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imeternallylove · 2 years

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Look at us, all we do is a fight - Stephen Strange

Stephen Strange x Reader

warning: nope, just a bit cursing words and mentioned/spoiled to mom, Tony Stark, she-hulk (Jenifer Walters), and Bruce Banner

genre: angst with comfort (that is me hehe)

words: 2.2k

summary: after you risked your life to save America Chavez from Scarlet Witch, your fight with Stephen became increasingly bitter, eventually pushing both of you to the edge of a dead-end relationship.

dividers

ao3

Wong, the other sorcerers, and some of the Avengers have always wondered how you two met. Yes, you both were always intelligent and attractive, but also sort of headstrong, stubborn, and reckless.

Dealing with Stephen in any aspect of his life was difficult enough, and that's not to say you were on his level, but your close person made sure to avoid you when you became enraged.

You two are polar opposites. Stephen Strange could be described as terse, strict, and seemed to dislike social interaction with strangers, whereas you were easygoing, always cracking jokes about trivial matters, and eager to help anyone, even if it meant going out of your way.

That's why, many years later, when your friends and family found out about your relationship with Stephen, they were shocked. When they did, however, something simply click. The reason Stephen began to smile more, is why he became more lenient toward the stranger and his trainees. And why do you choose to work, train, eat, and even join on dangerous missions with The Sorcerer Supreme, when the truth is that you were only Stark's niece, a human with no superpowers.

They wish they could say they were surprised when anything went wrong. But when you were together, they could feel the blossom growing around them, even when you rebuked him or he ordered his Cloak to keep you from leaving the Sanctum when you both fought.

They weren't surprised, but neither of you had their endorsement. After all, Stephen Strange was brilliant but utterly arrogant.

"What the hell were you thinking? You could die!" You had been ignoring him since dinner, intending to go right past him and into your shared bedroom, but his grip on your wrist had tightened to stop your run away from the heated argument. "You can't keep putting yourself in danger in this way, Y/N."

You murmur before rubbing your exhausted temples, "you know, I can't just stand still, watching you unconscious and do nothing while Wanda tries to murder that kid!"

"Listen, that doesn't mean you can run around and save her without me or Wong."

You struggle to free yourself from his grip as you notice his rage and sweat on his brow. This urges you to respond, "What? So everything I've done was my fault?"

However, his grip grew stronger and firmer, drawing you towards him. "Whatever you just did, it was sooner or later up to me to fix it!"

The corridor went silent and you flinch at his cruel words. You're struggling to breathe, your sadness deepening. Well, is this what he's been thinking all along? You only need his help; no, you don't need a single damn spell.

When he acted like this, you couldn't help but become irritated, and the fury began to rise, your jaw clenched painfully. You loved him, but he had a habit of driving you insane from time to time. "But that kid needs help! Don't you see?!"

"Oh, yeah?" Stephen appears upright and chuckles at you, but his tone betrays this. This makes you realize that the situation between you two has taken a horrible edge this time. "So, how about me? What if you die and what about me!? Are my feelings meaningless to you, right? Y/N?"

Your heartbeat freezes for a split second after hearing his wrecked voice. You were staring at his upper abdomen as his arms got progressively lax on yours, then he lets you free. "Oh, please. You were wrong 'bout me, Stephen Strange." You added with tilting head, "don't you dare reprimand me, you did the same damn thing for your stone!" He growls over your level, "well, is this my problem now?"

"It does if it means saving America's life— and if I would die," you hissed in a deep rough, "I might actually add!"

"Y/N!"

It was supposed to be another random brawl. That is exactly how it is meant to be. Misunderstanding load up to fight, then give each other the silent treatment before ultimately forgiving, kissing, making up, and moving on. This is how it is meant to happen.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

"Would you have done differently, Steph? Would you?" You knew he wouldn't, and he knew it as well.

The frantic breath of the Sorcerer paints against your face. His arms flew out and punched a hole into the wall inches from your face, remaining there as though to protect you from the remainder of this place. Stephen towered over you, his eyes filled with wordless wrath, but you refused to back down.

When you open your lips to speak, he stops you in low voice.

"It's over."

You're taken aback by his bitter statement, as if your back has sunk into the crumbling wall he's just smashing. "What?"

"Look at us, all we do is a fight."

No, this was not supposed to end up like this.

Both of your eyes connect for a brief while, and you attempt to avert it, but his gaze never leaves yours. What does killing you much more is you need to admit that he probably won't gaze at you and be with your side like this ever again.

"That's it?"

Stephen's rough hands cup around your face. His warm breathing and kisses leave marks on your cheek, which dry as your tear ducts slip down with a soft gasp, he simply says.

"That's it."

You just stand there and do nothing, though your heart pleading with him not to leave like a prayer, there's nothing came out of your mouth one bit.

All you do is piercing cry wildly in silence.

The last thing you saw as you realized you were losing your words was his figure moving away from you before it evaporated.

You couldn't have imagined how quickly your relationship with him would devolve into a dead end. However, the smashed pit on the wall and bloodstain on the floor of the Sanctum proved it unequivocally.

Between you and him, it's all over.

Everyone else had no idea what you had said that night, but they did know that after a month of itchy and sarcastic remarks between you and Stephen while waiting for America to fully recover from her past, you had cheerfully brought back to your usual; leaving the Avengers team and going return to usual living as a lawyer and litigation associate somewhere in Los Angeles.

There hasn't been enough hearing from you, but some of them just know you're working with Walters, Banner's cousin.

