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negasonicimagines · 3 months ago

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Afraid / Part 3: An Unexpected Revelation

Wade fears for your safety and learns something about you he never would’ve expected.

Wade returns to Office D the next morning to find that you’re not there. He looks around the room. Nothing’s out of place, sure, but… He starts to panic. Where else could you be? It’s too late for breakfast, too early for lunch.

He slinks out, trying to play it cool as he searches for Logan. Maybe you’re debriefing him.

He finds him outside smoking a cigar, of course.

“Do you know where Levi is?”

“What, she’s not in the office?”

“No,” Wade says. “Fuck, who knows where she could be? Goddammit, did we compromise her somehow? Who would come for her?”

“I don’t know, but it’s best if we talk to the professor for next steps.”

“Does he even know about this?”

Logan’s face falls.

“Not the extent of it, according to her. Don’t talk about anybody killing anybody. Especially her. Maybe I should go on my own.”

“No,” Wade blurts. “I’ll be a good boy! C’mon, it’s about time he and I properly met!”

“Whatever, fine. Let’s go.”

And so they head on their merry way to Xavier’s office.

The door is open, so they help themselves.

Xavier greets them with a chuckle.

“She’s the swimming instructor, gentlemen. She’s at work.”

“Oh, yeah, she did say she coached swimming…” Wade remembers.

“You- You were all in a tizzy and you knew?!”

“I went to the office and it was empty! I panicked! She’s usually holed up in there all day!”

“School is back in session,” Charles informs him, before sighing. “Do you know where the pool is?”

“I do,” Logan says. “Sorry to have bothered you.”

“No, it’s quite alright.” Charles smiles, and the corners Logan’s grimace turn up a bit.

“Well, I’m gonna go yell at her for not telling us. Are you coming with me?” Wade asks petulantly.

“If you don’t mind, Mr. Wilson, keep the swearing to a minimum. There will be children present,” Charles warns him.

“Oh, of fucking course I’ll keep my shitty little potty mouth to an absolute fucking minimum. I’m not some sort of shit-for-brains asswipe cu-”

“Wade!” Logan hisses. “C’mon.”

Wade follows merrily alongside his best bro and the subject of 89% of his wet dreams to the indoor pool.

“In my timeline, this was only ever used for physical therapy for Charles. It’s nice that it gets more use than that.”

“What’s she all made up for?” Wade asks once he catches sight of you smiling and swinging your arm, kindly correcting someone’s form.

“What do you mean? If anything, she’s dressed down in that tracksuit.”

“No, her face, she’s wearing makeup.”

“Yeah, bub. Like always.”

“No, normally she doesn’t wear any. I actually thought it was kind of refreshing.”

Logan gasps sharply in realization.

“You’re immune. So, if she was using her abilities to make it look like she was wearing makeup instead of actually putting it on, you wouldn’t be able to see it. Huh. You any good at drawing?”

“The best, of course. Why?”

“It could be more than just makeup. If she’s projecting some sort of mass delusion to cover her appearance, you might be the only person who actually knows what she looks like.”

“Oh. How about that?”

“I’m not doing that, y’know,” one of the students says, arms perched on the ledge of the pool. “Faking my appearance. But you were spot on with the makeup thing. Took a while for it to occur to me that he was seeing me without a lick of makeup. I’d rather be caught dead.”

“Levi?”

“Indeedy. Mind control, people, get with the program. You may be immune to me directly, Wade, but I’m everywhere. Watch yourself.”

The student shakes her head like she’s clearing an etch-a-sketch.

“Don’t worry, she asked permission first. It’s kinda nice, actually. Like floating.”

“And how do we know it’s you saying that?” Wade wonders. The water bubbles around the student. “Damn, kid, you’ve got a lot of ga-”

“Coach Levi isn’t like that,” the student replies in a warning tone, a severe frown on her face as steam rises. “She saved my life! You have no idea what she’s done for me and so many other people. That place-”

“Leila, dear, calm down. Those two are new members of my team; they’re gonna be helping people like you, too,” you say as you approach. “They don’t know me. Take a couple of laps before you evaporate the pool, okay?”

“But Coach-”

“No buts, Leila. Work on your butterfly stroke, okay? It’s fine.”

“It’s not fair. Why is everybody so scared of you when you’re the only one looking out for some of us?”

“I’m not the only one. He was trying to look out for you, too, can’t you see that?”

Leila’s frown becomes more somber.

“Oh. I guess so. Sorry, Deadpool,” she admits before swimming away.

“It’s cool! You were right, too! Now onto you. I was worried sick about you! I was about to start printing missing posters and shit! Why didn’t you tell me-?!”

He’s cut off by your laughter.

“I told you I coached. Did you think I didn’t have a day job?”

“Well- Well- You didn’t say when! I went to the office looking for you and you were just gone!”

Your laughter fades into a smile.

“Well, I’m here. I’m usually here or in the office. I do have a room, but… Half the time I just sleep in the office.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” you reply. “Was that it?”

“Yup,” Logan answers for him. “He was worried about you, Levi. Real worried.”

“I understand that,” you say, sounding irritated. “Anyways, I was able to get access to some new videos and other records. I have a couple of captures for you, Wade, and a lead on a new facility in Maine for you, Logan. You may be able to stop them before they even start.”

“Cool,” Wade says, realizing just how ridiculous he was being. Why was he so frantic? It’s not like there was a sign of a struggle or anything, but the idea of not knowing where you were, what you were doing, if you were okay… It really bothered him.

“Oh, and some nights I haunt a gay bar out of town. So if you go to the office or my room and I’m not there, that’s where I am.”

Logan snorts.

“What? I’m serious.”

He wheezes.

“You’re the head of a covert operation who coaches swimming and ‘haunts’ a gay bar.”

“Yeah? And?” you ask.

“I think it’s cool!” Wade declares.

“No, no, it is, but… You are exactly what I would expect you to be,” Logan explains, laughter subsiding as he claps you on the shoulder. You stiffen, blinking at him before smiling.

“Huh?” Wade wonders.

“Go find something to do, both of you. I’ve got kids to coach.”

“Right!” Wade chirps, and two of them make their leave. “I didn’t know there was a gay bar so close. We totally have to go and cockblock her, right? It’d be hilarious.”

“Bit old for that, aren’t we?”

“Nah, all those twinks with daddy issues will be all over us! Well, you. I’ll just be there for the music, I suppose.”

“I joke and stuff, but it’s really not that bad. You could always tell people you were a firefighter. Firefighters are sexy.”

“Firefighters are-?! Oh, sweet mother of fuck, I gotta go get a firefighter costume. BRB!”

He scurries away, not to get a firefighter costume, of course, but to avoid saying anything stupid. It’s really not that bad? The only person who ever said that to him was Vanessa.

His phone rings. It’s an unsaved number, so he lets it go to voicemail. Time for lunch!

“Mom… Why doesn’t Dad like me?” you asked one day, not long before your mutation presented itself.

“What? Sweetheart, your dad loves you!” your mom squealed. Sweetheart. She called you that more than your name. Said even when you were a baby, you cried when others cried, even characters on TV. You had the sweetest heart, according to her.

“I know. But he doesn’t seem to like me very much.”

“That’s nonsense. He’s just tired, that’s all. I’m sure it’d break his heart if he heard you say that.”

“I already asked him. He didn’t seem heartbroken. If anything, he seemed relieved. He said it wasn’t my fault, he’s just never felt connected to me like he thought he should. He said you knew that. Why lie?”

“Y/N Marigold Levi,” your mother sternly said. But she didn’t say anything after. She just burst into tears.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I just thought… If you know that, then you might know how I can fix it. Be a better version of myself that he can like.”

She cried harder.

“There’s nothing you can do. Just keep having that sweet heart of yours and he’ll realize one day… He’ll realize that you’re- You’re his one and only child, okay? And he’ll realize that he’s missed out on everything. That’s why it’s so important to write in your diary, so you can tell him all about you.”

It’s that night when Wade listens to his voicemail.

“Wade, I got this number from your Facebook, I hope it’s still you. It’s Cheryl, Cheryl Jones, well, it used to be Hawthorne… There’s something I need to tell you. Please, call me back as soon as you can.”

Just as he’s about to call her back, a scream tears through the night. He runs towards the sobs that follow it without thinking, adrenaline spiking even higher than it already was.

He finds himself in the adult dormitories and busts down the locked door to find… You, your face buried in your hands.

“Fuck,” he hisses.

You jolt, and at least a billion little trinkets all rush in his direction before freezing in midair once you realize it’s him. They drift back into place.

“What are you doing here?” you pant, still trying to catch your breath.

“What am I doing here?! Where the hell is everybody-?! …Else. Right. Uh, look, are you gonna be okay? I’ve got some shit to deal with, my ex-girlfriend calls me for the first time, like, since smartphones have been invented, and she has something she needs to tell me. I need to call her back, like, now.”

“Cheryl Jones?” you ask.

“Yeah, how’d you…? Wow, you really meant everything. But, wait, how’d you know it was her specifically?”

“Look, there are things I know about you that you don’t even know about yourself, okay? I had to wait until… I have to wait until I know you’re ready. And I don’t think you are, not yet. Just trust me for now, okay? Don’t call her back.”

“What is it? Can you give me a hint?”

“Not really. Anything I’d say, you’d figure it out right away… But I’ll tell you now, you’re going to hate me once you know. And I like having you as a friend.”

“I like having you as a friend, too,” he admits.

“No one’s endangered by this, not even you. It’s a tree falling in the forest kind of thing. Just kind of a big tree.”

“You promise?”

“I do,” you reply.

“You can’t even look me in the eyes. In fact, whenever it’s just us, you can’t.”

“Oh, that’s because- Here, I’ll just…” You dig around in your nightstand before pulling out a glasses case, taking the glasses out, and putting them on. “I can’t see when it’s just us. I actually have terrible eyesight, I just- I didn’t know for a while because I was subconsciously using other people to see before my mutation fully kicked in.”

“No fucking way,” he says.

“Way,” you reply with a giggle, meeting the eyes of his mask. You were telling the truth, then.

“Why hide it? They actually suit you, make you look as smart as you are.”

“It’s a weakness,” you remind him. “You’re the only person who knows except for Miss Frost. Eloise used to know, but… Yeah.”

“I’m honored,” he says with a bow. “Wanna talk about that nightmare?”

“Mm, not really. I’ve only ever had nightmares, so… I’m used to dealing with it by myself.”

“Right. I’ll head out, then. Just text me if you need anything, ‘kay?”

“‘Kay,” you reply, smiling. “Thanks, Wade.”

“No problem. Nighty-night!”

Your eighteenth birthday was a simple affair. No party, you didn’t want one. You never wanted one after the hearing, but this year even less so. You knew what was coming. The idea of one last hurrah just made you feel pathetic.

“I have a present for you. Come to my office,” Miss Frost mentally summoned you, interrupting your brooding. It was just recently decided that after you and Ellie graduated, she wouldn’t be a direct advisor to any of the students again — just an English teacher. You weren’t sure why. Maybe Ellie complained about her too much, after all, that’s why she was passed off to Colossus.

You joined Miss Frost in her office, and there stood a petite woman with mid-length dark hair and eyes nearly as dark. Her cheekbones and lips looked like they’d been hand carved by God herself.

She looked kind of like Eloise, but also nothing like her.

“This is Jessica Jones, owner and operator of Alias Investigations. Give her the paper. I know you have it on you.”

You blinked.

“Alright,” you replied softly, passing the paper to her. She unfolded it and looked it over.

“It’s not much, but it’s something to go off of. Alright, come with me. But no mind-fuckery, got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” you replied quickly.

Jessica hit a dead end a couple weeks later, but you used the tricks she taught you in addition to your so-called “mind-fuckery” to follow the breadcrumbs leading straight to Weapon X. In your investigation, you crossed paths with Logan.

It wasn’t until months later, almost a year, that you finally found him as you looked at videos to compare them with missing person’s reports.

X-11, originally known as Wade Wilson.

You gasped, and every lightbulb in the house shattered. You’d known about your telekinesis before then, but it wasn’t very strong. Before everything that went down with your adoptive parents, no one even thought you might be capable of it.

But you’d find in the coming years that you were capable of a lot.

#negasonic teenage warhead #ellie phimister #negasonic teenage warhead x reader #ellie phimister imagine #ellie phimister x reader

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gukyi · 4 years ago

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the love project | jjk

summary: from running to mcdonald’s at 3am after a halloween party where the two of you dressed up as the teletubbies to timing how long it takes for him to drink a cup of monster mixed with mountain dew and iced coffee and then do fifty push-ups, you’re used to your best friend jungkook asking you to do all sorts of crazy things. but, of all the shit the two of you do, letting him follow you around for a week with a camera and take candid photos of you for a photography assignment might just be the craziest of them all.

{college!au, friends to lovers!au}

pairing: jeon jungkook x female reader genre: fluff, comedy word count: 12k warnings: college antics, hopeless pining, slow burn a/n: me: this fic will be 10k max! also me: actually nevermind on par for the course of this blog, i hope you enjoy this fic! it was so much fun to write and it definitely got me back into the ~writing mood~. more fics coming soon!

These days, the weeks pass you by like trains on a platform. They whiz past you, the only discernible features being the beginning and the end of them, with the middle nothing but a blur.

At least, that’s how it feels when you’re in college, and the days bleed into weeks bleed into months, and suddenly you’re one year closer to graduating, one year closer to figuring out what next to do with your life, even if you’re still missing that one general education requirement you forgot to take in your first year so now you’re trying to cram it into your schedule at the last minute.

Okay, you’ll admit it. Introduction to Astronomy is kicking your ass. That’s what you get for putting it off until junior year, when you’re supposed to have reached the point in your History major career where you don’t have to look at numbers anymore and the idea of doing basic math is absolutely unfathomable. History majors don’t do math. They just don’t. It vanished from your academic arsenal long before now, alongside your ability to interpret word problems and understand science textbooks.

Perhaps in another universe, you would have actually retained those skills past high school, but that universe is not this one, and so your problem sets can solve themselves or not be solved at all.

Your best friend would have to disagree.

“It’s not even calculus!” Jungkook exclaims over a mouthful of a Starbucks tomato and pesto panini, pointing to your laptop in exasperation, as if the answer has been staring you in the face for the past fifteen minutes. “It’s just algebra! All you’re doing is plugging the numbers into the formula and finding the missing variable!”

“Easy for you to say,” you huff, furiously erasing at the notebook in front of you as you get yet another incorrect answer. Who knew math could be so difficult? Oh, that’s right. You did. “You took that advanced differential equations class for fun last year. It’s not even required for your major. You’re just a masochist.”

“Says the person who convinced their advisor to let them take seven classes because they, and I quote, ‘all seemed so interesting’ and you ‘didn’t want to miss out.’” Jungkook rebukes pointedly. “Because your life would be so terrible if you didn’t take Economic History of Pre-Industrialized Europe.”

He’s got you there. Seven classes is a lot. In your defense, Economic History of Pre-Industrialized Europe was very interesting and you got a 4.0 that semester. So who is he to judge? Jungkook’s favorite pastime is pretending that taking three different computer science classes in a single semester isn’t going to single-handedly kill him.

Jungkook watches you struggle for a few moments more before he sighs, like he can’t take looking at someone so mathematically incompetent any longer. He stuffs the remaining third of his Starbucks panini into his mouth all at once like the ravenous beast he is before he reaches over the tiny table you’re sat at to look at your problem set himself. He turns your laptop towards him and grabs hold of your notebook, furrowing his eyebrows as he enters Work Jungkook Mode.

Work Jungkook Mode is the mode of him you see most often during finals week or the rare occasions where you meet up to actually try and get work done. Work Jungkook has tunnel vision for whatever assignment is currently in front of him, which he will do either in one sitting or die trying. Work Jungkook lets his coffee get cold and forgets to answer your text messages, even when you’re sat right across from him and you know that he can see the notification on his laptop. Work Jungkook refuses to turn in anything that he hasn’t devoted his entire being to, even if it’s something as simple as a discussion board post. Some of his other friends say that when Jungkook is in Work Jungkook Mode, they won’t even try to contact him, lest their messages get lost in the flurry of his coding assignments.

But you are not “some of his other friends.” You are his best friend. So rules do not apply to you. And Jungkook has long accepted that fact.

“Hey, don’t mess up my work—” You exclaim defensively, grabby hands reaching over the table to retrieve your notebook. “Wait, how did you do that?”

Jungkook scribbles something down in nearly-illegible font, determined to solve the problem in front of him. He thinks for a few more seconds before eventually jotting down an answer, circling it with his pencil. Holding the notebook out so both of you can see, he scoots his chair over to your side of the table, your shoulders pressed together in this tiny corner of the Starbucks, right by the bathroom, and explains, step by step, what he did.

He does that for the following two problems in your set, walking you through the kind of math he was doing in freshman year of high school like it’s nothing, answering all of your stupid questions and giving you tips on how to finesse the system by taking as many shortcuts as possible. Teaching you things you never learned, or possibly had just forgotten. Things that a professor would think is idiotic to re-teach to a junior in university. Things that Jungkook wants you to know because he just wants you to have a little more faith in yourself.

“Does that help?” He asks when he’s finished, still doubting his fantastic teaching abilities despite the fact that he just taught you more in the last thirty minutes than your professor has managed in a month and a half.

“It actually does,” you tell him, pleasantly surprised. Looking back down at your notebook, what was once a shapeless blur of numbers, letters, and formulas is suddenly a clear and organized outline of each and every step to follow. “I didn’t know it was that easy.”

“Anything can be easy if you just commit yourself to learning how to do it,” Jungkook says, one of those random sentences that are too wise for a college student surviving off of RedBull and Starbucks food, the ones that always make you think Jungkook is secretly an immortal sage with life experiences far beyond your own. “Except coding. Which is hard no matter how good you are at it.”

“Aw, you can do it,” you rally, reaching up to pinch his chin in between your fingers and squeeze it tight. “It’s also too late to change your major now, so you’re stuck.”

“Wow, thanks for the encouragement,” Jungkook chides, hand coming up to rub at where you held his jaw, rolling his eyes. “You should let me help you with your Astronomy work more often. Gives me a break from Python.”

“I would have made you help me whether you liked it or not,” you tell him pointedly, because he is your best friend and he doesn’t get out of things as easily as he thinks he can. “But thanks. I’ll definitely take you up on that.”

“Of course,” Jungkook says with a good-natured grin, always so selfless and kind and giving. He practically signed himself up for a semester’s worth of TA-ing for Introduction to Astronomy despite the constant mountain of work he has himself. Just because it’s you.

“My very own personal genius,” you muse, wrapping your hands around his arm and snuggling into his body, a whisper of a language only the two of you share. It’s something the two of you have long gotten used to, pressing your fingers all over each other’s bodies like it’s second nature. One of the things that makes you feel so certain about having Jungkook in your life. About wanting him to stay with you for the rest of time. “I’m never letting you go.”

Jungkook smiles, a warm hand coming to rest atop of your own. He breathes, in and out, chest rising beneath your touch. “Like I’d ever let you,” he says.

There is no question about it. Jungkook is one hundred percent, absolutely, undoubtedly, positively, indisputably smarter than you are. It’s something that the two of you used to jokingly fight about (because Jungkook claims that he’s a bad essay writer, even though he’s not), but at this point it’s cemented in stone—he’s a damn genius. A genius who is inexplicably good at everything. A double threat. Triple, if you count the fact that he’s built beyond belief and could probably chuck you into next week if you really, really ticked him off.

The truth is that, ninety percent of the time it is you who is going to Jungkook for help. Whether it be an assignment you need assistance on (namely Astronomy, because Jungkook probably couldn’t help you on your Mesopotamian artifact and primary source analyses despite his best intentions), a date that was a lot worse than you were hoping it would be, or even just the right coffee to order from that expensive place on the corner. Jungkook knows how to fix everything.

So when Jungkook slides into the seat across from you in the food court after his Mastering Photography class with that I’m in trouble look on his face, you know something is horribly wrong.

“Are you alright?” You ask, concerned as you watch him devour the sushi takeout in front of him, stuffing the spicy tuna rolls into his mouth like they’re Skittles. His camera hangs haphazardly out of his open backpack, like he barely had enough time to stuff it into the pocket while he was making his way here. There’s a worried expression written all over his face as he fumbles with the chopsticks in his hand, losing his grip on them every ten seconds.

It’s not until Jungkook has finished the container of spicy tuna rolls in front of them that he finally seems to work up the courage to answer you.

“My Photography class is gonna be the death of me,” Jungkook exclaims, exasperated.

“I thought you liked it,” you comment unhelpfully. Jungkook had been so excited to be enrolled in it, because you needed a recommendation from a different professor and you had to submit a portfolio in order to join the class, making it one of those exclusive (and thus, much better) courses. Not to mention the fact that Jungkook is basically already a professional photographer if his Instagram is anything to go by. He’s going to walk out of university with a Photography minor whether he realizes it or not.

“I do,” Jungkook insists, even if right now it sounds like the two of you both need convincing of that fact. “But this project is ridiculous. I don’t even know how my professor expects us to have the time to finish it.”

“What do you have to do?”

Jungkook sighs. Just thinking about it seems to stress him out. “I mean, it’s only really a week long. So I guess it’s not too bad. But we’re supposed to compile a portfolio of the same subject, taken over the course of the week, with them in all sorts of different poses and lighting and locations, to express a personal theme.”

You scrunch your nose up in confusion. “I might be wrong, but isn’t that what photography… is?” You ask cluelessly.

“Yes,” Jungkook argues, “but also no. Photography is taking pictures of things just for the hell of it. Not because they necessarily speak to a part of your soul. You just like the look of it. You want to capture the scene. That’s it.”

“Oh,” You say dumbly.

“And our subject can be whoever or whatever we want, but he recommended choosing a person because taking pictures of our water bottles in different places is boring,” Jungkook huffs, though his professor does have a point there. Modern history wasn’t made out of photographs of store windows and miscellaneous items. It was made out of people, out of events in their lives that shaped the rest of the world, out of personal experiences that changed their point of view. “But I don’t even know anybody who would be willing to let me photograph them for a whole week! I’d basically have to follow them around like paparazzi!”

