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jakesimfromstatefarm · 3 years

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how to fake date your best friend | jake sim

✰ summary: the rules were simple -

pretend to be the boyfriend of you, his best friend who wants the attention of their crush, for a week and a week only

no kissing (bc gross cooties amirite) allowed, unless needed in times of desperate measure

and no matter what, absolutely, most definitely, do not fall in love.

simple, right?

well apparently not. because news flash––jake's already broken one of the rules.

and to give you a hint, it's neither rule 1 or 2.

✰ pairing: jake sim x y/n [ft. members of enha!]

✰ genre: fluff, comedy | fakingdating!au, highschool!au, bestfriend!au, friends to lovers

✰ warnings: cursing, high-schoolers doing dumb highschool things, underage drinking (pls don’t actually do any of this irl), jake being a certified simp, it’s LONG (i’m so sorry), cheesy kithes bc im a sucker for kithes ( ˘ ³˘)♥

✰ wc: a whopping 9.5k

✰ a/n: it’s finally finished :’)))))) it ended up being much longer than i wanted but i had so much fun writing the characters that i got carried away lolol anywaysss i hope you guys enjoy it,,,i got a little unmotivated during the process bc i didn’t know if it was good or not but here it is heh (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡

Tuesday, December 8th

Jake Sim lives a simple life.

He likes to think he leads the normal, stereotypical life of a teenage boy. Has decent grades, plays soccer after school, skateboards around the neighborhood, has a best friend who he’s desperately in love with, and has a stable group of friends.

Okay, maybe not so simple, because this boy would physically launch himself to the moon and drill at its surface to collect moon dust for you if you asked him to––despite his deadly fear of combusting in outer space.

But that fear doesn’t even compare to his worst one yet: not having you in his life.

And so, he decided to just repress any and all feelings he’s had for you ever since he discovered them in middle school, when he realized he hated seeing you go to the eighth grade dance with a date––that wasn’t him.

He decided that he wasn’t going to risk losing a life-long friendship over some dumb, teenage boy feelings.

They were probably powered by his testosterone anyways. Yeah, that’s totally it.

He’s totally not in love with you.

So yes, he lives a pretty normal life. Every day is the same as the last, and tomorrow will be the same as today. But he likes it like that––he doesn’t want anything to change.

Especially not now, when he finds himself content with every aspect of his life (okay maybe except for his history grade, god, does he hate history).

So, it catches him off guard when you arrive at the group’s usual lunch table, located outside in your school’s courtyard, looking as excited as ever.

Jake’s the only one at the table so far. The remaining usually showed up late––Heeseung spends his first half of lunch tutoring freshmen for community service hours (but the poor boy has no idea what he’s doing), Sunghoon is probably stuck in line in the cafeteria again (he always forgets to pack his own lunch), and Jay is...well actually, no one ever knows where Jay comes from. He’s a special one.

It catches Jake even more off guard when you skip over any greeting a normal person would give, and start speaking at one hundred words per second.

And that catches us up to the present.

“Y-You want me to what?” Jake’s stuttering as you stare at him with your hopeful eyes from across the lunch table.

Despite the expression planted on your face, which screams your excitement for your “brilliant, amazing, genius, Einstein-could-never” idea (or whatever other words you used to describe it––Jake can’t exactly recall the specific terms you used, they all came out of your mouth too fast), you don’t respond to his question of bafflement. You continue to stare at him, awaiting his response. Jake could compare the look on your face right now to a puppy looking up at its owner, eagerly waiting for a treat. You know, tongue out and all.

He swallows the lump that’s lodged in this throat (is that the sandwich he’s having, or his nerves?) and continues to give you his look of confusion laced with a nervous smile because surely, you’re joking.

You grab what’s left of your sandwich from his hands and take your own bite. Somewhere in between you arriving at the table and now, Jake’s managed to steal the sandwich you brought today. You did make the best chicken sandwiches, in his defense.

“Well? It’s only for the week! And I promise you, after one week, if nothing happens––if he doesn’t make a move or anything––I’ll move on from him like you’ve been telling me to.” Your words are muffled from you savoring your sandwich, or what’s left of it anyways. (Mental note to self: don’t share your lunch with Jake ever again.)

When Jake still doesn’t respond (you’ve truly gotten this poor boy paralyzed), you find it as a sign to continue.

“I think it’s the perfect plan. Plus, if it doesn’t work out, it’ll be like the universe is telling me to finally move on, right?”

Wrong.

Jake has been encouraging you to move on from your crush because well, if we’re being honest here, he selfishly wants you to himself. Even if it wasn’t romantically.

Preferably, he would kill to get to be the one who holds your hand in the hall, call you cheesy pet names, post disgustingly cute couple pics for the ‘gram––but for the sake of potentially ruining his relationship with you, he’ll just have to settle with the role of being your best friend.

(And he’s totally fine with that! Totally. Yup.)

But he didn’t think that you moving on would only be a mere possible outcome (that may not even happen!) from whatever this stunt is you wanna pull.

Said stunt: Pretend to date one another and hope it catches the eye of a certain someone you have your eye on: Park Sunghoon.

Ah yes, Park Sunghoon. The previously mentioned one who’s probably still in line waiting to get his lunch as we speak.

Park Sunghoon, the tall, kind, intelligent, charming young boy that everyone knows. And if anyone didn’t know him, they most definitely knew of him. He wasn’t hard to miss in the halls; everything about him just radiates perfection.

If you plucked a random high-schooler from the halls of this school and interviewed them on the Park Sunghoon, they’d say you’d be lucky enough if the quiet boy so much as sparked a conversation with you, even if it was about what last night’s chemistry homework was.

Well if that were true, then you and the rest of the boys would be considered lottery winners.

How that happened, how the four of you dysfunctional beings earned his friendship, the world may never know. However, Jake is fully convinced that this was the universe’s way of playing a cruel joke on him.

For as long as Jake could remember, it’s always been just the two of you. You and Jake. Jake and you. (With the exception of Heeseung and Jay, of course, who came along in middle school)

In fact, your earliest memory of Jake was when he peed his pants in the kindergarten during nap time. You would know, you had the privilege of sharing a sleeping mat with him that one fateful day and in result...let’s just say the smell didn’t wear off from your clothes until a week later. Five-year-old you didn’t forgive five-year-old Jake for the longest time.

And since then, you’ve been attached by the hip. And Jake liked it like that. Jake didn’t need anyone else in his life (with the exception of Leila) if he had you. He had found his home within you, and he didn’t plan on sharing his space anytime soon.

Nevertheless, the universe had a completely different idea for the two of you.

Sunghoon came into the picture last year, towards the end of the school year. Despite being the new kid, he found his way into your cherished friend group and naturally, the five of you grew as close as friends could be.

That was the problem. Jake wanted to hate Sunghoon, to despise him for being the one that you had heart eyes for, but he couldn’t.

Not only was Sunghoon one of Jake’s closest friends, but he didn’t want to ruin the dynamic of the friend group. After you, the three chaotic boys were the next most important people in Jake’s life.

And so, we have the typical love triangle plot that every coming-of-age movie follows. Of course, this is all unbeknownst to you––you may be intelligent and a people-person, but oh boy can you not see the heart eyes your very own best friend has for you.

“It’ll be easier than you think, really! Look, we can even set boundaries or rules or whatever,” you propose, as if you’re trying to get him to sign a contract.

Rules to a fake relationship? We’re not living in a Netflix romcom, are we?

“Okay rule number 1: it’ll only be for a week and a week only, rule number 2: we don’t have to do anything too couple-ly like...” you pause to wonder for a second.

“Like PDA or anything! You know, unless we really need to convince him,” you casually add. When he responds with radio silence and stares at you with absolute concern painted all over his face, you cough. “Jake, I’m joking.”

Right. Of course. Obviously.

“And of course, just try not to fall in love with me, it’ll be hard, I know,” you send a playful wink his way.

Too late. Turns out it’s not that hard. Jake would know.

Jake continues to stare at you in hesitation. Yeah, you’ve had your fair share of crazy ideas (that Jake always find himself agreeing to––the poor boy just can’t seem to say no to you), but fake dating you?

Jake is sure he wouldn’t be able to pull it off without slowly destroying himself. He’d just have to say no, he’s sure you can find someone else to do it for you.

Yes, that’s it, just say no.

Jake has to keep some of his pride in tact.

Jake does not say no.

He doesn’t know what went wrong. His mind said one thing, but his words said another.

To be fair, Jake’s actions have always been influenced by his heart, not his brain, anyways. And when it comes to you, you bet it’ll be coming from his heart.

So here he was now, under the stare of three equally shocked and confused guys across from you and him at the lunch table, your fingers intertwined with his.

Just a few seconds ago, you had spotted the rest of the lunch bunch approaching the table, and you quickly grabbed Jake’s hand and scooted in closer to him.

Now here you were, explaining to your friends of your sudden relationship.

Jake is too zoned out to even physically pick up your explanation. Something along the lines of "we’ve been dating for a while but didn’t want to tell you guys yet." From the feeling of your hand clutched tightly into his and your body right up next to him, his mind was short-circuiting.

How is he supposed to last an entire week of this if he couldn't handle innocent hand holding? Hand holding? God, what are we, back in the fifth grade?

Two minutes into this scheme and Jake's mind has already downgraded itself to a fifth grader's.

Jake mentally scolds himself for giving in, this was not a good idea.

It takes Jake approximately 12 hours to conclude that this stunt of yours may, actually, be a good idea. He knows this because approximately 12 hours after the events surrounding lunch, he receives a text from you:

y/n [12:03AM]: thanks again for doing this for me jake

y/n [12:03AM]: ur actually the best

y/n [12:04AM]: ew ok that was cheesy but really i owe u a big one <333

Following your thread of texts is a really close up photo of you widely smiling into the camera. A smile so big, Jake’s convinced your face was probably in pain after taking that picture.

Anyone else might’ve thought the photo looked borderline insane but because Jake’s Jake, aka a simpᵗᵐ for you, he comes to the conclusion that it’s singlehandedly the cutest thing he’s ever seen in the entire world.

After quickly saving the selfie into his phone, Jake tells himself that maybe this won’t be a bad thing after all. I mean, anything that makes you smile like that meant it has to be a good idea, right?

Spoken like a true simp.

Plus, dating you––fake dating you––is pretty much the same as it was before. He already spends most of his days with you to begin with. Now, it’s just with added displays of affection. For show, obviously. Obviously.

And look, if Jake will never get to actually be with you, then he’ll take what he can get. And if that meant fake dating you, well, he reasons that it’s better than nothing at all.

Wednesday, December 9th

Jake’s playing with the rings on your right hand and you’re in the middle of dramatically telling the lunch table about the infuriating Karen you had to deal with at work the other day when Jay comes up with a grin you all know a little too well.

“Okay that grin means one of two things: you finally grew the balls to ask out that poor girl you’ve been teasing all year or you have something planned that we won’t like,” you interrupt your story when you catch Jay’s sly expression, evoking a chuckle from Jake, who’s now found a new distraction with the bracelets perches on your wrist.

“Excuse you, I’ll have you know that I did ask her out. It just so happens that she’s currently ‘in between boyfriends’ whatever that means. Ouch, by the way,” Jay feigns hurt from your comment by clutching the area above his heart through his shirt. Ever the drama queen. “But yes, I do have something planned. And no, it’s not a bad idea.”

Jay squeezes his way in between Sunghoon and Heeseung from across you and begins to pull out his own lunch. Everyone’s eyes follow him as he settles in because as bad as his unknown idea may be, you’re all still curious on what this boy has to say.

“Well are you going to elaborate or...” Heeseung speaks up for everyone after you all mentally debate one another through darting eyes on who’s going to have to bite Jay’s silent bait.

Jay then forcefully sets both hands on his table, which elicits a little jump from you as you go for a bite of your sandwich. Adorable, Jake tells himself.

“My parents are out of town this weekend. We all know what that means...”

Yes. We do know what that means. The four of you have seen this scenario play out many times, a little too many times for your own good.

This meant one of Jay’s infamous house parties that he always throws whenever his parents go out of town. And because his parents are hot-shot CEOs of an important company whose name you don’t remember (it’s nothing personal, your brain can only handle so much information and this physics exam you were studying for took up 90% of your brain capacity at the moment), they’re out of town often.

And along with Jay’s parties comes chaos. Lots of it. And that’s because...well, it’s safe to say that despite the many school-wide presentations the police officers of your school have held in the auditorium on why you shouldn’t drink underage, Jay’s parents’ liquor cabinet always seems to find itself missing many a few bottles after each party. But we don’t talk about that. Shush.

Almost simultaneously, everyone at the table lets out a groan, much to Jay’s disappointment.

“C’mon guys! It’s been a while since anything’s fun happened to this school, think of all the sad students in that building right now,” he extends a finger whole-ass arm and points at your school, “who are in dire need of fun and a little...” he punctuates his sentence with the hand motion of chugging down a drink, followed with a gulping sound elicited from his tongue clicking.

You roll your eyes along with everyone else. Don’t be like Jay, kids. Listen to those police officers.

“Jay, it’s midterm season! I have an exam on Monday and I definitely do not want to spend the nights before wasted,” you give him an apologetic look. As crazy as Jay is, you do feel bad nonetheless. The boy just wants to have fun.

Your response is followed up with similar comments from around the table.

“I’m helping y/n study”

“I have an important skating performance on Sunday”

“Uh...my hamster died?” (ok Heeseung panicked, don’t blame the guy)

Ignoring that last excuse of an excuse, Jay continues his debate nonetheless. “Just come for the sake of it! No one’s saying you have to get wasted. Pleaseeee for me?”

Jay throws these parties so often, you’re not sure why he’s so set on making sure you’re all going to be there. Well, I guess who wouldn’t want their closest friends to be at their own party?

That and, Jay needs to make sure his friends are there to stop him from doing anything stupid. We all know this boy has had enough embarrassing moments to last him a lifetime.

Everyone at the table gives each other the same hesitant look. Heeseung is the first to give in, “Oh fuck it. Sure, count me in.”

Jay’s fist pumping the air before turning to Sunghoon with the most hopeful eyes.

Sunghoon simply sighs in return. “Alright okay, I’ll bite. But if you vomit on my shoes again, I’m out the door.” Jay’s finger is automatically drawing a cross over his heart as a promise to not ruin Sunghoon’s Nikes again.

He then looks to you with puppy eyes.

You, who's already staring back at Jay with a stoic look in your eyes, are stubborn and (unlike the previous weaklings) are not as easy to convince. And somehow, this began an unannounced staring contest between the two of you, a contest to see who would budge first. This isn't an uncommon occurrence between you and Jay, but the rest of the boys are still on the edges of their seats watching this duel.

Jake casually wraps an arm around your shoulder and you’re brought in close, but still undeterred from your death-stare match with the boy across from you.

If it’s not obvious enough, Jake’s really gotten into his role of being your boyfriend, despite it only being 24 hours since he last froze at your touch. Character development, you’ll give him that.

You almost forget he’s faking it for a quick second. And for an even quicker second, you imagine he wasn’t faking it. And you swear you feel butterflies in your stomach at that thought.

Weird.

You mentally shake the thought out of your head. Priorities first, aka, beating Jay in this staring contest.

“Fuck,” you stutter when you finally blink, admitting defeat to a grinning Jay. “Okay, okay, I’ll THINK about it. I’ll let you know.”

Not exactly the answer Jay was looking for, but he’ll take it. Better than a no.

He turns to Jake next, knowing there’s no way Jake will turn down a party. Just like Jay, the boy loves himself a good party.

But–

But because Jake would take your physics exam this Monday for you if you asked, because Jake would bungee jump in the Grand Canyon without a safety net below him if you asked, because Jake would fake date you to make your crush jealous for you if you asked, he doesn’t hesitate in his answer this time around: “Same as y/n, I’ll let you know.”

Jay looks at Jake. Then back at you, who he’s still clinging onto like a koala to a tree. Then back at Jake. “You two are gross. Admittedly cute. But gross.”

You look up at the boy next to you to see him already grinning at you.

For the first time today, you find yourself agreeing with Jay.

Admittedly cute.

Thursday, December 10th

You are having a bad day.

You’re having the mother of bad days.

Not only is it midterm season, but you still have all your regular weekly assignments to finish before Friday hits. So as a natural-born procrastinator does, you stayed up all last night trying to get a good amount of work done because what’s better than cramming all your work the night before it’s due? Doing it two nights before it’s due.

Well apparently it wasn’t such a good idea. Because now, here you were, frantically throwing on whatever articles of clothing you find nearest to you because you slept through all your alarms.

You’re lucky enough to make it through your school’s doors right as the second bell rings, even if you did look like you just walked straight out of a zombie apocalypse.

You’re not so lucky when you find out your first class of the day, calculus, had a pop quiz. A pop quiz on the only unit you just happened to know absolutely nothing about.

To top things off, you forgot to pack your lunch during this morning’s frenzy, meaning you’re automatically stuck sharing with Jake.

And because his mother started making him pack his own food out of a lesson of responsibility (she said something along the lines of: “Jake, you’re about to be in college and you don’t know how to pack a decent meal”), he only has a plain PB&J sandwich and a pack of Scooby-Doo gummies in his bag today (because newsflash, he still doesn’t know how to pack a decent meal).

Not that you could care less at the moment, you were too preoccupied with catching up on your assignments to even eat. And if any of the boys noticed your zombie-like state during lunch, they did a good job of not mentioning it. They knew better than to bother an irritated y/n.

Somehow, you make it through the entire school day and your after-school meeting for environmental club (save the trees!) in one piece. As you finally walk out of the school building, you exhale, automatically feeling lighter. At least the hard part of your day was done.

Now you just had to wait for Jake to finish soccer practice, which usually ended around the same time as your club, and he can drive you home, where you can continue being irritated with your day in the privacy of your own space.

You wait on the steps of the school’s entrance, waiting for a smiley Jake to come around the corner as he usually does at 5:30pm every Thursdays.

Yes, a smiling Jake is exactly what you needed to make your day ten times better, you conclude.

As if on cue, you hear a ding from your phone.

Jake [5:30PM]: ugh coach is extending practice for “team bonding”

Jake [5:30PM]: idek what team bonding is

Jake [5:31PM]: you ok if i cant drive you today? ://

It’s as if the universe decided to use you as its punching bag today.

You physically let out a distorted groan, not caring if anyone who happened to hear you thought you were a creature from out of this world, as you send him a text back.

y/n [5:32PM]: it’s all good lol have fun with tEaM bOnDiNg

Things were not all good. But no matter how upset you may be, you weren’t going to project your negative vibes onto Jake’s naturally positive ones. So you get up from the stone steps and begin your dreaded walk back home.

It’s freezing out. You should’ve known better to just throw on a hoodie and call it a day when it’s the middle of December. But then again, you figured by now you’d be in the comfort and warmth of Jake’s car and presence...not walking home in these freezing temperatures.

You think about Jake and how he’s probably currently suffering from not only his team bonding exercises (but really though, what are team bonding exercises?), but doing them in this weather as well. The poor boy.

You’re quickly broken out of your thoughts by the sound of a car engine from behind you. When you don’t see it pass by you and instead hear it pull over and park next to the curb of the sidewalk you’re currently on, you automatically deduce that this is it, this is my time, I’m about to get kidnapped by whoever it is behind me but y/n, you should probably turn around and check first before you drive yourself insane in this inner dialogue.

You turn around and squint into the front window of the car. If it were a kidnapper, this is exactly what your mother told you not to do. Her exact words were: “Run, don’t look back, and scream bloody murder.”

Good thing it wasn’t. Just an innocent Sunghoon waving his hand at you, motioning you to get in.

“Sunghoon?” You approach his car and stop at the passenger side’s open window.

“y/n! It’s freezing out, I’ll drive you home c’mon,” he nods his head towards the passenger side door.

Well, how could you say no? Sunghoon owns a nice car. Like a nice car. Like car-seat-heaters-that-make-you-feel-like-you’re-physically-melting nice. Beats getting hypothermia outside, right?

“Why are you going home from school so late?” You ask as you settle into his car, instantly melting at the touch of the aforementioned heated seats.

“Debate club, actually. Decided I needed another personality trait other than ice skating,” he starts the engine and begins driving towards the direction of your neighborhood.

You laugh at his comment, you didn’t peg him as a debate kind of student. Quiet Sunghoon? Debate club? If 2 plus 2 is four...

“Hey, I don’t call you the Ice Prince for nothing! Also, don’t forget your other personality trait: forgetting your lunch every day.”

Sunghoon quickly glances over at you to send you a dirty look (because eyes on the road, kids!), which you return with a cheeky grin. “Need I remind you that was you today?”

“Touché,” you click your tongue.

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, the faint sound of Sunghoon's music in the background filling in the quietness.

You’re humming along until Sunghoon breaks the silence, “Did Jake get stuck at practice again?”

You don’t know why, but you swear you feel your heart beat faster at the mention of Jake’s name. No, that was always there right? Because you were with Sunghoon...your crush..obviously. Obviously.

Ignoring the feeling, you turn your attention towards the boy driving you.

“Oh yeah, something about team bonding. How’d you know?”

“Eh, I just figured since he wasn’t driving you home like he always does.” He turns into your neighborhood.

You nod at his answer.

“You two make a good couple.”

You whip your head at him. Did you hear him correctly?

“It was about time, really. You two have been ogling at one another for so long, Heeseung, Jay, and I almost placed bets on who would be the first to make a move.”

He keeps his eyes on the road, casually going on about how you and Jake make the cutest couple he’s ever seen.

You're frozen, unsure of what to think, let alone say.

You think to two days ago, when you started this entire fake relationship because of the very boy driving you home right now. The same boy who's complimenting you on your fake relationship. The same boy who's supposed to be jealous over that said relationship. The same boy you’re supposed to be crushing over.

But now...only a mere 48 hours later, you were finding yourself okay with the fact that he was happy for you. And for the life of you, you couldn’t remember why you liked Sunghoon in the first place. Not saying he isn’t one to be crushed on, I mean, look at the guy.

Maybe, just maybe, it had something to do with the fact that you didn't feel nervous or giddy or..anything at all when you got into the car with Sunghoon. At least, not until Jake's name was mentioned. That's when you felt the butterflies. At the mention of Jake.

Jake.

Weird.

But before you can come to a conclusion on why you're feeling the way you do, Sunghoon interrupts your thoughts.

"Well, we're here! Say hi to your parents for me," he pulls into your driveway as you're still collecting your thoughts.

You give him a quick thanks and one last wave as you enter the front doors of your house.

Seeing that your only solution towards confusing feelings meant distracting yourself, distract yourself you did.

Even if it meant distracting yourself with your piling assignments.

The next time you look up from your work, it's suddenly way past sundown and a heavy storm has taken over. You’re surprised it hasn’t started flooding yet with the amount of rainfall you were hearing.

You check the time on your phone, the bright 8:16PM on the screen illuminating your dimly lit room. Seeing that neither of your parents have yet to be home from work, it looks like you were going to have to settle with some instant ramen for dinner tonight.

As you trudge down the stairs of your home, the sound of light knocking against the front door catches your attention. It's been a long day y/n, you're probably hearing things, it's definitely just the rain.

Nope. There it is again, but much louder. Much more urgent.

You contemplate any and all potential disasters that could happen from answering the door. Only a crazy person would be willing to go out in this hurricane-like weather to be frantically knocking on your door.

And so, you assume it has to be some psychopath trying to get into your house. Yes, there’s definitely no other logical explanation.

You scramble around your living room, looking for the next best weapon to defend you. Resorting to the flower vase your mother keeps on the table next to the front door, you hold it out in front of you, as if you're waiting for the door to burst open.

The knocking continues, gradually getting louder. You mentally curse at yourself for dropping out of the taekwondo class your dad signed you up for when you were younger.

Vase in hand, you swing open the door and brace for–

"Jake? What the fuck? Get in here, you're gonna get sick!"

You’re suddenly aware of how stupid you look, holding a light pink vase with a couple of orchids as your only form of self-defense...for it to only be your own best friend. You immediately put it back on the table as Jake quickly rushes past you and into your humble abode.

You close the door behind you and turn to face the soaked boy.

“I come bearing gifts, also known as take-out and hot chocolate from that one cafe you love. Also my company, if you’ll take it. I had a feeling you weren’t having the best day today,” he’s simply standing there, holding up a large brown paper bag in one hand, and a deliciously smelling cup of hot chocolate in the other, but you’re looking at him as if he bought you the Moon.

You stare in awe at the angel of a boy in front of you, silently thanking the stars for gifting you this amazing human being as your best friend. You don’t know what you did to deserve him.

You give him a soft smile. “Jake, you didn’t have to. It’s practically a shitstorm out there,” you cock your head towards the window, showcasing the downpour of cats and dogs outside. Jake stays by the entrance as you go down the hall and through your house’s linen closet to find a spare towel for the drenched boy.

“Nah it’s no big deal, really. Just fulfilling my duties as your loyal boyfriend,” he grins, even though you can’t see him. He likes calling himself that. Your boyfriend.

Jake continues to shake his messy hair to get the excess rain off, giving a mental apology to whoever is going to have to mop up the puddle forming on the floor due to his unannounced visit. Probably you.

Jake hears you laugh down the hall. “You’re really invested in your role, huh? Keep this up and you might actually trick me into believing you’re my actual boyfriend.”

Actual boyfriend? Jake likes the sound of that. Maybe he will keep this up then.

Jake doesn’t have much experience in acting, unless you count that time he played the role of Town Villager #3 in the third grade play, so he never found it as one of his interests. But playing the role of your boyfriend was one he was willing to fulfill for the rest of life, even if it was just for show.

Jake doesn’t respond to your comment, he’s instead self-aware of his blushing cheeks, thankful that you’re too busy rummaging through your linen closet to take notice.

“Plus, you didn’t have lunch today and I had feeling you were going to be too caught up in your work to feed yourself anything other than instant ramen,” he sets down his gifts to you on your living room’s coffee table as you come around the corner, fresh towel and new set of clothes in hand.

His eyes fall on the familiar looking pair of sweatpants and hoodie resting on the palms of your hands.

Hm. A little too familiar.

Then, it clicks in his head.

His eyes narrow at you as you giggle at his reaction, “Oh, so it takes me getting drenched in the rain for you to finally return my clothes that I’ve been missing!?”

“Hey! I’m not returning them, simply loaning them out to a friend who’s in dire need. You basically gifted them to me the second you left them here months ago.”

“You’re annoying.”

“Love you too,” you toss the clothes at him and take a seat on the floor around your coffee table, prepping the table with the boxes of Chinese food Jake supplied.

After Jake changes into the stolen dry clothes, he takes a seat next to an already-eating you at the coffee table.

“You. are. my lord and savior Sim Jaeyun,” you’re saying with your mouth full of fried rice. You sigh from satisfaction and rest your head against Jake’s shoulder as you continue chewing. He grins as he helps himself to his own serving of fried rice and orange chicken.

You look up at him from your spot, “How was team bonding today?”

Jake groans in response, clearly annoyed. “Stupid. I don’t get how doing trust falls and pyramid building is going to get us any closer. If anything, I almost FELL off that pyramid today!”

You don’t know why, but you find yourself admiring him and his soft features as he continues to rant about one of his teammates, specifically, the one who almost dropped him.

The way his messy hair, unkept from the rain ruining it, almost covers his eyes (but you tell yourself you like it this way, it looks more natural on him), the way the corners of his lips are always perked upwards (even when he’s ranting), the way his eyes sparkle whenever he’s truly passionate about whatever he’s talking about, the way his eyes look at you like–

“Stare much? Look, I get you can’t resist my good looks but at least be subtle about it,” he smirks at you as he takes another spoon of rice.