In the half-year you were gone, Stephen always has a nightmare. It wasn't the same nightmare he'd had throughout the battle with Scarlet Witch and his variants. But he was pursued by the desire to the longing, to reclaim you.

His rage was directed toward Wong and the sorcerers. Stephen was more irresponsible and difficult to settle down without you around.

On the day you departed the Sanctum, he accidentally hurt himself in the shoulder while seeing you happily leave his place. The soreness in his shoulder reminded him of his mistake.

He studied, practiced, and learned to cast all of the new spells, heading to Karmar-Taj and went back to New York's Sanctum every day, and worked on his meditation in the morning while the only thing he swallowed was wine and beer, day after day, night after night.

His fury for you has already vanished. He needs you more than anything else right now. He is always thinking about you. But, in the meanwhile, he did what he feared would happen; his arrogant ego pushed you away.

Another meaningless tumbler of wine was poured down his throat.

You wish you could tell or show off how great you did after separating from Stephen while face time with America or Wong.

The fact is, you were at first. You completed your job with enjoyment while you were away from him. But as time passed, when you look up once more, it's been a year now.

You began to crave to miss his warm and attractive grin, his hidden sense of humor that gave rise to you smile when you least expected it, his random kisses throughout the day, his ways of making you feel special and how you mattered to him, his embrace, his scent, his touch, his admiring Cloak, his-

Everything about him.

Nightly, rainfall season. So much of a heartsick atmosphere all around you this night in the city, it full filed your room as well.

Fall into the mattress and start weeping along with the thunderstorms, you forlorn desire for Stephen to cast the portal travel to flash you a smug smile, or possibly surprise you with his Goddamn astral projection when you working, anything, anything as he had done once to tease you.

Except for some news on the internet, you didn't see him at all during your time of loneliness.

His cocky habit makes you laugh despite it was the past and always heartache to recall, you must confess to yourself that you miss him all the time.

You needed to go back. You know, you needed to go back and make things right. You sank, drowning on the seas too much way of heartbreak.

You have to return to your love.

You planned to attend this hearing before your and Stephen's anniversary, according to your calendar.

With good fortune, you can become able to conduct a case at the New York Judiciary. You've only just finished your client reports by 11:50 p.m., and you're tearing down Bleecker Street in the downpour.

You're still dressed in your finalized court hearing outfit, a dark navy blue dress with a pencil skirt, blazer, and heels. It was extremely uncomfortable to run, but you couldn't go another second with everything drastically wrong.

Even when your legs hurt, you keep running.

And now you're standing at his Sanctum door, unsure whether you should be there. What if he'd already moved on? What if he was better off splitting up? What if…

No way, no fucking no

He has to be as tortured as you are right now. A quick glance at your watch shows it's 11:58 p.m.

You could actually walk into the building. Even if something prompts you to knock, you still have Stephen's sling ring to create dimension paths through inside.

The time is 11:59 p.m., and you can hear the door opening.

Midnight has arrived, and the door is open to a bloodshot-eyed man, his t-shirt inside out, who is most highly probable alone here shirtless. And now you don't even give him a chance to recognize you before charging forward and crushing him into an embrace. He does not move or react for a brief moment.

Something has gone wrong, as evidenced by the thriving dread inside you.

A second later, Stephen wraps his arms around you tightly, rocking you back and forth. You close your eyes and welcome back to the significance of belonging, of home. You are overjoyed to be able to return to your heartland.

Stephen notices you're sobbing, he moves back slightly so he can read your features. "What is it, darling? Hey, don't cry," his delicate baritone voice and the pet name he used to call you evokes even more emotions in your eyes, which you fight to suppress. He approaches you, cupping your face with his hands and wiping away tears with his thumbs. "Tell me what's wrong."

He did the same thing the day you both ended your relationship.

His glassy blue gaze shivers and seek the answers in yours. Finally, you muster the courage to say what you need to say, albeit with a hiccup and a crack in your voice. "Are we— we're not over, right?"

As he recalls the words he said a year ago, his face begins to drop. You shook your head, struggling with your streaming tears, "not that's, right? We not-"

Stehepn cuts you off by enfolding you in safe warmth while stroking your wet hair and murmuring in the soothing, comforting voice you'd craved far too extensively. "Never." He exhales slightly while strengthening his hold on you. "Y/N, between us; it was never over."

The rain keeps falling behind you, and you shudder from the coolness. All you do are nod like a crazier onto his shoulder and whispered a chant of you're sorry.

The door is still half open, sensing the cozy air blow against your heart since you're both clinging to each other on the floor of the doorstep.

When the stormy wind carries his hum around you, you feel his Cloak reach out and encircle you and Stephen.

The word sorry repeats between the two of you, punctuated by soft kisses on the top of your head and his promise to never let you go again, telling you that the moment in front of you right now was real, and you truly reclaim the love of your life back.

Like enchantment, you both became engrossed and lost in this dearest moment. Your lips brush against his jaw as you join him, echoing the treasured whispers of desire and craving that were absent for a while.

Throughout over the cloudburst, street lamps, the moonlight, or the stars, there is one thing you could hear for now.

"Never. We never over, I promise."

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cinnamonest · 4 years

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Zhongli (Genshin Impact) - Yandere Profile

This man's voice has a POWER over me I SWEAR

tws: yandere, mentions of n/sfw

tws (under the cut): very ddlg-esque vibes, sorta? infantilization, noncon

I'm sorry I get such strong daddy vibes it unintentionally went in this direction, hope that isn't too bad lmao

I’m working on all the prompts I’ve gotten in! I’ve gotten a few so I’ll be working on those.