“I’ll do it,” you suggest casually, because it seems like the most obvious choice to you. There’s no one Jungkook spends as much time with as you.

Jungkook’s eyes pop out of his head. “What?”

“I’m serious,” you insist. “Think about it. You need a subject for your project that you can photograph in a wide variety of places and over the course of a week. Who else do you spend that much time with, other than me?”

“Well..” Jungkook begins, trying to fight your reasons with his own. “Would you even be comfortable with something like that? I mean, I’m literally going to constantly be taking photos of you.”

“Like we don’t already do that on our phones,” you tease, having amassed quite the album of terrible Jungkook pictures over the years.

“A camera is different from a phone,” Jungkook protests weakly.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But I’m just saying. It won’t bother me,” you say with a shrug. Why is Jungkook being so… weird about your suggestion? You thought he would be jumping at the offer, especially considering it means he won’t have to go out of his way to find and photograph someone else for this assignment. But he’s being rather hesitant. You watch as he glares down at his empty sushi takeout box, eyebrows furrowed in that thick, nervous way. “But you don’t have to,” you backtrack. “It was just a suggestion.”

He breathes in and breathes out, expression solid. Even from here you can see the cogs whirring in his brain, placing each and every potential result into a pro and con list inside his mind, trying to work out whether the benefits will be greater than the cost.

Quite frankly, you don’t know what all the holdup is about.

“You’re… sure about this?” He asks, looking up at you, determined to ensure your comfort. As if that’s even an issue. “You’re cool with being photographed and everything?”

“Only because it’s you,” you tease lightheartedly, expecting some sort of equally cheesy response. Instead, it makes Jungkook do something weird. He freezes in place, darting his eyes away from your gaze for a split second, collecting thoughts you can’t see. “Yeah,” you say loudly, trying to bring him back. “I’m fine with it.”

He inhales, exhales, closes his eyes, and opens them. “Okay then. I guess it’s settled. You’ll be my subject,” he declares, an almost unnoticeable wobble to his voice. It’s probably nothing, so you don’t think too hard about it.

“Can you at least pretend to be a little more excited about this?” You ask, jabbing him in the chest with a wooden chopstick. “It’s the first time we’ve ever gotten to be part of a project together!”

“Yay,” Jungkook says, lifeless.

“How about a photo to commemorate it?” You suggest, reaching over to pull the camera out of his backpack, pushing it into his hands. “This can be the start of your portfolio.”

“Fine,” he eventually caves, bringing it up to his eye as he turns it on, twisting the lens to perfect the focus. Even caught off guard like this, he looks like a professional, like someone who was born to be behind the camera. He’s a computer science major but you know that photography will always be something special to him.

You strike a dramatic pose, holding your chopsticks out, one in each hand, with a wide, excited smile on your face. “How do I look?” You ask, scrunching your eyes together.

Jungkook’s finger hovers over the silver button. “Perfect,” he tells you, voice soft and honest.

Click.

“So, how many photos are you supposed to take for this portfolio?” You ask as you flop around on Jungkook’s bed, pretending that the open tab on your laptop with your fifty-page reading doesn’t exist. You don’t even know why professors assign readings that long. Do they really expect you to read all of it?

From across his room, you can make out the top of Jungkook’s fluffy brown hair over his sleek gaming chair, one of the ones that look like high-tech airplane seats. “I don’t know,” he says. “He said at least twenty. And no more than fifty. Which really makes me wonder if someone once submitted like, one hundred photos for this project that he had to grade them on. But yeah.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” you say. When you’re around a cute animal, you can easily take twenty photographs. Granted, they aren’t exactly award-worthy photographs, but it’s not a physically demanding task.

“Yeah,” Jungkook says. “Hypothetically you could finish it in a day. But it looks really obvious.”

“Well, how many do you have now?”

It’s been a day and a half since Jungkook agreed to let you be his so-called muse, but already you’ve lost track of how many photos he’s taken of you. He loves his camera, you know that, but you didn’t realize exactly how much he loves his camera. And with you as the sole subject for his project, he’s practically letting it hang from his neck all day long, just waiting for the right time to snap a photo of you standing in line at the food court, frowning at your textbook, or waiting to meet up with him. Every time he sees you he snaps a picture, even if the lighting’s bad, even if you haven’t had your morning coffee yet, even if it’s midnight and you look like a zombie. In his mind, there are no bad pictures. Just memories.

You wonder what the hell he sees in you.

“A lot,” Jungkook answers unhelpfully, making no effort to elaborate on that statement.

“Have you counted?” You ask, getting off of his bed to join him at his desk.

Jungkook doesn’t seem to realize what you’re doing until you’re standing right next to him, placing a hand over his shoulders as you lean down next to him. He fumbles around for a second, the mouse slipping through his grip, and you catch a glimpse of one of the photos he’s taken of you, a sliver of your pursed lips, the wrinkles between your eyebrows.

It’s from the library yesterday. You didn’t even know Jungkook had taken a picture of you there. You had a stupid reading to complete last night, one that made no sense and was terribly-written, and you spent an hour just trying to figure out what the damn argument was, and Jungkook captured it. You were there for an hour and Jungkook was there too, watching you like it was nothing, waiting for the perfect moment. He was there, sitting across from you, camera at the ready. You didn’t even hear it click.

He closes it before you get a closer look at the photo, frantically hitting the little red dot at the top corner of the window before you have a chance to ask why.

“What, I’m not allowed to see?” You chide, a little bit hurt but more confused than anything else. Why is Jungkook being so secretive?

“No,” Jungkook spits quickly. making you raise an eyebrow in alarm. “I mean, it’s a surprise. You get to see when it’s finished. I still have to… uh, edit. And stuff.”

“Edit? You think I’m that ugly?” You tease, knowing that he probably means color correction but enjoying the way that he gets all flustered when he hears your voice.

Jungkook’s eyes widen at that, like he just realized he made a wrong turn and is desperately backtracking. “What, no! I don’t—I don’t think you’re ugly.”

You laugh, letting the sound of your voice ease the tension in his shoulders, reveling in the way his big doe eyes seem to soften when he realizes you were just teasing. He looks like a kid caught stealing a candy bar from a gas station, looks like one of those boyfriends in the viral videos where the girl reveals that she got him a present or something instead, all nervous and full of explanations.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” you assure him, rubbing up and down his arm to soothe him, calm his heart down. “You don’t have to show me. I’m just excited. No one’s ever taken photos of me like this before.”

“I would,” Jungkook speaks up softly. “If you asked. I would.”

“I know,” You say. You’re not sure if there’s a thing in this world Jungkook wouldn’t do for you, and you, him. If he asked, you would pluck the stars from the sky for him. Bring him back a piece of the moon. Stop time. Anything. Everything. Just for him. “I know.”

“What are you doing?” Jungkook asks, changing the topic as he whirls around in his gaming chair.

“Just another reading, like always,” you dismiss, because you’re positive the last thing Jungkook wants to hear about right now is your primary source reading on irrigation techniques in agrarian Europe. You don’t even want to hear about it. “But I could use some help on Astronomy.”

Without another word, Jungkook gets up from his desk and the two of you head over to his bed, where an untouched problem set waits on your computer. He grabs a notebook from his backpack along the way before sitting down next to you on the edge of his bed, bodies pressed together. Slowly, he begins to coach you through each problem, step by step, drawing pictures and diagrams if he has to, until you finish all ten problems.

The truth is, you didn’t really need help with this unit. Astronomy’s gotten a lot easier now that Jungkook has taught you the strategies to tackle it. But Jungkook sometimes feels like a ghost when he works, especially when he’s sitting at his desk, quiet and focused and almost invisible. And call you clingy, but you like it when you can look up and see his face instead of the back of a chair, a little tuft of wavy brown hair. You like it when he’s right beside you, in a place where you know you won’t lose him, where you can hold on if things get rough. Where you can see his stupid brown eyes and his goofy smile and know that he’ll always be there for you.

When he’s finished, Jungkook doesn’t get back up to sit at his desk. He flops down on his back, staring up at the white ceiling of his room, eyes tracing the cracks. You join him, side by side, pretending that there’s something there. Looking up at the sky would be nicer, but it doesn’t really matter, so long as you’re with him.

“I didn’t know you took so many photos,” you say.

“I never want to miss anything.”

“You should give me more warnings, next time. I feel like I look so ugly in some of them.”

“No, you don’t. Don’t say stuff like that.”

“You don’t think I’m ugly?” You ask him, for real this time. It’s not that you think he’s going to say that he does, it’s that you want to know what he really thinks. How he really sees you. You turn your head to him, back pressed against his comforter, barely a foot apart. And he turns back to you, and he’s right there, right there in front of you, big brown eyes wide and blinking. He’s right there, how could you miss him?

“No,” Jungkook says, honest and true. He looks at you, looks right at you, right into you, and he muses to himself, chuckling. “Why would I ever think that?”

At the end of the day, you can’t really be bothered to put on real pants in anticipation of Jungkook’s trigger-happy camera-taking tendencies. He’s seen you spill a boiling hot bowl of tomato soup all over yourself in the dining hall. He’s seen you at four in the morning in the library the night before finals begin, eyebags down to your knees and mismatched shoes on your feet. He’s seen you in the middle of a frat house, sweat dripping down your forehead and smelling of nothing but straight alcohol. Getting dressed up just for him would be antithetical to the very foundation of your friendship.

You have, however, become keenly more cognizant in the last few days of when Jungkook is about to take a photo of you. Mostly because you glance up at your surroundings every three seconds to make sure you aren’t getting sniped from across the food court. Nobody else needs to see a picture of you picking up three pieces of sushi with your chopsticks and stuffing them all into your mouth at once. And, from what you can tell, you’ve been pretty successful, which either means you’ve gotten better at telling when Jungkook might be taking a photo of you, or Jungkook’s gotten better at hiding it.

Either way, he’s got a lot more pictures of you reflexively flashing a peace-sign in his direction when you hear the telltale sound of his camera lens focusing, so you’re not really sure what that means for the fate of his portfolio.

Besides your newfound hyper-awareness of the sound of a camera lens adjusting, the strangest part of you and Jungkook’s little project is how quickly the rest of your friends adjusted to this brand new dynamic.

This is not to say this assignment is the weirdest thing you and Jungkook have done together, because there was once one week where you and Jungkook challenged each other to only eat bananas for every meal to see if anything would happen to either of you. Nothing did, but after that week you swore off bananas for the rest of your life and have had little appetite for them since.

It’s more that your other friends have just accepted the fact that ridiculous, extravagant shenanigans are a necessary part of you and Jungkook’s relationship and have simply chosen not to question them anymore. At least, most of them have.

“So, how’s you and Jungkook’s little photography fling going?” Maisie asks, and even through the phone you can hear the way she’s wiggling her eyebrows.

“It’s not a fling, and it’s fine,” you hiss back, trying to keep your voice down as you pack up your belongings, phone pressed between your ear and your shoulder. “Stop speaking so loudly, everyone else in the library can probably hear you.”

“Good, because they’ve all probably noticed the way Jungkook’s been following you around like an unrestrained fanboy for the past four days taking pictures of you,” Maisie says pointedly, voice so sharp it causes you to look around at the other tables to make sure no one’s listening in.

You frown, hoping your deadpan expression is audible through the phone. “It’s not like that and you know it.”

“Don’t you think it’s even a little strange that you’ve given Jungkook full permission to take photos of you like you’re a model and he’s some sort of weird, professional paparazzi?” You can practically see Maisie’s face in front of you, all wide eyes and raised eyebrows as she makes her point.

“No, it’s what we agreed on,” you remind her for the umpteenth time. There’s nothing weird about this. You’re helping him with a project, what more could it be? “Jungkook needed someone to take pictures of for his photography project and I thought it would be a good idea if I was that someone.”

“Hmm… wonder why…” Maisie trails off, deliberately vague and suggestive all at once.

“You’ve been going on about this ever since Jungkook and I met, Maise,” you say with a roll of your eyes, tossing your backpack over your shoulder. “You know that Jungkook and I are just friends. Like we have always been.”

“Friends that take candid photos of each other under the guise of a project,” Maisie adds, and you can see the air quotes around the word “project” right in front of you.

“Friends that help each other out because that’s what friends do,” you correct. “You’re just going to have to accept the fact that Jungkook and I are always going to be just friends and nothing more. No matter how much money you’ve bet on us getting together.”

Maisie gasps. “I have not bet money on such a thing! This is slander!”

“Don’t think I don’t see you and Jimin’s damn Venmo history.” You pull up to the front desk of the library to check out a primary source book needed for one of your classes. It’s the first edition, and it’s battered beyond belief, but it’s better than paying for it. “Just this, thanks.”

“The only way you could convince me that you and Jungkook are just friends is if you go on a date or something,” Maisie comments snidely. “I don’t think I’ve seen either of you romantically interested in someone else the entire time you’ve known each other. Isn’t that proof enough?”

“You want me to go on a date with someone?” You demand, determined to get Maisie to hop off your ass about this.

You and Jungkook are just friends. If swiping right with someone on Tinder and getting dinner and a movie with them is what will convince Maisie of that, then that is what you will do. It’s not as if being friends with Jungkook is mutually exclusive with you going out with other people. Should be easy, right?

The boy behind the counter tells you your book is due back at the end of the semester, and you nod your thanks before heading out of the library.

“Fine, I’ll go on a date with someone. If it’ll get you to stop trying to convince me that Jungkook and I are gonna get married and have babies,” you declare, pushing your body against the door handles as you leave, five minutes to spare before your next class begins.

“You guys would have really cute babies, I’m just saying,” Maisie points out like it’s nothing.

You roll your eyes, taking the phone away from your ear as your finger hovers over the red button. “See you, Maise.”

You’re barely three steps out of the library, still rolling your eyes at the Call Ended screen on your phone when a voice catches your attention.

“Y/N!”

You turn your head just in time to see Jungkook’s devilish grin disappear behind his camera, and you don’t even have time to blink before he begins snapping away, finger mashing the silver button at the top as your expression morphs from surprise to defeat, unable to counter his sniping abilities with a signature peace sign. Even from twenty feet away, you can hear Jungkook laughing as you take the opportunity to pose for a few moments, like you really are a model and he really is your personal photographer. The sound of his giggles fills the air, music to your ears, lingering between you like dandelion wisps, blown by the wind.

Another voice breaks you from your trance.

“And here we have our resident celebrity and her paparazzi,” Jimin says, motioning to the two of you as he speaks to an enormous tour group of potential applicants and their parents. Caught in front of them, the heat suddenly rushes to your cheeks as you instinctively cover your face, embarrassed to have been pointed out by Jimin, whose amicable, lovable personality is both a blessing and a curse when it comes to his part-time job as a tour guide.

The worst part is how some of the parents and students seem to believe him for a second, that you really are famous and that Jungkook really is your photographer, looking at the two of you inquisitively as you shrink beneath their gazes.

“I’m kidding,” Jimin quickly continues as Jungkook joins you where you stand, laughing at the way you look like a deer caught in headlights. “They’re just some friends of mine who we happened to catch outside the library, which is our next stop. But don’t they look so cute together?”

“Are you guys dating?” One of the students pipes up, asking what no one else dared to.

Your eyes widen at the notion, wondering if you and Jungkook really are cursed to always be mistaken for a couple when you two have never been, and most likely will never be one. Shaking your head, you force out a laugh, “No, we’re just friends.” Beside you, Jungkook is noticeably silent. You suppose he’s gotten just as sick of explaining as you.

“Bummer, right?” Jimin asks his group, earning a couple of disappointed nods from innocent high-schoolers that still believe in love. “But I’m working on that, so don’t worry. Anyway, this library will be your main destination for studying, book-reading, and everything in between, and is conveniently located two minutes away from the freshman dorms…”

The conversation finally drawn away from you and Jungkook, you let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you had been holding in. “Weird, right? Even high-schoolers think we’re together.”

Jungkook doesn’t meet your eyes, fiddling with the settings on his camera just to keep his hands busy. The quiet makes you wonder what is going on up inside his head, makes you wonder what it is he’s thinking about, what it is you’re not seeing. Lately, it’s felt like there’s something on Jungkook’s mind you wish he felt comfortable telling you.

“Hey, you alright?” You ask, giving him a little nudge with your side. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” Jungkook says, voice soft, barely audible. It doesn’t make you feel any better. “No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Don’t you have class soon?”

“Oh, shit, you’re right, fuck,” you say, checking your phone only to find you have barely a minute to get to your next class. Guess you’ll be using one of your allotted absences today. “Thanks for reminding me. Dinner tonight?”

“I’ll text you,” Jungkook promises, and you nod your agreement as you dash off, determined to turn a five-minute walk into a one-minute one with the power of exercise. As you leave, you watch as Jungkook flounders outside the library, staring down at his camera and scrolling through his photos, and you still find yourself feeling like you’re missing something. What is Jungkook not telling you?

What do you not know?

By the time you reach your class, two minutes late and completely out of breath, tardiness is the last thing on your mind.

This project was just meant to be a friend helping out a friend. So why does it feel like you and Jungkook are losing each other?

Using Tinder is easy. Dangerously so.

You’re no expert in app design, but its simplified “yes or no” mechanic has you swiping through people like it’s an extreme sport, barely giving some of them a second glance if their Tinder profile description doesn’t make you laugh within the first sentence.

Tinder was, admittedly, not your first choice of potential date-finding methods. Call you old-fashioned, but whatever happened to asking someone in person if they wanted to get a meal with you? To showing up at their doorstep with a rose bouquet and a toothy white grin? Perhaps all of those old-timey movies you and Jungkook always watched have given you unrealistic expectations. But can you blame them?

Even if Tinder wasn’t your first choice, it was certainly the fastest. It takes a second to look at someone’s designated Tinder thumbnail, two to read their description, and three to decide if they’re worth a swipe right. Compare that to actively meeting up with someone, getting their contact information, and then continuing to dance around each other until you finally decide to get dinner together. That’s the sort of thing that could take weeks. Maybe months. And in some cases, years.

Besides, it’s not like you had very many options at your disposal. You don’t trust Maisie to set you up with someone because she’ll probably just choose one of the many boys from her management class and call it a day. Asking someone yourself is absolutely out of the question. And, for some strange, unknown reason, the idea of getting Jungkook to hook you up with one of his friends just doesn’t sit right with you.

So, Tinder it is. And as it turns out, chivalry isn’t dead. It’s just archaic.

An hour into your mindless swiping, you get a message notification. Two hours after that, you’ve got plans with a nice senior boy whom you’ve never met.

And for the first time in a very long time, there’s something to mark on your calendar for Saturday night.

The little blue block on your Google Calendar tab stares back at you from where your open laptop sits on your desk, the red line that signifies your current time slowly inching towards it as you fumble around in front of your mirror, more dressed up than you have been in weeks. Maisie was right. It’s been so long since you’ve gone out with someone that you’ve completely forgotten what the dress code is for something like this. A dress? Heels? Makeup?

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks you will anyway. What if he’s wearing a hoodie and sweats while you look like you’re about to attend the goddamn Academy Awards? Maybe the eyeshadow was a little too much.

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks it’s inevitable that you do. The door to your apartment swings open, and you can hear heavy footsteps making their way to your bedroom, that easy gait of his familiar as always.

“Hey, do you think we can just get some take-out and watch a stupid old noir movie, or something? I’ve had a day,” he shouts out, the sigh audible in his voice.

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks you definitely have when you turn around to see Jungkook standing right outside your bedroom in the floppiest sweater you’ve ever seen and jeans with holes in the knees, mouth agape as he stares straight at you. It’s impossible not to notice the way his eyes are blown wide at the sight of you, at the way they rake up and down your figure, like he can’t even believe what he’s seeing. It’s impossible not to notice how he seems to flounder at the sight of you.

The only thing that breaks the both of you out of your stupors, frozen in place like two criminals caught red-handed, is the sound of his hulking black backpack thudding to the floor.

“Whoa.”

“Do you think it’s too much?” You ask, voice wobbly. God, why are you so nervous? It’s just Jungkook.

“Too much for what?” Jungkook blinks, deliberate and slow, as if he’s determined to make sure his eyes aren’t deceiving him. “Where are you going?”

“I think we’ll have to do a raincheck for the noir movie and takeout,” you say sheepishly, pursing your lips together in fright as you force out a small, tense smile. “I’m… going out. With someone.”

“Like,” Jungkook begins, and even from here you can hear the way he stops himself, hear him breathe out every word, thick on his tongue. “On a date?”

“Yeah.”

It’s a one-syllable word and yet it takes nearly all of your willpower just to say it. Just to confirm what Jungkook’s already thinking. Just to tell him, your best friend, your ride or die, your number one, that you’re going out on a date.

“Oh.” Jungkook’s voice is lifeless. “Do I know them?”

“No, uh, it’s just some guy I met on Tinder. I don’t know, I just wanted to see what all the hype was about, I guess. And I haven’t really been on a date in a while, so I figured I might just take up the opportunity, so we’re probably just going to go out to a restaurant and maybe go to a club afterwards if we’re still in the mood, and—” You cut yourself off, so nervous that you’ve resorted to your terrible habit of rambling to try and ease the tension. “Why? Do you think it’s too much?”

“You use Tinder?” Jungkook asks instead. It sounds like he’s shocked to hear this.

“Yeah…” you trail off. “Why?”

Jungkook freezes at the question, but it’s not because it seems like he doesn’t have an answer. It’s because it seems like he does. Only it’s an answer he doesn’t want to share.

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” he eventually settles on, shaking his head. “You, uh, you look good.”

“You think? I feel like it’s a lot. I don’t know how to dress appropriately for stuff like this anymore,” you ask, palms sweaty as you furiously straighten out the skirt of your dress. “Should I change into pants, or anything?”

“No, no, I think that’s fine,” Jungkook says with an honest smile. “You look nice like this.”

