien; @kal-pal; @espermirror; @nowthisiswaar; @belleknows; @ashpie97; @mixedupsammy; @dylobrienlover; @newtosaur250; @bandsweyhey; @crystals-marie; @livinginadreamersparadise; @tommyswolves; @veronicarapp; @bilesbilinskix; @danathewitchywoman; @thisismexxo; @you-all-have-guns; @soulaura-canavel; @bojabee; @obrienswxlf; @feelingsareharddd; @xoitsjustmexo; @supernaturaltakeover; @suggsmate; @cassiee867; @malia--stilinski; @barryallenplease; @flirtstiles; @bottleoffirewhisky; @jadalecki-jackles; @evansesdust; @everythingthatisrandom; @puppiesarehappiness; @ixlovexpeterxparker; @onlyalittleteenwolfobsessed; @tenseoyong

Want to be tagged? Send as ask! - Bold accounts are ones I cannot tag.

#stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski smut #dylan o'brien #dylan o'brien smut #teen wolf #teen writer #dylan #dylan smut #dylan x reader #dylan x reader smut #dylan obrien #dylan obrien smut #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien x reader smut #dylan o'brien x reader #dylan o'brien x reader smut #stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski x reader smut #mieczyslaw stilinski #stiles smut #thomas #maze runner #mitch rapp #american assassin #stuart twombly #the internship #tw #Smut #stiles #stiles stilinski imagine

[drizzitwrites]

Football RPF Linear Challenge - Day 1: First Impressions

This month I'll be participating in the Football RPF writing challenge. I've chosen to do the linear challenge and, as such, will be trying to either write a short scene or type out my headcannons for the characters around each of the themes--one per day.

I know the idea of this is to post to the AO3 collection, but since what I’m writing here is going to be short scenes that are parts of bigger fics or head cannons or things that might not make sense without the context of a bigger fic, I plan on posting most things here to this blog and if I end up using them as one-shots or somehow end up writing something that I can post to AO3 later, I will do. For now...I’m trying to update here every day. It will be a work--especially in terms of making time--but that’s the point of the word “challenge” and the hope I have is that it will get me back into writing as mentioned below.

The first day is "First Impressions", which is something I've spent a bit of time both thinking about and trying to write about for a few different fics, but have never managed to write in a way that I've felt satisfied with. It's actually super hard to write the moment that someone meets someone else and their impressions, especially in the way my characters would do this in my created universe.

Further thoughts on the challenge and today’s theme, along with today’s fic scene are below the cut to save your dashboards.

It's odd because in my headcanon Vincent has all this history of knowing who Christian is, but Christian has never met him before and if he's heard of him it was vague and in passing because of him being the leading scorer at AZ the season before he came to Spurs. So he's not a total unknown to Christian, but he's also not someone Christian has given a lot of thought to, unlike the reverse where Vincent has spent many years of his life sort of secretly following along with Christian's career and recording his matches so he could watch them in secret when his roommates were asleep and all that. So you really get two very different sides to things. Add to this the fact that Christian is Danish and really doesn't understand his feelings OR want to acknowledge them (due to his culture and his position in life and some things that happened to him in the past) and you need to create the appropriate amount of internal narrative tension where Christian is looking at Vincent and saying "I acknowledge that this man is really rather good looking, but he's my teammate and not only do I feel like I *can't* act on that, I actually don't know how to parse this feeling and it's sort of just a general disquiet like...I think I felt something, but also maybe not, maybe I can just appreciate how good someone looks and then we move on." Honestly, I don't even think I can explain it well while NOT writing it and just speaking about it.

Basically, there's a fine line with writing Christian's feelings on meeting Vincent where it's easy to take it too far and push it into the overdramatic of Christian being like wow he's super gorgeous and I'm having a major reaction to this and I don't want to have these feeling for a teammate. You need some of that, but it's easy to push it too far and instead of having it sort of there simmering under the surface you have Christian almost TOO self-aware when it comes to his feelings.

Conversely, it's easy to slip into Christian feeling nothing at all and being wholly oblivious to the whole situation. Which works to some degree, but it doesn't exactly make for an interesting story unless you then juxtapose it with Vincent's feelings of really high-key stressing out because he's meeting this man who he sort of idolizes and has had a fanboy crush on for upwards of five years. So you'd need to put it in a setting of Vincent being VERY ON EDGE and nervous and worried he'll suddenly just yell out something embarrassing about how excited he is to meet Christian or how much he admires him and you have Christian here like...hello new teammate, you're Dutch, that's nice, I will speak Dutch to make you more comfortable but none of this is registering for me as feelings. Which...let's all be honest, I tend to live on the side of over dramatics where Vincent is awkward because he's stressed out that he'll say something wrong and Christian is awkward because he's having a feeling but doesn't understand that he's having a feeling and everyone is awkward and it's the most strained, bizarre first meeting that ever happened.

So...in short, I'm not actually sure where the best place to go with this sort of scene is, and I'm not sure there IS a best place to go with it, but I'm going to just start writing the scene that's in my head for this (which is part of a very drafty WIP that mainly just exists theoretically) and see where it goes. Because that's what this month is about for me. It's about writing a scene or two or three or, who knows, an entire fic with abandon and very little editing or checking myself and putting it out there and sharing it with you all and just letting myself feel vulnerable through writing so I can get back into a place where I'm not putting pressure on myself to be perfect, but I am putting pressure on myself to just write and not worry about anything other than where the scene carries me.

It is November, after all, and while NaNoWriMo is never a thing that worked for me, I think the concept is a sound one in terms of stressing to people that one of the keys to writing is sitting down and making words. Planning is important, editing is important, but you'll never have a finished story if you never sit down and write it in the first place.

Let's write a scene and see where we end up, shall we. I admit that in this case I had some of this written already thanks to my WIP, so it's not totally new. I had hoped to also write a scene from Vincent's POV that follows this (for a different fic I want to write that hasn't been started yet), but I'm not sure time will permit me to do that. We'll see.

Today’s scene--from Christian's POV:

Chris pushed around Mousa, darting behind him and to his right then swinging toward the goal to pick up the pass from Tom, dribbling two steps before switching his weight to his left side and angling a pass in toward the goal that Coco just managed to tap into the net before Toby closed the gap.

Coco put a fist in the air and pointed over toward Chris as the whistle sounded to signal the end of the match. “Golazo! We win!”

Coco’s triumphant yell grew nearer until a body slammed into Chris’s side and nearly sent both he and Coco tumbling to the ground. “Victory!” Coco yelled into Chris’s ear as he pressed his body ever closer against Chris’s, wrapping Chris into a tight hug and then using Chris’s shoulders to lever himself upward. The other three members of their makeshift five-a-side team--Jan, Tom, and Michel--all jogged in and clapped Chris on the shoulder as Coco jumped down and started shaking his hips to the imaginary dance beats running through his head.

"Gather up!" That was Miguel from the sidelines, one hand cupped around his mouth and nose and the other waving them all towards him and off the training pitch.

They were still in early days of training at the height of English summer, so Chris was grateful for the break, no matter how short. He loved training, but was still easing back into his life in London after a month of rest and relaxation in the sun. The season would start soon enough though, and they'd all need to be ready. They'd come so close to closing out the season with a second place finish in the league, but in the end they'd all been just a bit too tired and a bit too unfocused and had let things unravel, slipping down in the table to eventually finish in third place between their North London rivals, Arsenal. It wasn't the season any of them had hoped for and from the first day of training Christian had felt the buzz of determination and belief rippling through the dressing room. This was their year. They'd grabbed a spot in the Champions League, their squad was strong and determined, and they were ready to bring home a trophy to close out the club's final year at White Hart Lane.

This was their moment, and none of them were going to let it slip from their fingers this time.

Chris ducked out of the huddle of bodies, jogging to catch up with Mousa as they rejoined the rest of their teammates to await instructions for their next training exercise.

“Good match,” Chris said, clapping Mousa on the shoulder.

Mousa turned toward him, shaking his head with a laugh. “I’d better put in a few extra hours of strength and fitness if I’m going to keep up with you lot.”

Chris grinned. “Nah, I just know your moves too well. You’re still running well enough...for an old man.”

“Yeah, we’ll see who beats who next round,” Mousa retorted, but he returned Chris’s grin.

Chris and Mousa picked up their jogs, joining up with their teammates at the side of the pitch, all of them gathered in a loose semicircle around Pochettino and his assistants. Chris found himself pressed between Mousa on his left and Ben on his right, stepping forward slightly to allow Jan to slot in behind him, their bodies all damp with sweat and radiating heat.

In front of them, the Gaffer was joined by another man Chris didn't recognise. A new signing, Chris assumed. His friends had been buzzing about something of the sort at lunch, some hot new international teammate of Michel's. Jan had seemed particularly keen to fill Chris in on everything they knew about him, but Chris hadn't paid them much mind. He assumed they'd all meet him sooner or later, and he preferred to wait until he could form his own opinions of people.

Around Chris, the murmurs and whispered conversation died down as the Gaffer stepped forward. He was joined, as always, by Jesus Perez to his right. Pochettino's English was as good as any of theirs at this point in time, but he still preferred to have Jesus close at hand in case he needed a translation.

He began with the usual platitudes about practice and how they're all doing well and working hard, but it is important to push harder and gain their fitness for the start of the season. "We have only a few weeks before we will begin matches, so I want all of you to give more effort. I think that we have a good team and a strong team if we all work together then we will also have a team who can win."

This was met with a chorus of shouts and cheers from the gathered crowd, Chris joining them with light applause. It was nothing new, they'd all heard similar words the day before and the day before that and the day before that, but Chris knew the importance of hearing it all on repeat. At this point in time they were all balanced at the cliffs edge, and they would decide together whether they were going to charge up the path to safety, or topple over the precipice to whatever was waiting below. They needed to believe in themselves and in one another, and they needed to feel the support of the Gaffer even as he pushed them harder and harder with each passing day.

Pochettino waited until his team had quieted, then motioned for the man standing beside him to step forward. "I want to introduce you to our newest teammate. We're fortunate to have him joining us from Holland. I hope you all will make him welcome."

“Top scorer in the Eredivisie,” Mousa whispered.

“Newest, hottest thing,” Jan added, putting unnecessary emphasis on the word hottest. Chris turned around to fix him with a glare which Jan rewarded with a wink and a grin.