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What are they generally like? Lucid, aware? Obsessive? How do they behave?

He's one that might be likely to misunderstand his feelings at first, think that he sees himself as a mentor or maybe even an authority figure, someone to guide you and teach you and serve as a dependable partner to your travels. As time goes on, and he begins to recognize how utterly flustered he gets around you, he's forced to acknowledge the actual feelings he has.

While some yanderes with a slight aloofness or pride to them get worse when in love, such as Childe or Kaeya, his drops completely. You bring out a softer side of him, really, one that's protective and tender and loving, so very loving, wanting to be around you, with you. He's certainly an obsessive, protective type, ultimately allowing his protective nature to get the better of him as he demands to know everything you've done, account for your location at every moment, constantly keep track of your habits, inquire about very personal details of your life. If he realizes you're bothered by it, he might draw back a bit, but he's convinced that that's just your perception, that it's necessary, truly, and not at all unusual.

Pet names. Particularly fond of love, darling, and angel. Sweet things that represent what you mean to him -- something precious, something to represent his adoration and idolization.

The primary form of delusion comes from a perception of you. He's obsessive, and idolizes you to an extent. He perceives you as pure, innocent, angelic. The thing is, this applies regardless of whether or not you actually are. If you are, it will solidify the idea, but even if you're not, he will find a way to see you so, anyway. No matter how wise you are, no, you're naive. No matter how capable you are, no, you're weak and fragile. No matter how experienced you may be, no, you're pure. He can always keep this delusion running by bringing into account age and comparison - you'll never be as strong as him, so you might as well be frail and weak. You'll never have lived as long as him, so really, do you think there's that much difference between you and a child, when compared to someone like himself?

How likely are they to kidnap their darling? How quickly will they do so?

Actually highly likely, and pretty quickly. As he observes you, it becomes very clear to him how very fragile you are, how naive you are, you are quite literally too pure, too angelic, to be living in this world with such beings as humans. Fragile, beautiful little things have a place where they belong - protected. Where do we put fragile, beautiful things? We put them behind glass, behind ropes, in pretty cages, in secluded rooms. It's only natural that you, too, need a similar environment.

He's one of the ones that will... Elegantly kidnap you, as odd as it sounds. He's not a brute that would do something horrendous like knocking you out or drugging you, no, he'll find an excuse for you to come to his abode, invite you in, and you'll walk in none the wiser. Only after your in, and the doors close, does he guide you to your new room, calmly explaining that he's come to the realization that you're too fragile to continue your journey, and ought to simply give up on your travels. He knows you'll be upset at first. Like a child being denied, you'll get pouty, moody, you might cry, you might lash out at him. It's predictable. He'll dry your eyes and calm you down, brushing off any harsh words you may have, holding your wrists in his hands when you try to push him away, softly reassuring you that it will all be alright, that you're safe now, and you'll learn to accept this with time.

How difficult is it to escape from them? How do they keep you restrained? How do they deal with attempted escape?

He would want something... elaborate. He's a man with taste for the most beautiful of things, including yourself, and he won't settle for something as simple as a chain or ropes. No, that would be too simple and brutish, and you, one of the finest things in his life, deserve something equally beautiful and delicate.

He's one of the ones that would go to a great deal of preparation for your arrival. He'd have a room prepared just for you, very ornate, beautifully tailored to you -- the walls your favorite color, the bed made of the same material as your old one, and the whole room completely filled with things you're certain you never even told him you liked. Clothes that fit perfectly to your body. It's frightening how perfect it is, because you know he had to go out of his way to acquire the information to achieve such perfection, but you have no idea how.

Everything about it elegant and detailed, right down to the series of ornate locks on the door. They're some of the sturdiest available, made with essentially unbreakable metal alloys and the most intricate lock systems to date. The windows don't open, and he'd certainly find some way to ensure escape through them isn't an option -- perhaps metal bars, perhaps an unbreakable glass substitute, perhaps merely locating your new home right on the edge of one of Liyue's most beautiful mountains, so that if you were to go out the window you'd plummet to the earth below. He's a bit delusional, but he's not stupid, and he will think through every possibility. Every little detail he needs to keep you safe and confined.

He's certain that, perfect as it is, this room is all you will ever need to be happy. Should you desire anything else, he can bring it to you. You'll never have to leave.

So it goes without saying that it would be exceptionally difficult to escape him. You'd have to find a way through the locks, for which your best bet would be to get some hair pins or tiny writing utensils. Even if you managed it, though, which would frankly be a very difficult feat, you'll have to deal with staying free. Zhongli has ties to the people of Liyue as a whole, and needless to say, he has eyes everywhere. You can't risk appearing in the harbor area, there will be far too many people who would immediately report you, and you'd just be walking right to him anyhow. The surrounding areas also have ties to him, so you'd want to try and reach Mondstadt, as far as it is, which is a difficult travel by foot all alone. You won't get far. He's faster, he's wiser, and he will find you long before you could ever hope to make it there.

However, he's not quite as angry as some yanderes would be about it. He doesn't take your escape personally, no, he blames himself, only calculating his own mistakes as to how it happened. He sees you as something like... a little runaway pet, so naive and dull that you don't know any better than to go wandering off. Or perhaps like a child, just sheepishly curious and wanting to explore, not knowing the dangers of the world. Or, perhaps...