“It’s probably been like, a year since you last saw me in a dress,” you comment mindlessly, turning back to face the mirror as you fiddle with your makeup, finger wiping away a bit of smudged lipstick or a stray bit of mascara. “I miss my sweats. Hey, whoa, wait, what are you doing—?”

You whip around to find Jungkook slowly fishing out the camera from his backpack, hand gripping it tightly as he brandishes it in front of you.

“I, um, I just wanted to see if I could maybe take a photo of you,” Jungkook says, a small, little grin decorating his features. “Since you’re all dressed up.”

“Seriously?” You ask in disbelief.

Jungkook nods, holding the camera out in front of him. “Just one.”

He looks so small, standing across your bedroom. He looks so small and delicate and intimate, body curled in on itself ever so slightly as he looks at you, the yellow glow of your ceiling light reflected in his hazelnut eyes, drowning beneath his clothes. He looks like he has never seen a moment more perfect, never seen an opportunity as clear, looks like he thinks that if he blinks he’ll miss it.

Looks as if a photo will be the only way to remember it.

And you nod. Because he is your best friend, and who are you to deny him of something so simple? Of a press of a button? It doesn’t feel like a project anymore. It just feels like a memory.

Jungkook brings the camera to his eye, and you smile at him, soft and gentle and warm. He grins back, focusing the camera lens before snapping away.

You wonder what he sees.

(You wonder if it’s as beautiful as what you see.)

“Have fun tonight, okay?” Jungkook asks of you as your Google Calendar notification sounds, letting you know you have approximately two minutes before he’s supposed to pick you up outside your apartment.

You nod. “I will. And if I don’t, then I’ll come over afterwards. And we can watch that stupid noir film.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Jungkook says with a roll of his eyes, a shrug of his shoulders.

“But I want to. So I will. Okay? I’ll text you,” you promise. “Don’t think I’ll forget about you.”

Jungkook smiles at your little tease, at the way you cup the side of his jaw with your hand as you head towards your front door.

“Wait, Y/N,” Jungkook sputters out, running after you. He reaches you right as you get to the door, hand grasping the doorknob. You turn to look at him, blinking. “I hope tonight is everything you dreamed of.”

There is something so distinctly sad in his voice. It makes you wonder who has broken his heart. Makes you wonder what you can do to fix it.

“Even if it’s not,” you say to him, taking his hand in your own and squeezing it tight, reminding him that, no matter what, you’re still here. “I know you’ll always be there to take care of me afterwards.”

Your phone buzzes with a message from your date, and you scurry out the door.

For some reason, there’s a part of you that wishes you never even left.

The date is okay. Not bad, but nothing to write home about. By the time you finished eating, it was obvious neither of you had any interest in continuing the night elsewhere, whether it be a club or a karaoke bar. He pays for your meal despite your insistence that you can handle the check perfectly fine on your own, thanks you for a nice night, and drops you right back at your apartment. And so goes your one and only Tinder experience, blowing away like a leaf in the wind.

You look down at your phone. It isn’t even nine o’clock yet.

[November 7th, 8:48PM]

You: you still game for that movie?

[November 7th, 8:50PM]

Jungkook: you finished your date already?

You: is that a yes or a no

Jungkook: my door is always open, you know that

You: you’re gonna get robbed one day and it’s gonna be by me You: i’m coming over

The walk from your apartment to Jungkook’s is six minutes and thirty seconds on a good day, and seven minutes and fifteen seconds on a bad day, which is usually dependent on if the traffic light over the main road has decided to be extra slow or not. You could walk the damn route in your sleep if you really wanted, having done it so many times in the last year and a half, ever since he moved out of on-campus housing and into his own place.

Tonight, it takes you nearly eight minutes to get to his apartment, but you mostly chalk that up to the heels you’re wearing. If you cared any less about your dignity, you’d probably take them off and walk barefoot like a defeated heroine in a romance movie, shoes dangling from your fingers as they hang low by your side.

But you aren’t defeated. You didn’t have the world’s most spectacular date, but the night isn’t over just yet.

Jungkook’s waiting at his front door by the time you arrive.

“Eight minutes, huh? You’re getting old,” he asks snidely, looking down at the invisible watch on his wrist.

“Your counting is just off,” you retort easily, falling into that same friendly rhythm, that familiar little beat that the two of you share. You push past him and into his apartment, instantly feeling more at home, shoulders sinking and heartbeat soothing as you soak in the scent of his room, of his home, of him.

“How’d it go?” Jungkook asks, eyes hopeful as they watch you tug off your heels. They were hardly three inches tall and yet you still want nothing to do with them.

You shrug. “Eh. It was okay.”

“Just okay?” Jungkook asks, sounding seriously upset for you. Upset that you didn’t have a good night even after you promised him that you would. Upset that it didn’t turn out to be everything you wanted.

“I don’t know,” you admit, looking over at him, dejected. “It just—I just had this feeling that it wasn’t going to work out.”

Jungkook scowls to himself, eyebrows furrowing like he’s trying to figure out what exactly you mean by that. And the truth is, you’re not sure either. The date was fine, and he was nice, but even when you first met it felt like you weren’t going to get what you wanted from him. Like you were just going on the date to go on the date. Like you already knew that it would mean nothing.

Jungkook was going to be waiting for you at the end of the night whether it went amazingly well or terribly bad. And knowing that, strangely enough, almost made you want the date to be horrible. Like it would make seeing Jungkook afterwards that much sweeter.

“Oh,” Jungkook says lamely. “Well, I’m sorry. It seemed like you were really looking forward to it.”

“It’s alright,” you assure him. “Can we just watch this movie now and make fun of how sexist it is? Please?”

To that, Jungkook easily agrees. As he’s queueing up the movie, you raid his closet for a hoodie and sweatpants, desperate to strip yourself of your dress and tights and cozy up in clothes that are much more appropriate for your comfort level. At this point in your friendship, Jungkook doesn’t even question it when he sees you march into his room, fishing through his closet and drawers for your favorite matching set of his, this grey pair that he’s worn so much it still smells like him even after it’s come right out of the wash.

He only stares back in awe when he sees you emerge from his bedroom wearing them.

“Ready?” You ask, breaking him from his resolve.

Jungkook blinks wildly from where he’s seated on his dinky old couch, as if to clear his vision. “What? Oh, yeah, I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Then hurry it up, Mister,” you demand, sitting down next to him and curling into his body. It’s instinctual, at this point, wanting to be close to him. To feel the warmth of his body radiate upon your own. To feel his chest beneath the palm of your hands, his arm wrapped around your side. “All good?” You ask, looking up at him.

Jungkook looks down at you, and you swear, you’ve never seen him more at home. “Always, when I’m with you.”

The movie is predictably good and predictably sexist, but your favorite part by far is when Jungkook reaches around on the coffee table in front of you for his camera, holding it up to his eye and snatching a picture of the television, the film grainy like an old polaroid, faded like an antique photograph. He clicks away at the scene in front of him before turning on you, the lens so close to your face you’re almost certain all he’ll manage to capture is your nose. You laugh, pushing yourself away from him as he snaps, and snaps, and snaps, image after image after image, until his camera battery has died and there’s no more room left on his card.

“Guess I’ll have to charge this thing, then,” Jungkook sighs as he declares his camera dead, screen black.

“You aren’t going to include any of those, are you?” You ask, an eyebrow raised.

Jungkook shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Don’t you have enough?” You deadpan, thinking back to the hundreds of photos Jungkook must have taken of you over the past week, and even more that you don’t know about. There’s certainly no shortage of them in his current camera inventory. That’s for sure.

“Never,” Jungkook says wickedly. He stretches out an open arm, and you don’t have to think twice about falling into it, letting him wrap you up in his hold, curling into his body.

The black television screen crackles before you, DVD player waiting for Jungkook to turn it off. There’s no need for either of you to look up at each other. Not when you’re strung together like this. Not when you already know exactly where he is.

“It’s due on Monday, right?” You inquire softly, fatigue slowly overtaking you.

“Yeah. I’m almost finished, just have to do some curating and editing.”

“I want to see it.”

“What? My project?”

“What else?”

“It’s just a project, it’s not that exciting.”

You pull away from him at that, looking up at him with furrowed brows and scrunched-up nose. “What do you mean ‘it’s not that exciting’? It’s your photography project. You’ve spent a whole week working on it.”

“Yeah, but it’s just you, you know?” Jungkook objects. “Like, you know what you look like. It’s just going to be a bunch of photos of you, like I said it’d be.”

“That’s exactly why I want to see it,” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You took pictures of me for a whole week. Don’t you want to share them with me?”

“If you really want some of the photos, I’ll send you some, but you don’t need to see the whole portfolio, you know? It’s just for my professor,” Jungkook says stiffly, surprisingly resistant. What’s the big deal? It’s not like there will suddenly be new information about you that you didn’t know before. You want to see what Jungkook has been working tirelessly on this entire week. Where’s the harm in that?

“Why are you getting so hung up on this? It’s just photos,” you say with a frown.

“Why are you getting so hung up on this?” Jungkook challenges back.

You sigh, sinking back into him, defeated. Even a little disagreement like that is enough to knock the wind out of the both of you, so you decide not to push it much further.

“Do you promise to show me eventually?” You ask, hopeful.

Jungkook pauses for a moment, and you almost expect him to say no, considering how protective of his work he’s being. “One day,” he declares. “One day, I will.”

And that’s good enough for you.

You lose track of how much time passes after that, feeling your eyelids getting heavy as the warmth of his body envelopes you, drowsiness settling in. There’s just something about this moment, right here, right now, that makes you want to fall asleep.

You’re on the verge of slumber when Jungkook’s voice breaks through.

“Why didn’t you think your date would work out?”

“I don’t know,” you respond sleepily, barely even opening your eyes. “It just felt wrong.”

“How do you know what feels right?”

Good question. Perhaps if you had the energy, you’d answer it. But right now, all you can think about is how cozy you feel in Jungkook’s hoodie and sweatpants, how the scent of him surrounds you, that indescribable, boyish aroma that can’t be replicated. Right now, all you can think about is how easily your body molds into his, like two pieces of a puzzle meant to fit together. Right now, all you can think about is him.

The worst part about each and every week is when it ends. Because the end of one week signifies the beginning of the next, and when you’re in university, the beginning of the next week means a whole new batch of assignments that you have to complete and a whole new batch of due dates to meet.

So, yeah. The weeks have been blurring together for you lately. But what else could you expect?

Sunday evening, as per usual, finds you right back where you always are: Jungkook’s apartment.

The two of you have been regularly getting together on Sundays to study, ever since you both realized you work significantly harder when motivated by the other, determined to finish all of your work on time so you can spend the rest of the night fooling around by mixing Monster with as many unhealthy drinks that you can possibly think of. And it’s been working out well for the both of you so far. Jungkook powers through his coding assignments and you whiz through your readings, intent on keeping up to date with your tasks so they don’t all come crashing down on you at the end of the semester.

Studying with Jungkook has always been easy, largely due to the fact that it’s the one allotted time during your friendship where the both of you deem it best to not speak to each other for the sake of your work. The moment one of you opens your mouth it’s over, so you sit on opposite ends of the room and pretend that the other person isn’t even there.

Jungkook told you earlier today that he had already finished his photography portfolio, so there would unfortunately be no sneaky glances over his shoulder to see if you can catch a glimpse of one of the pictures. Which is fine by you, you’re just a little embarrassed that Jungkook had told you this outright. Not that you were planning to do exactly that, but you were planning to do exactly that.

Part of you. more than anything, wants to know why Jungkook won’t just show you himself. Why he’s being so secretive, so protective of his photography project when you both know already exactly what’s in it. For God’s sake, he just spent the entire week taking photos of you non-stop. It’s like not as if any part of this is a mystery to either of you. What more could he have done?

Whatever. You aren’t going to force it if he doesn’t want you to. You suppose that maybe one day, far into the future, he’ll finally decide that the time is right.

“I’m so fucking tired,” Jungkook declares lifelessly as he gets up from where he’s sitting on your bed, dead inside. “I need a break.”

“Are you going to the kitchen? Can you make me some tea, please?” You ask him, looking up from the laptop on your desk.

Jungkook nods wordlessly before disappearing out of the room.

You and Jungkook’s best study practice to maximize productivity is the taking of each other’s cell phones so that the other cannot be tempted to look at it. It’s worked plenty of times before and will probably work plenty of times again, because as they say, out of sight, out of mind.

Unfortunately, it’s hard to pretend that your phone is out of sight when it’s been buzzing on your bedside table for the past five minutes, and your fingers have been itching to get over there and answer your damn notifications. So, while Jungkook is out of the room, you decide to cheat a little by dashing over there just to see what the heck is going on in the rest of the world.

As it turns out, nothing much. Just Maisie texting you as she binges yet another television show, giving spoiler-free updates anytime anything remotely dramatic happens. You have a couple of new emails as well.

The thing that actually catches your attention the most, is Jungkook’s laptop screen.

There’s just a Word document open on it, but a Word document is a far cry from his usual coding program or Photoshop. Because you can’t help yourself, you peer over to see what he’s written.

What did you learn about yourself through this assignment? How do you think you’ve changed?

Hard to say that I have. I don’t think I learned something about myself so much as I confirmed what I already knew, cementing it as a real thought in my brain, rather than just a daydream. Nothing changed in the way that my best friend and I interacted, and I can almost confirm that nothing changed in the way that she feels about me, just as nothing changed in the way I feel about her. I guess you could say I learned that I don’t think anything could ever change the way I feel about her.

What?

Do you think you’ll ever look back on this project, whether it be as a reference or a memory?

Yes. Not as a reference but to remind myself of this very moment in my life—a single week over the course of my life that I felt was worth saving. I imagine that there will come a time, far in the future, where my best friend and I have separated a little bit, found our own lives and created our own families with our own people. And when that happens, I will look back on this project to remind myself of who we used to be. How we used to feel about each other. Maybe, by that point in time, it won’t hurt as much as it does now.

This feels personal. Maybe you should stop reading. But there’s just one more question left on the page…

This assignment forced you to create an entire portfolio, from scratch, using a subject you would have to regularly schedule time with. It was demanding. But, that said, would you ever do this again?

Yes. If it meant getting to spend more time with her, take more photos of her, see her smile once more, I would do it a thousand times over.

“Y/N?”

You hadn’t even heard the kettle whistling.

“Jungkook,” you say, breathless, caught red-handed.

“What are you doing?” He asks, placing your steaming cup of tea down on the desk as he stares back at you in horror, in surprise, in worry, in something. Something that gives you this imminent sense of impending doom.

“Uh—”

“Were you reading my computer screen?”

It’s not like you could say you were doing anything else.

“I couldn’t help myself, I came over here to check my phone since it’s been buzzing like crazy and your computer was right there and I just…” you sputter out, thoughts swirling inside your head.

(I will look back on this project to remind myself of who we used to be. How we used to feel about each other. Maybe, by that point in time, it won’t hurt as much as it does now.

If it meant getting to see her smile once more, I would do it a thousand times over.

I guess you could say I learned that I don’t think anything could ever change the way I feel about her.)

“What do you mean, how you feel about me?” You ask, because you can’t help yourself. Because the sound of his voices echoes in your head like the beat of a drum, over and over and over. Because you’re staring back at him and even if he just caught you snooping through his computer you can never be worried when it comes to him. Because everything he has ever done puts you at ease.

“Y/N, that is private, why would you read something like that?” He asks, each word a sucker punch into your heart.

“Because I just had to know, okay?” You shout back. “I had to know what you were hiding from me.”

“So you decided to snoop through my computer to see if you could figure it out yourself?” He demands, storming over to you.

“So you are hiding something?”

“That’s not the point, the point is that—”

“What are you not telling me, Jungkook?” You cry out, watching as he approaches you, dark eyes piercing your gaze. “Why won’t you show me your goddamn portfolio? If there’s really nothing to be afraid of, why are you keeping it from me? I’m your best friend, I’m the fucking subject of your project? Don’t I deserve to see it? Why won’t you show me?”

“Because then you’d know!” Jungkook shouts back, leaving deafening silence in his wake. You look up at him, blinking. In front of you, Jungkook is out of breath, chest heaving.

He looks so strained. So tired. Like he’s been carrying around this secret for months now, maybe even years, and this is the final straw. This is what has sent the both of you crashing down upon each other. This stupid fucking project. You’ve known Jungkook ever since the beginning of your freshman year, and never before have you seen him so hopeless.

“Jungkook—?”

“You’d know, goddamnit,” Jungkook says, hand coming up to rub at his forehead, dragging down his cheek. “And I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that.”

“Know what? What would I know?”

Jungkook closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. Opens them again. “That I’m in love with you.”

The words drift in between the two of you, hovering in the air like feathers. You see them, clear as day, in front of you, hear them echoing in your head, over and over and over again. Feel the way your blood is pumping, the way your heart is beating.

“You’re in love with me?” You ask him.

“I didn’t want you to find out this way,” Jungkook admits. “Or at all, really. But I have been, for a while now.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was afraid that I’d lose you.”

You chuckle, a small, little thing from the back of your throat. “You must have known I’d never let that happen, hmm?”

Jungkook smiles softly. “I was scared. Can you blame me? You’re my best friend.”

“And you are mine,” you remind him.

“It’s just—” Jungkook begins, like the gates of a dam are opening up. “We’d known each other for so long, and we have such a good thing going as is, always texting and calling and hanging out together, studying together on Sunday nights and seeing each other during the week, and I didn’t want to ruin anything. And then my professor assigned this project, and the only person I could think of to take photos was you, but I didn’t want to ask that of you in case you thought it was weird, but you suggested it anyway so I said yes, but I knew. I knew then that the moment I took one goddamn photo of you it would be obvious, and that if you ever saw you would just know. Stuff like that is easy to pick up in pictures, because a camera is like, tunnel vision for whatever it is you want to focus on most, and that’s you, that’s always been you, so I—”

“Jungkook,” you interrupt, reaching out to him, pressing a soft hand to his cheek. “Just, shut up, okay?”

And then you cup his head in both of your hands, and press a kiss to his lips. A small one, if nothing else, but a kiss nonetheless. You press your lips against his own and immediately you feel the sparks rush through you, this flash of heat that settles into something softer, something sweeter. It ignites and soothes you all at once, like a stray lightning bolt out on the open ocean. Like a single clap of thunder and the pitter patter of rain.

You press a kiss to his lips and when you pull away, Jungkook’s eyes are closed, lips parted ever so slightly. And for a moment there, you almost think you did the wrong thing.

But barely a second more passes before he’s scooping you up in his arms and pulling you in close to him, his lips finding yours like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. He holds you tight, hands pressed against the small of your back as he kisses you, warm and fiery and full, as if he can’t get enough, as if this is his only chance. You gasp into it before relaxing in his hold, cold hands on his warm cheeks, body melting at the feeling of him, of him all over you, of his hands and his mouth and his chest, this perfect, solid figure.

He kisses you and it sends heat shooting through your body, filling you up from the inside out, like your heart has burst and filled your bloodstream with fire, with sparks of warmth that tingle all over. He kisses you, and everywhere his hands press is another sizzle to your skin, an electric shock that makes you giggle into his mouth.

He kisses you and it feels like a storm has settled, feels like gentle rain after a hurricane, feels like waves crashing against the shore. He kisses you and it is the only thing you can think about.

By the time you part once more, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Jungkook so blissed out.

“See?” You point out softly. “Nothing to be afraid of.”

Jungkook looks positively dazed. “I think I need to lie down.”

“Ooh, was I that good?” You tease.

“I’m dreaming.” He shakes his head. “I’m definitely fucking dreaming.”

Jungkook sinks onto your bed, hitting the mattress with a thud. He stares mindlessly in front of him, like his brain needs time to process.

You smile to yourself. He can have all the time in the world.

“Is this real?” He mumbles when you sit down next to him, press another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Are you real?”

“Just like you,” you promise him. “I didn’t know this is what we had been missing, all this time.”

“It wasn’t missing,” Jungkook assures you. “It was just hidden.”

“I love you,” you whisper, watching him swallow the words like a glass of wine. “I think I always have. You just needed to say it first.”

“Oblivious as always.” Jungkook grins, smiling against your lips. “But I’m glad. If this is what it would take, then I’m glad.”

“You wouldn’t change anything?” You ask him, eyes wide and curious.

It’s hard to know how long you and Jungkook have been secretly pining over each other. Hard to know how long Jungkook has known that he’s loved you, how long it’s been since you started to feel the same, even if subconsciously. It’s hard to know how long you would have kept going if not for this project. It might have been months. Years. Years that Jungkook was willing to spend holding back, if only it meant keeping you by his side.

“No,” Jungkook says like it’s the easiest answer in the world. “I have you now. Why would I?”

What did you learn about yourself through this assignment? How do you think you’ve changed?

Previously, I had responded to this question by saying that I hadn’t learned anything, and felt that nothing changed in my life. Then, some things happened. And after those things, I learned that I am the luckiest man alive. To know my best friend is one thing. To love her is a privilege. To have her love me back is nothing less than a miracle.

Do you think you’ll ever look back on this project, whether it be as a reference or a memory?

Yes. Every day for the rest of my life. I don’t think I’ve ever been as thankful to receive a homework assignment as I am, right now. I owe everything to this project. It is the reason I have her.

This assignment forced you to create an entire portfolio, from scratch, using a subject you would have to regularly schedule time with. It was demanding. But, that said, would you ever do this again?

Yes. I want to take photos of her for the rest of my life. I want to save every memory we ever share together. So that far into the future, we can look back on them together and say, “Remember that?”

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenario #jungkook scenario #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #bts au #jungkook au #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #w: the love project #yes i am finishing this at 6am on the day its meant to be posted... MIND UR OWN BUSINESS

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silverpsychedelic · 3 years ago

Photo

Been doing some character building with Vaude, the youngest of the BaliGHTS family and it comes with a bit of angst. It might be a little long so I’ll place it under a cut!