Chris flashed him a rude gesture, then turned back to face his new teammate.

The man--Vincent, Chris supposed--stepped forward, his brown eyes wide and a little wild as he scanned the sea of faces in front of him. Chris could understand that feeling. He'd been there himself a few times, albeit not recently. New club, new teammates, new city. The hopes of the fans riding on you and the pressure to live up to the sum of money attached to your name. It was overwhelming at the best of times. Add in making the switch to a completely new league where the game was faster and more nuanced and the expectations higher-- Yes, Chris understood.

Vincent smiled, then launched in to the usual speech in uncertain, hesitant English. "I am glad to be here at Tottenham and I am looking forward to working with all of you and being a part of this beautiful club..."

Chris let the familiar, comforting sound of Dutch-accented English wrap around him. It wasn’t as though the accent was uncommon for him these days as the club had plenty of Dutch speakers, but the way Vincent hesitated just slightly on some syllables and his soft, almost shy tone brought Chris back to the day nearly seven years ago when he’d first arrived in Amsterdam to join Jong Ajax. He’d worked hard to learn some Dutch before leaving Odense, but had still found himself struggling to form the unfamiliar syllables and find the right words. His teammates took pity on him and spoke to him in English for a time, and Chris recalled fondly the way the accented English had been strangely comforting as he eased into life in Holland.

Chris felt himself sway forward slightly as he tuned out of the exact words and lost himself in his thoughts and Vincent’s soft, warm voice. Behind him, Chris felt Jan’s hand against his shoulder and leaned into it, treasuring the closeness of the contact with one of his oldest friends. Jan always seemed to know when Chris needed him close, even when Chris didn’t know it himself.

Murmurs of voices and the stir of bodies around him, and Chris opened his eyes, bringing himself back to the bright lights of the pitch and the press of his teammates around him as the group broke up, each stepping forward to shake hands with their new teammate. Michel led the way, welcoming Vincent into a casual hug then stepping back with a smile, though remaining by Vincent’s side.

Chris hung back, letting his teammates step forward to greet the new signing, welcome him to London and to the club. He tried not to stare at Vincent, whose smile threatened to take over his entire face as he greeted each of his teammates in turn, accepting their welcome in gracious English.

Toby stepped forward to greet Vincent, followed closely by Jan and Mousa.

“You have to meet Chris,” Jan said as he reached behind him for Chris’s arm. Chris tried to move out of reach, but Jan slid towards him, grabbed Chris’s wrist, and tugged him forward into the group.

Vincent stuck his hand out toward Chris, his grin somehow widening even further, which caused Chris’s mouth to involuntarily quirk into a shy smile in return.

Chris looked down at Vincent’s hand, realising that at some point he’d clenched his own hands into fists and they were now sticky with sweat. He frowned and tried to discreetly wipe them on the back of his shorts before returning the handshake, hoping Vincent would just think Chris was still cooling down from training.

“Uh…Christian. Eriksen. Chris. Good to meet you.” Chris introduced himself in English. He could have shifted the conversation and slid into Dutch for Vincent's benefit, but they were in London, and the Gaffer expected everyone to communicate in English to ward off the formation of cliques or isolation of groups.

Vincent’s grin broadened even further as he pumped Chris’s hand. “I know this. That is...you are Christian Eriksen. So of course I know,” he stammered out in English before his smile dimmed slightly and he chewed at his lip.

“<em>Het spijt me</em>," He said, switching into no less flustered Dutch before flipping back to English once more. "I was...at Almere for a time. I saw you play...with Ajax. You were...I...um...remember you. It is...an honour to meet you. I am looking forward to playing together.” He released Chris’s hand, then brushed his own hand across his cheek and nose as he lowered to the ground, a faint flush creeping into his cheeks.

“I…” was all Chris could manage in response. An honour to play with him? He'd watched Chris at Ajax? Of course, Chris had left his mark in Amsterdam--joining together with Jan and Toby to win a series of Eredivisie championships and kickstarting his career with a bang--but to meet a new teammate who had this reaction, well, it was all a bit much. Chris felt his own face flushing hot in response.

“That’s...well...thank you?" he finally managed to stammer out. "Welcome to London. And Spurs. Jan and Toby are also from Ajax, so...”

“Oh, yes, I know this,” Vincent said wide, dark eyes now fixed on Chris's. “It will be nice to have friends here who know Amsterdam. I was not raised there, but I enjoyed my time in the city. I am so thankful to come to a club where I can feel like I have a piece of home as it were. You know?”

“<em>Ja</em>,” Chris responded, instinctively flipping into Dutch for the affirmation. Even though it wasn't his native tongue and he'd been in England for five years now, he still tended towards the Dutch '<em>ja</em>' and '<em>nee</em>' thanks to his time in Amsterdam and then nestled in at Spurs among the Belgians and ex-Eredivisie contingent.

He did know. He’d been through not one, but two moves to different countries and different cultures. No matter how prepared you thought you were for that, everything was still overwhelming and strange. He’d been beyond glad to see Jan when he’d arrived in London. The presence of a familiar face every day at training was invaluable as he’d adjusted to life in England and the faster pace of the Premier League. He could understand Vincent’s enthusiasm about having not one, but three teammates who’d once lived in Amsterdam, and at the very least he owed it to Vincent to help him find his feet in London.

“Let me know if I can help with anything,” Chris said, eschewing English and continuing in Dutch, despite Pochettino's preferences. “Where to eat, shopping--although that’s not really my thing, but I can try--if you want to know the best neighbourhoods for your house or anything. I mean, it’s not like I get out much, but I’ll do what I can.”

Vincent’s eyes widened  as he once again grinned at Chris. “Your Dutch is good.”

Chris  felt his mouth quirk into a shy smile at the compliment. “Oh. Thank you. I feel it’s important to learn the language wherever you’re playing, so I worked on it a lot before I moved to Amsterdam. These three still correct me all the time, though.”

“Because your pronunciation is terrible,” Toby chimed in from where he, Mousa, and Jan were standing behind Chris.

Chris opened his mouth to toss a sarcastic retort back at his friend, but Vincent dropped a hand to Chris’s shoulder, making the words die in Chris’s throat as his breath hitched at the intimacy of the gesture after only a few minutes of conversation.

“Never listen to Belgians on the right way to pronounce Dutch,” Vincent said. “I think your pronunciation is just fine.”

Vincent’s wide grin shrunk to a shy smile as he fixed his eyes on Chris’s. Chris struggled to hold the look, to return the smile, a friendly thank you to a new teammate, but had to look away.

He needed some air. Some space. To duck inside and stand under a cold shower until whatever these impulses were that currently surged through his body, making his head spin and his legs weak, rushed away.

Chris had been here before, and had sworn a solemn oath to himself that he'd never let himself return. Vincent was attractive, there was no doubt--tousled coffee brown hair that Chris's fingers itched to run through, warm dark eyes, a thin, straight nose, and a strong, square jawline visible even under the days growth of beard. Dimpled cheeks, perfectly straight, white teeth--and he’s a teammate, Chris. A teammate. Nothing more. Never anything more.

This was football. The world was getting more progressive and more and more teammates at least came off as understanding about these sorts of things, but some things would never be accepted. Chris had always been cautious to keep his personal life his own--no matter who he happened to be seeing at any given time. One slip in an interview; one photo taken of him in the wrong place with the wrong person, and this career he'd worked so hard for and made so many sacrifices to build would come crashing down around him.

But feelings for a teammate--no. Chris had learned that lesson all too well. Even if you both went in with the best of intentions and every precaution, it was never worth the risk. In football, you had to separate what happened in your personal life from what happened once you arrived at the training centre, and when your personal life arrived at the training centre along with you, well, Chris didn't know anyone who could compartmentalise that. No. His best option was to step away and gather himself, then come back onto the pitch ready to act like the professional he was.

He flicked a glance to the side, looking for the closest teammate Vincent hadn’t met yet. He spotted Ben standing a bit behind him to his right and took a step back, grabbing Ben by the arm and half dragging him forward.

“I...thanks. Um. Have you met Ben? You two should meet. I...I have to go, I’m sure I’ll see you at training this afternoon.”

Chris fumbled his hand out of where he’d shoved it into a pocket and flashed Vincent a wave so awkward it might rival Dele’s as he stumbled away from his teammates and back toward the coolness of the training centre.

#30 day challenge #30 day writing challenge #football challenge #football rpf #linear challenge #writing #drizzit writes #thoughts on writing and life #november writing #christian eriksen x vincent janssen

[darling-cas]

Whatever It Takes: Chapter 2

ACOTAR Figure Skating AU

Summary: Nesta firmly believes that if you want something, you have to work your ass off for it. And she wants a National title attached to her name. But when her coach decides that a change in discipline is what Nesta needs, she’s far from impressed. Now, instead of training as a ladies single skater, she has to switch gears and skate as a pairs skater. And her partner? Someone she can’t stand. Non other then cocky, flirtatious, former Men’s skater Cassian. Edited by: @ilikebigbooks-and-icannotlie

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

——————–

Azriel stood just a few feet away from boards waiting, watching.

He watched everything. He kept his eyes on the players around him, skating up and down the ice at top speed. He kept his eyes on the puck, watching as it was passed from player to player.

He watched everything, taking it all in. No one paid much attention to him. They were all too concerned about the puck and trying to get it in the net.

But that’s how it always was.

They called him the Shadowsinger - no one ever knew where he was or when he was going to show up. Even if they knew to keep a look out for him, if someone looked away for just a moment, he was there, sneaking up behind them. His blades seemed to not even make a sound, as if he appeared out of the shadows themselves.

Azriel hadn’t been too sure about the nickname at first. But after a while, he’d grown accustomed to it. He played off of it. He took the name and made it a part of him.

So he stood back. He let the other players do what they needed to do. They passed the punk between them, slapping it across the icy surface. They took shots on the net only to have the goalie deflect them. There was yelling - from between the players and the coach - mixed in with the sound of blades plowing up snow.

Throughout the chaos, Azriel simply stood in the shadows. Waiting. Watching.

Then, there it was. Drakon managed to get the puck. He was positioned by their goalie’s net, the opposing team closing in on him. There wasn’t more than a nod of his head as Drakon met Azriel’s gaze.

And Azriel moved.

He skated across the ice as Drakon shot the punk towards him. The other players were confused for a moment. Their eyes followed the punk, which crashed across Azriel’s waiting stick.