"I haven't been giving you enough attention, have I? That's why you pulled this little act of rebellion... you're hurt by my negligence and wanted to be reassured of my care for you. I'm so sorry... I understand now, love. This was my fault. I've been so caught up with work... I'll delegate some tasks to my workers, and I'll be able to spend more time with you from now on, alright? Don't worry, I'm not angry, I'll take full responsibility. I'll be sure to make it up to you... now, let's go home."

How easy are they to trick, deceive, or manipulate?

Much like Childe or Venti or anyone who has been around as long as he has, you really don't stand a chance. He's an incredibly perceptive man. There's not much to say on the matter, as any attempts will be quickly shut down.

He'd find it amusing, really. Like a child trying to lie, but the evidence is all over their face and hands - it's that obvious to him. It's cute enough that he almost hates having to discipline you for it, but, you have to learn.

How lenient are they? What privileges can you have, and what will you be denied?

He wants his little angel to be safe - and unfortunately, you, being so naive and empty headed, don't always know what's best for you. He knows rules can be hard to follow perfectly, but they're there to keep you safe.

Extremely strict, will want to monitor every moment of your life, every little movement you take, and will insist on watching over you in every task. He'll pick out everything you wear, everything you eat.

Occasionally, if you ask very sweetly, he may take you out for walks in Liyue. Honestly, he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy taking you to what he knows are the finest locations, shops with the highest level of craftsmanship, restaurants with a high price tag and reputable food. He enjoys showing off his refined tastes and discerning selective abilities. And honestly? There's a certain... Powerful feeling to knowing you're made aware of the costs when he makes high purchases in front of you... even if you don't realize he's not always actually the one paying for it, or that he forgot mora again but promises the owner to pay later - but he'll make sure you don't know that. You hear the numbers, and your eyebrows raise, your eyes widen. You'd nearly faint if that total was on your responsibility, and he knows that. Which is why he'll simply smile at you, and tell you you're worth every last Mora. He'll buy you nearly anything you may desire. It seems like leniency, but in reality, it's his subtle way of locking control and dependency over you, making you respect him, making you love him.

"Don't worry, love. It's not a lot... Not to me, at least. Even if it were, my angel only deserves the best, no?"

What kind of rules do they have? What kind of punishment would they use?

Oh dear. Again, he's very strict, and wants to monitor everything you do, every little aspect of your life. He decides what you eat, portioning your meals to make sure you're eating enough, he worries about you going hungry during your travels, but luckily you'll never have to worry about that again. If you have a sweet tooth, he'll sigh and worry about your teeth and health, but he'll make sure to account for a little bit of sugar in your day, and will even pick up little treats from some of the most reputable places in Liyue.

He picks out clothes for you with each day. They're not... Normal clothes, per se. Certainly not what you'd normally wear on your travels. And it's not like anyone will see you except him - which is exactly why you'll have clothes he would never want anyone else to see you in. Frilly, lacey things, somehow both highly sexualized but also incredibly infantile, soft pinks, baby blues, gentle off-whites. They accentuate the curves of your body so perfectly, while just barely letting him see the parts of you normally kept hidden.

You'll have a schedule - a bath time, a bedtime, a wake-up time. He's weak to your requests, though, and may let you stay up a little late every now and then, or sleep in just a bit, if you make that soft pouting face and beg. He'll insist on bathing you, dressing you, so that you don't have to - and can't even if you wanted to - lift a finger even to wash yourself or put your clothes on.

He has a set of rules for you, very simple ones he hopes you can easily follow. No trying to leave. No doing anything dangerous. No talking to strangers when you go out. You must hold his hand whenever you're walking together, don't go wandering off.

He'll feel ashamed of the thought for a while, but eventually he'll cave and give into the desire, no, the security precaution, of a nice little collar for you. It's not too embarrassing, no, he went out of his way to find one that was delicate, almost like a necklace, made with fine materials, the engraving only visible up close. If you look closely, though, it clearly bears his name.

Breaking the rules is expected, he anticipates it. You're not the brightest, he might even view it as a mistake. A benefit is that you can easily pass it off as simply forgotten, or an accident. Hence, he's not too harsh - normally. He'll sigh, forgive you, and pat your head, contemplating how to prevent your access in the future.

Perhaps you wriggled out of his hand and ran off while walking? You were just excited, distracted, like a child. He might be able to procure a small leash, one that wouldn't be immediately obvious or embarrassing, to attach to your collar. Perhaps some cuff-like links to latch your arm to his.

You forgot the rule about not handling the kitchen knives and cut yourself? He'll have to get some kind of lock and simply keep them safely away from you. No big deal. Any measures are worth your safety.

If you push the limits, or have a defiant attitude, he might reach the point of punishment. As for not-unwholesome things, this would usually include taking away privileges, such as walks or sweets, but overall, punishment will mostly come in more impure forms.

How do they deal with rivals, or perceived rivals? Will they get rid of them? Will they kill them themselves, or find another way?

Not too much to say here - he has connections. He doesn't need to dirty his own hands. For all his supposed humility, if he truly dislikes someone, they're no more significant than an insect to him. He has no reservations about ridding the world of people who, in his mind, are obviously trying to deceive you, abuse you, corrupt you.

Thankfully, he is very capable of keeping a neutral face, even when he feels laughter building up. It would probably look strange if he were smiling over the newest body to come into his parlor.

How easy is it to make them mad? What does their anger look like?

It's a slow buildup. He views restraint as a virtue, and looks down upon those who lack control over their own tempers. He's a man who strives to meet his own standards of character, and that very much applies to self control and ability to maintain a controlled demeanor, even when he feels a bit of frustration due to you being intentionally and deliberately defiant.