You break out of his trance and scoff at him.

“You’re cute when you rant,” you nonchalantly say as you move from your spot to mirror his actions and add more rice to your plate as well. Jake’s stills at your sudden comment, unsure of how to respond. Lucky for him, you’re distracted by the mountain of food on your plate to even notice the blushing mess of a boy next to you.

“You know, you’re lucky you’re cute. Or else I’d deck you right here and now for ditching me after school today.”

Anddd there goes the moment. Leave it to you to follow up a compliment with a threat of violence.

Jake finds it cute anyways. He always finds you cute.

Jake narrows his eyes and lightly shoves you before an apology is written all over his face. “Sorry about that by the way. I feel awful about making you walk home when it was freezing out.”

“Nah, it’s okay. Sunghoon gave me a ride, actually. Did you know he does debate? I guess you learn something new everyday,” you ramble, unaware of the boy next to you getting tense at the sudden mention of the other’s name.

Up until now, Jake’s completely forgotten about Sunghoon's involvement in this entire scheme. In fact, the past 48 hours with you have felt so normal, so comfortable, he almost forgot about the deal in the first place. “You think he has any clue?” Jake suddenly asks, referring to the plan.

You immediately know what he’s referring to, as Jake practically worded out your very own thoughts.

You shrug. “Not a single one. We’re practically William and Kate in his eyes. But honestly, that’s the least of my worries right now. I’m too distracted by my exams right now to care.”

Jake feels guilty for being satisfied with your answer. He’s 100% sure that if convincing Sunghoon took you two an entire lifetime of fake dating, he’d be all too willing to do it.

“Go to Jay’s party with me tomorrow,” he abruptly says, catching your attention as your mouth is stuffed. Cute.

He pokes your cheek. “It’ll get your mind off of work and plus, what’s more convincing than showing up to a party with your amazing boyfriend?” he wiggles his eyebrows at you. Jake doesn’t know where he gets his sudden surge of confidence. But he does know he loves calling himself your boyfriend...even if it’s for the time being.

Rolling your eyes and swatting his poking fingers away from your face, you ponder on his suggestion.

“You mean my annoying boyfriend,” you stick your tongue out at him. Jake takes a mental picture and hopes it never leaves his mind.

“But I guess you could be right. Maybe I can clear my head for the night before I study my ass off all weekend.”

Friday, December 11th

The party does not clear your mind.

If anything, it gives you enough headaches to last you at least until the end of high-school.

You come to this revelation as you and Jake approach Jay’s home, a luxurious mansion sitting at the end of a cul-de-sac, lined with similarly luxurious palaces, located in an equally luxurious neighborhood.

You come to this revelation when you can already feel the pounding bass of music as you walk up Jay’s driveway.

You come to this revelation when, not even two seconds after entering Jay’s front doors––

“You’re here!” A buzzed Jay shouts at the two of you, causing the both of you to contemplate your past choices that brought you here today. Jay definitely isn’t straight up drunk yet, but Jake still makes a mental note to keep an eye on him tonight. Just in case.

The blonde-haired boy is quick to hand over two red solo cups of god knows what, to which you and Jake immediately put down on the nearest table after Jay walks away to greet the next incoming guests (you know, to not hurt his feelings).

You and Jake are lucky enough to have been around Jay and his parties long enough to know that going all out at these parties will not be pretty the next morning.

You cringe at the memory of last year, when you had to suffer from possibly the worst hangover of all hangovers after one of Jay’s parties. Jake will never let you forget how miserable you looked the next morning. His camera roll’s album titled “y/n blackmail pics” can vouch for that.

“Remind me again to never listen to you,” you almost have to shout at Jake over the thumping music. Jake laughs at your comment and tugs at your hand as he begins entering the house.

The two of you do your rounds of greetings to the people you know...and random underclassmen who you swear you have never seen before but somehow made it to this party. You’ve always questioned how Jay’s invite list worked. Maybe there isn’t one. That would explain how it looked like someone announced Jay was giving out free Teslas and the entire school got hold of the news.

“Thank god you guys are here,” you hear a voice come from behind the two of you as you guys leave the main room to enter the house’s smaller, but just as luxurious looking, den. You turn to see Heeseung with Sunghoon following closely behind, trying his best not to get swept away in the crowd of people.

The den is where you usually stayed during these parties. It’s not like there are rules of where people are allowed to party, by any means, but it’s like how a high-school’s cafeteria worked. There’s a mutual silent agreement of where everyone goes, and the den is where the party host and his friends went.

“Okay, is it just me, or is tonight’s party just a little...too..much?” Sunghoon asks as the four of you take your seats on the main couch of the room. Jake’s quick to make space for you next to him as you go to sit, but to his surprise, you find your home right on his lap.

“You said be convincing right?” you say into his ear as you settle yourself. Right. That’s totally why. Because you had to go along with the ruse. Obviously.

You shift a bit so you’re more facing sideways, not blocking off Jake’s line of vision as the boy himself is..well, calling him a rag doll might be excessive.

But he’s sure he looks like one right now, having lost all senses in his limbs, leaving him frozen underneath you.

Jake Sim is the epitome of politeness. He was raised in a family that taught him how to respectfully greet others, how to always offer food to others before eating it himself, how to properly treat a significant other. As a result, Jake grew up to be one of the sweetest, kindest, purest people to ever walk this earth.

(Relatively speaking, the earth is large, but so is Jake’s heart.)

But human-beings aren’t perfect, they must have a balance. A balance of pros and cons.

Sure, he can’t pack his own lunch and sometimes forgets to water the little succulent you gifted him that’s currently seated on his window sill. Sure, sometimes he’s too sweet for his own good, you know, like willing-to-be-your-fake-boyfriend too sweet. But aside from the minor details, Jake Sim doesn’t have many cons, no.

But he sure can be awkward.

And so because Jake Sim is sweet, kind, pure, and awkward, he is unsure of what to do with himself when you’re seated right on top of him.

As if you could read his befuddled mind, you take his arm that’s resting behind you to wrap around your waist as your support as you throw one of your arms around his shoulder. And throughout this entire adjustment, his widened eyes are staring right at you.

Bless this pure, pure boy.

Also bless the position you’re in, blocking the two other boys from directly seeing Jake’s face. Because if they were to catch glimpse of Jake’s expression right now, your cover might be blown, just like that. You’re lucky Heeseung and Sunghoon are distracted by another classmate who came up to them.

“Relax,” you sweetly laugh, cupping his chin with your free hand and lightly squeezing his cheeks. “You’re so adorably awkward.”

Jake pouts at you. “I am not awkward!”

“Right, and I’m totally dating you for real,” you playfully whisper at him, eliciting a poke at your waist in response.

Twenty minutes of people-watching-aka-“who do you think is gonna pass out first?”-from-your-spot-on-the-couch later, the four of you draw your attention to the rowdy party host you all have the honor of calling your friend––aka Jay––dancing (that is, if you call wildly swinging your limbs in all four directions dancing) in the middle of the den.

"Oh god, look at him," Sunghoon voices from besides you.

Heeseung's already filming the moment on his phone. Ah yes, technology. The best thing to ever happen to drunk teens' friends.

"He's so wasted," you throw your head back as you let out a laugh. “We should help the kid out.”

Poor Jay. He's not gonna hear the end of it after tonight.

"I don't know why he thinks these parties are such a good idea when he knows how trashed he's gonna be when he wakes up," Jake says, his hand naturally squeezing your waist as you giggle at his comment. "And how trashed the house will be."

Jay slumbers over to where the four of you are seated, and abruptly stops right in front of the couch.

"My best friends!" Jay happily cheers. “Having fun?”

“Watching you? Always,” you say to the boy who’s squeezing into a seat between you and Sunghoon, as if the small couch wasn’t already suffocating enough (and that’s with you on Jake’s lap).

“But for real though, you should probably lay off the drinks for now,” Heeseung insists. “For all our sakes.”

Sunghoon nods along and grabs the cup Jay’s currently nursing and sets it down where it’s out of Jay’s reach, much to his dismay. But the disappointment quickly leaves the dazed boy’s head, as his attention is now directed towards you and Jake.

“Well if it isn’t mom and dad,” Jay turns to face you and Jake, certainly amused by your seating arrangement.

“You know–” Jay points a finger at the two of you. “For a couple that’s certainly close, I haven’t seen you two kiss.”

Jake is immediately coughing, certainly not expecting that to come out of his friend’s mouth.

“Okay and your point is?” Jake frowns at Jay. If Jay wasn’t tipsy, Jake would’ve smacked the back of his head by now.

“I’m just saying...” the blonde responds, both hands up in the air as if Jake is accusing him of something, when in was, in fact, the opposite. “But nevermind, Jakey boy here is probably too innocent for such nonsense anyways.”

Yes, it’s confirmed. Once Jay sobers up tomorrow, Jake is driving over to his house (even though it’s a good ten minute drive from his own) just to smack him.

“What do you mean I’m too–”

Jake doesn’t finish his sentence. In fact, Jake doesn’t even remember what he was going to say.

Jake doesn’t think nor feel anything else other than your lips planted on his.

You’re pulling him in close, your hands cupping his face as his own are twitching on your waist, his mind flustered. You move your hands from his face to his neck, to which Jake immediately relaxes at.

Sure, you two are in the middle of a dumb high-school party, one filled with pounding music and shouting teenagers, but right now, in this moment, Jake can only feel you. And he doesn’t want the feeling to ever stop.

When you part, Jake’s eyes flicker from your eyes to your lips, his own parted in shock. He thinks he might pass out right here and now. He thinks his heart might explode right here and now. He thinks he might lov-

“Happy?” you turn to a satisfied Jay, ignoring the looks of amusement from Heesung and Sunghoon besides him.

“Well,” you pat Jake’s leg as you get up from your spot. “I’m gonna get us some drinks. Punch only, of course.”

Jake’s eyes are on you as you walk away, his face tinted pink from the adrenaline of it all, his heart racing.

Jake thinks back to three days ago, when he told himself that this idea of yours was going to be all fine. After all, it was only going to be for one week. Afterwards, he can move on with his life as if nothing happened.

But fast forward 72 hours later, 72 hours after you and Jake started this act, 72 hours after Jake told himself it’ll be all fine, Jake knows he was poorly mistaken.

Because 72 hours later, in the middle of a party that reeked of the combined smell of alcohol and sweat, Jake knows one thing and one thing for sure.

He never wants to move on from the feeling of being with you. He never wants to move on from this.

From you.

He’s screwed.

Saturday, December 12th

When Jake wakes up, much later than he intended to, on Saturday morning, the first sensation he feels are his tingling lips, still in disbelief that they graced your own last night.

The second sensation being his pounding mind––it’s running through ten million thoughts at a time, telling him no last night wasn’t a dream.

Third: his heart beating so fast at the thought of you, he thinks he might beat out of his chest.

And fourth, a buzzing noise.

Jake blindly flounders his arm to the table beside him in hopes of finding the origin of the annoying sound, aka, his phone.

After knocking down multiple miscellaneous items on his nightstand (he makes a mental note to clean his room later), he successfully retrieves the item of search.

Jake squints at the bright screen, mind still cloudy from a mix of 1) being half-asleep, and 2) still processing what happened the night before.

y/n [11:10AM]: r u awake yet?

y/n [11:22AM]: imma take that as a no

y/n [11:35AM]: lemme know when ur up

jake [11:44AM]: just woke up sorry

jake [11:44AM]: are you okay? what’s up

y/n [11:45AM]: r u busy?

y/n [11:45AM]: kinda wanted to talk abt smth

jake [11:45AM]: uh well no im still in bed lmao

y/n [11:46AM]: cool im outside your door

Jake’s eyes widen as he processes your last few texts.

Talk? Outside his door?

Jake’s heart is nervously pounding as jumps out of bed and quickly puts on the first plaid flannel he finds. He scrambles to his mirror and gives his reflection a quick run-down.

He’s sporting your his favorite hoodie underneath the flannel that’s long overdue a wash and his tousled hair has seen better days, but he couldn't care less.

Before his mind can catch up to his actions, he’s rushing down the stairs, skipping two at a time and to this front door. Because he didn’t want to keep you waiting? Because he was too excited to see you? Maybe a mix of both. Definitely more of the latter, however.

He quickly runs a hand through his hair to try to fix it up as much as he can, to no avail, before opening the door to reveal you, sitting on the steps of his front porch.

“y/n,” he’s breathing heavily as you turn to greet him with your sweet smile he didn’t even realize he was missing. Is it possible to miss someone overnight? Jake concludes yes, it definitely is.

“Did you run down here or something?,” you question his out-of-breath state, a teasing tone laces the tip of your tongue.

“Or something,” Jake mutters as he closes the front door behind him to join you on the steps when you make no sign of moving. “Have you been out here all morning?”

“Not allll morning. I had a feeling you’d sleep in so I came around the time I first texted you. Would’ve knocked but didn’t wanna bother your family,” you hum, keeping your eyes trained on the peaceful scenery around you.

You’ve always loved Jake’s neighborhood, it brought you a sense of peace, a sense of home.

Or was that because it reminded you of Jake?

“You could never be a bother,” he quickly rebuttals as he takes his seat next to you on the steps.

You respond with a soft smile before turning your attention back to anything other than the boy next to you. Your mind seems to be lost in its own thoughts, Jake can tell by the distant look in your eyes.

The sound of birds chirping in the distance fills the silence that falls between the two of you.

Any other day, Jake would love this. He savors every second he’s with you, even if it’s just pure silence.

But this silence was different. It wasn’t the usual comforting, warm silence that the two of you share on a typical day. This one held tension, tension so thick that Jake doesn’t know where to begin thinking.

But here’s the thing. Jake doesn’t think.

Not when it comes to you.

He takes a deep breath. Rubs his hands together. Pats them on his lap. Turns towards you.

“Look, I-”

“I think I might like you.” The words come out of your mouth so fast, Jake’s positive he heard you wrong the first time around.

He whips his head to meet your eyes, your own already staring back at him, your bottom lip nervously tucked under your teeth.

“No, I––I do. I know I do. I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to tell you and I don’t think I’m doing a very good job right now,” the words are all of the sudden tumbling out of your mouth as if your brain flipped a switch and isn’t able to turn it off. “In hindsight, I should’ve known better to fake date my own best friend. But these past few days made me realize how much I love being with you. And not like how I’m always with you 24/7 before this entire thing started, but being with you. I even started getting that weird, bubbly feeling in my stomach every time I so much as heard your name. And then last night at the party, I realized afterwards that I wouldn’t have kissed you if some part of me didn’t see you in that way. Even if it meant Jay would’ve been on our asses all night if I didn’t. So yeah.”

You finish with a deep breath and look up at him to meet his widened eyes. Silence.

Jake thought he was braindead during last week’s history quiz. Jake thought he was braindead when he had to cram a semester’s worth of chemistry content the night before his exam. Heck, Jake thought he was braindead when you first told him about your idea of a fake dating him. But no, this is braindead.

He’s finally hearing what he’s been dreaming of for so long, and of all times, now his brain decides to shut off.

“Are you..uh..are you gonna say anything?” You’re nervously fumbling with your hands, desperate to distract yourself with anything else apart from his silent stare.

"Why are you sorry?" Jake says before his mind can think of anything else. He doesn't pay attention to his thumping heart that's one look-from-you away from exploding right then and there. "You didn't do anything wrong. If anything, you took the words right out of my mouth.”

Now you're staring at him with the wide eyes, the words processing in your mind.

Jake realizes he's waited too long to do this. A few years too long. He also realizes he shouldn't have put on that extra layer of a flannel. The nervous tension created by the two of you was suffocating enough, and being outside under the bright sun didn’t help.

"I like you too. God y/n, I like you too so much," Jake doesn't even care if his words are all sorts of messed up right now. He just needs you to get the idea. "I have for a while now.”

You let out a relieved sigh, ecstasy rushing through your blood. “Really? I think I have for a while too. I’m so stupid, it took me so long to realize it. It didn’t hit me until I realized how I felt around you, compared to the guy I’m supposed to actually have a crush on.”

Jake lets out a laugh, the tension immediately dissolving. “Hey, if it wasn’t for Sunghoon, I don’t think we’d be here right now.”

“You’re right, I’m too oblivious and you’re too awkward to actually make a move,” you wink at him. If his heart wasn’t fluttering at the sight of you, on his porch on a Saturday morning, confessing your feelings to him, Jake probably would’ve lightly shoved you away.

Instead, he’s turning to you with the most endeared look on his face, and you’re blushing underneath his gaze.

“What? Stare much?” You giggle, quoting the boy himself as you shyly duck your head to avoid his stare.

Jake gently grabs your chin to tilt your face towards his, and before you can process what’s happening, he suddenly meets your lips with his own, closing the gap between you two.

Jake thinks if the ground underneath him right now decided to open up and swallow him whole, he’d die happily.

Jake smiles against you, feeling comfort in ways he’ll never be able to achieve without you.

Your hands instinctively find their way into his hair, as one of his rests below your ear, thumb softly caressing your cheek, the other pulling you in by the waist. He’s naturally leaning into you, gravitating towards your warmth, unable to stop the giddy feeling bubbling in his stomach.

He doesn’t think the feeling will ever go away.

When you pull away to catch your breath, you rest your head against the nook of his neck, basking in his presence as his arms both find their way around your waist. You sigh in pleasure.

“Remember at the beginning of all of this, when you told me ‘Just try not to fall in love with me?’” Jake gently says. Jake feels the slight nod you give against his shoulder as you hum in response.

Jake whispers two more words into your ear, filling you with happiness and warmth you know you won’t be able to find through anyone––or anything––else.

“Too late.”

✰ if you made it ‘til the end, ily :’)))))

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kimburgess-ruzek · 3 years

Text

Shattered

chapter one: purgatory

summary: Intelligence had been through the worst of the worst trying to get one of their own back alive. Each member has been to their own personal hell. Will everyone make it back, or will the cracks in Intelligence be big enough for the entire team to shatter?

a/n: about that s9 speculation, yeah i’m going to make a fic out of it. if you want to beat around the bush and read the plot of the fic, it’s here. definitely new to writing so we’ll see how this goes! also, don’t know how to work a tag list, but if you want to be tagged, let me know!

t/w: mentions of trauma, gunshot wounds, assault, surgical procedures (which btw i made up, i’m not a medical expert)

read on ao3.

purgatory

“I think we should get married.”

six words. six of the most important words. Jay had the breath knocked out of him. He can’t understand what he was just asked. I think we should get married. Just a few months ago, Hailey wouldn’t even look into his eyes, much less say “I love you.” And a marriage proposal, that seemed pretty much impossible.

Jay looked into Hailey’s eyes. He saw past the tears and looked deeper. He saw sadness and fear, emotions not usually associated with an engagement. No, he saw something different. Hailey was different.

Jay cleared his throat, clearly stunned. “I—.” He tried to find words, find anything to respond. But he couldn’t. He cleared his throat and tried again to say something, anything, but nothing came out. Hailey noticed the hesitation and suddenly changed her demeanor. She tried to dry her tears as quickly as possible, wiping her eyes and running her hair through her hands. She then stopped Jay, interrupting whatever he was trying to express.

“You know what, never mind. Never mind. I— We need to go. We need to get to the hospital. See how Kim’s doing.”

Jay saw the sudden change and tried to reason with Hailey. He quickly found his words. “Wait, wait, wait. Hails. Is everything okay?” He asked while putting his hands on Hailey’s arms, stopping her from turning towards the door. He gently rubbed them, trying to soothe Hailey. However, it was to no avail; Hailey gently pushed herself away.

“No. No, we need to go. We need to see Kim. I need to see her. Let me go change and then we’ll leave, okay?” Hailey reassured Jay, nodding her head. Before Jay could respond, Hailey kissed Jay on the cheek and briskly walked to the room. She felt like she was suffocating in her clothes. She had worn them for almost two straight days, and she had been to hell and back in them. She needed to get out of them.

“Okay—“ Jay half yelled, wanting to make sure she heard him. He updated Will on his whereabouts and he let the rest of the team know he and Hailey were on their way to the hospital. Kevin replied that Kim was still in surgery. The doctor hasn’t given any updates but hopefully will soon. After about five minutes, Hailey walked out in a new pair of jeans and a different top. She quietly grabbed three granola bars, one for her to eat on the way and the others probably for Kevin and Trudy. Jay loved how thoughtful she was. She had her keys, purse, and jacket in hand and was heading for the door.

“Ready?”

“Yep.” Jay got up from the couch and followed Hailey out the door, turning off the lights on the way out.

The walk to the car and the drive to Med was really quiet. There was definitely tension in the vehicle; there wasn’t the comfortable silence that Jay and Hailey were used to. Hailey was focused on the road while Jay was focused on Hailey. She never looked back at Jay though, her eyes only on the road.

“Do you want to talk about what just happened—“ Jay started but Hailey quickly interrupted him.

“No.”

Jay took a breath and mumbled “okay.”

For the rest of the ride, you could’ve heard a pin drop in the car. No one talked and no one made any extra movement. Once Hailey found a parking spot in the parking garage, she turned the car off and took a long, hard breath, trying to gather her words. Jay was opening the door when Hailey grabbed his hand, stopping him.

“Look, Jay. I... Look I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to be short with you.”

It’s okay,” Jay replied, trying to reassure her.

“No, it's more than that. I didn’t mean what I said earlier. At the apartment. I mean I love you, I do. I love you. And I think you’re decent. But not the other stuff. I just... It was just today. We almost lost our team member. We almost lost our friend, Jay. I don’t know what I would’ve done if we lost Kim. And I can’t think about it. If we did lose her. Because I don’t know if I could’ve forgiven myself. I don’t know if I could live with myself, thinking I could’ve done more. And at the apartment, I just saw someone that helped save my friend and I don’t want to lose you either, ever. And the emotions and no sleep and everything just got to me and I.. I. I don’t know. I don’t know. But.. Just don’t think about that question I asked earlier. Okay, Jay? Okay? It’s all good, I promise.”

Jay could clearly see Hailey was rambling. She was tired, no, she was exhausted, and she was backtracking. He was scared. He was scared that Hailey would retreat back to before, turned off from love. He hoped this experience didn’t make Hailey go back to being afraid of love. Of loving Jay. Because he loved Hailey. He loved everything about Hailey, from her seriousness when working a case to her humming along to the music she was playing in her earphones while pouring her coffee in the mornings. But there was also something else. Something that Jay couldn’t explain. Hailey was different, and not different because of what she explained. No, this was more than fear, more than desperation. This was a plea, almost a cry for help. And Jay didn’t know why. But he knew that something changed in her. Something happened when Voight split them up. And Jay knew he had to get to the bottom of it. Not for his sake, but for Hailey’s.

As much as Jay wanted to tell her he enjoyed the proposal, he knew she didn’t mean it. At least, he knew she didn’t want it for pure love. This wasn’t genuine. The love was, but the proposal wasn’t. This was a reaction to something. And as much as Jay would love to be engaged to Hailey Upton, he knew she wasn’t ready for it. And he knew she would regret it if the proposal went down like this. But he knew that he loved Hailey with all of his heart, and he was going to show that. As much as he wanted to say "yes," he was afraid of saying anything would just break her. So he went along with Hailey at the moment, and he decided he was going to try again later.

Jay put his free hand to Hailey’s cheek, wiping a stray tear. “Hailey, I love you. I love you so much. And that’s not going to change. Ever. I will do whatever you want to do and are comfortable doing. Now, let’s go check on Kim. Does that sound good?”

Hailey relaxed into Jay’s hand and closed her eyes. This was the first time she had relaxed in hours. After a pause, she nodded and left Jay’s hold. She opened the car door, and they walked towards the hospital entrance to hear the fate of their friend’s life. They walked into the unknown.

Med was covered in blues. Police of all ranks and districts filled the waiting room. It was so packed, Kim would be embarrassed. She wouldn’t want to be the center of attention. But she needed the love. She needed the support, and when one of their own has fallen, everyone’s going to be there to help pick them back up.

Hailey and Jay quickly spotted Kevin and Trudy in their blackout gear. Kevin had his bloody vest lying on the floor next to him. His bloody vest that was Kim’s blood from where he held her so tight, trying to stop any bleeding if it would do any good. Trudy was sitting in a chair and Kevin was standing next to her, his hand on her shoulder and his phone to his ear. He wasn’t talking, but his phone was still to his ear.

Trudy wasn’t speaking either. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t find any reason to have small talk. Or deep talk. She just couldn’t find anything to say. All she could do was just think, and run her mind to the ground worrying about Kim.

Kim held a very special place in Trudy’s heart. She was different from any other officer that Trudy has had. Kim has this pluckiness to her. She had a different attitude when it came to policing. And as much as Trudy berated her in front of the 21st, as much as Trudy picked on Kim and made her work overtime and made her run the extra mile, she loved Kim. She loved that green rookie with big brown eyes that walked in on the first day with a smile and a donut. She loved the woman who stayed in the district despite her failed relationship. She loved the woman who kept fighting when she kept getting knocked down. Kim had to have the biggest heart Trudy had ever known a police officer to have. Whether that be because of all of the hardship she has dealt with in the police academy or the lack thereof while growing up Trudy didn’t know. And to be quite frank, she didn’t care. All she knew was that she wanted to protect that big heart of Kim’s. She had to because Kim was the reason why a city like Chicago has hope. Kim brought light to a city of darkness. She brought ambition to a city of despair. No matter what the case was, Kim put all of her knowledge and energy into that case. She not only did that, but she cared for the people in the case. Hell, she even cared for some of the suspects, damn it. That’s how big Kim’s heart was. That's how big Kim's heart is. And now, that big, gullible, genuine heart has to fight for its life. It had to put itself in a position to be saved and it has to endure hours upon hours of surgery. So no, Trudy could not find any words to say.

Hailey and Jay walked up to Kevin and Trudy and gave solemn grins. Trudy found the strength to stand up and hug both Hailey and Jay. She held onto Jay a little longer, whispering ever so quietly “Thank you.” Jay patted Trudy’s back as a welcome, trying not to cry from the images of Kim handcuffed in that Buick resurfacing. After what seemed like a century, Trudy let go and sat back down. Hailey hugged Kevin and she and Jay stood with them.

Hailey then dug into her bag and pulled out a portable phone charger and handed it to Kevin.

“I thought you might need this.”

“Thanks, Hailey. Ruz would appreciate it.” Kev kindly took the charger and plugged it into his phone. He was glad because his phone was surely dying but he wanted to give Adam all of the updates as that were coming in.

“How’s Makayla?” Jay asked, crossing his arms.

“Uh, she’s good. She’s good. Adam told her that Kim had to work late, so she’s good. She remembered Adam and wasn’t scared. She fell asleep on the couch but Adam moved her to her bedroom.” Kevin tried to find any facts to answer Jay's question. He replied before listening to Adam say something over the phone.

“Yeah, Hailey and Jay are here... No, no updates yet... Yeah, man... The docs said the surgery would be pretty long.” Kevin answered over the phone.

“I spoke to the Commander. Intelligence isn’t getting any new cases until Kim pulls through.” Trudy stated, looking up at Jay and Hailey who nodded. They both thought it was rather respectful of the commander.

Trudy turned her attention towards Hailey, asking, “Did you or Hank find anything about Roy?”

With that question, Kevin looked at Hailey too. He chimed in, “Yeah did you catch any leads? Do you know where Voight is? Trudy has tried calling, but it goes straight to voicemail.”

