#I consider knowing fractions a great achievement on my part

[skyward-floored]

May I request the math scene? I want to inflict math on Time :)

Poor Time. He had a reasonable education, and would normally be okay with helping, but then they had to go and switch up math on him... just wait until he realizes he’ll have to help Hyrule with his schoolwork too.

“...Okay, so then you divide here where the sixteen is—”

“No no, Dad, that’s not how you’re supposed to do it,” Wind said as he looked at his father’s scribbling, turning his math book around and pointing at the page. “They want us to do it like this.”

Time stared at the problems in front of him for what felt like the hundredth time, frustration building as a headache behind his eyes. He’d scraped by when he’d been in school, but the math hadn’t been like this, and he didn’t even recognize some of these symbols...

“Why do they want you to do it like that? It makes no sense,” Time said with a disbelieving look, and Wind shrugged.

“I don’t know. Nobody tells me anything. But the teacher said we’re supposed to do it like this.”

“Well I don’t know this way,” Time said, giving the math book a glare with both eyes. “Why would they change math?!”

“Dad, it’s okay,” Wind tried to interject, but Time had lost his patience with the math book.

“Last I checked, math was math!” he growled, jabbing a finger at the book, “MATH IS MATH!”

Wind gave him a concerned look.

“...You know Dad, I’ll just wait for Mom to come back, it’s fine,” Wind said quickly, and Time wrestled down his frustration with a sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he sat back down.

“She won’t understand it any better than I do,” he grumbled.

[fbfh]

curiosity is a wonderful thing - ch. 3

wc: 3.1k

pairing: slow burn childhood best friends to lovers ben x reader, audrey x reader

warnings: ben is stressed, audrey is a bad gf, mild claustrophobia/dark spaces/being under ground warning (description of falling down the rabbithole into twonderland but it's fun and you love it so it's not scary lol), mild exposition dumping

summary: ben prepares for the arrival of the Isle kids, and gives audrey the benefit of the doubt a little too much. you have time to sneak away to your favorite place in the world, and the only thing that's missing is ben.

song recs: in a world of my own - kathryn beaumont, welcome to wonderland - scarlett rose, wish you still felt this way - sophie meiers x 90sflav

a/n: i love this fic. i love this series. this started as a comfort daydream and now it's a thing and I hope yall are ready for the next chapter cause it's gonna be good. I hope this brings yall the comfort it brings me <33

tags @yesv01 @magcon7280 @hopefullhearts @thatawkwardlittlefangirl  @sunshineangel-reads @strawberry-cake1 @dustyinkpages @kiara7777

After about a week of constant meetings, arrangements, and press conferences, a week of even less sleep and even more coffee than usual - something Ben didn’t know was possible to achieve - it’s finally the day he’s been working tirelessly toward. It’s the day the kids from the Isle are finally on their way to Auradon. He rushes back to Auradon Prep with you at his side after a very stressful, successful press conference. Even though he seems totally composed on the surface, you can tell he’s a bundle of nerves. You walk quickly beside him as he goes over the agenda for their arrival. 

“Their rooms are all set up, Fairy Godmother said Jane can help them get settled into their classes - god, what am I forgetting?” Ben rambles, fumbling through all the papers in his bag. His eyes land on his copy of his press conference note cards, and that jogs his memory. 

“Right,” He continues as you look up at him, and he knows he has all your attention. “I don’t think I’m going to have time to write a new speech for their arrival…”

He pauses for a moment, seeing if there’s some little pocket of time he can find to make this date extra special for them. 

“Ben, you’re more jam packed than a tea cake. You can’t overwork yourself and run into the ground, not when you’re this close.”

Ben considers for a moment, realizing you're right. 

"You have a point…" he agrees with a reluctant chuckle. "I'll use the same speech I used for the press conference." He decides. You’re silent for a moment.

“...Alright.” 

“What?” Ben asks, able to read your expression like a book. 

“Nothing, just-” You hesitate, then give him an earnest look, like you don’t want to hurt his feelings. He chuckles and braces himself, knowing whatever you’re about to say will be a necessary - albeit, hard - truth. 

“You don’t think it’s a bit much?” You ask gently. “Too formal, given the circumstances?” 

He considers for a moment. He thought it did great at the press conference, but maybe there are a few parts he can revise for the arrival of the Isle kids. 

“Uh… yeah. I- I can cast eyes over it, we still have a little over an hour. That should be enough to make any tweaks.” He finishes. 

You nod as you follow him into the conference room that he’s turned into a makeshift headquarters for all of his first proclamation business. He sets down his bag and pulls out all his paperwork and his planner. He hears you set your stuff down a few seats away from him and looks up. You’ve been working so hard and helping him out so much with all of this. He couldn’t possibly have accomplished a fraction as much without you. He walks over to you, gathering up your stuff. 

“Look bunny, why don’t you, uh,” he starts, leaning over slightly to make sure no one’s about to walk through the doorway. “Why don’t you head down for a while. You have enough time if you go now.”

Your eyes light up at his words. You’ve been keeping your Wonderland visits to a minimum to help Ben and support him as much as you can, and it hasn’t gone unnoticed.

“Really?” You ask softly. 

“Yeah, I’ll cover for you.” Ben lets out a soft grunt as you tackle him with a hug. He chuckles lightly, giving your back and shoulders a gentle pat before you pull away a moment later. 

“I’ll run my speech by you when you get back-” He begins, then cuts himself off, remembering something. “We got your watch fixed, right?”

You’re glad he remembered, and you fish around in your tea pot bag for a moment before pulling out the weathered bronzy pocket watch. Time works differently in Wonderland, and it’s hard to keep track of. You've tried everything you can think of, and your pocket watch is the only thing that seems to keep you from constantly being late. Granted, you're still late or nearly late a lot, but it’s much better than it used to be. 

“Yes,” you nod, showing him the little ticking hands, currently resting at the words ‘on time’. A fresh bubble of excitement pops inside you and you let out an excited giggle, hugging Ben tightly one more time. 

“Thank you!” you exclaim in a soft whisper before he sends you off. You run over to the corner of the room to summon a rabbit hole. Ben watches in fascination as the tile floor begins to crumble in front of you, giving way to grassy dirt before continuing to crumble, going down, down, down. It’s a large, vaguely irregular circle about half as wide as your wingspan. You look back at Ben with another silent thank you, before jumping straight down into the hole. As soon as the last of you is out of sight, the tiles rebuild themselves without leaving a trace of you. Ben stares at the spot where you disappeared, feeling vaguely melancholic, but mostly happy that you’re getting to spend time doing what you love. That you’re happy. 

“There you are, Bennyboo,” Ben whips his head around at the sound of Audrey’s voice, and he’s relieved she hadn’t shown up sooner. It’s not that sneaking off to Wonderland is a bad thing, but most people tend to discourage you from visiting too often. Wonderland is a timeless domain, like Neverland, and it and all of its inhabitants are much different from those from Auradon - usually referred to as Overland or the Main Land by people from Wonderland and Neverland. 

Wonderland runs on pure, neutral chaos and nonsense, which is a very hard concept for people from Overland to grasp. Overland runs on a fundamental structure of good vs. evil, so it’s easy for people to perceive things from Wonderland as good or bad  when they’re really just made up of madness. The reason people try to keep Wonderland contained is because you can’t fight nonsense with sense, you can’t fight chaos with logic. If something powerful from Wonderland got into Overland, like the Jabberwocky, or any number of powerful plants, animals, or magic, Auradon would be practically defenseless. That’s one of the reasons that Belle and Adam decided to reach out to your mother, and continue to form such a strong bond with her. If Wonderland nonsense managed to get out into Auradon, it would be uncontrollable chaos, and the only person who could stop it would be your mother - and now, you. 

It took Ben a while to understand Wonderland, to understand you. You and your mother are very special cases; Alice was from Overland, but adapted to be part of Wonderland, and Wonderland became a part of her. You, however, were born in Wonderland and raised in Overland. You’ve adapted as well as you can, but you always do much, much better when you can sneak away for regular little trips. Ben has asked to join you before, but it’s too dangerous. People from Overland rarely adapt to Wonderland nonsense and usually end up going mad, which is why your mother is such an asset to the Auradon government - she’s actually able to serve as a liaison between Wonderland and Auradon, and keep an eye on things.  

Unfortunately, there are still a lot of stigmas surrounding Wonderlandians, stigmas Ben has grown to resent more and more over the years, but most of it boils down to Wonderlandians being weird, crazy, dumb, and volatile. The more Ben has come to understand you, the more he hates the small comments and little stares directed toward you. Luckily Ben has been able to protect you from a lot of it. People very quickly found out that if they said anything bad about you or Wonderland, it wouldn’t end well for them. He can’t get rid of the stigmas, but he can protect you from them as much as possible. 

Audrey flounces over, sitting next to him.

"You are never going to believe what Arabella just told me at cheer practice."

“Uh-”

“She said-”

“Um, Audrey.” Ben finally manages to interrupt. She looks confused about why she’s not the one talking right now. 

“I want to hear all about this, I really do,” Ben says, “but we’re going to be greeting the kids transferring from the Isle soon-” Audrey huffs, already disinterested.

“And I wanted your feedback on my speech.” He finishes, handing her the papers. 

“Oh, sure. There’s that…” Audrey says, pretending to read it over for a moment. Before she finishes, she sets the papers down on the table, and gives Ben a chipper look.

“I’m sure it’s fine, Bennyboo. You never disappoint.”

She sits on the table in front of him, continuing to tell him all about what Arabella said Herkie did. Ben tries his best to listen, he really does. He just can’t keep his mind off his speech, and he can feel himself beginning to spiral and overthink. He has so much riding on this, he can’t afford for his speech to be fine, he can’t afford for anything about this whole ordeal to be fine. Her words keep echoing in his mind, you never disappoint, Bennyboo. He knows she meant it to be supportive, but he feels like all the pressure he’s been convincing himself he can handle is just reinforced. He was hoping to get some real feedback from Audrey, maybe a little encouragement, but- 

He stops himself before the thought can go any further. Audrey is his girlfriend, and Ben should be able to trust her word. You would never lie to him about something this important, so he chooses to trust that Audrey wouldn’t either. He tries to shut up the worries clouding his mind and tries to pay attention to what Audrey is saying. She’s probably just trying to distract him from worrying, give him something else to think about for a while. You can always tell when he’s overthinking, so Audrey is probably trying to show him that she cares, that there’s nothing to worry about. That if she’s talking about something like cheer team gossip at a time like this, when Ben is getting ready for one of the most important days of his life, then everything must be under control. Besides, if he needs to he can look his speech over by himself after Audrey leaves. He might have time to. It will all be fine. 

The moment you let yourself fall into the dark rabbit hole, your stomach flips as you begin free falling through the darkness. A little dirt sprinkles down on your head from where it closes up above you, and you narrowly manage to avoid some roots snagging in your hair. After a few moments, your descent slows. You spin slowly as you glide down, and in the pitch black darkness, you can feel your internal gyroscope going crazy. You breathe in the heavy, earthy air, and for a few moments, you don't know which way is up or down. You have absolutely no sense of direction for those few beautiful moments, and you don't want to. Soon, your descent speeds up again, and you find yourself tumbling through tree branches, eventually landing on a rough surface in the dark. 

“It should be here somewhere…” you mutter, feeling around for a doorknob. After a moment you feel it, cool aged metal in your hand. You twist it, revealing a beam of light through a doorway. It’s going to be a close call, but you think you’ll just be able to fit. You manage to squeeze through the entrance, exiting out of the door - which is situated in a large tree trunk, and into Wonderland. You crawl forward, taking it all in. You take in a deep breath of the still, earthy, floral air. It’s heavy in your lungs, like a deep dream. You fully exit, and the door slowly closes behind you.

The world is quiet. 

There’s an almost suffocating stillness in the atmosphere of Wonderland, one that would be uncanny and unnerving to you if it weren’t already so deeply comforting. It’s the same grounding sense of peace and stillness you get when you’re young and walk carefully through your dark house at night in search of a cold glass of water. There’s that feeling in Wonderland, everyone is asleep except for me. I ought to be asleep too, I best not wake them. The world around you is still, still, still. It’s as still as a stone, or a lake made of glass. You soak up the familiar surroundings, and you feel like you’re finally visiting an old friend. 

In spite of the pitch black sky, which is barely visible through the treetops, you can see what’s around you just fine. But if you look too far, there’s a darkness off the beaten path, one that stays just at the edges of your sight no matter where you go. It always looks to you like those hazy dark shadows around the edges of old photographs. You look down at the beaten path - this one being made of black and white irregularly shaped checkerboard tiles nestled right into the dirt. They twist and turn, splitting out and reconverging haphazardly into the darkness. They’re a bit worn and dirty, but you suppose any outdoor tiles would get that way eventually. 

You follow it back the way you came, spinning around as you do, and notice the way it splinters into little shards, cracking and fragmenting into a mosaic of sorts before petering out at the base of the tree, with grass and dirt poking up in between. You feel yourself begin to settle, at home with the lack of time flowing around you, and you take in another breath. Your nose and lungs are kissed gently with the smell of damp, freshly turned earth, plant life, and that unmoving sort of smell that shows up after it rains, but still before any birds and animals come out from their hiding. The type of smell when flowers are wet, and have not yet opened themselves back up. 

Reaching into your trusty teapot bag, you fish around in there until you find your camera. It’s old, very old, and completely obsolete ever since the boom of technology that appeared around the time you and Ben were born, but you love it nonetheless. A year or two before you and Ben - and most of the other kids your age - were born, Auradon successfully made an alliance with Atlantis. They traded their protection of Atlantis and a promise to leave them alone, in exchange for a little bit of their technology and power sources. Adam also promised to make sure Rourke never saw the light of day again, a promise Queen Kida was happy to accept. The trade led to light speed innovations based in Atlantean tech; smart phones, computers, video games, and countless other innovations that brought Auradon into its new age. Flash forward to now, Atlantis is the tech capital of the world, and magic is obsolete. Your camera can’t give directions or tell time or backup to cloud storage, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

You snap some pictures of the tiles before you begin exploring. You never know what entrance to Wonderland you’ll fall through, and you love documenting each one. You walk carefully through the forest of dense trees, looking at flocks of haughty looking dodo birds and peonies that gossip to each other, whispering with a laugh as you pass them by. Soon you stumble into something very interesting. You thought it was a cluster of blue bushes, but were surprised to find out they’re really birds. The bird bushes (or maybe bush birds) startle at your presence, squawking and leaving feathers (leaves?) in their wake before they fly off. 

You manage to get a few pictures of them too, and you’re excited to show Ben. You’ve tried taking pictures with your phone before, but Wonderland makes technology… unreliable at best. Plus, there’s no service down here anyway. That’s why you took to journaling, drawing pictures and taking photos and writing down everything you see. This way you can share it with Ben, this way it’s almost like he’s here in your favorite place with you. 

You follow the blue speckled bush birds - as you’d dubbed them - until you lose track of them. It’s no matter though, since you soon hear some lovely singing coming from under a sparkling berry bush growing fruit shaped like bells. You crouch down, lifting up the leaves, and find a choir of inchworms practicing their harmonies. The leader looks up at you in a huff. 

“I’m terribly sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt.” You say. He huffs, and turns back to his choir, conducting with a little twig. You decide to sit and listen for a while as they rehearse under the coverage of glistening pink leaves. You find some oversized, brightly colored mushrooms growing nearby, and sit down on a comfortable one. You pull a teacup out of your bag, trying to decide which tea to drink while you watch the inchworms and listen to their masterpiece slowly come together. 

You zip the lid closed, and pour the spout to the cup, settling on some raspberry tea. With honey, you think, and lemon. You smile as a lemon wedge falls from the spout, plopping gently into your cup. You take a sip, and it’s perfectly brewed as ever. You go through several cups of tea, growing more and more invested in the drama between the inchworms. One is insisting on taking the high harmony, even though it’s obviously out of his range. You’re half way through… one of your cups of tea, you lost count rather quickly. By now the inchworms have perfected their harmonies for the chorus, and the first verse. Your attention is ripped away from the inchworms when your bag starts ringing. You open it up, digging out your pocket watch. The bronze hands have spun all the way past most of the little notches, and you nearly drop your tea when you see where they are. Your eyes follow the hands, which are nearly pointing to the word Late! in fancy script. 

“Shit!” 

[kiivg]

tell me more about your tav??

.I’m so glad you asked 😘💕, I started fleshing out his backstory a while ago to give him more flavour and more reasoning behind his actions and abilities. And in doing that I half made up the idea of him being an NPC and what his major questline would be (considering I do like having both a Tav and Durge). Since I’m out there solving everyone elses’ problems I could at least have my own, or you know, give Tristan his own.

.Tristan, in his own right, is a bard, he went to bard college (Faerun has those right?) and spent a bit of time as a clown, mostly because it was fun for him and there were many happy parents who were… accommodating, shall we say, moving beyond that after a somewhat disparaging breakup with another bard (whomst he would later return to in Baldur’s Gate as a little cosy scene), he left and went adventuring, leaving his clowning days behind and stepping up as a more vulgar jester. Entertaining his audiences dressed in nothing but painted flesh and beguiling quips, and perhaps becoming far too acquainted with fleeing in the early morning hours to avoid angry spouses. Paint on the bedsheets was an easy tell on exactly who had spent the night there.

.His backstory, beyond his own, is that his Great Grandmother travelled to Thay to sate her appetite for necromancy, she wanted power beyond what she had, being something of an exceptional wizard, but not too exceptional that she could ever be considered the best in anything. There she met Buthek Maszim, a man eager to reach pure lichdom, and she was more than eager to help him for a fraction of his power. Or, so she said to him. In truth she wanted the power of a lich without becoming one herself, she was a wood elf after all, and her life would be long regardless. Buthek, however was only human, and his measly 80 or so years would not be enough for him. During the ritual, she sabotaged Buthek, halting the process and stopping him from obtaining what he had worked so hard for, and stole away parts of his body, hoping instead to command him at her will. His bones were forged into a grand flute that would serve as his phylactery and leash.

.A flute that didn’t actually work as intended. The great grandmother left Thay after the debacle, pregnant, lacking the lich power she desired, and unwilling to admit to her mistakes. She returned home and raised her daughter there. Not exactly giving up on her dream of power, but keeping it all hidden from the rest of her kin. Centuries passed, her daughter had a daughter, and Tristan was eventually born. A baby boy would looked so remarkably half-elven than many questioned who his father actually was. Granted he uses this to his advantage in the future, nobody really thinks he’s a true wood elf outside of his home, and he’s flippant enough to just relax into it. He doesn’t have the stigma of being a forest-dwelling hermit in the cities he yearns to explore, and half-elves, well, they’re easy, aren’t they? And Tristan is so very very easy.

.Now, he left home on his 100th birthday, stealing away into the night to pursue his bardic ambitions, giving himself the name Tristan Yarrow, and taking with him the ancestral flute of his family, amongst other things. The one the nobody knew was made from the bones of a lich in stasis. It’s harmless, right? Right? I mean, he thought so, he didn’t know, he doesn’t know (at least until Act 3) that he’s been carrying around a lich phylactery this entire time, he doesn’t know that every death that was even minutely graced by his music had it’s soul stolen and fed into the ever-waiting ever-strengthening arms of Buthek Maszim. A man biding his time until he could take over Tristan’s body, one half tainted by his own magic, and could finally achieve true lichdom.

.Of course there’s three endings to Tristan’s final quest, one good, one bad, and one considerably worse than bad. But that’s a whole other story.

.On a side note, idk anything about dnd elf names so… for now, him baby 🥰💕.

[gibblegabber]

i wrote most of this a month ago but might as well spill my personal nonsense regarding kick on his 14TH ANNIVERSARY WHHHHHHHH

nothing interesting it’s truly like a diary entry

i’ve been keeping to myself while i wind down from another hyperfixation with KB:SD, because it has to come to an end, because there’s very few people left in my life who were there in the fandom while it aired, because i get so fucking depressed when i think about it.

how do i describe this. Kick reminds me that i’m alive. he ALSO reminds me that i’m a failure. he’s the reason i finished art school and also (part of) the reason i stopped pursuing art as a career. the show’s run was the best time of my life and at the same time i was dealing with an overwhelming amount of trauma.

and i packed ALL of that into this silly 6.5/10 rated cartoon. why??? because it just happened to be THERE when I was going thru some shit?? sometimes i think “this could have been any cartoon, the timing is what mattered” and other times i’m like no…the adventures we had in mellowbrook were genuinely incredible and if it were any other fandom, i wouldn’t have met the same amazing people!!! do you know how thankful i am to have Kachiimi and Misha in my life still??? REALLY FUCKING THANKFUL. i don’t deserve them in the least!! they’ve known me at my worst and happened to also SEE me at my worst in person and they’re still my friends and i love them very much, i hope they know that.

and if anyone’s still following me that knew me during the KB years, or was friends with me during that time… 1.) i’m sorry. i was crazy LMAO and 2.) just know you made the whole experience so so awesome :) i appreciated so much that the fandom was a tight knit group of people, no drama, just a great place to be when my life was falling apart around me.

yea if i psychoanalyzed this whole thing i wouldn’t like the answer. but. it doesn’t change how much Kick means to me, and how much he’ll always mean to me!!

it had always been a bucket list thing of mine to be the number 1 fan of something at some point. ever since i was like nine years old i was like “man that’d be cool if it happened”. never in a million years would i have guessed that it would be this. but in a weird way Kick was exactly who i needed at that time. someone whose failures were just his fuel for success. someone who didn’t let his shortcomings stop him from achieving his goals. someone who kept going even if the world was against him. looking back it’s really no surprise that i got so attached.

obviously i’m far from the number 1 fan position now. who knows if i ever really was; i only knew a fraction of the fandom that called me the “queen of the KB fandom”, and Sandro had called me the number 1 fan at one point so i just took it all to heart. i would argue that Aisha took that position when school and jobs and life started consuming my life more than fandom did. or well, all of this is a moot point when you consider Jackie who is definitely 100% his number 1 fan LOL. but wow, what a time. we were so lucky to interact with the crew as much as we did.

it doesn’t seem like much but it really made me feel like i could do anything. if Kick had gotten a third season you KNOW i would’ve stopped at NOTHING to be on the team in some way shape or form. i would’ve flown out to LA in an instant and not looked back. despite everything. i would’ve done it.

kinda sucks considering uhhhh THINGS that got revealed about the director years later, so in the same vein i’m very happy that Kick did not get a season 3. but when the show ended something in me died, or i came to terms with something, idk what it was. something like: i knew i’d never feel the same way about a cartoon again so i didn’t bother trying. i stopped drawing almost entirely for 10 years.

aaaand it’s true. over a decade and i never came close to the level of obsession i had with Kick, and never really wanted to either. THEN i got slapped in the face with IZ and well…let that be a long and cheesy post for march 30th or something. :P and as much fun as it’s been and continues to be, it’s a DIFFERENT sort of experience from KB. it can’t compare. maybe in 10 years i’ll look back on IZ friends and fandom times and reminisce fondly on them too.

KB:SD is stuck where it was. if that makes any sense. there’s a lot in the show that i don’t think modern day fandom would take kindly to. there’s a lot of crack shipping and shenanigans we got up to back then that isn’t okay now. (god… okay i don’t miss that part LOL. i cringe painfully at a lot of it, but i DO miss when people understood the fucking difference between fiction and reality. it was a different time for sure.) it just is what it is.

and that’s okay. i’m gonna let it go, again, and i’ll be back on and off. it hurts. it hurts every time this happens but that’s okay because Kick taught us to live till it hurts. :) 🤘🏼✨

[missdawnandherdusk]

The Serpent Beneath

Draco X Gryffindor!Reader

Request: @daltonacademia Draco x Gryffindor reader and maybe like a faking dating type of situation? I am a sucker for the faking dating trope lmao. Maybe you could even spice it up by making it kind of an inside out version of enemies to lovers when they act lovey-dovey in public but in secret despise each other until they slowly get feelings??

A/n: Okay so this is part one because I’m evil, but part two will be up soon enough. Let me know what you think and I love you guys so much!

“Look, I’d love to go with you but...” I scrambled for an excuse. “But I’m dating someone already,” Yeah, that worked.

Harry wasn’t convinced. “Really?” He raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms.

“Yes!” I said a bit too enthusiastically.

“Who?” He demanded.

“Uh,” then I saw him from across the room, coming in right in front of Snape, to his seat beside me. “Malfoy,”

“Malfoy!?” Harry’s eyes bulged. “Are you bloody joking!?”