It's his responsibility to be a good role model for you and make sure you understand how to behave. However, in the end, he's very keen on properness and rules. If you have a tendency towards brattiness and pushing your limits, you may drive him to a boiling point.

However, even when expressing his anger, he's remarkably controlled. It's very mature, really. Nonetheless, he will have you shivering and tearful with his voice alone, booming with that depth that reverberates off the walls, that vibrates against your very core. His true anger is one that can strike fear even in the most courageous individuals - he's terrifying when he wants to be, fierce and intimidating, a sort of power just eminates from him.

Nonetheless, it's quick, he calms down very quickly, wipes the tears from your eyes, and sighs.

"I do hate having to be firm with you... but I can't have you thinking you can just act however you want. You understand that, don't you?"

So they see you as above them, beneath them, or equal to them?

Both? It's difficult to describe. You're an angel to him. You're the finest work of art, the most intricate creation, the kind of person whose body and likeness deserves to be preserved in art and tradition, one of those women who should be renowned for beauty even centuries long after you're gone from the earth. It's almost goddess-like. At the same time, there's a beautiful, tragic duality to your essence, he thinks. A fragility and a dependency that leaves you in need, but an inherent status of perfection that makes you deserve the utmost perfect of care. You need to be coddled, cared for, protected, but you deserve it. Like a deity incarnated into a mere fragile human form, a queen that needs support to retain her grace.

Unlike some, he doesn't view his care and protection as some kind of favor that should be repaid with your gratitude, no, really, he is grateful that he is the one who is even deserving of being your caretaker, your provider, your lover.

Even if he is the one who determined that he deserves that role.

How determined are they for you to love them? How hard will they try to make it happen? Or are they content just having you?

He's convinced that he can show you that he is your protector, your lover, that it's fate itself that has locked you together, not just his own will.

And he is, above all else, patient. One of the most patient you could encounter. You think a year is a long time? It's nothing to him. A century for you? More than a lifetime. For him? Nothing. He can and will wait, as long as it takes, and he will never falter in his continual care. He'll remind you frequently, he'll shower you in affection, but if you don't return it? It's not that bad. He has all the time in the world to fix you.

Bonus: Is there anything that makes them unique, in comparison to other yanderes?

Moraless Sugar daddy

But in all seriousness, he is definitely of the gift-giving love language. He sees beautiful things, and beautiful things make him think of you! It's sweet, he thinks. So many little things he sees throughout his day make him think of you, and he has to have all of them, see your face when he gives them to you. He likes making you happy, for one, but he'd be lying if he said there wasn't a sort of satisfactory pride he gets from the power dynamic of it all. He wants to be the sole source of provision in your life, he wants your dependency.

If we're talking prior to the events of the game, it will be even more extreme. He treats it like it's truly nothing, throwing around massive purchases, seemingly as if he's not thinking about it at all. But he is - rest assured, he's taking it into consideration, at least, that is, how it will affect your attitude and perception of him.

General perverseness: how sexual of a person are they? What’s their drive like? How touchy do they get? Do they have any reservations about sexuality?

On the reserved side. He'd never conduct himself improperly in public, of course. It's out of the question. He cares about proper behavior and public image, and he'd never behave in a vulgar manner.

Even in private, he's certainly one of the ones that struggles with a certain guilt. To some degree, he would feel like you're so innocent and pure that he doesn't want to corrupt you. He goes through stages. First, he'll lie to himself, telling himself that the feelings he has for you are simply protective, platonic, a natural sense of responsibility for you. That becomes more and more difficult to convince himself of, the more excited he becomes around you, the more he finds his eyes drawn to whatever bits of skin are exposed on your body, finding himself drifting off to impure thoughts, trying to push them away.

Second, once he's forced to acknowledge the true nature of these feelings, he'll simply practice restraint, something he's rather good at in this area. He tries, he really does. He tells himself he can't do something so impure, that it would violate you, that he should be ashamed of himself for it. It becomes more and more and more difficult to restrain himself with time, the feelings rising and the thoughts become more difficult to push away, eventually entertaining the fantasies in his head in an attempt to rid himself of the urge in real life. It doesn't work, no, it only makes the urges worse, and he can't be around you without his body nearly commanding him to do something. And finally, he'll take a different stance entirely, telling himself that, no, it's not going to corrupt you, rather, it's taking care of you. If he really wants to love you, really wants to care for all of your needs, then surely that would include your physical needs, and therefore, really, it would be wrong of him not to help you.

As that shift in viewpoints goes on, he'll become more and more bold, hands lingering just a little longer, face coming just a little closer. It's a slow build of tension, just waiting to boil over.

How forceful are they? Do they care about your willingness?

He understands you're nervous. Again, no matter how experienced you are, somehow in his head he makes it out to be insignificant. Even if you've had other relationships, he convinces himself - and tries to convince you - that they were inadequate, they didn't care about you, not like he does. And he'll treat it as that -- any resistance you put up is nervousness, nothing more, nothing less. He'll reassure you a million times that you won't feel pain, that he'll be gentle, that you'll feel good, even if his size and strength frankly is rather intimidating regardless of experience. He'll keep cooing in your ear, softly whispering reassurance, softly running hands over your skin, holding you in place as the last inch stretches you apart.

What sort of kinks or fetishes do they have, or would they fill?