All eyes were on Hailey, who quickly became flustered and at a loss for words. Does she tell the truth? Hell no. Not right now at least. Not until she gets to the bottom of what Voight did with the body. What does she tell them? She hung her mouth open, not knowing what to say. Jay noticed Hailey’s nerves and tried to calm her by putting a hand on her shoulder and giving it a squeeze. This made Hailey refocus, and she mustered up an answer.

“I, uh. No. No. And I don’t know where Voight is.” Hailey could barely get her Sergeant’s name out of her mouth. She tried her best to sound casual and honest, and it must’ve worked. Either that or everyone was so exhausted and stressed that they didn’t press any further.

Will Halstead pushed his way through the waiting room and joined the team.

“Hey, no word yet. I just talked to one of the nurses. Just said they’re still in surgery.” Will said. He tried to press for news. Anything, but he was shot down. Hopefully, this was just because they were in a rush and not because they had bad news, which is what Will does but didn't want to believe was the situation now. When Jay told him of Kim's injuries, Will, as a doctor, was shocked she even had a pulse. Her injuries were severe and traumatic, and she spent almost 24 hours bleeding. But Will dare not say his thoughts to Intelligence. No. He didn't want to break any of their hope. And Kim was going to need all of the hope she could get if she was going to pull through.

The team just nodded and settled in. Not one of them was going to leave until they received news about their member. So they waited.

It was 8:03 am. The sun was peaking through the blinds covering the windows. It has been 10 hours. 10 long hours. Some of the police officers left for their shift. Most stayed, camping out in their chairs. Some slept on the floor. Some were called to a scene where they handled it and immediately came back to the hospital. Hailey, Jay, Kevin, and Trudy rotated between two seats, allowing each person to catch a little bit of sleep. But in reality, none of them could get more than a few minutes of rest before the memories of the previous 36 hours crept into their minds, jolting them alert and awake. But they all stayed in that waiting room. In purgatory. No matter how scared, how sad they were, they all remained brave. Trudy and Jay tried calling Voight a couple of times only to realize he wasn't coming. They passed it off to be overwhelming. They thought Hank couldn't fathom hearing any bad news about Kim in person. Either that or he was somewhere, swallowing down liquor like he did when Al passed. But they didn't leave. They couldn't leave. They just had to hope the Sergeant wasn't doing anything he shouldn't be doing.

Kevin stayed on the phone until about 3 am before Adam told him he was going to try to sleep so he could take Makayla to school the next day. Adam woke up at 6 but got the same luck as the rest of his team. He didn’t really get much of actual rest. But he woke up, got ready, fixed breakfast, woke Makayla up, got her ready, drove her to school while singing her favorite songs, and was back on the phone with Kev and heading to Med before 7:45.

Will kept coming in and out of the waiting room. He would periodically try to get information but was shut down every time. Nevertheless, he kept trying. He kept pushing for Intelligence. For Kim.

Suddenly, a doctor scrubbed and dressed in surgical gear stepped foot into the waiting room and everyone immediately woke each other up and sprang to their feet. Kevin told Adam the surgeon was here and put his phone on speaker. The surgeon walked straight to Intelligence and the other officers turned towards the team, waiting for the news. No one moved. No one blinked. Everyone studied the surgeon, trying to pick up on any cues before he spoke. Everyone held their breath. Everyone waited for the update.

After a long breath, the surgeon started pouring words.

“Officer Kim Burgess experienced severe head trauma, assault, shoulder strain, and two shots to the abdominal region. It was clear she lost a lot of blood, and when we got into surgery, it was much worse. She had a dislocated right knee, so we set it in place. The through-and-through shot didn’t do any internal damage so we patched it right up. The other one that never exited was lodged two inches to the right of her left kidney. If it were to hit it, she would have experienced kidney failure and gone into shock shortly after getting hit. Luckily, that didn��t happen. We were able to extract the bullet with as minimal damage as could be done. She had some pieces of glass lodged in her arms and we were able to get them out. She experienced head trauma. We checked, and she was bleeding internally in the brain. Left untreated, it could have lead to developmental setbacks, blood clotting, or death. However, it must’ve started only a little before she arrived here. This was likely due to her staying calm under pressure and subconsciously keeping her head in the correct position. She lost a lot of blood and had a low BP. She lost a pulse after we tried to stop the bleeding, but she was resuscitated after the first try. We did everything we could, and we did a lot. She made it out of surgery. She’s critical, but she’s stable.”

With that, everyone let out the breath that they were holding and erupted with such emotion. Some celebrated, hugging and shaking hands with each other. Some clapped and yelled in happiness. Some stood there in awe, in shock, in disbelief. Hailey dropped her head in her hands and started sobbing. Kim’s alive. She’s alive. Jay let out an excited expression and high-fived Will before engulfing a shaky Hailey in a huge hug. Trudy just let out a loud, deep sigh of relief. She immediately pulled the surgeon in for a hug. She knew Kim would pull through. Kim’s a fighter. She was going to push through. Kevin had big tears in his eyes. He couldn’t believe it. As much as he tried to be optimistic, he saw Kim with his own two eyes. He saw her and could only imagine what kind of torturous hell she went through. He knew Kim was strong, but this. This situation looked bleak. And as much as he tried not to believe that he held on to Kim during her dying breaths, he just didn’t know if Kim could pull through. He didn’t know if anyone could have pulled through with those injuries. But she did. Kim’s alive. After Kevin caught his breath he put his phone to his ear and checked on Adam.

“You heard that, brother?”

All he heard back were deep breaths and sobs.

“She’s okay. She’s gonna be okay. She’s gonna be okay.” Kev heard Adam whispering in between his cries. He didn’t hear a direct answer from Adam but he knew he heard the surgeon. Kev followed suit and replied, “She’s gonna be okay. She's gonna be okay, bro.”

The surgeon cleared his throat and the waiting room quieted down, listening to what else he had to say.

“They’re wrapping up on Officer Burgess now. She will have a brace on her knee to keep it in place. She’s cut and bruised, and she’ll likely have a concussion. We’re giving her blood and we’ll continue for the next few days along with antibiotics to treat any infections from the warehouse. She’s sedated. We’re going to try to ease her awake but she’s a fighter. So she’ll probably wake up by tonight. She’ll be transferred to a private ICU after she’s out of surgery. She’s been to hell and back, and she has a hell of a recovery to go, but she’s alive.”

The waiting room erupted again in relief and celebration. The surgeon hugged and shook hands with all of the officers, including Intelligence. He then left the room to allow the policemen to celebrate.

Intelligence just looked at each other. They didn’t jump up and down or screamed to the rooftops. No, they were too tired for that. But also it was a different kind of energy. 48 hours ago, they were at each other’s throats. Each one of them had a different idea on how to solve this case. On how to get Kim back. Each one of them had hit their breaking point. Each one of them had been to their own hell. And some of them hadn’t made it back yet. And while Kim was fighting back from her hell, while she was fighting for her life, the team came together. They rallied together for their team member, for their friend. They had to come together in order to give Kim that energy. That strength in order for her to make it out on the other side. But that was temporary, and the team knew that. Now, after Kim has made it, the team doesn't know how to feel. They didn’t know what to do. And just because they got what they wanted — they got Kim back and they got her back alive — it doesn’t mean everything that just happened is dropped. It doesn’t mean everything, every word can just be forgotten. No, it just means things get taken off pause.

Intelligence had a lot of work to do. It had a long road ahead of them. The question is: will everyone make it out unscathed? Or will someone crack, leading Intelligence to be shattered?

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neuvillette · 3 years

Text

Paperwork - FrUK Fic (18+ish)

During the industrial boom in England, someone in particular has been working himself to the bone.

Fuck... There it was again, that near-painful pang in his ribs from thinking about that bastard. That arrogant prick had whispered to him so closely that day so long ago that the memory of the hot breath from his lips still seemed to be lingering on his ears-- or was that just his own fiery blush? Either way, it wasn't going anywhere. Whenever he was alone his thoughts would instantly crack back to that insufferable shit. How his lips were so plush and too naturally red to be decent... How those blue eyes drifted lazily along wherever they pleased, often up and down his body. How he hoped that they one day would look back at him so pleadingly, begging for something almost too shameful to fulfill. He knew approximately how the man looked under his clothes, since he was prone to low cut shirts, high hems, translucent fabric. He had a tight waist and broad shoulders, he had hips that almost could be considered too wide, ones that would probably be good to hold onto tightly and grip red marks into. His chest, like much of his body, was soft, not flabby exactly, but plush enough to squeeze and nibble at. Fuck, FUCK, that pang came again, searing through his chest as he battled to think of something else. He had work to get done, and a lot of it. These kinds of thoughts were not only immoral but incredibly inconvenient, and the toll they took on his body meant he had to go through an arduous process to relieve himself, if only for a little while. His teeth all pressed down together as his jaw clenched, he could feel the pressure all throughout his face as he tried to just get on with it. There wasn't that much paperwork left, right? Just a bit more. A small distraction would do him some good. He only realised he was tapping his mostly-dry dip pen against his desk when he noticed how the rhythm was starting to seep elsewhere into his mind; tap tap tap, thrusts against a document, against something soft, warm, moans echoing in arches over the staccato beat, and--- He dropped the pen unceremoniously onto his desk, caked-on ink splattering down as he pressed his forehead into his hand. He had been slipping too hard recently. His bosses hadn’t been pleased with his work as of late; though he had been toiling during similar hours and put in the same effort he always had, they said he needed to rise up to meet changing standards. He used to do work with his hands, but that wasn’t needed anymore. He used to be their guard dog, or at least their work horse. For everything it was, at least the action of his youth was invigorating. At least he wasn’t monitored, and had time to do things for himself, instead of being their tool all hours of the day. He had time to work with his hands, his hands. To create things that were valuable, that were helpful to the, to his, people around him. Now he was… well. He was expendable. But not so expendable that they would waste his capacity to do paperwork. Industry was booming, one couldn’t just expect to stand by with what had been accepted in the past. Labour was becoming more standardised, more efficient, more impersonal… Not that he had ever been the most personable chap. While he enjoyed working with his hands, making things one by one, the gritty way, the difficult way, he made efforts to internalise what they had said to him. They needed his mind, his edge, to work on this stuff. That’s what he was for, after all; not forging swords, not stringing bows, not tilling soil or growing things; but intellectual, gentlemanly, removed work. Detached, necessary, proper. It suited him, he tried to tell himself. He wasn’t one easily inclined to the personable, nor to saccharine slop… Not when communicating with others, anyhow. Buried and smeared while being hidden amongst mounds of paperwork were brief scribbles of poetry, of sketches of mistily reimagined silhouettes, flowing romantic prose incapable of coming out through his own halting speech, of faintly grasped memories of torrid expressions he needed to recall through flowing strokes of a figure, but those all were secrets even he wasn’t meant to have access to. Shameful, that’s what it was. Inefficient, ineffective, and shameful. An outlet for his needs to make something, perhaps, but… Certainly they sated other desires as well.

The distance between them should have helped; should have given him time to correct and corral his feelings, mold them back into form briskly, scaldingly, sharply--as one does when shaping copper. Instead he had gone too soft, too half-hearted, and his self-inflicted blows to his psyche had been too gentle. The metal of his desire had set and crisped up before he could steer himself back on track, and now he had to re-anneal, to subject himself back to fiery disavowal and guilt before the exacting measures of self-restraint would be effective. Yes, he quite liked that idea. He couldn’t have his metallurgy back but he could certainly think of his rehabilitation as such. He had forged many a sword, an arrow tip, an axe, before. His personality would be the same. Scalded and quenched and hammered into shape. And with his skill he could tap incessantly, exactingly, forcefully thrusting against the teasingly giving metal and-- blast it, again! It was achingly difficult to ignore. The distance only seemed to make his delinquent misgivings have more courage to rise up again out of turn. When he was face to face with those capricious blue eyes long enough to remember the wretched personality that tagged along with them it was easier to keep his goal in mind, but the longer he went without a glimpse of the sour man himself, the more alluring the rest of it seemed. Had they even written letters? Well, he hadn’t sent any. He had received a fair handful until they had run dry. He had almost convinced himself that he was glad of it. A few lines in the others flowery script were too laden with implications to be safe; he had already resigned himself to the idea of his correspondence being read at his supervisor’s discretion, so it was best if the letters wasted away entirely rather than risk the uncovery by his betters of whatever hintingly depraved thing would find itself penned inside a perfumed envelope. Near the end of their dispatchment, the notes had gotten quite irritated it seemed, demanding reply. His excuse for his silence was that he simply didn’t have time to dally on such things, but in truth he wanted to show himself that he could deny the temptation. It was easy to tell himself that he had enough to worry about with dozens of signatures to scrawl, appeals and drafts to write, documents and proposals to uncritically approve. With considerable effort, he plucked the intricately carved ivory dip pen off of the desk before blotting it back into his blue-glass inkwell. Just a few more of these documents and he’d be able to wallow in his own home instead of his suffocating office. The half-hearted, half-present signatures left a streaky trail of black as his newly inkstained hand trailed across the page, though the final few letters were jaggedly interrupted with a rapping at the office door.

“Yes, sir, I’ve already said I would finish them by today,” his calling tone was harsh but clearly deferent; he was a lively one, but part of being a man was knowing his duty and thusly his place. Even so, he didn’t bother glancing up from his efforts to correct the broken signing at the tail end of the page as the door slowly opened, creaking unceremoniously.

“If it’s really necessary I can work past my contractual hour, though I must note that your well-intentioned checkings-in aren’t conducive to getting any actual work done.” This comment was much more pointed, though not so much so as to be crossing a line. Still, the silent presence above his desk, looming, made him rethink his words for a slight moment before he got the better of himself. No need to look up as if they can dole out some sort of punishment! To you, of all people! No, you’re working together under the same sense of duty… Right? Keep your head down and show them your dedication and vigour. If they’ve got a problem they can bloody well deal with it, that’s not something that’s important enough to interrupt this work.

« Ah. Scribbling pen names has stopped you from writing back ? You are a much more petulant boy than before, their puppy-dog training is not working on you. » The two sentences were connected not in theme but in the rolling, keen tone they were carried by. The former was a lazy observation and the latter was crafted solely to rile him up. The door quietly shut behind, and there was a graceful and soundless moment afterwards. In a second of skillful self-control, he did not drop the pen but instead cooly placed its nib back into its proper receptacle, as much as he was inclined to throw it at his guest. For a flitting pause, a scorching rage surged through him. What about no reply hadn’t gotten through that dense skull, and what made him think, after it all, that he could flicker back in, no doubt impermanently, just to ruin all his progress, and--

God he needed to see him.

He would not ever, never, let him know that.

“As spineless and will-less as ever, then, Bonnefoy. Resolute enough to travel across the channel to be a nuisance but not enough to do any work or get any admirable aims in life.” Fuck, that hadn’t enough venom, it was transparent and flimsy. Traceable. He made sure his glower was deep enough to offset what he was certain was too-soft a rebuttal. It hadn’t done enough, though.

« So you have missed me ! Yes, you know, I do enjoy to come here and to anger you. » A quick beat passed.

« You know I had to come and-- mmm… scorn you for ungentlemanly not replying to my letters. » Well, it seemed he was being equally as transparent. He almost shivered. It was one thing to have his feelings discovered, but if they both were in agreement over what was happening, it was much more difficult to steer away from what was coming.

“Scold. You mean scold.” He added curtly, taking his pen back up as he glanced back down at his paperwork. He had been staring at his face up until then, he just realised. Blue eyes as infuriating as ever, that new obnoxious french hairstyle, the unneeded tightness in the waist and legs of the waistcoat and trousers, the volatile expression of something genuine.

“Your english still hasn’t improved.” He continued with a comment he knew would be ignored, but he needed to get it out there. Keep up the guise of nagging conversation.

« Your office is so away from the rest in here. Isolated like always. And no windows, a prison ! Poor little sad Englishman, and of course no time to write letters, not one bit. » They were talking by, not to, each other, though they were saying the same things. He had decided to sit upon the edge of the bureau, clearly an excuse to stir up some fabricated bile for their equally as convincing argument.

“I’m working upon this desk, thank you! And I’ve been working for months now. You were not invited and are not wanted; you’ve found your way in and can find your way out. Good day, Bonnefoy.” His pulse was hammering now, if only he could direct it at that copper-- beat his will into place, keep it straight and unmarred, stay determined. The Frenchman was simply smiling away with that look of acute, cutting, though well-intended observation. He was not going to leave on his own. With a return of the pen to its place, he stood, making an attempt to usher his unwelcome guest out. Francis rose as well, and as he did so the Englishman made no further attempt to get to his office door. Instead they stood together, steadfast.

« Say hello to me. It’s been so long, and I want to hear it and you want to say it. Just hello. » It was a tender plea as much as it was a command. The fool really thought he was entitled to it, but only in the way two who have known each other a long time are entitled to hear the news of someone’s workday or what dreams filled their last night’s sleep. They weren’t touching, but they could. His own face was beet red as he decided whether or not he should deny the request, angry and upset at more than the situation and himself. It was boiling over, the tapping beats in his chest and throat weren’t subsiding. He had to do something. He wished he had a bloody window so he could toss the intruder out of it, grasp him by his ruffled collar and throw him out the door, or against a wall, or over his desk, or--

“You-- I can’t believe you--” He was cut off by a look, and maybe Francis had moved forward slightly with his deep gaze, bridged the gap a little to make it easier, but maybe he hadn’t, and maybe he had grabbed at the nicely pressed wool jacket of his own accord, pulled at the stupidly styled french coif to reach for a kiss, to stumble into the wall behind them all on his own. He certainly was the one pressing them together, at least preliminarily. Bonnefoy, having planned something along these lines, was quick to fill in the needed friction after a blink.

« That’s-- hmm… one way to say hello. » The teasing tone was almost enough to make him stop entirely and snap him out of it, possibly stear himself back onto a more proper path, but Francis was smiling again and it was just too earnest as he craned his neck back in anticipation to be kissed there. They both knew this was the only hello he’d be able to manage. Any further acknowledgement of a budding warmth between them beyond the physical was more than he could honestly bear. For now, the more openly flagrant refusal of the two to meet gentlemanly expectations would have to be their letters that were few and far between, punctuated by occasional tysts like this, though the sentiment always lingered, and he was afraid it was growing. He had a period in his youth, with no supervision on open seas, when he didn’t hold himself to such a high standard in these matters. It had taken a fair amount of diligence to push himself back on track, but now--... Well, he could feel himself slipping again, but this time he knew better. Somehow the refutation of his desires of it all made it all the more difficult to deny. But Francis wasn’t giving him much pause to think more deeply about these things, and the wretched glint in his eye made it seem like he knew just what was on his mind. Why did he always know!? It hurt, to be so well understood in a shame the other refused to acknowledge. When had Francis ever been shameful of anything? He pretended to be, but only to be irritating. Every so often when they’d do this, he’d resort to saying such horrible things about how he relished his sanctity being soiled when they both knew perfectly well that no such thing was ever there in the first place. Francis made no signs to do so tonight, not as impatient hands were fiddling with buttons and edging him over to sit back on top of the desk. That pansy French fashion was great for enticing the eye but by god, the buttons! Warm, manicured hands met his and Bonneyfoy grinned.

« You do not need to open my shirt. » What a stupid assumption.

“Just because I don’t-- stop that! I can do it on my own, you’re not making it any easier. I could just rip the damn thing if you prefer-- I don’t have to but. Well, I get to,” His huff was met with an expression that looked sickeningly soft. Was this not injustice enough? To acquiesce to desire, but now his carnal lusts were being interpreted as tenderness! Maybe it was a bit of that, but blast it, Francis could at least pretend he didn’t know. It wasn’t like this was something special for him, anyway. That fop was getting it on with anything that moved and looked his way, and now Francis was lording it over him that he liked him! He was probably smug, pleased that he had ordained to come down and give him the pleasure of a single, solitary fuck while he was off cavorting with--

« Please, let me. You’re tense, I can help. » There he went with that tenderness again, too visceral to be faked. The beat in time of the two sharing a glance was raw and it shut him up quite well. Francis kept chatting as he placed the Englishman’s hands under his shirt as he nimbly undid his own buttons. The other was content to grab about underneath as he waited.

« You need to learn to say no to them. Get more time away. They make you feel worse inside, and that is not very handsome at all. » And there he went with the sap. It was easy to slide his hands around to the small of Francis’s back and hold him steady as he kissed him to shut the man up. Surprisingly, Francis pushed him away to finish opening his buttons. The Englishman did not appreciate that.

« Despair is becoming on you, but even you need to be patient. I’m not going anywhere. » They both knew that wasn’t true, but he wasn’t complaining when Francis plucked his own cold hands out of the back of the Frenchman’s trousers and placed them on the man's freshly revealed chest. He could feel Francis shiver under him, his own hands were much colder than the other’s hot skin. A moment of impulse made him squeeze possibly a bit more roughly than he should have, and Francis did that little gasping moan of his he always did. It had been so long that he hardly remembered it anymore, but it was quite the experience to hear it again. The more he groped the chest, the tighter the legs around his waist would get. Oh, his poor paperwork, it was only slightly out of the way of being crushed and pushed about… Maybe he could move it before they got on with it all, it would only take a--

That familiar warm hand grabbed his jaw tightly and pulled his gaze back away from the documents on his desk, the both of them pausing only for a moment before they kissed again and all thought of paperwork was forgotten in favour of instant gratification. He could feel Francis smile triumphantly as he kept up his slightly desperate grabbing and squeezing, his hips starting to move up against the open legs resting on his desk. It was rather ungraceful, Francis’s legs snaked tight around him as he pressed their bodies together. In the one moment before he would no longer be able to resist himself, a clutching shock of guilt crackled through his chest. Unbeknownst to him, his face contorted slightly, a grimace of pain and reconsideration. Francis didn’t see, or, at least, didn’t pause. Instead, the hot, slender fingers that still held his jaw were keeping the pair kissing as a rhythm not dissimilar to one that the Englishman was familiar with was hammered out against the solid office desk. If only he could say he forgot the expectations of his bosses and the world at large for those moments, but he couldn’t. His will was stronger, however. At least, his will when combined with his desires. Besides, it was difficult to pause when his pervasive nuisance was sitting its fat arse on his desk, when they were clutched and and hugging together as tightly as his wax seals pressed to his paperwork that was currently watching the display. His hands were suddenly disordered-- after months, years even, of writing when told to, shaking hands properly, adjusting ties, now they had free reign to fly wherever they fancied. Tangled in bouncing blond locks one moment, then back squeezing his partner’s chest, then slipped down the back of the loosened trousers upon his bureau. There wasn’t much time until the nonsensical French interjections fizzled into dripping moans, and even less of a beat until a quicker, tense breath of air joined in. Chests still together, their hearts raced. He was the first to pull away and face the wall with a few curses as Francis was left sitting. Realising the fruitlessness of any attempt to clean himself there, he circled around to tend to the ever-patient papers awaiting his return as he dutifully stacked them in his carrying case.

“I should be going, then. These need finishing. Ta.” Miraculously, he found the coldness he had been attempting to muster up upon his companion’s arrival, though it was a tad too late. Francis wasn’t altogether pleased with the change in tone, although he understood the haste required after their torrid encounter.

« But I need a-- Angleterre, you-- ! » His shirt unbuttoned and tousled, and his trousers hanging off of his hips, Francis slipped to place himself in front of the door.

« You are bringing me to your flat, or your kennel, or wherever it is they keep you when you aren’t here. »

“Not if you’re going to speak French, I won’t.” A raised eyebrow came with the easy, chilled reply.

« Do not get smart with me. » Francis shot back, deft fingers working to button his shirt and press down his clothing as swiftly and naturally as bird preening itself. The other’s stern expression and eyes looking elsewhere told him as much as he needed to know. He softened, if only slightly.

« Look, I’m just as presentable as you. It’s a business trip, would that make you feel better ? I won’t bother you as you do your paperwork. I’ll even make you tea and something real to eat as you finish up. Hein ? »

Another few beats between them, and, ever the gentleman, he opened the door for Francis after giving them both a once-over.

“We’ll need to be quick, alright? These pants are already uncomf--... Go.” He gestured briskly out the door, and followed after the other man who seemed far more pleased with himself and the situation. What was he doing? Why was he-- well, that didn’t matter. All he had to worry about was getting back to his own room and not being seen by anyone in so disheveled a state… Besides, Francis seemed to be making no effort to be inconspicuous-- loudly asking for directions to his living arrangements because it had just been so long since he had seen them, and in French, no less. Though determined not to look at him, what made it worse was that he could just sense that sickening grin creeping up Francis’s face, spreading more and more by the minute. If only he had just remembered how irritating and inconvenient, unprofessional and repulsive the Frenchman was… Being apart for so long made him more alluring when he really knew what the bastard was like. If he had been prepared, why, he wouldn’t be bounding after him, through dirty, smoggy streets; his heart racing, his stern glare only slightly beating out the flutter in his chest and the small twitch at the corner of his lips. Incorrigible.

#fruk #ukfr #england/france #france/england #hetalia fic #hetalia fanfiction

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ithebookhoarder · 3 years

Note

Hey! I love your story the gangsters daughter SO much and I was wondering if I could request something based on it?

Where it’s the night before Evie’s wedding and she goes to Tommy’s office to talk as she’s nervous and they have a fluffy moment where he doesn’t think he’s ready for her to get married! ☺️

Cold Feet (Parent!Tommy Shelby x Evie)

A/N: Ok ok ok. First of all anon, how dare you be so fluffing cute?! And second, OF COURSE YOU CAN! I love Evie and I’m always looking for excuses to write for my baby. Also, I’m totally not crying at the thought of Tommy having to let his little girl go and get married and just wanting her to be happy... I just have something in my eye.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of alcohol, mentions of smoking. Let me know if I missed anything.

Masterlist:

Tommy had always known this day would come.

It was as inevitable as death was for every single living thing on this planet.

No matter how hard he’d prayed that he’d have just a little more time left, his luck had finally run out. There was no delaying it any longer now that the day was almost upon him when his life would change in a way that would alter his world forever.

It was tomorrow, in fact, that Tommy would see Evie shed the Shelby name for another.

True, he could not have chosen a more worthy candidate, and knew Toby would love Evie as she deserved to be loved. That didn't lessen the sting it caused though, to know his days as the only male in her life were now over. Soon, she would no longer be his, no longer living in the same house as him. She would be a married woman, and that filled Tommy with incredible joy, and incredible sorrow at the same time.

This was the curse of fathers.

It seemed only yesterday that she was small enough to not even care about boys, let alone marriage. He remembered a particular conversation with fondness, when Evie had only been with them a few months or so.

It had been in the wake of a row over Ada’s most recent conquest at the time. An annoying boy, Liam had only lasted three dates before being scared off by Arthur, John, and Tommy. Despite being nothing particularly special, Ada had been incredibly enraged, yelling about how she wanted to marry him and that she’d never find love again.

Of course, Evie had found the whole thing hilarious, if not a little confusing. Hence, when she’d sat up in bed that night, as Tommy passed by her room one final time, he couldn’t help but smile at her quizzical expression.

“But, Dad. If she loves him what’s wrong with that? Besides, Mum had a baby on her own… if Ada did end up pregnant would it really be so horrible? She’d have a child, like me, and you all warmed up to me pretty quickly.”

“Well,” Tommy had begun, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of this discussion with his only recently recovered twelve-year old daughter. Polly was always far better at talking about this kind of stuff. “It’s… you see… people tend to only have children when they’re married.”

“Why?”

“It’s just how things are done.”

“Well, that’s stupid.”