“Oi, this isn’t your seat Potter,” Draco sulked, pushing past him. “Make a fool of yourself in front of Y/l/n on your own time,”

I gave a tense smile as Snape called the class to order. Slumping in my seat, I glanced nervously over at Draco. What in the world had I just done?

“What’s got Potter so off? You refuse to kiss his feet this morning?” Draco muttered toward the end of class that was filled with glares and offhand comments from Potter all the while.

“I might have told him we’re... dating,”

Draco stiffened beside me, sitting up ramrod straight. His hands clenched into fists as he sat there glaring at the front of the room. All things considered it could have been a worse reaction. He could be yelling or hexing me. Still his stoicism worried me.

As soon as class was dismissed, Draco remained seated, still rigid. His hand came to my wrist with a vice grip and I had no choice but to stay put. I tried to not let my nervousness leak into my facial features. Especially as Harry glanced back at us still sulking. I managed a smile.

When the room was clear, he let go of me and stood, shoving excess parchments and quills off the table.

“Are you absolutely daft!?” He shouted. I shrank back in my chair.

“I panicked okay!?” I bit back. “He asked me to the Yule Ball and chosen one or not I cannot stand him,”

Draco anger flitted to confusion before resting on something neutral.

“Ickle Gryffindor can’t stand Saint Potter?” A devious smirk was playing at his lips. “I thought it came with the territory,”

“Oh, you’re not a picnic either Malfoy,” I snapped. “Bloody Slytherins,”

“And yet you chose me,” He was toying with me now, as a cat cornered a mouse. “Is this admiration I see?”

“It was mistake,” I huffed grabbing my bag and standing. “Do you get off on making me miserable?”

He caught my arm as I went to leave. I shook him off. There was something mischievous in his eyes as he smiled at me. It left an unsettling pit in my stomach.

“Do you not want me to walk me to your next class?” His feigned innocence was a serpent waiting beneath a flower.

“Shove off Malfoy, I already have enough of a mess to fix. I don’t need this from you,”

“Well, the way I see it,” He grabbed his bag walking along side me. “Is that if you can’t stand Potter and the only way you’d think to get out of dating him is to ‘date’ me... and I’d love to see Potter knocked down a few pegs...” His smile curled into something wicked.

I stopped in my tracks and gaped at him.

“I’m not some toy you can fight over! And I don’t like you!” I exclaimed.

“But do you hate me enough that you won’t consider a fake relationship with me over whatever train wreck it would be with Potter?” Draco really scared me sometimes.

I worried my lip with his question and started to walk to my next class. He kept pace with me as we walked. His silence baffled me, allowing me to think clearly for the moment.

“Okay,” I muttered, pausing in an empty hall. “Deal,” 

“Deal?” He seemed skeptical.

“Don’t get me wrong, I loathe you entirely, but... if you can get me out of having to date Potter or constantly turn him down... then deal,”

“Glad to be in business, darling,” Draco drawled, and I had to do everything not to cringe at the pet name. “See you after class?” He leaned in as if to kiss my cheek.

“Buy me dinner first, Malfoy,” I hissed, flinching away. “But... see you after class,” I achieved a small genuine smile.

McGonagall looked down on me as I entered class late and took my seat beside Hermione. 

“Is it true?” She whispered urgently. “Are you dating Malfoy?”

I nodded, not taking my eyes off McGonagall as she lectured. It was uncharacteristic of Hermione that she spoke to me during class. She was normally keenly intent on learning the new material or getting ahead on things we haven’t covered yet. Now all she could do was gape at me before tearing her eyes away to McGonagall.

“How in the world can you date Malfoy?” She hissed as we left class, before freezing, seeing that Draco was waiting in the hall, leaned causally against the opposite wall. He pushed off of it and made his way over to me, offering his hand and glancing to my bag. I raised my eyebrow at him, and he offered a seemingly sincere smile. I passed my bag to him.

“I’ll see you later Hermione,” I smiled tensely.

She eyed us suspiciously but made her way down the hall in the direction of the library where she would spend her free time this afternoon, akin to every other afternoon.

“How was class?” Draco asked, leading me down the halls in a direction of no consequence to me.

“Fine,” I stammered out. “Just McGonagall. Hermione and I are already a few lessons ahead anyway.”

“You favor Transfiguration, then?” He mused, as if he were actually interested.

“Uh... I prefer Astrology, but that’s not really the use of magic is it? Just stories.” I shrugged and smiled. “What about you Malfoy? You’re a Potions protégé, is it your favorite?”

“Uh, yeah,” He didn’t seem too sure. I pointed it out. “Well, I never really thought about it. I have to be good at everything, so why favor one subject over another?”

I glanced up at him, confusion furrowing my brow slightly.

“What?” He demanded, snideness leaking into his tone. It brought me back to reality. 

“How... Slytherin of you,” I noted with a teasing smirk. He rolled his eyes at this.

When we were out of earshot and eyesight of anyone and his demeanor changed fractionally, still giving way to a serpent under a flower. If I wasn’t careful, I would start to marvel at the miracle of the flower and overlook the threat that lurked beneath. His expression became somber and something more akin to what I was used to. A grimace. I missed the false smiles that lit up his eyes.

Flower. Serpent. Right.

“Do you really want to get dinner tonight?” His curt tone pushed me back a fraction.

“Oh... uh.” I wrapped my arms around myself in protection. “Sure?” 

It was a weekday, meaning that we’d have to eat in the Great Hall and my stomach felt uneasy about sitting anywhere near other Slytherins. Fake dating Draco or not, they were malicious to any sort of outsider, especially a Gryffindor who was friends with Saint Potter.

“I’ll pick you up at seven outside your portrait.” He passed my bag back to me now that we were outside the aforementioned portrait.

“Okay,” I barely got out as he swept down the hall and down the stairs. I watched him go, leaning over the railing to see if there was some way to know the difference between the serpent and the flower, and which one was truly the act.

“Fraternizing with a Slytherin,” The Fat Lady scoffed. “You should be ashamed,” I bit my lip, giving the password and the portrait opened begrudgingly.

Should I be ashamed for the situation that I had found myself in? The easy answer was yes. I should. Not only was I fraternizing I was being courting by a Slytherin. Draco Malfoy was an egotistical arrogant bigot who I should avoid at all cost. Not be in a false relationship with. And for such selfish reasons too. I was using Draco, but on the same note, he was using me to get at Harry. We only cared for the other enough for what they could do in our favor.

It was a mess.

I ducked my head and flopped onto a sofa in the Common Room.

“Oi! What the bloody hell are you thinking!?” And there was the lecture I was expecting from Harry, and probably every other student on this campus, and myself. But this was Harry, an equally egotistical arrogant loudmouth, who I loved to hate just as much.

“I’m sorry,” I snapped sarcastically. “I didn’t know that you controlled who I dated or not.” My tone was acidic.

“But Malfoy!? Malfoy!?” Harry demanded. “It’s got to be a joke!” It was.

“Just because I rejected you doesn’t mean you’re allowed to call my relationship with someone else a joke!” I shouted drawing my wand. A small crowd had formed in the Common Room. I didn’t know who they would side with, but the odds weren’t in my favor, that much was sure.

.

part 2

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masterlist

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more like this:

gryffindor!reader series

ten things i hate about you

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[miracle-sham]

In the Atelier's Glow the Pupa Phoebus will Eclose.

| {Jasonette July 2021, Week 2, Day 10: Light} |

Chapter 2 of Sheltered by Darkness not yet Moths to the Flame.

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] | | [Spotify Playlist Link] | | [Chapter 1] |

———

| Even when everything you know splits. When it splinters and shifts, like a chrysalis or a damaged cable. And you're left unfurling your wings, unable to yet fly—circuit broken, fuse melted—grounded, earthed. |

| The rest of the world keeps the current flowing through the wires of everyone else's circuit wings, and they're able to keep fluttering, unfettered by your frayed and exposed wires, even despite the threat you pose to their safety. Too blinded by the luminescence of those with power. |

| Word Count: 7,220. |

| Warnings/Tags: Cyberpunk/Criminal/Gang Au, Explicit Language/Swearing, Hacking, Breaking and Entering, Mentions of Guns, Gun Violence, Mentions of corrupt/shady businesses, Gabriel Agreste's A+ Parenting, Brainwashing, Implied Brainwashing & Torture, Injury, Threats of Violence & Violence, Akumatised!Marinette, Fluff & Angst, Hurt with some Comfort, Angst With a Happy Ending, Gang/Team as family/family dynamics, Found Family. |

———

| A/N: First things first, make sure you've read the first chap before reading this. Second things second, this chapter is a chapter and half. And it's the final chapter! I hope this being 7k more than makes up for it being a day late to posting! I put a lot of love and time and effort into this, so I really hope you all enjoy. And for peak atmosphere, listen to Wonder World by Inova (first song on the playlist) during the first two parts, for optimum atmosphere! Not necessary if you'd prefer not to of course, but still. There's also a ton of light and butterfly symbolism stuffed in this, so try and see how much you can spot! |

| On a sidenote, this fic is dedicated to my friend Saf who listened to me ramble about this fic, and in turn rambled to me whenever I gave her sneak peak snippets. This wouldn't have ended up half as good as it did without her support! Also thanks to Weird for the support, compliments, reaction to the snippets, and kind words as well! And finally, thanks to everyone on the discord who was supportive and kind whenever I rambled in my author's channel! <3 |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

———

Even when everything you know splits. When it splinters and shifts, like a chrysalis or a damaged cable. And you're left unfurling your wings, unable to yet fly—circuit broken, fuse melted—grounded, earthed.

The rest of the world keeps the current flowing through the wires of everyone else's circuit wings, and they're able to keep fluttering, unfettered by your frayed and exposed wires, even despite the threat you pose to their safety. Too blinded by the luminescence of those with power.

Broken wires cause lights to flicker and dim. They don't glow as brightly as they could—as they should. They crackle and buzz and burn and scorch and smoke, causing only destruction; when light should only be used for creation.

That's why the Atelier Agreste specialise in fixing broken wings and wires. The brightness of tomorrow splinters the darkness of today, the business proclaims.

And Marinette Dupain-Cheng is merely the latest of the poor misguided larvae, with their shade-like masks and unfortunate frayed wires, to be rehabilitated into an enlightened pupa under Gabriel Agreste's watchful care.

Truly, the discarding of a mask that kept the Pupa in the dark, and the Pupa's embracement of the Atelier's radiant glow marks a wondrous occasion indeed.

How glorious it will be, an unveiling of the newest Atelier Agreste designer's début? The welcoming of a new Papillon among the ranks, especially one that shines so brightly. Phoebus, like the butterfly and the god of light. What a fitting name for the butterfly that will glow like the sun.

———

Marinette—no, not Marinette, she is Phoebus. She is light, and her glow has been fixed.

Stitch by stitch, she sews herself a collection of chrysalises. To represent her transformation that has been nurtured by the Atelier, Monsieur Agreste had said.

Stitch by stitch by stitch. She must make him proud, he's done so much for her. He saved her from the darkness, showed her the light and how to glow just as brightly herself. She owes him everything.

Stitch by stitch by stitch by stitch. Lila—no, Rubi, after Macrothylacia Rubi, the Fox Moth—visits sometimes. She's pretty, and likes to keep Phoebus company, telling her all about the incredible things Rubi has done and people Rubi has met. She's like Phoebus, taken in and nurtured by the Atelier Agreste. Phoebus hopes Rubi will be one of her chrysalis models.

Stitch. And anchor, and anchor, then up. Snip. Snip. Snip.

Phoebus hears the sound of the studio door opening but she does not stop. Her chrysalises must be perfect, she must finish them in time. Thread the needle and anchor.

Footsteps stride across the studio floor but still Phoebus does not stray her attention from her work. Stitch by stitch.

“Good morning, Pupa, I hope the final preparations for your début are going accordingly.” Monsieur Agreste greets.

Her hands still, work halting. The Pupa Phoebus turns away from the fashion piece before her, and smiles, as brightly as her namesake, up at him. “It is.”

There's a hollowness inside her. And smiling at him makes the hollowness ache but Phoebus does not know why. Monsieur Agreste does not like it when she asks bad-dark-broken-frayed questions like that, so she says nothing more and nothing less. She will be his perfect protégé. He said so, and so she must.

He nods approvingly. “Good. I expect only perfection from you and your work. Do not forget, once the fashion show starts it will mark your eclosion into my Atelier once and for all.”

The Pupa Phoebus nods her head, eyes shining almost too brightly in the studio's lights.“I will ensure everything is to perfection for my début.”

Her actions and words are as doll-like as her title. For she was once named Marinette, which is close to Marionette. Marionettes are dolls. And Pupa once meant doll. Like a doll, she is so painfully hollow inside. But like a doll, she is perfect. She must be.

Monsieur Agreste does not sneer at her but his lips curl in a way that makes the darkness inside her claim he is mocking her.

“The set designers have informed me the catwalk has been transformed into the river Lethe. Isn't it rather fitting?” He pauses, watching her with sharp eyes for her reaction.

She nods. That is what she is supposed to do. It is fitting because he has said so. And Monsieur Agreste is always right.

“After all,” he continues, seemingly satisfied with her response, “it was once believed that the dead may only be reincarnated upon drinking from the Lethe and giving up their memories. And you gave up your memories of pain to be reformed as a butterfly that will shine ever so brightly, my protégé.”

“Oh,” Phoebus responds, tilting her head to one side as her smile wavers for but a fraction of a second. There's something flickering in the back of her head, behind her eyes; splintered memories, nothing substantial but the ghosts—Fantômes, the darkness whispers—of them linger.

The taste of iron, harsh white lights, cold glowing white strands chaining her fragile wire wings to the ground, lights—so many dancing lights, and the sharp electric zaps. She shouldn't try to parse what they mean, what they herald. Remembering the Before is bad, when she was a poor unfortunate Larva who fell through the cracks into the shadows and gutters. She is a Pupa now, and Pupa change. They become better, brighter, than they ever could achieve as Larvae.

Monsieur Agreste picks up on her moment of lapse, his eyes narrowing in what must be concern. “Is something wrong, Pupa?”

Phoebus shakes her head. “I am just anticipating how my début will go.”

He hums, unconvinced.

Understandable—she is not meant to lie, not to him. It is not how a Pupa should act.

“Perhaps you should take a break so we can ensure you've not damaged your light by working so hard. It wouldn't do to have your glow flicker and dim mid-début.” Monsieur Agreste states, pulling his tablet out already to schedule a check-up.

The Pupa Phoebus widens her bright yet hollow smile. “Oh, that is a good idea! A break would be most appreciated, Monsieur Agreste!”

Monsieur Agreste does not laugh but he huffs in what must be amusement. “How unfortunate that it took so long to rescue and take you under my wing. You will do well as one of my Papillons here.” He pauses to adjust his glasses, the light shining on them in a way that makes the lenses appear opaque. “I didn't think I'd get another specimen such as yourself, so perfectly adapted for becoming a Pupa and then a Papillon.”

His not-sneer unfurls into a grin, one that makes the darkness whisper danger. He steps around her, to get a different angle view of her work, and stares pointedly at the fine detailing. “It is a great shame that my son and my nephew have both become wretched larvae like you once were, instead of wonderful Pupae like you've now become.”

“You deserve a better son and nephew, Monsieur Agreste.” Phoebus recites from the script burnt into her mind, though she does not remember when or why she memorised it.

“I do, don't I.” Monsieur Agreste considers in contempt. “That can easily be achieved as soon as my men rescue him from the clutches of those vile Larvae. We believe the ones who held you captive and forced you to work for them, are the same ones who hold both my son and nephew now.”

“Oh.” Phoebus responds, getting the feel that Monsieur Agreste is testing her. Perhaps to ensure no feelings of Stockholm Syndrome remain for her previous captors? Yes, that must be it. How thoughtful and caring of Monsieur Agreste. “That is awful, hopefully, they can be saved soon!”

Monsieur Agreste hums, seemingly in agreement this time. “Hopefully indeed. And once we rescue them, they can then be taught to embrace the radiance my company brings to this world, just as you were taught.”

He places a hand on her shoulder, and squeezes. “And you, my dear Pupa, can help my son and nephew stitch their Chrysalises. For they are both models, like Rubi. Wouldn't that be nice, two additional fellow Papillons for you to befriend, wouldn't that make you very happy?”

Phoebus nods at a perfectly acceptable speed to relay her happiness and excitement. “Yes! That would be wonderful! I would be so happy if that were to happen!”

And yet, the darkness inside her wails and grieves as she utters each word but Phoebus does not understand why.

“Good,” Monsieur Agreste states, “that is very good to hear. Now, I shall return when your break is ready.” He turns around and strides towards the door, stilling at the threshold. “My wife will prepare high tea for you to join her at, once your break is ready.”

The Pupa Phoebus nods, fingers twitching as she turns back to meticulously stitching her chrysalises. “Thank you, Monsieur Agreste, I cannot wait!”

He huffs in what must be amusement again, “I would hope so, Pupa.”

If she didn't know better, the Pupa Phoebus would wonder why the silver butterfly necklace feels more like shackles than a gift. Why the darkness begs her to break the chains.

———

Three months. Three fucking months. Of nothing. Not a whisper on the news or in the underground, no public proclamations of the capture of one of the co-leaders of the most notorious gangs in the city. Nothing, abso-fucking-lutely nothing. Three fucking months she's been gone and not a word about what happened.

Jason sits crouched on the sofa, head in his hands. A coffee is placed on the table in front of him, he can tell from the smell, and the sound of the liquid sloshing about inside the cardboard cup.

“Marinette used to like coffee…” Jason bemoans, half-serious, half-jokingly.

Something shatters in the next room over, the kitchen most likely from the sounds of it.

“Oh. My. Fucking. God. Jason!” Alix hiss-screeches, from the same place as the shattering, like an angry kitten on roller skates. “You've said that meme every day for the last month! I'm going to murder you!”

Adrien, who's been sitting on top of the side cabinets, throws his head forwards and barely manages to stifle the laugh by slapping a hand over his mouth. He wheezes for a few seconds as he gets his laughter, and breathing under control again.

Félix snorts from where he's curled up in a cushioned armchair. “Alix has a point, you know. We understand you miss her but as do we.”

“Shhh! You'll disturb him!” Roy shushes, grinning mischievously as he stands behind the sofa. Putting on his best David Attenborough impression, he begins to recite, “here we have the rare Jasonarches Toddamentum brooding in his natural habitat. Lamenting the loss of one of his pack, specifically his co-alpha—”

Jason whips around to face Roy and launches the nearest pillow from the sofa at him, before he can continue the mockumentary. “Co-alphas? Really? That's the best you could come up with! C'mon man!”

Yelping, Roy ducks but not quick enough as the pillow smacks him in the right shoulder and flops onto the floor.

Nodding mock sagely, Félix sighs. “We expected better from you, Roy.”

“Yeah, Roy.” Kori teases, passing a second coffee in her hands over to him.

Placing a hand over his heart, Roy gasps. “Wow! The betrayal!” he complains as he grabs at the coffee and cradles it to his chest with the other. “And thanks, Kori! For the coffee, not the betrayal!”

“Ah, friends?” Markov calls cautiously as he hovers into the room, anxiety lacing his robotic voice, claws fiddling with the corner of what looks to be an envelope.

Immediately the jovial atmosphere splinters and everyone stills. Everyone except Artemis and Alix who walk, and roll into the room respectively, at that precise moment. Both hovering by the respective door frames they entered through, coincidentally opposite each other. Artemis crosses her arms, whilst Alix grabs the door frame with one hand to steady herself.

Jason tenses and glances over at the little AI. “Everything okay, Markov?”

Markov fretfully swings his claw arm around. “One of our couriers was handed a letter.”

“Did they bring it here?” Jason questions, brows furrowing in worry.

Markov shakes his head. “The courier handed it to a third-party forger, and created the forgery I am now holding. It is addressed to Adrien, and Félix.”

Adrien sucks in a sharp breath, he turns to exchange a look with Félix. “You don't think it's…” He trails off, unwilling to say it out loud in case it makes it any more likely.

Grimacing, Félix nods. “It has to be. It was rather publicly known when you were "kidnapped",” he states, making quotation marks with his fingers as he stressed the word, “by this gang. Less so when you spearheaded my "kidnapping", with them.”

“Yeah… that's. We didn't think that through.” Adrien admits, scrunching his mouth up in concern. “But! If that didn't happen, I wouldn't have gotten to use Cheval Mallet as my vigilante name, which is a plus at least!”

Félix huffs bitterly. “Oh, because getting to use a vigilante name that fits thematically is completely and utterly worth getting targeted by the Big Butterfly himself?”

“In my defence—” Adrien starts, only to shut his mouth again as words fail him. “Nevermind, you've got a point.”

Jason clicks his tongue. “More importantly, we need to decide what we're doing about this.”

“We need to actually see what is inside the envelope, first.” Félix counters, marching over to Markov.

Markov dips in the air in lieu of a nod and extends his claw-arm to hand Félix the envelope. “Here you go, friend!”

“Thank you, Markov.” Félix responds, nodding his head to the little AI as he takes the extended envelope. He marches back over to Adrien and slips out the disguised knife pen out of his pocket, before carefully slicing the top of the envelope open like one would do with a letter opener. Plucking the letter from inside, he holds it at an angle so only he and Adrien can read what has been written.

Seconds pass.

Swearing under his breath, Adrien glances up at Jason with panic clear in his eyes. “It's… it's from Kagami. She's been compromised, the Big Butterfly knows she was in contact with us. He and her mother have forced her to invite us to the Big Butterfly's upcoming fashion show…”

“She's worried that it's a trap, to capture us both so that they can… do to us what they did to my mother, and all of his Papillons.” Félix continues in Adrien's stead, barely able to conceal the dawning horror on his face.

Artemis moves towards them and asks as softly as she can, brows furrowing in concern. “And what exactly, did they do to your mother?”

He swallows a breath of air thickly. “Adrien's mother went missing a few years ago. And so my mother and I visited Adrien and his sperm donor as we were all grieving. However, I started to notice things seemed off and before either of us realised, the Big Butterfly was parading my mother around in front of the news and media pretending she was her twin sister instead. Even at home, she started treating me like Adrien's mother had.”

“What the fuck! Are you saying the Big Butterfly brainwashed your mom?” Jason exclaims, eyes wide with a mixture of horror, disgust, and alarm.

“Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. The Big Butterfly brainwashed my mum into believing she was Aunt Emilie, purely so that he could keep appearances up in front of the cameras.” Félix confirms, hands balled into fists and shaking ever so slightly. “When Adrien got out and joined here, I stumbled across the Big Butterfly's plans to replace Adrien by doing the same to me. If you all hadn't helped me get out in time…” He chokes up, unable to get the next words out of his mouth.

“That is truly despicable. I'm sorry.” Artemis apologises, looking equally disturbed by the information.

“Shit.” Roy mutters, glancing between Félix and Adrien. “What do we do? We can't just let another innocent get fucking brainwashed!”

Kori purses her lips. “I think,” she starts, giving an understanding look at the two, “we should let Adrien and Félix decide. They are the most familiar with the Big Butterfly, this Kagami, and the situation as a whole.”

Clearing her throat, Alix roller skates a little closer to others. “Guys, you don't think…” she trails off, trying to find her words but also torn over whether saying it out loud will make it true, “you don't think that's what's happened to Marinette? It would explain why we've heard nothing from her or Roaar since she disappeared.”

“Holy fucking shit! I'm going to burn that fucking bastard and his fucking fashion show to the ground if he fucking dared!” Hisses Jason, his eyes flaring toxic green as the fury of the Lazarus Pit burns in his veins. He digs his nails into the fabric of the sofa and his lips curl into a near-frenzied snarl.

“Woah, woah! Jason, calm the fuck down! That might not be what's happened!” Roy intercepts, grabbing Jason by the shoulder.

Jason turns to glare at Roy. “But it also might be what happened to her!”

“We should go.” Adrien cuts in sharply, “Max can get the rest of you in via hacking. Félix and I will be the distraction, and I'll bring Kaalki so we have a quick escape in case things go wrong. Whilst everyone else who goes to the show needs to focus on getting Kagami out. Then once that's done, we can try and look for anything that suggests they've got Marinette. And if we find Marinette, we get her out as well.”

Félix nods. “That's a good enough plan for me.”

Smiling bitterly, Adrien tilts his head to one side. “So, who else is up for crashing the show?”

Kori, Roy, Artemis, and Alix all exchange glances before nodding.

“Max and I are in!” Markov pipes up, hovering up in a swing.