Infantilization

Again, no matter how smart, experienced, and capable you may be, you're none of those things to him. You're a fragile, little thing. He has to take care of you at all times. It may not be evident at first, and he himself likely doesn't fully realize it, but there is something highly sexual to this for him. Caring for you puts him in a position of dominance, control. It gives him access to your privacy, dressing you up, fingers running over your skin, bathing you, watching your skin glisten. He'll talk to you in this way, too, often softly, remarking every little way in which you need him, and even condescendingly so. He wants you to be his, not only in a sense of love, but of possession.

Oral

Primarily giving. Even on its own, he loves the taste, but the effect it has on you makes it that much better. He loves anything that forces you to depend on him entirely for pleasure, that puts you at his mercy. And he'll be torturous about it too, restraining your arms and legs so you can't control anything, hold your hips down so you can't roll into him, so that only he can determine exactly how much pressure and speed you get. And he won't rush it, no, he'll go so slowly it's torturous, and telling you very simply that if you want any more, you'll have to beg.

Edging

For a variety of reasons. The power trip is as exhilarating as it is pleasurable, but he also loves watching your body writhe. Each little muscle that moves under the flesh when your arms strain against his hand holding your wrists together, the convulsing of your stomach muscles, the way your toes curl and legs spasm and the sweet little whimpers you make when he draws back just short of your high. He's mastered watching your reactions, knowing exactly when to stop, even if you try to mask it. He'll want you to tell him, though, nonetheless, tell him when you're close, if for nothing else but the sense of you obeying his commands.

Collaring

Similarly to infantilization, it gives him something of a sense of control, of possession. He loves seeing his name engraved on it, marking the whole of your being with his ownership. In his somewhat rare moments of roughness, he'll want to pull on it, use it to draw you towards him, in a moment of your defiance, in particular. If you're being mouthy, whiny, disobedient, and you finally make him snap, especially if you try to walk away from him, he'll yank you back with force, pulling you close to him, and when the force of it shuts you up, changes your demeanor, forces you to acknowledge your submission - the satisfaction he'll get from that is incomparable.

How do they feel about pregnancy or babies? Do they want them?

As much as he likes the idea, to him, you're already like a child, naive and fragile. Could your body even handle a pregnancy, a birth? He'd likely try to avoid it, but in the end, if it happened by accident anyway, rest assured you'd be getting the best care of any woman to ever be pregnant in Teyvat, and he'd do everything in his power to ensure you were always comfortable, taking his caretaking to another level, almost never even letting you get up, insisting you stay still and calm and needy.

What kind of (nsfw) punishments would they use?

He'd be one to pull the "it doesn't hurt you as much as it does me" line, but really, even if he refuses to admit it to his own self, having you bent over his lap is just as much for his own enjoyment as it is a disciplinary measure. It's more humiliating than it is painful -- he'd hold back, afraid of hurting you with his strength, but taking in every little flinch and whimper you make as he brings his hand down on your ass, keeping your head pressed down, kneading at the flesh. He'd insist it's the most effective punishment measure, but you can feel the hard-on digging into your stomach. The worse the behavior, the worse the beating, but every time, after it's over, he'll hold you upright, wiping the tears from your eyes and asking you if you learned you lesson, if you intend to do it again, and smiling when you insist you won't.

What body parts of their darling do they like the most?

Your skin. It's beautiful, and he loves the way that light from the moon and sun look on your naked form. He loves the way your skin feels, soft and delicate, smooth, so paper thin and fragile, and so, so deliciously prone to showing marks from the slightest of harm - a simple smack can make the plump flesh darkened and reddened, the lightest suckling will leave beautiful hickeys all down your neck and chest. There are so many ways to mark his property, to stake a visible claim all over you, it's irresistible.

He also will go out of his way, when picking out all the things he wants you to wear, to find colors that best go with your skin tone, in a contrasting sense - particularly lacey, sheer things that contrast very well, so he can see your soft flesh perfectly defined against the little lace patterns.

#yandere x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere zhongli #tw: noncon #tw: dark content

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ellana-ravenwood · 4 years

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Good Night Rituals - Batfam x Fem!Reader

Synopsis : You have a special little way to tuck your children in, to tell them “Goodnight” and send them off to have sweet dreams, and they absolutely love it. It makes, however, your Bruce a little jealous, at times...

When I was a kid, my mom used to sing to my brother and I a song every night, after our bed time story, and then she’d tell us she loved her, we’d in turn be like “I love you from here to the Moon !” and it’d go for a good half an hour of arguing over who loved the other one most...It inspired this mini-fic. Something very short, again to make you wait for longer more elaborate stuffs. Sorry i’m being slow, a lot of things (good things) is happening and I have very little time. I hope you will like this little thing :) :

My masterlist blog : @ella-ravenwood-archives

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Dick

Dick is the one that invented this little “night ritual”.

He told you this was the perfect name for it, because it sounded like you were witches up to no good, and he “loved that for you two”.

Of course, it was fairly obvious he’d be the instigator of it all, as he was the oldest child. Your first little kiddo. Oh, but you helped too.

The good ol’ days, during which you had absolutely NO idea how to raise a child. When you and Bruce, frankly, hadn’t been adults for THAT long, considering.

And yet, and you were sure it was entirely thanks to little Dickie, everything came to you naturally. Everything felt right. Even if sometimes, you were a little clumsy.

Both you and Bruce tried so hard though. To make Dick feel home. And like you were his parents. You never tried to replace his mom and dad. But in Dick’s own words, you just slowly became his chance at having parents again.

Becoming Dick’s mom, and Dick’s dad, didn’t mean he forgot the ones he lost. It just meant he loved you as much as he loved them. And though the loss would forever hurt, he did know both John and Mary Grayson would’ve want him to be happy.