Tommy smirked. “Most people would agree with you, but a lot don’t. They can be horrible and cruel, even to women who were in love but weren’t married when they had a kid. So, we’re trying to spare Ada from that. It’s fucking complicated, but at the end of the day, she deserves to be happy, doesn’t she?”

“Yes,” Evie sighed, suddenly staring down at her bedsheets nervously. “But… does that mean Auntie Martha was right? That I have to get married when I grow up? But Dad, the only boys I like are you… and my uncles… I don’t suppose I could marry one of them?”

Tommy immediately bit back his laughter as he shook his head and held her close. “I’m afraid Martha would object to you marrying our John. Besides, you don’t want one of us old men when you can find someone young and handsome who you love very much.”

“But how will I know who that is? Or if they’re good or not?” she asked innocently.

“I’ll help you,” Tommy offered, not without a little hesitation. To even think such a time would exist, when he would have to part with his daughter, when he’d only just found her again… “You can depend on it. Any unworthy bastards will be driven away by me, and the hounds.”

At that Evie spluttered into laughter, before pressing a kiss to her father’s cheek. “Now that, I would pay to see.”

Well, that day had come and gone and Tommy hadn’t released any hounds. No. The only hound in sight was Cyril, and he’d warmed incredibly quickly to the new member of the family.

He hadn’t been the only one either. In fact, Tommy had rolled out the red fucking carpet, welcoming the man into the family. Sure, it hadn’t been without its challenges along the way, but as much as Tommy hated to admit it, Toby was a good man. More than that, he’d proved his loyalty to the family, and to Evie, over and over again.

If he had to part with Evie to anyone, then at least it was to someone as decent as Toby. It made the whole ordeal hurt just a little less as he sipped his whiskey and stared out of the study window.

Despite the late hour, there were still faint laughs and shrieks of delight echoing from upstairs. Ada, Lara, Polly and Lizzie were most likely to blame, having taken charge of Evie’s so called ‘last night of freedom’. Tommy didn’t know what that entailed exactly and he didn’t even want to try and guess. Not given how much champagne they’d lugged upstairs with them earlier, having returned from a busy evening dancing at a local club.

If they weren’t all hungover as hell in the morning it would be a minor miracle.

Still, as long as they got their asses to church on time and didn’t throw up on the minister, then everything would be fine. No. It would be perfect. Tommy had promised Evie that much and he’d be damned before he failed to deliver a promise as solemn as this one.

She’d done the same for him, twice in fact, even if his union to Lizzie had been a far simpler affair than his first marriage to Grace.

At least Evie hadn’t insisted on there being a ‘father of the bride’ toast - even if Ada had… Somehow, Tommy knew his would never be anywhere as good as the ones his daughter had given.

She always had had a way with words.

“Dad?”

Tommy froze.

Speak of the devil and she shall appear.

He was startled by the sound of her voice, echoing from the open doorway, as if summoned by his worry. He’d almost thought he’d imagined it until he turned and saw her standing there, looking a little worse for wear in her finery.

Apparently he’d been right; she’d had a very fun evening.

“Evie?” he blinked, clearing his throat as he tried to compose himself. “What are you doing down here? It’s late and I thought you’d be upstairs celebrating a bit longer. Big day tomorrow.”

Evie smiled, shrugging as she stepped into the office and closed the door behind her. She knew she never needed an invitation, having given up knocking long ago.

“I was but… I don’t know. I just wanted to come and see you, if that’s alright?”

It would always be alright. Tommy hoped she knew that, even if the anxiety in her eyes said otherwise. Then again, he suspected the nervous energy wasn’t directly aimed at him.

Over a decade later, he knew his daughter better than he knew himself. It was why he nodded, gesturing to the seat next to him in a clear invitation. “Of course it is, but won’t the others miss you?”

“Oh, they’re all too busy finishing the last of the wine to miss me right away and… I don’t know why but I needed a minute away from everything. It was all a bit… much.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to my world. This family has always been a bit much,” Tommy teased. That was why they both loved them though. The Shelby spirit was strong and made them who they were. They wouldn’t change it for the world, even if it did drive them nuts on occasion.

And Toby was willingly entering this family, why?

“I’m almost scared to ask what’s being going on up there.”

“Probably wise, Dad. No one should see thing things I have tonight.”

“I thought so.”

A laugh escaped Evie’s lips as she sat beside him, accepting the glass of whiskey he handed her without a second thought. It was simply routine by this point, the two of them caught in a silent routine on nights like this when they needed to simply clear their heads and think.

It was an unwritten agreement between the pair of them. As was the somewhat confessional nature this room had taken on in its time under the Shelby household. So much had happened since they’d first moved in to Arrow House, from Charles and Ruby being born, to losing Grace, to Evie falling in love, Tommy’s ascension to Parliament, losing John and Esme, Lizzie and Tommy’s wedding…

Only a decade or so, and yet Evie felt like a whole novel would never be enough to capture her family’s history or the almost surreal events that had taken place.

“Besides, it’s been a while since we had a talk like this, Dad,” Evie continued, shrugging as she sipped her drink and stared at the room. “Everything’s been happening so fast since Toby proposed. It feels like we haven’t had a moment to breathe, really. You’ve been so helpful, agreeing to everything and allowing us to turn this place upside down. I can’t thank you enough for that, by the way. I half expected you to be like Arthur yelling at the florist earlier.”

“It’s the least I can do, Evie. It’s not every day my daughter gets married - and he yelled so I didn’t have to. Fucking trying to sneak carnations in when the order clearly said Clematis with the centrepieces.”

Evie snorted, failing to hide the fact hearing Tommy Shelby raging about flowers was possibly the funniest thing to have ever happened. Ever. Good thing he hadn’t been there when someone had accidentally delivered the wrong amount of chairs for the tent erected out on the lawn. She could only imagine the carnage that would have occurred.

“My knight in shining armour.”

“Always. No ring changes that, Evie. I’ll always be there for you, whether it be to fend off blind florists or worse.”

Despite the fact he acted as if he was merely joking, Evie knew her father meant each and every word. He always had. Even with their ups and downs, he had never abandoned her, always trying to do what was best for her, even if he went about it the wrong way from time to time.

When she thought back now, to the day she’d first met him in that graveyard, on what had been one of the darkest days of her life, she wished she could tell her younger self not to be afraid. To not be angry or scared of the future before her and the wondrous people that would be in it, thanks to the wonderful man she got to call her father.

“Dad, can… can I ask you a question? About tomorrow?”

Tommy hummed softly. “I don’t know what I can tell you about weddings, but fine. Of course.”

“It’s not about the wedding per say, more the bit after. I just… I’m scared, Dad. I don’t know why but I am.”

The words made Tommy’s heart plummet before he’d even realised what she’d said. It took everything in him not to panic or try and express the pain he felt at the idea his daughter was scared about what was supposed to be a happy day - a happy and expensive one, even if Tobias had money enough to cover a lot of the costs.

“Of what?”

“I don’t know,” Evie whispered, almost as if ashamed to confess it. “I’m so happy and excited to start the life together Toby and I have talked about for years but, now that it’s here? I don’t know. I just … I feel like I’m going to throw up or pass out and I don’t know why. Is something wrong with me? Who gets terrified of their own wedding?”

“Every fucking sane person on the planet,” Tommy countered swiftly, a hand reaching out to take hers. “As someone with experience here, you can trust me when I say everyone gets scared, Evie. Everyone. No matter how certain you are that you love the person or that this is the right next step.”

“But why?”

“Because it’s a big commitment,” Tommy continued, “and it’s a new chapter in your life. That’s exciting but also terrifying. To know you have a chance to start a family of your own? To choose your own path? That’s nothing to take lightly, and if I didn’t think you wanted this, or that you weren’t ready, I would have said something before now. You can count on that.”

He had a point.

“And I know you, Evelyn Shelby. You have never let anything or anyone stop you from going after what you want, even if it’s scary or someone says no. If being with Tobias is what you want, then so be it. You’re a grown woman, as much as I fucking hate to admit it. I think you’ve proven over and over again that you’re the bravest one out of the lot of us, and I’m so proud of you. Your Mother would be too. She’d want you to be happy and to enjoy tomorrow for what it is: the start of another chapter in your incredible life.”

The thought of her absence was enough to make Evie’s eyes sting with tears, as was the conviction with which her father spoke about her. The pride was clear, even if he looked a little scared himself at what tomorrow would bring for them all.

“Thank you.”

Tommy nodded, knowing better than to argue as she threw herself at him, coiling herself around him as she often did. Ever since the first time she’d done it, he’d been unable to resist it. So what? His daughter’s embrace was one of the few in the world that made him feel loved. It was as if her presence alone was enough to restore him, to banish whatever was troubling him.

The thought he wouldn’t just be able to have such hugs so frequently made his heart ache even more.

He didn’t want her to go.

In his eyes, she was still the twelve-year-old girl he’d first met. She always would be, no matter how much she insisted on growing up and being a so called ‘adult’. It was why he planned on keeping her room upstairs exactly as it was now, just in the case she ever needed or even wanted it.

That, and because he physically couldn’t bear to erase any remaining traces of her from his home. Of course, Lizzie had teased him rotten about it, even if she understood. Still young, Lizzie hated the thought of Ruby ever growing up and leaving her for anyone - let alone a husband.

At least they had some time left before that would be happening. Tommy didn’t know if he could survive anymore heartache so soon.

“I love you, so much, Evie,” Tommy whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head and holding her close. “You’ll always be my little girl, and you’ll always be welcome here. Anytime, day or night. This will still be your home, and we’ll still be your family. If anything, we’re simply gaining more members, not losing any. Understand?”

“Yes,” Evie nodded, wiping her eyes as she shot him a watery smile. “I love you too, Dad, even if I swear I’m supposed to be the one telling you all this. Isn’t it normally the father of the bride who’s supposed to get all teary eyed and jittery the night before?”

“We’ve never been conventional, Evie. In case you forgot, we have politicians, the Lee branch of the family, and Alfie fucking Solomons all coming tomorrow, for fucks sake. Why should we start worrying about tradition now?”

Evie’s laughter was infectious at the picture of the eclectic scene awaiting them, especially considering how excited Alfie had been at the prospect of attending a Shelby wedding. Oh, Arthur was going to explode at the sight of the Jewish gangster sat in all his finery. That, and when he saw the huge gift he had been promising her for weeks now.

She couldn’t wait.

“True. Well, traditional or not, I’m so grateful for the life we have, Dad. I’ll never be able to tell you how grateful I am that you were the person who showed up at that graveyard,” she confessed. “There’s no one else in the whole world I want to be my side tomorrow. You’ll still walk me down the aisle, right?”

Tommy beamed. “How can you ask that, Evelyn Shelby? I’ve always been right beside you and tomorrow is no different. Wild horses couldn’t stop me.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Tommy whispered, “simply enjoy yourself and let me and the others take care of the rest. That’s all the thanks we need… and maybe call once in a while, just so I know you’re alright.”

Evie laughed, knowing she would probably still end up here most of the time anyway after she was married. But she agreed, pleased to put his mind at rest as well as he’d put her own. “I really do love you, Dad.”

“And I love you too, Evie. Always.”

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heyyyharry · 4 years

Text

Chapter 11: Our Place

(from the My Girl Trilogy: Stay Mine)

…in which they learn something about trust.

Warning: SMUT.

Word count: 5.9k

AU: actor!Harry, older!Harry, younger!Y/N, (4-year age gap).

Wattpad link (Thea as Y/N)

I got food poisoning yesterday and it was like waking up from a comma because I thought today was Tuesday. I’ve got only two days to write the next TCTM chapter. Fuck. Me.

Anyway, enjoy this chapter! Let me know what you think :)

Laura was asleep when Y/N came. The nurse attending her said that she’d woken up for a few minutes before drifting off again, so Y/N would have to come back tomorrow if she wanted to speak to Laura. At least now she knew Laura was safe. It was getting late and she had already texted Laura’s assistant; her job here was done. She’d better go home and get some rest.

But the thing was, she didn’t really want to go home. The thought of facing Blake – who must have been waiting for her to come back so they could talk – instantly put her off. Thank God she’d never given him her number.

As soon as she exited the hospital, she fished out her phone to call the only person she wanted to see right now. Before she could even unlock the screen, however, she spotted him standing right by his car. Maybe telepathic communication was real.

His face lit up the second he saw her. He waved, and her tight muscles eased with relief as she adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder and ambled toward him. He pushed away from his car, met her halfway and eagerly wrapped her in his arms. She melted instantly into his protective hug, blinking back her tears. Fuck. It’d been a really shitty day.

“I’m sorry I lied to you,” she mumbled as he pressed his lips to her forehead. She’d texted him an hour ago that she’d been writing and needed to be alone in order to focus. Though she’d hoped he wouldn’t come over to check on her, she was glad he’d shown up here.

“Laura’s assistant called me because she couldn’t reach you,” he said, his face taut with concern. “Have you spoken to her?”

Y/N nodded, watching his brows pulled together.

“I’m sorry about what happened with Laura,” he ventured. “How is she?”

“She was asleep when I left…”

“Did you know she was a heavy drinker?”

“No,” she murmured. “I just came over to ask her why she’d cancelled the meeting with the publisher, and I found her unconscious out on the floor.”

Half of the truth was all she could afford to tell him; he’d be so upset to find out about what Blake had done. Besides, tomorrow he’d have to hear the truth about his father and Gemma and Isaac, so she couldn’t unload her burden on him now.

Suddenly, she wondered if Gemma and Isaac had already left. What if Harry had run into them before Y/N had come out? Judging from how calm he seemed, Y/N guessed he hadn’t.

“Come on,” he spoke, rubbing her arms to warm her up. “I’ll take you home.”

“Wait.” She tugged at his sleeve, feeling a bit shy. “Can I...can I stay at your place tonight?”

He blinked at her, his lips slightly parted, then he smiled. “My place is yours, kid. You don’t have to ask.”

He kissed her on the cheek and opened the door on the passenger side for her. She got in. Her eyes stayed fixed on him when he got behind the wheel and buckled his seatbelt. As he started the car, she started to replay those four words inside her head.

My place is yours.

At his place, she took a shower while he prepared dinner for the two of them. She felt a sense of guilt and misplaced anger for the things she wasn’t allowed to tell him. He was happy tonight, well, not exactly happy, but he wasn’t in a bad mood, and completely unaware of all the terrible things Winton and Emilia had been doing to him since the beginning. They didn’t deserve him. But who was she to criticize? She hadn’t been honest, either. She’d doubted him today, and for a moment believed he had something to do with Laura when it’d turned out to be Blake.

Blake. God. She felt like such a wimp for not being able to face him after their fight. Why did she have to feel sorry when it was him who was in the wrong?

“Dinner is ready!” Harry’s announcement pulled her out of her thoughts. She turned off the water and poked her head out of the shower to see his silhouette idling outside the bathroom door.

“Why don’t you come in?” she asked, biting back a grin when she imagined him smirking.

“I wouldn’t be able to help myself and dinner would get cold,” he reasoned.

“I don’t mind cold dinner as long as we’ve got hot sex.”

Her answer made him laugh. She swore to God that sexy low laugh of his made her knees go weak every fucking time. “Just get dressed, please,” he said. “I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

“All right.” She rolled her eyes and wrapped a towel around her torso. His silhouette disappeared from the door.

After having blow-dried her hair, she put on a dark blue silk bathrobe with his initials on the back (she’d always joked about how vain of him to have his initials embroidered on his robes) and made her way downstairs. The house was dark, but she didn’t wonder why; Harry rarely turned on the lights when he was alone. Sometimes he was lazy, sometimes he did it on purpose to enjoy the comforting darkness. She’d found it weird at first but she was used to it now.

Padding down the hallway to the dining room, she came into the soft warm orange light coming through the door gaps. Curious and anticipative, she pawed the door open and was met with a candlelit room, dinner for two made by Harry, who was still dressed in the same clothes he’d worn earlier – a black t-shirt tucked into high-waisted black trousers. He looked handsome and put-together as always; meanwhile, she looked like she was here for the spa. She didn’t mind, and neither did he.

He set down the champagne bottle to put his arms around her and kiss her on the lips, cheek and forehead. “Hmm, you smell good,” he growled into her ear, which made her giggle as she placed a hand on his chest and pushed him away.

“What’s all this?” she asked, scanning her eyes around the room.

He gave a shrug. “Just wanna do something nice for my girlfriend.”

“You didn’t have to–”

“Just sit down, will you?” He pulled a chair and nodded his head toward it, so she rolled her eyes and sat down with her hands on her lap.

“I hope you like spaghetti,” he said, taking the seat across from her. She looked down at the plate of meatballs and spaghetti. It was the only thing he knew how to cook.

“Believe it or,” she said as he poured champagne into their glasses. “This is actually the first decent meal I’ve had this week. I’ve been living off on instant noodles and protein bars. No joke.”

He sat frozen in his seat, horror overtaking his face. “That’s not good, Bambi. You have to eat well. If we lived together, I would feed you three proper meals a day.”

She took a sip from her glass and rested her chin on her knuckles. “I love you, baby. But I don’t think I can eat spaghetti three times a day every day.”

“I might even take a cooking class for you. No joke,” he stated and clinked his glass with hers. Her heart fluttered as she knew he meant it.

“Stop being so goddamn perfect or I might drop down on my knee and propose to you right away.” She reached across the table to squeeze his hand and stroked the ring she’d given him. “Or maybe I already did.”

“This ring doesn’t count,” he objected, acting upset. “I’m not that kind of guy, Bambi. You’re gonna have to buy me a real ring if you’re gonna propose.”

“You know what? I’ve changed my mind.” She raised both hands, shaking her head. “I don’t want to marry you anymore.”

A few jokes later, silence somehow found its way back in, but they weren’t bothered by it. The food was still untouched as they continued eyeing each other. Y/N’s heart bloated at the way he looked at her, with so much adoration and bliss, as if she meant everything to him. Well, that was because she did. She knew she did; he’d said it too many times before.

She decided to shake off all the bad things that had happened tonight as she stood and walked around the table toward him. He didn’t break eye contact with her as she settled onto his lap, straddling his waist, arms around his neck. He plucked at the neckline of her robe playfully to peer down the valley of her breasts. The way he arched an eyebrow made her giggle.

She picked up the champagne bottle, drank directly from it then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and pushed her lips against his. A groan rumbled across his chest as he fisted her hair to let her know he’d been waiting for this all night. He took the bottle from her hand, put it back on the table and cupped her face, slipping his tongue into her mouth. Before she knew it, her robe was on the floor and she was riding him. She was completely naked while he was still clothed, his trousers shoved past his bum, his massive hands guiding her hips to match the rhythm of his thrusts. They hadn’t fucked in only a day but it’d felt so long, and she was shamelessly horny. Maybe it was the romantic atmosphere. Maybe she was feeling vulnerable tonight. Maybe she just really loved him. Maybe it was all at once. For whatever reason, she needed this. They went as hard as they could until they came at the same time, shouting and shaking with the ecstasy of their release.

It took Y/N a whole minute to pull herself out of the euphoric daze when his dick grew soft and slipped out, leaving a visible dripping mess on his black trousers and the hem of his shirt. He chuckled breathlessly at the sight, his cheeks flushed, and she felt her core throb again.

“That probably won’t come out,” she cheekily commented. Before he could respond, she reached between them and dipped a finger into her pussy while he watched with his lips parted and his eyes dark. She withdrew the finger slowly, now coated with his and her juices, and slipped it into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked and moaned his name. Harry let out a desperate “ahh” as he tossed his head back and threw an arm over his eyes. Seeing his reaction, she had to break character and dissolve into laughter.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he said, brushing her cheek with his thumb.

“I feel the same way,” she replied and kissed him again. “I think dinner would have to wait.”

They didn’t have enough energy for another round so Harry proposed a warm bath. Y/N joked about how this wouldn’t be possible if they were at her place, because she was too poor and stingy to take a bath after a shower.

“You’re spoiling me,” she told him while sitting between his legs in the bathtub, her back against his chest, her head on his shoulder.

“I love spoiling you,” he whispered into her ear as she relaxed her body under the warm water and closed her eyes, allowing his hands to freely roam across her chest and fondle her breasts.

“I love you spoiling me,” she said. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. You’re my whole world.” He kissed her cheek. Even though he’d been touching her everywhere since they got into this position, it was those words that pulled the trigger. Lips parted, she sat up slightly to sneak her hand between them and grab his cock, causing him to gasp. He was so hard as she started stroking him slowly, but he took her wrist and pulled her hand away.

“Bambi, I can’t again.”

She could tell he didn’t mean it. “Why not?”

“We cannot keep delaying dinner. You need to eat my spaghetti.” He flashed a smile when she tilted her head, pouting at him. “We’re only gonna stay here for five more minutes, okay?”

“Fine.” She blew out her cheeks and turned her head straight. “Will you still spoil me even when I’m old?”

“Of course,” he replied, too familiar with her random questions to wonder why she’d asked.

“What about...when we have babies? You’re gonna spoil the babies.”

Though she wasn’t looking, she could sense the startlement from his short pause. He hugged her waist and pulled her closer to his chest. “You only mention the possibility of us getting married and having kids when you’re jealous of our future kids.”

She chuckled at the remark. “I’m terrible, aren’t I?”

He shook his head and kissed her cheek once more. “No, not even close.”

Y/N had no idea what had gotten into her. She suddenly felt a weird sensation in the pit of her stomach which quickly spread all over her body. She tried to blink back the tears, but this time it was no use.

“Hey, what’s the matter?”

His question was what caused them to spill.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” she sobbed into her palm, and now that she’d started crying she couldn’t stop.

Terrified, he peered over her shoulder to look at her face, his voice brittle. “W-What is it, baby? Why...why are you crying?”

She whimpered and lifted her hands from under the water to wipe her cheeks, only to get them wetter. Harry waited patiently, his chest heaving against her back. She knew he wouldn’t pressure her into giving him an answer; he just needed to know if she was okay, or if he’d done something wrong that had made her cry. Whenever she was sad, his first guess would always be whether he’d made a mistake. He’d made several mistakes in the past, so he always tried to be careful. She loved that about him.

Steadying her breathing, she pulled herself together and rotated to sit face to face with him. He looked into her eyes, his jaw set. She could sense his anxiety as he seemed to be piecing together all the events tonight that led up to this moment to figure out what had gone wrong. She had to tell him the truth.

And so she did. She told him about her finding out about Blake and Laura, about her confronting Blake, about Blake telling her he still loved her and her turning him down, about her rushing to Laura’s flat to find the poor woman half-alive on the floor, about taking Laura to the hospital – she stopped there and skipped to her meeting him outside, because she’d promised to leave the rest for Isaac and Gemma to tell him. Of course, she’d also confessed that she’d thought he’d had something to do with Laura, which was the main reason she’d cried. She hadn’t trusted him as much as she’d wanted to.

Once she finished, he released a long exhalation, which was his way of saying ‘wow, that was a lot’. He placed his elbow on the rim of the tub and propped his head on his hand, staring distantly right through her. Her bottom lip quivered as she squeezed his other hand and brought it to her chest, lacing their fingers together.

“I’m very sorry. I’m sorry I lied to you and I’m sorry I thought it was you. If you’re mad at me, I completely understand.”

“No, kid.” He rubbed his hand over his face and shoved it into his damp curls. “It’s just...a lot to take in.”

“So you forgive me?” she cautioned.

“I wasn’t mad at you in the first place,” he laughed, probably to calm her nerves. “I can’t blame you for thinking I had something to do with it, since I’d always go out of my way to make sure you’re happy. But I promised you I wouldn’t interfere with your career anymore.”

She nodded, her brows drawn together.

“Hey, kid, it’s all right,” he said, taking her arms. “Come here.”

She got on his lap, legs wrapped around his waist, arms around his neck. “I mean,” he began, “I’m angry, but not at you. I just want to kick that kid’s arse.” She laughed between sniffles. “But of course, it’s up to you.”

“I’ll deal with him,” she said.

He cocked his head to the side to study her face. “You’ll kick his arse?”

She snorted at how hopeful he seemed. “Depends on how I feel tomorrow.”

“What about Laura?”

“I’ll talk to her tomorrow, too.”

“Okay,” was all he said before changing the subject back to spaghetti.

After dinner, Y/N stayed to clean up while Harry took their laundry to the laundry room. He’d left his phone on the counter and it kept buzzing with new texts every few seconds; those were probably from Jeff or the other people Harry worked with. He was a busy man, the kind of busy Y/N had never seen in anyone else. When they were together, he would put his phone on Do Not Disturb, but he never did when he was alone. He’d probably forgotten tonight.

She was just about to it up to silence the notifications when his phone buzzed in her hand and another text popped up.

Gemma: We’re so sorry. Please call me back as soon as you’re ready to talk.

A chill rushed down her spine and she hurriedly put down the phone and stumbled back. What did it mean? Had Gemma and Isaac already spoken to him? So he knew all this time? What hadn’t he said anything?

“Bambi, would you like this shirt or this shirt?”

Her head snapped to the side when she heard his voice from the doorway. He was holding up two of his shirts which he knew she loved to wear. She parted her lips but no word got out, and it was just enough for him to realize something was off. He squinted his eyes, confused, then the buzzing of his phone seized his attention. He stole another glance at her before marching over to the counter and peering down at the text.

“You know the truth?” she asked.

He slowly turned, put the shirts on the counter and leaned back against it, crossing his arms. The previous cheerfulness was nowhere to be found on his face as his forehead creased and his lips formed a hard line. “I ran into Isaac and Gemma outside the hospital,” he conceded, staring at his feet. “I know about Winton and Emilia, too.”

She folded her arms across her chest and began to consider him. Realization sank in, and it occurred to her that his chill attitude tonight had only been an act.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she questioned in hushed tones as if she didn’t want him to hear it. But he did, and his eyes found hers again.

“You’d had a rough day. I didn’t want to drag you into this.” He raked his fingers through his hair and huffed. “They told me you already knew…”

Y/N had specifically told Isaac and Gemma not to tell Harry until tomorrow, but she supposed they hadn’t got a choice when they’d run into him. If they had acted like nothing had been wrong and told him tomorrow that something had been wrong, then it would only get worse.

“How are you feeling?” she inquired after a long pause.

He lifted his shoulders, looking surprisingly impassive. “I wasn’t as shocked as I thought I’d be. I guess...I always had a feeling that they had something to hide. All four of them.” He meant Isaac, Gemma, Winton, and Emilia. “I don’t really know how to feel about Isaac and Gemma. Maybe I’m mad at them because they hid it from me, but I understand why they did it. I just needed some time to...be okay with it...I guess? Winton and Emilia, however...”

It was the first time she’d heard him call his dad Winton. Her heart cracked. She couldn’t imagine what it must be for him. How had he reacted when he’d heard the news? Had he been in denial? Or had he believed it right away? Had he cried? God, she didn’t want to think about him crying. She couldn’t stand it.

Closing the distance between them, she circled her arms around his waist and he accepted her embrace as an instinct.

“I’m so sorry. People could be cruel,” she said into his shirt.

He kissed the top of her head and rested his chin on it, holding her tighter. “I don’t regret helping them. I just regret believing he’d loved me and Gem, even just a little bit.” Then he took her shoulders and pushed her away, his lips quirked into a reassuring smile. “Let’s not talk about this tonight,” he said. “I only want to focus on you.”

She gave a firm nod, grabbed his face and brought his lips down upon hers. If her kisses could make him forget about everything else, she would never stop kissing him.