“That leaves, who's telling Luka, and Bizarro they're holding down the fort this time?” Jason mutters.

“Dibs not it!” Everyone but Artemis calls out.

She rolls her eyes at the antics of the others. “I will tell the two of them their roles for this mission. Don't worry.”

Jason hums. “We could also probably call in a favour with the Sparrow kid that you,” he nods towards Adrien, “and Marinette befriended. Not to hold down the fort but to help cover us at the fashion show?”

“Oh! I'm sure Sparrow will be more than happy to help! That's a great idea!” Adrien cheers, perking up slightly.

Moving over to the coffee table, Félix places the letter down in the centre. “Right. Let's get ourselves ready to crash a fashion show.”

———

Adrien and Félix both don a light disguise. One that's easy enough to recognise them on a closer inspection but subtle enough to not attract immediate attention.

The others, in heavier disguises, had arrived early and gotten in already—split between two teams. One with hacked tickets, and the other through breaking and entering, the gang's speciality. Sparrow had also been more than happy to help and had roped in a few others from their gang, the Quantic Kids, into helping watch the outside of the building.

Leaving Félix and Adrien to arrive together, separate from the rest of the gang; they make sure to arrive slightly late to try and avoid the worst of the crowds. Approaching the doors, they hand over their tickets and try to appear as nonchalant as possible.

The nearest android guard eyes their tickets and puts out a hand. “Wait.”

“Is there something wrong with our tickets, sir?” Félix asks, smiling sweetly enough to hide the undercurrent of threat.

The android guard nods their head at another then looks the two up and down in a scrutinising—analysing fashion. “We have explicit orders to escort anyone with these tickets to the seats.”

Adrien grimaces. “Understood, lead the way then.”

The android guards exchange nods once more, then the one slightly further away pulls out a radio and starts quietly reporting into it, too low for either Félix or Adrien to catch anything. Useful or otherwise.

“Follow me.” Says the nearer one as they start walking away.

Félix sighs and lightly knocks shoulders with Adrien as a reminder of solidarity as well as to get ready. Waiting for only a second, they both start following after the guard. Félix adjusts the secret mic and camera attached to his tie, ensuring that it was now transmitting its feed to Max and Markov, as well as Luka back at base.

Next to him, Adrien does the same with his own tie and attached secret mic and camera.

They're led down a few hallways, up a couple of winding staircases, and down a few more hallways before the guard stops outside a door with a metal sign on it reading: Private.

“Your seats are through here.” The android guard says, slotting a keycard into the door, causing a glowing keypad panel to open up in the centre. Then, the android guard scans a digital code into the door and the door swings open before it.

Adrien nods to the android guard and tugs Félix after him as he strides across the threshold, head held high.

There's a shriek, as they pass through the door, and a body slams into Adrien and it's only thanks to his vigilante instincts that he doesn't drop the body.

“Oh, Adrikins!” Chloé cries out, hugging him tightly. “I can't believe you're back!” She lets go of him for a second to step back and check out his outfit. “Urgh, you could do with some better clothes though. It's fine,” she says, waving a hand, “after today's show we can go on a shopping trip together!”

Adrien smiles awkwardly and unconvincingly responds, “yeah… it's nice to see you again too, Chloé.”

Félix, the traitor, snickers at Adrien's predicament and steps around the two to fully enter the room. The android guard does not follow, and the door shuts automatically behind them.

Inside, is a private bar and lounge with double doors on the far wall, opposite the 'Private' entry door.

Kagami glances up from her place from the sofa against the wall with the double doors. She raises an eyebrow. “It is good to see that you made it here safely.”

“As safe as we could.” Félix grunts, delicately dropping into the seat next to her on the sofa.

She hums, tuning out Chloé's screeching with practised ease. “How are the horse-related magic tricks you were working on going?”

“Pretty well, though I don't suppose Father will be all too pleased with the one I plan to practise tonight,” Félix responds.

Kagami relaxes her shoulders in relief for a split second. “Oh? And what sort of magic trick is it?”

“I've dubbed it: Call a Key. And it's like those pull a rabbit from a hat tricks but with a horse from a hoop.” He says, drawing a circle in the air. A circle that just so happens to be the same size and shape as Kaalki's average portals.

“I see,” Kagami says, nodding, “well, perhaps after tonight's show, you won't mind showing me it so far?”

Félix grins, “I'd love to, Kagami.”

Their conversation lulls into silence, so Félix hops off the sofa and goes over to the private bar to fix himself and Adrien some drinks. Seeing as Chloé was showing no signs of letting his cousin go at the moment. A potential hazard for the plan, he worries. With drinks in hand, he rejoins Kagami by the sofa.

An announcement rings out over the loudspeakers on the walls as the double doors swing open in a slow and controlled manner.

“That, is our cue that the show will be starting soon,” Kagami mutters to him. She takes a deep breath and raises her voice, “Chloé, Adrien, it is time we take our seats for the show.”

Chloé squeals, forcefully dragging Adrien across the private lounge and through onto the balcony where their booth seats are.

Sighing, Félix follows after the two with Kagami a few steps behind him.

“Oh, I'm so glad you managed to make it to today's fashion show, Adrikins!” Chloé exclaims, clutching at Adrien's arm like a hawk and gesturing wildly with the other. “It's so nice of your daddy to hold this show in the theatre so we could have a private booth together to watch the show! And it's going to be a really special show from what I've overheard, Gabriel's débuting a new and upcoming fashion designer! Isn't that so exciting, I'm sure your daddy will let you model for them now that you're back! After all,” she scoffs, “he's letting that peasant fox model for the designer today.”

“Is that so?” Adrien responds, glancing at Félix with deep-seated worry etched into his stare.

Félix clenches his fists and takes a deep breath.

Frowning, Kagami taps Félix on the arm and sends him a questioning glance.

“We'll explain it later.” He mumbles quietly enough for her to just hear.

Below them, the sounds of people taking their seats echoes. A few minutes pass, Félix and Kagami make minor small talk whilst Adrien is forced to listen to Chloé prattle on.

The main lights dim and then go out, plunging the room into darkness. The curtains rise, from the sounds of the heavy and large swathes of fabric moving on the pulleys.

Classical music starts playing—not unlike the music Adrien used to learn on the piano. And one by one, the lights in the shape of asphodels flicker to life on the stage, illuminating a sea of the flowers surrounding a catwalk designed like a river carving through the land. White marble Greco-Esque pillars and arches litter the flower fields. Framing the scene, is the blank white wall at the back of the catwalk and stage. The lighting shifts to cast spotlights on the wall behind the catwalk.

Félix tunes out the rest of the show starting, instead putting all his focus in searching for any security watching their booth, as well as for any sign of Marinette.

The show continues on, slowly models wearing pieces designed like asphodels, butterflies, and cocoons or chrysalises strut up and down the catwalk. The spotlights follow them, making the pieces and models appear to glow under the light.

Luckily, there's no obvious security paying attention to their booth. But that doesn't mean they're in the clear, for all they know, Gabriel could have bugged the place to the rafters. They had worked out before entering, that they'd have to leave before the end of the show. Otherwise, they'd most likely be captured and brainwashed just like Félix's mum.

A new announcement from the stage gives both Adrien and Félix pause, neither having fully caught what was said other than mentions of the reveal of the designer. They tense and try to hide the signs of their anxious anticipation. The flickering flame of hope in their chests threatens to extinguish from the worry that this could be what they feared it to be.

The lights and spotlights on stage all dim; whilst the music fades to a quieter volume. The almost deafening echoing clack-clack-clack of heels against the catwalk seems so much louder than when the models in heels had been walking across it.

Félix holds his breath and clasps his hands together tightly. Adrien leans forwards to get a better look over at the stage. They should be nudging Kagami and getting ready to go by now but they can't will themselves to look away. Like a tragedy; a car catching fire and about to crash.

A figure in a chrysalis dress steps onto the catwalk. Step by step by step, they slowly walk to the end of the catwalk. The faint glow of the lights still perfectly illuminates the figure's face though.

And Adrien's heart stops. “No!”

“What? Is that—?” Chloé starts, only to be interrupted by the cacophonous roar of a standing ovation from the rest of the audience.

Félix, Adrien, and Kagami all pale in horror.

“That's… that's Marinette.” Kagami whispers to Félix, her panic thinly veiled.

Stiffly, Félix nods and swallows a breath of air thickly. “So. Minor change of plans.”

“I can see why.” Kagami responds automatically, in horror.

On the catwalk below, the dress shimmers and appears to crack. Shadowy mist seeping from the cracks is followed by a blinding glow eviscerating the darkness. From the cracks, the outer layers of the dress splinter away, and the layers below begin to unfurl. Bright white, beautiful butterfly wings edged with black and the odd symmetrical red spots.

Gabriel Agreste, Papillon, joins her on the stage. “Isn't this such a momentous and wonderful occasion? Tonight, we have witnessed the eclosion of a new Papillon within the Atelier Agreste. And I'm delighted by the bright welcome Phoebus has received.”

At the call of her Papillon name, Phoebus bows.

Félix's heartbeat pounds in his ears, nearly drowning out Gabriel's words.

Before he, or Adrien, can react, there's a buzzing in his ear from the disguised earpiece comms.

“Félix. Adrien. Get Kagami and get out! Now!” Max's voice filters through, “they're sending a reinforcement of guards towards your location. I'll try to hack them but it'll be close!”

Standing abruptly, Adrien yanks himself away from Chloé's death grip.

“Wha—Adrikins!” She protests, still too shocked by the revelation of the new designer having been Marinette, to try and stop him.

Adrien backs away into the private lounge, flushing red with embarrassment. “Sorry Chloé, I-uh… need to use the men's room. Be-right-back!”

He turns heel and makes his way over to the opposite door and yanks it open.

Félix stares at Adrien in disbelief before nodding at Kagami and grabbing her by the arm. He does not so much run, as speed walk after Adrien.

The second all three of them are clear of the private door's threshold, Kagami kicks her foot back to shut the door behind them. The three then start sprinting down the halls.

The hidden earpiece crackles again. “You three and Jason are the nearest to the backstage where Marinette will be soon. I'll lead the four of you towards the location, just follow my directions and don't do anything stupid once Jason joins you.”

“No promises,” Adrien mutters in response. “I'm seriously considering committing patricide at this point.”

Max doesn't immediately respond, presumably having switched channels to help deal with the others, or get out himself.

Less than a minute later, the earpiece crackles again, but this time it's Luka who starts relaying the directions to the backstage whilst keeping them updated on both human and android guards as well as security camera positions.

“You're halfway there, Jason should be just through the third door on the right.” Luka informs, sounding calm but they know him too well to not hear the veneer of fury beneath every word.

Adrien yanks open the third door on the right open, and lo and behold, Jason is sprinting past the open door in the corridor it leads to.

“Wait up!” Félix hisses after Jason.

It seems Jason manages to hear him and skids on the balls of his steel-toed boots, scratching up the wooden flooring, to stare at them with his green eyes blazing. “Alix was fucking right.” He bites out.

“We are coming with you, to save her.” Kagami states, looking equally furious.

Jason cocks his head to the side. “Then c'mon, we need to run.”

The four exchange nods and glances and burst into a sprint down the hallway, following Luka's directions.

Direction after direction after direction. It feels like Luka relays to them hundreds of those endless directions before the four of them reach a long hallway with double doors at the end that has a large sign above it, labelled: Backstage.

Skidding to a stop again, Jason holds out an arm to stop the others as well. “As much as I want to run in, laser guns a-blazin', who knows what kinda fucking security shit they've got ready for us.”

Adrien grimaces. “But they knew we didn't know that they have Marinette. So why would they prepare security for us rescuing her when they're trying to capture us?”

“Have you forgotten how much security the Big Butterfly placed around my mother, after brainwashing her? Public spectacles like this always involve far too much security around the shining star of the show!” Félix spits acerbically, fists shaking, breathing shallow.

Adrien places a hand on his shoulder. “Worst case situation, we can get Kaalki to get us out and we can try and rescue Marinette another time.”

Jason scowls. “If we're forced to do that, I want to shoot that fucker's skull in first.”

“Technically, shouldn't Adrien get right of shooting him before you?” Kagami asks, half-smiling that awkward smile of hers.

Huffing, Jason nods to Adrien. “Fine, but I dibs second shot then. And if you go for the skull, I'm shooting that bastard in the fucking dick.”

Adrien makes a choking noise and doubles over, barely managing to stifle his laughter. He takes a few deep breaths and wipes tears away from his eyes. “Deal!” He wheezes, “please, I'd like nothing more than for you to get the second shot and do that!”

“Good fucking choice,” Jason mutters in response, a cheeky grin crossing his face for but a second before it falls back to the furious snarl. “Now, let's see what's behind the doors and get our anthill tiger back!”

The earpieces Jason, Félix, and Adrien are wearing, buzz again. “Might want to hurry up.” Luka smoothly informs. “Three human guards are coming your way. And as far as Max can see through his hacking, there's no android guards or drones backstage.” He pauses, “the rest of our gang won't be able to reach you four in time, neither will Sparrow's. You're going solo.”

The four exchange quick glances among themselves. “That's a risk we're willing to take if it means getting Marinette back.”

“I'll keep you updated on any changes. Break a leg or three, especially try to break the Big Butterfly's legs if you can.” Luka responds.

Jason snorts. “We'll try our best.”

The channel goes silent, as Jason quietly opens the backstage doors and the four of them sneak through.

———

The show has ended, by the time the four of them arrive through the backstage doors. Jason spots a rack of clothes and gestures to the others to follow him as he creeps over to hide behind it.

She's there. Marinette—or Phoebus, as the Big Butterfly had called her. There in the centre of the backstage. Standing stock-still. Still dressed in that fucking chrysalis—butterfly dress. Like a creepy human-sized doll.

Jason focuses on his breathing, in and out, in and out, in and out. Trying not to let the sickly radioactive green flood his vision and veins.

He freezes as he watches the Big Butterfly himself stride up to her and circle her like a vulture.

“You did very well today, Phoebus.” The Big Butterfly says, with a sneer on his face. “Unfortunately, my son and Nephew have so rudely absconded from their booth before the show ended.”

The Papillon Phoebus dips her head, and ever so hollowly sounding, replies, “that is most unfortunate.”

It takes all Jason's concentration to not be sick at how empty she sounds and acts. He glances at the others and Kagami, Adrien, and Félix all look sickened by the sight.

The Big Butterfly's sneer morphs into a scowl. “It is indeed. However, Mademoiselle Bourgeois was able to inform us of something very interesting.”

Tilting her head to one side, the Papillon Phoebus stares blankly at him. “Oh?”

“Apparently, my son had quite the reaction to the sight of you on stage, my Papillon. Isn't that interesting.” The Big Butterfly taunts.

She blinks at him then nods slowly and stiffly. “Yes. That is very interesting, Monsieur Agreste.”

His scowl curls into a victorious sneer. “That's what I thought, my dear Papillon.”

Jason shakes, he can't watch any more of this fucking creepy-ass bastard messing with his gang co-leader. He whips both of his recently upgraded guns from their holsters and grips the handles with whitening knuckles.

Before the others can think to stop him, Jason dives out of cover and shoots his twin guns. Pew-pew!

The laser bolts slam into the back of the Big Butterfly, frying two circles into his suit and melting the material to his skin.

The Big Butterfly screams in pain and fury. He pivots in place to turn and glare at where the shots had come from. The light flashes across his glasses again, making the lenses appear opaque. As his gaze latches onto Jason, his victorious sneer splits and twists and unfurls into a monstrous smirk. He starts to laugh, like poison bubbling and frothing from his lips.

And as the Big Butterfly does, Jason catches sight of the glint of small purple flapping around the Papillon Phoebus'—Marinette's—neck.

The bubbling and frothing poison of an Akuma's transformation swirls around her, staining every speck of her and forming a glimmering chrysalis once more.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” Jason chants under his breath. Eyes wide with instant regret, he taps his earpiece. “We fucked up! Holy fucking shit, we fucked up!”

“What?!” Comes the frantic response from Luka. “What do you mean? What's happened? What did you do?”

Jason laughs nervously, “she's an Akuma! She's been fucking akumatised.”

“Hold on as long as possible, the others got swarmed by guards and can't reach you yet.” Luka frets.

At that, Kagami, Adrien, and Félix all burst out from behind the clothes rack, each with laser pistols also in hand. Zap-zap-zap.

The three more shots ring out but only one hits, Adrien and Félix both shaking too much for theirs to land.

“We shall try.” Félix responds to Luka.

The chrysalis-Akuma-poison coalesces around the Papillon Phoebus before cracking and dripping away. Revealing two large butterfly wings exactly like the dress. Phoebus wings. She flutters her wings and begins to float a metre or so above the ground.

“Fuck!” Jason curses, and behind him he can hear the other three echoing the sentiment. He stares at the purple butterfly chain around her throat. “Akuma is in the necklace!”

A bright light, not dissimilar to a flashbang, pops off. Immediately blinding all four of them.

“Capture them!” The Big Butterfly orders.

Kagami yelps.

The blindness caused by the light fades, and Adrien gasps. Jason swears under his breath again, and he and Félix both fire off more shots. This time towards the Akuma object, as the Big Butterfly has vanished.

Cocooned to the ground, Kagami squirms, trying to free herself from the Akuma's trap.

“Fucking shit!” Jason helpfully says on the earpiece channel. “She's trying to fucking capture us for the fucking bastard! And he's disappeared!” He bodily throws himself to the ground to dodge a mote of brilliant radiance lancing towards him.

The Papillon Phoebus tilts her head to the side, wings glittering with bright golden light like her namesake. Safely blocking the laser blasts towards her object with her massive wings.

Thankfully, only one of Kagami's hands is trapped. And not the one with the gun. As quietly as possible, she shoots the gun to slice through the cocoon and free herself.

The wings start to glow brighter and brighter and brighter.

“Flashbang!” Jason yells, diving behind cover in the form of a cluster of mannequins and slapping a hand over his eyes.

Kagami grabs Adrien and the two duck behind a different rack of clothes. Whilst Félix leaps over a stack of boxes and hides there.

The radiance flares once more, but fails to blind any of them.

“We need to shoot the object. I'll draw the attention at the front. Kagami, get behind and get ready to shoot her in the back as a distraction. Adrien and Félix, you two flank her on opposite sides.” Jason plans quietly into the earpiece channel.

Jason leaves his hiding spot first, vaulting over the cluster of mannequins and shoots a laser bolt at the Papillon Phoebus' necklace again. It's blocked by the wings, as to be expected.

Félix leaps back over the stack of boxes and flanks the Papillon Phoebus on the right. Whilst Adrien rolls out from behind the clothes rack and flanks on the left.

The three in position, shoot simultaneously at the Akuma, as to distract her.

Kagami bolts from her hiding spot and flanks behind the Papillon Phoebus.

The wings start to flutter and glow brighter once more.

“Now!” Jason yells.

Zap!

The blast slams into the Papillon Phoebus' back, right between where her wings connect to her shoulder blades. Instinctively she splays her wings out in pain and curls backwards.

Zap-zap!

Two more blasts slam into her, one in each wingtip.

Zap!

Finally, Jason shoots last and his aim is true. Crackle-snap!

The blast sears through the chain necklace, warping the metal and snapping it in twain.

The two parts of the object clatter to the ground and a purple butterfly claws itself out from the broken chains.

Jason spins his gun in his hand and shoots a final laser straight through the moth. Burning a perfect hole through its wings and killing it instantly. Purple Akuma-goop leaks from its injuries and then fades, leaving behind the scorched corpse of what was once a white butterfly.

He sighs in relief, and quickly taps his earpiece. “Akuma dealt with.”

As he says that, the Akuma de-transforms midair and Marinette collapses to the ground. Limp, like a puppet with their strings cut or a discarded doll—a cracked Pupa.

“Thank fuck.” Luka's responds over the channel, sounding tired.

Jason drags a hand down his face. The green poisoning his vision dissipates for the time being, and he hurries over to Marinette. Ever so carefully, he scoops her into his arms—bridal style—and pulls her close to his chest.

Kagami drops to her knees and breathes.

Adrien weakly punches the air with his gun in hand. “Wooh! Luka, we're calling a key home. Disable security please?”

Félix snorts, moving back to lean against the stack of boxes.

“No need, there's no security cameras backstage. I'll hear your songs when you back at base.” Luka relays, tone light with happiness and relief despite the tiredness. “The others have dealt with the guards, so they're on their way back too.”

Adrien transforms with Kaalki, becoming Cheval Mallet. He walks over to Kagami and offers her a hand. Félix, and Jason with Marinette unconscious in his arms join them.

The portal opens up before them, and they walk through together. Today, they've won another battle. Tomorrow they'll try to find out what has been done to Marinette. But tonight, tonight all the conscious members of the gang huddle together in the lounge. And among themselves, they build a pillow and blanket fort, and relax.

They're all together, and they're all safe, for once.

———

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little fic! Comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated! |

| So title dissection, Atelier meaning Fashion Studio comes from the Latin "Astula" meaning "Splinter", Astula also is the Genus for the flower Asphodel. Phoebus as mentioned in the fic is the god of light but it also means "Bright". Eclose is the leaving of a cocoon/chrysalis. Pupa is another term for cocoon/chrysalis when the butterfly/moth becomes soup and goes through metamorphosis. But it also comes from the Latin meaning Girl or Doll. So In the Fashion Studio's Glow, the Bright/Light Doll will be Released. |

| Fun Fact: Larva/Larvae mean Mask or Ghost in Latin. Also the suffix "Arches" means Leader/Ruler. So Jasonarches means Jason-Leader :3 |

| Also feel free to send me any comments with any questions you have regarding this fic, I'll be more than happy to answer! |

| @jasonette-july-event |

[nneogram]

think about it — part one. get laid!

pairing: jaehyun x reader (f)

genre: enemies to lovers!au, college!au, fluff

word count: 8.4k

warnings: language, mentions of sex but not really (oc keeps being told to get laid “emotionally” idk), jungwoo gets scolded about the importance of consent, jungwoo’s in a frat but not really but yes really, quick reminiscent phone call w/ bestie jungkook, oc has unhealthy studying habits but dw it gradually gets better from here

a/n: i’ll say it for all of us - FINALLY, an update on here. this is result of my own college shenanigans, stories from my friends, and far too many fantasies whilst in quarantine. jeni needs to lay off the k-dramas, sheesh. i’d also like to note that this is unedited! there may be a few grammar/spelling mistakes.

▸ playlist (to be linked later)

Your roommate claims that you need to, in the simplest terms, “Get laid.” You are vehemently against this proposal, despite her insistence and clarification.

“Emotionally. You need to get laid emotionally, Y/N,” Megan whines. That’s all she can do from where she is sitting, tucked safely away beneath the blankets on her bed. It’s cocoon-like, she’s explained to you before, “like being in the womb.” Safe. Secure. Warm. You think that if that was her cocoon, then Megan would emerge a butterfly. If you were in her place? You would emerge a moth.

“I don’t think any getting laid needs to be done, regardless of if it’s emotional or not.” You take another flashcard from your prepared deck. Strong Acids. HCl, HBr, HI… HClO4? A hiss leaves your lips when you flip the card over to see the answer. You were missing two more acids. You reluctantly place the card into the pile to review again, which sat next to a much smaller pile of correct cards. The goal for the morning was to move all the cards in the “wrong” pile to the “right” pile, but considering the size difference of the two stacks, that goal would not be achieved.

Megan’s sigh pulls you from your focus. “Dude. Do you see yourself right now? I don’t think I’ve seen you doing anything other than studying for the past two weeks. I’m going to ace this chem midterm and I’m not even in chem. I’m not even a STEM major.”

You frown. “Sorry. Was I being too loud? I can go-”

“No, don’t worry about me. This is about you. I’m concerned for you - you’ve been cooped up more these two weeks than you were in the entirety of fall quarter. Have you taken a break recently?”

“I slept for eight hours straight, I think that’s a good enough break?”

“No, like a real break. Away from studies and school and just doing something… I dunno, fun?”

You shake your head. The past few weeks had been nothing but relentless studying. In an effort to maintain your pristine GPA, you shoved aside what little downtime you allotted yourself in fall quarter to focus on school. It was the least you could do, considering that you were on track to apply to medical school at the end of your undergraduate career. You were only in your first year, so all of the other requirements for med school - clinic, shadowing, research, the works - were inapplicable for the time being. There wasn’t much to get you ahead other than your 4.0.