And at Wayne Manor ? With you and Bruce ? He became happy. There was a few rough and dark first days, but things slowly build up.

You became a family. You were his parents, now. And he knew, that his mom and dad wouldn’t be mad at him if he “moved on”, and allowed himself to love again.

Bruce often said that he adopted Dick because he didn’t want the boy to become him. And in that simple fact, in that simple way little Dick Grayson understood he still had a chance at being happy, at having a family...He was already extremely different from his “new” dad.

At least, from when he was at his age.

Mission accomplished.

In any case, this parent thing that was thrown your way, became one of the most important thing you’ve ever done in your life.

And again, although there were some clumsy moments, and not everything was always great (Dick had some mighty fit of rage at times, Bruce could be a jerk, and hell sometimes you needed to get away from them as well because you could be such a dick...Everyone has their moments where they’re not on their best behavior, it’s called life), you were a mom, now.

And being a mom, in your mind, meant tucking your kid in when it was time for bedtime.

Only, it was easier said than done.

Dick was a difficult child to put in bed. He’d always find ways to not sleep, and make you stay longer with him. Eventually, you made a “deal”.

And that’s how the “night ritual” was born.

You see, before this little ritual. This “deal” as you called it at first, before Dick found the name. It took you hours, to put him to bed.

Bruce was often out in the city early (although he always made sure to be here for a good night kiss and a “love you, champ. See you tomorrow, sleep well”) and Alfred would monitor the computer, at those times.

Later, when Dick grew up, you’d often be behind that monitor. But if a kid had to be put to bed ? You gladly took it upon yourself to do it.

For you, especially in those early motherhood days, it was important to be there for your child. For him to feel like he wasn’t an afterthought, and that “the butler” (although everyone knew Alfred was more than that) wasn’t here to take him off of your hands.

So bedtime, was your task. The task you gave yourself.

And oh boy, with Dick ? It quickly turned into a hassle.

“I’m thirsty...Wait, I’m afraid to stay alone in the room, piggyback ride to the kitchen ?”

“I can’t sleep, it’s a full Moon.”

“Hey, I didn’t clean up my room today ! We can’t leave all my toys laying around like that, can we ?”

It was always “one last story” or “I have to pee” or “I forgot to brush my teeth !”.

And at the time, you just didn’t have the heart to scold him and tell him it was enough, that it was time for bed. Oh well, who were you kidding. Even now, you didn’t scold your kids if they took their sweet time to get to bed.

You just didn’t quite understood the point in getting mad at them just because they didn’t go to bed right away. Dick eventually fell asleep, and not even that late. And if he was stalling for too long, he would only get mad at himself the next day because he’d be exhausted, and then that night he’d go to bed earlier.

So no. You didn’t get mad. It sounded ridiculous, to yell at kids for this. However, you were a mom now. And you knew your kid couldn’t just do whatever he wanted, even if he was as sweet as Dick.

Dick was nice almost all the time. He listened, did his chores, worked in school...So what if you gave him a little freedom sometimes ?

Yes. Sometimes. It was fine sometimes.

But not all the time, like it had become. And not for bedtime. Seeing your son, in the morning, with big bags under his eyes, made you think of your husband, and oh you didn’t want this little 8 years old to be as tired as your Broosh could be.

Of course, Dick was in bed WAY BEFORE Bruce came to bed. But for a small child like him, falling asleep at 10 or 11 pm was already too late.

And so, one day you had enough. And you decided to make a deal with him. There had to be things required for him to go to bed (like a story, for example), but when you said : “it’s time for bed now”, he HAD to listen. The threat was that you’d just kiss him goodnight and leave.

At first, Dick didn’t believe you. You couldn’t possibly have the heart to not tell him a story, and leave him alone so soon ! But you had to give him a lesson.

And so, came the first unpleasant act you did as a parent. Because being nice and lenient was one thing, but you still were his mom. Not his friend. And there had to be certain rules, especially for such a young child.

Rules, that he had to understand, or it was meaningless. Now, of course, you weren’t as harsh as your husband (you’d get mad at him enough, when he trained Dick and was a little too much). But still. You couldn’t let him decide of everything. You really REALLY didn’t want him to become a brat who thought he could just have anything whenever he wanted.

Dick was a great kid, your worst fear at the time was that he’d turn into a phony who thought of himself as superior just because he was from a famous and rich family, and allowed to do whatever he wanted.

And so, the “night ritual” began. On a common accord (because Dick was such a good kid, but also because that time you just kissed him, tucked him in and left really left a mark on him and he hated that so much !).

You realized the reason he couldn’t get to sleep right away was because he was always wayyyy too excited, but also...because he didn’t want you to leave so soon.

He dreaded the moment you’d leave, and he would be alone in his room.

So you put in place a system, that would gradually make him sleepy. And...

It worked.

First, you’d get dessert in bed. Usually fresh milk and a cookie. Something light, just to put him a little bit to sleep (Dick always got sleeping after he ate something, for some reasons). And you’d talk about your day, about how you felt. You’d lay it all out, so that your boy wouldn’t get to bed with any negative feelings. Talking, always helped.

Then you’d read him a bedtime story. Better yet, you’d invent a bedtime story just for him (this is how your most famous book saga, “Richard and the Space pirates” came to be). If you felt benevolent that night, you’d even tell him two stories.

One would usually do the trick, however.

Then you’d sing him a few lullabies, to lull him softly to sleep.

And as he’d fall asleep, you’d whisper :

“I love you so much.”