Azriel didn’t stick around to see the look of understanding and determination cross his teammates faces.

He took off down the ice, a trail of players coming after him. But he payed them no attention. He was too busy feeling the wind on his face. His legs burned as his blades carried him down the ice. He pushed and pushed, not slowing down for one moment. Not as the net came into view. Not as the other players started to crowd around him. Not as he took the shot. It was only when the punk flew past the goalie and hit the back of the net that Azriel came to a stop.

There were cheers and groans all around him. A few players close by him slapped him on the back as the coach blew his whistle.

“I’m so fucking glad we’re on the same team, man,” Drakon said, coming up to Azriel as the whole team made their way towards the boards.

“I know.” Azriel wiped some sweat off his brow before giving Drakon a sly smile. “I’d hate to have to beat your ass every time we played a game against each other.”

Drakon sent him a playful glare, a curse about to slip past his lips. But Coach cut him off before he could speak it.

“Good practice boys,” Coach said. His arms were crossed tightly in front of him as the whole Velaris University hockey team stood before him. “We still have a week until the first game of the year, so here’s what I want us to work on.”

Azriel stood there, quietly listening as Coach spent a few moments talking strategy, pointing out a number of things he wanted the team to work on before finally dismissing them for the night.

“Coach has no reason to worry,” Drakon said, standing next to Azriel as they waited to pile off the ice. “With the Shadowsinger on our team, those prissy Royals won’t know what hit them.”

“I don’t know,” Azriel said. “Their goalie is pretty good from what I hear.”

“Someone whose nickname is ‘The Prince’ stands no chance against us.” Drakon clasped Azirel on the back before stepping off the ice, causing Azriel to laugh.

But the sound died in his throat when he saw who was standing there. And he suddenly couldn't breathe.

Her hair was half pulled back, a few golden-brown waves framing her heart-shaped face.Those stunning, rich, brown eyes where looking down at her phone as she typed away. She was dressed in a simple pair of brown boots, black pants, and a tan jacket. But to Azriel, there was nothing more beautiful in the world.

“Dude.”

Azriel’s head snapped to his right, only to find Drakon giving him a knowing look. A look which Azirel returned with a glare. He pulled off his helmet, his damp dark hair sticking to his forehead before swallowing and making his way over to the beauty standing there.

“Hey.”

Elain’s head snapped up. Those doe-like eyes met his and a breathtaking smile appeared on her soft face.

“Hey.” She dropped her phone in her pocket, nodding towards the ice. “I saw your last play. It was good.”

“Just good, huh?” Azirel couldn't help himself. The words left his month before he could think about them. The smug, teasing smile appeared on his lips without a second thought. “Think you can do better?”

A musical laugh left Elain’s lips, causing Azirel’s stomach to flip, as she rolled her eyes. “We’ve been over this before, Az. Figure skaters can skate circles around you hockey players.”

“Probably,” he shrugged. “That doesn’t mean you can do the plays better though.”

“Shall we test that theory?” The teasing sparkle shinning in Elain’s eyes made Azriel laugh.

He couldn't help it. The teasing, the laughter, the smiles, it was all easy with Elain. It always was. Ever since they had met in high school and were paired together for a Biology project. She wasn’t like the others outside of his inner circle of friends. She didn’t look at him like everyone else did. As the shy boy who ran away from his abusive family. She looked at him as he was. As just Azriel. And they’ve been best friends ever since.

“So, should I take all this talk about figure skating as your way of saying you’re going back this year?”

The moment the words left his mouth, Azriel regretted them.

Elain’s face fell. The smile that once graced her lips disappeared. Her eyes lost their sparkle as she stuffed her hands in her pockets.

“I don’t know yet,” she admitted quietly. “I’m still-”

“There you are.”

Azriel looked over Elain’s shoulder, only to find Lucien walking towards them. His hockey bag was thrown over his shoulder, fire-red hair pulled back in a pony tail and swinging behind him.

Mid-step, Lucien paused. Just for a beat, just long enough for his eyes to shift from Elain to Azriel and back again. Just long enough for a hint of caution and uncertainty to take hold on his face.

His eyes shifted back to Elain. Though his features softened as he walked towards her, Azriel still see the caution and fickleness lingering just under the surface.

“Hey,” Lucien smiled softly

He came up to them, wrapping an arm around Elain’s shoulder and pulling her in for a kiss.

Azriel looked away, taking in a deep breath through his nose as growing frustration threatened to creep through his veins.

“I told you that you could go wait in the car,” Lucien smiled at Elian when they pulled apart.

“I know.” Elain’s own smile didn’t reach her eyes as she turned to Azriel. “But I ended up talking to Az.”

Lucien’s eyes snapped towards the man in question. His smile became more strained as he nodded - a nod that Azirel returned.

“Hey man.” Lucien cleared his throat. “That last play you did was pretty good.”

Unlike with Elain, Azriel simple replied with a quick “Thanks, man.”

The tension grew around them, no one really knowing what to say. Lucien and Azirel may have skated on the same team, but that didn’t mean they hung out a great deal off the ice. In fact, Azirel would rather not deal with Lucien at all. Not after how Lucien’s best friend Tamlin had treated Feyre, someone who was like a sister to Azriel at that point. But also mostly because-

“Anyways,” Lucien cleared his throat once more, turning to face Elain. “We should get going.”

“Right.” Elain nodded before giving Azriel the smallest, loving smile. “I’ll talk to you later Az, okay?”

Azriel gave Elain his own small smile, ignoring the dark look that passed over Lucien’s face. “Sounds good.”

“See you at practice tomorrow.” Lucien’s words were a bit colder than they were before as Azriel nodded a goodbye.

He didn’t move though, not as he watched Elain and Lucien walk away, Lucien’s arm still draped over her shoulders.

And Azriel hated himself. Hated himself for the anger he let creep in. Hated that said anger was directed at Lucien. Hated that it was directed at Lucien because he had his arm around Elain. Because he got to hold her, love her, kiss her.

But he hated himself the most for allowing it to happen. Hated himself for falling in love with his best friend, again. For loving another man’s girlfriend.

With a deep sigh, Azriel marched off towards the locker room, cursing himself as he went. Someone up there clearly had it out for him. Someone up there was looking down at him, laughing. He wondered what he did to deserve it. Because lord knows he didn’t ask for any of it. It just happened. He couldn't help it.

Somehow, he had fallen in love with Elain Archeron.

--------------------

“She still hasn’t come back?”

Cassian shook his head as he took a sip of his water. He leaned back against the boards, looking out at the ice before him. The freshly cleaned surface glistened. The sound of only one pair of blades drifted to his ears. Blades that belonged to Feyre as she skated up and down the ice, skating through her warm ups.

“Nope,” Cassian said, taking another sip from his water bottle. “And it’s been three days. Coach Carver isn’t too impressed.”

A deep chuckle escaped Rhys’ lips. He leaned against the boards next to Cassian, dark hair swept to one side.

“No. I wouldn’t say he is.”

Cassian shot Rhys a sly grin before turning back to the ice. He watched as Feyre weaved up the ice, knees bent, causing the edges of her blades to cut deep into the ice. She caught their gazes on her from across the rink, and flashed them a grin and wink before flipping backwards.

Skating in the pairs time slot was much different from his original singles time slot. For one, Cassian got to sleep in, which was a big plus. But also, there was so much more room. With just the three of them on the ice the past few days, Cassian had more room to skate and practice then he’d had in years.

Practice. What he was doing wasn’t exactly practice. The past three days, Coach Carver had been teaching Cassian all he could about pairs skating. But given the fact that they were missing the pair, practices had become pretty useless.

“Coach Carver seems convinced she’ll be back,” Cassian said after a moment.

Rhys looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “And what do you think?”

What did he think? Cassian wasn’t 100% sure. He never was when it came to Nesta. He was normally good at getting a read on people, knowing what their next move would be. But with Nesta… Gods damn him. He could never get a read on that woman.

It honestly didn’t even surprise him one bit when she walked off a few days ago. It was a shock - Nesta Archeron walking out of practice! Who would think it? - but not a surprise. It was actually a pretty tame reaction, compared to what Cassian thought would happen when she found out they would be skating partners.

“I don’t know what to think,” Cassian answered honestly. “God only knows with that woman.”

Rhys hummed in agreement as Feyre skated up to them.

“Talking about my sister again?” She kicked her leg up on the boards, stretching out her muscles. But there was no hardness, no bitterness in her voice as she spoke. It was a general question.

“Any clue when she’ll be back?” Cassian asked.

When not if. Because it would take a hell of a lot more than just a discipline change to keep Nesta Archeron away from the ice.

But Feyre simply shook her head, switching her legs so she was facing away from them.

“No clue,” she called over her shoulder. “I doubt she’d tell me anyway.”

“So this is how we become National Champions, is it?”

Cassian glanced past Feyre. Rhys chuckled as Coach Suriel skated towards them, a coffee cup gripped in one hand. He was dressed head to two in black, making his already pale skin look corpse-like. His too-thin lips were pulled back in a teasing smile. Light green eyes - so light that from far away they appeared white - sparkled. His limbs were long and thin, head hairless, nose so small, the nostrils looked almost like slits. If you looked at Coach Suriel, you definitely didn’t think Olympic Champion.

But he was. He was the best of the best. Even though for years he had been in retirement, not coaching or even skating. Then, he found Feyre and Rhys. Both had just lost their skating partners. He saw something in them - or so he said - and took them under his wing. He forced them to work together even though they hated each other at the time. And now, they were the best Pairs team in the entire country.

“We just stand around chatting and National titles fall into our hands, do they?” Coach Suriel came to a stop in front of the threesome.

“If only it was that easy, Coach.” Rhys smiled as he wrapped his arm around Feyre’s shoulder, who was now standing upright.

“Yes, if only.” Coach took a sip of his coffee. “It would have saved me so much trouble last year, dealing with you two always being at each other's throats. Now say goodbye to Mr. Guerrero. We need to get to work. And I’m sure he does too.”

Rhys and Feyre said their goodbyes, making promises to meet up after practice to get something to eat. As they skated up the ice, Cassian turned only to find Coach Carver stepping onto the ice himself. Cassian grabbed his water bottle and took in a deep breath before skating to the end of the ice to meet him. Skating towards another useless-

He came to a complete stop, standing just a few feet away from Coach Carver.