Megan knows this, but she also knows that you have little to no social life outside of the bare minimum. It’s an unspoken truth that the two of you being assigned as roommates was a blessing in disguise: your studious tendencies help motivate Megan to stay on task while Megan’s more laidback nature reminds you to take a breather sometimes. 

This was one of those times.

“I’m telling you,” Megan crawls over to the edge of her bed to get closer, “You should relax a bit. Just a teeny, tiny bit. Have some fun, live out your first year of college! Make some art, go to the gym, I dunno, step out of your comfort zone. Get laid!”

“You say that last one as if talking from experience,” you tease. 

What was the charge on sulfide again? Fuck, it was two minus. Another card goes into the “wrong” pile.

Megan scoffs. “Please. I’ve only ever had one boyfriend, and that was in middle school. The most we did was hold hands. Besides, we don’t need men… I just want one.” She mumbles this last part as an afterthought before returning her focus to you. “I think getting a boyfriend would be a great distraction for you.”

You gawk at your roommate, eyes flitting from her to your toppling stack of incorrectly answered cards and back to her. “Do you see this? I don’t need any distractions right now.”

“No, no, I - fuck. I got that all wrong, didn’t I.” Megan facepalms. “What I mean is maybe you should befriend some people, or find some kind of emotional outlet. As much as I pride myself on being your source of positivity, I’m not around all the time to tell you to take a break and relax. You tend to be hard on yourself, y’know?”

Your gaze once again travels to your flashcards, their amount of use prominent in the worn-down corners and smudged ink. “I guess…”

There’s a smile of satisfaction on Megan’s face. “Think about it,” she concludes, then crawls back to her cocoon of blankets to take a nap.

--

The gloom of the rainy weather hits most forcefully in January. With the merriment of the holiday season behind you, it seems there is nothing ahead but cold, and rain, and emptiness. Only so many mugs of hot chocolate could keep your heart warm, and it wasn’t even the good type of hot chocolate - it was the powdery stuff that you mixed in with your lukewarm water because the water kettle you brought with you to the dorm was buggy and never fully heated up a pot of water. 

Yeah, you could buy yourself a cup of cocoa from the coffee shop on campus, but as the college kid stereotype proved, you were broke. So you settle for your half-assed attempt at a comfort drink, taking extra effort to stir the dregs that tend to settle at the bottom of your styrofoam cup.

“So you need to get laid?” Jungkook’s voice crackles over the phone.

You sigh. For getting into one of the most prestigious universities in the country, Jungkook lacked the ability to draw proper conclusions from given information. He clearly hadn’t paid attention to your five minute spiel on your deteriorating motivation for life and your roommate’s unusual suggestion. “No,” you begin slowly, because if you didn’t control yourself you were going to get annoyed quickly, “I do not need to get laid.”

It’s dusk, around that time of the evening where the world slows down as the sky is painted a myriad of pinks, purples, and oranges. Even in January the sunsets in your college town never failed to astonish you. However, it’s also the time of the day when loneliness hits you most, and for a fraction of a moment you get homesick and usually end up calling someone from home. In this case, you end up contacting a close friend - though you’re beginning to question Jungkook’s title as a close friend, considering he completely missed the point of your rant.

“Well it sure sounds like it,” Jungkook refutes. There’s a loud crunching noise on the other end of the call, and you have to bring the phone away from your ear as the crackling continues. You know for a fact that Jungkook has bitten into a chip, most likely the barbecue ones he always had on hand. The audacity to snack on junk food in the middle of a conversation about your existential crisis - you sometimes wonder how you and Jungkook became friends in high school. 

Then again, you were on the other end slurping the remnants of your hot cocoa. Maybe there was something going for the two of you.

“Think about it.” You’re reminded of that afternoon when Megan said the exact same thing. “You’re unmotivated. Why? Because you’re lonely. How do we fix that? You need to get laid-”

“-Emotionally. Emotionally laid-”

“-Yeah yeah, same difference. They go hand in hand,” Jungkook brushes off. “The point still stands. When was the last time you were in a relationship?”

You hesitate to answer. “I’ve never been in a relationship,” you mumble.

“I couldn’t hear you. What?”

“I said I’ve never been in a relationship,” you repeat with a sigh.

There’s a beat of silence. “You’re kidding.”

You shake your head, momentarily forgetting this is a phone call and not an in-person conversation where Jungkook can see you. Students begin to flood the sidewalks outside of the dorms, likely the last wave of students returning for their later classes. A girl - Megan, you realize after squinting - waves at you from across the street. You wave back, gesturing to her that you’re on a call. She nods and goes on her way to the dorm. 

You return your focus to the call. “No, not kidding.”

“I’m taking that lapse of silence as you actually having to think about it.” You roll your eyes, another gesture that Jungkook cannot see. “How? You’re telling me all four years of high school you never got with someone? Not even a fling? Not even that weird ‘talking’ phase kids do these days? What have you been doing all this time?”

Your mind immediately goes back to your high school graduation. “Valedictorian, weighted GPA of 4.8, Y/N Y/L/N, attending…” You remember the smile on your face as the principal handed you your diploma. You remember the smiles on your parents’ faces, the pride and joy in their eyes. That was when you knew it had all been worth it - no one but you, your parents, and your own pure ambition fueling your fire for the four years of high school.

Maybe the closest you got to any sort of romantic relationship was… with Jungkook.

You liked Jungkook before your brain could fully process it, denying it as platonic affection for the better half of three years as he took you under his wing your freshman year. It was comforting to have someone older than you help you navigate high school, but as much as you tried you could not view Jungkook as an older brother as he so claimed to be.

Of course, nothing was ever to happen. Jeon Jungkook was a boy entirely out of your league - star student, star athlete, poster child for all things good and right in the world - but most importantly, he was your closest friend. It was this label that helped set a boundary for your affections, and your crush became more of a pastime to delve into when you wanted a break from your studies. A fantasy that would never come true.

It wasn’t until he moved away for college your senior year that your crush subsided, hitting you like some sort of epiphany when he returned for his winter break. You had been beyond elated to reunite with your friend, but when you looked in his eyes it dawned on you that the weight of his words and actions no longer affected you as much as they did in the past.

That was your only stint with romance, and you were fine with it staying that way. Yeah, it was a fruitless endeavor, but look what you got out of it: a great friend! And only at the price of three years of unnecessary emotional turmoil and relentless unrequited pining. What a bargain.

“I’ve been busy with school, mainly.” It’s an insufficient summation of your high school experience, but it got the point across. Technically, it wasn’t a lie.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud of you and all - and I respect your decision to be single! Human rights and all that - but maybe it’s time for you to get into a relationship.”

You snap your fingers loudly enough to startle a group of guys walking past. You hope the grimace on your face is enough of an apology. “Oh my God, thanks Jungkook! Now that you mention it, let me just hit up one of the many young eligible bachelors pining over me, because there are so many right now.”

The feigned enthusiasm in your voice does not entertain Jungkook as much as you would have liked it to. “I’m sure there are, Y/N. There were plenty in high school.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” The playful smile you sport falls from your lips as he proceeds to dive into a list of names. 

“The one guy with the yellow hair… Yugyeom thought you were cute… Oh, Taehyung liked you too-”

“-Taehyung?” You gawk. “The Kim Taehyung. The guy two years older than you, editor of the yearbook and captain of the lacrosse team? The Kim Taehyung who was Prom King. Him?” It’s difficult to process a senior that you had regarded so highly had taken  interest in you in your lowly freshman year.

“Yeah, I know, right? I told him he was out of your league-”

“-Hey!”

“-But I said that out of jealousy. Heck, even I liked you at some point, Y/N. You’re quite a catch, just super oblivious.”

The reminder of your phone call with Jungkook consists of your disbelieving laughs and Jungkook’s reassurances that yes, that many people liked you in high school.

“I’m sure there’s plenty of people interested in you. You just have to see it for yourself first.” Oddly prophetic for someone who claims he could survive solely off of energy drinks and barbecue chips, but considering he was studying at an Ivy League, he had to have some credibility. You end the phone call possibly more confused than you had been before the conversation. Swirling the contents of your cup absentmindedly, you realize you’ve drunk all of your hot cocoa. All that is left at the bottom of your cup are the clumps of cocoa powder that hadn’t been properly stirred. The dregs. Of course.

You relay your findings to Megan the next day over a lunch of poorly cooked rice and under seasoned chicken. “Food crafted by the gods to remind us of our inferiority,” as Megan liked to call it.

She claps her hands like a seal. “So I was right!” She cheers over a mouthful of food. “You need to get laid!”

You’re a bit too late to cover her mouth, her ambiguous words now out in the open for others nearby to hear and assume the wrong thing. Glancing around, you’re relieved to find that no one seemed to notice, save for one boy at a nearby table surrounded by some of his friends. He gives you a look but you refrain from making eye contact.

“I feel like you and I heard different stories just now.” You keep your voice down. “Meg, I just found out my high school crush - debatably, my first love - liked me at some point when I liked him. Do you know how big that is?”

“Do you know how big that isn’t?” Megan shoots back. “Because nothing came out of it. You never acted on your feelings. And something tells me that even if this John Cook-”

“-His name is Jungkook, but okay-”

“-Even if he had acted on his feelings, you would never believe it.” Ouch. She really went for your lack of self-esteem right there, and that shit hurted. Regardless, she’s right, and you both know it.

“You know when we say this, we’re not trying to force you into anything you don’t want to do,” Megan clarifies. “I’m not saying you should get dicked down by the first guy who gives you attention, but wouldn’t it be nice to let someone - someone who genuinely cares for you - to let them into that dark and twisty mind of yours? God knows what’s going on up there.” She gestures to your forehead with her spoon.

Brushing aside Megan’s crude wording near the beginning, you’re at a loss for words. Unsure of how to respond, you mumble, “But there’s no one like that in my life. Other than you, that is.”

“Because you never let anyone close enough to truly know you. Just…” she pops another spoonful of rice into her mouth, “Just think about it.”

-- 

D-1 until your midterm. Nomenclature and ionic charges are now extremely familiar to you, having taken the spot from Megan as Number One Friend. And yet, you still haven’t successfully completed your flashcards.

Strong Acids. You suck in a deep breath, swerving in between groups of people as you make your way to the cafe. Walking quickly with your head down as the sure fire way of getting to any destination as quickly as possible. Okay Y/N, you got this… HCl, HBr, HI, HClO4… HNO3? You flip the card over and hiss. You were missing one more response. You truly hated it here.

The cafe is bustling with students on their laptops and scribbling away in notebooks, all likely studying for their respective exams. The scent of freshly ground coffee beans pervades the entirety of the interior, drawing you further inward until you’re standing at the cashier. 

“One tall vanilla latte, please.” You hand the girl behind the counter your money and stand aside to let the next person in line order. Once your order is called, you grab your drink - Ah, nothing like a fresh cup of capitalism to revitalize your motivation to study - and search for a place to sit. As if by the grace of God, someone leaves their seat at the barstools just as you turn around. Beautiful.

“Excuse me,” you tap the shoulder of one of the people next to the open seat. “Is this seat taken?” He shakes his head no, and you take that as your signal to sit.

You find yourself sandwiched between two young men, each immersed in their own studies. The one to your right, the one you had talked to briefly, appears to want no further interruptions, both earbuds in his ears. The one to your left never turned around to begin with, head down as he types away at his laptop. All you can make out are his broad shoulders in a brown leather jacket and a mop of strawberry blond hair. An interesting choice of hair color, but you weren’t one to judge. He’s nodding his head to some tune, and it’s only then you realize he has one earbud in. You wonder what kind of music a cute man like himself would listen to -

Get a hold of yourself, Y/N, you chastise yourself for showing sudden interest in a complete stranger. The day before your midterm at that - there was no space in your head for an unknown young man who was probably good looking, too - No! Focus. Flashcards. You fumble in your jacket pocket for your index cards.

Chemistry nomenclature, round fifty-six.

As you’re reviewing, you overhear the conversation proceeding next you with the cute guy and a girl. “Excuse me, is this seat taken?” The familiar words make you think of mere moments before when you were asking the same thing.

“It isn’t, but… you can’t sit there.”

Huh? 

“I’m sorry?” The girl seems to mirror your confusion.

“You can’t sit here. I’m sorry.”

“But someone else can?”

Your flashcards go ignored as you choose to eavesdrop on the full conversation. The man stalls, looking at the girl up and down. “... Yeah, maybe.”

Trying your best to not draw attention to yourself, you turn your head in slow, languid movements to look around. Was anyone else seeing this? Hearing this? Were you the next unsuspecting victim on an episode of What Would You Do? You were half expecting a game show host to step out and introduce himself at any moment. Y/N, you’ve just been Punk’d! 

Unfortunately (or fortunately, you couldn’t decide which scenario was better), no game show host steps out from behind a curtain, and it sinks in that this guy wasn’t joking. He was intent on not letting this girl sit next to him.

“Look,” the girl runs a hand through her hair, a habit of frustration, maybe. “I really need a place to sit and work on things, and this seat is open. That, and it’s a public space. So if you’ll excuse me-”

The young man easily lifts his backpack from his chair with one hand and places it in the open seat. “There. It’s taken now. Sorry.”

The girl’s eyes widen, and you can only imagine what your face looks like right now. You’re in just as much shock as she is. 

You scoff, and this time you don’t care if he hears. And he does: the stranger finally turns around in his seat to reveal an extremely attractive face. Chiseled jawline, deep brooding eyes, dimples even when he was scowling. You freeze and your breath hitches in your throat. It’s a shame he had to go and open his mouth.

“Excuse me,” you cut in sweetly, making a point to only make eye contact with the girl. “You can sit here. I’m about to leave.”

The girl’s eyes go wide at the addition of a third party. “Oh, no, you don’t have to! Thank you so much though.”

You shove your flashcards into your backpack and stand up from the seat. “No no, I insist, it’s fine. Besides, I didn’t want to sit there anymore.” Only then do you shoot a glare at the young man. “I couldn’t focus.”

Judging by the way the girl eyes the strawberry blond next to you, you think she doesn’t want to sit there anymore, either. Nevertheless, a seat was a seat. She thanks you profusely and you head out the doors and down the path to return to the dorms. 

Naturally your mind drifts back to the stranger. Who was he to have so much pride as to deny a seat to someone he didn’t know? A seat that wasn’t his, either? The thought that people like him exist irks you.

He was so good-looking, too, your subconscious proceeds to remind you. 

But alas, a jerk was a jerk, and at the end of the day you had far more important things to worry about than an indecent stranger whom you doubt you would see again. More important things such as -

Your phone rings with an alarm notifying you of your next scheduled event: Final Review B4 Exam! You sigh. Looks like it was back to the books (and flashcards) for you for the rest of the night.

It doesn’t hit you until you crash land into your desk chair: in your anger-fueled exit from the cafe, you had completely forgotten your barely touched vanilla latte sitting at the barstool counter. At this point you’re ready to tear your hair out at the roots. You’re five dollars and one fresh cup of caffeinated capitalism short for the night’s study session. You really hated it here.

If Megan were here, she would whip you into shape real fast, shouting at you that you’re a “Bad Bitch!” or some other expletive motivation that would comfort you. Except Megan isn’t here, attending some kind of club meeting, leaving you alone in the dorm. Another sigh escapes your lips and you tilt your head back to stare at the ceiling. 

Maybe, just maybe, you needed to follow through on this whole “getting emotionally laid” thing.

--

The midterm you had so diligently studied for was a success. Inorganic Chemistry A5 didn’t know what was coming when you rolled up with your beloved flashcards - all successfully completed, mind you - ready to fight. Needless to say you were able to enter the weekend with no qualms. You now had much needed time to recuperate and as Megan had said before, to “take a break” (among other things you were not going to address anytime soon). 

Some students recovered from the trauma of frequent exams via partying, deciding it was better to be under the influence in order to get over their academic standing. Some would meet up with their friends, maybe gossip about the latest episode of the hottest reality TV show. In your case, you decide to binge watch as many k-dramas as humanly possible. While you preferably do so in the comfort of your bed, tonight Megan has taken authoritative control over the dorm room. Meaning, she had a psychology midterm the following Monday and needed to be able to focus on nothing but the role of the amygdala without the OST of whatever drama you were watching in the background. You know for a fact if you were in the room minding your own business Megan would ultimately get distracted and join you in your k-drama marathon. Thus you are thrown to the streets with nothing but the clothes on your back and your belongings stuffed into your backpack.

You take extra care to avoid the puddles forming on the sidewalks, the result of on and off rain throughout the day. There are noticeably less people outside, and you have a feeling that any building you choose to house yourself in will be quite the opposite, likely packed with students. 

After milling about campus for a few minutes, you finally settle down in the Student Community Center - a fancy name for yet another building on campus where students could lounge about and study slash socialize. As predicted, there are significantly more people crowded in the lobby area of the two-story building. Your boots squeak against the tiled floor as you make your way down an inconspicuous hallway. Tile turns to carpeting when you step into an almost empty study room. Only a handful of people are present in the room, scattered across the tables and couches. No one ever bothered to check the rooms at the very ends of the hallways - only those more dedicated to being unbothered ever made it that far - and you were grateful for this as you settled down at one of the open couches.

Hotel Del Luna is the show of choice for the evening, and you cuddle up to the armrest of the couch as you press Play. You had watched this one before, having been forced to do so with Jungkook at its release. Curse him and his admiration for IU - some of the ghost scenes kept you up at night the weeks after watching. You much preferred the more lighthearted slice-of-life k-dramas, but following your phone call with Jungkook you were drawn to the darker show. Call it nostalgia, call it an attempt to relive the happy memories of the past, call it denial of reality, whatever.

You’re two hours into your binge watch when you notice an unfamiliar presence at your side. A boy, and a breathtaking one at that. When he had joined you, you’re not sure, but you catch him glancing at your laptop screen every so often. He doesn’t stick out too much, black hair hidden beneath a black baseball cap and similarly monotone attire with a black hoodie that was definitely way too big for him. Yet no amount of nondescript clothing could cover up his impeccable bone structure. This man had a jawline and a nose bridge that were to die for, and although you haven’t made eye contact with the stranger you’re already feeling self-conscious. There’s no way in hell you’re initiating any sort of interaction with him.

But there’s no need to worry, because the stranger does it for you.

You’re on episode three when there’s a gasp from beside you. “Lee Jun-Ki!” You crane your neck to see the stranger leaning over to watch your laptop screen. The work in front of him - whatever that mess of hieroglyphs and symbols was - is completely forgotten as he scoots closer. 

It’s not until you lean a bit away from him that he realizes his actions. “Oh, sorry. I kinda needed a break from studying or else I was gonna lose it.” His ears turn a bright pink as he explains himself. “Is it okay if I watch with you?”

“Uh…” Now that your full attention is on him, you give the stranger a proper glance-over. He was indeed studying, some sort of language of shapes and numbers that was foreign to you sprawled across his notebook in a variety of colors. Other than the all black attire (which was reasonable for college - wasn’t everyone attending their own funeral during exams season?), he didn’t look too shady… “Sure.”

“Sweet.” He extends a hand to you, pulling back the ginormous sleeve that threatens to hang over his fingers. “My name’s Jungwoo.”

You tentatively take his hand. “Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you Y/N. Are you a first year?”

You nod your head, and Jungwoo smiles. “Cool. Me too.” He moves back to his side of the couch, but quickly scoots back to sit directly beside you after he has shoved all of his work into his backpack. He settles beside you on the couch, slouching down similarly to you. “Alright, let’s do this.”

You crack a smile at the boy’s unabashed boldness. He immerses himself in the episode alongside you, clear adoration in his eyes whenever IU makes an appearance on screen. “You like IU, I take it?”

Jungwoo shakes his head. “Not half as much as one of my friends. He idolizes her. I just... look at her very respectfully.”

“Me too, actually,” you confess. “My friend forced me to watch with him. I usually watch happier things. My favorite is Weightlifting Fairy.”

Jungwoo’s eyes go wide. “I love Weightlifting Fairy!” His theatrical gasp attracts the attention of the few students nearby. This newfound information seems to make something click in Jungwoo’s head, because he wiggles all the more closer to you. “You’re quickly becoming my best friend, Y/N.”

“I’m a friend?” 

“Duh. This was established when you didn’t run away from me in fear when I was quite literally looking over your shoulder. And that’s happened before with other people. Twice.” He seems to feel the need to add in the last few details, much to your amusement. “Now shush. Lemme admire IU in peace.”

--

That interaction with Jungwoo is only the first of many, many more. While you’re the type to keep to yourself and not approach others, Jungwoo was the opposite. You’re only a bit surprised when he yells out your name from across the street a few days later, sprinting towards you with unbridled excitement on his face. The last time someone was that happy to see you was when your dog greeted you after returning home for the holidays.

“Good morning, Y/N! Where you headed? I have Material Sciences in an hour. I got time, so I’ll walk with you wherever you’re going!”

Much like your first encounter, you agree with some hesitance. Jungwoo seemed to not have a bad bone in his body, no ill intentions whatsoever. It was refreshing to be in the presence of someone who wasn’t already jaded by the world. 

As promised, Jungwoo walks with you to your destination, the coffeeshop, even waiting with you in the insufferably long line. You find out that Jungwoo is the same age as you, a Mechanical Engineering major, and is a part of some sort of club that allowed him to connect with upperclassmen of different majors but with similar interests.

“It’s called Nu Kappa Tau, everyone there’s really nice! I’ll bring you with me to the next social event.”

“Nu Kappa Tau?” You test out the syllables on your tongue. “Greek? Are you in... a fraternity?”

Your tone of voice insinuates something bad, and the way Jungwoo reacts quickly tells you he has a similar stance on the Greek life in college. That similar stance being that frat boys were vermin. “No, no no no no. It’s Greek, yes, but we are definitely not a fraternity. It’s more like… a social, cultural, and academic club?”

“Jungwoo. That’s exactly what a fraternity would say to make it seem like it’s not a fraternity.”

“Okay, but in this case we’re actually not a fraternity, I promise.” He tugs on your shirt sleeve and looks at you with pleading eyes. “You should come with me to the next event. It’ll be fun, and I’ll prove to you it’s not a fraternity. Please?”

You remain silent, eyes turning to the coffeshop’s menu. Even when your gaze is somewhere else you can sense the way Jungwoo is staring you down with those puppy dog eyes of his. This was what, the second time you were talking to him, and already he wanted to go to a social event with you? “I don’t know. You’re nice and all, but I’m not the type to warm up to people easily. I’ll have to hang out with you more first. No offense.”

Most people cower at your denials, retreat to more comfortable territory where there’s no fear of rejection. Jungwoo, however, beams at you. “None taken, Miss Y/N. You know why?” He pauses for dramatic effect, quirking an eyebrow in mischief. “Because that wasn’t a no.”

A few people in line crane their necks to peer at the two of you as a resonant smack rings out in the coffeeshop. 

“Ow - Y/N - Ow!” Jungwoo rubs at his upper arm. You know you didn’t hit him hard enough to elicit this sort of dramatic reaction, but it’s what he deserves. 

“You can’t use that logic, Jungwoo,” you scold, bag poised in the air ready for another attack. “The only means of consent is a yes. Say it with me. The only means of consent is a-”

“-Yes, yes, okay! I got it, I’m sorry. I sincerely apologize.”

--

Fast forward two weeks later, and you know Jungwoo a bit too well for your liking. Following your rejection of his offer, Jungwoo goes ahead and makes it a point to see you for at least an hour a day, weekends included, in order for you to “warm up to him.” Some days, it’s lunch shared in the cafeteria between classes. Other days it’s hours upon hours of studying together in the back of the library, you and Jungwoo taking shifts napping while the other crams for their classes. 

He forces - “heavily insists” - you to share your location with him on your phones, so it’s of no surprise to you when he starts showing up outside of your lecture halls after class. It’s when he’s walking you back from your last class of the day that you find that he lives a floor above you in the same building. Of course.

Dare you say it, it’s easy having Jungwoo in your life. He walks with you everywhere, always initiates conversation, and eats as many meals as possible with you - or as many as Megan allows. 

“Hey Y/N,” your roommate greets you with a warm smile which quickly turns into a steely glare when he acknowledges the young man standing by your side. “Ahem. Jungwoo.” 

If Jungwoo was a legitimate candidate for your mission of “getting laid,” Megan would be ecstatic. However, you explain to her that Jungwoo is nothing more than a friend, and suddenly Megan thinks he’s out to take her spot as Y/N’s Best Friend (insert trademark emoji here). 

“Megan, always a pleasure,” Jungwoo croons. If he’s perturbed by your roommate’s aloof greeting, he doesn’t show it, a smile growing on his face. Jungwoo turns to you. “See you at nine?”