So, for starters, Vaude was born with a very rare Nightmaren condition that left him rather frail as a little kid. NiGHTS and Balan have no idea exactly why this happened, especially because Ambi and the twins were born without any complications whatsoever. This condition has been dubbed in Nightmare as ‘Split Soul Syndrome’, where a Nightmaren is born with their Ideya core on the outside of their body. It’s like NiGHTS having an exposed ideya core in the form of their red gem, except it’s gone too far and the ideya is completely exposed, born alongside the body.

A Nightmaren with this condition can live a normal life, but their cores are much more prone to damage because they have no body to act as a shield from otherwise fairly harmless scrapes and knocks. Their ideya has to exist close to them at all times, if it’s taken too far away from them the Nightmaren’s body will effectively shut down and go into a comatosed, protective state until the ideya is returned within range again. Due to this Nightmaren will often find means of carrying their ideya around to make sure it doesn’t get harmed, in the forms of bags, backpacks, jewelry etc.

This whole thing sort of set off some pretty intense, instinctual protectiveness in NiGHTS, far more than they had with their other kids. Usually, NiGHTS is fairly laid back, they give their children room to explore and learn things, while reminding them that they are always there if they need it. In fact, Balan is usually the overprotective one. But knowing Vaude had a serious condition like this, it set them off. They would watch him like a hawk, they became anxious and overbearing in their means to keep him and his ideya safe. It came from a good place, but nobody had ever seen them this intense before. It put some strain on NiGHTS and Vaude’s relationship, especially when he was getting a little older and wanted to be able to play and act and get up to mischief like a normal kid. NiGHTS and Balan would argue about it, something that was very uncommon for the pair to do, and it left Vaude feeling even worse.

There was a moment a nasty argument happened between Vaude and NiGHTS, built up over a very long time of frustration within the youngster. Vaude threw his ideya so hard it hit a wall on the far side of the room, chipping it ever so slightly. Vaude instantly blacked out for a few moments, NiGHTS managed to retieve the ideya in record time, and when the younger Maestro came to they had a very long, very tear-filled talk about things. The ideya wasn’t damaged too badly, and nothing a bit of time and extra care wouldn’t heal, but it was a moment NiGHTS saw the kind of person they were becoming in their fear of Vaude getting hurt.

Needless to say, after that moment NiGHTS started working on how to control their newfound anxiety, and Balan was especially helpful in giving them some new, extra therapy. Things got better for everyone, and instead of trying to bubble wrap the world around Vaude, NiGHTS and Balan instead learned how to make him feel far more accommodated (they even got him a snazzy backpack to keep his ideya in so it wasn’t so frustrating to carry around!). When he was old enough, Vaude learned how to encase his ideya in a protective shell, and decided to attach it to the end of his hair to disguise it as decoration -and that’s what the strange orb is on the end of his locs!

Vaude also immediately learned how to use his ragdoll physics as a means to be a little shit, including chucking his ideya as far as he can when asked to do chores so his bones stop working. Can’t do shit if you’re unconscious.

Pic credit to @emirrart, who absolutely decimated me with this picture. He’ll be out anywhere from 5 minutes to 3 hours. NiGHTS only asked him to wash the dishes, ffs

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anabsolutetrainwreck · 4 years ago

Text

through the warning signs || h. styles

warnings: a couple of swears, mentions of covid

word count: 3.1k

summary: you first met harry on the set of dunkirk, but now you’re reunited on the set of his new film...

Films had always fascinated you. The endless possibilities of art you could create, from the cinematography to the mise en scène, even to the sound, had always blown your mind. So, even from an early age, you always knew you wanted to get into filmmaking somehow. You were perhaps the worst actor to ever grace the planet, so acting was never an option for you. But alas, you studied film studies in school and went to university for the very same thing. At first, you’d considered becoming a cinematographer, but you realised you could entwine your love of film production and fashion. So, you found yourself as a costume designer.

In 2014, your dearest friend, Louisa, had dragged you to see Christopher Nolan’s Interstellar. She had an unhealthy obsession with Timothée Chalamet at the time, and had made you watch every single film he’d been in - big role or small. So, while Louisa was busy being in love with Timothée Chalamet, you were busy nursing an adoration for Christopher Nolan films. And then, in 2016, you found yourself in Dunkerque, France, working alongside Mr Nolan himself.

As well as being incredibly interested in films, you were also somewhat of a history buff in school. So, working on a film like Dunkirk alongside names like Kenneth Branagh and Cillian Murphy, was one of the most surreal first days on the job. Or, more notably, Harry Styles. Though Louisa was then going through her Tom Hardy phase, she was once a massive One Direction fan. And, though you never bothered to learn every last fact that was public knowledge about them, you could certainly appreciate their music.

As the weeks went on, you began to slip into place more. The more time that passed, the more you knew this was the career for you. And, you knew it wasn’t very professional, but you developed somewhat of a liking towards the singer. He was nice to you. But, then again, he was nice to everybody. It was just in his nature. You weren’t even sure he knew your name...

And then filming wrapped and you never saw him again. The pair of you had never exchanged numbers or followed each other on social media. And that was the end of that. And, after a month or so, your little crush on Harry died away. And, even when you went to the premiere, you only got a couple of glances at him.

In the three years since you last saw him, you’d never forgotten about him. It wasn’t exactly an easy feat forgetting about Harry Styles. But he had definitely been pushed to the back of your mind. Plenty of things had managed to take the front seat since then. You’d won an Oscar for Best Costume Design for your work on Greta Gerwig’s adaptation of Little Women at the beginning of 2020, which was completely insane (Louisa was still more amazed by the fact that you got to work with Timothée Chalamet). The award sat on your mantelpiece in your London flat beside a picture of Louisa and yourself.

However, more recently, you’d taken a place on the crew of Olivia Wilde’s new film: Don’t Worry, Darling. You’d worked on Booksmart with her and she simply adored you. Before production had even begun, you could already tell you were going to love working on this film. It was a psychological thriller set in the 50s - you were in love already. Not only that, but it was starring one of your good friends you’d made in the industry: Florence Pugh.

This all seemed great, until you were notified that Harry Styles would be taking the place of Shia LaBeouf to play ‘Jack’. You promised yourself that you wouldn’t let yourself be caught up by his unintentional charm once again. So, on the first day of filming, you turned up in your puffer jacket (despite it being filmed in California).

You had already worked with Olivia before filming on the costumes, or at least a large bulk of them. It was an odd sort of dynamic; she wanted you to take control simply due to your brilliant eye for fashion, especially vintage fashion, and you wanted her to take control as it was her film. In the end, you managed to create a cooperative working environment.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t stalling as you were fixing up Florence’s costume. Harry’s needed doing next and you didn’t exactly want to face him. You’d tried desperately to stay out of Harry’s sight. And, so far, you’d been successful. When it came to measuring, you’d kindly asked one of your assistants to measure him (and she was more than happy to do so). But all your clever sneaking around was about to go down the drain. “You all right, Y/N?” Flo asked, noticing your shaky hands and your incessant fiddling.

You nodded quickly, “Yeah. Yeah, sorry. I think you’re good to go.”

She smiled, “Thanks. Love you.”

“Love you too!” you grinned as you watched her jog away. She disappeared behind a couple of trailers. As you approached Harry, who was busy talking to a couple of other crew members, you tried to convince yourself that, if you kept your head down, there was no way Harry would attempt to make small talk as you fixed his costume. You’d have your mask on, so there was absolutely no way he’d recognise you. Besides, it had been four years since you filmed Dunkirk, he wouldn’t even remember you. As you neared Harry and one of the gaffers, you cleared your throat, “Do you mind if I steal Harry for a second?”

“Sure,” the gaffer nodded, turning to work on some of the lighting. Keeping your head down and your hands quick, you got to work on adjusting his tuxedo. Awkward was definitely an understatement. Or, it was for you, at least. In an odd sort of way, you were begging for him to make some sort of conversation to ease the sheer awkwardness, but you prayed he stayed silent at the same time. Alas, your prayers weren’t enough. “It’s Y/N, right?” his voice came, though slightly muffled by his mask, you made it out clearly.

“Uh, yeah,” you nodded, adjusting his cuffs and trying your very hardest not to make eye contact with him.

“Congratulations on your Oscar,” was what he said next. “It was for Little Women, right?”

That got you to look up at him. Had he actually remembered your name all of four years or had he just recognised you when you made your acceptance speech at the Oscars? Maybe Florence had just mentioned your Oscar win earlier in the year, and that was how he knew. “Yeah, it was,” you replied. “Congratulations on your album.”

“Cheers,” he said. It was a good album - both of his were. Louisa had forced you to listen to his entire discography whenever you drove her around. Not that you were exactly complaining, you enjoyed Harry’s music. And, just as the awkwardness was beginning to pour back into the atmosphere, he added, “It’s no Oscar, though.”

“It was a bloody good album, though. It was nominated for a Brit too, wasn’t it?” you asked, vaguely remembering Louisa scream in your ear that Fine Line had been nominated for Best Album, or something along those lines.

He nodded, “Well, yeah.”

And, just like that, the conversation fizzled out into uneasy silence. You wanted to kick yourself for being such a shit conversationalist; there’s people who would kill to have a chat with Harry Styles. Yet, here you were, complimenting an album you weren’t even sure you could name all the songs on. Thankfully, the sound of Olivia’s voice caught your attention, “Y/N!”

The two of you turned to see her approaching quickly. She was waving two samples of fabric in front of you, “Oh, hi, Harry. Good thing you’re here, actually. Which of these were you thinking of for his other suit?”

You took both from her, inspecting them closely. One was a brown and the other was a blue, slightly lighter than a navy. “Well, I thought both would work. I mean, it’s up to you, but I think the brown contrasts with Florence’s costume better,” you replied. “But then I’ve got this lovely tie set aside for the blue. So, really it’s your decision.”

She hummed, agreeing with what you said, “I see what you mean. We could always use the blue for a different scene?”

You shrugged, nodding, “Yeah, I mean, the brown will definitely work better with Florence’s costume for those couple of scenes we’re shooting in Palm Springs. But, like I said, the blue is very fifties.”

She smiled, “Brilliant. I’ll sort out the brown, then.”

Quickly, you said, “No, it’s okay. I’ll sort it out when I’m finished with Harry.”

She thanked you as she left. Harry couldn’t take his eyes off you as you worked away, your eyebrows furrowed slightly as you sorted the hem of his trousers. And, thank God for the mandatory masks, as he couldn’t help the smile that danced across his lips. Then, in no time at all, Harry was snapped out of his small trance at the sound of your voice, “Right, you’re good to go.”

“Cheers, Y/N,” he smiled slightly, watching as you walked off towards one of your assistants. Sighing softly to himself, he left to find Florence.

The two weeks the entire cast and crew had off due to somebody testing positive for covid was a lovely break for you. As well as constant fear that they’d just call Don’t Worry, Darling off completely and you’d be out of work again. And the relentless guilt you felt for having to stay at Florence’s for the two weeks with her boyfriend because you didn’t have your own house in America, and you couldn’t fly back and forth between England and America. And the nights where you cried into Florence’s arms as you missed your family from back home. And the nights where you couldn’t sleep because you began to overthink things like if you’d locked your front door or turned the oven off. But, other than that, it’d been a smooth run.

But now you were back and in Palm Springs. And the sun was out and you were longing for a cold shower. You found yourself stood in front of Harry once more, trying to decide which tie would work best with his brown suit. He’d followed you on Instagram since your first interaction since Dunkirk, which received an onslaught of ecstatic texts from Louisa. But that was as far as it had ever gone. None of your conversations progressed past his costumes or anything work-related. And, when you first turned up on set on the very first day of production, that was what you’d wanted. But now you had to surround yourself with him everyday, you longed for him to ask about something other than the job. You wanted to discuss favourite novels and guilty pleasures and pet peeves and bad habits and embarrassing childhood stories with him. All these little things you wanted him to know about you.

Your mind was wandering and it took you a moment to realise that you weren’t even thinking about which tie worked best anymore. Your head was full of swirling fantasies that you knew would never come to be.

Harry, however, didn’t notice your zoned out expression either. He was too busy trying to figure out whether you were single due to the shirt you were wearing, which hung much too large on your frame. And the feeling of knowing there was a possibility that you were living a happy life with somebody else was beginning to rip him up inside. He was trying to remember if you’d thanked a boyfriend in your acceptance speech at the Oscars, but that all seemed so long ago now - he couldn’t possibly remember. So, in spite of himself, he asked, “Missing your boyfriend, then?”

You looked up at him, your hands dropping down to your sides. “What?”

“Your boyfriend - are you missing him?” Harry repeated, a small smile on his face to make his tone sound slightly less bitter.

“Oh, I don’t have a boyfriend,” you replied, finally settling on a tie.

“You don’t? I just figured, you know, with the shirt...” he trailed off, prompting you to elaborate.

You chuckled awkwardly, “Right, of course. I only do it to make myself appear less single.”

He laughed, but it was mainly out of relief. It wasn’t like he’d forgotten about you from the set of his first movie, you just hadn’t been on his mind for the four years following. But then he’d turned up on the first day of filming, seen you laughing with Florence and Olivia, and everything just came rushing back to him. All of the pent up feelings and the nights pondering all of the what ifs and the maybes. “Well, you fooled me,” he smiled.

“Just my ingenious plans working, as usual,” you joked, earning a small laugh from Harry.

As you finished wrapping the tie around Harry’s shirt collar, you informed him you were finished. He thanked you and left to get his hair and makeup done. You practically jumped out of your skin at the sound of Florence’s voice behind you, “I’m pretty sure if he asks you about your love life, it means he likes you.”

“Don’t sneak up on me like that!” you exclaimed, hitting Flo’s shoulder with the tie you opted not to use.

She laughed loudly, “You know I’m right!”

“He’s just making small talk.”

“No, Y/N, small talk is how nice the weather is, not ‘oh, are you single?’”

“Okay, firstly, he didn’t say that. Secondly, it’s California - it’s always nice weather,” you retorted. As much as you fought back, you quite liked the idea that Florence thought Harry liked you.

“You know what I mean!” she replied, grinning her infamous broad, cheeky smile. “Don’t even try and act like you wouldn’t mind if he liked you!”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you said sheepishly, a small smile gracing your features. As aforementioned - you were perhaps the worst actor to grace the planet.

“I knew it!” she grinned excitedly.

“Don’t you have hair to be done?” you chuckled, pushing her towards where she needed to go to get her hair styled for the shoot.

“This isn’t over, Y/N!” she called back as she slowly disappeared.

The following day, as you were patching up one of Chris Pine’s suits, Florence came and sat down opposite you. She had one of those devious smirks on her face and you knew that couldn’t mean anything good. You placed your needle down, staring expectantly at her. “How can I be of assistance?” you asked skeptically.

“Well, as your dear friend, I thought it was my duty to report back to you. So, I’d like to tell you that our good pal Harry was asking about you,” she grinned.

You sighed, “Was he? And what was he asking?”

“Something about if you have any allergies,” she replied.

“Wow,” you laughed, “must be hopelessly in love with me then.”

“No, listen. He asked about your allergies and then he asked what kind of food you liked. So, my guess is he’s going to ask you to dinner.”

“We’ll see,” you said, offering her a smile in the hopes that she’d just drop it.

“Indeed we will. I’ll see you in a bit, Y/N,” she grinned, pinching your cheeks as she got up. “Love you!”

You chuckled, “Love you too!”

And, just like that, you were left to your own devices. Though your flow had been disrupted, you got back to stitching up Chris’ suit, which had a minor tear in the lapel. Working on a film set, you were used to being interrupted; people would come and go, asking you all sorts of questions. You always found it pretty easy to get back into your rhythm. However, when Harry came and took the place of Florence, you were sure you wouldn’t be able to get back into your desired flow easily. “Oh, hey, Harry,” you greeted. “Are you okay?”

He nodded quickly. He wasn’t hiding his nervous shifting very well - despite how good of an actor he may be. He fiddled with his fingers, which lay in his lap. They were lacking the many, expensive-looking rings they usually adorned. He was out of costume, instead dressed in a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. His hair wasn’t slicked back and full of gel like it usually was on set. “Yeah, yeah. I’m okay,” he said, rather unconvincingly.

His eyes followed your fingers as they gripped the little needle, weaving it in and out of one of suit’s lapels. Another wave of awkwardness washed over the pair. But, for once, you didn’t feel uncomfortable. You weren’t the one who came over to start the conversation. “Are you busy tonight?” he suddenly asked, his voice almost shaky.

“Uh, no. Not if I can get this lapel finished,” you replied, your tone joking. Your eyes were still trained on your needle, but your mind was most definitely concentrating on every last syllable that fell from Harry’s lips.

He let out an awkward, breathy chuckle, “Right. Um, well, I was wondering if you maybe wanted to grab something to eat?”

You couldn’t help the tiny grin that pulled at the corner of your lips, “I’d love to.”

This was what you felt you’d been waiting for for a good four years. And, thank God, Florence had warned you that she suspected Harry was thinking of asking you out, otherwise you weren’t sure you’d be able to get out any comprehensible words. “Great,” he grinned, whatever nervousness that had been racing through his veins seemed to slowly drown away. “I’ll see you tonight, then. At 6?”

You nodded, overwhelmed with serotonin, trying to suppress the urge to let out a loud squeal. You knew you’d get back to Florence’s, share a glass of predate wine with her and dance about happily in her kitchen. All of these marvellous emotions swept through your body, which was abuzz with electric euphoria. And yet, all you replied was, with a small smile, “At 6.”

part two.

#harry fanfic #harry fanfiction #harry imagine #harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry oneshot #harry styles oneshot #harry imagines #harry styles imagines #harry x y/n #harry x you #harry x reader

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leiawritesstories · 3 years ago

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A New Partnership

Rowaelin Month, Day 12: Delayed Love Confession. Ballet AU :) Sort of played with the whole “love confession” thing.....

Word count: 1167

Warnings: Language, innuendo

After such a long and grueling day, all Aelin wanted to do was go back to the apartment she shared with two of her fellow soloists and crash. Fridays suck, she had decided. First company class at eight-thirty, then in-studio rehearsals until nearly one o’clock, followed by a break barely long enough to swallow some food and water, and then studio or stage rehearsals until seven.

And because it was a Friday, there was a performance at eight-fifteen. Thank all the gods she wasn’t in this cast, but she was an understudy, so she had to be in the wings.

She tugged off her rehearsal tutu and plopped it onto the rack, then dropped down onto the floor by her overflowing bag and untied her pointes, sighing in pure bliss as her feet were freed. And since her right shoe bent nearly in half when she pushed on it, the shoes were good and dead. Aelin riffled through the contents of her bag and located a new pair, sewn and ready for wear if she needed them. Good. One less thing to worry about on the off chance she had to perform. But gods, she hoped she didn’t need to.

Because Don Quixote rehearsals that day had been hell.

When she first saw she’d been cast as one of the Kitris, Aelin had nearly passed out from shock. Then Dorian Havilliard, British soloist and a great friend of hers, had practically tackled her in the hallway, he was so excited to be cast as her Basilio, and the joy of a major soloist role set in. During the first rehearsals, the solos, that joy wore off real fast, replaced by an endless string of shit, that’s a lot of choreography, goddamn character skirts, that’s a sissone arabesque, not attitude, SPOT YOUR TURNS!, and stress.

By the time pas de deux rehearsals started, she’d finally got most of her solo work down, but was nervous for the Act III grand pas de deux, given the lifts it entailed and how perfectly precise the timing had to be. She and Dorian had been partners before, so he knew how she adjusted to lifts, but fish dives were another beast. They worked at that particular pas for a solid week before learning the rest, and even spent some early mornings in the upstairs studio going over the lift sequences.

Last week, Peter and Delaney, the pas de deux rehearsal coaches, had asked Aelin and Dorian to rehearse with Rowan Whitethorn and Nesta Archeron, the principals who were Basilio and Kitri in first cast. Peter and Delaney were notorious for asking partnered pairs to switch partners for a rehearsal, so Aelin braced herself for the potential that she could very well be stuck with Whitethorn for an hour and a half.

Not that she’d mind being stuck to that piece.

But she was used to Dorian’s partnering. So, when the coaches announced a partner swap, Aelin’s usual rehearsal calm gave way to nerves, which she tried to squash down before dancing. Rowan, damn him, noticed her trying to steady her breathing, and whispered something to the effect of “I promise not to drop you.” She half-grinned, her nerves easing.

“You do that and I’ll battement you with my pointes, Whitethorn.” He gulped.

To everyone’s shock, Aelin and Rowan’s pairing had more natural chemistry that Aelin and Dorian, Nesta and Rowan, and Nesta and Dorian. The coaches held a quick whispered conference after watching the two run the grand pas, and then informed them that they would be making this swap a casting change. Aelin distinctly heard Dorian try to muffle his exclamation of “Bloody fucking hell!”

So began her remarkably quick transition to a completely different partner. Rowan was twenty-three and had joined The Orynth Ballet last season, transferring in as a principal from Doranelle National Ballet. He and Aelin shared company class and little else, save a few rehearsals where she was understudying his cast partner. It was a shock to both of them how easily they clicked, both as dancers and in their roles. Aelin loved Kitri, loved the fiery, sassy Spanish personality she got to become, and she absolutely loved throwing a little bit of extra flirtation into her Kitri’s interactions with Rowan’s Basilio.

After all, she wasn’t about to just admit she liked him.

So she threw the day’s dead pointes into her bag, pulled on sweats and a wrap, and made herself get up and walk back to the dressing rooms to change into performance tights and put on some makeup. As an understudy, she didn’t need to do full stage makeup, but some foundation and lipstick and false lashes would be good enough if she had to suddenly run onstage. Dressed and made up, Aelin made her way down to the stage entrance, smothering a groan before entering. She set her bag down in the back of the stage right wing and slid down onto the floor, stretching her tired legs.

“Feeling the effects of the day, are we now?” drawled a low male voice from her left.

“Shut the hell up, Whitethorn,” she grumbled, “but yes.”