Because there, stepping onto the ice, dressed in all black with her hair slicked back in its ever-present ponytail, was Nesta Archeron. He was shocked and confused as to why she was there. As to what had happened to get her to finally come back. But most of all, he was captured. Because she looked just as haunting and stunning as every other time Cassian set his eyes on her.

For the moment he met Nesta Archeron back when they were young and just starting out as skaters, she had taken over his mind. Whenever she was around, it was hard for Cassian to keep his eyes off of her. She was enchanting. She was a challenge, a worthy opponent if you will. He’d never had much trouble when it came to girls. But Nesta… Nesta was different. A tense breath of fresh air. An animal ready to strike if he poked her enough, pushed her buttons just right.

And damn him. Because no matter what, he couldn’t stop pushing those buttons. He couldn't stay away. Even if he’d wanted to.

Cassian mentally punched himself, yelling at himself to cut it out as he skated over to Coach Carver.

“Coach won't train me unless I’m skating with you,” Nesta said as a way of greeting, just as Cassian came to a stop next to her and Coach. Her arms were crossed over her chest, eyes hard. “And I need to place at Nationals this year. So, looks like I’m fucking stuck with you.”

The words cut a lot deeper than Cassian wanted to admit. To himself or to anyone else. But he put a smug smile on his face, eyes swimming with amusement as he watched Nesta narrow her eyes at him even more. An electric charge ran through him, a pull in the pit of his stomach.

“Good morning to you too, Nes.”

He knew she hated that nickname, but he couldn't help himself. He was sure that if it were possible, steam would have been coming out of her ears. He just couldn't help it. Pushing her buttons was just so much fun.

“I don’t want you two ripping each other apart before we even start,” Coach Carver spoke up from where he stood, just behind the boards. When Cassian looked, he swore he saw amusement shining in his eyes.

“Ms. Archeron.” Coach Carver turned his gaze to Nesta. “Remember. You’re on probation. For a very long time. I don’t tolerate my skaters throwing hissy fits and leaving the ice. So count your blessings that you’re even back, and if I were you, I’d watch that tongue of yours very carefully.”

There was a beat of silence. Cassian watched as Nesta clenched her jaw. Her eyes were like ice, brows pinched. After a moment, she gave one tight nod.

Coach Carver and Nesta continued to stare at eachother for a moment, having a silent conversation. Cassian could only guess that whatever they talked about before they stepped onto the ice really affected Nesta. Because she kept her mouth shut.

“Okay then.” Coach Carver placed his hands in his pockets, looking between both his skaters. “Seeing as you two already know each other, I see no point in wasting any more time. Go line up on the blue line.”

The sternness in Coach Carver’s voice had them both moving without question. Nesta turned with a flip of her hair, skating towards the blue line with Cassian trailing after her, more than happy to get away from Coach Carver - Cassian always felt the slightest bit of fear when he was around that man.

As they both came to a stop, side by side, Cassian could see Rhys and Feyre working on a new lift. They smiled and laughed as Feyre fell into Rhys’s arms, Coach Suriel shaking his head before telling them to go again.

They made it look so easy. The lifts, the jumps, the spins. The way they moved together, and told a story on the ice. The connection between them was as timeless as the night sky. A part of Cassian could only hope it would be that easy between him and Nesta.

The more rational part of him knew that would never going to happen.

“Okay.” Coach Carver skated up to them in full training mode. “Stand in Kilian hold.”

“Why?” Nesta raised a sharp eyebrow in question.

Cassian couldn't help but agree with her.

But Coach Carver just gave her a sharp sideways glance, lips pursed. It was clear that his patience was running very thin with her.

“Here.” Cassian reached out and took her left hand in his, pulling it across his body. Mainly to stop the fight that was sure to break out between the Coach and Nesta if they kept it up.

He felt Nesta tense up at his touch. Even more so when he brought his right arm around her to place his hand on her hip. She actually took the smallest step away from him. Cassian tried not to feel the sharp ping of hurt in his heart as she did so. But after a beat, when Nesta closed her eyes and took a breath through her nose, she placed her right hand on top of the one he had resting on her hip.

“Now what?” Cassian glanced up at Coach Carver, hyper-aware of the woman he was holding onto.

“I assume you both remember the Dutch Waltz.” Coach Carver’s voice was flat, almost bored.

Cassian couldn't help but blink in surprise. He heard Nesta mumble “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” next to him.

“You want us to skate the Dutch Waltz?” Cassian questioned. “The first dance you learn when you enter skating?”

“Correct, Mr. Guerrero.”

“It’s a dance for ten year olds.” Nesta’s voice was tight as she tried to stop herself from snapping.

“Then you both should find this very easy.”

“Why?” Cassian couldn't help but ask.

Coach Carver looked him up and down, staring intensely. Cassian didn’t think he’d ever get used to that look as fear shot through his body. Even if they were similar to the only kinds of looks his former coach - Coach Enalius - gave him.

Then, Carver’s gaze moved to Nesta. Then back and forth between the two. After a moment, Cassian wasn’t sure if he was even going to answer the question. If maybe he was just going to walk away.

“Why?” Coach Carver tilted his head, dark hair falling across his forehead. “Because you’ve never skated together before. You've never skated with anyone before. Did you honestly think I’d let you two, of all people, start throwing up lifts or doing side by side spins? With my luck, one of you would end up slitting the other’s throat with your blade. On purpose.”

For a moment, Cassian wanted to argue back. To say that wasn’t true. But he couldn't. Even Nesta stayed quiet at his side. Because they both knew that everything Coach Carver was saying was far from a lie.

“So we’re going to start off with the basics,” he continued. “And to get you both used to skating together-”

“We have to skate the Dutch Waltz.” There was venom in her voice as Nesta spoke through her clenched teeth.

“You catch on quick, Ms. Archeron.” Coach Carver nodded as he started to make his way towards the boards. He stepped up to the CD player they kept on the ice, which was hooked up to the rink speakers. “When the music begins, you can start.”

Cassian’s jaw locked. Once again, he was glad it was only Rhys and Feyre on the ice. Even though he knew Rhys would never let him live it down, doing such an easy dance at his skating level - it was embarrassing. Especially when he glanced towards the other end of the ice again, only to find Rhys lifting Feyre over his head.

Nesta’s body was tense against his. She was as far away from him as she could possibly be while still holding onto one another. Her gaze was fixed straight ahead, jaw clenched shut as the music started to play.

It was a jolly little tune, something a child would enjoy skating to. That thought clearly did little to make Cassian feel better.

He tried not to pay attention to Rhys and Feyre’s questioning stares. Or to the woman holding his hand. Or the fact that said hand was burning against her hip. Instead, he swallowed his pride. He counted out the beats to the music. Then, along with Nesta, they stepped forward with their left feet.

The dance was wrong from the start.

The steps were right. The hand positions were correct. But they were so stiff, so tense as they did such simple steps together, it all felt wrong.

They made it just one full time around the ice when Coach Carver stopped the music.

“Again,” was the only word out of his month.

“What was wrong with that?” Nesta spun around so fast, her hair almost slapped Cassian in the face. It was as if all the anger and tension she was holding in finally got the best of her. “We didn’t miss one single simple step!”

“No,” Coach Carver agreed, speaking slowly, as if he were talking to a five-year-old, “But you may as well have been skating with mannequins. Do you honestly think you’ll be able to pull off any pair moves if you’re both as stiff as boards?”

Nesta drew in a sharp breath, eyes closed. “This is so fucking pointless.”

“Perhaps, Ms. Archeron,” Coach Carver’s voice was as sharp as a knife. “But we will continue to do this dance until I say you can stop. I don’t care if it takes an hour or a week. So I suggest you get a move on.”

As much as Cassian didn’t like the idea of skating the dance, he knew Coach Carver meant every word. Therefore, before Nesta could say something to truly get her in trouble, he stepped forward.

“Come on, Nesta.” He reached forward and grabbed her upper arm, only to have her pull it out of his grasp.

“Don’t touch me,” she snapped at him, grey eyes swirling with a building storm.

At her tone, Cassian couldn't help but narrow his own eyes at her, blood racing through his veins.

“We’re skating partners now.” His voice was low as he spoke. “So not touching you is going to be pretty damn hard to do.”

The tension between them was so thick that Cassian could almost see it. But he kept his gaze locked with hers. He wanted her to know he wasn’t going to take it, being walked all over and snapped at. It wasn’t the Nesta Archeron show anymore. She wasn’t alone anymore. No, it was the two of them from then on. She was going to have to learn to accept that.

After the longest moment, Nesta took the smallest glide backwards, eyes made of ice.

She didn’t say anything, however. She didn’t say sorry or yell back at him. She simply skated back towards the blue line. Standing there, waiting with her head held high.

Taking in a long deep breath, Cassian glanced at Coach Carver once more before making his way over to Nesta, only one thought running through his mind:

This woman is going to be the death of me.

——————–

Note: The Dutch Waltz is one of the first figure skating dances you learn in Canada. It’s part of the Skate Canada program. Therefore I’m not 100% sure if it’s the same in the States or anywhere else in the world. So I’m sorry if this little bit of the story is incorrect to some people.

#whatever it takes #nessian #feysand #elriel #elucien #nesta archeron #cassian #feyre archeron #rhys #rhysand #elain archeron #Azriel #lucien #lucien vanserra #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfiction #acotar au #sarah j maas #figure skating au #hockey au

[athingofvikings]

A Thing Of Vikings Original Outline

Here’s my original outline for A Thing Of Vikings that I wrote up for NaNoWriMo 2016.  While some bits might look familiar--for obvious reasons--the outline only lasted until November 8th or so before my actual writing diverged from it and I had to send it to a happier place.  Keep in mind that I thought that I could actually write this in 100k word count (yeah, I know, but this was one of my first novel-scale writing projects in years).  As for the reason for the break from the outline, as my historical research got more and more in-depth, I came to realize just how flawed my understanding of the era’s political setup was, and I changed paths.  

Dating about 10th century; William the Conqueror is not yet in control of England, Berk is located in the British Isles, in the Hebrides archipelago.  King Cnut the Great is king over Denmark, Norway and England. HTTYD, late summer/early Autumn, 1041 CE Immediate aftermath of HTTYD; local dragons are domesticated (to greater or lesser extents); the Berk economy picks up a bit, with the whole “not having to constantly rebuild houses and defend flocks” aspect, plus the construction aid.  Hiccup and co are working to integrate the dragons as quickly as possible.  