You nod. “See you at nine. Bye.”

“Bye.” Jungwoo waves then walks down the hallway to the stairs. You wait until he’s out of sight to turn back to Megan, who has one eyebrow raised.

“What’s going on at nine?” She questions.

A defeated grin makes its way onto your lips. As much as you had been dreading what was to come, you couldn’t deny the excitement building up within you at the thought of something… new, for once in your life. “I’m going to my first party.”

--

Jungwoo, as promised, picks you up from your dorm room later that evening. He texts you an ominous message of i’m outside ur dorm lol for you to find him in the driver’s seat of a car far too expensive for any broke college student to own.

Hesitantly, you hop into the passenger seat and gingerly close the door. You’re not sure who he borrowed this from - or maybe it was a rental? - but you wanted to make sure you took no part in any damage fees he’d pay later. “I thought first years couldn’t have cars on campus.”

“I know. I’m a rule breaker, Y/N. I can’t be stopped… And maybe I borrowed it from a friend.”

Jungwoo insists on manning the aux, which you oblige to as you don’t trust your music taste to be liked by others. Something about the artist name Sergio Rachmaninov didn’t always hit well with the young folk these days. The queue starts up as he pulls out of the parking lot, a bass-boosted R&B song filling the expanse of the lush interior. 

“I’m going to warn you, this music queue is all over the place.” All over the place is correct, because after the R&B song finishes a ballad comes on, followed promptly by the song “Good Time” by Owl City. It’s a good song, a tolerable one, but after the second run, and third run, and even a fourth run you can’t help but wonder if the queue is glitching.

“Jungwoo.” He grunts in response. “Did you mean to put this song on loop?”

He shrugs. “What can I say? It helps me focus.”

You’re really questioning the sanity of the man behind the wheel.

Four and a half plays of “Good Time” (or fifteen minutes) later, you and Jungwoo arrive at your destination.

You audibly gulp. “Jungwoo. You are so in a frat.”

“No I’m not!” The man whines. “I swear!”

You and Jungwoo must not be looking at the same house, because the one you’re looking at is nothing less than a mansion: two stories, covering a wide expanse of vivid green lawn, with pillars on either side of the double-door front entry. Windows line the top and bottom floors, and hedges line the cobblestone walkway in the front. It looks like something out of a Southern period drama with the Victorian, colonial style architecture.

“You sure?” You can’t break your gaze away from the three enormous Greek letters placed above the entryway. “‘Cause no normal house emblazons the symbols of their group name across the front like that.”

As soon as you step foot in the door, you regret your decision to come. “Kim, I think I left something in the car-” 

You’re rudely interrupted by Jungwoo swinging an arm over your shoulder a bit too harshly. 

“Relax,” he reassures you. “My friends don’t bite. Only I do that.” You’re given no time to question that statement before he leads you further into the house.

If there’s one thing you can count on with Jungwoo, it’s his ability to socialize. It seems he knows everyone in the house, proven to you by the way he either nods his head or does a handshake with every individual present. He leads you to the kitchen where two guys are conversing, one looking like an overgrown man child and the other looking like… well, an actual child.

“Hey, look who finally decided to show up,” the much taller boy croons. “And he brought a friend.”

“Johnny, this is Y/N. Y/N, Johnny. He’s in his fourth year.” You shake hands with Johnny, who grins at you. He seems nice, other than the fact that he continues to stare at you through the duration of the handshake. Perplexed, you refuse to break his gaze.

Johnny is the first to look away, turning immediately to Jungwoo. “Oh, I like her. No one has yet to win my staring contest this year, other than you, Y/N. Congratulations.”

You force a laugh. “Thanks?”

Jungwoo steers you to the second boy, this one noticeably shorter - or was he still tall? Anyone standing next to Johnny seemed to be dwarfed in his presence - with dyed blond hair. He has a cap over his head and circle glasses, and you can’t help but think he looks awfully young to be at a frat-but-not-really house party.

“And this is Mark. He’s a fellow first year, but he’s our baby.” Jungwoo coos the last word, making Mark huff. Lowering his voice to a stage whisper, Jungwoo explains, “He was born in 1999, so we have a good year on him.”

You click your tongue. Ah, that explains why he looks so young. You deem Mark to be far more approachable than Johnny and shake the young boy’s hand eagerly.

“Where’s Peaches?” Jungwoo asks Johnny. The older boy shrugs. 

“I dunno. Not my problem.”

“Oh, I don’t think Jaehyun’s coming,” Mark cuts in. “Texted me saying something came up. Something about a paper due. Wait. Didn’t you take his car?” He points to Jungwoo, who shrugs with a look of Whoops, sorry on his face.

Johnny groans. “Oh, shoot. That’s right. We have a paper due tomorrow morning.” As quickly as the realization hits him, the worry is gone. “Eh. It’ll be fine.”

The three boys converse a bit longer, exchanging pleasantries and whatnot, before you and Jungwoo make your departure. The most that comes out of your mouth are feeble courtesy laughs and the occasional sarcastic quip to keep Jungwoo’s chaotic energy at bay. You wait until Jungwoo’s led you away to voice your thoughts. “What kind of name is Peaches?” You repeat.

“Right. One of the upperclassmen got the nickname because he smelled like them his first day of recruitment. Apparently he lives near a peach tree orchard or something. Therefore, he’s Peach Boy.”

You make a mental note of the phrase recruitment your friend uses. One day, you’ll compile a long enough list of evidence proving Nu Kappa Tau was a frat, and the word recruitment was one of them. “So what’s your nickname then?”

“Me? I’m not technically initiated yet,” - did this man use the word initiated? Yet another piece of evidence for the fraternity agenda - “but if I had to choose…” Jungwoo pauses and drums his fingers against his chin. “I’m Cheese Boy.”

You pause, letting his name sink in. The laughter bubbles up within you, threatening to spill out in a snort. It instead comes out as a strong exhale through your nose.

“Whatever, Cheese Boy,” you tease. “How much longer until I can go home?”

--

The next time you see the boys of Nu Kappa Tau is when Jungwoo drags you to yet another one of their events but a few days later. “This one’s right up your alley,” he insists. He also bribes you with the promise of buying your lunch, and the kabob food truck was on campus today, meaning you were eating well this afternoon. Making an appearance at his frat was but a small price to pay for your beloved meal of choice.

Jungwoo’s right - this event is up your alley, because you recognize the route he takes across campus. “The library?”

He nods. “NKT Study Hall.”

As you enter the building Jungwoo pulls you down an unfamiliar corridor then up a flight of stairs. An unspoken farewell is bid to your usual study spot by the second floor window as you continue up, up, up, until finally stopping at the fifth floor where no more stairs remain. You didn’t realize the library went up that high, and you probably frequented the building more than all of the boys combined - not that you knew any of the Kappa Tau boys yet.

Though they do look extremely threatening now that you’re standing in front of them.

Jungwoo brings you to stand in front of him. “Men and Mark Lee-” (“Hey!” Mark complains,) “-I introduce to you my partner in crime, Y/N.”

You give a feeble smile to the young men surrounding the table. You recognize a few of them from the party, Johnny and Mark being the only ones you can put a name to. The two wave to you and you feel a little more welcomed. Aside from the duo, everyone else is unfamiliar, giving you emotionless head nods and scowls.

“Y/N, you know Johnny and Mark, over there’s Lucas, and that’s Sicheng.” You nod at the two of them, who seem nice enough. The latter actually gives you a soft smile, so you consider that a win in your book. “And over at that table is Doyoung, Ten… You know what? I’ll just introduce you to everyone later. Have a seat.”

You trust your friend to guide you to the safest open seat, directly across from another empty chair at one end of the long table. Immediately you pull out your biology notebook and pens, hunkering down and getting to work without further notice. If you couldn’t feel welcomed by the boys at the table, you could at least get some decent studying done. You felt far more familiar with the speciation concepts in front of you than the actual human beings next to you. You allow your head to burrow itself closer to your notebook, dwelling in this small comfort in an environment of unfamiliarities.

The moment of peace doesn’t last long.

“Peaches!” Johnny’s bellowing voice makes you jump in your seat, your beloved biology notes neglected.

“Hey. Sorry I’m late.” Huh. You’ve heard that voice before. You can’t place where you know it from, but it causes a sneer to form on your face. Glancing up from your notes you can’t help the strangled gasp that leaves your lips.

It’s him. You’d recognize that faded pink hair and smugly complacent upturn of lips anywhere. That, and he’s holding a coffee cup that violently catapults you back to the incident from a few weeks ago in the coffee shop. You left your perfectly good vanilla latte behind because he made you mad, that jerk.

“Oh, Jaehyun.” Jungwoo leads the man to the open seat across from you. Pointing to you, he says, “This is Peaches - I mean, Jaehyun. Jaehyun, this is-”

“-Y/N, right?” Jaehyun interrupts with a grin. You lower your eyes at the dimple that forms when he smiles. “I believe we’ve met before.”

Jungwoo looks from your displeased state to Jaehyun’s smug smirk. “Uh, okay. Cool. Well then. I’m gonna go ahead and grab lunch, I’ll be right back.” You watch as Jungwoo beckons Johnny and Mark to join him, the only three familiar faces present at the table now leaving.

Jaehyun leans back in his chair, arms moving to rest behind his head. “Looks like it’s just the two of us.”

You weigh your options. You could recognize that the two of you have indeed met before, and try to get past your differences. Or, you could refuse to acknowledge Jaehyun’s presence a mere few feet across from you at the table and try your best to study until Jungwoo returned with your food, at which point you would then flee the scene as fast as your non-athlete self could. Only one of these outcomes enticed you, and it wasn’t the one that involved talking. 

“So, Y/N,” Jaehyun leans forward. The width of the table is enough to keep him at a safe distance from you, yet he’s still close enough to invade your personal space somehow. It’s suffocating, how whatever musky cologne he’s wearing wafts over to you - he smells nothing like peaches. “How’s your day been?”

“Fine.” You keep your eyes glued to your biology notes. Allopatric Speciation occurs when two populations of the same species become isolated from one another due to-

“Aw, just fine? That’s it?” His voice is low. With Jungwoo, Johnny, and Mark out getting food, you’ve been isolated at one end of the table with Jaehyun. Lucas and Sicheng are present as well, but both seem to be deeply immersed in their own studies. It’s just the two of you.

“Yep.” Allopatric Speciation occurs when two populations of the same species-

“C’mon, I’m sure someone like you has had at least one interesting thing happen today.”

Allopatric Speciation occurs when - Someone like you? What was that supposed to mean? You sigh, but refuse to look up from your notes. Allopatric Speciation-

“Are you a first year? I took that class last year. If you ever want notes or something-” Jaehyun jumps a little when you slam the notebook shut. Good. Serves him right.

“I don’t like you, Jaehyun.”

Jaehyun tilts his head, a smirk tugging at the end of his lips. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough.”

He leans in by resting his forearms on the table, leveling his gaze with yours. “I don’t think you do.”

“You know what I think? I think you’re distracting me.”

Jungwoo comes back at the most opportune time, wielding a kabob skewer in each hand - one untouched and the other halfway eaten. “One chicken kabob for Y/N.”

Deeming the conversation with Jaehyun at its end, you stand up from your seat and grab your backpack from the table. Jaehyun fixes you with an intense gaze but remains silent. Whether he was sizing you up or not you didn’t care.

The tension is palpable at the table, and Jungwoo clears his throat. “Did I interrupt something?” 

“No,” you respond quickly. Grabbing your food from Jungwoo, you give him an apologetic smile. “Something came up. I gotta go. Sorry, Kim. See you tomorrow?”

You despise this man. You don’t even know Jaehyun - he is nothing but a familiar stranger - but you despise him. Him and his ethereal appearance. Why were the terrible ones always the ones blessed with above average looks? Why’d he have to open his mouth?

“Wait.” You do not, in fact, wait, but instead continue marching forward. It’s not until the figure stands right in front of you do you stop. It’s Jaehyun. Holding your biology notebook in the air. “Don’t want to leave anything behind. Like last time, right?”

The last few words out of his mouth have your blood boiling and your fists clenching at your sides. That explained the foreign lightness of the bag on your shoulder.

“Oh, right, the vanilla latte.” You fake a cordial laugh. “You mean the time I was so desperate to get away from your insufferable presence that I left behind a perfectly good coffee? The time when you treated that girl as if she wasn’t a human being? That time you couldn’t be a decent enough human being that you were that disrespectful to someone you didn’t even know?” 

Jaehyun stands before you with an astonished smile and a hand frozen in the air. You pluck the notebook out of his grasp and stride away before he has a chance to respond.

“I’ll see you around, Y/N,” Jaehyun calls.

“I’ll see you around my ass,” you mutter under your breath. You’re willing to go out of your way to avoid interactions with Jaehyun, no matter what it takes.

a/n 2: hope you enjoyed part one of this series! it’s been a while since i last posted a fic on here so i apologize for my rusty writing skills. part 2 is projected to be posted in one week from now, but that’s tentative. we’ll see where life takes me and if i have the capacity to post in a week from now. in the meantime: stay safe! 💕

[higuchimon]

[fanfic] Your Touch

Do I have a soulmate?

Misawa had considered this more than once in his fifteen years.  Not everyone did.  Most people didn't, in fact..  But there were still that small fraction of people who not only did have someone that the universe wanted them to be with, but clearly marked them in some fashion or other.  The methods varied; Kaiser Ryou carried tattered black wings on his back and had since the latter part of his first year.  No one knew why exactly but rumor had it that his soulmate had somehow perished.  Principal Samejima and Tome-san could hardly be stopped from showing off their marks that glowed whenever they were close enough to reach other.  There were others, in so many different ways.

But Misawa had nothing.  He saw color clearly, unlike Manjoume, and he'd never experienced any unusual dreams, such as what Asuka's friends Momoe and Junko shared.  No one had ever said his name in a fashion that struck deep in his heart.  He'd never been able to heal anyone by touching them, or vice versa.  So either he'd never encountered his soulmate in a situation that would allow their souls to resonate or he just didn't have one.

I think I would rather not have one.  They were, perhaps, more trouble than they were worth.  He saw so many people who focused on that and ignored the important parts of life, such as achieving the greatest grades and making his mark on the world.   He didn't think he would really have minded if he met such a person, but he refused to go out of his way to go looking for them. 

And so he kept his focus on his studies - at least until Principal Samejima chose him to be one of the defenders of the Seven Spirit Gate Keys.  A tiny part of him worried that perhaps something might spark with one of the Seven Stars - he didn't believe it; he would never be attracted to a dark duelist, not to someone who attacked unfairly and without care for others.  But it wasn't completely impossible. 

Darkness stood reveled as Asuka's brother.  Not so much as a twitch. 

Camula faded away, defeated, with a heartbreaking cry.  Nothing at all.  He didn't worry, not quite so much. Not on her account, at least.

A few days passed.  Nothing happened - and then it did.  People vanished and when Misawa and the others searched, they found a woman paying them to build an arena.  The sight of her made Misawa's heart beat faster.  Never before had he seen someone like her - tall and well muscled and with fierce eyes that stared right into him, reading him down to his soul.  He'd never felt so known with a simple look before. 

Taniya was her name.  Taniya, the third of the Seven Stars. Misawa fought to get his mind where it belonged as the two of them dueled one another, and he did his best to ignore all of her talk about marriage.  He'd long ago sworn that he'd only marry his soulmate, and if he didn't have one then he would simply do without.  It wasn't that important.  If it were, then his soulmate would appear.  Simple as that.

Despite his best efforts, Taniya began to work through his defenses, sharp words slicing into places he'd never known had holes, into desires that he'd never known that he had. 

I can't listen.  I have to defend my Key!  It didn't matter how beautiful Taniya was - which was very beautiful - or how strong - which was a lot - or anything else.  He made an attempt at a strike - and saw right away that he'd made a very powerful mistake, as the battle turned around in her favor.

Misawa fell backwards, his eyes glazed over, barely hearing that Taniya wanted to duel him again now that she had his key.  If she wanted to duel, then he would duel.  Never before had he encountered an opponent like her.  Juudai came close but the two of them were too different.

He started to get up as the doors closed and it was just the two of them - three if you counted her tiger - there.  Misawa blinked slowly, getting his mind back together, and looked up to see Taniya standing in front of him, one hand no her hip, the other held out to him.

"Are you ready?"  The Amazon asked, and he nodded slowly.  He truly wasn't sure if he was, but he wasn't going to back down.  This time he would win; he was certain of it.  Whether or not he won back his Key didn't matter, not when he could impress her with his skills. 

He raised his hand and set it in hers.  She pulled him to his feet - and in the moment of the touch, Misawa's eyes widened and he swallowed, his entire body tingling. He'd touched a few people over the years, but never before had he experienced anything like this.  He stumbled, trying to get himself put back together mentally and not having a great deal of luck.  He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but Taniya shook her head.

"I felt it too,"  she said, releasing his hand and crossing her arms.  "But you're going to have to do better than that if you want to be my soulmate."

"Better?"  Misawa wrenched the word out, still trying to get his head together and still not having a great deal of luck with it.  "What do you mean?"

"If you can beat me in a duel even once, then I'll accept that you're my soulmate,"  Taniya told him, reaching for her deck again.  "But if you can't, then that's it."

Misawa steeled himself up.  "You'll see what i can do when I really try, then."

"You mean you haven't been trying so far?"  Taniya snorted as she shuffled her deck.  "You'd better start trying, then."

Misawa swore that he would do his best then and there.  He would win!  He would show her that he was capable of being so much more than she'd seen so far.  His hand still tingled from that one moment of contact and he wished that he had time to think about it.  But that would have to come later - perhaps not much later.

He didn't win.  It wasn't often in that night of endless dueling that he could even scratch her life points.  Misawa quickly understood that she was now playing at her very best, and when she did that, he stood no chance against her. 

That made it all clearer than anything.  He wasn't surprised that he had a soulmate of such a caliber - what else would he have had?  Certainly no one lesser.  And yet no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't do anything that would even mildly impress her.

What else could he do?  She stood so far above him that he had no idea of what to do and with each duel, his strength grew less and less.  Somewhere outside of the arena was the rest of the world and right now, it meant nothing at all. 

I have to get better.  I have to get stronger.  He had no idea of how.  But as the sun began to peek over the horizon and he realized how tired and hungry he was, Misawa decided that somehow he would do it.  Whatever it took, he would prove himself worthy of her.  No matter how long it took.  He would make sure that it happened. 

Taniya deserved the best.  So he would strive to be the best for her.

The End

Notes: It took a bit for me to settle on writing this. But I’m glad I did. Tigershipping doesn’t get the respect it deserves. She helped him become a much better person – something he drastically needed.

And now it’s time to catch up on GX Month itself.

[dizzydennis]

Sonic Unleashed on Wii... woof!

Sonic Unleashed is one of my favorite games of all time. It’s flawed, but I really do love everything it has going on... that being on the 360 and PS3. The Wii/PS2 version is an absolute mess!

The game starts with terrible, annoying tutorial stages that are segmented into literal 10 second stages. Chip constantly pops in to teach you about every, single mechanic of the game. It is maddening and he does this all the way up to Shamar!

Boosting is not the same as the 360/PS3 version because Sonic can only boost in small fractions. It’s so annoying and a useless change. The boost also doesn’t go in the direction Sonic is facing, but rather where the camera is pointing which makes it a chore to use it; especially because the game just expects you to not boost on certain sections with no warning. Moreover, boosting into walls gives an admittedly comedic animation of Sonic getting squished. It’s funny like... twice. It’s then aggravating. Does anybody remember that this was intended to be a feature in Sonic 2, but they took it out because it was dumb and not fun? Oh and don’t you dare attempt to boost when you don’t have one of those sections of your boost gauge filled. Because Sonic will stumble and it will slow you down!

The town stages are total jokes and a huge waste of time! Instead of a gorgeous hub world that is fun to explore for each zone, you get these terrible images of a map that you decide where to go. All you have to do is go to specific sections that are marked “New” to progress the story. However, I saw this screen of Chip telling me nobody was in a section more than 10 times. It’s a huge waste of time and gets annoying! This completely kills the impact of the plot and I love the villagers in the 360/PS3 version, but I felt absolutely nothing for them here. There was nothing to enjoy about the town stages. Despite being single images, they were even clunky to progress to the right icon! Progression was clumsy and annoying. There was also a moment when the Dark Gaia creatures attacked Amy and it was like a PowerPoint presentation with really simple quick time events. How embarrassingly crude! You would enter stages and do something only to be tossed back to the map screen with no story consequence. It felt ridiculous.

The Werehog combat is incredibly dull. Credit where credit is due, I love how if you die, the Werehog will be revived instantly. That’s a good change. But the combat is absolutely brain dead in this version. Just mash the L and R buttons on the Gamecube controller. The enemies never, ever makes you think about what you’re doing. It’s just a constant chore and every single time a battle arena spawned, I groaned.

The boss fights are also so lacking. When playing during the Day Time stages, the pace of the boss fights felt broken and sluggish. The werehog boss fights felt clunky. There was no satisfying rhythm to any of them. Even the Egg Dragoon is broken because you can get him into this loop where he can’t even attack you. The one exception is the Dark Gaia boss battle. While I prefer the Super Sonic section in the next gen version, the fight on display here with Chip’s boxing section, the good flow with Sonic’s sections, and even the end part with Super Sonic were enjoyable.

Some bizarre things are also the language options. I am playing the Japanese version, but there is NO English language option. That’s fine because I know this game like the back of my hand and can understand Japanese, but even Sonic and the Secret Rings and Sonic Riders: Zero Gravity had language options. Plus, the amount of cut content is ridiculous. Especially when you consider that the extra missions (which are not fun at all) are just the previous stages being recycled.

The game isn’t complete garbage. As it goes on, it does improve. Some of the stages provide thrills and decent little layouts. However, they’re still marred with the issues I have mentioned. Moreover, it just feels draining and too long. One thing I want to give credit for is the actual aesthetics of some of these stages both for the Day and Night outings. There are some really great environments and displays found through out. These areas feel like very expanded versions of what we saw in the 360/PS3 versions. I also like how each act gets a neat little title like: Scorched Rock or Altar of Oblivion.

Did I have some fun with Sonic Unwiished? Yes, I did and I was smiling during those times. However, it was buried deep under disappointing design decisions and a game that felt more cumbersome than fun.

I stand by this! The fact that this version received much better scores from critics back in 2008 is extremely frustrating when it doesn’t come even close to the achievements of the real versions of this game. I honestly never want to hear people believe this version is better because I am flabbergasted at the idea that anybody would truly believe so! I don’t like this game on Wii/PS2, but I will always marvel at the 360/PS3 version.

[yandere-society]

True Love

Prompt: Can I have a delusional Jungkook who is obsessed with fairytales and the whole idea of “prince meets princess and falling in love at first sight”, and is convinced that y/n is the princess and he has to “save” her in order to achieve a happen ending?

Admin: @psycho-slytherin 🐍

Warnings: Yandere-themes, stalking-themes, and profanity.

»»————-　♔　————-««

It was all coming together. Jungkook swiped through his phone, checking and rechecking his plans. Tomorrow, between 9:14 and 9:18 AM– depending on foot traffic– she’d round the eastern corner of 14th and Park. She’d be carrying her purse and a coffee, but she’d be finishing her drink by the time she reached the corner. The point, the most crucial part, is that her hands would be full. He’d bump into her, she wouldn’t be able to catch herself, and he’d swoop her up before she fell. She’d have to fall in love with her Prince Charming, and he’d, at last, have his princess. His y/n. Everything would be perfect.

They were destined to be together– Soulmates, Jungkook was sure, he’d known it since he’d first laid eyes on y/n. She was his true love. 

»»————-　♔　————-««

You check your watch, careful not to twist your wrist enough to spill your coffee. 9:12. Finally, it looks like you’ll get to work early today! With a spring in your step, you weave through the usual crowd of hurried suits and turn the corner. You have a meeting that you’ve been preparing ages for, and you’re thinking of nothing but your various talking points, everything you’re going to present, when–

“Oof!” You bump into someone, hard, and lose your balance. Shit, shit, your hands are full. You drop your coffee and purse in an attempt to catch yourself, but instead of solid concrete, you feel the contact of strong arms holding you tightly.

“Are you alright?” You look up at your rescuer and see gorgeous dark eyes full of soft concern. The stranger helps you to your feet and hands you your purse. “That was quite a fall.”