He settled down alongside her. “Who’re you here for?”

“Technically, Alanna, but Brian had me learn all the corps parts so I can step in for anyone. Because he’s lazy.”

“All of them?”

“All of them.”

Rowan shook his head. “He really is a dick sometimes.”

Aelin snorted. “Sometimes, says the star transfer. Welcome to the company.”

They fell into silence for a while, just watching their company mates onstage. During an interlude corps waltz, one of the other soloists came over to talk to Aelin and made extra sure to cast a few appreciative glances Rowan’s way. He saw Aelin snicker and wiggle her eyebrows at one of her friend’s comments, and poked her arm once her friend left.

“Care to share what, exactly, you found so entertaining?”

She smirked. “I won’t repeat her exact words, but let’s just say Cora wouldn’t mind a piece of your Spandexed ass.”

“She won’t get any of it,” he said dryly.

“Oh? And who would?”

“I’m looking at her.”

Aelin’s jaw dropped. “Rowan--I--You’ve literally been here for less than six months!”

“And head over heels for you for five, at least.” She just stared at him, eyes wide. “Shit, Ae, I didn’t mean to scare you or--”

“I’m not scared, Whitethorn, just...shit. I didn’t think you’d grow the cojones to admit it. Thought I’d have to tell you how I get myself off with fantasies of you before you’d ever say anything.”

Rowan choked on whatever he was about to say. When he finally stopped coughing into his arm, he gasped, “Gods, I love talking to you. Every time. Every time, you manage to shock me with something like...that.”

She grinned. “You do?”

“I do. Hell yes I do. Will you go to dinner with me after this show?”

“Only if you buy me chocolate hazelnut cake.”

“Deal.”

#rowaelin month #ballerina au #my writing

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helliontherapscallion · 4 years ago

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Sweet and Sour (Adrenaline Junkie Part 14)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: swearing, descriptions of blood, talks of hypothetically dying, bones/teeth

Word Count: 2,392

(A/N): the next part is currently in the works and probably will be out by tomorrow/late at night tonight

The days ticked closer and closer until you had only mere hours left until your scheduled departure for the cave. With each passing day, you became more anxious and paranoid, your prosthetic wing constantly malfunctioning until you programmed it to respond solely to your conscious movement and not the random twitching of your muscles. It took you a bit to get used to, but you quickly got the hang of it. It felt closer to having an actual wing on your back again, but not exactly. Nothing beat the feeling of the wind resisting against both wings at the same time.

You doubted if Philza knew anything, but you did know that he suspected something. He knew you like the back of his hand and vice versa. You both knew each other all too well, he raised you and you spent most of your time with him growing up after all.

Currently, you are obsessively reading over your will and the book you wrote for Arthur full of redstoning advice and what you’ve learned over the years. After rereading your letters to your family and your will, you decided that this is exactly how you wanted everything to turn out if you ended up not surviving this. Which, the chances of you actually surviving this was slim to none.

However, you remained hopeful as there were several unknown variables in the equation. How big this thing was, its age, and most importantly what the cave currently looked like. It’s been multiple years and there might’ve been more erosion over the years altering the surface of the stone. From what you remembered, the ceilings were at least a hundred feet tall, so you had plenty of room to hover above it when needed. You had no clue if the ledge was still there, but if it was the being most definitely could snatch you up. You were going to have to be careful. Besides, you had a son you had to live for. You were going to get out of there alive. For Arthur. For Philza. For Wilbur. For Tommy. For Technoblade.

You reread your plans. Plan A consisted of you sneaking in (making sure this time to keep your wings close to your body), planting TNT, and setting it off with a lever as far away from the deepest part of the cave as you could. Plan B, if Plan A failed and the Warden noticed your presence, was to use the portable TNT launcher while flying as high as you could. If that failed, then you were kind of screwed. Plan C consisted of dropping everything and running for your life. You’d admit, they weren’t the most well thought out plans, but it was all you could think of.

You made sure your wing was secured on your back correctly with a full movement test before you slung your bag onto your back stocked full of redstone and TNT and put your portable TNT launcher into the holster on your hip.

You took a deep breath and gathered your papers before you took one last look at your old workshop. You made sure to scrub it clean of redstone residue and re-sorted the blueprints so that everything was easier to find in the filing cabinets. You were sure that your… unique method of not sorting anything and just knowing where everything was would be very annoying to attempt to sort through. Even Arthur couldn’t figure out your sorting system and he was the smartest kid you knew.

Oh Arthur… He was probably sleeping right now. Or at least you hoped he would be; it was midnight. With light footing, you walked up the stairs to the second floor and straight to Wilbur’s old room. Your little boy was sleeping peacefully burrowed underneath the covers. You could hear his soft snores exiting his mouth.

You smiled lightly and walked over to him, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling back the covers to see his face. His mouth was parted slightly with a small amount of drool coming out of the corner of his mouth. You reached out to stroke his curly copper hair and smiled wider at the sight of his nose scrunching slightly before he relaxed with a small smile on his face. You leaned down to place a lingering kiss on his forehead before you covered him back up again and started to quietly walk out of the room.

“Ren?” That was what he started calling you after he gave you the magnets. It was short for ‘parent’. You froze and felt your body warm up at his sleepy tone. You turned around and watched as he rubbed at his eye with the back of his hand and yawned. “Hey Artie, go back to sleep buddy.” You walked over to him and gently pushed him back into the pillows. He nodded and grabbed your sleeve.

“Can you get me a glass of water please?” He sounded so out of it. “Of course, buddy.” You grabbed your bag and slung it back over your shoulder. You quietly went downstairs and filled up a glass with water. You sat it on the counter and pulled out your papers and the hefty book you had written from your bag. You spread them all out on the dining room table where Philza was sure to see it in the morning. You hopefully should be back before the time he usually woke up so you could just grab them and trash them when you get back.

Before you got back to Arthur’s room, you shed your bag and TNT launcher by the front door. You didn’t know if he saw them before, but he definitely didn’t need to see them now. Inside, Arthur was propped up on his chin desperately fighting against sleep. You walked over to him and gave him his water, scolding him lightly when he didn’t fully sit up so he wouldn’t choke. When he was satisfied, he put the water on the nightstand and laid back down. He looked up at you with sleep dazed eyes, “where are you going?”

You froze and sat on his bed, “I’m not going anywhere, I’m right here.” He scrunched up his nose and stared at you in annoyance, “no you aren’t, you’re going somewhere.”

You stared at him before you sighed, “I’m just going… to get more redstone. I just need a bit more to finish what I’m working on. I won’t be gone for long, I promise.”

“Can- can you stay here? At least until I fall back asleep?”

“Of course, my little fledgling.”

He looked up at you timidly, “will you always be with me?”

You rubbed your hand up and down his arm soothingly, “I’ll never leave you. Even if I’m away, you’ll always have a piece of me with you,” you grabbed your feather he kept on his nightstand and handed it to him. It was one of your primary feathers you lost in one of your last molts in the house before you left for L’manberg that you found between your bed and your wall. It was an impressive size being about a foot long, but your wings have long since grown bigger alongside your body’s growth. You were about to throw it away one day after doing a deep clean of your old room, but the boy was amazed by the patterns and the size of the feather. So you, being the caring parent you were, gave it to him. Since then, you’ve found him on several instances holding the feather to his chest in his sleep.

He took the feather and ran his fingers along the vane and stem. You could see him tearing up slightly, so you leaned down and pulled him into a tight hug. “I’ll always be with you, my little fledgling.” You pulled back after placing a kiss on his forehead and ran your fingers through his curly mop of hair soothingly. You softly sang the song Philza would hum to you as a kid and watched as he drifted off to sleep.

“Love you Ren,” he slurred out before he was completely out. You softly smiled at his sleeping form, “I love you too, Artie. I love you too.” You sat there for a bit absorbing his every facial feature and felt pride and warmth erupt within you. Arthur Fox was your son, your pride and joy. He certainly had a bright future ahead of him. Sighing, you remembered the task ahead of you. You needed to leave soon.

Reluctantly, you left the room and started to make your way downstairs. “Did he have a nightmare?” A sleepy quiet voice asked from behind you. You jumped and whipped around with your hand flying to the empty holster on your hip before you relaxed seeing Philza there. He looked like he just crawled out of bed, his blond hair stuck up in multiple places and his blue eyes hazy.

You put a hand over your heart, “Ender Dad don’t do that, you scared the shit outta me. But yeah, he had a nightmare but he’s fine now.” He tiredly hummed, walking over to you and pulling you into an unexpected hug. “You’re a good parent for him. I’m so proud of you for adapting to the responsibility that adopting a kid takes.” You hugged him back tightly and wrapped your wings around him, careful of keeping the metal one barely pressed against him. You both stood there in the middle of the hallway enjoying each other’s presence before you heard him yawn and felt him pull back. You retracted your wings and stepped back.

“Why’re you still dressed?”

Shit, “oh, I was just finishing up something in my workshop.”

He deadpanned at you, “you know how I feel about you staying up this late, even if you’re an adult-”

“‘Even if I’m an adult it’s not healthy to constantly stay up this late’ I know, Dad. I’m almost done, I’ll be in bed in like half an hour tops.” He stared at you for a bit before he nodded and started to walk back to his room, “alright, I trust you. I’m going back to bed and I want you to do the same in a bit. Goodnight, (y/n). Love ya.”

“Love you too, Dad.” You waited until you heard the bed creak before you went back downstairs. You grabbed your stuff before you quietly opened the door and checked to see if there were any mobs around. Luckily for you, the nearest mob was only a single

enderman. With that, you spread your wings and took off into the clear night sky. The weather was perfect for flying. It would’ve been a pleasant night flight if it weren’t for the current circumstances gnawing and nagging at you in the forefront of your mind.

You lowered yourself to the ground upon getting closer to the cave’s entrance and glided into it landing a ways into the cave to avoid any mobs. The ores around you were plentiful, the occasional glimmering of redstone cutting through the darkness. Old burnt out torches hung from the walls was the only indicator that there were previously other people in the cave prior to now. You could only imagine how Arthur looked at the ores with amazement and curiosity.

As you ventured deeper, you could feel anxiety gripping at your chest and remembered how innocently and naively you craved exploration two and a half years ago. You shuddered as you wondered if the beast still had your feathers and bones scattered about. The torch in your hands sent flickering light onto the dark cave walls casting all sorts of shadows. You pushed onwards through the inky depths of the cave. Deeper yet deeper you walked placing torches wherever you went.

Eventually, you arrived at the wide opening of the cave. From where you stood, the opening of the cave was massive making you feel miniscule. Even if you were to fully expand your wings to the side, your seven and a half foot wingspan still wouldn’t come close to touching the sides of the opening. The torch in your hand hardly cut through the abyss of the cave, so you made quick work of placing them around the area so you had a clear view of your surroundings.

The cave was as you remembered it, but if you looked close enough, there were plenty of stalactites and stalagmites that weren’t there before. You could see faint dark brown stains on the walls and floors in scattered places, the stains of the miners that did not come back. The stench of rot, mildew, and decay emanated from deep parts of the cave, becoming almost unbearable in certain points where you couldn’t find anything out of place. Occasionally, you found cracked and broken shards of bone around some of the bloodstains. You even found a tooth and clumps of auburn hair. You shuddered as you remembered how Arthur told you that Hugh had dark ginger hair.

You have only found one of your feathers so far. It was trapped between a fissure in the wall. Crusted old blood decorated and clumped together some parts of the vane. You moved on to examine different parts of the cave. Sculk blocks littered the floor randomly, the tentacles calmly moving about. Soft squelching noises sounded from them; if you held your torch close to one of them, a soft shine could be seen. It was probably slimey.

If you stopped to listen past the crackling of the fire, you couldn’t hear anything. Besides a slight squelching noise that you suspected was from the sculk blocks and the sound of water droplets dripping, there was nothing. Good, you still could place the TNT. Plan A: commence.

You made quick work of placing sticks of dynamite between the nooks and crannies of rocks firmly and scattered the TNT along the vast expanse of the cave. Connecting the redstone was tricky though with the amount of TNT placed, but you eventually got everything connected to one and made work of making a trail to the outside. Just as you got started on trailing the redstone towards the mouth of the cave a few hundred feet away, the torches started to flicker.

It’s here.

Series taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@acecarddraws @ravennightingaleandavatempus @dirtydiavolo @yeiras-world @immadatmostthings @hee-hee-haw @jackalopedoodles @m1lkmandan @vanhakirja @im-a-depressed-gay @coolleviauchihadreamerlove @questioning-sanity @camisascam @bongwaterflavoredgatorade @kakamiissad @jayistrash4 @lifestylesleep @speedymaximoff @sun-shark-tooth @appetiteofapeoplepleaser @lestrangenymph @kinismanditory @dragons-lurk-here @rinzyx05 @the-wandering-pan-ace @angelic-scent @shinipii @dont-hug-me-im-a-fander @izzydimensional @used-avocado @wing-non @lovely-echoo @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @mysteryartisticwriter @momo-has-a-gun @misfortunatem00n @w-0-r-n-n @v-kouya @kusuinko @cheybaee @dulcedippers @jaciahbabes @prlan @hummingbird-lightningstrike @pog-sad-muffin @prickypearpropaganda

General taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@crybabyjabby @izzybobizzy13 @goldenstarofthunderclan @bunnyz-pxstel @averytiredfanfictionwriter @dcml04 @sparkling-gayyyy @bbigbbrainn @thaticecreambish @kiinokochii @satansphatass @bxkubitch @bxmentchildxx @roxy3457 @montygator17 @feverish-dove @the-fictionwriters-hairdo @jichuuchaeng @404rynnotfound @luluwinchester @laura--444 @the-cult-classic-bitch @youngstarfishdinosaur @nottheotheruser @ohworm-writes @localwolfanon @realitycanbeajerk @v10dw4lk3r

#sbi x reader #sleepy bois x reader #sleepy bois inc x reader #philza x reader #technoblade x reader #wilbur soot x reader #tommyinnit x reader #dream smp x reader #mcyt x reader #tw: swearing #tw: blood #tw: death #tw: teeth

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tojisveryown · 4 years ago

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𝙸𝚗 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝙴𝚢𝚎𝚜 | 𝟶𝟸

𝙰𝚌: 𝚠𝚃𝟼𝙸𝙳𝟸𝚀𝟺𝙰𝙺𝚄𝟿𝚏𝚛 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚠𝚝

𝚂𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜: 𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚜𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚙𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚍 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚎 𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝.

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚑𝚘𝚕, 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚎𝚡, 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚛𝚞𝚐 𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚜

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 𝟸.𝟻𝚔

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚜: 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎 𝙰𝚄, 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎, 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏 𝚖𝚒𝚡𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝

𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 | 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟶𝟸 | 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

(𝚄𝚗𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚍)

⋆ 💌⋆

3 am, it was three o’clock in the morning and you woke up to the sound of your phone going off. Who the hell would be up at this hour, especially since there was a lecture everyone had to attend in four hours.

You took a glance at your screen, slowly adjusting to the brightness, you allow yourself to wake up, you check your messages, and realize Gojo has been texting you nonstop

“Seriously, what the hell is wrong with this guy its three am..” you whisper to yourself trying not to wake up Utahime

“Who would ever wanna fuck you anyway?”

Sheesh.

Am I that un-fuckable? You walked over to the bathrooms and gave yourself a long and judgmental stare. “Shit, I am un-fuckable aren’t I?”

Before you let your insecurities get the best of you, you decided that it’d be best to catch some sleep and worry about your appearance later. It’s not that your body was ugly, or that your face was ugly, it was definitely how you dressed.

The way you dressed practically presented to everyone what type of vibes you give off, and as of right now you gave off pretty much “Hi, my name is L/N Y/N and I still shop at the kids' section from target.” and that is NOT the impression you wanted others to have when glancing towards you.

You sighed, “That fucking man whore really did a number on my self-esteem.” You rolled over and checked the alarm clock placed on the nightstand that was sandwiched into yours and Utahime’s bed. 5:38 am

“Maybe I should go shopping after the lecture.” you rolled off your bed and decided to get an early start. After finishing up you left the girls dormitory.

6:45 am

Coffee?

Coffee.

⋆ 💌⋆

You hurried to the coffee shop that was a floor below your first lecture, luckily there weren’t that many people waiting in line, after what felt like two minutes it was finally your turn to order.

“Hi welcome, what may I get you?” The barista said,

“Hi good morning, may I get an iced caramel macchiato?”

“Of course, that’ll be 5.47!″

You dug in your bag to find your wallet and before the lady could take your card a hand placed itself over your own “I got it, add a white mocha to it will ya’ make it for Y/N Gojo, thanks.” That voice belonged to none other than the pest you dealt with yesterday. “G’morin’ Y/N.” he smiled as he slung his arm around you leading you outside the small coffee shop.

“Mmm, so about yesterday.. I’ll forgive you if you let me take you out on a date? How ‘bout it?”

No. Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with this guy?

“Huh? I didn’t apologize.” You feel yourself leaning on the pillar that stood outside the coffee shop.

Gojo scoffed, “That’s exactly why, you won’t have to if you let me take you on a date. Think about it Y/N.” he leaned closer resting his forearm on the same pillar you were leaning against right above your head. He was practically towering over you.

“And if i don’t want to apologize?” He scoffed once more and held your chin, forcing you to lookup. His touch was cold, almost concerning really.. it’s probably from some sort of std.

“Y/N Gojo your coffee is ready! Y/N Gojo!”

Gojo stepped away to grab both cups of coffee, he handed you yours and walked alongside you. “You know Y/N, so many girls would kill to go on a date with me, you’re really missing out.” there he goes flashing that cheekily smile around again.

“Guess I’m not like the fuckable bimbos you go after then.”

“You know you could be if you wanted to,” he walked in front of you, turning on his heels so he was now facing you as he continued to walk backwards. “All you have to do is give me a call.” he pulled his sunglasses down and gave you a wink.

Cheeky bastard.

You shoved the iced coffee into the core of his stomach signaling that you wouldn’t be swooned so easily by his escapades, you held out your arm until he realized you were giving the coffee back. His fingertips grazed over your hand and you flinched at the subtle contact. Before Gojo had the chance to call you out you were submerged into the crowd.

“Y/N stop being so difficult.”

⋆ 💌⋆

6:58 am, you made it on time for your first early morning lecture and sat in the fourth row. As you began to pull your stuff out more and more people started filling up the seats. You were beginning to regret returning the coffee Gojo had bought for you due to the lack of sleep.

“Y/N don’t run off like that, I almost lost you in the crowd.” You turned your head and there he was, sitting right next to you while wearing that stupid grin “Sorry some of it spilled out, but it’s still perfectly fine.” he admitted as he slid the iced coffee towards you. You looked away, you thought Gojo would finally get the hint to leave you alone and yet he just kept going on Until..

“Good morning Satoru!” a girl smiled as she sat down in the row in front of us “Why do you have two coffees?”

He cocked a smile “Good morning Yuri,” he greeted before he took your coffee and handed it in her direction, “Ehh, they gave me an extra drink. But I wouldn’t mind giving it to you.”

You turned your head to watch the scene play out, that bastard and his cheap tricks. “That was supposed to be my coffee” is what you wanted to say, but you knew it’d be best not to get tangled in Gojo’s business. You turned away looking for a new seat. You packed your things and headed towards the back of the lecture hall.

The girls face lit up in excitement “Of cour-”

“Kidding, this is Y/N’s.” but before Gojo could turn his head back to you to flash that idiotic smile of his you were nowhere to be found.

⋆ 💌⋆

The lecture was finally over and just as you were finishing up your notes a figure appeared. “Y/N it’s rude to leave without saying anything.” He slid your cup of coffee on the desk.

“Thought you gave it to that girl.”

“I bought it for you, not her.” he stated firmly, he grabbed your bag and walked towards the door, “Are you coming or not?”

“Huh, where are you and I going? And give me back my bag.”

Satoru turned on his heels and leaned down to your height pressing his pointer finger on his lips. His crystal blue eyes met yours and you were at a loss of words, his eyes truly were beautiful and you almost let a compliment slip until you realized who those eyes belonged to.

“It’s a secret of course, and its ‘we’ Y/N, say ‘where are we going’, what good if there in having a parter if you aren’t even acknowledging them correctly?”

“You aren’t my partner, work alone.” you handed him the cup of coffee and seized your bag out of his arms. For the second time this week Gojo was now staring at your back as you walked away, your figure getting smaller and smaller each step you took before you were one with the crowd. Gojo stared down at the cup and noticed that you didn’t take any sips of the caffeinated drink that he purposefully bought for you.

“Warm up to me soon will you?” he whispered to himself as he passed by a trashcan throwing the drink away.

⋆ 💌⋆

The next morning you found Gojo patiently waiting for your arrival, in his hands were two cups of coffee, it doesn’t look like he’s noticed you so you take that advantage and walk behind a group of students going to their next class. As you were passing by desperately trying to avoid any form of contact with Gojo you unintentionally eavesdropped on a conversation he was having over the phone. Unfortunately you weren’t able to hear the other side of the line.

“Another bet? Sugu’ that’s shitty” He laughed “No, she already thinks I’m an asshole and making a bet with you involving her would make things worse. Okay okay okay one month right? Okay bye.”

Fucking bastard. Who does he think he is, making a bet to see if he can fuck someone he called unfuckable.

⋆ 💌⋆

Just when you thought you were finally free from the virus known as Gojo, the chair next to you became occupied by the person you thought you’d be able to ignore.

“G’morin’ Y/N!” he cheered gaining the attention of all the students that had the decency to come early “Got you some coffee, promise I won’t give it to anyone this time.”

You ignored him and reviewed the notes you took yesterday, as class began the thought of Gojo sitting next to you slipped your mind until he moved his elbow with the intentions of hitting yours but knocked down the coffee he brought you onto your notes.

“Whoopsies.” He laughed it off and gave you his notes for you to copy off of

“Gojo I can’t read this.”

“You don’t have to be so picky Y/N, who else is gonna let you borrow their notes you don’t have any friends.”