Some traders show up, as Berk is one of the main places to get dragon parts (and word will start to spread as a result of the ship’s crews talking in other ports, later on), especially as they know that Dragon Training will have just culminated, meaning that there will definitely be dragon carcasses available for purchase.  They’re a bit surprised at the change.  Most people refuse to sell their personal dragons (and the main flock belongs to the Haddocks), although a few agree to sell for exorbitant prices; At least one of the Hooligans has written up a saga of “The Hero Of Berk: Dragon Champion” and is declaiming it to the sailors; Hiccup is humiliated, Astrid is deeply amused and has some sarcasm at Hiccup’s expense, while Snotlout feels overlooked and threatened

Stoick has specifically puts Hiccup on task to get the dragons rounded up, for the good of the tribe and for their own family.  Hiccup and co have been returning to the Dragon Nest to retrieve as many eggs as they can, and relocate them to Berk as part of their taming efforts.  People also have been scavenging as much of the Green Death’s scales and other parts that they can, as trophies or for sale, since the battle.  “I can’t believe all of these scales and bits survived”  “Well, as Hiccup pointed out, they’re no so fireproof on the inside, but the scales are on the outside.”  “Okay, yeah”.  

Hiccup, in particular, is overseeing the removal of the (still mostly intact) 20 foot tall Thagomizer, which requires the heavy lift of over three dozen dragons working together and using a special carry system that Hiccup devised in order to get it back to Berk; it gets back to Berk just as the traders arrive, creating more of an impression than intended.  Hiccup would just as soon have left the damn thing on the island, but Stoick has plans.

Hiccup, when the thagomizer touches down on Berk: “Finally.  We were running out of time before winter.” Astrid, “Yep.  It’s the tail end of the season.”  Hiccup does a double take at Astrid’s innocent expression, which cracks into a grin after a moment, and he groans.  They have a quick kiss before getting back to work. 

  Winter, year 0 Rumors spread, while Berk only makes it through the winter thanks to the efforts of the dragons, and Hiccup madly inventing away (sometimes with things blowing up in his face); gronkles make for great fireplace aids.   Dragons do not like flying in storms, though (excepting Tidal class).  But ice fishing is much easier when you can have dragons melt a hole in the ice and scare fish up into the nets.  

Snotlout and a few other hotheads go raiding other nearby villages for Highland Cattle in a cattle-raid, but do it extremely stealthily, and Stoick and Gobber don’t find out about it until the beef and mutton have already been consumed, and the neighbors have no idea what happened.  Stoick’s reaction basically boils down to “please at least tell me that no one saw you, I have enough headaches right now, but don’t do it again.”  

He doesn’t tell Hiccup, not seeing the point, and, besides, it would require getting the boy’s attention, which is fully occupied by Astrid,  Toothless and making stuff in the forge.  Gobber comments that the last time he tried to get Hiccup’s attention when he was focused and in the middle of something in the forge, Toothless dragged Gobber outside and set his shoe on fire.  Of course, a few minutes later, he heard a loud bang and Hiccup swearing, so maybe the dragon had a point.  Stoick laughs and comments that the dragon and the girlfriend have worked wonders on his son’s clumsiness.  “We haven’t had a mess since—” *BANG* *CRASH* rumblerumblerumble *CRACK* “Oh, I hurt, I am very much hurt!” *thud* … *crunch* *dink*. Gobber just looks at his chief innocently, who facepalms, looks skyward, and says “Miladies of the Norns, I live for your amusement.  Come, Gobber, let’s see what just happened.”  

Hiccup and Astrid have some fluffy scenes in the middle of the snow-covered landscape, especially at Yule (hair-braids; she excuses them as “getting your hair out of being burned away again”), interrupted by a dragon attacking Mildew (who provoked it), and who is now demanding that the beast be put down.  

A few of the village artisans are, with the help of some Gronkle construction teams, carving some of the other sea stacks around Berk into more statue-lighthouses, among other things, while Stoick has tamed Thornado.

We see word spreading from the crewmen in their winter ports; at least one person starts singing the Hero Of Berk, with some edits...  

Spring, year 0 Thawfest, shortly after the spring thaw; a few of the neighboring tribes, who have heard about the dragons, come in, with at least one group looking to steal a dragon

At least one group of idiots (lead by Snotlout) goes raiding on the Christian mainland on their dragons, for both prestige and loot; Snotlout is desperately trying to get together enough money to buy off the cost of his dragon from his father, who has made it abundantly clear that Hookfang is hostage to paying off Snotlout’s previous misbehavior.  

Hiccup and Astrid discussing the fact that many of the dragons are shedding their scales; Fishlegs finds a fact in one of his books that points out that this is normal for reptiles, just like the teeth that they also shed.  In the midst of the discussion, Snotlout’s raid comes back and there is much oohing and ahhing over the loot and Snotlout being “a proper Viking!”, with some of the villagers casting significant looks at Hiccup

Hiccup gets a bit depressed about not living up to the Viking ideal and how the dragons are (in his view) being misused.  Astrid proceeds to (gently, by her standards) pull him out of it.  By tossing him into some freezing cold water, and, when he’s a bit more lively, giving him a kiss.  “That’s for moping around like someone kicked Toothless.”  *drags out of water* *kiss*  “And that’s for being the person that you are.  So, now, what are you going to do about this?”

Hiccup puts a kibosh on dragon-mounted raids, emphatically, but neglects to add any teeth to the stricture, instead choosing to trust people to listen.  (It doesn’t work)

Meanwhile, Hiccup wants to A) be a dragon rider, B) spend time with Astrid, and C) not have to fight anybody, in that order.  (he and Astrid do conflict over Hiccup’s own pacifism as one of their main conflicts).  Astrid also wants A) to be a dragon rider, B) spend time with Hiccup, and C) prove her prowess to anyone that might doubt otherwise

Hiccup and the other dragon riders attempt to talk with some of the other local tribes; results are mixed (although Hiccup does get the idea of a dragon mail system when someone asks him to bring a package to the next tribe for their child there).  Snotlout is (unsuccessfully) hitting on every attractive unmarried woman within range of his age as they go.

Hiccup and Astrid have their first serious argument over this whole idea of going around and introducing dragons to the other tribes; she thinks that showing off the dragons will result in the other tribes reacting with fear and/or greed, and that they’ll think that Berk is trying to intimidate them (gunboat diplomacy style), while Hiccup thinks that the other tribes will react like Berk did once they find out that the dragons can be friendly.  The two end up shouting at each other in the disagreement and going to opposite sides of the group to sulk.  

The next morning, when the group wakes up, Hiccup, after having thought things over, comes over to apologize and say that he has an idea (the mail system) that could work to get people used to dragons and show that Berk is interested in working with the other tribes, rather than subjugating.  

Astrid accepts his apology, and notes that of course she wants to have things work out—but that you have to work towards your goal, not just vaguely hope that they’ll end up that way because you think that they will.  She’ll explicitly compare it to Hiccup’s efforts in the forge; “people are like axes”.  “Come again?  Sharp and you like to throw them into trees?”  “No…” she comparing it to her ax or Toothless’ harness—he had to pound them into shape with fire and hammer, and keep going back and refining them, and sharpen them when they get dull or wear out, rather than just going “oh, that’s good enough.  And, if you don’t keep it up, then the ax isn’t sharp for when you need it.”  Hiccup, looking at that line of thought, is somewhat speechless for a few minutes, but manages to get out a “dear gods, I’m so lucky.”  “And don’t you forget it.  One of your biggest problems, Hiccup, is that you kept doing exactly that—going out without thinking, which is where you’re strongest, and hoping, expecting! your intentions, and not your brains, to make it work.  *snort*  Toothless’ tail was the first time where you couldn’t get away with doing that and leaving someone else to clean up the mess, so you had to keep trying until you got it right.”

Hiccup is somewhere between mush and a puddle and feeling rather naked by the end of it, where Astrid goes “So, now, you have this other idea. That’s great, and I’m not joking.  I want to hear every single bit that you’ve thought of,” she smirks, “and then I’m going to chop it to pieces.  I’m going to keep asking ‘what if this happens, or that happens’ until it falls apart.  And then you’re going to put it back together.  And we’ll keep doing that.  Your job is to build something that I can’t take to pieces or bend out of shape.  Got it?”  Hiccup nods, and walks off to Toothless in a daze.  “Dat da dah, I’m dead.”  Ruffnut “Yeah, you’ll actually have to use your brain enough to keep her happy.”  Tuffnut *snort* “It’s probably the only way he can keep her happ *small plasma blast* Oh, I hurt, I very much hurt!”

Summer, year 0 Hiccup is going on a mad inventing spree (especially heavy-lift harnesses for the mail system that is still an idea in his head); Astrid helps, mostly as a test subject (amusing injuries resulting on occasion).  Entertaining scene with him going through his growth spurt and going through new legs every week or two; have him get up from his seat and stumble, and Astrid quips “Did you grow another inch since you sat down?”  “Yeah, well, clearly my body decided to put all of the effort towards growing out the one leg instead of both.”  Hiccup, being at the clumsy stage of teenaged boy-hood, with his body growing out all over the place, and having the “talking with his hands” aspect, knocks over something that shouldn’t be knocked, and he and Astrid have to hit the deck.

Astrid, for her part, is supervising experiments with different ways of prepping/preserving food for the dragons to see what they like best, although is not doing the cooking herself (much to the gratitude of the dragons, as her horrible cooking skills is something that both Stormfly and Toothless will deliberately exaggerate for comedic effect).  She finds that, contrary to Hiccup’s expectations (that they’ll prefer roasted or smoked), that the general draconic preference is for pickled, vinegar-brined and/or fermented  meat (either fish or fowl, with beef or mutton being distant third preferences).  Since the fish doesn’t have to be fresh, this will help for getting through the winter (although some people question the dragons’ taste in liking rotten fish soaked in spoiled beer).  Stormfly, in particular, is noted as liking pickled and roasted chicken, with rosemary.  Hiccup says that she’s spoiling her dragon, with a smile.  

Comedic scene with veritable pack of dragons following the farmers harvesting the dragon-nip grass with wide-eyed innocent expressions that fool nobody.  