Later that night, they made love again in his bed and fell asleep. It was early in the morning when she woke and found herself alone. She thought he’d gone to get some water, but as she lay and stared into the darkness, waiting and waiting, and he didn’t come back, she began to think something had gone wrong. And so she pushed herself out of bed, put on his t-shirt and padded down the hall to his library, where she assumed he might be.

There she found him, sitting in his armchair and gazing at the night sky through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The silence was strangely frightening.

“Harry?”

Her voice made him jump. His head turned and he stared at her with his eyes glossy and his face twisted. She moistened her dry lips, her stomach triple-knotted when he dropped his hand into the cradle of his arms. She sauntered across the room to take a seat on the arm of the chair so he could hug her waist and bury his face into her chest.

She held him while he cried.

The next morning, Y/N left the house when Harry was still asleep because she had an essay exam. She thought she did an okay job. It could have been better if she hadn’t got distracted by the thoughts about last night and early this morning. Still, she was never the kind of person who kept dwelling on an exam once she’d handed it in. On her way to another class, she got a text message from Harry wishing her good luck. He’d sent it before she’d entered the exam room, but she’d put her phone on airplane mode and only received it just now. She told him she’d just finished it and that she’d call him later at lunch.

As she walked across the courtyard, a group of girls sitting in the shade pointed at her and whispered something to each other. If she was in a good mood, she’d wave at them and smile (Kill them with kindness, Harry always said). If she was feeling neutral, she’d turn a blind eye and walk straight ahead. Today, she was in a bad mood, so she stopped and called out, “Take a picture. It lasts longer.”

The girls all turned away, embarrassed and acting like they hadn’t been snickering about her just a second ago. Whatever, she thought and continued walking.

The rest of the day passed rather briskly. She attended classes with trips to and from the library in between. Last year, she would go to her favourite spot on the courtyard to write and listen to music, but since the whole world had discovered about her relationship with Harry, she couldn’t stand the thoughts of how many eyes would be assessing her when she was alone and distracted. At least people wouldn’t talk so loudly in the library, which made it easier for her to pretend nobody gave a shit about her.

On the Uber ride to the hospital, she got a text from Alice asking if she was coming back to the bookshop because Eddie missed her even though he would never admit it. She’d taken two weeks off to work on her manuscript. It sounded like a stupid thing to do – giving up on present income for unearned profit, though she believed it’d been necessary. After all, she wasn’t going to spend the rest of her life working in a bookshop. She texted Alice back that she’d be back on Monday next week. Alice responded with the dancing girl and confetti emoji.

Earlier today, Y/N had called Laura’s assistant to ask about Laura. Marie (Y/N kept forgetting her name) had said that Laura had got better and would be able to leave the hospital in two days. It was good news for Laura, and also Y/N. On one hand, she cared about Laura’s wellbeing as they were no longer just agent and client. On the other hand, Laura was still responsible for Y/N’s career, which she wouldn’t give up just because a stupid man had tried to intervene. Talented or privileged, she was getting that damn book deal.

“Y/N!” Marie’s eyes gleamed when Y/N entered the room. Laura was lying in bed wearing a hospital gown, a lazy smile stretched her chapped lips as she fixed her gaze on Y/N. Marie got up and quickly told Y/N, “Can you stay here with Miss Hilfgard? I’m going to fetch coffee for all of us.”

“I don’t drink coffee,” Y/N said, turning to Laura. “Are you...allowed to drink caffeine?”

“I don’t know. I don’t really want coffee anyway,” she said and told her assistant, “You get yourself a coffee, Marie. I’ll chat with Y/N for a bit.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Marie brightened like a happy schoolgirl and disappeared into the hallway. The door was closed, and Y/N took a seat in the chair beside the bed.

“So…” she trailed off, “How are you?”

“I’m good. Last night wasn’t the first time I’d got sent to the hospital for binge-drinking,” she confessed.

Y/N’s eyes grew wide. “Really?”

“Yeah. I was a rebel back in Uni. When I said I was a Yale student, nobody would believe me.”

Right. Laura had gone to Yale. Blake also went to Yale. Y/N felt a sudden urge to ask if that was how they knew each other in the first place, but she stopped herself at once. She must not bring up Blake to Laura ever again.

“I don’t remember everything I said to you yesterday, but I assume it was...enough...” she trailed off, her eyelids drooped as she smiled. “I don’t want you to think it would change anything between us. You and me. I still want to work with you.”

Y/N licked her lips and clenched her jaw. “Did you contact me because he told you to?”

“No, God, Y/N!” Laura cackled and patted Y/N’s knee as if she’d just told the funniest joke. “I actually refused to read your manuscript because Blake seemed so fond of you,” Laura said, sounding amused. “But then I felt like it wouldn’t be fair to turn you down without having actually read it, so I gave it a chance. And I had to contact you right away.”

Y/N breathed out a laugh as her chest expanded with relief. However, sadness suddenly clouded Laura’s features. Her voice dropped. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that. I completely understand if you don’t want to work with me anymore.”

“Are you kidding? Of course I want to continue working with you,” Y/N retorted. “I mean, you basically saved my life. Okay, it may sound a bit dramatic but...I was gonna give up on writing, but you gave me hope again. In a way, you saved my life.”

When Laura laughed, Y/N wasn’t sure if it was because she found what Y/N had said funny or she was genuinely happy to hear it. Either way, Y/N didn’t regret saying it out loud.

“Well, you literally saved my life so...we’re even?” Laura offered her hand, and Y/N reached out to shake it, but then she withdrew quickly.

“Actually, you still owe me a book deal.”

“Yes, I do.” Laura grinned, her hand still extended, waiting for Y/N’s. “I already rescheduled the meeting with the publishers. Yes, people would have to fight for your book, Y/N.”

There was something so businesslike in the way she said it. Smiling from ear to ear, Y/N took her hand and gave a firm shake. This already felt like a better beginning.

Harry was just about to hit the indoor gym when the doorbell rang, echoing through his mansion. He hurriedly picked up his phone from the bedside table to see a couple of new texts and missed calls from Gemma and Isaac. Could it be them? Fuck. He didn’t want this attention at all. Why couldn’t they just let him cool off in peace?

Winton and Emilia would probably blow up his phone, too, if he hadn’t already blocked their numbers. He didn’t want to speak to them ever again, although it made him feel like a coward. With Gemma and Isaac, he was only avoiding them because he’d lose his mind and say something hurtful. He loved them, but this was really weird, especially when Isaac had dated Harry’s girl and Gemma had been crying about Asher not so long ago. Harry didn’t even dare to think about the possibility of his sister cheating on Asher behind Asher’s back. Not because he cared about Asher’s feelings or whatsoever. But because after all the drama between him, Y/N, Isaac, and Ruby, he knew better than anyone a love-triangle wouldn’t make anyone happy.

The doorbell sounded again when he careened downstairs, not sure if he should answer the door. What would he do if it was one of those four? Would he ask them to leave? Or would he invite them in so they could talk it out like adults? He was never good at confrontation. Y/N had constantly criticized him for it even though she was only a bit better than him. If something is bound to happen, the more you avoid it, the worse it gets, she’d said. He should probably take her advice and let whatever was going to happen happen.

Heart thumping inside his chest, he hastened to check the front door security camera, and sagged in relief when he saw Y/N waiting outside. Guess he wasn’t ready to take her advice after all.

But wait, why did she bring her suitcase? Was she in trouble? Had Blake done something to her? His speculations made his blood boil, and he hurriedly came to the door. He swung it open and was met with a giggly Y/N, who threw her arms around his neck and kissed him twice on the cheek.

“Sorry I forgot my key,” she said and wiped her lip gloss off his face with her thumb

“Are you going somewhere?” He nodded his head toward her pink suitcase. When her smile dropped, he feared he’d said something wrong.

“Here, Harry.” She aggressively pointed a finger to her feet. “I’m going here.”

Bemused, he arched an eyebrow. She mimicked his reaction, and they ended up having a staring contest right at his front door. As always, she was the first to give in.

“I’m moving in with you.”

“What?” His jaw fell slack as he blinked rapidly. “Are you...sure? What...what made you change your mind?”

Half of him was over the moon for how serious she looked when she said it. The other half of him was afraid she’d only made this decision just so she could avoid Blake like he’d been doing with Gemma and Isaac. If they were his neighbour, he would probably just move to a different house. Y/N didn’t have a house in every city, so he guessed his place was one of her few options.

“If you think I’m doing this because of Blake, I’ll be very disappointed.”

He swallowed hard, shaking his head. He should have known she could sometimes read his mind. “N-No...that’s not–”

“And I’m not doing this for you, either,” she interrupted, her forehead creased and her eyes piercing at him. At this point, he was very confused and nervous; the suspense was killing him.

“I’m doing this because of me,” she said at last. “The reason I was hesitant to give you an answer was because I was uncertain about myself. I didn’t want to be dependent on you, and I was afraid that if we ever...broke up, I’d be disoriented and have nowhere to go. But I’ve learned a few things about trust, which made me realize that it was okay to need someone sometimes. You’re the only person I want to be with today, tomorrow, and for the rest of my life so...I want to try this with you. I’m not gonna–I’m not gonna leave my flat but...I would like to have...a drawer at your place...And we could, you know, try to see where this–”

He didn’t let her finish. He couldn’t. He lurched forward, grabbed her face and pressed his lips against hers. She let out a startled gasp but immediately returned the action. They kissed as if their lives depended on it. If they were in public, people would be hollering and whistling like one of those scenes in rom-coms which made Y/N cringe every time. When they broke apart, they’d smeared her lip gloss, but from the beam on her face, Harry knew she was too happy to care.

“That was rude. You interrupted me,” she whispered, hands in his hair as their forehead glued together.

“Sorry.” He held her hips and pecked the corner of her mouth. “Did you write that speech before coming here?”

“I did,” she sounded serious because he seriously believed she had written it down. As mentioned before, Y/N wasn’t good at confrontation, either. It was easier for her to express her thoughts through written words.

“Are you gonna carry my luggage to your room or what?” she asked and suddenly covered her mouth as if she’d said something offensive. He squinted his eyes, looking at her funny. “I should start calling it our room, right?”

His shoulders rounded as he exhaled. Beaming, he ruffled her hair and picked up her suitcase. “Let’s go to our room before I fuck you on our doorsteps.”

“Hmm. That should be our new tradition. Welcome home fuck on the doorsteps.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and winked extravagantly at him before strutting inside. He felt his smile grow so big it took over his entire face.

#my girl series #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles writing #harry styles series #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles dirty imagine #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles #harry styles fanfics #harry styles imagines #older!harry #actor!harry

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natsubeatsrock · 3 years

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Why I Don't Forgive Mashima over Graytear

Does that title seem hyperbolic?

I mean, Mashima’s done some crazy things within the series, especially with ships. But to not forgive him over one? Especially Graytear? This sounds like the kind of thing I’d make fun of if you switch “Graytear“ with “Nalu“.

And yet, here we are. On Thanksgiving of all days of the year.

Somehow, I’ve managed to avoid not shipping something that doesn’t end up becoming canon in most stories I get into. About the only one I can think of where a ship I’m really gunning for doesn’t happen is Fairy Tail. But I’d like to think I’ve been handling the ship discourse fairly well over the past few years. I don’t think that seeing a ship I don’t like happen is enough to create this response in me.

In fact, this post isn’t about romance. It’s not about how Mashima missed on obvious moments to make two characters I like fall in love and have kids. In a word, it’s about disappointment. Namely, my overwhelming disappointment regarding the canon handling of Gray and Ultear’s relationship.

Before I go further, it's worth mentioning two things.

First, this isn't a strictly analytical post. I'm not entirely sure how much of what I say in this post is tinged by my own disappointment with how what happened in canon played out. None of this is to say that Mashima is a bad writer for doing this, even as I obviously disagree with how he did this. Though I'd like to believe that I'm not the only one who feels the way I do about how Graytear played out in canon, similar to the views I share in many of my other posts.

Second, this post doesn't necessarily take the perspective that Gray and Ultear should have been a romantic couple. Full disclosure, Graytear is my favorite romantic ship for both Gray and Ultear. However, I'm not making the argument that Graytear should have happened in a romantic sense in this post. (That might be another rant for another day.) For now, I'm taking the perspective that their relationship should have been furthered beyond what we got in canon.

Part I: The Unfulfilled Promise of a Bright Future

All ships that don't happen represent missed opportunities. That's not always a bad thing. (No one's arguing Mashima gypped us out of the opportunity for a pedophilic ship by not making Mest and Wendy a thing.) However, it's often disappointing to see that there could have been a great ship idea that wasn't capitalized on by a writer. It's one of the big reasons fanfiction is fun to read and write. (Still feels weird to consider myself a fanfic writer.)

While I don't have too many examples of this for my own ships outside of Fairy Tail, the big one I look to is Zutara not happening in Avatar: The Last Airbender. I'm not personally big on the shipping discourse of the ATLA world, but living with someone who is a big Zutara shipper means I've seen and heard a lot of arguments that make it hard for me to say that there was nothing to the ship. For better or worse, Zutara does represent a lost opportunity for a ship involving one of the most peculiar (I mean this in a good way) relationship dynamics in the series.

Graytear represents a few lost opportunities. The big one involves the obvious connection between each of them and Ur. Gray's life was changed for the better because Ur sacrificed herself for him. Ultear's life, up to their meeting in Tenrou Island, was made worse when Ur gave her up, ironically to save her life. While Gray grew to have a positive view of Ur, Ultear came to have a negative view of her.

Weirdly enough, that doesn't mean they didn't want Ur back in their life. Part of the reason Gray goes to Fairy Tail is to find wizards that would be able to deal with Iced Shell. Ultear's reasoning behind learning Arc of Time is so she would be able to find a time where she could be with her mother. Despite their different views on Ur, they both wanted something similar - a world where they can live with Ur again.

Of course, it's worth mentioning that we know that Gray has a more complete perspective on Ur. Ultear didn't know why Ur gave her up in the first place, took on Gray and Lyon as disciples, or never came back for her. Ultear thought these things happened because Ur didn't want her anymore. In reality, they happened despite Ur wanting and loving Ultear.

During her fight with Gray, she learns that she had the wrong idea about Ur. She gave her up to deal with the balance of magic inside of her. She didn't come back for her because she was told that she died. And, despite having Lyon and Gray as pupils, she still loved her daughter, even though she thought she was dead.

In chapter 43, there's a flashback to a conversation between Lyon and Ur. Lyon questions if he was supposed to replace Ultear. Ur rejects the notion saying that he was never supposed to be a replacement for her. Pity this likely happened before Ur took on Gray and neither of them knew of this moment. However, they both know enough after their fight to come to that conclusion.

During Gray and Ultear’s fight there’s a really cool call back to Gray and Ur’s relationship. When Ur goes to cast Iced Shell, her last words to Gray are words that many Graytear fans may be familiar with: “I will seal your darkness away!“ In its context, Ur is speaking about sealing away Deliora and ending his worries about the beast. Of course, as we all know, that wasn’t a complete sealing and Gray’s arc involves him dealing with this trauma for basically the rest of the series.

But, when Gray is fighting Ultear, he makes the same promise to her. He says that he will seal he darkness away. By this point, we know that Ultear doesn’t have the best view of Ur. However, his hope is to get her to see her mother in a new light. And, by the end of their fight, she realizes her errors and comes to have a newfound appreciation of her mother.

What this could have led into would be the start of a relationship similar to Gray's relationship with Lyon. They're not going to meet each other every arc and I doubt Ultear ever would have joined Fairy Tail. But Gray and Ultear would have much more positive interactions now because they've dealt with much of their Ur baggage. Maybe they could have come have a better, deeper relationship.

Two things happened by the end of the arc that made sure this wasn't going to be the case right away.

The first is Ultear almost killing herself. Of course, Meredy stops her from going through with it. However, she fully intended to make up for her terrible actions regarding Meredy by dying. This wasn't the best sign of Ultear potentially trying to live on and change her ways. But, we'll get to that soon enough.

The second is the seven-year time skip. Gray stayed on the island and missed out on what happened with the world during the seven years. This wasn't particularly in their control and it's not as if their relationship was the only one affected by the time skip. However, it cut a lot of the potential for the relationship to further on, especially considering that, with the formation of Crime Sorciere, their possibilities to interact greatly diminished as Ultear is now actively avoiding being captured.

These things don't necessarily mean that Graytear wasn't going to go anywhere. Up to that point in the series, similar things could have been said about Jerza and they've ended up in a decent enough spot. Of course, that was dependent on Mashima's handling of their relationship during the Grand Magic Games. However you feel about the ship, it's undeniable that this arc set up their relationship dynamic for the rest of the series. Mashima used later arcs to further their relationship, but it’s been built off what happened during the Grand Magic Games arc.

As for Graytear, well...

Part II: The Grand Magic Games Arc Didn't Further Their Relationship

I don't need to say that the Grand Magic Games wasn't as kind to Graytear, as I'm sure anyone who is a fan of Fairy Tail could probably guess that. However, it's worth talking about things other than the one thing we're all thinking about. (Might as well save the best for last.)

Gray and Ultear hardly interact in this arc. Crime Sorciere and the training group Gray is with meet in chapter 263. They go their separate ways in the next chapter. They hardly talk to each other, much less do we see development in their relationship.

I'm not expecting Gray to propose to Ultear. I'd like them to have one interaction at this point in the series that shows something that can positively change in their relationship. Jellal and Erza have half of a chapter to themselves and Juvia and Meredy have their moments with each other.

When Gray mentions Ultear and Meredy potentially being their enemies, she gives an interesting response. She says that she's incapable of making up for the things that she's done throughout her life. In forming Crime Sorciere, she's trying to make up for that by helping as many people as she can.

That sounds positive, right? Ultear recognizes that she’s done bad things in the past and is trying to make up for it now. However, it doesn't seem that Ultear has fully gotten past that old mentality that death is the only way to seek redemption. It doesn’t seem as though she fully believes that she’s a better person because of what she’s been doing.

In essence, her darkness hasn’t been fully sealed away.

And when she leaves with the rest of Crime Sorciere, she tells Erza to take care of Gray. Now, there are a few different ways to read this, depending on how you feel about the various relationships in Fairy Tail. However, it's hard to read this as Ultear expecting to see Gray many more times past that moment.

In fact, they'll only meet two more times past that moment.

For the rest of the series.

To be perfectly clear, this is because of the events of the Last Ages. (And, don’t worry, we’re almost there.) However, Gray and Ultear only interact a total of three times after the Tenrou arc. And one of them is only their technical meeting later in Sun Village. Depending on how you see it, that doesn't count. That Mashima didn't do much else before Last Ages shouldn't distract from the fact that he didn't do much before it happened.

The only other canon interaction between Gray and Ultear past that point in the series is their final meeting at the end of the Grand Magic Games. This barely counts as an interaction as is. Gray recognizes what happened to Ultear and is encouraged not to do anything because of it. I plan on talking about the meaning behind this soon, but consider that, for many people, this will be the last interaction between Gray and his master's daughter. Including their meeting at the beginning of the arc and their two different interactions on Tenrou Island, they only meet each other four times across the entire series.

It's not even as if we don't see Ultear after she cast the Last Ages spell. As I'll get to, she shows up in different forms to a few different people. However, Gray will never see or interact with Ultear past Sun Village and will never see her in person after the Grand Magic Games. No one talks about seeing her again to Gray and he doesn't get the explanation others received regarding her existence. (Though, to be fair, his moment happened shortly after her situation started.)

Well, it looks like we're already there, so let's talk about...

Part III: Last Ages - A Spell Made to Piss Me, Specifically, Off

Yes, I'm devoting an entire section in this post to the spell, Last Ages.

Considering most of the discussion about Last Ages as a spell is positive (up until it’s shown to not actually kill Ultear), I kind of have to.

This moment is held up by many to be an important inspiring moment for Ultear. This is the moment where she's truly able to come to terms with herself. She finds that her life is only worth enough to turn time back by one minute. But, by a twist of dramatic irony, that one minute was enough to save many different lives from death. Most importantly, her sacrifice was able to save the life of Gray after he was attacked by the mini dragons.

Okay, where do I start?

Ultear didn't need to sacrifice herself to stop the Eclipse dragons. Obviously, saving Gray's life, in addition to several other characters, is important and invaluable to how the series could go on from that point. But their lives were not relevant to the success of the Eclipse battle. Natsu’s was and his actions weren't affected by the Last Ages spell. If you think that’s hyperobole, consider that in the anime version of “Sin and Sacrifice”, their fight is quite literally the only thing that happens exactly the same before Last Ages take effect and after it.

I’d like to run a bit of a thought experiment. Imagine if Ultear did nothing. We can deal with the potential ramifications of Gray and so many other characters potentially dying as they come up or change that so they were always going to survive. But as far as getting rid of the Eclipse Dragons and Future Rogue? Natsu would still fight Shadow Rogue, break the Eclipse Gate with his bones, and the future visitors would all disappear anyway.

In fact, that version of events fits the same set of logic that using Last Ages requires of Ultear. Ultear feels that she's irreparably bad because her go-to idea to kill present-day Rogue proves that she can't truly reform. And after going through with the Last Ages spell, she initially believes her efforts to be worthless. If she were to find out that Future Rogue and the Eclipse dragons were defeated without killing present Rogue, that would put her in a position to realize she still has a ways to go before she can change her way of thinking. However, as the person who saved Natsu, she'd ultimately have a positive stake in how the events transpired. In essence, by saving one person, she was able to save everyone else.

Now, if Ultear was simply a one-off case of Mashima having a villain who has a longing for death to be the way they redeem themselves than I might not have as much of a problem with how things transpired. As it stands, she's on the same team with someone who had the same issue in Jellal. Earlier in this same arc, Jellal still had doubts about whether he should continue to live in light of his past actions. He's ultimately brought to think that he should live because of his conversation with Erza.

By the way, she’s also been with Meredy for even longer than that. She’s seen how she’s turned from an emotionless puppet to her own mage. Heck, Meredy should have harbored resentment and hatred over being the one to cause her family and village’s demise. However, she was the one to convince Ultear to keep living as long as she did.

Then there’s Gray himself. As callous as Iced Shell jokes end up being from fans, Gray never seemed to remove the technique from the table of possible abilities to pull from. He even went on to learn a stronger form of the spell. But every time he's gone to use it, he was prevented from doing so because of his friends. Each time, the lesson is that he isn't supposed to recklessly sacrifice his own life, even if it might save the people he cares about.

And it doesn’t stop with them. Fairy Tail is full of characters who start out as serious villains you’d think would never change or be good, have a change of heart, and do good for the world. They join Fairy Tail or other guilds, change their ways, and become better people than they were when we first met them. The arc this happens in involves that on an individual level with Flare and a group level with Sabertooth.

Are you starting to understand why I have a problem with how this played out?

Many things done by Hiro Mashima are the product of his indecision and "free-form" writing regarding Fairy Tail. There are plenty of moments that show where Mashima wasn't exactly fully sold on the thing he'd end up doing just yet. If you read Mashima talk about his writing process, you almost get the sense that he isn't entirely sure of everything he's doing from chapter to chapter.

To be clear, this isn’t to say he doesn’t plan ahead. As he has explained it, while some details are solid in his head, others are a bit more flexible than others. For example, in the last arc, Mashima wasn’t exactly sure about the nature of Irene and Erza’s relationship. Looking back, you can see how that waffling affects how their story is told.

The decision to cast Last Ages doesn't strike me as that kind of move. This feels like an intentional writing decision by Mashima. In essence, he's decided not to go against the grain of characters he's previously written and even some he'd go on to write to have Ultear leave the series as a narrative force.

Or so you'd think.

Part IV: The Post-Last Ages Age

A lot has been said about Ultear's returns to relevance. When she was a part of the battle against DiMaria, I remember people talking about if her return was a cheapening of her sacrifice. I've even talked about her continued relevance as it relates to Gray since Last Ages, including a post for Graytear Week in 2017 about Gray remembering Ultear during the Silver fight.

While Gray's flashbacks to Ultear make sense, I'm kind of iffy on the logic behind Ultear's appearances in Sun Village and Alvarez Empire. We kind of got an explanation behind her existence in Alvarez, being that Ultear can work within spaces where time is messed up. This has been repeated again in the sequel. I don't know that I like the logic behind it, but I also can't say, as some might, that this is Mashima regretting his actions. It’s worth talking about some of the things that have come up through Ultear’s new appearances after casting Last Ages.

For Gray, her sacrifice represents something he should avoid. Almost every time he remembers her, the point is that she made a sacrifice so that he could continue to live. Therefore he shouldn't try to throw his own life away. If you read the post that I made for Graytear week, you know that I like that this theme was reinforced by Ultear's sacrifice.

However, this is a lesson that Gray has already learned. Arcs before with Natsu stopping him in Galuna Island. I even say in that post that remembering Natsu stop him then should have been enough to stop him any other time he used Iced Shell. Especially considering Natsu stopping Gray is remembered every time this theme is brought up. This motif is particularly annoying because, in effect, it makes Ultear's sacrifice a repeat of Ur's use of Iced Shell. Gray even says that he lost both mother and daughter because they were trying to save his life.

In effect, he wasn't able to seal Ultear's darkness away, just as Ur did for him. Ultear saved Gray, but she ultimately succumbed to the darkness in her.

This brings us to the final arc. Her longest post-Last Ages moment is her involvement in Wendy and Chelia's fight with DiMaria. At the end of the fight, she muses about how, if things were different, she could have been just like the two of them. When I first read this, it felt nice knowing that Ultear recognized she could have done things differently. Looking back, it's annoying to see that she recognizes that she could have changed but it would require intervention much earlier on in her life. As if Gray and Ultear's relationship had more of an effect on Gray than it did on Ultear.

Not a whole lot of people seem to talk about how Chelia sacrificing her ability to use for Wendy's safety probably seemed similar to Ultear wanting to use Last Ages. I remember the Chendy shipping discourse when the moment happened in the manga, but I wasn't struck by that alternative until long after I rewatched the events in the anime. I don't buy into the whole "Ultear coming back cheapens her sacrifice" logic that many people have posited. However, the parallel between Last Ages and Third Origin is weakened once you reveal Chelia is still able to use magic after it.

And in the sequel, she appears again to Jellal to effectively telling him to live for Erza's sake. This might be where Ultear's presence makes the most sense. Ultear sees Jellal as someone going to make the same mistake she made and she wants to prevent that. I can’t help but feel annoyed that this was the direction Mashima decided to take this moment in.

I feel that continuously comparing this situation to Jerza makes it seem that I'm bitter against Jerza. However, I actually do like Jerza as it has been playing out in canon, even as I think that Jellal's redemption situation is a mess. It was among the first ships that I came to like within Fairy Tail and I’ve never been able to fully distance myself from it, even as I’ve come to like other ships for both characters (mostly Erza honestly) outside of Jerza. I don’t mean to make these comparisons to seem jealous of a ship I don’t like getting what I want a ship I like to have.

But when there is a clear obvious example of what we could have gotten from Gray and Ultear's relationship in another relationship involving their friends, which also happens to be one of the biggest ships in fandom? It's hard for me not to think that Mashima's doing this on purpose. After the immediate euphoria of seeing Ultear come back washed over me and I thought through this moment again, I was pissed of about Mashima’s handling of Last Ages all over again.

One of the craziest things about this whole situation is that the anime accidentally gave us an insane possibility for Ultear post-Grand Magic Games. If you don't know, when Ultear's backstory was revealed during her fight with Gray in the anime, it was revealed that the lab she was in was headed by Brain, who was the leader of Oracion Seis. I say accidentally because I don't have any proof that Mashima meant for this connection to exist. Nonetheless, if she didn't go through with Last Ages, Crime Sorciere would end up meeting with Oracion Seis.