Asshole.

⋆ 💌⋆

The next morning Gojo showed up with two cups of coffee again and this time he brought a couple of napkins. He sat down next to you and placed the cup in front of you.

“Didn’t you learn from last time?” you questioned as you slid the cup back to Gojo.

“Well maybe if you actually drank it I wouldn’t have spilled it.” he pouted and pulled out a new notebook “Here, since I did ruin your old one.”

You opened the notebook and there was a drawing of a penis on each of the pages.

You took a deep breath and faced Gojo, it took almost everything out of you not to dump the coffee on this man whore again.

⋆ 💌⋆

As the next day came you expected Gojo to sit next to you but today he didn’t, you finally got to pay attention and take proper notes without anything getting spilled on them. After class ended, you found yourself going to get bread from a bakery near your school, but as soon as you were about to pay a pair of cold hands reached over yours handing his card to the cashier instead of yours. “’s okay I got it.” he said smiling as he slithered his hand around your shoulder. You slid his hand off and pulled him to the back of the bakery.

“Woah Woah Y/N we can’t do it here there are people from our class watching!” He teased as he threw his hands in the air as a sign of defense.

“What do you want from me.”

“What?”

You took a step forward, closing the little space you had between the two of you “What do you” poking his chest with your pointer finger you inched closer “want from me?”

Gojo leaned forward and whispered “Be my partner again Y/N.” Gojo felt you stepping away, furthering the distance you once closed. He pulled you into his chest and rocked himself, along with you following side to side due to his strong grip. One of his arms wrapped around your neck as the other slid down to the small of your back. “What’s so bad about being my parter? Afraid I’m gonna use you like the chick you saw me in the library with?”

“I don’t want a man whore as my partner.” you huffed. Gojo flinched at the harsh words you used to describe him, nonetheless he still held you close, his cold hands grabbed your wrists guiding your arm to his back wrapping them around himself.

“What do I have to do to prove to you I’m not a man whore?” he asked rubbing your back and pulling you closer to his chest. God how many layers of cologne does this man lather on himself.

“You can start by getting off me.”

“Mmm.” he pulled you even closer to the point where you two had little to no space whatsoever between your two bodies. “Only if you agree to take me back as you partner.”

You sighed giving in “Let me think about it?”

“M’kay!” he said pulling you even closer before letting you go.

⋆ 💌⋆

You walked back to campus with Gojo, the walk was quiet and peaceful. The sound of cars passing by along with the birds chirping filled your ears and it was a much needed break after eating at the bakery with Gojo filling your thoughts with nonsense.

You and Gojo were on your way to the next lecture of the day until Gojo stopped walking.

“Gojo?”

“Sorry Y/N I have to take a leak, can you please wait for me? I wanna be able to sit next to you in class.”

You nodded and waited on a bench that was within a few feat of the bathrooms, moments later you heard footsteps approaching.

“Hey that was fast, did you wash your hands?” You questioned finally looking up realizing it wasn’t Gojo but the girl who Gojo offered your coffee to, Yuri. “Oh.. Can I help you?”

“Is Satoru really dating you?” She began to laugh and the two girls behind her joined after giving you a hard gaze.

“What no-”

“Probably one of his bets with Suguru. Like Satoru would ever wanna date you. What are you after? His money?”

“Huh no.”

“Please, save the bullshit, how much did you sell yourself for Satoru to hold you in the bakery like that? Or did you force yourself on hi-”

Before she could continue the stinging sensation that was both on your hand and face shut her up. She held her hand up and you flinched waiting for the contact that her hand would soon make with your face, but instead when you opened your eyes Gojo’s hand had grabbed her wrist before the contact was ever made.

He shoved Yuri’s hand away and grabbed your hand dragging you to your next lecture.

⋆ 💌⋆

During the long boring lecture the only thing you were able to think about was everything that happened moments before class began. Losing yourself in your thoughts Gojo slid a piece of paper with the words: “are you okay :( ?”

You replied with: “Yes. I’m fine, thank you.” Gojo smiled to himself as he replayed the scene of him coming to your rescue, cocky bastard.

Ripping off a piece of paper from the corner of your notebook, you wrote down a few words and placed the folded piece of paper onto Gojo’s open palm.

“I guess, you can be my partner again.”

That day Gojo Satoru wore the smile that you gave to him proudly.

⋆ 💌⋆

𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 | 𝙽𝚎𝚡𝚝 | 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚎: 𝙻𝙼𝙰𝙾𝙾 𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙶𝚘𝚓𝚘 𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛, 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚘 𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎. 𝙰𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌! 𝙷𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢'𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥

⋆ 💌⋆

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @peppytine @enesitamor

𝙽𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗 𝚃𝚞𝚎𝚜. (𝟺/𝟸𝟶)

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162 notes · View notes

theamberwriter · 4 years ago

Text

Bouncing Baby [4]: Sick Day

Read the Series! [1] [2] [3]

Pairing: Shota Aizawa x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5,613

A/N: Wow, hi guys! It's been a minute! I hope that you all like this next part! I'm so excited it's finally done after all this time. Hopefully you all still want to read it! This was a lot of fun to write. I hope you all enjoy!! Also, I hate editing on Tumblr Mobile, lol

You knew as soon as you woke up that morning, there was no way you were going to work. Your head was packed, your ears were stuffy and ringing, and your throat felt like sandpaper. You could barely open your eyes to shut off your alarm. You coughed, nearly puking as phlegm came up with it. You spit in the trash can next to your bed.

"Shota," you whined rolling over, and accidentally smacking him in the face with your hand. He grunted.

"You're not going to work today, are you?" he muttered, eyes still close.

"Are you crazy?" You coughed and spit in the can again. "You know my quirk copies my physical state on other people. If I try to heal anyone, they'll all leave the office feeling like this."

"I figured as much, that's why I asked."

Shota grabbed you, pulling your back to his front. You were worried about him getting sick. But you didn't protest the cuddles. They made you feel a lot better. You wished the two of you could lay there all day.

"I'll take Kohaku to work with me," Shota said as the third alarm rang. Reluctantly he sat up, placing his feet on the floor.

You rolled to face him, mostly asleep. Your head swam. "You don't have to. She's a handful."

"She'll be fine, nothing I can't handle."

"But your class - after everything that's happened...They still have so much left to learn. That's why I've been keeping her with me."

"Exactly, if they can't handle a child after this - there's no hope for them," your husband chuckled. You wanted to protest more. But your mind was getting dragged down into slumber.

You didn't hear them leave. Only waking to an empty house. For the first time in years, you were alone. No husband, no baby - it was unbearably quiet. But it was nice and serene. If only you didn't have a cold.

You glanced at the clock on the stove. Shota was three hours into work. You wondered how he and his class were faring. Little did you know, Kohaku would soon give them a run for their money.

Nobody had really questioned when Shota Aizawa walked through the halls with a baby that morning. A bag in his wife's favorite color was hung from his shoulder, and a black haired baby who was the spitting image of him on his hip. She was fast asleep against his shoulder.

By that time in the school year, everybody knew he was married to one of the school's nurses and that the baby was theirs. The secret he'd been trying to keep, leaking out after only two weeks. All due to an incident where she phased through the walls, giving everyone a fright.

It had been a regular occurrence after that that he'd watch the child in the classroom. Giving his wife a break to focus on her duties. So his class didn't much question the child either. Even though it'd been four months since they saw her last. The baby had grown much in that time.

Shota put his sleeping daughter in her playpen, then stood in front of his class. On his way to work, he'd thought of something fun. Something to give him a story to tell his sick wife to cheer her up when he got home. Maybe he'd even send her a video while the chaos ensued.

"Your morning classes will proceed as usual," he said. "However, your training later today will be different than normal."

Shota didn't answer any of his students questions. They would all just have to wait and see.

Their classes went by, lunch came and went. So far, Kohaku had been tame. He only had to erase her quirk a few times. Which she grew irritated at quickly. But she calmed down after All Might sat with her for an hour.

Kahaku napped after his visit. Shota right alongside her. He was glad she decided to sleep during the lunch period. He knew she was at her worst after nap time. But he wasn't concerned about it today. Today, her unruliness wasn't his problem. In fact, it worked great with his plan. It wouldn't have been as fun if she fell asleep in the middle of it.

Shota escorted his class to their training facilities once they all had changed. Kohaku was just beginning to wake up due to all the noise. She was still slumped against her father's shoulder.

"Mr. Aizawa, what are we doing today?" Iida asked. "Is it some sort of special training?"

Shota smirked to himself. "Something like that. Today - you'll be taking care of my daughter."

There was a loud, collective WHAT?!

"We're not damn babysitters!" Bakugo growled.

"Don't curse around the girl, Bakugo!" Iida scolded.

Uraraka stepped forward. "She's only a baby, it shouldn't be too hard. Right?"

"Kohaku is very special. And not just to me and her mom. Kohaku is a year and seven months. However, as you may know, she already has her quirk," Aizawa explained. There were murmurs of oh yeah and shit, that's right. "My daughter can change the material her entire body structure is made of. Most likely to an atomic level. But, since she's only a baby, what she becomes and what she decides to do are totally unpredictable.

"Your task is to watch her until the end of the day. I won't be erasing her quirk. Time out will only be called if Kohaku falls asleep or needs her diaper changed. If she's still in the facility at the end of the day, you've successfully completed the exercise. But if she gets out, even once, then I'm going to make you sit through sex education classes with Midnight for a week."

There was a collective shutter, aside from Mineta. He was way too into it. Nose bleed and all. Everyone else one could see them sifting through worst case scenarios. Shota knew Nemuri would be only too excited to show his class the ropes if BDSM. Quite literally.

Shota moved Kohaku's hair from her eyes. Checking if she'd gone back to sleep. But Kohaku leaned up, yawning as she rubbed her face. She grinned up at her father, then turned to look at everyone else. She leaned shyly back against his shoulder. There were a few aawwwws.

"You're playing shy now?" Shota chuckled. "You know them. They're going to play with you today. Would you like that? - I've brought a bag of her toys with us. Everybody take one. The first person she goes to gets to sit out a day of lessons if the class manages to fail. If the class succeeds, that person gets extra credit towards any class they're currently lacking in."

His whole class clambered for the bag. Pulling out cute little bunnies, and plastic rings, and soft books that crinkled when they moved. Bakugo was unlucky enough to get a teether that looked like a bowl of ramen that she'd recently chewed on. He turned white when her spit coated his hand. He seemed about ready to destroy it.

"I would like to note," Shota added. "That if any of the toys are ruined by a student, it's an automatic failure for the entire group."

Everybody turned to Bakugo. He glared them down, snapping an insult. Shota sat on the floor, and a few people followed. He put Kohaku on his knee, turning her towards the class. She seemed mesmerized by her selection of toys.

"Do we have any questions before we start?"

Iida's hand shot into the air. "Mr. Aizawa, could you please tell us what materials your daughter can turn herself into?"

Aizawa nodded. "I was wondering if any of you were going to ask. Lucky Iida did, so that you all can be warned. - So far, Kohaku has done four things. One, she can become a rubber-like substance. If she falls or jumps off something, she'll bounce. After each subsequent one, she will become faster indefinitely until she hits something she can't bounce off of.

"Two, she can become heavy metal. When this happens, Kohaku can't be picked up or knocked over. This is often how she pushes over her playpen. However, the metal is soft and scratches easily. Which means that, when she deactivates, she'll have cuts in her skin. Third, she can turn her skin into a diamond material. Unlike with the metal, she can't be hurt in this state. But she is light and can be moved. Finally, Kohaku has figured out how to make her matter permeable. You all have met Mirio, of the Big Three. It seems to be similar to his quirk.

"She may be a child. But children are unpredictable, and Kohaku is particularly rambunctious once she warms up to you. If you all can handle villains, I see no reason why you should have any trouble with my daughter. Does anyone else have anything to ask?"

When the class remained silent, Shota nodded. He bounced Kohaku on his knee for a moment while he spoke to her.

“Okay, Kohaku,” Shota started. “Which toy would you like to play with?”

He stood her on her feet, making sure she was balanced. She sucked on her thumb as she slowly started to wobble towards the class. Some began to shake rattles at her or crinkle books. A few started making the noise to call cats. Shota rolled his eyes, you couldn’t pspspspspsss at a baby.

Finally, she wandered over to Todoroki. He’d been sitting quietly, watching her. His eyes grew wide as she crawled in his lap, reaching for the rabbit in his hand. Todoroki froze as she pulled herself up to stand on his thigh. She held the rabbit closely, while gripping on to his shoulder for balance. Shota made sure to get a photo on his phone of Todoroki’s terrified face.

“Are you okay, Todoroki?” Asui asked.

The corners of his mouth pulled down as he lifted up Kohaku and held her in front of him. She gurgled happily, jingling the chime in the rabbit.

“You scared of a stupid baby, Half and Half?” Bakugo snapped. He came over and took Kohaku from Todoroki’s hands, causing her to lose her grip on the rabbit. For once, Shota was glad when Kohaku started to cry. This was the beginning of the end.

Kohaku quickly turned herself into heavy metal. Bakugo cursed, trying to keep a grip on her. But she ultimately slammed to the ground. Kohaku gurgled happily, though Bakugo glared. She’d narrowly missed crushing his foot.

Shota watched on, laughing to himself, as Kohaku began to phrase through the large training terrain in the middle of the room. Students followed, leaping up into them. Trying to figure out where she might be in the structure.

“There!” Kirishima called from the other side.

Everyone followed, disappearing quickly, and Shota went to get a higher vantage point. Kirishima dove for Kohaku, but she went right through his fingers. He looked at his hands in disbelief, then watched as she teetered away. A few people tried to grab her, but she went through all of them.

“Oh, c’mon!” Kaminari whined. “She’s going to get out!”

“She’s not a dog, sweetie,” Ashido said, rolling her eyes.

“She’s still heading for the wall! Which means -” Kaminari paled, so did Ashido when she remembered what Kohaku’s escape meant.

“Todoroki,” Asui asked. “Where’s that rabbit you had?!”

Todoroki glanced over his shoulder. “I put it back in the bag.”

“That’s okay, I think I can replicate it.” Yaoyorozu flicked quickly through her book, then focused. Not long after a semi-perfect replication of Kohaku’s rabbit sat in her hands. She shook it, and the chime inside jingled. Kohaku stopped in her tracks, one hand held up to the wall.

Kohaku searched for the sound, sputtering happily as she found the rabbit. She waddled over to Yaoyarozu , hands extending as far as her little arms could reach. Yaoyarozu picked her up, jingling the rabbit again. Kohaku seemed happy as long as made noise.

"That was way too close!" groaned Uraraka, slumping to the ground.

"I guess we gotta keep her entertained," Kirishima noted. "But how? Yaoyarozu can't keep making toys."

Aoyama butted in then, radiating sparkles. He grinned at Kohaku. "Allow moi to try. Prepare to be amazed, mon petit!"

However, Kohaku wasn't the least bit impressed by his belly laser. Even when he tried to make it flashy, like fireworks. Shota knew that'd never work on her. He chuckled at the display, taking a picture.

"She's just as mean as Mr. Aizawa," Aoyama whined. He curled into a ball, tears slipping out. The whole class groaned.

Uraraka was next to try. She held out her arms, which Kohaku reluctantly went into. It took Yaoyarozu giving Kohaku the rabbit to hold.

"You wanna go for a ride?!" Uraraka grinned then activated her quirk. It was a moment before Kohaku could process what was happening. But when she realized she was floating high above the others she began to cry.

"Uraraka! Put her down!!" Ojiro yelled.

Uraraka panicked, flailing for a moment. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!!"

When Uraraka released her, Kohaku fell right into Shoji's arms. Which she did not like very much. Kohaku wailed loudly, clearly not a fan of the multi-limbed hero. Mineta panicked and began trying to juggle some of his balls.

Ashido marched over, swiftly taking Kohaku. "Gimme her, you guys don't know anything about babies! It's okay, sweetie, Auntie Mina is here to save you from these idiots."

She sat down, Kohaku in her lap. Then started making faces at her. Kohaku's crying eased, and there was a moment of relief as she began to giggle. Though even that was short lived. Ashido decided to take Kohaku on a surf around the room. Only to have her goop splash and melt down Kohaku's newly made rabbit. That led to another bout of crying.

"And who were you just calling idiots?" Kaminari asked snidely.

Ashido whined. "Shut up, Denki! It was an accident! Here! - Tsu, you take her!"

"Me?" she asked, pointing to herself. But Kohaku was already in her arms. The two stared at each other. "You can definitely tell she's Mr. Aizawa's daughter."

Kohaku laughed as Asui's tongue hung out of her mouth. She reached for it, tugging, and catching poor Asui off guard. Kohaku stretched and pulled her tongue, gurgling in glee.

"Do you want me to take her, Tsu?" Midoriya offered. Kohaku has been playing with her tongue for five minutes at that point. Anyone could tell how uncomfortable she was.

Asui nodded. "Thanks."

"C'mere, little Kohaku," he cooed, trying to pull Kohaku off. She didn't want to let go. No matter how much he tugged and pulled. Asui even tried to retract her tongue.

Aizawa snapped a picture of the tongue of war.

Finally, Kohaku let go. But so did Midoriya. Everyone watched in horror as the baby went flying.

"What the hell, Deku, you dunce?!" Bakugo growled.

Kohaku smooshed against the wall, then sprang back, careening towards the floor. She began to laugh and sprang off the floor as Sero and Kaminari hit heads trying to catch her.

"That's right!" Iida announced. "Mr. Aizawa said she can turn into rubber and bounce. - But she'll get exponentially faster. We have to catch her before she becomes too fast to see."

"We better do it soon, look!" The sleeve of Hagakure's uniform pointed up at the training terrain. Kohaku was bouncing off one level then the other. Shota dodged expertly as she passed him, she was nothing but a blur.

A few went to catch her, but she even escaped Iida's swiftness. Soon there was nothing but ominous bouncing and maniacal giggles echoing. No baby in sight.

"We're too late," Tokoyami shouted. "It's going to be impossible to catch her now."

Jiro kneeled. "Not impossible. Hanta, when I signal -"

Sero nodded, readying to shoot. Jiro plugged into the floor hearing every place she hit. The floor, the wall, the terrain, the ceiling…

"There!" she shouted, pointing to a space in the air.

Sero shot tape. To everyone's surprise, it wrapped around something. Kohaku appeared, pulling him with her velocity before she sprang back and hit him. Knocking them both to the floor. Kohaku cooed happily from her spot on Sero's chest. He gave a weak smile and a thumbs-up, trying to get the wind back in him.

Kirishima went and picked her up. He grinned at her. But she seemed unsure of his pointed teeth. "That's an awesome power you got, little dude! Mine's not half as cool."

He hardened himself up and Kohaku was instantly mesmerised. She turned herself into diamond. Clinking her hands against his hard skin, sputtering out happy gurgles.

"Really? That's all it took?" Hagakure wondered.

Something strange began to happen the longer Kirishima played with Kohaku. She began to deform her skin. Eventually, it writhed and wriggled. Her whole body trembled. She took partial form once, twice - three times. Kirishima stared in awe as she settled on her final form.

"Oh wow!" He held Kohaku up to face his teacher. "Hey! Mr. Aizawa, look! She has a new ability!"

For the first time in over an hour, Shota joined his students. They all crowded around to what happened. In Kirishima's arms sat a baby that looked to be made of rock. Her skin was hard and rough, even crunchy! It had ridges, similar to Kirishima's when he hardened all the way up. Shota snapped a picture of the pair.

Kohaku laughed, reaching for her father. Shota was surprised to find she was very dense. Not impossible to hold like the metal baby. But she felt like a small boulder. Very weighty and sturdy.

"Look at you," Shota chuckled, kissing the top of her head. "I'm very proud of you, Kohaku."

Kohaku went back to normal. Shota wrinkled his nose as soon as she did. He held her slightly away from him. Apparently all that effort to change made her soil her diaper. He wasn't the only one that smelled it. A few others were covering their noses. Some even gagging.

"I'm going to change her. I'll be back in a few minutes." Shota took her to a side room with the diaper bag. He decided it was time to give his wife a call.

"Hey," she croaked as the line crackled to life.

"You sound worse than this morning," he noted grimly. "Are you taking care of yourself?"

[Name] coughed. "Of course. I've had three glasses of water today. Plus I've been downing cough drops like candy."

"Drink more. I'll pick you cold medicine on my way home from work."

"I can go get it, you have Kohaku -"

Shota rolled his eyes. "I can handle her all on my own."

"Has she been good today?"

He grinned to himself. "Exceptional. I'm changing her now, so I thought I would call and check in on my lovely wife."

"I can't wait for you guys to get home," [Name] admitted. "It's unnerving how quiet it is. And I haven't been away from Kohaku this long before. I keep thinking I hear her crying."

"You need some rest." Shota frowned. "I'll call you again before we leave. We love you."

[Name] sighed in defeat, much too tired to argue. "I love you both, too. I'll talk to you later."

Shota hung up and finished changing Kohaku. He washed his hands, then took her back to the gym. "Are you ready to continue play time?"

All of his students had a new heir of determination. They'd seen what she could do now. Shota didn't know if they'd come up with a plan, or we're just being over confident.

"You have just over an hour until the end of the day," he announced. "So let's make this interesting."

"Wait - didn't Mina destroy one of her toys?" Midoriya asked. The class paled in realization. "Shouldn't we be out?"

Shota shook his head. "The toy Ashido melted down was made by Yaoyarozu. It wasn't one I brought with us. So you all haven't failed - for now. At the moment, only Todoroki and Kirishima are safe -"

"Why is shitty hair safe?!" Bakugo blazed.

"He helped her realize a new ability. I think that's a feat that deserves to be rewarded."

Kirishima grinned. "Awesome! Thanks, Mr. Aizawa!"