Introduction of one of Astrid’s ideas that Hiccup implemented—a dragon batting toy stuffed with dragon-nip.  Amusing hijinks ensue—to the point where the toy is banned from the housing area of the village as a result of the collateral damage.  Astrid ends up hanging it from the top of the cage in the dragon arena, where it has to be replaced weekly.  

Pretty much all of the other remaining Norse chieftains, along with the Irish petty kings and Scottish clansmen, have heard about Hiccup’s dragon-taming and dragon-battle by now, and are suitably impressed, and reacting with respect, fear, hostility, or greed as their individual temperaments allow; some were more skeptical, but a few circulating Green Dragon scales (complete with associated char) were convincing (Gobber hasn’t helped, either, as he has literally embellished a few of the scales with scenes from the Green Dragon Fight).   The respectful chiefs are in understandable awe, and will treat Berk as a senior warrior would be by a neophyte, often sending tribute.  

The fearful chiefs will react in a variety of ways, being afraid of being conquered by the Dragon Lord/King/Conqueror/Chief to voluntarily offering vassalage (rare, but it does happen at least once, despite Viking “stubbornness issues”; Stoick will turn it down, grumbling that the other chief just wants Stoick to do his job for him).  

The hostile chiefs will overlap a bit with the fearful chiefs, and view Berk with suspicion, that now that Berk is not tied up in dealing with dragon pests, they’ll invade other people in their now-spare time, either for vassals or just for loot, while the greedy chiefs… well, they just want dragons for themselves.  

how to handle in story without going to Weber-esque bloat; every so many chapters, introduce a new chief reacting to Hiccup’s accomplishments; using this method allows for easy inclusion of the Christian lords’ reactions without drawing attention to them; go with one chief reacting in each method, then move onto the Christians

first chief to get this treatment will be an Irish chieftain who will be hearing a mildly embellished verse of “The Dragon Rider Of Berk” from an itinerant bard, who are both impressed and terrified at the idea of someone badass enough to not only beat but tame a Night Fury.  At the end, the fili notes to the bard that the verse was short, and the bard nods, but notes that he’s working on fixing that.  The chief makes a note to send a representative to Berk, with tribute.

Early autumn, 1 year since HTTYD Hiccup and others have now spent a whole year with the dragons, and are writing up their observations in the new dragon book; he also has a talk with Snotlout about the raids (after Snotlout comes back with a cow in each of Hookfang’s claws), and Snotlout promises not to (a promise that he later breaks without thinking)

Hiccup and Fishlegs work on polishing routes for the dragon mail; there is training people in navigational tools by Stoick and Gobber; the twins end up poking themselves in the eyes with theirs, and Snotlout manages to get a reading that puts him near the Equator.  Hiccup and Astrid have extreme degrees of fluffiness and teh cute, such that Snotlout complains.

The new version of Dragon Training debuts: dragon rider training; instead of killing dragons, graduates have to bond with and successfully ride a dragon of their choice; if they succeed at a series of challenges, they get to keep the dragon.  This dragon is from the Haddock flock, which Hiccup has been pushing for on several counts (let the other villagers handle them and the costs (especially over the winter), while maintaining control over the main supply, also the economic boost from having villagers getting access to dragons of their own—but in a way that, essentially, indoctrinates them to Hiccup’s methodology—which will be important when they need riders for the Dragon Mail.  

There is some murmuring of discontent from the older villagers, as the old way of dragon killing had significant incentive aside from the prestige: the carcass of the dead dragon would belong to the new graduate, which would act as prize money, and, being an adult now, would often be significant help for a household, very often either as a dowry or bride price; the Hofferson clan were and are a wealthy clan because of their prowess at killing dragons, hence why Astrid was so vehement about dragon training—family tradition as well as being the sort of thing that would let her have a degree of independence from her family, economically speaking.  Hiccup is hoping that the new way will take hold quickly, but knows that there will be an incentive for slaughter over livestock.  

Since the Hooligans are a dying tribe, there are only six children taking the new Dragon Training course, and Stoick has put the kibosh on anyone starting at a younger age.

Harvest festivals—with dragons!  (the rep from the Irish chief is present, and is in awe); a bunch of the local artisans have finished working on their projects of bone carving, tooth carving, and scale embellishment and present them to the chief.  Hiccup is less than amused by some of the embellishments (in the poetic sense) to his physique, while Astrid is appreciative; this results in a degree of argument between the two of them, and Astrid apologizes after Hiccup gets himself hurt by attempting to compensate.

Winter, year 1 Deep irony scene, of Stoik and Hiccup, along with Gobber and Astrid, discussing how Berk’s economy is sad (”almost depressed”) at present; the initial flurry of sales of pieces of the dragon queen is over, and they have no carcasses to sell, meaning that they have no additional income at the moment; some traders have shown up trying to buy Hiccup-trained dragons, but he won’t sell, and the Hooligans have learned that getting replacements of their own from Hiccup will be difficult.  

Meanwhile everyone is looking at them like they’re about to start wildly conquering their neighbors on dragonback, and the idiots who did go a-viking are a few hotheaded glory hounds interested in shiny loot, personal glory, and pretty women more than they’re interested in ruling anybody (although Snotlout, again, is being a braggart and a few people are thinking about making him into a figurehead).  They’re also having problems with poachers—just a few, and nobody’s been successful yet (because, hey, dragons), but the Hooligans are itching for a good fight, and things are getting tense.

Tensions lead to some rather epic brawls at Yule; the dragons end up taking sides with their riders, which results in problems, and Hiccup has to put his foot down

The hatchery has outgrown its original space, and Hiccup is using whispering death dragons and gronkles to tunnel out more as quickly as possible, as well as expanding dragon quarters in the main island area.

One other chief attempts a surprise attack over the winter, thinking that the dragons will be hibernating; the attack gets its ass kicked (by the aforementioned itching Hooligans); this’ll be the intro for the greedy/hostile chief reaction.

Spring, year 1 Hiccup starts his Dragon Express mail system, and starts exporting what things he can safely milk and sheer from the dragons (shed scales, skin, and teeth, gas and saliva, etc), which starts making Berk into an economic powerhouse; more and more traders show up; Fishlegs, being the detail-oriented person that he is, is put in general charge of the business and production ends.  

Someone tries to hijack the dragon mail pretty much immediately, targeting Hiccup (not recognizing Toothless as a Night Fury and thinking that the “cripples” will be easy targets).  It doesn’t end well for the thieves, given that they were trying to capture a Night Fury and its very inventive rider.

Summer, year 1 Hiccup and Astrid barely see each other for over a month, they’re both so busy delivering messages; at this point, Toothless and Stormfly have a small mutiny and strand their riders up on a tall sea stack for some alone time; the two hop over to another sea stack nearby, like a pair of cats making sure that their owners can see that they’re being ignored.  The pair, after an initial degree of irritation, have a wonderful heart-to-heart session, along with some makeouts and cuddling.  Prior to the mutiny, Gobber has a small scene where Toothless and Stormfly come to him with a basket and basically play charades in trying to explain what they want him to do with it (I.e. fill it with food for their riders for them to hide on the sea stack)

Another chief’s reaction; having seen the dragons and their riders, and seen the carved dragon tooth with the battle against the Green Death on it), he’s pretty sure that Stoick is plenty more powerful than his own tribe, and offers his vassalization to Stoick.  (Stoick turns it down, firmly, noting that the other tribe is in Norway, and all this will accomplish is forcing him to spend resources and time on the other man’s problems)

In the aftermath of the fluff, some angst; Astrid’s mother takes Astrid aside when she gets home and asks, straight up, if this is more than a childhood infatuation.  Astrid is confused, but nods and says that, yes, she wouldn’t have been with him for a year and a half if she wasn’t serious about it.  Her mother nods, but says that children always think that it is serious, and with the two of them being dragon riders, it could have been just that, and asks some questions to determine, for herself, if the love is true, to be absolutely sure.  When the questions are affirmative, her mother gets very serious, and points out that Astrid almost certainly won’t get to marry Hiccup; he’s the chief’s son, meaning that he has keep the prospects for marriage alliances open from the other tribes, and she heard an offer arrived this morning.  

She lets Astrid absorb that for a moment before continuing.  While she would adore a love-match between her daughter and the next chief, Stoick has to be pragmatic, and Hiccup isn’t in charge of the purse strings of the coin of his marriage bed, especially now that tensions are mounting, thanks to Snotlout’s provocations and Hiccup’s spreading reputation. “Do you know what it means when a dozen different Viking chiefs all send tribute to the same chief?  It means that they’re either scared of him, or are trying to soften him up for a bargain that will benefit them—or both.  And the best bargain that they’re all going to want is their daughter in that house, with a grandson as soon as possible to cement the ties.”

That being said, any non-local “peace-weaver” would be a political marriage, and probably a loveless one, meaning that Hiccup will almost certainly turn to her for companionship.  Meaning that she would end up being a concubine, and her children, if any, wouldn’t be able to inherit.  Normally, Astrid would be forbidden by her clan from taking that course, as they’re of high status themselves, but being the close confident of the first dragon rider and the future chief of the village, well, that is not a normal situation.  

Astrid is… less than happy in the face of her mother’s analysis.  Her mother, being a bit more stoic on it, basically asks her daughter if that is something she would be willing to deal with; an empty bed, divided time, and resentment from the mother of the next chief, but a whole heart, and maybe the potential for a loving marriage when the requirements of the political marriage have been fulfilled and Hiccup can divorce.  Would she be willing to wait?  Is her love for him worth it?  Astrid, in tears at this point, sits for a long moment, and her mother gets up and leaves, telling her to think on it, but that, if she decides to stay with Hiccup, she has the support of the clan, and this decision is for herself, not for her family.  

Snotlout, being on one of the mail routes (Monstrous Nightmares being one of the faster, higher-capacity dragons, although Hiccup had a devil of a time making fireproof mail satchels), decides to take a moment to do a tiny little raid on a monastery that is in his path, not really thinking about the backlash, just pretty loot.  And, hey, look, it fits in the mail satchels!

Autumn, year 2 Fishlegs reports on Berk’s economic situation at the end of the harvest; things are going phenomenally, and comments that they’re pulling in money at rates to make Draupnir jealous.  If they continue this way, the village will be even better off than when they were selling dragon carcasses.  Hiccup makes the explicit comparison between sheepskin and wool.  

Astrid is abusing trees with her ax again, but hasn’t told Hiccup what her mother said.  Hiccup joins her, and probably makes her some more axes.  His form is terrible, and Astrid teaches him a bit on the fine art of ax throwing, reflecting to herself that, yeah, she would rather have him a bit than not at all.  