“Ah, thank you– I’m okay. Appreciate it, man.” You breathe deeply to calm your pounding heart. The handsome stranger seems to be waiting for something. What else can you say? “Er… thanks again.” With that, you turn and begin walking to work, your pace increasing. Dammit, you really hope this won’t make you late. 

“W-Wait!” The stranger grasps at your wrist, his eyes bright, his voice revealing an emotion you can’t understand. “Do you believe in… love at first sight?”

“Uh…” Aaaand he’s crazy. You pull your arm from his grip and hurry away, flustered. Love at first sight? What fairy-tale bullshit. Sure, he’s cute, but the creepy-to-cuteness factor is way off balance in this case. Love at first sight… When you were a kid, you dreamed of being a princess and riding off into your happily ever after. But you’ve grown up since then, and you know fairy tales aren’t real.

You glance backward. He’s staring after you, and you feel a rush of guilt. He looks like a kicked puppy… or a wounded prince.

Prince? “Gah– stop it!” You scold yourself, blinking hard. The guy messed with your head, distracted you with that love-at-first-sight stuff. Whatever, you’ll forget about it soon enough. In the meantime, you’ve got your meeting to think about.

“And now I believe y/n, head of our innovation department, has the latest proposal?”

You stand. “Yes, thank you. With help from our customer surveys, we’ve noticed there are a few flaws in our current system.”

“Do you believe in… love at first sight?”

“We, uh, have devised a few options: First, we could begin requiring browser logins and game downloads for individual accounts– that will cut down on incidents such as the one that went viral last quarter. Additionally, we could consider removing ourselves from the browser-based gaming market entirely and shift to a downloaded application-type medium. We predict a decrease in traffic but profits should remain largely steady–”

His eyes, his lips, his hands, his skin, his voice...

“Due to ad revenue and potential membership opportunities.” You continue. “We could also consider discounted subscription packages, which seemed popular in our surveys.”

He was really cute. Maybe you were too hasty? You don’t even know his name.

“...We believe that changing the medium of the game presentation will improve security, decrease online harassment, and increase profits within the next three quarters. I will now take questions.”

Usually, creeps gave off a vibe, the type of thing you could sense right away. This guy didn’t give you that vibe.

“Very well said, y/n.” The company president clapped several times. “What software changes do you propose making for this to work?”

You beam. “It’s rather simple, we only need to move our content offline to an external database– we already have games in development using this system. The cost for the whole switch would be a fraction of potential profits.”

“Do you believe in… love at first sight?”

“The board members will give it some thought, y/n, and I’d be very optimistic. Great work.”

Yes! “Thank you.”

At the end of the day, you leave the office grinning. The meeting went really well, and if you pull off this project, you’re certain to be looking at a promotion. You’ve been working on the proposal for three months and now that it’s looking so good, you could sing.

“Y/n?”

At the summons, you turn around– and then stop dead. “You again.”

And it is the love-at-first-sight stranger from the morning. He waves awkwardly, breaking into a cute bunny-like smile. “Hi.”

“H-hi.” You brush some hair out of your face, suddenly self-conscious. “Uh, how did you know my name?”

The guy winks. “Magic.”

“Or stalking.”

“Or…” The guy hands you a business card. Your business card. “Maybe you dropped this in the morning.”

»»————-　♔　————-««

In truth, Jungkook had your business card for a few months. He couldn’t say that, though, and he needed an excuse to know your name and place of business.

You look at him with your beautiful doe eyes, the kind of eyes that a man would kill to protect. “Why were you waiting for me?”

Jungkook smiles. “I think we got off on the wrong foot earlier. I saw you dropped your card and, well… it seemed like a second chance.” A chance to be your prince, my love.

“Oh.”

“I’m Jeon Jungkook by the way.”

You smile shyly, that smile he’s seen a hundred thousand times, directed at everyone but him. You’re active on your social media accounts, and he’s seen all your photos. When you’re with your friends, your family, even today at your meeting– when you smile, you shine, a princess without a throne. It’s one of the things Jungkook loves about you. He can’t wait until your smile for him alone.

“I’m y/n. But I guess you knew that.”

“I did. Y/n, I’ll be honest, and I hope this doesn’t come off as too forward.” Jungkook leans towards you, his princess– his queen. “I’d love to get to know you better.”

“Um…” You hesitate, and a hint of fear makes its way up Jungkook’s spine. He really hopes you don’t reject him. In the months since he’s first noticed you, you’ve remained single. If you were to reject him, he couldn’t leave you to prance around in front of other men. If you, Jungkook’s princess, didn’t want his love, well… something would have to be done about that.

“Sure. That sounds cool.” You nod, a light blush coloring your cheeks. 

Something akin to joy floods Jungkook’s psyche. The first step achieved. She said yes– she must see that what they have is true love. 

Jungkook has always loved fairy tales. He was teased as a kid for how much he enjoyed princess stories. But Jungkook’s mom made it clear that she didn’t like him, and his dad was rarely around– unless he came home to berate Jungkook. No one could blame him for yearning for true love; it’s not like he ever experienced it at home. When he first saw you, he knew you were his princess. He needed to rescue you, sweep you off your feet, and carry you off into your happily ever after. True love is real, and you’ll help him prove it. The characters in Disney movies were happy after finding each other. He knows you’ll make him feel happy. In fact, he’ll make sure of it.

»»————-　♔　————-««

Well, he’s cute, and he did return your business card. You’ll be careful. What harm can come from a date?

Later that night, you’re catching up on some work. The company president said he’d have the board’s answer on your proposal by next week, and since it seemed like a sure thing, you’re anxious to get the OK to move ahead with the project.

Your phone buzzes.

Jeon Jungkook: Are we on for Friday at six, milady? [10:43]

Y/n: Haha yep, see you then! [10:43]

Jeon Jungkook: Can’t wait :) [10:43]

Jeon Jungkook: What are you up to? [10:44]

Y/n: Just organizing resources for a project [10:45]

Y/n: I’ve been working really hard on it [10:45]

»»————-　♔　————-««

Oh, Jungkook knows. He’s a decent hacker. When you were out drinking with friends last month, he accessed your laptop and installed a backdoor program that lets him see whatever you’re doing on your computer. It’s been useful: he knows about your work projects; the failed first dates; your porn preferences; your email contacts. He just wanted to make sure you weren’t cheating on him. Perfect princesses don’t cheat, and he knows you’re his perfect princess.

Friday arrives. Even though it’s only been a few days since he asked you out, Jungkook has been waiting for months to finally sweep you off your feet. It’ll be amazing. He walks up to the door, the details of which he’s practically memorized, and knocks. Three grand knocks, just like he’d imagined.

“Half a moment!” Your sweet voice floats from inside the house. Jungkook presses his lips together– do you even know how beautiful, how kind, how regal you are? 

And when you swing the door open, his heart aches with desire. He can’t wait to possess you entirely. You’re wearing what Jungkook has to assume is your favorite light pink dress. You wore it to your birthday dinner four months ago, and again to your friend’s wedding three weeks ago. He hasn’t seen you wear this dress on other dates, though– does that make Jungkook special? He knew it. You do believe in love at first sight. You see the same thing he does: you’re destined to be soulmates.

“Your highness,” Jungkook says, holding out his arm.

You giggle and take his offered arm. Jungkook knows you think you’re just playing along with a joke. It’ll take a bit of time to introduce you to his royal fantasy– you don’t know you’re already Jungkook’s princess. But you will. Oh, you will.

»»————-　♔　————-««

The date goes surprisingly well. You haven’t been having good luck with dating lately, and you can actually see Jungkook being the one to break your dry spell. He’s a perfect gentleman, respectful and humorous. He continues to call you milady and your highness, and it’s cute, honestly. He makes you feel so special, almost like a princess.

“Thanks for tonight, Jungkook,” you say as he walks you to your door. “You finding my business card ended up being a pretty great coincidence.”

“I agree. I’m glad you decided to go out with me, y/n. I hope we can do this again.”

You nod. “Definitely.”

You smile as you change into your pajamas. You’re excited to see what Jeon Jungkook has in store. Before you get into bed, you open your laptop and notice a new email from the company president. Yes! Have you finally gotten the go-ahead and funding for the project you’ve poured yourself into?

Y/n, the email reads. I wish I had better news to give. The board declined your recent project proposal. Don’t let this discourage you from continuing to do great work! I’ll see you on Monday.

You sit back, slack-jawed, and rub your eyes. What? But… but it was looking so good. You worked so hard. What did you do wrong?

»»————-　♔　————-««

Jungkook frowns, looking at your computer screen on his phone. He’s still sitting in his car, parked around the block from your home. He knows how much you cared about getting this project approved. And this, this board. They kept his princess from achieving her goals. He blinks once, twice. Surely you’ll love him if he gets the board members to change their minds, if you realized he’d do anything for you. Jungkook turns the key in the ignition and drives home, thinking about how he can cheer you up. The individual board members are named on your company’s website– perhaps he’ll pay them a visit.

»»————-　♔　————-««

That night, you can’t sleep. This proposal was a display of your hard work, all the thought you’d put into making the company more successful. It was supposed to be a straight line to a promotion. The night started off so well, your date with Jungkook was so fun. Ugh. You bury your face in your pillow. How will you face your team members on Monday? And the board members. You know some of them don’t like you– you’re too determined, too innovative for a woman. 

How you wish you could show them.

Whatever. It’s just one more failure. You’ll start brainstorming new proposals tomorrow. 

You spend the rest of the evening tossing and turning, staring at the ceiling, and sulking. The weekend passes much in the same way. You’re not one to get discouraged, but it’s hard to feel hopeful. If the project had been approved, your responsibilities and funding would have shifted into seeing it through for at least the next year. Monday morning, you’re headed out the door when you get a text.

Jungkook: When can I see you again? [8:35]

Y/n: Want to grab dinner after work? I get off at 5. Shall we say 6:30? [8:36]

Jungkook: Your wish is my command. Have a good day at work ;) [8:36]

Y/n: Yeah fat chance [8:37]

»»————-　♔　————-««

What you don’t know, Jungkook decides, wiping a bit of something red off his cheek, won’t hurt you. You wanted this project– and your knight in shining armor will ensure you get it.

»»————-　♔　————-««

“Y/n, can I see you in my office for a moment?” 

“Hm? Uh, yes. Sure.” You follow the president into his office.

“How are you doing?” He asks as he settles into his chair. You sit across the desk from him. “I know how hard you worked on that project– it’s okay to be upset.”

You straighten up in your chair. “I’m fine, sir. Just focusing on moving forward.”

“That’s good. Well, I’ve actually got some surprising news for you today. Three board members– that is, the three that voted down your proposal– contacted me separately over the weekend to let me know they changed their minds.”

“I- I’m sorry, what?”

“Your proposal has been unanimously approved, y/n. Congratulations. I’m excited to see where your vision will take this company.” The president reaches across the desk and shakes your hand. You can only stare, half euphoric, half numb. “You will, of course, be transferred along with your team to the advanced development department. I’ll have the paperwork ready for you by the end of the day.”

“Okay! Uh… thank you.” You break into a radiant grin. “Thank you so much, sir!”

“Don’t thank me, the board members made their decisions. That being said, you really deserve this. Good luck.”

You practically skip out of your boss’s office. You did it! You knew the meeting went well, they just needed more time! You did it!

That evening, you hum to yourself as you put on your makeup. Jungkook will be here soon, and you’re really excited to see him. Even though you told him you could meet at the restaurant, he insisted on picking you up. What a gentleman. 

Three knocks at the door. “Coming~” you sing as you pad into the hall.

“You look beautiful, y/n,” Jungkook murmurs as you swing open the door.

“Oh stop it, charmer!” You laugh, swishing your skirt like it was a ballgown. 

“You’re in a good mood today, what happened?”

“My project got approved! The board changed their minds. Isn’t that great?”

Jungkook laughs. “That’s fantastic! Congrats!”

On impulse, you throw your arms around him and hug him tightly. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

You snuggle into his shoulder. “For being so nice. For making me feel like a princess.”

You’re so preoccupied with how good Jungkook smells that you don’t notice him tugging his jacket up to cover a red stain on his sleeve. 

“I’ll always be your prince, milady.” 

»»————-　♔　————-««

This is true love, Jungkook thinks. We’ll get our happily ever after.

[cheeriecherry]

The Dogma Of Childhood Friends [2/4]

Shinsou Hitoshi x Reader

Warnings: fluff

Part 2/4

It’s been months since you and Hitoshi last spoke. In the beginning, you’d chalked it up to him being disappointed about the hero course, and not knowing how to react. You’d seen him in the hallways at school, and tried to talk to him.

You know, to extend the metaphorical olive branch.

But every time you were left hanging, with him pushing past you, turning away, or just flat out ignoring you.

It crossed your mind that he might be jealous, but you discarded the thought as quickly as it came. Hitoshi wasn’t that kind of person, and even if he was, it wasn’t enough to warrant his actions.

And, somehow, said actions only worsened when the students moved into the dorms. Any time you’d see your best friend -in the hallways, on campus- he’d turn on his heel and start walking in another direction. Despite him being your oldest friend, he was making it very easy to be annoyed with him.

It was to the point where even your classmates started noticing.

“So,” Mina began one morning, sidling up to your desk, “what’s with you and the purple haired guy?”

“Huh?” Maybe if you played dumb, she’d leave it alone.

Uraraka turned around in her seat and regarded you with a smile. “I think she means Shinsou,” she clarified, “and I’ve been wondering the same thing! He avoids you like the plague. Were you guys rivals in middle school, or something?”

You fidget with one of your pencils. You supposed it wasn’t really a secret, what had happened. You weren’t ashamed or scared to tell anyone. They’d just...never asked? Maybe.

“Well…” and yet saying it out loud was still difficult.

“We’ve...actually been best friends since we were little. Our classmates used to pick on him because of his quirk, y’know? I stood up for him, the day we met, and it turned out that we had a lot in common. The rest is history.”

Mina cooed softly beside you, her eyes alight with mischief. “That’s adorable!”

“But it doesn’t explain why he ignores you,” Uraraka pointed out.

You sighed.

“Fine, fine. We applied to Yuuei together, hoping to get into the hero course. When he found out I was in 1A, and he was in the general studies department...he kinda just...stopped talking to me.”

Your two friends stare at you, the beginnings of anger blossoming on their faces.

“I still send him texts from time to time,to let him know what’s going on, but he never replies. Always leaves me on read.” You had hoped to placate the situation, but your words only seemed to make it worse.

Mina stands up tall, and crosses her arms. “You still consider him your best friend?! Why?”

You shrug. “Of course. Whatever he’s going through, whatever he’s feeling, I’m not giving up on him so easily. He’sprobably got it in his stupid purple head that he’s not good enough for me, or something. I won’t let our friendship die just because he’s being a dumbass about it.”

Uraraka looks sad beside you. “That doesn’t make it okay for him to treat you the way he is.”

“I know,” you say, “and I won’t pretend it doesn’t, like, hurt or anything, but friendships can be complicated. Especially when negative feelings come into play…”

Mina looks like she has a whole lot to say, but is cut off by Mr. Aizawa sauntering into the classroom, so she takes her seat instead.

Halfway through the lesson, Uraraka passes a note back to you;

‘If you still care about him, make a gesture that will mean a lot to him. Maybe he feels bad for what he’s done, and doesn’t know how to apologize.’

A grand gesture, huh?

You think on it for the rest of class. You’ll have to consult Mina on it later.

----

‘Later’ turned out to never come.

After classes had finished for the day, you’d rushed back to the dorms to prepare the idea you’d had during English. It was a little corny, but you’d decided that a small gift and an uplifting note would be perfect for Hitoshi. It was unassuming and personal, but more than a few simple texts.

You doubted he’d accept it from you directly, though, even if you could manage to hunt him down. No, instead you waited until most of the other students had gone to bed, and then sneaked out to drop the parcel on the 1C dorms doorstep. Addressed to ‘Shinsou’, of course.

It wasn’t until the next morning that you realized your mistake.

“Y/N, did you hear?!” Mina practically dove on you the moment you entered the classroom. “That Shinsou guy has a secret admirer! Someone left a present for him in the dead of night, and one of his classmates found it this morning!”

You felt like your stomach had been filled with rocks.

“Mina…” you groaned, “that was me!”

“You have a crush on him?!”

“No!” you retaliated, voice squeakier than you would have liked it to be. No, there was no way you had a crush on him. Not a chance.

Unless.

No. No way.

You realize Mina is staring at you curiously, so you make haste and explain the genius plan you’d had last night. The peace offering gift, the uplifting note, the midnight drop off.

“I guess I forgot to sign my name on the note…”

Uraraka pats your shoulder sympathetically. “Hey, maybe it’s better this way. Shinsou might be more likely to accept your gifts if he doesn’t know they’re from you.”

You hide your face in your arms, sinking deeper into your seat. “That completely defeats the point, though. He’s supposed to know they’re from me. What if…”

...what if he thinks they’re from someone else? What if he wants them to be from someone else?

You couldn’t place why the thought left such a sour taste in your mouth. The thought of him wanting someone else, someone besides you…

“Oh my god!” you groaned, gripping at your hair and tugging. “Mina, you’re right! I like him! As more than a friend!”

Both girls attempt to soothe you, trying their best to calm your overwhelmed nerves.

There was no way you could do this.You had to keep giving him gifts, had to keep showing you cared! But now, the thought of him finding out you were behind everything? You could practically see the look of utter disappointment on his face, having expected the trinkets and letters to have been from a pretty classmate, instead.

Not you. Never you.

“Everyone, take your seats, and open your textbooks to page thirty.”

You glance up just in time to see Mr. Aizawa bumble into the room, and begrudgingly do as you’re told.

----

You decide to actually consult your friends that evening, instead of going ham with a plan you thought was good. You were bent on making sure you didn’t make any more dumb mistakes with the next gift to Hitoshi.

“I gave him licorice snaps shaped like cats yesterday, so I was thinking tonight I might go with something cute? I found a cat figurine dressed as All Might the other day, so I had to buy it. He might get a laugh out of it.”

On the floor beside you, Momo smooths the pleats in her skirt. “I think that’s a sweet idea. It’s small and simple, but I bet he’ll smile when he sees it.”

“You should do it,Y/N!”

“Yeah!”

You nod as the girls around you cheer you on. “Alright! I’ll do it! And this time, I’ll make sure to leave the note anonymous on purpose!”

The four of you giggle a bit.

It takes about twenty minutes to find the necessary wrappings for the gift, and another ten for you to decide what to write in the note.

“I don’t really want to be over the top,” you say, “he’s not on for dramatics, but he likes honesty.”

Mina reads over the several discarded notes on the floor, wincing at how choppy and blocky they were. “Why don’t you go with something personal that he’s done for you, or something about how he makes you feel?”

You chew on the end of your pen. “That could work. How about this: You’ve inspired me every day to work hard in achieving my goals. I know that one day, you and I will be great heroes!”

The pink haired girl quickly snatches the note out of your hand, folding the paper into a heart and depositing it in the gift box. “It’s perfect,” she assures, “raw and to the point, as a love note should be.”

You feel your face heat up at that, but say nothing to disregard her.

“All right, I’m going to go drop this off, but if anyone asks, I’m just getting some air.”

----

Over the next week, you continue to drop off little presents in front of Hitoshi’s dorm. Every night, it was harder and harder to get the parcel into place, the students of 1C staking out the doorway until the wee hours of the morning.

It was when you almost got caught that you realized you couldn’t keep this up. Which eventually found you at your desk on friday evening, writing your final letter.

‘Thank you for being a good sport about all this, it’s been fun to show you even a fraction of my appreciation for you. But I’m not ready to tell you who I am yet, and it’s been difficult to sneak around (though I guess it was good practice for stealth missions, huh?). Even though my gifts will stop, know that there is someone out there who loves you as you are, and admires so many things about you. By the way, congrats on officially getting into the hero course next year!’

You carefully fold the piece of paper and slide it into an envelope. Hopefully it’ll be easier to stash away than a whole gift would. You at least hoped it didn’t get overlooked.

----

The following Monday, you wake up late. Having worried all weekend about whether or not your letter was received, you’d not slept particularly well. 

Thankfully, you arrived to class before the final bell, but you were certainly frazzled by the time you stepped into the classroom.

Immediately, all eyes were on you.

“What?” you ask, “I’m not late, so don’t scold me.”

A couple of the girls break out in giggles. “That’s not it at all!”

“I guess Shinsou’s secret admirer gave other people ideas!”

“Y/N has a secret admirer now too!”

You felt your face heat up, pure disbelief bubbling up in your chest.

“What?!” you exclaim, louder than intended. You all but run to your desk, almost tripping over Uraraka’s bag. Sure enough, there, on the small tabletop, is a small box with your name on it, wrapped in a pastel version of your favourite colour.

[emperorofbullshit]

This is gonna be me ranting and whining about how annoyed I am at my own mediocrity and how I manipulate the people around me as a coping mechanism to delude myself into thinking I am doing pretty alright and I shouldn't complain because I have it good

Since 14 years old there has been much discord in my family. My father is an alcoholic and not just a normal one. He would go to work at 6, get off work at 12 and then come home after 6 more hours of drinking. There are 7 days in a week and out of those 7, in at least 5 I have had to hide in my room because I was scared of him. He would yell, he would call me names, he would even make threats saying things like :

"I have 2 sons. Do you see that window? I could throw you out of it and only have one son."

To a 14 year old kid who is scared shitless but can't show emotion on his face, those words were always taken at face value and I always had no doubts on him being unable to keep his words. I am the eldest of 2 sons and thus I had to take the brunt of the "parental dedication", as they call it, and was always pushed for excellence. They would always say : "Get good grades, make good friends, go outside, go study, go do this and go do that" in and out every day. From 3rd grade I have been taking courses on languages, sports and math at times and I would leave home at about 6:45 AM every day to get to school at 7:30 and I would go from school which ended more often than not at 13:30 to English courses and then to either Deutch courses or basketball practice which would end at roughly 6PM.

My parents loved achievements but did next to nothing to help me feel anything other than anger towards getting any. They would always go on and on about good grades so you can get the prize money, good grades so you can get in a good school, good this, good that and I subconsciously avoided being in the spotlight because I actually felt gratification from being able to see their dreams shatter into dust and fir a while, that was the inly thing that kept me going. Just the look on their faces, the tone on their voice, the gleam in their eyes. The gleam of someone realizing that their hopes and dreams of greatness were just turned to dust. I still have that side of me, I just choose to keep it under control but it want's to get loose once a while.

And so my life continued until 9th grade when ai decided to stop all couses because I was sick and tired of them and so I stopped going. Then came high school, this circus, part of which I am as of writing this text most if not all of you will skip because it's just way too long.

In the first year of highschool I had fun. I made some new friends and hung with them a bit and I also met the one person I thought I could trust because she was like me, except unlike me, she still had hope and she still had her parents, albeit controlling, with her, rather than against her.

I gave her counsel when she needed it and we hit it off. She was a great friend while it lasted. I knew from the beginning that she and I would most certanly not make it through the year as friends so I had as much fun as possible with her.

I told her a very tiny fraction about my life and jokingly but never untruthfully told her how my mind works and what I do to people around me, her included. I talked her about relationships once and I helped her out too because she had a guy she liked and he liked her back. This guy just so happened to also be a friend of mine so I thought : "Why not help my friend get together with my other friend?", and subtly but surely I made them get together faster.

That was basically the premise of the first year. A pretty average story but I left out the part where the alcoholism and mental abuse at home never stopped. I put focus on this one girl because helping her out was my coping mechanism.

Then came the second year. This girl had gotten together with her man and they were very happy to be together and still are, after all I am still in my 2nd year of high school writing this, but back to topic. The second year of high school was wierd to say the least because of the pandemic and our classes were split in half. Me, being the pupeteer I am, decided to pull some strings and set my annoying classmates away with sweet words and deals that sounded too good to be true, and ended up with the best classmates I wanted, part of which was my target for the second year. My target was a girl this time. She was and still is, pretty, smart, and very comfortable for me to be around but she and i had never actually talked at all. Wd had exchanged a sentence once on our 1st year and that's it. I spent a few days observing her and noticed that she was a loner, she didn't exactly have friends amongst the classmates, so I thought : "Well that's as good a chance as any.", and started talking to her and walked her home after school. We became friends and were going out daily after school to get a drink somewhere and one day, as I had planned, 2 fellow classmates show up and I tell them to sit with us and so began my act and my strategy on building her a group of friends. The group wasn't too big. It was me, her, the other 2 classmates, a friend of mine and the girl from the 1st year of highschool. We were all classmates so we all had fun and talked and we developed into a true griend group. Well, as good a group as any can be with me in it. Time passed an I noticed I was really not interested in this girl I had set as my target so I just let her go to do her thing and cut my puppet strings there.