I would pay good money to see how Ultear would interact with Brain post-Tenrou Island. In one story written by a fellow Graytear shipper, intended to be somewhat of a rewrite of the series, Ultear meets with Brain and kills him, along with a few other members of Oracion Seis. Is this how it would go down in canon? Probably not under Mashima’s watch. Though, the idea is definitely intriguing.

Speaking of which...

Epilogue: How, Despite Hilariously Low Expectations, Fans Disappoint Me

I don't think fans were given as much of an opportunity to believe in Graytear's ability to succeed as other smaller ships in Fairy Tail. Of course, I say this as someone who wishes that they did end up in a deeper, hopefully, romantic relationship and knows people who feel the same way. But, I've joked about how small the Graytear fandom is before.

If you've read some of my recent posts about Lisanna and Nali, you'll notice that I don't have as much of a problem with Mashima over how he handled Lisanna as I do with the greater fandom treatment of her. To be clear, I have issues with how little Mashima did with Lisanna after Edolas and I do wish he did more with her in canon. At the same time, I can understand why we got so little of her, with or without Natsu.

Still, with a ship like Nali, you kind of hope fans take what happened in canon and have fun with the possibilities. While it’s not on the same level as the Big 4, it's not as if it's impossible to find people who like the ship and are making new content for it. I can't exactly blame fans for not doing this with Graytear to a similar degree. But, I figure I should quickly deal with some things I have heard said by fans regarding Graytear. (read: I have nowhere else to put this except the end.)

The worst I've heard many fans over the years is that they're like siblings. Considering Ur didn't see Lyon or Gray as her kids, I can't say that I agree with this interpretation. And considering one of the biggest ships in the FMA fandom is Roy Mustang and his alchemist teacher's daughter, excuse me for not understanding how we got to this take being so popular. (inb4 "Royai and Graytear are different")

Beyond that, there's the take that this isn't the ship that parallels Reina and Musica from Hiro Mashima's other work, Rave Master. However, talking about why it is and why the false comparisons to Gruvia are infuriatingly incorrect would take way too much time and we're already over three thousand words in (read: I made a post about this over four years ago and I’m absolutely working to update it). Suffice it to say, I don't buy that line of reasoning either.

On a related note, there is the notion that Ultear “fell on the sword for Gruvia“. That’s more of a romantically-charged argument then I’m willing to talk about here and may be more suited for another time. However, it’s worth saying now that I don’t know that Ultear thought that much about the specific relationship between Gray and Juvia in casting Last Ages. I’m not even willing to say that Mashima thought about Gruvia that way in his writing of Last Ages, even as I interpret Gray “smiling for her sake” during Gift to be about Ultear and not Juvia.

I want to end this post by saying that I am grateful for the fans who have agreed with me and a shoelace on the merits of Graytear (you either get the reference or you don't). I have a few ideas of how that could work inside and outside of my rewrite universe that I will get to soon enough.

It’s also worth reiterating that this is one of my least favorite aspects of Mashima’s writing regarding Fairy Tail. I don’t feel as strongly negative regarding most of Fairy Tail, even among the things I disagree with most fans about, as strongly as I do this. (read: It’s unlikely I’d write a post like this if Nalu became canon.) I highly doubt Mashima would do anything else with Fairy Tail that would warrant this kind of post from me.

#ultear milkovich #last ages #graytear #gray fullbuster #anti gruvia #actually not really #just want to keep certain people away #happy thanksgiving #don't mean to be salty #i'm just late to posting this #fav

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morwensteelsheen · 3 years

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I’m starting grad school this autumn and honestly I’m getting nervous. Like yes I am v excited about the whole prospect overall and I do miss being a student but am intimidated by 3 hr long seminars and thesis writing and massive amounts of reading… everyone keeps saying it’s gonna be very different from undergrad so okay, but how specifically? Is it the large amounts of reading? I already had insane amounts of reading (humanities degree hurrah) especially in my last two years but could you expound on your own experience and how you take notes/read quickly/summarize or just how to deal with first time grad students?

Oh, yeah for sure! A necessary disclaimer here is that I'm at a certain poncy English institution that is noted for being very bad at communicating with its students and very bad at treating its postgrad students like human beings, so a lot of these strategies I've picked up will be overkill for anyone who has the good sense to go somewhere not profoundly evil lol.

So I'll just preface this by saying that I am a very poor student in terms of doing what you're supposed to. I'm very bad at taking notes, I never learned how to do it properly, and I really, really struggle with reading dense literature. That said, I'm probably (hopefully?) going to get through this dumb degree just fine. Also — my programme is a research MPhil, not taught, so it's a teensy bit more airy-fairy in terms of structure. I had two classes in Michaelmas term, both were once a week for two hours each; two in Lent, one was two hours weekly, the other two hours biweekly; and no classes at all in Easter. I also have no exam component, I was/am assessed entirely on three essays (accounting for 30% of my overall mark) and my dissertation (the remaining 70%), which is, I think, a little different to how some other programmes are. I think even some of the other MPhils here are more strenuous than that, like Econ and Soc Hist is like 100% dissertation? Anyways, not super important, but knowing what you're getting marked on is important. I dedicated considerably less time than I did in undergrad to perfecting my coursework essays because they just don't hold as much weight now. The difference between a 68 and a 70 just wasn't worth the fuss for me, which helped keep me sane-ish.

The best advice anyone ever gave me was that, whereas an undergrad degree can kind of take over your life without it becoming a problem, you need to treat grad school like a job. That's not because it's more 'serious' or whatever, but because if you don't set a really strict schedule and keep to it, you'll burn yourself out and generally make your life miserable. Before I went back on my ADD meds at the end of Michaelmas term, I sat myself down at my desk and worked from 11sh to 1800ish every day. Now that I'm medicated, I do like 9:30-10ish to 1800-1900 (except for now that I'm crunching on my diss, where, because of my piss-poor time management skills I'm stuck doing, like, 9:30-22:30-23:00). If you do M-F 9-5, you'll be getting through an enormous amount of work and leaving yourself loads of time to still be a human being on the edges. That'll be the difference between becoming a postgrad zombie and a person who did postgrad. I am a postgrad zombie. You do not want to be like me.

The 'work' element of your days can really vary. It's not like I was actually consistently reading for all that time — my brain would have literally melted right out of my ears — but it was about setting the routine and the expectation of dedicating a certain, consistent and routinized period of time for focusing on the degree work every day. My attention span, even when I'm medicated, is garbage, so I would usually read for two or three hours, then either work on the more practical elements of essay planning, answer emails, or plot out the early stages of my research.

In the first term/semester/whatever, lots of people who are planning on going right into a PhD take the time to set up their applications and proposals. I fully intended on doing a PhD right after the MPhil, but the funding as an international student trying to deal with the pandemic proved super problematic, and I realised that the toll it was taking on my mental health was just so not worth it, so I've chosen to postpone a few years. You'll feel a big ol' amount of pressure to go into a PhD during your first time. Unless you're super committed to doing it, just try and tune it out as much as you can. There's absolutely nothing wrong with taking a year (or two, or three, or ten) out, especially given the insane conditions we're all operating under right now.

I'll be honest with you, I was a phenomenally lazy undergrad. It was only by the grace of god and being a hard-headed Marxist that I managed to pull out a first at the eleventh hour. So the difference between UG and PG has been quite stark for me. I've actually had to do the reading this year, not just because they're more specialised and relevant to my research or whatever, but because, unlike in UG, the people in the programme are here because they're genuinely interested (and not because it's an economic necessity) and they don't want to waste their time listening to people who haven't done the reading.

I am also a really bad reader. Maybe it's partially the ADD + dyslexia, but mostly it's because I just haven't practiced it and never put in the requisite effort to learn how to do it properly. My two big pointers here are learning how to skim, and learning how to prioritise your reading.

This OpenU primer on skimming is a bit condescending in its simplicity, but it gets the point across well. You're going to want to skim oh, say, 90% of the reading you're assigned. This is not me encouraging you to be lazy, it's me being honest. Not every word of every published article or book is worth reading. The vast majority of them aren't. That doesn't mean the things that those texts are arguing for aren't worth reading, it just means that every stupid rhetorical flourish included by bored academics hoping for job security and/or funding and/or awards isn't worth your precious and scarce time. Make sure you get the main thrust of each text, make sure you pull out and note down one or two case studies and move right the hell on. There will be some authors whose writing will be excellent, and who you will want to read all of. Everything else gets skimmed.

Prioritisation is the other big thing. You're going to have shitty weeks, you're probably going to have lots of them. First off, you're going to need to forgive yourself for those now — everybody has them, yes, even the people who graduated with distinctions and go on to get lovely £100,000 AHRC scholarships. Acknowledge that there will be horrible weeks, accept it now, and then strategise for how to get ahead of them. My personal strategy is to plan out what I'm trying to get out of each course I take, and then focus only on the readings that relate to that topic.

I took a course in Lent term that dealt with race and empire in Britain between 1607 and 1900; I'm a researcher of the Scottish far left from 1968-present, so the overlap wasn't significant. But I decided from the very first day of the course that I was there to get a better grasp about the racial theories of capitalism and the role of racial othering in Britain's subjugation of Ireland. Those things are helpful to me because white supremacist capitalism comes up hourly in my work on the far left, and because the relationship of the Scottish far left to Ireland is extremely important to its self definition. On weeks when I couldn't handle anything else, I just read the texts related to that. And it was fine, I did fine, I got my stupid 2:1 on the final essay, and I came out of it not too burnt out to work on my dissertation.

Here is where I encourage you to learn from my mistakes: get yourself a decent group of people who you can have in depth conversations about the material with. I was an asshole who decided I didn't need to do that with any posh C*mbr*dge twats, and I have now condemned myself to babbling incomprehensible nonsense at my partner because I don't have anyone on my course to work through my ideas with. These degrees are best experienced when they're experienced socially. In recent years (accelerated by the pandemic, ofc), universities have de-emphasised the social component of postgrad work, largely to do with stupid, long-winded stuff related to postgrad union organising etc. It's a real shame because postgrads end up feeling quite socially isolated, and because they're not having these fun and challenging conversations, their work actually suffers in the long term. This is, and I cannot stress this enough, the biggest departure from undergrad. Even the 'weak links' or whatever judgemental nonsense are there because they want to be. That is going to be your biggest asset. Talk, talk, talk. Listen, listen, listen. Offer to proofread people's papers so you get a sense of how people are thinking about things, what sort of style they're writing in, what sources they're referring to. Be a sponge and a copycat (but don't get done for plagiarism, copy like this.) Also: ask questions that seem dumb. For each of your classes, ask your tutors/lecturers who they think the most important names in their discipline are. It sounds silly, but it's really helpful to know the intellectual landscape you're dealing with, and it means you know whose work you can go running to if you get lost or tangled up during essay or dissertation writing!

You should also be really honest about everything — another piece of advice that I didn't follow and am now suffering for. The people on your courses and in your cohort are there for the same reasons as you, have more or less the same qualifications as you, and are probably going to have a lot of the same questions and insecurities as you. If you hear an unfamiliar term being used in a seminar, just speak up and ask about it, because there're going to be loads of other people wondering too. But you should also cultivate quite a transparent relationship with your supervisor. I was really cagey and guarded with mine because my hella imposter syndrome told me she was gonna throw my ass out of the programme if I admitted to my problems. Turns out no, she wouldn't, and that actually she's been a super good advocate for me. If you feel your motivation slipping or if you feel like you're facing challenges you could do with a little extra support on, go right to your supervisor. Not only is that what they're there to do, they've also done this exact experience before and are going to be way more sympathetic and aware of the realities of it than, say, the uni counselling service or whatever.

Yeah so I gotta circle back to the notes thing... I really do not take notes. It's my worst habit. Here's an example of the notes I took for my most recent meeting with my supervisor (revising a chapter draft).

No sane person would ever look at these and think this is a system worth replicating lol. But the reason they work for me is because I also record (with permission) absolutely everything. My mobile is like 90% audio recordings of meetings and seminars lol. So these notes aren't 'good' notes, but they're effective for recalling major points in the audio recording so I can listen to what was said when I need to.

Sorry none of this is remotely organised because it's like 2330 here and my brain is so soft and mushy. I'm literally just writing things as I remember them.

Right, so: theory is a big thing. Lots of people cheap out on this and it's to their own detriment. You say you're doing humanities, and tbh, most of the theory involved on the humanities side of the bridge is interdisciplinary anyways, so I'm just gonna give you some recommendations. The big thing is to read these things and try to apply them to what you're writing about. This sounds so fucking condescending but getting, like, one or two good theoretical frameworks in your papers will actually put you leaps and bounds beyond the students around you and really improve your research when the time comes. Also: don't read any of these recommendations without first watching, like an intro youtube video or listening to a podcast. The purists will tell you that's the wrong way to do it, but I am a lazy person and lazy people always find the efficient ways to do things, so I will tell the purists to go right to hell.

Check out these impenetrable motherfuckers (just one or two will take your work from great to excellent, so don't feel obliged to dig into them all):

Karl Marx and Fredrich Engels (I'm not just pushing my politics, but also, I totally am) — don't fucking read Capital unless you're committed to it. Oh my god don't put yourself through that unless you really have to. Try, like, the 18th Brumaire of Louis Napoleon for the fun quotes, and Engels on the family.

Frantz Fanon — Wretched of the Earth. Black Skin White Masks also good, slightly more impossible to read

Benedict Anderson — Imagined Communities. It's about nationalism, but you will be surprised at how applicable it is to... so many other topics

Judith Butler — she really sucks to read. I love her. But she sucks to read. If you do manage to read her though, your profs will love you because like 90% of the people who say they've read her are lying

Bourdieu — Distinction is good for a lot of things, but especially for introducing the idea of social and cultural capital. There's basically no humanities sub-discipline that can't run for miles on that alone.

Crenshaw — the genesis of intersectionality. But, like, actually read her, not the ingrates who came after her and defanged intersectionality into, like, rainbow bombs dropped over Gaza.

The other thing is that you should read for fun. My programme director was absolutely insistent that we all continue to read for pleasure while we did this degree, not just because it's good for destressing, but because keeping your cultural horizons open actually makes your writing better and more interesting. I literally read LOTR for the first time in, like February, and the difference in my writing and thinking from before and after is tangible, because not only did it give me something fun to think about when I was getting stressy, but it also opened up lots of fun avenues for thought that weren't there before. I read LOTR and wanted to find out more about English Catholics in WWI, and lo and behold something I read about it totally changed how I did my dissertation work. Or, like, a girl on my course who read the Odyssey over Christmas Break and then started asking loads of questions about the role of narrative creation in the archival material she was using. It was seriously such a good edict from our director.

Also, oh my god, if you do nothing else, please take this bit seriously: forgive yourself for the bad days. The pressure in postgrad is fucking unreal. Nobody, nobody is operating at 100% 100% of the time. If you aim for 60% for 80% of the time and only actually achieve 40% for 60% of the time, you will still be doing really fucking well. Don't beat yourself up unnecessarily. Don't make yourself feel bad because you're not churning out publishable material every single day. Some days you just need to lie on the couch, order takeout, and watch 12 hours of Jeopardy or whatever, and I promise you that that is a good and worthwhile thing to do. You don't learn and grow without rest, so forgive yourself for the moments and days of unplanned rest, and forgive yourself for when you don't score as highly as you want to, and forgive yourself when you say stupid things in class or don't do all of (or any of) the class reading.

Uhhhh I think I'm starting to lose the plot a bit now. Honestly, just ping me whatever questions you have and I'm happy to answer them. There's a chance I'll be slower to respond over the next few days because my dissertation is due in a week (holy fuck!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) but I will definitely respond. And honestly, no question is too dumb lol. I wish I'd been able to ask someone about things like what citation management software is best or how to set up a desk for maximum efficiency or whatever, but I was a scaredy-cat about it and didn't. So yeah, ask away and I will totally answer.

#asks

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nomoregoldfish · 4 years

Text

Imagine Pacho Sends You as a Gift to (Spy on) Amado 3/3

More smut (but I’m really bad at writing it, :////). Plot twist guaranteed. And I can’t believe I wrote 6K for this, FML. What has Chema done to me? I also made a few changes in the first two parts, read the whole thing on AO3.

You are woken by a phone call in the middle of the night. But you neither move nor open your eyes. You hear some numbers, Amado sounds irritated. It could be something related to tonight's dinner?

Your patience is wore out minutes after minute and Amado still hasn't returned to bed. You make a bold decision to wake up, and the Mexican is smoking by the window. Something keeps him up at night? That doesn't sound like the Lord of the Skies, the man who has had the world at his feet.

"You wanna talk, more sex or a bath?" You carefully propose.

"I was expecting for late night snacks you pull with some Asian witch shit." Amado lets you sit on his lap. "Hang on, I've got some leftovers from the kitchen."

You two settle for sharing the jacarandas mochi from a small food container in the bathtub.

"You like it?" You don't really need validation from Amado. It's just you spent hours coming up with the idea of improvisation, trying to make a traditional Japanese dessert more appealing to the Mexican guests. "I made the bean paste from scratch, less sugar. I understand most Mexicans are not used to sweet bean paste..."

"They don't deserve it." Amado suddenly claims. You don't get it. Who are they? "They are just a bunch of pigs in expensive suits, corrupted, stinky pieces of shit." Then Amado tells you almost everything. He invited the tequila exporters with the hope that the cartel could use their affiliate companies in the States as front to launder more drug money since tequila is one of the largest yet least regulated businesses between the US and Mexico. And the politicians are officials from Mexican Customs Bureau and SHCP.

"Fucking idiots. They thought I was gonna ask them to smuggle coke under the tequila crates. With all the fucking Pier 1 sofa and Ford pasenger seat manufacturers in Juárez, I've had more than enough trucks to move products across the border." When Amado brought up money laundering, the tequila exporters expressed concern regarding possible investigation of tax evasion from ATF, putting more pressure on Amado to increase their cut.

They eventually made a deal less favorable to the cartel and that's why Amado's a bit pissed when he's on the phone.

"Why are you telling me this?" For the first time that night, you ask softly.

"Those cabrón. They don't deserve what you bring to the table. You pour your heart and soul, making the best feast I've ever had. You deserve to know what happened."

You've never thought you'd hear that from Amado. He didn't have to tell you anything. It makes you lower your guard. You want to get closer to him, without any agenda.

"Does this mean my body won't be put in the trunk of one of your auto collections tomorrow?" You try to lighten it up.

Amado kisses you from behind. The position is awkward but neither of you care.

Making out with Amado in the bathtub makes the night better than your wettest dream.

The Mexican's gonna make you cum again with those magician hands of his.

"You...haven't told me if you like the jacarandas mochi." You're so screwed. Maybe you'll never get the answer because Amado's too busy sucking you tits.

Amado clears his schedule the next day. He brings you to the Asian boutique where he bought the Japanese painting.

"One of my guys found this place. I thought you might be interested..." That's cute from a drug lord. But you're not that kind of person.

"A) I don't need a Buddha artifact home to find my inner peace, and B) only Pacho wears shirts with Chinese characters taken from a poem back in the Tang Dynasty. Seriously, he's ridiculous. Come on, let's go."

Instead, you two spend the day trying different Asian food you can find in DF. From hotpot to Peking roasted duck, from pho to char kway teow. Amado seems to enjoy the Chinese food more than others.

"Most Asian restaurants in North America are run by the Chinese, from San Francisco to DF. Since you guys can't tell if an Asian cook is from China, Japan, Vietnam or Thailand, he or she would quickly learn dishes from other Asian countries. We are always the most hardworking people." You explain to him.

"Oh, I love hardworking people." He's so full of shit but you can't help smiling.

Amado finds a fortune cookie note saying "Happy New Year of Monkey." Then you explain Monkey is one of the Chinese zodiac signs which repeat every 12 years.

"So 1956...I am a monkey? Cool." He's surprisingly quick with math.

You write the Chinese character of monkey on a napkin and Amado seems fascinated by it. So you suggest that he could get the Chinese character tattooed, "Next time you can show that to Pacho. He probably would get one, too."

Holy shit, he's really doing it.

The way the tattoo parole Amado brings you to is cleared makes you believe it's part of the cartel business, which makes perfect sense.

"You don't have any tattoos? Not at all?" You're surprised when the tattoo artist prepares Amado's skin on his forearm, first cleaning then shaving.

"We've fucked three times, once in a bathtub," Amado grins, obviously in a good mood, "Don't you think it's a bit late to ask? Or I fucked you too hard you didn't notice?"

Thank God the tattoo artist doesn't even flinch.

OK, you have to get back at the fucker. So when the tattoo artist asks you for the character to make a design, you write pig in Chinese instead of monkey.

"Hold on, that doesn't look like what you wrote on the napkin. Let me see it." Right after the tattoo artist places an outline of the design on his skin, the Mexican stops him.

You're 100% sure Amado doesn't speak or write Chinese. How the fuck does he figure it out?

"What is it exactly? Tell me the truth or you will have an honest conversation with my brother." Amado makes the threat more scary by pointing at Vicente, who stands next to the door with two guns and a pink lollipop.

"Wait. He doesn't know shit. It was me...I wrote a different character." Your confession is quick, you don't want to see anyone get hurt over this beef.

You thought it's just a silly prank. Now you realize you're dealing with the most notorious narcos of the country. Amado may look like a businessman, reasonable, even decent. He's still capable of getting violent whenever he thinks it is necessary, to an extent you really don't want to know.

You take a deep breath, then apologize to Amado. You are ready for the consequence.

"Apology accepted. On one condition, you'll have the exact same tattoo as I do when the new design is done." Fair enough.

But you're a chef who often needs to cook right in front of customers. You can't let them see a tattoo on your forearm.

"How about here?" The Mexican is touching your breast as if no one's around.

It's a small tattoo, just one character. But it's near your heart and you're sensitive as fuck.

You can't move but your nipples are hard almost through the entire process. Amado's right beside you and he sees everything. Someone please help you ease the pain FFS.

The fucker doesn't act on it until you get into the car. Amado shuts the soundproof panel between the front and rear seats and the next thing you know, you're riding the man who just makes you get a stupid matching tattoo. It fucking stings, and itchy. Yet the pleasure is undeniable when your tits being teased, bit, sucked. Amado carefully avoids the tattoo, which makes you want him to scratch the itch even more. You scream his name when you cum with both extreme pleasure and pain.

Amado puts an arm around you when it's over. Two matching tattoos are right next to one another. Your heart is still beating fast from the afterglow, echoing his pulse.

You feel the caress on your beast, it hurts a bit yet the body warmth is nice. Is it how it feels to be marked by someone else? Not many people will ever see it, plus it's not a specific name or symbol that would embarrass you later. It'd be a secret.

"You know what? You won't be able to find a dead body to stand in for you when you eventually betray me, sweetheart. No one else would get a tattoo like this."

What Amado just says feels like a kick in the stomach. It's cold and absolutely right. Have you been sloppy? Has Amado figured out something already? "Why would I betray you?" You ask, but he doesn't give an answer.

It's the last day of your stay. You have a very special package delivered from Japan.

You gonna make blowfish sashimi tonight for Amado.

Everyone knows it's toxic so it has to be handled with meticulous care. You make Amado watch every step — a set of fuguhiki, knives with thin blade is unwrapped, you pick them one by one to gut the fish, remove the deadly liver and ovaries, skin it and cut off its head. Then instead of cutting outward like most people do, you turn a knife to cut inward.

"Careful! You shouldn't hold knife like that." Amado almost jumps in to help. But you assure him it's OK. Then you show off the technique to cut extremely thin and translucent slices of blowfish.

To make the white meat more attractive, you set the slices in a large plate with red poppy flower pattern. They are so thin, the poppy flower is still visible when all's done.

"An ancient Chinese writer used to say, 'The taste of blowfish is worthy of death.'" You joke when you mix the sauce. "Don't worry. I'm a licensed blowfish-preparation chef."

Amado squints, "So you're testing me."

You want to tell him to just trust you, but you don't know how.

"There's no antidote for the tetrodotoxin. But I'll eat it, too. If it's poisonous, our muscle will be paralyzed bit by bit when we're fully conscious, eventually we won't be able to breathe. We're going to die slowly, painfully and desperately."

You take the first bite, Amado follows.

"Why are you so loyal to him?" Amado breaks the silence, "For one, you don't sleep with him. You obviously are not related. And as far as I know, money can't buy loyalty."

"I'll answer it if you answer my question first." The Mexican agrees. "You didn't want me for me, you barely knew me. You made the decision when Pacho said I was the best, he wouldn't last a week without me. You want him, or something that makes you his equivalent. Except being gay, I don't know. You won't fuck his boys, so I'm the next proxy. Am I correct?"

After a pause, Amado nods. Then it's your turn.

"How many female chefs do you know?" Amado is confused for a few seconds, then he gets it.

"There was no place for you in your line of work, just like there was no place for him in this game controlled by men, men who have multiple wives and fuck whores. He sees himself in you. So he takes you under his wings."

"Yes. Pacho is the only one who's believed me. He's also the biggest shareholder of my first restaurant."

Amado then asks what you gonna tell Pacho when you return. "I'll tell him you give really good heads. Maybe he should try it himself." You wink, "No, I'll let him know you're not a cold-blooded bastard. Even though you sometimes make awful choice by dipping sashimi in guacamole, you're appreciative of other people's work." You really mean it, you like Amado. But you'll probably never know if he buys it or if it matters.

After a while, you finish the whole plate of blowfish sashimi. "Seems we're not dead." Amado's poking your cheek with chopsticks.

"No, we are not."

"Last question, why did Pacho send you?"

"Amado, you would've done the same. You know that."

#narcos #narcos mexico #narcos imagine #amado carrillo fuentes #pacho herrera

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hiddenleafstoryteller · 4 years

Note

🐱 with shikamaru pls!

A/N: Thanks for the request anon! I love writing for Shika, and this prompt was amazing. I really got into writin this one, I hope you enjoy it!

🐱: “She’s not yours anymore, so you might as well leave.”

Word Count: 1,395

Check out the master list for my prompts here!

Squicks: Alchohol mention, drunken behavior, hints of abusive relationship

Shikamaru stared across the room as he watched [Y/N] dance with Daichi, her fiance. Her lavender dress flowed around her with every twirl, she was the only source of color among the black tie affair.

“Could have been you.” Choji remarks standing to his right as he nods towards the couple.

“Yeah, right.” Shikamaru huffs, “Marriage is a drag, definitely not for me.”

Choji laughs and looks at his best friend, “This coming from the same man who practiced proposing to [Y/N] in front of me almost a hundred times?”

Shikamaru rolls his eyes but is unable to meet Choji’s knowing gaze. His hand touches his best friend’s shoulder and gives him a squeeze, he knew how deeply this was affecting Shikamaru even if he wouldn’t admit to it.

“If you love her Shikamaru, go get her. Girls like her don’t just appear every day.” Choji chimes into Shika’s thoughts before he goes back to the table where he sat with Ino.

Shikamaru watches as [Y/N] breaks away from Daichi’s grasp and makes her way to the bar. He decides to make his way over.

“A whiskey straight with a water back for myself and whatever this lovely lady would like.”He says to the bartender coming up behind [Y/N] who glances over her shoulder at him in surprise.

“Shika! I didn’t expect you to come.” She says with a soft smile, and he shrugs with a casual smirk etched onto his face.

“Choji said it would be rude if I didn't, so here I am.” He explained and she awkwardly nodded as she glances at the bartender.