"Which leads me to the next part." This whole, honestly, couldn't have gone any better. This was better than he'd originally planned. "I want to see if anyone else can help Kohaku develop her quirk. As long as she isn't hurt, you can try to encourage her any way you see fit. The offer from earlier still stands. Anyone who succeeds is given extra credit, if you win. And gets to skip Midnight's, most likely elicit, sex education class, should you fail. - Your time begins now."

Shota put Kohaku down. She immediately went to Kirishima and rocked up. He hardened up himself as he picked her up.

"Maybe it isn't manly, but you're just so adorable," he said and gave her a little squeeze.

"Oi, shitty hair!" Bakugo raged, marching over. "How is anyone else supposed to get a chance if you don't put the brat down?!"

"Insult my daughter again, Bakugo," Shota warned, eyes glowing. "And you'll wish Nemuri's class was the worst thing in your future."

Bakugo huffed. "Yeah, whatever."

"So…." Kirishima chuckled awkwardly. "Who wants to go first?"

"I'll give it a go!" Sato stepped forward, downing a thing of sugar. Kohaku was unimpressed as he powered up and flexed some. He gave up pretty quickly.

"It's okay, you tried your best," Ashido encouraged as he passed her.

Kaminari stepped up next, flashing electricity in the palm of his hand. Kohaku seemed to enjoy the show, but there was no sense that she was trying to change.

"Oh, c'mon," Kaminari groaned. "Don't you want to be an electric baby?"

"So she can fry herself and be as dumb as you?" Jiro teased. "I think not."

"Alright then, you give it a go!" Kaminari slunk away dejectedly.

Jiro and Kohaku exchanged a long glance. Then she extended her earphone jacks towards her. However Jiro retracted them immediately as Kohaku reached for them.

"Sorry, Kohaku," she said and jerked thumb behind her. "But you're not doing to me what you did to Tsu."

"You all aren't doing it properly," Iida scolded, stepping forward. "Allow me to demonstrate. Kirishima, put her down."

Kirishima did as he was asked. Kohaku was not very pleased. She went back to normal as she eyed Iida.

"Look here, little one," Iida instructed. He showed off his leg engines, revving them for show. Kohaku tilted her head.

Iida took a sprint around the room. Then came to a stop in front of her again. Kohaku laughed at that, reaching her arms out.

Iida shook his head. "Now you try."

Kohaku pouted. Kirishima laughed. "She wants you to pick her. Maybe if you took her on a run with you?"

Iida glanced between his classmate and the baby. Finally, he sighed and picked her up. He tucked her to his chest with one arm, then took off into a sprint. Shota had a feeling her hair was going to be a big knotted mess afterwards.

Kohaku looked slightly green as they came to a stop. Iida put her down, then gave her a small lecture on how his engines work. How she could incorporate them. But, honestly, she was a baby. So of course the whole thing was lost to her.

"You do know that's not how children work, right?" Uraraka asked.

Ashido crouched in front of her, conjuring a whole hand of grey mush. "How about you become a slime baby for Auntie Mina?"

"You sound stupid," Bakugo snapped. "Stop calling yourself that."

Ashido threw the slime at him. "Why don't you shut up?! Nobody asked you!"

It took a few people to cool him down. The sound as his hands began to pop got Kohaku's attention. She crawled right past Ashdio, who was still trying to coax out a slime baby. Kohaku sat staring up at Bakugo, watching as his hands crackled.

"What're you looking at?" he snapped, glaring at her.

Kohaku stood as the popping stopped, and pulled one of his hands into her own. She looked closely at his palm and then flipped his hand over. She seemed dissatisfied. Kohaku made a soft pa, pa, papa, pa.

Bakugo frowned. "What are you doing?"

"I think she wants you to use your quirk again," Sero pointed out. Kohaku continued to make the soft pa, papa, pa, pa, paap.

Bakugo sighed. But he did crouch to her height. "I need my hand back to make them pop."

Kohaku seemed to understand and immediately let go. Bakugo took a step away and lit his hands up for her. Kohaku squeezed in glee. She threw her hands up, making louder pa, papa, pa, pa!! She began running around again. Kohaku ran back through the terrain.

"Oh, way to go, Bakugo!" Mineta groaned. "You scared her. Now she's going to get out!"

"Shut it, extra," Bakugo snapped. "I didn't scare her."

"Not with his quirk, anyway," Kaminari snickered quietly. Bakugo turned to him, blazing.

Everyone went back up and over. Kohaku was nowhere in sight.

"Oh no, we lost her!" Ashido exclaimed. "I am not sitting through Miss. Midnight's class with you people!"

"She's not lost!" Midoriya exclaimed. "Look, over there!"

He pointed down by the far wall. Sure enough, Kohaku looked ready to go through it.

"We won't reach her in time," Todoroki said.

Midoriya launched off. "I got her."

Unfortunately he went right through. Smacking face first into the wall.

"Idiot, Deku!" Bakugo took off after. "I'm not going to fail babysitting because of you!"

He landed, popping his hands again. Kohaku turned to him. She crawled over Midoriya, going to sit and watch the show.

"Wow, Bakugo is surprisingly good with kids," Ashido said, faintly.

Everyone dropped down to sit by Kohaku. There wasn't much time left. They just had to keep her entertained for a little while longer.

"Hey, Todoroki! Why don't you make some snow?!" Hagakure cheered.

Kaminari looked incredibly confused. "What?"

"Do you really think that will work?" Kirishima asked.

Hagakure nodded, even though no one could see it. "Sure, nobody can resist playing in the snow!"

Todoroki touched his hand to the floor. It iced up. Then a large flow started, not quite freezing all the way. Bakugo was not pleased as it crashed over him, dousing his flames. Kohaku's head popped out of the snow. She giggled happily as she looked around.

"What the hell, Half and Half?!" Bakugo yelled, melting the slush around him.

Kohaku crawled through the snow. She started taking chunks in her hand and compressing them. Everyone was a little confused when it congealed into ice. Until Kohaku started to tremble again. She stretched and jellied and shook. Then, finally, took form. This time, she looked to be made of ice.

Shota snapped another picture. "Maybe we should let her see quirks in use more often."

"Aw, man, that's not fair!" Mineta whined.

"I mean, of course Todoroki would be good at this. He's good at everything." Hagakure shrugged.

For the first time, Kohaku seemed to notice her. Just a uniform with no body seeming to be attached. Kohaku wandered over to her. She put her hands on where Hagakure's face should be. She was definitely surprised there was something there.

The disturbed look on Kohaku's face faded quickly. She patted Hagakure's face a few more times. Then began to shake again. She flickered a few times.

"This is amazing," Uraraka said in awe. "How do you think she's catching on to quirks so fast?"

"Observation, I suppose," Iida noted. "Look!"

Finally, Kohaku managed to flicker all the way out. Just a t-shirt and pants. She giggled to herself. Hagakure picked her up and hugged her tightly.

"I feel so flattered," she cried.

Bakugo grumbled. "She probably would've picked up my quirk, if you extras hadn't distracted her! Then she'd a real power!"

"No offense, Bakugo. But the last thing Mr. Aizawa and nurse [Name] need is another one of you," Kaminari said.

Bakugo was ready to argue again. A few people scrambled to cool him down. Shota admired the scene as they fought. Kohaku was coming along quite well. Better than he'd expected. He and [Name] had been afraid to let Kohaku around people while using their quirks. But he was starting to see how it's be beneficial to her.

Sure, there were things she'd figured out on her own. But she was very smart for her age. And her abilities with her quirk, the control, the range - it would make her something of a prodigy. He would have just to make sure to lead her down a good path. But not feel like she was being forced to do anything she didn't want to.

Shota wondered if any of the other hero courses would mind the exercise. That way Kohaku could be exposed to more, so she could learn. He'd have to have his wife take her to sit with the class beforehand. So she knew them. Then he'd take on the day of exercise. Just in case her quirk needed erasing.

"Enough of this," Iida yelled, finally. "We've nearly completed the exercise. Just a few more minutes, then you can argue about this outside."

Bakugo huffed. Kohaku became visible again and wriggled out of Hagakure's grasp. She went back to Bakugo. Pa, pa, pa!

"Yeah, pa," he groaned. He lit his hands up. But everyone nearly ran as Kohaku became an inferno. The flames were wild. Blazing and licking at people. She tottered from side to side. Melting the snow Todoroki had created.

As she tried to run off, fire still uncontrollable, Shota thought it was time to step in. He leapt down and joined his students.

"That's enough, Kohaku," he scolded. His eyes glowed and his hair flowed around him. Her flames were immediately doused. She tried to flick them back on a few times. But nothing worked. She wailed as she realized she couldn't do it anymore. "If you can't use your quirk responsibly, then you aren't going to use it at all."

Shota picked Kohaku up. She must've been getting tired from using her quirk, and playing so much the last few hours. She was getting cranky. But Shota knew she'd zonk in the car seat on the way home.

"We're calling it early, Kohaku is tired," Shota said. He wanted to add and so am I, to the end of it but refrained. "I'm proud of how each and every one of you did today. Surprisingly, you all passed. Congratulations. You're better with children than I thought."

"So - no Midnight?!" Ashdio asked excitedly.

Shota shook his head. "No, you saved yourselves. Barely."

"Uh, should someone take Deku to Recovery Girl?" Asui asked, leaning over his slumped form by the wall. "I think he knocked himself out earlier."

"Asui, you and Uraraka take Midoriya to the nurse's office while I finish up here."

Uraraka went and lightened up Midoriya, then her and Asui made their way out the door.

"Todoroki, Kirishima, Hagakure, Bakugo - you all get extra credit. If you don't need, or want it, you're more than welcome to give it to someone else. Just let me know who."

"I know exactly what I'm using mine for!" Hagakure cheered.

"C'mon, man," Kaminari groaned, tugging at Bakugo's sleeve. "I know you have perfect grades! Give me your credit!"

Bakugo glared. "Get off me!"

Kirishima awkwardly went up to his teacher. He grinned shyly. "Hey, Mr. Aizawa, if you ever want a babysitter, I'd be more than happy to watch Kohaku. Whenever you need."

"I'm sure she'd like that. I'll keep that in mind," Shota noted. And he would. Kohaku really seemed to like him, and he and his wife hadn't gone on a date in ages.

"Mr. Aizawa, is that all for today's exercise?" Iida asked. "Are we free to go?"

"Yes. But first - I just wanted to say thanks to all of you," Shota started. "You all did well handling her. There doesn't seem to be a scratch on her. She's learned a lot, but still has a long way to go. I know she'll keep today with her, even when she's older." Shota checked the time. They really had made it to the end of the day without an incident. "You're all free to go."

"Hey, Mr. Aizawa," Ashido started as the group left the facility. "Why did you bring Kohaku today?"

"Because even nurses have sick days."

Kohaku slept on the way home, and while in the store. Shota couldn't wait to get home and tell his wife about his day. The one he'd planned all for her. He was sure she'd cry laughing so hard. It was all worth it if he could cheer her up, even a little bit.

The house was dark and quiet when they got in. He didn't bother flicking on any lights. Just in case it woke up Kohaku. Instead just setting down his things and going to look for his wife. She was curled up in their bed asleep in a mountain of tissues, some DVD rolling credits on her laptop. Shota laughed to himself.

He moved everything and laid Kohaku down next to her mother. His stories would have to wait. For the time being, it was family nap time. That was truly the perfect ending to the day.

Taglist

@spiderwinchester @sinclairsamess @dudesorriso @burningdragonfarmpainter @just-a-generic-username

@lucinda-barnes-black @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy @heathers-inner-thoughts @cherraybomb @give-a-rookie-a-cookie @babayaga67 @asaucecoveredsomething @izzythefanfreak @blazelover132 @jacobsmemesibling @theravencawsatmidnight

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tellthemeerkatsitsfine · 2 years ago

Text

I’m now about 30 episodes into the 4000 series of the Bugle, and I’ve started to properly get used to it. The things that are different and the things that are the same. I can now enjoy an episode for what it is, without constantly thinking it’s wrong for the element that’s missing. I have heard of Andy Zaltzman’s long and complex well written bullshit to know he’s the same as he ever was and there is so much to enjoy in that. And I even, occasionally, find myself appreciating some element of these episodes that was not there in its previous life. I suppose those specific elements are technically specific ways in which the new episodes are better than the old episodes, alongside the ways in which they’re worse for the old elements that they’re missing, and I’m managing to shut down the part of my brain that says “no no no nothing is better than the episodes of The Bugle in its original form, not even in small isolated specific ways” and actually appreciate that.

Those new elements are, of course, the rotating co-hosts. They all bring different things to the table, and I’ve found something to enjoy in all of them so far. My two favourites at this point are Helen Zaltzman and Nish Kumar. Nish Kumar – obviously, he’s the eighth wonder of the world and I would happily listen to him talk about anything, with anyone. Helen Zaltzman is someone I barely knew before, from sporadic News Quiz appearances, but she’s not on there often enough for me to get to know her. From what I’ve heard of her on The Bugle, though, I’ve immediately learned that she’s a very intelligent person and a delight to listen to, and it’s fun to hear someone who’s so used to Andy’s bullshit that she can spar with him as easily as breathing. Which is one of the things I loved that John Oliver brought to the show, so it’s nice to see Helen Zaltzman fill that role, while Nish takes John’s role of curling up in pain at the sound of any puns.

The rest of the co-hosts all have all made me laugh at some point or other, but I haven’t gotten particularly attached to any of them (with the exception of David O’Doherty, whom I know somewhat well from other shows – I’ve heard him on one Bugle episode so far and he was fantastic from start to finish). I figure that’s fine, because with time I probably will get more attached to some of them, and even if I don’t, they don’t often go more than a few episodes in a row without an appearance from Nish and/or Helen. Those are two frequent guests, especially Nish, so I have them as the anchors that I know I love and then try newer stuff around them.

This should let me really enjoy the podcast no matter how things go with the guest hosts generally, but I knew there was one more thing I’d need to like for this to work, and that’s Alice Fraser. I know her a little from News Quiz appearances, I’ve always liked her there. But I haven’t heard her anywhere else, so I don’t know much about her. Of all the 4000 series Bugle co-hosts, she’s the only one who’s been on the show more times than Nish Kumar. So as I approached her first episode of The Bugle, I thought I really fucking hope I end up liking her, because if I do, then I’ll have one more very frequent guest on my list of people to look forward to, and that’ll be great. But if I don’t like her, this whole plan sort of falls apart because she’s on all the time.

I’ve now heard a couple of Alice Fraser episodes, and I am pleased to report that I very much like her. She came out strong, clearly knowing exactly what show she was getting into and how she wanted to fit into it, but getting ahead of herself while trying to execute that plan and ending up sort of clattering awkwardly in. Which is fantastic, that’s my kind of person. She had rude jokes that she was excited to tell but would just drop them without buildup. I really enjoyed it.

It was borderline sweet when she started pulling out puns that made Andy say “Oh shit, someone appreciates my style of humour!”, and very funny when she kept pulling out puns and Andy had a sort of weird reaction along the lines of “Okay this is supposed to be my thing, what are you doing?” Her dynamic with Andy is very different from the that Andy has with John or Nish or Helen or most other people I’ve ever heard him interact with. She has a skill for throwing him off, making him stop mid-sentence because he has to ask “Sorry, what the hell did you say?”, which is always funny because normally Andy is the one making other people react like that. Andy Zaltzman being the one to be a bit baffled and wrong-footed is a rare thing, and Alice draws it out of him so nicely, it’s great fun.

So today I figured, if I’m going to be hearing a lot more from Alice Fraser as I go through this podcast, I may as well learn a bit about who she is. Knowing what type of comedy a comedian does when left to their own devices can give context that enhances the jokes they make on any show. So I listened to Alice Fraser’s trilogy of stand-up sets: Savage, The Resistance, and Empire. These were all put out as a podcast; I found them quickly by searching her name in my podcast app.

They were very good. And that is the main point of this post - to highly recommend these three shows that were all recorded and then released as a podcast (they were performed to an audience like a normal stand-up show, but the audio recording was released to podcasting apps and put on the internet for free, so that’s very cool).

The shows were written a year apart, put together as a trilogy because they all focus on her upbringing and how that’s affected her. A trilogy that’s taglined: “A comedy podcast about things that are actually sad.” As the tagline suggests, they do at times straddle the line between straightforward stand-up comedy, and the more one-woman show-type thing. But they are still mostly comedy, I laughed plenty in all three shows.

They’re very emotional and introspective, and whimsical in a way that, to be honest, I would find annoying if it were not done very well. I have seen this type of really whimsical comedy, and it does annoy me most of the time. When she started playing the banjo in the middle of a stand-up set, I was quite prepared to be annoyed. But it was really good. It was well written and genuinely insightful, in a format that is so often pseudo-insightful.

I’m going to end this post with two quotes from that trilogy that I liked so much that, when I heard them, I paused the audio to write them down:

“Any story, told long enough, becomes a tragedy. But any tragedy, after a while, becomes at least a little bit funny again.”

“Often the difference between whether a guy is a feminist or not is whether the woman he wanted to bang in university was a feminist or not. And whether he got to bang her or not.”

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serpentstole · 3 years ago

Note

Can I ask what's wrong with Michael W Ford's books? I never read them but I've seen often people recommending them, so I'm curious. Thank you and have a nice day.

Thanks for the question! Sorry if this gets a little long, TL;DR is at the bottom but I've broken down some more specific examples in point form.

I'll preface this by saying that if people get something worthwhile from Michael W Ford's books, that's their business and I'm happy for them. However, there's a few things about his writing and him as a person that I don't really love and struggle to get behind. Most of the specific textual examples I give are from the Bible of the Adversary specifically, as it's one of his more famous books and the only one I personally have had the mental fortitude to page through so far.

- I'm immediately leery of anyone who's often described as a "visionary" or "luminary" on websites selling or listing their books, especially when I've gotten the feeling that it's just that his books are accessible and plentiful. Even among fans of authors like E. A. "Become A Living God" Koetting, the general opinion seems to be that his books lack a lot of consistency and are a bit poorly written. Can confirm for the Bible of the Adversary, at least. There's some parts of that thing that could have used a once-over by an editor.

- I try very hard not to use what happened to the Greater Church of Lucifer/GCoL against him. Another member of the community that I do still (loosely, infrequently) interact with was also involved, and while I sincerely wish they'd both more deeply researched the man they were signing up to run a very public and scrutinized church with, I think his turning into a scam artist who publicly converted to Christianity was enough punishment there. Likewise, I'm a bit uncomfortable with his past involvement with the Order of Nine Angels/ONA/O9A given the fact that they're a pack of murder advocating nazis, but apparently he left when he discovered that fact, so I try to give him the benefit of the doubt that he truly did distance himself from them immediately upon learning of their beliefs, as I don't know when these things became more widely known. However, both of these fumbles alongside how he presents himself and his books just don't sit well with me, as the most generous interpretation is that he was twice-misled in some pretty dangerous and harmful ways by those that are damaging to the public perception of Luciferianism, but still likes to be some figurehead of the Luciferian community. People make mistakes, and people can be misled, and people can learn from past experiences, but his track record is a bit upsetting for a supposed authority.

- His work includes pieces and ideas from occultists or practices that I tend to avoid in my own practice and study, such as Thelema and Crowley's writing as a whole, inspiration taken from the Temple of Set/Setian magic, Qlipoth (because it wouldn't be a Luciferian grimoire without pilfered Jewish mysticism), and forms of Gnosticism that embrace the idea of God as an evil demiurge (which i explained my discomfort with in my previous post). I'm also not a huge fan of his "all magic comes from within" approach (and find it hard to reconcile with his frequent use of Luciferian deities/spirits and demons), nor that he'll talk about Cain's role in "Luciferian grimoires" without actually naming any... though given how similar a piece of Lilith themed artwork he's done looks to Andrew Chumbley's illustration, I assume he means the sort of books the Cultus Sabbati was writing. I wish I still had the Ford version saved or could remember which of his books it's from, the side by side comparison is painful but without it I risk looking like I'm making things up.

- Heavy, heavy use of Lilith, which I don't love for reasons I outlined before. She mostly seems to appear whenever spooky lustful sex magick is being discussed, which is great, that's great.

- He also uses the Wiccan wheel of the year sprinkled in among his more Luciferian focused holy days, which is just really funny to me. Why are we celebrating Beltane, Michael? Why are we celebrating Imbolg? (Page 69)

- He likes to use a lot of "black magic" and "vampyre magic" stuff which tends to feel very sensationalized and over the top to me. I've seen discussions of vampiric magic I found very interesting, but so far his hasn't been one of them.

- He sometimes seems to conflate Lucifer with Samael which I really truly dislike, though it's admittedly not the most baffling or out of left field take I've seen.

- Ford at times seems to either willfully misrepresent or misunderstand information he's passing along. For example, in the Bible of the Adversary he says that Cain's name comes from "...root ‘Kanah’ which means to possess. This by itself presents the antinomian nature of his essence, while instead of sacrificing his most bountiful items to the Lord, he kept them for himself." As I understand it, discussion surrounding Cain's name possibly coming from the Hebrew word קנה (kana) lean more into it being the word for to get or to obtain, referencing Eve's declaration after his conception that she'd gotten a man from the Lord. I'm all for alternate interpretations, but it feels like needless edgy-fying to fit the narrative he's trying to present. (Quote from Page 58)

- He'll say some absolutely bonkers shit like "Abel in some Luciferian Lore is considered a lower pre-form of Cain, thus the sacrifice was not literal" with zero citations or references. Like sir what the fuck does that mean, what Lore, please give us the lore please. (Footnote, Page 59)

- His interpretation of the Watchers and the Book of Enoch is so insultingly bad that I won't even relay it here, but if I see one more person claim that an angel, demon, or spirit they want to distance from Christianity or Judaism is actually a Babylonian god I'm going to go feral.

- As I've hinted at above, it feels like he'll just cherry pick and regurgitate for no real purpose. A few spirits from other texts like the Lesser Key and the Grimoire Verum get mentioned for... mostly the set of names, it seems like, he just kind of lists them out of context.