A few people sneak onto Berk to try their hand at Dragon-rustling, and manage to poach some of the more tame dragons, which are missed the next time the flock comes in for feeding, resulting a search; a few of the dragons return of their own accord for food, while a few others are gone completely.  

Rumors and legends are reaching the Christian lands in greater numbers, from raids and stories from the merchants; Hiccup would be embarrassed by the exaggerations—and, yes, his battle with the Red Death (or Green Death) is being topped in story, sometimes with it being two giant dragons, one green, one red, and him riding a black beast.  A few of the painted scales and carved teeth from Berk are being passed around as proof.  (The baron looked closer at the statue, and it twisted in his mind, and he realized what he was looking at.  “That… that is a tooth.  A tooth as tall as a man.”)

Winter, year 2 At Yule, Stoick has a big announcement to the entire tribe, and Astrid’s heart plummets, given that there are a few representatives from other tribes in the hall.  Hiccup pulls her aside, and, heart breaking, she goes with him, expecting him to tell her that they won’t be together, that his father is marrying him off to someone else.  Instead, Hiccup proposes to her.  Stunned, she babbles a bit, pointing out is turning down some significant negotiating power.  Hiccup says that he and Stoick already turned those offers down, and that he wants her, his friend, his partner, the person who makes his heart sing, and who will happily pull him out of a funk and into ice water when its needed—if she’ll have him.  She accepts, and a date is set for next spring.  The two of them reenter the mead hall in time to hear Stoick announce that he is convening an Althing of the  chiefs to discuss the dragons, and, with a thumbs-up from Hiccup, that his son is going to be getting married.  The hall erupts into applause.  

Another Christian lord hears of Hiccup’s tale, and is immediately worried, especially hearing of it through a Christian lens that views dragons as demonic/infernal

Astrid confronts Snotlout for his viking raids.  “Is this some kind of a joke to you?  We just ended one war; what are you doing, trying to start another?”

Spring, year 2 Stoick uses the income from the Dragon Express to push for an Althing, as a summit among the other neighboring tribes, especially when he realizes that many of them are simply not trusting the Dragon Express mail; he sends out his invitations in the traditional way (via ship), despite Hiccup’s beliefs otherwise. Hiccup and Astrid get married; Hiccup, rather than disturb his ancestors’ sleep, forges his own new family blade—which can burst into dragon-fire.  Gobber is very proud of his apprentice, while Stoick, having seen the blade already, is still somewhat incredulous at his genius son.  “Gobber, I tell ye, one of these days, a bunch of dwarves are going to tunnel up into that hatchery down there and say that Odin has another commission, or that they need help reforging Gleipnir, and ask if they can borrow Hiccup.”  Gobber laughs.  “Yea, but if they turn up in the next month, Astrid will say ‘no’ and chop off their heads, Ragnarok or no.” A Christian lord hears of the Althing, and begins planning out of fear

Summer, year 2 After a great deal of negotiation, the date for the Althing is set for the following year (to allow for provisions to be gathered and for travel time).  Stoick has to essentially bribe a few other chiefs to come by paying for their provisions, and the dragon riders are kept extremely busy delivering messages.  During this time, internal and external tensions within Berk and between the other tribes mount a bit; the detractors call the mail system Ratatoskr (after the squirrel that lives in Yggdrasil and carried malicious messages back and forth between Nidhogg and Vedrfolnir)

Autumn, year 3 One of the tribal chieftains that was hoping to get Stoick’s son married off to his own daughter tries an attack of opportunity against Astrid when she comes by to drop off mail.  She manages to escape, but both Astrid and Stormfly are badly hurt, and barely survive the return flight to Berk. Stoick, Hiccup, Astrid and an honor guard return shortly to confront the tribe; Stoick wants to burn the place to the ground, but is holding himself in check, but it is hard when the other chieftain claims insult, that they would send the woman that he married his son off to to their tribe and not expect to see it as a taunt?  Stoick growls, and challenges the other man to the holmgang, and, when the other man protests, Stoick basically says that he can either die in the ring or when Hiccup and Toothless finish burning the place to the ground, but he attacked Stoick’s daughter in law and his son’s wife, and they arm-wrestled to see who got first dibs, and they should be grateful that Hiccup lost.  But the other man acted dishonorably, and no one will question the righteousness of Stoick killing him.  

Winter, year 3 Snotlout, egged on by the attention and his own ego (and lack of long-term planning) goes on another raid, along with several others.  This time, he kidnaps a woman for his wife.

When he gets back, Hiccup tells him to stop and to let the woman go; this escalates to the point where there’s a formal challenge to be the dragon marshal of Berk (a position that Hiccup holds by default).  

It’s agreed to be the best of three challenges; first, the two have a race, which (despite some attempts at cheating by Snotlout’s supporters), Hiccup wins handily.  Snotlout then gets to pick the next challenge, a duel, and Astrid steps in as Hiccup’s champion.  Astrid kicks his ass, although it is a very close fight—he’s the better fighter of the two of them by a slim margin (mostly due to size and musculature, rather than strict skill, and she’s still healing from her wounds), and they both fight dirty, but she fights dirtier.  , knocking Snotlout back into a subservient position and having the woman go free; Hiccup and Astrid escort her home.

Construction of more dragon-related infrastructure continues

Spring, year 3 Preparations for the Althing; Stoick sends off other Hooligans to prepare the site of the Althing; Timberjacks and Gronkles are sent with their riders.  

Summer, year 3 The Althing Finally, the Althing arrives; Stoick, in an effort to placate the paranoia of his fellow chieftains, agreed to hold the conclave in a place other than Berk (”you expect us to walk into the dragons’ lair and talk terms with the beasts?”) Some representatives of persecuted Norse in the now Christianized Scandinavia also manage to come, as well as a few tribes that are culturally Norse but religiously Christian; 

“Didya hear what happened to the last fool who claimed insult against me son for marrying for love?  *snort*  Besides, unless me brains and fingers aren’t working right, there are a few dozen of you in here, and Hiccup here couldn’t exactly marry all your daughters to be peaceweavers.”  (Astrid very quietly has a fit of giggles while Hiccup turns bright red while the chiefs all start shouting)  “So, lets say that he had married any one of yours?  Then one of you gets the alliance that you are all hoping for, and then I have the rest of you still claiming insult, plus being worried about Berk and the other tribe ganging up on you.”  THUMP  “Think about it.  Ye all are better off with him and her up there, and ye all have reason to keep it that way. As for me, well, I’m not going to pick favorites or treat any of ye lot special.  We’re here to talk about the future, not the past, and my son’s marriage is the past.  You want the future?  How’s this—send your younger children and grandchildren to my son to foster, and you’ll get back dragon riders when they come of age.”  Hiccup looks at his father in panic, while Astrid’s jaw drops open, as Stoick continues. “You have it on my word of honor that they’d be treated with kindness and understanding, and, besides, raising them couldn’t be worse than raising Hiccup here by me lonesome,” (”Thanks, dad”) “and they’d all know each other, so—” “So your boy there can put on a crown?  How does us giving you hostages keep us from getting attacked by dragon riders from Berk!?” “Because my son will be training them and working with them.  Their safety will be on my honor, and if I lost my mind and attacked anyone—” “Like the [tribe that attacked Astrid]” “He attacked my kin, he tried to kill my son’s wife!  And, even with that provocation, I kept it to the Holmgang and didn’t claim his tribe as my spoils, even though I could have, easily, by the laws of the holmgang,” 

A bunch of Christian lords, fearful of the dragon-riders now raiding their homes, hear of the Althing and, fearing a united Norsedom riding dragons, attempt to attack the Althing, having scraped together as large a force as they could manage of knights and levies, totaling a few thousand, maybe ten thousand on the top side.  They nearly get spotted by the teens a few times when out riding on dragonback, but the kids aren’t actively scouting and are on tight leashes to the Althing (if anything, they lead the Christians, who are otherwise lost, to the right place).  The Christians are aiming for a decapitatory strike, especially at the dragon riders, which they view as the biggest threat, but are also interested in wiping out as many of the pagans as they can.  Snotlout gets himself captured in the resulting battle, along with Hookfang, due to sheer incompetence, but the Christians retreat, having killed some warriors and a few chiefs, but are repulsed by dragonfire, with Toothless and Stormfly making particular note of themselves. Hiccup is horrified, while Astrid is taken aback at how unprepared for facing dragons the Christians were (mistaking internal tensions between the loosely allied armies for lack of martial prowess, plus being much more hardened against dragonfire by virtue of being a Hooligan). 

Astrid and Hiccup attempt an ill-considered rescue mission and damn near get themselves, and Toothless and Stormfly, killed, because the Christians learned from their mistakes (and have been torturing Snotlout for information) and because they’re facing a single foe in an entrenched position as opposed to someone in an open battlefield.  Hiccup, while bandaging the dragons’ wounds, sarcastically comments that he’s not a very good viking; his first attempt at a raid, and look.  

Stoick, meanwhile, is trying to ride herd on the Althing and the cries for vengeance and conquest, but ultimately fails, and internal tensions between the Norse and the Christians tribes also results in problems, as the “old custom” looks at the “new custom” with suspicion.  He gets delivered an ultimatum by the war faction—teach them how to ride dragons, or else.  He refuses.  

One of the warmongering chiefs tries to have his thanes kidnap Hiccup for information on how to train dragons, with the aim of mustering a force and forging an empire of his own.  Astrid intervenes—aggressively, and angrily, and beats off the kidnappers (with help from Hiccup and Toothless), and challenges the chief to the holmgang on Hiccup’s behalf (as the aggrieved party)

Hiccup takes the moment to try to push through peace, and gets his chance to take a peace offer to the Christian lords, with the explicit statement from the other chiefs that if they turn it down, they will happily go aviking.

Hiccup gets rebuffed and attacked, and only manages to get away with Snotlout and Hookfang by sheer dumb luck and help from the other dragon riders Meanwhile, the Christians have been learning how to tame dragons, although they’re taking a very different approach than Hiccup’s methods; instead of partners, the dragons are slaves.  With great reluctance, Hiccup starts training en masse Viking dragon riders, musing that there’s no going back after this—the knowledge is out there, or can be redeveloped.  