“Make that two straights, no water back on mine.”

“Since when do you shoot whiskey?” Shikamaru teases her as their drinks are poured and slid across the bar. Shika pays and leaves a decent tip before picking up both of their drinks and leading her away from the bar.

“It’s been three years since you last spoke to me, things change.” The bluntness of her voice almost makes him laugh, she was trying so hard to sound mean. He hands her the cold glass as they steal away to the garden outside.

“Evidently.” Shikamaru nods towards the ring on her finger, “If I remember correctly, you told me you were never going to get married.”

Before she can respond, he continues, “If I also remember correctly, you said that as I was down on one knee in front of you.”

Y/N pauses and clenches her jaw, “If you came here to just make me feel bad about something I did when we were seventeen, I’ll see you out of the door myself Shikamaru.”

He sighs, almost immediately regretting the words that had left his mouth. He places his glass on the tall table next to where they stood in the glow of the fairy lights.

“Would you believe me if I said I just wanted to come say congratulations?” He offers, sitting on the garden wall.

“Not in the slightest.” She chuckles and sits next to him. She sways her feet slightly as they don’t touch the ground.

“I figured.” He picks up the glass and throws back what is left of the whiskey. She quietly nurses her drink, her body swaying softly to the music that played around them.

“So why are you really here Shika?” The question slaps Shikamaru across the face, why was he really here? He glances sideways at her and then gives a halfhearted shrug.

“Well my fawn, I just wanted to see you one last time before you became somebody's wife.” He smiles softly as he watches a soft blush paints itself across her cheeks.

“Wow, it's been a long time since someone called me that.” She chuckles and raises the glass to her lips again.

“You know why I called you that, don't you?” He inquires as he gently moves a stray hair away from her face, she shakes her head ‘no’.

“Your eyes, they remind me of a doe’s eyes. Soft, brown, full of mysteries no man will ever understand.”

She cackles, nearly spitting out some of her drink.

“Oh Shika, I have to wear boots around you.” Her voice twinkles across the night air as she wipes the bit of the liquor off of her dress, “You create more bullshit than my father’s cows.”

“I missed that laugh of yours.” He remarks suddenly, “The way I could hear it in a crowded room and immediately know where you were.”

She goes to speak but he stops her before she can utter a sentence, “I miss that little chipped tooth you have. From when you smashed your head against Hinata’s during training at the academy, I also hoped you would never get it fixed. I miss the way you always had a smile on your face when I walked in the house after a mission. I miss getting lost in the woods with you, I miss the way my father used to tease me in front of you, trying to embarrass me. I miss everything sweetheart, and it makes me physically ill to know you're marrying Daichi.”

The words crash over his lips like a captured wild horse who finally broke free of its ropes, it didn’t care what damage it caused. It just wanted to be free, just as Shikamaru wanted to be free of these thoughts he carried around with him like a permanent set of luggage.

“Shika, Shika I’m so sorry.” Her hands grab onto his and squeeze gently, “I don’t know what to say.”

“Than don’t say anything my fawn.” He kisses her forehead and then stares down into her eyes a glimmer distracts him as she looks down at the engagement ring that adorned her left hand.

“If he ever, and I mean ever, lays a hand on you in a way that isn’t out of love, [Y/N] I will kill him.” Shikamaru’s voice is cold, as if something else had taken over him. If he couldn’t protect [Y/N] by being by her side, he at least would be on her side, through everything.

“There will never be a day that goes by where I will forgive myself for saying no to you all those years ago. I was just a dumb little kid, and you deserved so much more than that.” Her voice shakes slightly and she throws back the rest of her drink.

“[Y/N!]” A voice calls from across the garden and they both looked up to see Daichi, followed by his friends, approaching them. His face flushed from the amount of liquor he had consumed.

“Daichi! I would like you to meet Shikamaru Nara, we’ve fought beside each other since we were children.” [Y/N] jumps up and stands with her fiance, “We were just catching up.”

“You’re the little fuck who proposed to her aren’t you?” Daichi spits at Shikamaru who doesn’t flinch.

“Daichi! You’re drunk.” [Y/N] tries to direct him away, “I’m sorry Shika, please excuse his behavior.”

Daichi shakes her off with a swift but hard shove and she has to grab onto the table to keep her balance. Shikamaru stands and steps up to the man who stood between him and the girl he loved.

“You’re lucky she didn’t fall, otherwise I’d make sure you found yourself falling from the roof.” Shikamaru fumed, not paying any mind to the men who stood behind Daichi.

“What are you even doing here? Hoping to steal her from me?” Daichi laughs, “Well, newsflash lover boy. She’s not yours anymore, so you might as well leave, and I better not see you anywhere near our wedding. Otherwise, you’ll have a few people showing you the way out.”

Shikamaru rolls his eyes, “Whatever.”

Daichi clenches his jaw, he wasn’t used to someone not being intimidated by him.

Shikamaru turns to [Y/N] who still had a grip on the table she had fallen into. He reaches out and gently strokes her tear-stained cheek. Their eyes met and Shikamaru tried hardest to remember them because after tonight, he knew he would never see her again.

“Take care of yourself my little fawn, if you need me, tell Choji. He’ll know how to find me.”

He walks away from the party and onto the road heading back towards the village, he tried to remember ever step he took. He wouldn’t be coming home for a long time.

#shikamaru #familiar prompts #shikamaru x reader #shikamaru nara #squick: alcohol #tw: abuse #squick: drunken behavior

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enchanted-prose · 4 years

Text

#10 Renegade Niece

i’m treating myself because I liked writing this and I wrote an impossibly long essay :,)

Word count: 5,294

Characters: Roden, Jaron, Ayvar (Original character), Jamie Todd (Original character), Merry (Original character), Nila

Notes: Edited and my goodness I just loved writing this. Also I forgot to put in lines for the last two submissions and I’m so sorry. There is one important vibe that I’m going to discuss; consider how it feels when your pet begins chewing something they’re no supposed to, and when you tell them to stop, they start chewing faster leaving you no choice but to run at them.

Sleep wasn’t something that Roden excelled at. He fell asleep whenever and wherever he did.

And it just so happened that this time, he’d fallen asleep with his head on his desk.

“Rise and shine!” Bellowed an all too familiar voice, successfully bringing a wave of sound into the once silent office.

Startled, Roden lurched backwards, his chair tipping dangerously backwards until it hit the floor, taking him with it. He shut his eyes. “Good morning Jaron.”

“There’s business to discuss, we can’t have you sleeping.”

“I know, Jaron, I know. Give me a moment, I already have a list of things I need to do.”

Although Jaron was standing at the opposite end of the room, Roden could sense his smug grin. Jaron cleared his throat. “I only wake you this early because I have to ask a favor.”

“And that is?” Roden asked, sincerely hoping it had nothing to do with waxing the hair off of his legs. Jaron had proposed that once, and every member of the king’s circle learned the importance of keeping Jaron occupied with trivial matters in addition to his political duties.

Late morning light glowed all around the room. Roden blinked several times as his head began to plant itself in the waking world. Jaron was dressed in his usual plain clothing, lucky him.

Roden wanted to scrub his teeth clean.

He hated it when he slept in his office.

“I, ah, told Mott to take it easy today because of the events from two nights ago. He has a few reports that need to be looked over and signed.”

“How many reports are there?”

It didn’t actually matter, Roden had every intention of doing them anyways

Jaron scoffed, “I don’t know the answer to that.”

“And when do they need to be finished?”

“Tonight, if possible.”

Roden groaned, and dragged himself to his feet, pulling a piece of paper from his forehead. “Alright, consider them done. But I won’t be able to spar today, Jaron, I have too many things to do.”

“It’s not a problem,” Jaron scratched the back of his head. He looked tired. “Feall is convinced that we have a vital playing piece in our custody, the girl who was captured the night he was attacked.”

The details from that night were still fresh in Roden’s mind.

He went over them as often as he could, always trying to find connections. The girl who’d been taken into custody, a member of the Faola, was somebody Roden had met before. She��d been in the Vaults one night when Roden was on patrol, and allegedly she was assisting another member of her gang in saving a trio of children from a horrific fate.

She’d told him her name: Ayvar.

Ayvar with scarlet hair who bent the rules to help other people.

It was hard to believe that somebody who would brave the Vaults would be driven to cut the head off of another human being.

There was something not quite right about the situation.

“I can see smoke coming out of your ears, are you thinking?”

“Shut up, Jaron.”

“Definitely thinking. Be careful, it’s dangerous.”

“Thank you for your concern,” Roden pinched the bridge of his nose for a split second. “Have you received any information about Queen Danika’s representatives?”

Hesitation visibly weighed on Jaron’s every move. He finally nodded. “They’ve been combing through nearby towns, and will be here tomorrow. I suspect that they will want to interview the girl who attacked Feall.”

“I told Amarinda she was allowed to visit Ayvar if she wanted, I think she’d have more progress than a group of investigators.”

“Good move, is it wrong to say I’m curious about the results?”

“So long as nobody is hurt in the process, I think it’s fine to want to know how it all ends,” Roden gestured to the door. “I’m going to check on her if you’d like to come with me.”

“Amarinda? I don’t think she’d like to be-”

“Ayvar, I meant. I’d be responsible if something happened to her.”

Jaron stepped out of Roden’s office, and combed his hand through his unruly hair. “You think she’s innocent?”

“I try to believe everyone isn’t as bad as everyone says until it can be proven true,” Roden shrugged. He rubbed his eyes.

The dungeons in the castle were odd, particularly because they provided a decent amount of space in each cell. Roden had seen all too many dungeons crafted out of caves and tunnels only big enough for a child. The scent of moldy food was a smell Roden would never come to appreciate. Jaron laughed at him when he stepped away from the mangy guard dog.

There was no telling what would happen if the mongrel bit him.

Roden tried not to think about how he’d die, but he certainly didn’t want his cause of death to be because of a nasty, dirty mutt.

Ayvar had been placed in the last cell. She’d braided her flaming hair around her head, likely to keep it out of the dirt. When Roden and Jaron approached, she sat straight up, her hands cradling her knees to her chest.

“Everything been alright?” Roden asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I suppose,” Ayvar frowned. “I’d rather not be here.”

“I’d rather that you didn’t attack my friends.” Jaron’s biting tone caused her to flinch.

“You don’t really think I was stupid enough to do that, right?”

“I’ve seen plenty of people doing stupid things.”

Roden nodded in agreement. Just the other day, he’d watched Merry shove herself into a barrel and roll off of a bridge into the Roving River. He’d also seen Jaron almost get away with sledding down the grand staircase in the throne room. However, Mott had been there to save the day.

But that unfortunately didn’t stop Jaron from trying to do it again.

Ayvar scowled, “It. Wasn’t. Me.”

“But you were there,” Roden pointed out.

“I was there because I didn’t think the plan would go through!”

“So you knew there was a plan. Who thought of it, if it wasn’t you?”

“I-,” Ayvar jumped to her feet, fire blazing in her eyes. “It’s probably a false name. Goes by all sorts of nicknames, we started calling her Patches. But the arbitrator is a woman, like me.”

“I hate false names,” Jaron mused.

“Ironic,” Roden noted.

"You have to believe me when I say that I wasn't responsible," Ayvar's voice was rising. "I don't care what anyone else says, it wasn't my fault!"

Her voice echoed through the dungeon, and received a bark of disapproval from the guard hound.

Jaron inhaled, "If what you say is true, then we'll release you, I can promise you that."

"It is true and I'll prove it. If Harlowe won't listen to me, then I'll go to Feall. He and I fought our patched enemy together."

"I do recall you saying your patched enemy was actually your friend, at one point," Roden noted. He was still getting used to having a surname to claim.

"That's not true anymore, otherwise I wouldn't have been left in here."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't want your pity."

"Then you won't get our company either," Jaron shot back as he walked away from Ayvar's cell.

Roden stared at Ayvar, but left before she could throw any words at him. She went back to sitting in the corner, and said nothing as footsteps rang through the quiet dungeon.

A courtier was waiting for them halfway down the steps, and promptly dragged Jaron away to attend a meeting with King Oberson. Roden seized his chance to return to his chambers and scrub his teeth and face.

He'd almost managed to shave when he heard the clatter of stones from the courtyard.

Through his window, Roden could see a group of pock marked boys, their sizes varying, but their intentions the same: Torment Ayvar by throwing insults and rocks into her cell.

Abandoning the razor, Roden left his chambers, tugged a doublet over his head, and prepared himself for shooing away a gaggle of bored brats.

Too much had happened during the past few weeks. The stone-throwing boys were added to Roden's long long list of things that annoyed him.

One of the boys stood out from the rest, Jamie Todd. He'd thrown the first stone. Roden recognized him. Jamie was among the boys who were desperately hoping to somehow gain a knighthood. Hoping to mean something more.

That wouldn't happen so long as he was throwing stones at a girl in a cell.

Was having a little bit of peace in the courtyard too much to ask?

A loud whoop erupted from the boys, one of the stones had probably found its mark. Jamie waved his arms above his head as he did an odd victory dance. They'd been clever enough to draft up a little song:

When Daftie Ayvie passed away,

Whadya think they done?

Chopped her up a fishin’ bait:

Copper for a ton!

Devils have the guards on patrol who let the stones be-

A newcomer had joined the group. A girl. A head shorter than half of the boys. Much shorter than Jamie Todd, who was almost the size of Mott.

Mangled hair, holes in her chemise's shoulders. Merry had come to pick a bone.

"Fe-fi-fo fum!" Merry jabbed her finger at Jamie. "I smell the stink of a big boy's bum!"

"Hey!" Jamie cried, all of his attention glued to Merry.

Roden should have seen it coming.

Merry jabbed her elbow into Jamie's stomach, and down, down, down he went. The other boys scrambled away as Merry grabbed Jamie by the ears.

"She's going to tear them clean off!"

"Get some help!"

"My ears! Don't! You'll rip them-!

"Can't help it! Your ears are wonderfully handy!" Merry taunted. "They're like mug handles!"

Roden dashed across the courtyard as Merry slammed Jamie's head into the ground, resulting in his howls echoing across the courtyard. She triumphantly demanded an apology for throwing stones at Ayvar, but none came.

"Somebody help me!" Jamie bellowed, moments before Merry cracked her head against his.

"See the lovely stars, Jamie!"

"She's kilt me!"

"You're going to wish you'd been kilt you mangy, slimy, son of a-!"

In Merry's hubris, she'd forgotten about pinning down Jamie's hands. He swung his fist into the side of her head. Although she wobbled, she didn't topple over.

"I see a bit of brains dribbling-!" Smack! "-out of your ear!"

"Get off of me! Help! She's kilt me!"

"Pity your mother didn't cook you longer," Merry snipped, prepping to bash Jamie's head into the cobblestones again.

Roden finally managed to wedge his arms between Merry and Jamie, while Lieutenant Alistair picked up Merry by the waist, and dragged her off of Jamie. Roden nodded his thanks as Merry cursed and kicked and Jaimie wept as he covered his ears. He was convinced that his brain was bleeding out from his nose.

"I'll take care of the kids," Roden noted, motioning to the large fountain in the middle of the courtyard.

"Yes sir!" Alistair boomed as he somehow managed to keep Merry from escaping to beat the other boys as well.

"Stand up," said Roden as he let go of Jaimie. He then instructed him to follow his finger as he moved it back and forth in front of Jamie's eyes.

He wasn't sure how rattled Jamie's brains were.

"I'm kilt," he wailed. "I'm a member of the undead. I’ll never be a knight now!"

"Not quite, but I hope you've learned something."

"I learned that I hate girls!"

"You'll have a lonely life then, I suppose. Don't throw stones at people worse off than you Jamie, it's not what a knight would do."

Jamie wiped his nose, which had finally stopped bleeding. "I'm- I'm sorry we were- we were just bored."

"Don't apologize to me. You have my permission to be inspected by the castle physician. I'll have my lieutenant escort you."

If he hadn't just been smacked around, Roden was certain Jamie would've fallen to his knees with gratitude. Speaking to the captain of the guard and being around Sir Alistair Derforgall in one day? It was any aspiring soldier's dream.

Roden had been in those shoes once. Idolizing Carthya's heroes.

But you couldn't be a hero and throw stones at prisoners in cells.

Alistair had seated Merry on the edge of the fountain. She crossed her arms. “I’m too angry to give a genuine apology right now, but I do feel bad, so I’m sorry. Give me a few hours before I have to say it to Jamie. I don’t like giving empty apologies.”

“Weren’t you just telling me about being safe while throwing a punch?” Roden asked.

“That’s because I’d- gah, don’t remind me.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be at the Dragon’s Keep?”

“Ayvar is my friend, I came to check on her,” Merry shrugged. “Dawn gave me twenty minutes, but I’ve used up that time in, ah, not very smart ways. Did you forget to shave?”

Roden held completely still as Merry trailed both of her fingers across his stubbled face. “I was in a hurry.”

“I kind of like it.”

“Really?”

“I mean, I just like you, shaved or unshaved.”

“You’re a grisly sight. Best mop you up before you return,” he grinned. Roden then pointed to his left eyebrow, where a long, thin scar started just above his eyebrow and dipped down to the top of his cheekbone. “I’ve had a few head wounds myself.”

A smile tugged at Merry’s mouth, and she visibly tried to fight it with a frown. “I suppose we’ll match.”

“We’ll have to see.”

“There’s no point to life if I don’t have a scar that makes people wonder if I’m secretly a pirate.”

“Are you secretly a pirate?” Roden pulled a spare handkerchief from his doublet pocket, “I suppose it’s my turn to clean you up, would you prefer your own spit or fountain water?”

“I’d prefer your spit, actually.”

“I’m going to pretend like you didn’t say that.”

“Because it makes you uncomfortable?”

“Quite the contrary, I think there’s a better way to exchange spit than-,” Roden cleared his throat. “I take that back. It does make me uncomfortable.”

It seemed that Merry was uncomfortable too. Her face had gone redder than the blood dripping from the cut on her forehead. “I’ll take water. It’s, ah, really warm.”

She was right, the summer morning sun was beating down on the two of them. Roden cupped the unbloodied side of her face as gingerly as he could. He wet the cloth, knelt on the ground in front of her, and forced himself not to grin as he began wiping the blood off of her forehead.

The frown faltered.

“So,” Merry said.

It wasn’t exactly a question, it was more of an invitation. There was no obligation for Roden to say anything if he wanted to. He was allowed to speak about anything that he chose to do. He could talk about the situation with Ayvar. He could talk about how his niece, Nila, wanted to have a picnic for her tenth birthday and that he didn’t know what to get her. He could talk about how he’d begun to see his childhood friend’s death in his dreams.

How he feared that there was something hiding in plain sight.

Something awful.

She was giving him a choice.

And that made him want to tell her everything.

“I have extra reports I need to file tonight,” Roden said as he wet a new portion of his handkerchief. “But I’ve spent too much time in my office. Makes me lonely.”

“Don’t your friends pay attention to you?” Merry arched her unbloodied eyebrow.

He shrugged, “From time to time. They don’t tell me colorful stories about fish hitting my face.”

That made her smile.

“By the way, I never thanked you for the coin you gave me. Where’s it from? I don’t recognize the design.”

“It’s from my home, but it’s not accepted here. Figured I’d give you a trinket. Have you considered getting a pet mountain cat to keep you company?”

“Unfortunately, the royal mountain cat keeper is fresh out of them.”

Merry’s eyes drifted shut, and Roden did his best not to think of the way her body relaxed as he continued supporting her. “Why not come to the Dragon’s Keep? It’s the slowest day of the week, I can help you. I can even promise extra lemon cream tarts.”

“Would I have to share?”

“With me, of course.”

“Promises you’ll make sure it’s a fair share?”

Merry pressed a bruised hand to her heart, “I never lie, Captain Harlowe.”

He hoped she didn’t see his ears beginning to burn. Roden managed to clear away the drying blood on Merry’s face, and ordered the nearest page to get strips of gauze. “I, ah, I’m going to make sure the wound doesn’t bleed through. Is that alright?”

“I only ask that you make me look as much like a plague victim as possible,” Merry was fiddling with her hands.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

To his surprise, when Roden drew away from Merry’s face, she pressed his hand back into place. “No wait, I’m hoping I can siphon away your extreme battle abilities.”

“Not quite sure how true that is.”

“I told you before, I don’t lie.”

“Not quite sure how true that is either.”

Once again, her face flushed bright red. Merry shoved his hand away, “Thanks, ah, uh, thanks for helping me.”

“It’s only fair.” Roden scratched the back of his neck.The page returned with a small roll of gauze. Roden began setting strips of it on the horizontal gash on Merry’s forehead. “You should probably come up with a story about why you look like a plague victim.”

“I’m thinking that I had three eyes at one point, but I tragically lost my third eye while hunting for a golden potato.”

“Not quite what I was expecting, but I’ll take it. Is there more to it?”

“Do you like hearing me talk, Captain?”

“I’ve told you it’s alright to call me by my name,” Roden said, deftly avoiding her question.

She patted the side of his face, “Captain, my friend, at one point I had a third eye, and it helped me see into the ground. I could find all sorts of buried treasure, making me the most valued person in the Eranbole sea. . .”

Words of third eyes and buried treasure fell short on Roden’s ears. As Merry continued weaving her grand story about pirates and sea monsters, his gaze fell on a curious mark on her bare shoulder.

A jagged scar.

As he finished setting the last piece of gauze on Merry’s cut, he found himself brushing his thumb over the scar, wondering where it came from.

Scars carried stories, whether good or bad.

What had Merry done to get a scar on her shoulder? There were others near it, many of them were hiding underneath her printed chemise. Marks of the past. All pale and pink against her skin.

Merry went completely silent, and Roden flinched once he realized what he’d done.

Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.

Devils have him. Roden looked right at Merry’s crimson face, stared right at those mausoleum grey eyes.

Don’t be the first to look away, don’t be the first to look away-

Suddenly the cobblestones became very interesting.

“I, ah, I’m-,” she stuttered, both of her hands going to tug on her earlobes.

Roden all but jumped to his feet, “I have to go now.”

“I don’t think so, I’m not quite finished with our conversation.”

Roden rubbed the back of his neck, desperate to be away from his mistake.

But he couldn’t bring himself to walk away.

“Treat me like a princess, Roden, please,” Merry said, bouncing back from the awkward moment. She held out her hand, palm down, expectant.

A series of scars were visible on her third and fourth fingers, just below the nails. Roden forced himself not to look too long, and took Merry by the hand, “My apologies, lady.”

In a grand motion, Merry waved her hand across the open air, “No apologies are needed sir knight. You’ll find I am quite spotted all over, and not from freckles.”

“I’m really sorry if-,” He began, but Merry was one step ahead of him.

“No, no, don’t be sorry, it’s really alright. I got that scar as a child. My favorite method of travel was jumping rock to rock, and I missed my target once.”

“I’m sure all toads everywhere envied your skill.”

“Oh they did, trust me, they did. I’d ah, I’d tell you more . . But you’ll have to forgive me for leaving so soon, Dawn’s going to have my head if I’m late.”

He didn’t want to admit that he didn’t like watching her leave.

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

Nila sat on his desk, swinging her legs. Her long golden hair had been pinned on her head, and yet despite the obvious effort that had been put into it, several strands had managed to escape. Dirt stains pooled at her elbows.

She was doing a wondrous job holding a stack of papers for Roden.

“I found a cool feather today, but I dropped it in the river,” Nila mused, a slight frown appearing on her rosy face. “It had stripes.”

“A striped feather, you say?” Roden made a face.

“Black and white, I thought it would look cool as a mast for a stick ship, but I got so excited about it, I dropped it.”

“Then I’ll have to help you find another one.”

Nila tapped her boot heel against the desk, “I’m free on every second day of the week, but only in the afternoons. I can fit you into my schedule.”

“You have a schedule now, do you?” He caught himself chuckling. “I would gladly take any available time that I can.”

Everywhere, there were reports hiding. Roden managed to gather all of Mott’s reports, but unfortunately, had managed to lose track of half of his own. He pawed through every drawer he could, every shelf and cabinet.

If it weren’t for Nila keeping track of what had been found and what hadn’t, he would’ve wasted much more time.

How could he let himself get so disorganized?

Roden ran his hands through his hair, “I think that’s all we’re going to find.”

“I can take a turn looking,” Nila offered. She grinned, a pair of dimples making their appearance. “You’ve obviously got something else on your mind.”

“I don’t- I, ah, everything’s under control.”

Although everything didn’t really feel like it was under control. Roden once again ran his hands through his hair, thinking of anything he might’ve missed. Several hours had passed since he’d last seen Merry. It wouldn’t be long before sunset.

“Are you meeting somebody?” Asked Nila, her boot beating out a new rhythm. “Are you going on patrol again?”

“No, no,” Roden said, walking from his desk to the door. “I mean, yes, I’m going to be with a friend of mine. No patrolling for me though, that’s tomorrow night.”

“That’s interesting. Much more interesting than my evening, anyway.”

“I thought you had a busy schedule, sounds pretty exciting to me.”

“Being busy doesn’t mean I’m having fun. Where are you going?”

“Sounds like you’re planning on trying to come with me. . .”

Nila frowned as deeply as she could. “I’m just asking!”

As he paced back and forth, Roden smiled. He was walking to the beat of Nila’s boot hitting the desk. That drew a grin out of her once he mentioned it to her.

He loved being with Nila. She was charming and bursting with life, and made his day a little bit brighter. In time, he saw her as more of a little sister than a niece.

There were many things Roden would always regret.

Things like never knowing his dead brother; Nila’s father.

Too many opportunities had been lost, and Roden was determined not to lose any more precious moments. He’d been cheated out of years and years of memories.

It was time to make new ones.

But he wasn’t sure if taking a ten year old girl to a tavern was one of them.

“Please, please, please, please, please take me with you,” Nila begged. “I don’t want to have to take tea with Lady Orlaine’s whatever they are.”

“Lady Orlaine’s wards?” Roden offered.

“Yes! Them! They’re mean to me, dreadfully boring too. I call them the Greys. Because they make everything grey around them, get it?”

Roden took the numerous papers from Nila and shoved them into a satchel. He’d have to depend on Merry for ink, he didn’t trust himself not to spill any as he walked across Drylliad.

He wouldn’t be able to know if the Dragon’s Keep was truly empty until he got there, and he’d rather not risk taking Nila to a place not quite appropriate for a child.

She took the rejection well, however, Roden wished he’d been able to bring her with him.

The regret was even worse the moment Roden stepped into the Dragon's Keep, only to find that it was as empty as Merry claimed it was.

Aside from the old man strumming a lute in the corner, the only sound was a ghost of a conversation from the back.

Dawn was behind the counter, her grey streaked hair piled into a bun on top of her head.

Another barmaid was sitting in the corner beside a young man. No sign of Merry.

"Captain! It's nice to see you!" Dawn called, waving her cloth in greeting.

"It's nice to be here," Roden countered with a smile.

She turned around, and retrieved a large tankard, "Are you looking for a drink?"

"Oh! No, no, I'm looking for a person, actually. It's Merry, actually, she wanted to talk."

"I'm sure she did, I'm sure she did. Merry! It's rude to keep a guest waiting!"

The conversation grew louder, louder, louder, until finally, Merry came strutting out. She’d changed her chemise, this one was green and hid her scarred shoulder. A patterned scarf rested neatly over her hair and behind her ears.

She pointed at the mass of gauze on her head, “Still in one piece!”

“I’m not surprised, you can hold your own,” Roden grinned. Now comfortable, he set his paper filled satchel on the wooden countertop, and perched on a tall stool.