TL;DR, Michael W Ford feels (to me at least) like someone who has picked out the more appealing and edgy occult trivia and magic he could find from a wide range of sources, recontextualized the parts that didn't appeal to him until they fit his aesthetic and purposes, and presented them as a workable entry point to the Luciferian religion and its potential magical systems that is all flash no substance... and then could barely polish the flash. I don't like that he's many people's first exposure to the concept of theistic Luciferianism, and I don't like how authoritatively he presents his jumbled works as what the religion is truly about when it's so broad a label. Again, if there is something that someone finds useful within his books I am very happy for them, but I have struggled to find anything I could point to that make them worth the read... even for me to investigate further keep critiquing.

I honestly do not know why so people recommend them, unless it's just that they're easy to buy, reasonably inexpensive, and specifically have the Luciferian label on them. If that's truly the case, those people are being lazy and uncritical in a way that doesn't speak well to their apparent Luciferian ideals.

#asks #answer #luciferianism #theistic luciferianism #michael w ford #bible of the adversary

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h2bakugou · 4 years ago

Note

May I have headcanons for Bakugo, Todoroki and Hawks with an S/O who is or wants to become an heroine yet she faces a lot of backlash because she is the daughter of a -now imprisoned- villain?

a/n: of course! i love this headcanon, thank you for the request love!!

headcanon: them with an s/o who wants to be a hero but faces backlash because of her family.

key: (y/n) - your name / (f/n) - first name / (l/n) - last name / (e/c) - eye color / (h/c) - hair color / (y/q) - your quirk

warnings: fluff, swearing, a bit of angst, mentions of murder/death and violence!

»»————-　★　————-««

katsuki bakugou

»»————-　★　————-««

Before you even start dating, Bakugou is probably really curious about you. It was all over the news, that you’d gotten into U.A.

And despite the school’s claims to keep every student safe, you still felt like an outcast. Turning down a hall caused heads to turn, kids ducked into classrooms.

You wished people could understand that you weren’t your parents.

Two years ago your parents had been imprisoned for good, in Tartarus. Watching from a cafe tv, you learned that day that your parents were infamous villains that had killed close to hundreds, and injured more. All under your nose.

You were questioned for a while, in fact, the following six months after they got locked up you spent under a police watch. They found it hard to believe that you had absolutely nothing to do with what your parents did. And after several tests, they decided you were innocent.

News broke that you’d gotten into U.A., so much so that your parents even found out, not that you really cared what they thought, they’d lost all your trust.

Bakugou was able to see your determination though. No matter how many times you were called a villain, or some stupid name that the other kids came up with to try and make you leave, you pushed through.

What Bakugou loved the most is how calm you always looked. He knew you were hotheaded underneath it all. But you couldn’t snap at these kids, that would just prove their point.

But he saw you train and work first hand, unlike these kids. Your quirk was strong, it was no surprise you’d gotten into U.A. You were going to be a powerful hero.

When you started dating, a few things changed. Kids still made fun of you and mocked you, but not as much. Bakugou also got to see that what they said really did affect you.

You’d broke down once in front of him.

Bakugou sat on his bed, waiting for you to come join him so you could do homework. You were shuffling through your bag to find your work when you pulled out a note that had some rather nasty words written on it.

You didn’t want to cry in front of Bakugou but it just happened. Tears flooded down your cheeks as you started sobbing. Bakugou heard your cries and jumped up to comfort you.

“Hey, what the fuck is wrong?” Bakugo asked, his harsh sounding tone was more worried than anything.

“Do you think I’m going to be a villain?” You asked, your eyes red and puffy as tears streamed down your cheeks and soaked the neck of your sweater.

“What-no! What makes you think I’d think that about you?” Bakugou’s upset now too, but his eyes find the note that had been in your bag.

“Who wrote that.” Bakugou’s voice was stern, and it didn’t even sound like a question he was asking.

“I don’t know.” You sniffled.

“I’ll find out.”

“They’ll just do it again. I just wish people could understand I’m not like my parents. I want to help people.” You clung to Bakugou as you cried, his arms holding you close to him.

“They’ll see one day. I’ll make them see.” Bakugou kissed the top of your head and let you calm down in his arms.

»»————-　★　————-««

shoto todoroki

»»————-　★　————-««

Before the relationship, Todoroki knows who you are. You were all over tv when your parents were arrested for countless murders.

It was ironic. He was the son of a pro hero, and you were the daughter of two villains. Falling in love with you felt like some sort of twisted comedy.

When you got into U.A., Todoroki was unsure of your motives. You’d been labeled a villain kid, and only destined to follow in your parent’s footsteps.

But you were entirely innocent. You had no hand in what your parents had done, and you vowed to never even speak to them again.

Todoroki got close to you, at first to see if what you were saying was true. He was curious. And wanting to be a hero, he was going to stop any chance of a traitor among his classmates.

But then he got to know you. He found out you were kind, and how much you loved to help people.

You were nothing like your parents

When you started dating, he tried his best to understand what it was like to be you. He’d see kids make fun of you, and even adults when you went ou tin public.

He defended you, and people shut up real quick.

You met his dad once, and though Todoroki said it was probably going to end terribly, you insisted on meeting him.

Endeavor was a bit surprised to see you dating his son. Some of his questions for you made you a bit uncomfortable.

“Your parents are still in jail, correct?” It as so blunt, you felt like crawling under a rock.

“Father-”

“Sho, it’s fine. Uh yes, they’re still in Tartarus.” You answered his question. Endeavor could see the uneasiness on your face and decided the questionnaire could be answered later.

“You really want to be a hero-”

“Yes. I’ve always wanted to help people, helping people makes me happy.” You didn’t even let Endeavor finish his statement. Endeavor nodded and left you two alone.

Word got out that you were dating a pro heroes’ son, and well it sparked a lot of rumors.

For once, Endeavor backed you up. He’d been a bit worried about you, but his words seemed to ease some of the pressure you’d been feeling.

“If she wishes to be a hero, then that’s what she’s going to do. Suspicion is not a means to invalidate her goals and future plans.”

Todoroki has seen you break down a few times, mostly after school when kids would call you a ‘no good villain’ or some other name.

Todoroki comforts you as best as he can, either holding you close to him, or reassuring you that what they say or think isn’t the truth. Or he’ll do both.

Todoroki hates seeing you upset. He knows how bad reputations can ruin someone, and he knows the influence your parents have on you. He’s usually only recognized as Endeavor’s son, so he knows firsthand what being related to a hero or a villain can do.

He’s going to love you no matter what, and he’s helping right alongside you to make sure people understand that you are not your parents.

»»————-　★　————-««

hawks/keigo takami

»»————-　★　————-««

He’s already a pro, and his interest in you peaks when the news of your parents getting caught spreads.

You’re a newer hero, but the backlash of your parents getting caught drags you down. You feel like you’re drowning.

But in this vision where you’re drowning, a vermillion-winged man pulls you out of the water and smiles at you.

Hawks aims to be your friend at first, he can’t lie, you’re very beautiful, but he wants to get to know you. He’s a bit sketchy himself, so if you are some sort of villain he wants to know.

He doesn’t think his comments affect you. He’s a bit oblivious, he’s not intentionally trying to hurt your feelings, but when he does, he sure as hell regrets it.

“So what’s the masterplan, Miss Devious?” The name he used was what everyone called your mother.

“What the fuck did you just call me?” You turn and look at him, your eyes full of both hurt and anger.

“How are we going to catch the bad guys, or maybe, the good guys?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“Why would you say that to me? What the fuck is wrong with you?” You shove him away as you storm out of the room.

Hawks cocky grin is replaced by an ‘oh shit’ face. He’s really done it in now, and he’s thinking in his head that you’ll never forgive him for this one. All his other jokes seemed to fly, so why was this one so bad?

“Hey, wait up!” Hawks calls to you. He sends a few of his feathers to pin you against a wall so he can talk to you.

“Why are you so mad?” He asks, trying to examine your expression.

“Why am I mad? You just called me my fucking mom’s name. You’re making it really hard to like you. What part of ‘I don’t associate with my parents’ don’t you fucking understand?” You shout at him. Hawks’ lips form a thin line as he thinks about what he’s said.

“I’m sorry.” Hawks apologizes, figuring it’s best to at least make up for what he’s said until he can figure you out.

“Are you? Or are you just saying that so I don’t lash out?” You glare at him. Hawks looks away and sighs.

“I didn’t realize that-”

“That what? After the countless times I’ve been called a villain, that I wasn’t affected by it? Or that maybe the backlash from dozens of media sources and civilians wasn’t enough and that you feel the need to remind me that I’m the daughter of two awful villains?” You snap, tears pouring from your eyes.

“Hey, that’s not what I meant.” Hawks defended himself, his heart aching as you cried.

“I try so fucking hard. I work my ass off to prove that I’m just as good of a hero as anyone else. I fucking love helping people, it’s my job to save and help whenever I can, but it’s never enough.” You sob. Hawks’ feathers return to his wings as he lets you go.

Hawks hugs you and doesn’t let you go.

“I’ve been an asshole, and sorry won’t cut it for how I’ve acted but I want to make it up to you.” Hawks understood a bit better now. You were trying to fight the corruptness of the media. You were labeled awful things while you were just doing your job.

You’d never done an evil thing in your life, and you couldn’t hurt a fly if you tried.

“Why are you saying this now?” You ask, pushing him away.

“Because I fucking love you.” Hawks blurts out. He quickly covers his mouth, his ears turning bright red.

“Wha-”

In the spur of the moment to keep you from saying anything else, Hawks presses his lips to yours, ceasing the awkward question you were about to ask.

After this, it takes a bit of time for you to fully forgive Hawks, but you fall in love with him. He helps you prove yourself, and the two of you become practically inseparable.

Nothing can erase what your parents have done, but every day, Hawks reminds you that you aren’t your parents, and he’ll do whatever he can to make the public understand that too.

»»————-　★　————-««

masterlist

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teddy06writes · 4 years ago

Text

Out of Their Grasp

requested by this anon: “hey hey I was wondering if you could do dream x George x reader fantasy/royal au (bc I just read "for his hand" and I love it so much!!) where reader and dream go to battle but only dream returns from it. and he has to tell George that reader died. the more angst the better😝💅”

and also this one: “will there be a part 2 of For His Hand? It’s so good, i loved it!”

{Technically you don’t have to read part one but I would recommend it because this one takes place in the same universe}

Dream x George x reader

trigger warnings: swearing, yelling, major character death, aGnSt

premise: war breaks out near the borders of the SMP, you and Dream are sent ahead of the royal party to the front lines in an attempt to stop any further battles until a peace can be reached when disaster strikes, leaving your partners to deal with the repercussions.

{dude I’m like manically laughing right now}

(y/n/n)- your nickname

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

“It was just skirmishes, here and there for the last few weeks,” Sam gestured to a few spots near the northern boarder on the map spread out across the table, before pointing to another in the center of the rest, “But then, yesterday there was a huge attack on the villages, and our military bases in this valley.”

You glanced around the room, from person to person, gauging there reactions.

George had visibly stiffened in his seat, and behind him Dream seemed equal tense.

“Have we taken any measures to fight back?” Sapnap asked impatiently.

“How bad are the damages?” George asked, ignoring him.

Eret looked down at the report they’d been given, “There seems to have been more pillaging than raiding, they were breaking into peoples house, causing general destruction and looting, when our forces attempted to stop them they began to fight. All in all 30 of ours were killed and there was an estimated 10,000 in damages.”

George frowned, as Niki spoke up, “We should pay the people reparation's and help them with any reconstruction that needs to be done.”

Many people nodded, but next to you Sapnap was still unhappy, “Are we doing anything about the invaders? We cannot just sit here and allow them to attack the people!”

“Pushing, pushing.” You muttered.

The king looked at him for a long moment, before turning to Callahan, the scribe, “Attempt to negotiate a peace. I don’t want anymore bloodshed to curse this land.”

The man beside you groaned, and you were quick to elbow him in the side and Sam ended the meeting and everyone began to file out of the room, hissing, “I don’t know how they do things where you’re from but that is no way to behave in an advisory meeting. Next time you pull that shit you won’t be allowed back to one.”

-You had taken the new coming warrior on as a sort of apprentice after he’d first arrived at the palace, and it was clear the change of pace wasn’t something he was ready for-

“They can’t just stand by! The King is a fool if he thinks a peace can be reached like this!”

You glared at him. “The King is no fool.”

“You only say that out of obligation.” Sapnap fired back.

You recoiled, burned, before crossing your arms and starting out of the room, “You may be a trained mercenary but you haven’t the faintest idea as to how to hold yourself among this crowd. It will be the death of you.”

He followed you back toward your office, listening as you continued, “King George is a good and just man, to say that he is a fool is to say the sun is square. He has wiped this kingdom clean of many years of bloodshed.

“The Kings advisors, and cabinet are kind, respectable people, you must remember to hold your tongue unless spoken too, and never say anything brash as you have done now, lest you make a greater fool of yourself.”

He huffed, “If I must stay silent in those meetings than how can I get my point across? Sending a messege to the enemy through force may be the only way!”

“Now you sound like Tommy, just as foolhardy and headstrong as the child,” You pushed the door to your office open, “I’m sure that Technoblade agrees with you, though he knows better than to speak freely.”

“If he agrees with me than perhaps it’s the right move.”

You turned to look at him quizzically, finally saying, “A wise king does not seek out war, no matter what his knights advise.”

Sapnap turned, “Then the lot of them are fools.”

“I have told you once to never disrespect the king, I suggest you don’t do it again. This land has seen it’s share of unjust rulers, be thankful you have not come here under worse authority.”

~~ That night, when the palace grew quiet, and the sky dark, you found yourself back in Dream’s quarters, an overtired, overstressed George having wedged himself between you two and refusing to move.

You sighed as Dream ran a hand through your sleeping partners hair, “He’s anxious.”

“I mean, can you blame him? War may be on the horizon.” Dream murmured.

“I meant even now- in the time of sleep. I think Sapnap is just adding fuel to the fire.”

Dream sighed, “If he has another outburst like that-”

“He’ll be cast out,” You nodded, “I know. He just needs to be willing to learn the way things go around here. In time he will learn.”

Your boyfriend chuckled to himself, “Fucking hotshot.”

“I think you’d like him, if you were able to spend more time with him.” You smiled.

“Well someone had to go snatch him up as an apprentice!”

“Well it was him or Ranboo, and Ranboo is far too- forgetful, for this sort of thing. I’d’ve had Tubbo but he and Tommy are a package set an you took ‘em.”

“What about Purpled?”

You rolled your eyes, “He started an apprenticeship with Punz ages ago.”

“SHHhhhhhhh, ‘m tryin’ to sleep.” George muttered, burying his face in your shoulder.

In the darkness of the chamber you could barley make out Dream’s eyes sparkling as he took your hand, “Course love, course.”

As the weeks continued the damages on the northern boarder only seemed to grow, the new invaders claiming three of the villages there own.

There was yet another large attack on the town that had been damaged the first time, this time a direct threat left etched on the walls, ‘You have made my people suffer, and now yours shall feel the same’

“Militia, both local and our own soldiers have taken it upon themselves to fight back, almost a hundred lived lost to each side.” The silence in the room grew deafening as Sam finished reading his report, not even Sapnap daring to speak.

“Your Majesty?” Bad hazarded, “What is our next course of action?”

George frowned, glancing around the room, “Peace is still the priority. Maybe- maybe we call a ceasefire, I could meet with there ruler-”

“No,” Dream interrupted, drawing all eyes to him, “It would be too dangerous. How do we know they can be trusted to lay down there arms?”

George shot him a look, “How do we know that we haven’t done anything to provoke them? Whatever we have done wrong we need to fix it. If we can work something out then people will be spared on both sides.”

“Shall we arrange for a ceasefire?” Eret asked.

The King nodded as Wilbur spoke up, “We could set up a meeting place, on neutral ground, possibly similar to the holy lands, so there would be no worry of a security breech.”

Dream seemed to relax at this, and then eyes were turned to you and Sapnap, representing the royal guard, “We can, but even so we should stay vigilant, perhaps send a group ahead with the runners to see too it.” You said, noting the gratitude on Dream’s face, as well as the slight annoyance on George’s.

“Well I see no one better to attend to the King’s safety than you,” Bad said, “You shall go with the party, and Technoblade with you, Sapnap can remain here to take over your day to day duties.”

The man in question quietly shot you a pleading look, at which you sighed, “With all do respect I think Sapnap could be better severing to the crown if he joined the running party.”

Bad glanced around to the others, looking for any objections before shrugging, “We can find someone else to do the work. So that’ll be you, Technoblade, Sapnap, and we can send the usual scouting party, and Sam shall go with again.”

~~ The next morning found you suiting up and heading out to the stables to tack up your horse. Techno was already down there, idly chatting with Phil as he readied Carl for the journey, and out in the courtyard you could see Sapnap talking to two men.

“Good morning, (y/n)!” Phil chirped, waving your direction.

“Morning Phil.” You moved down the row, reaching out and letting Beckerson nuzzle into your palm.

After getting your horse cared for and saddled, the rest of the party had headed out of the stables as your partners entered.

George took your hand, “Don’t start any more trouble.”

“Sounds like your talking to Dream not me.” You chuckled.

“Hey!” Dream protested.

“I’m not wrong!” You teased.

George rolled his eyes, quickly pulling you in for a kiss, “Make things good for me to be out there.”

“Stay out of trouble.” Dream advised, pulling you away from George to kiss you himself.

“You underestimate me.” You smirked, grabbing Bekerson’s reigns.

Dream rolled his eyes as you started to lead the horse out of the stable, calling, “And stay safe!”

“I’ll see you in five days!” You chuckled, heading out of the stables and quickly mounting your horse, kicking at his sides to catch up with the others.

~~ The last three days had been spent anxiously waiting, and now the journey to the norther board was coming to a close.

Dream rode alongside the carriage, eyes following the strange trail of smoke on the horizon; something was wrong, he could feel it.

The quiet, almost calm of the morning was slowly being cut through by a growing noise, and then finally shattered as one of the runners sent ahead to signal their arrival came crashing through the trees looking panicked.

“What’s going on?” Punz asked.

“They attacked! They broke the ceasefire!”

Dream’s brain surged with panic as he turned to where George and his advisors were starting to climb out of the carriage asking why they had stopped, “Turn around! It isn’t safe here! Go! Punz! Tommy! Ponk! Get them out of here!”

Before he could even stop to see if they were following his orders he was rushing forward down the road, urging Spirit to go faster as the road widened into the village.

Dream was met with nothing but chaos, the royal insignia’s on the tents set up in the field were aflame, and the clashing of swords filled his ears as the royal army and the few commoners who could fought back against the pillaging people.

“About time you showed up!” Sapnap yelled from halfway across the field, “We could use some fucking help!”

“No shit!” Dream yelled back, dismounting and unsheathing his sword.

Almost immediately another person came barley towards him, throwing him into combat.

He cut his way across the field, taking down people here and there, still searching the carnage for you.

Eventually he made it to where Sapnap had just disarmed and knocked out another opponent, “Where are they?”

His eyes danced around the wreckage, “Could be anywhere, saw ‘em trying to get the townspeople out of the way.”

Dream cursed, running off the direction of the village, calling you name.

The fighting continued, the addition of the extra royal guardsmen helping turn the tide of the battle, though Dream still couldn’t locate you on the battle field.

As the remaining invaders began to retreat, and the royal troops beginning to recoop be demanded, “Has anyone seen (y/n)?!”

“Last I saw they were on the ridge sir.” Someone said.

Dream nodded, quickly turning to head the direction they had pointed as they all went back to collecting the villagers from there hiding places.

The little valley seemed all too quiet as Dream climbed toward the ridge, the sounds of another skirmish erupting into the air.

Taking off at a sprint he made it up the hill to find you locked in combat with another warrior.

You panted, throwing up you shield to block another strike from his axe before shoving forward and swing your sword at his spear wielding hand.

He wasn’t excepting this, and the spear clatter out of his hand, the shock on his face giving you enough momentum to keep pushing forward, throwing attack after attack at the man as he edged backward.

You had just managed to shove him to the ground when a cry broke your attention.

“(Y/N)!!”

You turned to see Dream, smiling, words starting to form on your lips as a spear suddenly drove through your chest.

“NO!!!!!” Dream shrieked, charging forward and quickly slashing at the mans throat before turning to where you had fallen in the grass.

“T-that one was your fault.” You mumbled as he did his best to pull your shaking body into his arms.

“I know,” tears flooded his eyes, “It’s gonna be okay, I’m gonna get help.”

You did your best to smile through your fear, “What would George say if he saw you here cuddling me without him? Huh?”

“(Y/n)....”

“Bad time for a joke I guess,” you shaky voice was disrupted by a painful cough wracking your body, “Never really planned on being ran through with a spear this morning.”

Dream had resolved to muteness, watching you life slip away and out of his grasp with a murmured, “I’m sorry.”

“Your highness, news of the boarder war has returned.”

George looked up as Wilbur ushered a scarily calm Technoblade and an all too quiet Dream into the room, “What is it? Where’s (y/n)?”

“Their gone,” Dream sounded all too hollow, “Th- they aren’t coming back.”

George froze and Techno sighed, “I think I’m gonna leave you alone to sort this out. C’mon Wilbur.”

The doors closed slowly behind them as Dream moved closer to the throne, quietly pulling a distraught George into his arms.

“Th- they died in my arms. I- I couldn’t stop it.”

George wipped at silent tears, “We’re going to make them pay.”

A funeral was planned and attended, everyone leaving the King and his Knight space to breath as they remained standing by the grave.

“Tomorrow.” George said with finality, “Tomorrow we make them pay.”

Dream nodded, looking down at the copy of the note that had been sent to the enemy:

‘Holy water cannot stop me now, a thours and armies couldn’t keep me out. I don’t want your money, I don’t want your crown, see I’ve come to burn your kingdom down’

#mcyt x reader #mcyt imagines #dreamwastaken x reader #Georgenotfound x reader #dream x George x reader #teddy06 writes

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