I did all of this because I wanted to prove to myself something, I don't even know what it was anymore because it lost value in my eyes and so I just cut my strings on everyone and let them free. My social life was evolving for the better, which was good and all, but my familial life was degrading and devolving at such speeds that weren't even funny anymore.

My father would come drunk, lecture me for hours on end about the most uselss things in existence, and he would always call me names and berate me on everything. He had even come to me with a big kitchen knife pointed at my chest and said : "I will kill you and eat your heart if you dont do what I want"

I am still afraid of him and i still have trauma gron him so I still didn't doubt his words because when your father comes to your room at 10 PM holding a knife to your chest while your back is agains the wall, you then realize that bad things can really be considered good compared to other things.

I was living in fear. Every day I would pretend to be asleep for hours on end so I could avoid him and maybe be spared but that was just wishful thinking.

While my soocial life evolved, my familial life kept devolving. My father would come drunk more often, fight more often with my mother, screm more, curse more and shout more. I was honestly getting pretty fed up with his bullshit. One day, he woke up from his nap and he was still drunk and started lecturing me on what "Sons of bitches, idiots and parasites" every single member of my moms side of the family, my mother included was. I was very pissed and my knuckles had gone wbite form me clenching them that hard.

My mother got home mid lecture and thy started fighting again. First it was just verbal insults and slurs, but it got worse and worse untol my father literaly ran at my mother prepated to choke her.

That.

That was the moment I had my first meltdown in my life. I saw him run and I saw his hands on her throat and I just had one simple directive in my mund telling me one thing : "Whatever made you feel this way must be eliminated"

And that was what I tried to do. I ran and pushed him away from my mother and then punched my dad so hard he crashed into the wall and made a dent. I would probably have killed him there if it wasn't for my father's brother who came to us because of all the noise, stopping me. He tried to get me away from my father and when I did and my father got up and tried to punch me while my uncle was blaming my mom fir the situation, I grabbed both him and my dad and threw them to the wall. I would probably have been bruised because thwy are both fat and I was in complete meltdown just screaming in the rage of years and years of mental torture and violent self loathing which had build up behind the dam and only sought a way out. They eventually split us up and I was crying and yelling. I could barely breathe, my lungs just couldn't take in air fadt enough for my heart which was beating so hard that thunder would sound like a butterfly's wings beating. I opened the windows on my room and put 3 quarters of my body outside the window , risking to fall and die but I didn't care anymore. The rage had subsided, having found an exit and without it to push me, I was just a broken kid that just sought desperately the help which noone gave. Not my parents, not my friends, not even those who considered themselves and to my face said "We are best friends, we help each other". I never got any help and nobody even saw that I broke down. I dropped hint after hint after hint that I needed someone to talk to, someone to say a few words to me, someone to just listen to anything I wanted to say, yet all I got was nothing. I noticed that none of these so called friends or best friends care about anything. Thwy didn't even notice that when I took my shirt off to change for PE, I had bruises in my back and chest. Nobody said anything or did anything so i also did nothing.

Everybody just seemed to go on their own way and nobody wanted to even acknowledge what had happened or what help I needed.

I am still bitter and mad at everyone but especually at my "best friend" to whom I say the following :

V. You know who this account belongs to. You know me in real life and you know I'm not lying because I don't waste my time like that. You know damn well that if yku read this entire thing and see things just a small 1(one) percent of how I saw things, you wouldn't call youself my acquaintance, let alone my best friend.

To anyone that made it to the end and actually read it, please realize that no matter what, no matter where, you cannot rely on those you consider dear without knowing for certain that they also consider you dear.

[liquidcryptogold]

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Your quote: "So perhaps, when in 1989 Paul asks “Did I ever take you in my arms, look you in the eye, tell you that I do” the part that he “never did” was the latter"( with John according to your perspective??)--I saw a video where Paul says he's talking about how the workaday life meant he sometimes took marriage and Linda for granted--like we all do our spouses at times--and that was why he wrote that song. Your take please? Respectfully inquiring--thanks!

Hello, anon dear. Thanks so much for your respectful request! Especially considering that every opportunity I get to talk about “This One” is a personal pleasure.

I believe the video you were referring to is this one (eheh), where correspondent Bernard Goldberg interviews Paul for the TV series 48 Hours. The episode follows part of The Paul McCartney World Tour, which marked not only his first major tour outing in ten years, but also the first time in his solo career that a substantial number of Beatles songs were included in the setlist.

Paul is asked about “This One” near the 8:30 mark of the first video and his answer continues in the second part.

Here is a transcription of the segment in question:

-

Q: Let me ask you about one of the new songs, “This One”. Is it about a marriage?

Paul: A relationship, yeah.

Q: And about, not expressing emotions and feelings?

[Paul performing “This One”]

Paul: You get those moments, sort of late at night or when you’re feeling good and you think, “Oh, you know, it’d be great to kind of— I hope I tell her I love her enough, and all that.” And then come the morning, when you’ve got to get off to the office and it’s [yawns] “Okay, goodbye, love you!”, and so on. And, you know, life’s like that. And there’s never kind of enough time to— If you like your parents for instance, to tell them, “God, just what you meant to me.” 

[Paul performing “This One”]

Paul: You always think, “Well, I’m saving it up. I’ll tell ‘em one day.” And what happens with a lot of people is— Something like John, for instance, getting back to that subject. He died. 

I was lucky. The last few wee— months that he was alive, we’d managed to get our relationship back on track. And we were talking and having real good conversations. Real nice and friendly. But George, actually, didn’t, I don’t think, get his relationship right. They were arguing right up to the end. Which I’m sure is a source of great sadness to him. And I’m sure, in the feeling of this song, that George was always planning to tell John he loved him. But time ran out. And that’s what the song is about. There never could be a better moment than this one, you know, now. Take this moment to say, [hesitates] “I love you.” [Laughs] It’s not quite the same. 

-

Now, about your question. I take you were wondering why in the post you quoted me on I used an excerpt of this song to hypothesize about a facet of Paul and John’s relationship. 

Allow me to begin by saying that, as the wonderful @amoralto pointed out in the aforementioned post, one should be cautious about what kind of information we’re extracting from an art form like songs. The sources of inspiration can be multiple, and the exact meaning of the piece elusive even to its author. So it’s probably best to be prudent about taking the lyrics too literally or extrapolating the entire song as to be about a single situation/person. 

Nevertheless, there are still certain patterns and themes that keep emerging, and I am curious about examining those. And being songs one of the places where they more openly communicated and truly laid bare their feelings, I believe the tumble down the rabbit hole of speculation might be worth it, just to see what we may find there. 

As Paul put it:

The idea is that what I’ll leave behind me will be music, and I may not be able to tell you everything I feel, but you’ll be able to feel it when you listen to my music. I won’t have the time or the articulation to be able to say it all, but if you enjoy composing you say it through the notes.

Of course, John also said:

When Paul and I write a song, we try and take hold of something we believe in – a truth. We can never communicate 100 per cent of what we feel, but if we can convey just a fraction, we have achieved something. We try to give people a feeling – they don’t have to understand the music if they can just feel the emotion. This is half the reason the fans don’t understand, but they experience what we are trying to tell them.

So maybe we can experience the emotion they infused the song with, but not always be able to understand the circumstances that gave rise to it in their own lives.

To find that last crucial piece of the puzzle, one has to truly contextualise the song. And that’s where all the other more tangible sources of information come in, such as quotes and timelines. 

Of course, drawing conclusions from any kind of data is, in itself, an interpretation. And an inescapably personal one at that. 

The only way to approximate objectivity is through critical thinking and emotional intelligence. Continuously question your own assumptions and those of others, and don’t be attached to any one answer. Be willing to change your views based on new information and be open to considering new perspectives. I find that input from others is invaluable in drawing my attention to an angle I’d previously missed. For if our personal experiences sometimes blind us to certain facets of the subject we’re examining, they also give us a more intimate understanding of other sides of it, as we’ve walked in those same shoes before and know precisely what it feels like.

What I essentially mean with this disclaimer is that this is my current interpretation of the information. And my answers are usually so slow and long (my apologies) because I try to provide the data so that you can draw your own conclusions.

That settled, here is how I interpret Paul’s explication of “This One”. 

The interviewer begins by asking if the song is about a marriage and Paul sightly corrects him that it’s about a relationship. 

Then Goldberg posits his theory regarding the theme: “not expressing emotions and feelings.” And Paul goes on to explain, in his usual inclusive and generalising fashion: 

You get those moments, sort of late at night or when you’re feeling good and you think, “Oh, you know, it’d be great to kind of— I hope I tell her I love her enough, and all that.” And then come the morning, when you’ve got to get off to the office and it’s [yawns] “Okay, goodbye, love you!”, and so on.

He uses the second person to emphasize how the reporter must share his feelings — ‘you know what I mean, right?’ — thus making his experiences not only more relatable and perceivable, but it also slightly removes the focus from himself. You put it best when you said, “like we all do […] at times.”

He does start by giving the example of an apparently marital routine. And though it could have been chosen as something the interviewer would more quickly relate to, it may also be that he had difficulty “expressing emotions and feelings” in his marriage with Linda. He has spoken of such hurdles in his relationship with Nancy, which he expressed in his 2013 hidden track “Scared”. 

Well, I’m just like anybody else, man! You know? You get those moments. I don’t normally write about them; but it’s a good thing to use. I was feeling it, as well. I was newly in love with Nancy, and I was finding it a little difficult to say, ‘I love you.’ Number one, I’m a guy, and that’s a big excuse, I know, but it is a bit true to form…

— Paul McCartney, interview with Miranda Sawyer for The Guardian (13 October 2013).

So I slightly disagree with your assessment that the song is about “how the workaday life meant he sometimes took marriage and Linda for granted”. I don’t think he took his relationship with Linda for granted as much as he was unable to openly express how much it meant to him. He got inundated by “those moments” of love and appreciation, but then kind of used the hustle and bustle of everyday life as an excuse not to dwell on the discomfort of having to confess them.

I think it’s perhaps more accurate to say that the matter of “expressing emotions and feelings”, particularly actually saying “I love you”, is something that Paul has struggled with all his life and pervaded most of his relationships.

He even goes on to give the example of his parents, and how he wished he’d tell them, “God, just what you meant to me.” Which is a similar phrasing to the one he uses in “Scared”, more than two decades later:

I’m scared to say I love you / Afraid to let you know / That the simplest of words won’t come out of my mouth / Though I’m dying to let them go / Trying to let you know […]I’m still too scared to tell you / Afraid to let you see / That the simplest of words won’t come out of my mouth / Though I’m dying to set them free / Trying to let you see, how much it means to me / How much you mean to me / How much you mean to me now

But the relationship in which this theme of not expressing emotions and feelings seems most stark, at least as Paul expressed it publicly and in his music, is in his relationship with John.

He puts it quite plainly in another quote about “Scared”:

Paul: You can actually say, “I love you,” to someone, but it’s quite hard. And so that’s why it’s usually easier when you’re a bit drunk. It’s like ‘Here Today’ [on 1982’s Tug of War], which was for John, and there is the line, (sings) “Du du du du du du du, I love you,” and it is a bit of a moment in the song. It would be a bit like Keith Richards saying to Mick, “I love you.” I mean he does, but I’m not sure he’s going to say it. I’m sure the Gallaghers love each other on some level, probably quite deeply, but that certainly isn’t going to get said soon. I think it’s quite an interesting subject and I felt it most recently with [wife] Nancy, I knew I loved her but to actually say, “I love you,” you know, it’s just not that easy.

— Paul McCartney,  interview with Pat Gilbert for MOJO (November 2013).

Note that even here, in a quote about a song he wrote for Nancy, he harkens back to his experiences with having difficulty saying “I love you” to John. 

Paul even mentions that it’s easier to do it “when you’re a bit drunk” — I want to tell her that I love her a lot / But I gotta get a bellyful of wine — which seems to be a reference to “the night we cried”. That night in Key West in 1964 was an “important emotional landmark”, not only because they exposed themselves emotionally by crying, but they also may have actually said the big ‘I Love You’.

One night, we got pretty drunk and argued and laughed, and it ended up us both crying, because it was, you know at the height of your drunkenness, when you’re all, “Hey man, I love you, man. No, I love you, man.” That was probably the only time we just got that kind of intimate with each other. It’s a male machismo embarrassment thing. I mean, you might say to a girl, “I love you”, but in my case, within the group, The Beatles, it would have been difficult, even though we all did love each other. You just all had to be guys to the full. We were all rough, tough cream puffs.

— Paul McCartney, interview with the Daily Mail (4 June 2016).

He attributes his difficulty to a “male machismo embarrassment thing”, and that he could say “I love you” to a girl but not to his mates. But in his 2013 interview for The Guardian, he also points to the fact that he is a guy to explain his difficulties verbally expressing his love Nancy. 

But adding to the “stiff upper lip” imposed on northern lads, Paul himself is especially guarded about his feelings:

It’s funny because just in real life, I find that a challenge. I like to sort of, not give too much away. Like you said, I’m quite private. Why should people, know my innermost thoughts? That’s for me, they’re innermost. But in a song, that’s where you can do it. That’s the place to put them. You can start to reveal truths and feelings. You know, like in ‘Here Today’ where I’m saying to John “I love you”. I couldn’t have said that, really, to him. But you find, I think, that you can put these emotions and these deeper truths – and sometimes awkward truths; I was scared to say “I love you”. So that’s one of the things that I like about songs.

— Paul McCartney, on the challenge of giving too much of himself away when writing meaningful and truthful songs. Asked by Simon Pegg and interviewed by John Wilson for BBC 4’s Mastertapes (24 May 2016).

More than the pleasure associated with creating something out of nothing — “songwriting is like sex” — music also offers the utter relief of unburdening Paul of his feelings, which he finds great difficulty in exorcising in a more direct way:

Songwriting is like psychiatry; you sit down and dredge up something that’s inside, bring it out front. And I just had to be real and say, John, I love you. I think being able to say things like that in songs can keep you sane.

— Paul McCartney, interview with Robert Palmer for the New York Times (25 April 1982).

There was an inescapable need to come out, be real, and say to John, “I love you”; even if he has to “write it to the great record player in the sky”. 

Because more than speaking of a fear of expressing emotions and feelings in Paul’s day to day life — like in “Scared” — “This One” is clearly about the regret of doing it too late:

[L]ife’s like that. And there’s never kind of enough time to— […] You always think, “Well, I’m saving it up. I’ll tell ‘em one day.” And what happens with a lot of people is— Something like John, for instance, getting back to that subject. He died. […] And I’m sure, in the feeling of this song, that George was always planning to tell John he loved him. But time ran out. And that’s what the song is about. There never could be a better moment than this one, you know, now. Take this moment to say, [hesitates] “I love you.” [Laughs] It’s not quite the same. 

Even with his usual emotional distancing by projecting onto George and using “we” instead of “I”, Paul plainly explains the song is about cautioning people to take this moment to say “I love you”, at the risk of having time ran out on them as it happened with him and John.

And one can see how determined Paul is to get this message spread, as he often reiterates it when introducing “Here Today” in concerts — a song written in part out of his need to clearly say “I love you” to John — a frequent presence in his live performances for the last 20 year.

Paul McCartney’s One on One World Tour in Detroit, Michigan, at Little Caesars Arena on October 2, 2017.

Paul: One of the other things I say on our shows is that sometimes you want to say something really nice to someone, or pay them a compliment, or you feel a bit shy and a bit embarrassed, so you think, “Ah, I’ll say it tomorrow.” You put it off to another day. You know, you can put it off. And sometimes that’s too late; you’re too late. I wrote this next song after my dear friend John who passed away. Let’s hear it for John! And you know, when you’re kids, particularly — I mean, when we first started the Beatles we were in our early twenties, kind of thing — and you’re a bunch of guys, up in Liverpool at that time… There’s no way you’re gonna say to each other, “Hey, I love you, man.” It just didn’t happen, you know. You just didn’t say things. But you know, when [unintelligeable] we didn’t say it, so when John died, you know, I wanted to kind of say it somehow. So this next song is in the form of a conversation we didn’t get to have.

The fact that Paul has often connected the theme of not verbally expressing his feelings, and in particular of being too late to do it, to his relationship with John, is what led me use “This One”, in that post and in others, as an expression of that dynamic between them. 

In the post you quoted me on in specific, I say that perhaps the part that they “never did” was outright “tell” each other “that I do [love you]”, given that they have embraced — “take you in my arms” — and made intense eye contact — “look you in the eye.”

The song is basically a love song – did I ever say I love you? And if I didn’t it’s because I was waiting for a better moment… ‘There could never be a better moment than this one…

— Paul McCartney, in “Club Sandwich 52, Summer 1989″.

Paul goes on to repeat this sentiment of emotional frankness in the rest of the verse: “Did I ever open up my heart / Let you look inside?” A phrase that, in my opinion, so aptly encapsulates the issues Paul brought to the relationship, that I use it as a title for Paul-centered posts in the Don’t Let Me Down | Trust Issues series.

But to be honest, the thing that really convinced me that song was about him and John, was a moment in this session:

After singing the lines “Did I ever touch you on the cheek / Say that you were mine, thank you for the smile”, Paul mimics one of John’s characteristic smiles, as the wonderful @vairemelde illustrated in this post.

With all that said, it appears that all there is to do is to appreciate this wonderful piece of music.

Did I ever take you in my arms, / Look you in the eye, tell you that I do, / Did I ever open up my heart / Let you look inside?

If I never did it, I was only waiting / For a better moment that didn’t come. / There never could be a better moment / Than this one, this one.

The swan is gliding above the ocean, / A god is riding upon his back, / How calm the water and bright the rainbow / Fade this one to black.

Did I ever touch you on the cheek / Say that you were mine, thank you for the smile, / Did I ever knock upon your door / And try to get inside?

If I never did it, I was only waiting / For a better moment that didn’t come. / There never could be a better moment / Than this one, this one.

The swan is gliding above the ocean, / A god is riding upon his back, / How calm the water and bright the rainbow / Fade this one to black.

What opportunities did we allow to flow by / Feeling like the time it wasn’t quite right? / What kind of magic might have worked if we had stayed calm, / Couldn’t I have given you a better life?

Did you ever take me in your arms / Look me in the eye tell me that you do? / Did I ever open up my heart, / Let you look inside?

If I never did it, I was only waiting / For a better moment that didn’t come. / There never could be a better moment / Than this one, this one.

The swan is gliding above the ocean, / A god is riding upon his back, / How calm the water and bright the rainbow / Fade this one to black.

-

Tangents

I’m Scared To Say I Love You

What About The Night We Cried

Did I Ever Take You In My Arms 

The Surrealist

[duhragonball]

[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (128/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation.   This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: About 1000 years before the events of Dragon Ball Z.

[6 August 233 Before Age. Interstellar Space]

Immediately after the battle on Zenj I, Luffa underwent another round of mycotherapy treatment. It was a radical application of synthetic fungal DNA, which Dr. Topsas had devised as a way to heal all of Luffa's injuries as quickly as possible. Luffa's very first session lasted three days, but he had managed to refine the process since then, and this time Luffa only had to stay immersed in the stasis fluid for two.

Zatte counted down the hours and minutes until she could see her wife again. In recent days, she had comforted Luffa while she rested after a battle. It had been a very spiritual experience for her, and even if Luffa didn't share in that aspect of it, the lovemaking was great too. This time there would be a delay, but Zatte didn't see why anything else needed to change. And yet, when Zatte went to find her on the third day, Luffa had already left the sickbay, and had gone to the ship's gymnasium.

The entire star-yacht belonged to Luffa, a "gift" from a wealthy deathmatch promoter who desperately wanted her to go away. But Luffa usually slept in the gym, rather than any of the ship's luxurious cabins. She would spend time in Zatte's quarters, especially after they were married, but the gym was where she went to be alone, and Luffa generally preferred to sleep alone.

As Zatte entered the gym, she ignored the toppled exercise machines and torn mats. The place had been a mess for years, as Luffa used this space to let off steam. Now, she was lying on the pile of mats and towels she used for her bed, staring pensively at the ceiling.

"There you are," Zatte said. "I thought you'd head straight for my room, but I guess you wanted me to find you..."

She knelt down on the deck beside Luffa, who slowly rose to a sitting position.

"Hey," Luffa said, kissing Zatte on the cheek.

"What's wrong?" Zatte asked. What she really wanted to ask was: "Is that all? We're apart for three days and all I get is a lousy kiss on the cheek?"

"Nothing, I'm just... I'm tired, and I needed to think."

"I thought you'd want to... discuss what I did on Planet Zenj," Zatte said.

Luffa took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah, you saved that kid," she said. "Hell of a job. I'm proud of you."

"It was nothing," Zatte said. "I... I meant what I said back there. I can't die without you. I'm sure of it. And when I'm around you, I feel like I can do anything."

Zatte was sure that Luffa would jump up and push her against the wall. Not too rough, but not too gently either. And Luffa would have some stern words for her about being more careful, and Zatte would fire back with some stern words about picking up the pace, and this would go on until they were too busy kissing to talk. Instead, Luffa just made a weary smile and squeezed Zatte's hand.

"Sorry, I'm just not in the mood, right now, Zattie," Luffa said.

"Oh. No problem. I figured you'd want to spar later on, but we can skip straight to that if you want."

"I can't spar with you for a while," Luffa said. "That mycotherapy junk worked pretty well, but Doc wants me to heal up from the last beating I took."

"Well, I won't tell him if you don't," Zatte offered with a smile.

"Sorry," Luffa said. "I'm playing it his way this time. It's been working out pretty well so far. I'm starting to think these medical types had the right idea all along."

"Okay, but you only use a tiny fraction of your strength when you spar with me," Zatte said. "What's the harm?"

"Probably none, but he told me to rest and that's what I'm doing. Dotz thinks the next attack will be a few days from now, and I need to be ready."

"Come on," Zatte said. She gestured toward her legs, which were clad in form-fitting black fabric adorned with neon purple highlights. "I wore your favorite training gear."

"Hey, if you want to train on your own for a while, that's fine by me," Luffa said. She rose to her feet and walked slowly to the door. "But I think I'm gonna soak in the hot tub for a while, so drop by if you need me."

She walked around Zatte to proceed on her way, but Zatte grabbed her by the arm to stop her. Luffa was somewhat surprised by how forcefully she pulled.

"I do need you," Zatte said. "For sparring."

"Zattie, I can't right now--"

"Don't give me that 'doctor's orders' bull. You'd do it if you wanted to."

Luffa raised an eyebrow. "What is this?" she asked. "I thought you only put up with the sparring sessions before. Now you're demanding it?"

"I'm part of this war too," Zatte said. "I'm here to support you, and I can't do that properly if I'm not at my best--"

"And the only way you can improve is by sparring with me personally?" Luffa asked. "That's crap, and you know it. There's other ways to train."

"Physically, but not spiritually," Zatte insisted.

"Spiritually?!" Luffa asked.

"The work you make me do," Zatte said. "Sensing your ki up close. It's a purifying experience that helps me--"

"You mean on top of the incense in the bedroom? And the litanies you recite before and after we... well... you know."

"When we have sex," Zatte finished for her. "Just say it. We have sex. Honestly, you can be such a child sometimes."

"Me? You're the one who keeps turning our whole marriage into a shrine! What's the matter? You don't trust Providence to make sure I'm doing their work right?"

"It's me I'm trying to improve!" Zatte said. "I have to consecrate myself as much as I can for the next time we go into action. I thought you understood that."

"I thought I did too, but lately you've been taking it to a whole other level. Frankly it's gotten pretty ridiculous. Are you going to follow me into the head and sing hymns every time I flush?"

"Very funny," Zatte said. "I'm just a joke to you now."

"What do you expect from someone as childish as I am?" Luffa snorted.

"Are you going to spar with me or not?" Zatte asked.

"No," Luffa said, "I'm not." And then she walked out the door.

Left alone in the gym, surrounded by broken machines, Zatte considered taking out some frustrations of her own.

*******

[7 August, 233 Before Age. Nagaoka.]

Guwar was finally happy. He had everything he ever wanted, and more. Once, he had been a below-average warrior, but thanks to the wonders of Jindan, he had become one of the strongest Saiyans alive.