“You should see her fight a door, it’s quite frightening,” teased Dawn.

“They are the bane of my existence.” Merry stared hard at the front door, and shook her fist at it before bursting into a series of snickers.

“A truly noble quest.”

Merry snatched a used tankard, and began scrubbing at the insides. Her smile faltered, “How’s Jamie Todd?”

“He’s alright, just a little concerned that he was caught throwing stones at a person.”

“Good, that’s good. You sure he’s fine?”

“Saw him myself a few hours ago,” Roden said. He retrieved a few reports, and set them on the counter. “Do you have-?”

“Ink? Right here,” Merry reached below the counter. “And we have a variety of writing tools to choose from too.”

“Don’t use the quill!” Dawn ordered from the other end of the bar. The door opened and closed. “Take care of that guest!”

The glass Merry had been scrubbing at clinked against the counter. Her brows screwed together, “I’ll take care of it.”

“What are you-,” Roden began, but Merry snapped her fingers near his face. He brushed her hands away, “I know, I know, I need to get my work done.”

“I’ll check back in on you in a moment, have that other guest to see,” Merry leaned over the bar, and smoothed her hand over Roden’s head.

He glared at the first report waiting to be finished. Check the details. Signature here, signature there. Next report. Check the details. Signature here, signature there, and so on and so forth. He caught a few snippets from Merry’s conversation with the new guest.

Something about lemon cream tarts.

Saints, he really wanted one of-

No! He had to do a report first!

Report first, tart later!

Merry set a hand on his shoulder, “Your handwriting.”

“I know, I know, it’s messy,” Roden shrugged.

“I was going to say that I like it, sir knight.”

Oh.

She disappeared behind the bar, reappearing moments later with a lemon cream tart in each hand. Roden received his first, much to his delight, and technically, he did manage to finish two reports.

He deserved a tart.

“-I completely understand! Court life is horrifically boring,” Merry said, her voice barely audible above the lute strings.

“I’m glad somebody gets it!” Chirped the guest, their voice oddly familiar.

But not familiar enough to draw his attention away from his blasted reports.

The lemon cream tart made it easier to bear.

Snippets of the conversation still drifted into Roden’s atmosphere. Merry laughed, “And is there anything else I can get you?”

“No thank you, but I do appreciate that you asked me,” came the reply.

And then Merry’s hand was back on his shoulder, asking him if there was anything she could do to help. Unless she was good at forgery, there wasn’t much she could do.

Roden scribbled through report after report, firmly aware that Merry was watching his every move.

He managed to finish the tart just as he finished his first pile of reports.

“And onto the next one,” Roden mumbled.

“Ah, ah, ah, take a tiny break, Captain,” Merry chided. She set her hands on Roden’s, “One stack is worth a victory celebration.”

“Do I get another tart?”

“Possibly, unless you’d prefer a pie.”

Pies were good, when baked properly.

Merry’s hands were cool on his palms.

Cool on his battle torn hands.

They fit too well in his own. A little too nicely. It was impossible to timidly turn his palms up, impossible not to hold Merry’s rough fingers.

He supposed he preferred that to a tart.

And a pie.

“Why are you holding hands with him?” Asked the other guest from right behind Roden.

He jumped, his eyes flying to the voice’s owner.

Only to find Nila with a little bit of lemon cream still on her top lip.

“Oh, uh, because-,” Merry stuttered, however, Roden had a better prepared retort.

“What are you doing here?”

Nila shrugged, “I was bored, so I followed you.”

“And you saw her come in, but didn’t tell me?” Roden asked, turning his attention to Merry.

She made a face, and clasped her hands behind her back. “I only did what I was told.”

“I wanted to surprise you, mostly so I could prove that it’s perfectly acceptable for me to go with you to things,” Nila pointed out. She clambered onto the stool beside Roden. “And I’m very helpful. I can read through your reports. All you’d have to do is sign.”

“Doesn’t mean you’d understand what’s going on,” noted Roden.

“That’s not important, all that matters is that everything is spelled correctly.”

Merry nodded, “She does have a point.”

A smile spread across his face, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t be rid of it, but he did manage to contain it to a slight smirk.

He handed a stack of papers to Nila.

Every so often, Roden glanced up to make sure Merry was still near, and watched as she cleaned tankard after tankard.

She beamed at him each time she caught him looking.

And all he could think about was the way her cool hands felt when they rested on his own.

#roden #ocs #prince jaron #fic friday #fic Friday except its a thursday #this #was literally #too fun #shamelessly fluffy #also nila is absolutely the best #I love her #shes a chaotic blonde child #wait #nila = cosette from les mis confirmed #the ascendance series #the ascendance trilogy #the false prince

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newobsessioneveryweek · 4 years

Text

Love is a Battlefield

I have a wild HC that Warrior is bisexual and no one has the power to change my mind.

So here's something I wrote when I was supposed to be rehearsing for an important exam. Enjoy.

Fair warning: it's not very good

Summary: Warrior has a boyfriend named Alex who is a total sweetheart.

♤♡◇♧

After spending the longest month of their lives in the exceedingly dangerous era of Wild's Hyrule the band of heroes saw their newest switch as a welcome change of location. AFter a quick survey it was declaired that they had landed up in Warrior's Hyrule where well armed soldiers milled about with hard expressions and stood guard at the enterance to Castle Town while others stood stiffly on the battlements.

Warrior breathed a sigh of relief as he gazed across the familiar land and revelled in the busy, yet grounding atmosphere of the place he called home.

He turned to his comrades. "Welcome to my Hyrule for once," He said with a grin. They had never been transported to his home town so this change was well-needed. Warrior finally felt like he could breathe. Apart from this being his home, Warrior desperately wanted to meet with someone before they were forced to depart. He just hoped he had the chance to see them.

The group was making their way toward the entrance to the city, making small talk about the military feel of the place, when Warrior stopped dead in his tracks upon seeing a familiar guard stationed outside the gate. Even from this distance he instantly recognised him. How could he not? His guard's helmet couldn't keep those memorable blue eyes hidden. The group stopped behind him, startled by the sudden change in Warrior's expression. His eyes were firmly locked on an individual standing outside the huge metal gate blocking their entry inside the magnificent walls.

"Hey, what it is? Aren't we going in," Legend asked. Warrior remained still, staring at the figure. He felt a tap on his shoulder but didn't tear his eyes away from his target. "Ay! Princess, what's the hold up," Legend continued nagging.

Legend stepped to Warrior's side and looked at the figure on whom he was so intensely focused.

The figure shifted and turned his head in the Links direction, probably having felt the gazes, and visibly stiffened, his grip growing tighter on his halberd. His lips moved, saying something the group couldn't make out, but by the formation of his lips, Warrior presumed he was calling his name.

Warrior took a tentative step forward. The rest of the Link's stayed back, not wanting to get involved in whatever reunion was taking place.

"What's happening," Wind inquired from his place next to Time."

"I think I have a good feeling," Hyrule chimed in with a smirk on his lips. The group turned to him with questioning looks.

They noticed the guard noticing Warrior and decided to watch the scene unfold before making any attempt to interfere. They were probably good friends seeing each other for the first time in nearly three months.

Warrior took step after step toward the guard, who by this point had removed his helmet. He had raven black hair tied into a small ponytail. He had sharp, piercing blue eyes and a chestnut complexion. He gazed at Warrior as he approached and started making his way toward him as well, starting slowly but gradually picking up the pace the closer they got and, before they knew it, they both started running towards each other.

The other Link's watched as they met in the middle. They were expecting a hug, but what actually happened was much more... intimate.

Time covered Wind's eyes, but ended up nearly smothering the young boy with his big hands. Wind simply pried his way free and Legend nearly toppled over during the couple's affectionate reunion. The others had similar reactions, though leagues less dramatic.

Warrior was elated. The love of his life was right in front of him again after three months. He couldn't have imagined feeling so overjoyed during the time he was away, but now, with him, he felt liberated.

"I missed you," he heard him say and he nearly shed a tear at hearing that voice, deep and sonorous, thick with the accent of a land far away. Warrior embraced him again and kissed his forehead. They were roughly the same height, making the action easy.

"I missed you too," he said, and the end of their long separation brought a bonafide tear to Warrior's eye.

He felt his beloved's strong arms around him and, for the first time in a very long time, he felt truly safe; like the dangers he often faced and will face again soon could not hurt him.

Then a realisation occurred to him.

Warrior reluctantly pulled himself from the embrace and turned around to his friends, who were watching the couple with varying expressions of surprise and gladness.

He cleared his throat. "So, um, this is Alex," he started. He cleared his thought again. "He's my, um, my boyfriend."

Alex gave a polite wave and snuck his arm around Warrior's waste, his hand finding its place on his hip.

"Heh, didn't think you had it in ya," Legend commented in his expected snarky tone.

"What's that supposed to mean," Warrior asked, genuinely curious.

"I mean that I didn't think you'd land yourself a decent fella- or fellow in this case- let alone keep them around." He nodded to Alex as if to say 'no offense' or something along those lines.

"Luckily for you I'm used to tuning you out."

There was a moment of awkward silence until Alex decided to ask about Warrior's relation to the foreign heroes.

"I don't think I've ever seen you around here. From where do you hail, if I may ask," he asked. Warrior almost melted. He loved hearing Alex's voice, smooth and formal and never faltering. He was never one to forget his manners and he would always think before he spoke. One could never win an argument with him.

"Trust me, you'd rather not hear this story," Hyrule supplied after his question.

Alex looked surprised but didn't question the response. "I was told that Link was to make a long journey, but I was unaware that he had company. What are your names-"

"You always ask so many questions. Let's leave the formalities for later." Warrior said this more as an excuse to be alone with Alex than anything but he really didn't want to explain the timeline story. What a schlep.

Warrior escorted the group inside where they would speak with Zelda to garner some knowledge from her on their predicament after giving his beloved one last kiss on the hand.

♤♡◇♧

Like a teenage girl Warrior threw himself on his bed and squealed his joy through a pillow much to the enjoyment of his friends, but Warrior didn't care. He was happy and he sure as Hell was going to show it.

"I can't believe it," came Warrior's muffled voice through the pillow. He lifted the cushion from his face and revealed the brightest smile that has ever graced his face. Beaming, he continued, "what am I even doing here? I have to see him," he made to dart out of the room but was stopped abruptly by Time.

"Woah there. Calm down. We have work to do. Remember the princess gave us a task. Once we finish that you can go see Alex."

Warrior visibly deflated, melting into his disappoint but resolved to get his task done as quickly as possible. There were hordes of Bokoblins stationed near the fortress. The Links' jobs were to take them down. Warrior armed himself swiftly. "Well what are we waiting for then? Let's go."

"Hold on for goddesses' sake," Legend complained, "Some of us are trying to relax after a month of torture in the land of Wild."

"Hey," Wild exclaimed but knew there was nothing he could say to defend his Hyrule or counter Legend's attack.

"Urg, fine. I'll wait, but I'm not happy about it."

"Aw, come on, absence makes the heart grow fonder," Sky reassured.

"It's been three months of absence. My heart is filled with fondness," Warrior proclaimed, frustrated.

"Well that's great princess. Keep that fondness while we relax."

Warrior grumbled some more before the group eventually set off to destroy the monsters.

♤♡◇♧

"Link!"

Warrior turned around and saw Alex making his way toward them. "He stopped in front of the group, pulling his perfect jet black bangs out of his face. "I implored the princess that I may joining your party. She was perfectly accepting of my proposal. May I accompany you to the battle my love?"

Warrior stood there for a moment and blinked. "That's a very roundabout way of saying you want to spend some time with me, but yes," Warrior smiled in delight, "you may accompany us."

The rest of the group was a little surprised at the question but had no qualms. Without any complaint the group left the castle.

0_0_0_0_0_0_0_0

The Links arrived at the Bokoblin camp with their unexpected guest.

"Ok, Legend, Wind, and Four, you take the left, Sky and Wild, you sneak up from behind, Twilight, War-, um, Link and I will take the left," Time instructed.

"What about me? I will not watch from the sidelines," Alex complained.

"Oh, right, you can move with Warrior- I mean Link," Time corrected.

Alex nodded seriously. Before long they spread out and led their attacks.

0_0_0_0_0_0_0_0

AN: I don't know how to write fight scenes. Sorry!

0_0_0_0_0_0_0_0

“Link, can I talk to you for a moment.” The group stopped in their stride outside their room.

Warrior perked up at the question and turned to face Alex. “Oh, yes, of course.” While the rest of the Links went inside Warrior and Alex spoke. “So what did you want to talk about?”

“There’s,” Alex took a long pause and Warrior started getting concerned. “There’s something I’ve been keeping from you… for some time now.”

“What is it,” Warrior asked hesitantly. He was becoming worried this was something he wouldn’t like.

“I-I been seeing someone else- while you were away. I’m sorry,”

Alex continued to speak but Warrior didn’t hear a thing. The statement playing in his mind over and over again: ‘I’ve been seeing someone else’.

Soon Warrior picked up Alex’s strong voice again as it asked, “Are you okay Link?” No. No, he was not okay.

“How could you do that to me,” Warrior asked calmly, too calmly as he tried to process exactly what he thought was some kind of sick joke. “Do you honestly think I’m okay?”

“Link-“

“I’ve spent two years with you and you betray me like this? Who is he?”

“He… Bianca Campbell. I didn’t- Link I am so sorry. She came up to me one night and we-“

“Yeah, I know how these things go. I just,” Warrior paused, turned and left.

He didn’t know where he was going, only that he needed to get away.

"Link wait!"

He just kept running...

And running.

Then he stopped in front of Zelda's door.

He knocked twice until the door slid open, revealing the groggy princess

"Link? What's wrong," she asked. She must have noticed Warrior's tearful expression.

Warrior sniffled. "Can I talk to you," he asked in a broken voice.

0_0_0_0_0_0_0_0_0

Warrior had never felt so utterly heartbroken. The one he loved whom he thought loved him betrayed him without a second thought. Warrior could take revenge... but what would that solve? It would hurt Alex, but would that really make Warrior feel better. Would he be satisfied by his pain.No.That would be stooping down to the level of a traitor.And he hates traitors.

The next day the group left the castle, the portal having opened to their new destination. Warrior didn't look back at Alex as he stood amongst the throng. He didn't shed a tear.

0_0_0_0_0_0_0_0

That last line was meant to be ambiguous by the way.

Hope you enjoyed my lousy story. I'm sorry there's no conclusion. Alex was supposed to be a nice dude, but I had other plans for him.

No beta. We die like men.

#linkeduniverse #legend of zelda #tloz #loz #zelda #linked universe #no one on this planet can change my mind about his boy's sexuality #feel free to try though #no beta we die like me

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ducktracy · 4 years

Text

158. porky’s romance (1937)

release date: april 3rd, 1937

series: looney tunes

director: frank tashlin

starring: joe dougherty (porky), berneice hansell (petunia, babies), mel blanc (excited petunia), billy bletcher (time munches on narrator)

i’ve been looking forward to reviewing this since the day i first typed my review for bosko, the talk-ink kid. so you’ll have to excuse me for rambling on more than normal, i’m really passionate about this cartoon. there’s so much to say!

first off, this cartoon means a lot to me. it’s the first one i checked out on my own accord. i caught wind of who carl stalling was and wanted to listen to a piece of his music to familiarize myself. i saw his depression era compilation of music, and included was the opening number for this cartoon, which absolutely blew me away. i looked up the cartoon and watched it and instantly fell in love. porky was fat! porky has a different voice actor! porky was INTERESTING! porky was killing himself! i had never seen anything like it, so it holds a special place in my heart. i had a vague idea of some directors, like bob clampett and chuck jones, but had no idea who the hell this “frank tash” guy was. but after watching it, i knew i’d love him. and i do!

secondly, this is joe dougherty’s final appearance. while mel is undoubtedly the better porky, i’ve really come to appreciate joe. he gets a hard time because he had a real stutter, and one of the repeated criticisms i see is that it sounds too overdone. true as that may be, he couldn’t help it, and i applaud him for working as long as he did. i mean, a little over 2 years, that’s a decent amount of time! and he does have talent. we’ve seen and heard much worse. so i’m a little sad to see him go, but excited at the same time knowing wonderful things are ahead. i love this particular era in looney tunes history, the porky’s romance to, say, porky’s badtime story era. there’s this sense of newness and freshness—new voices, new characters, new directors. you feel the change happening before your very eyes. it’s all so exciting!

i’ve rambled enough, and i’m certainly going to ramble much more, so buckle up! after petunia pig rejects porky’s marriage proposal, porky seeks a noose for comfort. when the suicide attempt goes wrong, he’s then launched into a dream sequence about their potential marriage life... and realizes marriage isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

this cartoon has a unique opening to it. before the title card itself, we are presented with “leon schlesinger’s new looney tunes star: petunia pig!” curtains draw to reveal petunia positioned in front of a microphone. yes, this is petunia’s first appearance! she has quite an interesting history. she appears only in 3 frank tashlin cartoons, where she was depicted as a sultry, sexy foil for the bumbling, not very sexy porky. bob clampett would adopt her in 1939 and make her to be much cuter, giving her hair and a much more naïve demeanor. she hardly has any cartoons at all, yet somehow managed to live on through the dell looney tunes comics and in future looney iterations.

petunia greets her audience warmly, opening with “my public! i hope you pictured my liking--i mean, i hope you lictured my picking... i mean... i--” overcome by nerves, petunia struggles to read the script in front of her and greet the audience. this little bit was inspired by the short lived 1936-1937 radio program community sings. the offscreen announcer attempts to calm her down. “shhh, petunia. don’t get excited, don’t get excited...” petunia’s furious outburst (vocals by mel blanc, of course) of “EXCITED!? WHO’S EXCITED?? I’M NOT EXCITED!!!” comes from comedian professor tommy mack, who would do the same slow routine and then the explosion with the “WHO’S EXCITED?” line. tashlin’s the woods are full of cuckoos is an entire tribute to community sing.

the curtains close on petunia, and then we’re actually greeted with the title card. an absolutely stellar rendition of “i wanna woo” underscores the title and the opening scene. a happy porky whistles along to the music as we have a montage of him buying necessities for petunia. a diamond ring, some roses, some chocolates. what a good guy! i love the visuals in this cartoon. everything is so sleek and modern--it’s evident tashlin was enamored with the art deco style. and that song again is just beautiful--it’s why i investigated this cartoon in the first place!

porky finishes his routine as he approaches petunia’s house, dancing up and down the stairs before ringing the doorbell. i love that face of his as he poses by the doorbell, throwing his bouquet in the air and catching them in his hand. he’s awfully full of himself.

inside, petunia approaches the door, her brat of a dog fluffnums by her side. for some reason, fluffnums was attempted to be pushed as a reoccurring character, with model sheets and drawings of him surfacing around the studio, i guess for publicity, but he only appeared in this cartoon. same goes for the iceman in i only have eyes for you (his name is sammy sparrow?) and the parrot in i wanna be a sailor. petunia opens the top portion of her door to see her visitor, and we see cocky old porky posing with his hat hilariously tipped on his face. petunia, for whatever, isn’t very pleased, turning her nose and marching away, stomping her foot. “porky pig! pooh-pooh!” in the same rhythm, the dog barks the same amount of syllables, stomping its little paw. warm welcome.

a lovely, downtrodden chorus scores porky as he trudges away tearfully, wilting, pausing only to kiss petunia’s nameplate on her house. suddenly, fluffnums looks out the window and barks for petunia. “what is it, fluffnums?” then, petunia spots the box of chocolates porky carries along behind his back. we then get this BEHEMOTH of a scene that displays how tasteful of a director frank tashlin is: 6.5 seconds, 157 frames, 10 cuts. petunia rushes out of her house at the speed of light and urges porky back inside her home. the scene has CLARITY--you can understand what’s happening, unlike the rapid cutting in porky in the north woods. this scene is genius. petunia throws a dazed porky on her couch while she gorges herself on the chocolates, cooing about how glad she is to see him.

mark kausler identifies the animator as volney white (though the thick eyebrows make me think of bob bentley. mark’s a wonderful source of information i gladly accept everything he says, because he’s right 99.9% of the time) for the scene where porky tries to reach for a chocolate himself. fluffnums, ever the threatening guard dog, growls. we have a great back and forth scene as porky sheepishly pets the dog on the head, reaching for a chocolate and still getting growled at. the charade continues until porky finally snatches one, sticking his tongue out in childish defiance at the dog. as porky lifts up his trophy, winking towards the audience at his act of outsmarting, the dog jumps up and eats the chocolate himself, breaking a hole in porky’s boater hat in the process. (no dogs were harmed in the making of this cartoon!)

seeing as this is joe dougherty’s last cartoon, he doesn’t speak very much at all. in this scene, the animators had porky facing AWAY from the audience so they wouldn’t have to animate his lip movements. it was pretty clear that everyone was tired of working for dougherty. instead, porky’s body jitters as he speaks. they used a technique called staggered exposure, which was mixing up a sequence of drawings to get that jittery effect (so instead of going in a sequence of 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, and so forth, it would be more like 1, 3, 5, 7, 9, and so on.) “why petunia, i want you... you.. you to.. be in love.. that is.. um.. will you.. uh... er, uh.. may i.. that is... won’t you... will you... aw, shucks. will you marry me?”

just as porky finally manages to spit out his confession, disaster strikes. petunia’s bastard of a dog pulls the carpet out from under porky, sending him flipping and falling in the air. because of this, petunia ridicules and laughs at him. porky is now absolutely devastated, leaving petunia’s house for good. i love the detail of his ears and bow tie wilting. carl stalling’s music is on point in this cartoon: an underscore of “the little things you used to do” backs up the scene here. that song was sung at the end of the coo-coo nut grove, where the entire nightclub was flooded in tears.

the next scene is strikingly somber and surprised me greatly the first time i watched it. we iris in on porky writing a suicide note, a noose tied around his neck, tied to a tree branch. the note simply reads “dear petunia, i love you. goodbye forever -- porky” the camera panning out is a little janky and rough, but i digress. porky wipes away his tears, pulling a photo of petunia from his pocket and giving it a kiss. with that, porky jumps.

because of his weight, the suicide attempt fails as the tree branch breaks, porky toppling to the ground and hitting his head. thus launches a dream sequence as his surroundings spin around (by unscrewing the lens of the camera, screwing it (counter)clockwise in front of the aperture), melting away to the exterior of a church. wedding bells chime victoriously. inside, petunia and porky give their vows. porky struggles, stuttering “i d-d-d.... i-d..d-” the officiator whistles (a dougherty era running gag), and porky spits out his final “do.”

more volney white animation as the lovebirds exit the church, waving to the crowd that surrounds them. and, of course, fluffnums is there too, begrudgingly carrying petunia’s veil in its mouth. we cut to porky and petunia happily riding in their car, a victorious JUST MARRIED banner waving in the wind, with shoes attached to strings on the bumper marching along in time to “in my merry oldsmobile”. porky’s license plate reads BOOB -- a good indicator of how frank tashlin felt about porky.

a lovely overhead layout of the honeymoon hotel porky and petunia stay at (with, of course, an underscore of “honeymoon hotel”, which was also the title of a 1934 earl duvall merrie melody). the elevator rises to the top floor in syncopation with the music. a nice silhouette shot of porky and petunia, and rather suggestive at that. they kiss, and the last we see before a fade out is porky turning off the light in the apartment.

billy bletcher voices the narrator as a triumphant fanfare blares. “TIME... MUNCHES ON!” rather disconcerting eating noises, and then we open to a very rotund petunia and fluffnums gorging themselves on chocolate. not the most flattering depiction of a woman, but the ironic “laughing” of the clarinets and horns playing “oh, you beautiful doll!” is a wonderful touch. i love when the scores themselves serve as jokes.

pan across the apartment, the score melting into another rendition of “i wanna woo” as we see poor porky hard at work. i adore the layout of this entire scene. porky busies himself with all the odd jobs petunia has (presumably) thrown onto him, washing the clothes, ironing a dress, cooking the food, washing the dishes. he unsuccessfully attempts to balance the chaos, trying not to kill himself in the process. pay attention to how the furniture is arranged. the stove, the sink, even the ironing board, they’re all slightly diagonal and at an angle. practical? absolutely not, no one has their furniture arranged like that, just jutting out. but in animation terms, it’s more than practical. it’s so that you can see the details clearly, so that you can see every little thing happening. the clarity of the scene would be muddied if the furniture was arranged the way it should be--you may miss details like the pan burning on the stove or the looming pile of dishes. this is some super smart staging, and the architecture is just beautiful within itself. porky struggles to keep up with the demands, but fails, burning food, clothes, etc. you’ll notice that when he fails to balance a pile of dishes, the china crashing into him as he flops down on the floor, whatever he’s cooking in the pot boils over as well. everything just explodes at once.

meet porky pig jr, porky pig jr, porky pig jr, porky pig jr, porky pig jr, porky pig jr, porky pig jr, porky pig jr, and so on. all of the babies start screaming at the noise (bob bentley animation), and petunia puts in her two cents by yelling “porky pig! shut those kids up!” porky rocks one of the cradles back and forth, reassuring her “i’m doing the best i can, petunia dear.” petunia marches forth, wielding a rolling pin as she retorts “don’t dear me, you WORM!” with that, she beats porky relentlessly over the head with the rolling pin, all of the kids shouting “GIVE IT TO HIM, MAMA! GIVE IT TO HIM!” which is another radio show catchphrase of some sort.

finally, we’re met with reality. porky sits in a daze on the ground, petunia stroking his cheek with fluffnums at porky’s other side. petunia puts on her best sympathy act, cooing “oh porky, i’m so so-ree! you’re my honey man. i’ll marry you, darling, honey bunny boo...” while petunia showers porky in all sorts of pet names, he looks up at his suicide note, remembering his dream where petunia was an abusive slob. they had trouble with the camera movements again--when they came out of the dissolve, the camera was in the wrong position slightly, creating a double image.

this is one of my favorite endings to any looney tunes short. a terrified porky jumps up at zips away into the horizon (with that great electric guitar zoom/twang sound effect i love so much), petunia shrugging and fluffnums making a ! mark appear over his head. suddenly, porky retreats, snagging his chocolates from petunia and running for the hills. a beat... and he returns once more, only to give fluffnums a well deserved swift kick in the ass. the music score in this scene is just lovely, nice and jazzy. the timing is succinct, and i love the guitar zoom sound effect. iris out.

as you can see, i love this short, a lot. while i love the blow out, i think this is my first true favorite that we’ve seen so far. it’s so dark, and i don’t even like dark stuff! it just feels so different. carl stalling is in tip top shape with his music scores. every single piece is lovely, especially that beginning. the animation is fun, the expressions are great. i wish i could articulate my thoughts better, because i really just love this cartoon a lot. i’m super happy it was one of the first i had seen, because i probably wouldn’t be typing these reviews had i not. frank tashlin’s cinematography is STRONG in this one. the camera cuts, the angles... this is a beautiful cartoon, inside and out. i feel bad that it’s joe dougherty’s last appearance, but understand at the same time. great things are ahead, revolutionary things! i’ve warmed up to joe quite a lot. i’ve found nothing in terms of what he did after his tenure as porky--wikipedia (not reliable, i know) states that he attended medical school before becoming a voice actor, so good on him! anyway, i absolutely love this cartoon and have seen it multiple, multiple, multiple, MULTIPLE times. it’s strikingly different in tone than what we’ve seen and what we WILL be seeing. it’s not just your everyday frank tashlin porky cartoon. this one stands out, and i implore you to watch it.

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