#a thing of vikings #writing

[brookeandrylee]

Chapter Sixteen

Rylee felt her fingers brush against hers and she grabbed back at them absentmindedly. She had stoped thinking at that point and just wanted to have a good time.

The two walked into the bar, showing their IDs to the bouncer. “Let’s get a seat at the bar,” Ry said, leading her towards the counter. “I’ll have a sex on the beach, but only since you’re the one buying,” she smirked, leaning on the counter.

Brooke laughed and ordered her drink as well as two shots of tequila and a gin and tonic. The bartender was back with the drinks quickly, he gave a polite smile before assisting other customers.

She pushed one of the shots towards Rylee and grinned, lifting the tequila into the air. “To pretty girls?” She asked with a smile.

“To pretty girls.” Ry smiled, taking Brooke’s glass and throwing the shot back, and quickly chasing it with her mixed drink.

“So Brooke, tell me, where’d you go to school?” Ry said, smiling and brushing Brooke’s ankle with her foot as she swung herself back and forth in the swivel chair.

Brooke took her shot easily, licking her lips and grinning devilishly before turning to answer Rylees query. “Oh! Well I grew up in Maine, I went to primary through high school there. Afterwards I decided to study undergrad out of state, I went to the university of Phoenix in Arizona. I loved it there, that’s where I fell in love with the idea of being a professor actually, I studied literature and communications, dropped the lit part for my masters which I also received there. Now I’m working on my PhD online through Columbia in New York. I get to go to the city sometimes for seminars and labs and stuff which has been amazing.” She paused to sip on her drink, then followed up with “what about you? What made you want to come here and study?”

Ry watched Brooke take the shot so easily, impressed and moderately insecure. She sipped her drink as Brooke talked, but she never took her eyes off of her.

“Oh, well, nothing in particular, I guess.” Ry said, thinking about all the reasons she might have picked to come here.

“I went to community college before coming here, I have an associate’s degree in Human Resources which is....well, probably the most useless thing I’ve done in my life,” Ry said, forcing a laugh.

“I decided I wanted to get into publishing, so I’m getting my degree in English and I have plans on getting a master’s degree in publishing. Or writing. Or editing... I guess I haven’t really put that much thought into it, even though I graduate in the spring.” Ry said, her voice getting quiet. She hoped Brooke didn’t realize that she was a senior taking a 100 level class.

“Anyways, sorry, shots make me ramble,” she giggled, trying to change the subject. “I guess I wanted to come here because I wanted to be far enough away from home that I could finally be on my own. Going to community college, you don’t really get that. But I wanted to be able to see Emma on some weekends and drive home for breaks. This school had good reviews for my major and was a 2 1/2 hour drive away. So this is where I landed.” Ry smiled, thinking about getting to see Emma for fall break. She hoped that she’d be able to come visit sooner, but sometimes it didn’t work out.

“But what about you Brooke?” Ry asked, taking another sip. “Why did you decide to come here?”

Brooke listened intently as she finished off her first drink, she motioned to the bartender and had another relatively quickly.

“Don’t apologize, I did ask after all” she chuckled, stirring her drink with the straw absentmindedly.

“I get what you mean about the semi independence, it’s nice to be close enough to come home but far enough away to figure things out and still have a safety net.” Her head started to bob subtly to the heavy bass pounding through the floor.

“I don’t really know why I picked this place if I’m being honest, I had never even visited the college when I accepted the position. I had an offer back home at my undergrad, but I didn’t want to have to see the people I grew up with constantly, I have no real ties keeping me there, all my brothers live out of state. We get together maybe three or four times a year, if we can manage. But they all have families now so things aren’t as easy as they used to be”

She took another sip before adding “I really like it here though, I’m lucky to have gotten the job and to be working in such a cool field where I can do research and publish and teach. If you ever need help with making decisions about majors and grad school just let me know, I had a really hard time and wish I had had someone to just bounce ideas off of.” She gave her a cute smile and took a sip.

Ry sipped her drink slowly, smiling as Brooke finished off hers and asked for a second.

“I thought I said I was going to pay for that!” Ry said, playfully grabbing at Brooke’s drink, but letting her keep it.

“It’s not really that I need ideas to bounce off,” she started. “It’s just that I wish I had someone to just tell me what to do. I don’t even know how to be a publisher. Or where to start. I don’t know how I can be expected to make so many decisions about my life without even trying them first, ya know?” Ry explained. She didn’t realize that she held so many uncertainties about her future, but talking to Brooke just felt...easy.

“You said your brother’s all have their own families?” Ry asked, taking a drink. “Who’s you’re family, Brooke?”

[cryptnus-blog]

Compliance Is The New Black

New Post has been published on https://cryptnus.com/2018/05/compliance-is-the-new-black/

Compliance Is The New Black

Visiting home is always good. I arrived at the Heathrow airport for my flight to Helsinki in a very smooth state of mind listening to the Bad Crypto Podcast ep that had just come out. This soon changed as I left the to-be-exhibited 2/12 Gold edition of ‘Fork and Flip’ in the men’s bathroom. This became apparent only after having checked in my bag and having gone through security. Luckily I was there early so had time to sweat buckets for two hours running around asking airport staff to help me find it – which they eventually did. Big ups for the Heathrow crew for that!

The Blockchain and Bitcoin Conference Finland on May 25h was a surprise in some ways. Finns are notorious for their stance towards obeying societally set rules. There is even a TV series about them as there are simply too many. The thing about rules is that they don’t necessarily solve the problem. Sometimes they just create one. This A to B example is of a Helsinki restaurant where the customers are forced to ask the restaurant staff to carry their drinks to the terrace. It is because of the ‘sidewalk alcohol legislation’ about the in-between space.

People actually do it too.

Due to this, the atmosphere of the country is not generally quick to adopt controversial innovations like blockchain fast, so the event was a much more ‘flying under the radar’ deal than the international scene usually is. The attendance number at a 150 was something that could have been expected elsewhere in early 2017. The local and international speakers were on point, the scene and setting were great but only half the seats were filled. This did not prevent the passion from being felt by those present. It was also good to see the politician Annina Ruottu attending the event. This kind of forward thinking in the political sphere is uncommon.

There are of course many positive sides to this as well from getting bank accounts fast to trusting the time arrival of public transport. The place is mostly well organized for sure. Wallets left on tables are often returned money inside to those blissfully walking away. The very clean air/water are a bonus too coming from London let alone Cairo or similar. The social well-being safety net built in the boom of 80’s and the health care system is in a real crisis (personal experience) but a general spirit of honesty and truthfulness still bind people together. For creative and entrepreneurial people who like to challenge the status quo and innovate, this frequency leaves very little breathing space. Add high taxes and very little sunlight throughout the year to the above and you get an interesting mix. This is why you need Sisu.

As I had an exhibition booth, I missed many of the presentations of the day but was offered a chance to be on stage. The one I caught before presenting my 5-minutes of ‘creativity on the blockchain’ pitch was by Stefano Virgilli. Stefan is the CEO at VOX.sg Advisory Singapore with stunning resume from the financial world. What was most impressive to me, however, was his close to hundred certificates from Adobe. The depth of knowledge this guy has on key software for my creativity is unrivaled anywhere in the world. His no BS attitude and presentation was a breath of fresh air about ICO’s. The other cool gent I had the privilege of hanging out with turned out to become an inspirational figure regarding the birth of the “Compliance is the new black’ art piece.

Zachary Reece is implementing an ambitiously and carefully put together a vision for a coming full-service investment institution, Lotus Investment Strategies. Some people’s presence is simply impossible to ignore and this guys energy was infectious. Some of the stuff he was telling me about self-directed brokerage accounts, managed products, and precious metal solutions as a ‘one-stop super shop’ flew over my head but I know when someone has their thing together and are driven to succeed through helping others. Below both of these gents and on his knee, my friend Sampsa Fabritius, a pragmatic utopian, are doing their thing by the AFC booth. I’m proud to call them all my friends now.

During the final conference panel, emotions got heated in between an audience member and the panelist Zachary. The point of conflict was about whether Bitcoin should be left alone to figure out its own regulation or if it was something absolutely necessary for mass adoption via some consumer protection. ‘Regulation is coming so get ready’ was the general view of the panel as well that at least some were necessary. No one was about to just roll over though and everyone knows the banks, as well as government, are ultimately going to lose a lot of power through this innovation. Andreas Antonopoulos, in one of his most popular lectures, put it simply as:” Bitcoin allows individuals to start behaving like how the multinational companies are already behaving.”

“Compliance Is The New Black” art piece

During this interesting and sometimes temp rising debate, Anu Honkalinna from Nestholma blurted out:’ Compliance is the new black’ which got a laugh. Regulation is hot as the topic refused to step aside. No one can stop the blockchain tide so avoiding unnecessary conflict through compliance is healthy. There have been plenty of scams to write home about. The debate is tricky though, as in some ways it is the light bulb asking the candle for approval.

All of a sudden, when talking about crypto, many people talk like Wall Steet and the government has a flawless track record of honorable conduct and somehow have it all together in comparison to crypto. No FIAT, of course, has big volatility and everything in Venezuela is hunky dory. It is illegal there now to report someone as having starved to death, so it doesn’t really happen. The Unchained episode with Jesse Powell, CEO of Kraken, is a perfect example of compliance requirements being about shady tactics by the status quo.

If at this point you would like to hear one of the most in-depth interviews regarding my art, blockchain, society, and spirit I can recommend this podcast recorded on the last day of the trip with my longtime friend Robert J Janetzko. I was very impressed with what he has put together with this show in a short amount of time and this guy has a story of his own too.

There are many points in this I’ve been unable to express elsewhere. Admittedly, there were a few things that were a bit too ‘rant rabbit hole’. Call it ICO incongruency fatigue and sustained art world damage. It was good to shake off some old dust and the ep does illustrate well why my outlook is not necessarily compatible with current Finnish mindset regulation. Most topics, of course, are in positive forward motion, in an attempt to propel the conversation about our collective future forward.

The whole thing left me feeling very grateful that I could once again go home for a bit, enjoy the phenomenal summer weather, the crypto event feels, friends, family, and the ever-punctual tram line.

The most valuable thing though was my 92-year grandmother making me gluten-free pancakes on Sunday with her shaking hands. She learned how to do them as she got to know I had become allergic to wheat. That kind of value? You can’t buy with FIAT nor crypto.

V E S A Crypto Artist