He wasn't the strongest, by any means. The Legendary Super Saiyan still held that rank, though Luffa was an enemy to the cult, and its leaders preached that she was a heretic and an impostor. Guwar wasn't entirely sure how Luffa could be both of those things at one, or why exactly she was evil incarnate, but Luffa was a threat to everything he had achieved in the cult, and that was enough for him.

After Luffa, there was Trismegistus, the founder and leader of the cult, and the inventor of the Jindan technique. One of the advanced rituals for cult members was the Trial of Revelation, where Trismegistus would meet with initiates and reveal that he was actually the Rehval III, the Saiyan monarch who evacuated his throneworld and vanished without a trace. Perhaps for some of the cultists, this was a bitter pill to swallow, but Guwar had found the whole thing anticlimactic. He had always tried to steer clear of the Saiyan Kingdom in the past, but that was mostly because he didn't think they had anything to offer him. If he had known the king was an alchemist with the power to make Guwar stronger, he would have thrown in with Rehval a long time ago.

After Luffa and Rehval, there were other mighty Saiyans, all of them enhanced by Rehval's magic potions. Many of the Jindan Priesthood were immensely strong, though not all of them.

Then there were the Executants, a group of elite Jindan warriors charged with special missions for Trismegistus. Guwar had been promoted to this level. He wasn't the strongest of the Executants, but he wasn't the weakest either, and simply holding the position was enough to satisfy him. Before the cult, Guwar had been a nobody. Now, he was one of their heroes. He was their champion.

Having returned from a recent assignment, Guwar strode confidently through the underground halls of the Jindan Sanctuary, their sacred base of operations. His brothers and sisters in the alchemical faith nodded reverently to him as he passed. He took his meals in the Holy Refectory, along with the others who had earned the privilege, and he was permitted to eat meat and drink wine, a special dispensation for those who demonstrated exceptional loyalty.

Then there were the women. Trismegistus forbade monogamous pairings within the cult. Instead, he had devised communal breeding pits, and arranged for certain groups of participants to make use of them. Guwar didn't understand most of it. Rehval claimed that he had the means to determine which Saiyans would produce the most powerful offspring, but he never shared his methods with Guwar. All Guwar knew was that he had been sorted into Eugenic Group Red, and he was authorized to procreate with anyone else in Groups Red, Purple, and White. The other colors were off-limits to him, but this only meant that he couldn't sire children with them. As an Executant, Guwar had special permission to help himself to any lower-ranking cultists he found pleasing. It had bothered him at first. Saiyans were a notoriously prudish species, and even the mere mention of intimacy was enough to make them uneasy, but somehow Rehval had made it all seem quite normal. You had your assigned breeding duties, you went where you were sent, and you did what was asked of you, for the good of the cult. Guwar rather enjoyed it this way. It took a lot of the awkwardness out of sex.

There were, of course, some things denied to him. Guwar had never thought of himself as greedy, but somehow his thoughts always drifted to what he couldn't have. It was as though having more only inspired him to want more. As he entered the corridor leading to the Executants' quarters, he passed his own cabin and knocked on the door of another, the irony of his desires seemed especially poignant.

"You're back already?" asked the woman who answered the door.

"It was an easy assignment," Guwar said. "The man I was supposed to kill had lousy security. I'd have finished even sooner, but Trismegistus wanted me to keep a low profile."

"Mm-hmm," she said as she put her hands on his arms. "And now I suppose you've come to collect your reward for a job well done, is that it?"

"You're not my first choice," Guwar said, but you're a fine woman, Zhidarr. "And you seemed to enjoy it well enough the last few times..."

"Well, you're not my first choice either," she said, but you smell nicer than most of the ones I end up with, so that's something at least." She led him inside and began removing parts of her uniform. "Let's make it quick, though. I have my own missions, you know. I'm leaving for Dubois III in a few hours."

"Dubois?" Guwar sat on the side of her bed and started pulling off his boots. "What the hell's in the Dubois system?"

"Beats me," Zhidarr said. "I haven't been briefed yet. Hopefully it's full of Federation soldiers. I'm itching to get into the war."

"No one's come back from Federation territory since the fighting started," Guwar said. "I wouldn't be so eager to volunteer."

"And that's why you're sharing a cot with me instead of Endive," Zhidarr scolded him. "Come on, don't deny it. You'd be knocking on her door right now if you could. But she outranks you, which means you have no right to request her for procreation privileges."

"So what?" Guwar asked. "For her I should go to the front and get killed by Luffa?"

"You should go to the front and get promoted," Zhidarr said. "Think about it: the first one to fight in Federation space and return alive. You'd be hailed as a miracle. Let's face it, it's the only way you'll ever outshine Endive. She's so far above the rest of us it's ridiculous."

"Well, thanks for the advice," Guwar said, "but I can't have sex with her if I'm dead."

Zhidarr tossed her body armor to the floor and approached the bed. "Well, you won't be spending so much time with me once I get sent to the Federation," she said. "I've decided. As soon as I'm promoted ahead of you, I'm cutting you off. No offense, but I've got better things to do with my time than keep you warm."

"Too bad," Guwar said with a smirk. "Of course, if you die on the front, Trismegistus will have to promote someone else to replace you. Maybe she'll enjoy my company a little more."

"The others died because they were weak," Zhidarr insisted as she climbed onto the bed and mounted him. "Their bodies were too flawed to make full use of the Jindan power. That's why the master sends them to their deaths, you know."

"'The Federation is a crucible,'" Guwar said, repeating the sermon he had heard from the priests when the first reports from the war came in. "'Many are sent, but only the worthy will return.'"

"You say that as if you don't believe it," Zhidarr said.

"I believe Trismegistus knows what he's doing," Guwar said. "Our power comes from him, so it's his right to use us as he sees fit. If he wants to purge the rolls, so be it. I just don't understand it from a strategic sense. How do we win a war if all our soldiers die?"

"You talk like an outsider sometimes, Guwar," Zhidarr said. She kissed him and patted him on the cheek. "Trismegistus has a plan for us all. None can understand his ways, not even his loyal servants. If it made perfect sense to me, then I'd be scared. If I could figure it out, so could our enemies. All we can do is trust, and place our faith in his wisdom."

Guwar couldn't argue with this. Rehval's military plans were bewildering to him, but so far he had done right by Guwar. Others may have been killed, perhaps needlessly, but Guwar was still alive, still powerful, still successful and admired among his peers. As long as Guwar prospered, it didn't really matter to him how Trismegistus prosecuted the war.

Or did it?

*******

"Ah, Guwar, there you are."

Guwar had only visited Trismegistus' inner sanctum a few times. Most of his orders had come down through official channels, or Trismegistus had come to him. The first time he had visited this room was when the Thrice-Blessed chose to reveal his true identity to him. Guwar shrugged and wondered why it mattered. Of course King Rehval would want to hide from Luffa. It only made sense for him to create a new identity, a new secret base, and a process to carefully vet his followers. The only real surprise was that their shadowy leader was a Saiyan himself, since Saiyans weren't known to dabble in alchemy, but Guwar was a mathematician himself, and never so he never paid much heed to stereotypes.

"Reporting as ordered, Master," Guwar said as he lowered himself to one knee.

"I have something new for you," Rehval said. "And I thought I should brief you on this personally."

"A new mission?" Guwar asked. This is it, he thought to himself, he's sending me to the front.

"Relax, Guwar, I'm not sending you back into the field already," Rehval said with a chuckle. "You just returned from Thoall, after all. I take it you've already helped yourself to your rewards?"

"Um, yes sir," Guwar said, awkwardly thinking back to Zhidar's cabin.

"Good man," Rehval said. "Zhidar or Potei?"

"Uh, Zhidar, sir."

"I thought so. Always one or the other. You should really broaden your horizons, Guwar." Rehval rose from his dais and gestured for Guwar to stand. As he did, Rehval approached him and clapped his hand on Guwar's back. "There are some excellent women in the technician section that I think you'd enjoy."

It had been easier for Guwar to discuss this sort of thing when he hadn't known that Trismegistus was a fellow Saiyan. Abasing himself was one thing, and talking openly about sex was another, but what was truly disturbing how easily it came to King Rehval. Guwar had often heard talk of the king wanting to force the Saiyan culture to be more like the rest of the galaxy, and now he was finally beginning to see just how cosmopolitan he really was.

"I, uh, well... once I've found something that works, I like to stick with it, sir," Guwar said. "Less disappointment that way. Uh, you mentioned an assignment?"

"Right," Rehval said with a grin. "You pull this one off for me, Guwar, and you can have anyone you want, whenever you want. I know you've had your eye on Endive since before you joined us. She's always been out of your league, right? Well, not for much longer, I think. Here."

He picked up a portable data drive and handed it to Guwar. "I've ordered one of the ships to be prepared for your personal use," he explained. "Not that you'll be going anywhere for this job, but I think you'll need its computer core. And I've assigned some acolytes to assist you while you work."

"I don't understand," Guwar said. He held the drive in his hand and stared at it closely, as though expecting its plastic surface to offer some clue about its contents.

"Of course not," Rehval said. "The war doesn't make any sense, Guwar, not to anyone but myself. I send my followers into Federation space, and they all die, one by one. The only reason Luffa hasn't gone on the offensive is because she doesn't know where to find me, and she can't conduct a search without leaving her territory undefended." He walked idly across the room, pausing to wipe the dust off of a shelf full of old scrolls. It was strange to see him without the heavy crimson robes he normally wore. His simple red shirt and linen shorts seemed unworthy of his stature. Guwar supposed that this was a sign of how much Rehval trusted him.

"The answers," Rehval continued, "are contained in that drive you're holding. This isn't a war for territory, or something that can be measured in casualties or starships. This is a holy war, Guwar. You do understand that much, don't you?"

"Of course, Master," Guwar said.

"You used galactic ley lines to find this planet," Rehval said. "That's why I hid my world from the universe. Not out of cowardice, but to challenge my followers to find me. Only the resourceful could discover my truth. For instance, you used your mathematics background to devise an algorithm for interpreting geomantic signals. That's why I needed you for this work, Guwar. You're the only one I can count on to check my calculations."

"Calculations?"

"You'll find it all in that drive," Rehval said. "Our goal is not just to empower ourselves with Jindan, Guwar. We aren't just trying to win the war, either. You are all the essence of the divine reagent, which I will use to transmute the entire universe. That is why my body remains here, on Nagaoka, while my earthen avatars fight Luffa in my place. The true victory lies here. This is where the blessed reaction will begin. If Luffa were to destroy this planet, it would upset my plans. That's the other reason I've worked so hard to keep its location secret."

"This has something to do with the galactic ley lines," Guwar said. "I never understood what they were or how they worked, but I got the impression that they were like a network of pipes running through every star and planet, and there was some sort of power coursing through them."

"That's not too far off," Rehval said. "Except the lines don't exactly channel power in the conventional sense. More like... possibility. Things are possible on Nagaoka that can't be done anywhere else. The lines that converge here give this planet immense alchemical potential, and if we can direct more lines towards Nagaoka, there may be no limit to what we can accomplish."

Guwar liked the sound of that. If Rehval could become even more powerful than he already was, then there would be nothing that could stand in their way. Not even the Super Saiyan would be a threat. And as Rehval's power increased, how much more generously would he reward his servants...

"My work is based on an algorithm designed by the original Trismegistus," Rehval said. "I named myself after that ancient master to honor him, and to claim his legacy. He had found ways to manipulate ley lines, but he lacked the raw power to attempt anything on a large scale. That is why I need you to go over his work, and build a more robust mathematical model."

"I'll get started right away," Guwar said.

"I knew I could count on you, Guwar," Rehval said. "As much as I prize Endive's service, this task will be more important than anything she's ever done for me. Consider this your path to becoming the First Executant."

Guwar liked the sound of that even more. He could have Endive whenever he wanted. Not to mention a few other high-ranking Executants he wouldn't mind socializing with. They would all adore him for his great service to the cause. And all he would have to do is ply his trade for a few hours. A day at most. He had drawn up mathematical models in his spare time for fun. How hard could this be?

*******

[7 August, 233 Before Age. Interstellar Space.]

Zatte stewed in her frustrations for a full day, and when she was ready to face Luffa again, she found her in the star-yacht's hot tub. Dr. Topsas had restricted Luffa from so many activities, it was just about the only thing left for her to do. Luffa didn't look up at her, and she didn't know how to begin, so she just started talking.

"I wanted to apologize for yesterday," Zatte said.

Luffa glanced up at her. "I shouldn't have mocked your faith," she said. "It defines you as a warrior."

"No, you were right," Zatte said. "I have been going overboard lately. Receiving training from you is... well, it's important to me. It makes me feel like I'm actively doing something to prove my support."

"Sometimes, you have to do nothing," Luffa said. "I'm not soaking in this thing because it's fun, you know. I wanted worthy opponents to fight, and now I've got more than I can handle. I have to play this carefully or I'll let them win."

"You're right," Zatte said.

"Doc doesn't even want me cooking for a few days," Luffa said. "I hate that."

"We've got enough leftovers to last a while," Zatte said. "And there's always the backup rations."

"You guys deserve better than rations," Luffa said. "But I have to play this smart. I learned that from you."

You learned it from Keda, Zatte thought to herself. The Dorlun child was much more sensible than either of them, but the pain of her death was still sorely felt, and so the two of them had a tendency to avoid speaking of her.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" Zatte asked. "Anything at all?"

Luffa shrugged. "I don't think so," she said. "You're welcome to stick around, but I think what you really want is a place to channel all that pent up energy. I don't think I can help you there. Not for a while, anyway."

"Sounds like we both have the same problem," Zatte said. "We might as well be miserable together."

She sat down at the edge of the tub and took off her boots, then dipped her ankles into the bubbling water. "Is this what it's like to be you?" Zatte asked after a few minutes. "I mean, being so riled up and not being able to cut loose?"

"I was going to ask you the same question," Luffa said. "For the first time in years, I'm having to conserve my strength and wait for the right moment. And there's no clear path to victory. Best I can hope for is to go from one battle to the next."

"Huh. I guess we've got a lot more in common than I thought," Zatte said.

*******

[15 August, 233 Before Age. Nagaoka.]

Blusser didn't know what Guwar's assignment was, but she was deeply honored to assist him while he carried it out. All she really knew was that he had boarded a scientific research vessel which the Jindan Cult had captured several months ago. At first, she assumed they would be flying the craft to some distant star system, but instead the ship went nowhere, and Blusser and her fellow acolytes were tasked with standing guard on the tarmac to make sure he wasn't disturbed. On occasion, they went inside to serve him meals. She had done this herself yesterday afternoon, and she was impressed with his charming disposition. Executants like Guwar represented the finest warriors the cult had to offer, and everyone spoke so highly of Guwar. On top of that, he was a scholar too. Blusser never had much interest in math, but somehow he was able to explain complex ideas in a way that made them easy to follow, even if she didn't remember most of it. He was a fascinating man.

Her relief arrived at the shipyard, carrying a crate containing his dinner. Blusser took the crate and went inside the ship to deliver the meal before leaving. She had to perform some rituals with the priests, and then she would turn in and report to the shipyard the next morning to do it all over again. But the priests weren't expecting her for another hour, so she hoped to spend some more time enjoying Guwar's company.

The ship was designed for a crew of three, but it had a rather spacious common area. There, Blusser found a large triangular table with papers scattered across the surface. Three computer terminals were located at each corner of the table, although one of them had been torn off of its mounting and was now embedded in the wall. Guwar was nowhere to be found. Blusser guessed that he was in the head, or perhaps taking a nap in one of the cabins on the deck above. She laid the crate down on the deck and started arranging the dishes on the table for him. When she finished, and he still didn't show himself, she began to worry, and so she searching the rest of the ship.

At last, she found him in the engine room, seated at its single workstation, his face buried in his folded arms. There were papers here as well, some of them crumpled up into little balls.

"Uh, Executant Guwar?" she said, unsure how to proceed. "I'm sorry for disturbing you, but I wanted to let you know that your dinner is ready."

He looked up at her, his expression weary and frustrated. He seemed to be a completely different man than the one she had spoke with yesterday.

"What?" he asked. Then: "Oh, yes. Fine. Whatever."

"Is everything all right, sir?" Blusser asked.

"Everything's fine," he said, not even trying to hide his insincerity. "You can go now."

She put her hands together and looked away from him awkwardly. "Well, I was just thinking, if you had the time, I'd like to hear more about that theorem you were telling me about yesterday. I--"

"I said you can go now," Guwar snarled. "Can't you see that I'm busy?!"

He grabbed a tool from the desk and threw it at her. Blusser dodged it easily enough, but decided to leave before he could try again.

As she hurried out of the ship, she passed by her relief, standing guard outside.

"Better give him plenty of space," she warned her. "That job he's working on must be a lot tougher than we thought!"

NEXT: Proof by contradiction.

[things2mustdo]

The Ascent Of Money by Niall Ferguson is an introduction to modern finance and the rise of money lending, presenting a favorable view of their effects upon the world.

…financial innovation has been an indispensable factor in man’s advance from wretched subsistence to the giddy heights of material prosperity that so many people know today.

…poverty is not the result of rapacious financiers exploiting the poor. It has much more to do with the lack of financial institutions, with the absence of banks, not their presence. Only when borrowers have access to efficient credit networks can they escape from the clutches of loan sharks, and only when savers can deposit their money in reliable banks can it be channeled from the idle rich to the industrious poor.

…approximately $1 of every $14 paid to employees in the United States now goes to people working in finance. Finance is even more important in Britain, where it accounted for 9.4% of GDP in 2006.

The book gives an interesting history of some of the world’s most famous bankers and the power they accumulated, particularly the Medicis and Rothchilds, who brought value by facilitating trade and commerce while reducing transaction prices. It also described the role of European bankers during the American Civil War.

Though others had tried before them, the Medici were the first bankers to make the transition from financial success to hereditary status and power  They achieved this by learning a crucial lesson: in finance small is seldom beautiful. By making their bank bigger and more diversified than any previous financial institution, they found a way of spreading their risk.

One of the biggest financial innovations was fractional reserve banking, pioneered by the Swedes. Other European countries improved finance while the Spaniards, still obsessed with silver and gold in their American colonies, kept defaulting time and time again, not understanding that the true nature of money lay in debt and not mineral reserves. One of the more interesting parts of the book was its description of the bond market and its powerful stranglehold on world governments.

…the bond market is powerful partly because it passes a daily judgement on the credibility of every government’s fiscal and monetary policies. But its real power lies in its ability to punish a government with higher borrowing costs. Even an upward move of half a percentage point can hurt a government that is running a deficit, adding higher debt service to its already high expenditures.

…countries that defaulted on their debts risk economic sanctions, the imposition of foreign control over their finances and even, in at least five cases, military intervention.

While the book paints a rosy view of finance, it also highlights cases where the abuse of it through hook and crook caused problems for entire economies, particularly through price inflation. A recent example of that was Goldman Sachs’ commodity manipulation that caused the price of common foodstuffs to rise. On the other hand, ignoring finance and having inflexible monetary policy can turn recessions into depressions. He suggests that Helicopter Ben Bernanke actually did the right thing in showering Wall Street with money to prevent a depression. He also thinks Alan Greenspan is a great man for admitting he shouldn’t have kept interest rates so low.

Economies that combined all these institutional innovations—banks, bond markets, stock markets, insurance and property-owning democracy—performed better over the long run than those that did not, because financial intermediation generally permits a more efficient allocation of resources then, say, feudalism or central planning. For this reason, it is not wholly surprising that the Western financial model tended to spread around the world, first in the guise of imperialism, and then in the guise of globalization.

You’ll also read about:

The abysmal effects of Britain’s weflare system on their economy

Argentina’s failed destiny to become an economic superpower due to bad economic decisions and poor leadership

How the “risk free” LTCM fund imploded and almost took the world economy with it

My problem with the book is that his explanations were too light. He glossed over tough concepts like sovereign bonds and other financial instruments without providing much in the way of examples, unlike a writer such as Matt Taibbi who explains the most complex concept in a way that laymen can understand. I felt like I had to read this book in front of Google so that I could look up things he mentioned only in passing.

The book also seemed hurried with its historical research, especially towards the end when it become a jumbled mess. Overall it’s an okay book but I don’t recommend it for the neophyte.

…it’s not owning property that gives you security; it just gives your creditors security. Real security comes from having a steady income.

Read More: “The Ascent Of Money” on Amazon

https://www.returnofkings.com/10595/there-is-no-hedge-against-inflation

You’ve seen him: an older man sitting next to a roaring fire or maybe  walking the grounds of his ranch or he might be  in a suit facing the camera. The messages are all the same: something about  “troubling times” and “safety and security” —maybe they mention the  federal reserve or money printing. Times are bad and could get worse, but  they can help you. They have the answer. What is this company selling? GOLD.

Why would you want a gold coin or bar? It doesn’t earn interest and it  doesn’t grow or produce anything. It is vulnerable to theft. The price can  move down with astonishing speed as we saw last April (as of the time of this writing it has retraced over 50% of that selloff). But could it go up in value, could it “skyrocket” as the gold shills say?

Keep in mind that gold has already gone up a lot recently, about  fivefold  in the past ten years. And to simply say that gold is a hedge against inflation is misleading. If you compare the price today, let’s say $1500 per oz, to the average price in 1974, about $150/oz, it actually exceeded  inflation. Using CPI over this period gold’s value increased at about double  the rate of inflation. However, if you bought gold in 1980, average price that year about $600/oz, you’d have to wait until 2006 for the price to come back to that level and not inflation adjusted dollars either (inflation destroyed about 65% of the purchasing power in that timeframe – and this is using CPI which notoriously understates real world prices). Gold prices and inflation are not as closely correlated as the gold sellers would have  you think.

But what about “these troubling times”? It’s different now, right? It might be. This is basically what they’re talking about: the federal government and the federal reserve have been acting in tandem to recapitalize the U.S. economy after the 2008 crisis. The government has been spending like crazy and running huge deficits (and buying lots of votes, funny how that  works out for them). These deficits are financed by the issuing of bonds of which the federal reserve bank has been the main buyer under the guise of  Quantitative Easing  and the Zero Interest Rate Policy. This what they mean by printing money –  the fed can buy whatever it wants and it has been buying these bonds that are loans to the government.

The Fed doesn’t need money, rather, it creates it. It is the central bank and it can just put the bonds on its balance sheet. A lot of people, this author  included, think the government and the Fed are nuts to think that this course would enable economic growth and it will probably only lead to  inflation which could become severe and maybe uncontrollable. Without turning this into a financial doomer article, let’s just say both sides make their case and we won’t know which one is right until this QE and ZIRP experiment is over.

This is what it comes down to: if the price of gold in dollars goes exponential in a hyperinflationary situation everything else  priced in dollars is going to do the same. You can’t expect that your gold coin will buy the same goods that it would buy now if this happens. The actual purchasing power of your gold will surely decline as day-to-day essentials  become prioritized. Put another way, if 1500 this week buys you one gold coin or 250 basic meals, in a hyperinflationary situation that gold coin might exchange for the equivalent of 100 meals or maybe not even twenty. Of course, 1500 in a bank account or your mattress would be worth much less – maybe not even one meal. The possible hyperinflation scenario is the most compelling reason to hold gold now. It’s not about getting rich. It’s about retaining some savings in the face of a massive financial collapse.

In reality, nothing keeps up with inflation like you will want. Agriculture futures are seasonal and your position has to be rolled over every so often costing you fees and changing your cost basis. Your  inflation hedge could get destroyed by a good harvest or weak global demand.  Stocks are typically seen as an inflation hedge but in a real collapse your brokerage company or even your local bank might not even exist anymore. You may eventually be made whole on the companies you own but this will take years.

Outside of a financial crisis the case for gold is weak. If you’re holding gold the best case scenario is unclear. Perhaps the price rises faster than inflation but that’s probably a longshot. Consider that if  interest rates start to rise, if the Fed sees the light on the harm ZIRP is doing, and if inflation is mild then those holding gold are going to be screwed as many decide to sell, preferring actual cash. Expect gold to lose at least 30% from today’s prices and it could happen in a day or two. Don’t  expect your dealer to give you a good price or even answer your call or email if everyone comes in selling.

The risk of gold losing value in the face of an improving economy is something you need to be aware of and in a crisis it won’t provide the kind  of financial safety that the gold bugs allege. If you still need a place to park your savings you might consider silver. It’s incrementally cheaper to get into and has more industrial value than gold though it is historically more volatile. Or what about booze? A case of good whiskey or rum is highly barterable, doesn’t spoil, tracks inflation as well as anything, and if times get better (or worse), you can always drink it.