And he’d answer, outraged but too weak to really argue. A few last words before falling into a deep slumber :

“I love you more !”

And bam. He’d be passed out. Your soft voice in his ears, as you told him a story, sang to him, and told him he was loved...It was what he needed.

He was a rather young child too, who had a busy life. School, training, homework...So of course, with a little coaxing, he’d fall asleep fast.

But he had to know you were there. Had to know he had those moments with you, and wouldn’t be alone before he fell asleep.

See, you understood that all his stalling before the “night ritual” was put in place, was because he was trying to tire himself out before you left. He was trying to keep you there as long as possible, just so he would fall asleep fast once you were gone.

“I love you most.”

You’d tell him, as he was already sleeping sweetly, clinging to his comforter as you slowly caressed his hair, laid a last kiss on his forehead, and left the room. Making sure before, that his little light was on, in case he woke up at night.

Dick hated the dark.

“I love you.”

“I love you more !”

“I love you most.”

Night ritual.

Existing because your oldest kiddo, Dick, needed some “guidance” to fall asleep. But most importantly, because he needed to know you’d be there too, until he fell into his dreams.

You’d indulge him. Meeting him half-way between “doing everything he wants you to do” and “being way too strict”. There were rules, to bedtime.

A “night ritual”.

But the rules were lax. Could be bend. And existed only so he would be able to sleep relatively early.

For years and years, you’d do that little nightly ritual with him. It stopped when he was around 14, even if he still had a kiss goodnight and got tucked in. Things really stopped overall when he left for the Titans, shortly after turning 16, after that awful fight with his father.

Oh and to be honest, something he’d never tell anyone...Even now, as a grown ass adult, he’d sometimes call you at night just so you could sing him a song, as your voice was still the thing that’d put him peacefully at sleep even to this day. But the real “night ritual” stopped. Your little boy grew up.

Which made you so sad...But then Jason came in. And soothed the pain.

Jason

Jason ressembled Dick in that he really wanted you to stay for the longest possible. But, unlike Dick who wasn’t afraid to speak his mind and who could be a bit of a brat sometimes, Jason wouldn’t say anything.

Dick definitely used his little charms and smiles to make you and Bruce crack, and give in...the little bugger even taught his younger siblings everything about how to manipulate you two into saying “yes”, to your greatest dismay...

Oh but, was one more scoop of ice cream really that bad ? After all, your children were nice most of the time, it was fine to be a little lenient sometimes, and though Bruce loved to think of himself as a strict parent, nobody was fooled, you were both pretty cool and lax...Which didn’t mean your children were misbehaving brats, although they had their moments, like everyone.

Anyway, Dick used to make it clear he was demanding for you to stay longer with him when bedtime was coming.

But Jason was a little shyer. He spend his entire life until then thinking he was bothering the people around him, that he was a burden, so he really didn’t want his new family to think that of him.

But you could see it in his eyes. You could. When he wanted for you to tell one more story, or to sing him one more lullaby. And although you were constantly teased by your husband about how easy those kids played you (as if he was one to talk)...you couldn’t resist.

You were always left rather sad and depressed, if you put one of your kids to bed and they looked visibly upset. So you’d stay longer. Anything for them to go to bed feeling good.

About life. About themselves. About everything, really.

A child shouldn’t have his sleep burdened by any worries.

Of course you knew you couldn’t be forever there for them, they’d eventually grow up and you wouldn’t really need to “tuck them in” anymore (at the time, you had no idea that even well in their twenties, if they came to sleep at the Manor, even as they already moved out, they’d ask you for a good night kiss...The magic of being consistent in your love for them, really).

You knew that eventually, they’d grow up too much and wouldn’t need you as much. That it’d be harder, too, to cheer your little ones up. Growing up unfortunately meant your worries grew with you too, and were harder and harder to forget. Or to be distracted from.

You knew one day would come, in which little Jason would not be soothed anymore, by you telling him a bed time story.

So maybe, you cracked a little too often, especially with him.

You knew Dick had a good childhood, before you adopted him. But Jason ? He was bruised and abused, and thrown away like a dirty socks too often. Nobody ever wanted him, anywhere he went.

Which was why, he didn’t dare to ask for a second story when you finished the first one.

See, Dick would just jump up in his bed, do a backflip and dramatically say : “Pleaaaase fair lady, another story for the poor squire boy !”. Which would make you smile, and tell him one more.

But Jason ? He didn’t say anything. And held all his feelings of sadness and disappointment inside.

He wanted, more often than not, a second story so bad. But he didn’t want to bother you. He didn’t want you to realize he was actually a burden, and to throw him away, just like everyone else did.

Jason always got to have a second story. Of course, any of your kids would if they asked. But Jason never dared to ask. So you’d just give it to him naturally.

He always started to fall asleep half-way through the second story, which you’d keep on hold to then sing to him.

Your songs would make him slowly drift to sleep, a genuine smile on his face.

Oh. Jason. Always such a sweet boy, afraid to bother others, yet as contradictory as it sounded boisterous and full of life.

Your little Jason. When Dick left for the Titans, you hadn’t realized how much you missed having a little one home. And then.

Then there was Jason.

When he died, you thought your “motherhood” died with him. Dick was over eighteen by then, and even if Jason’s death made him come back to the Manor, there was no “night ritual” anymore. You didn’t have the heart for it anyway...

You still had Dick, but losing your young son like that, knowing how he died, made you feel like you would never recover. You were in such a bad shape, that you couldn’t even help Bruce when he also fell into a dark well. When he turned back to being overly violent as Batman, practices he stopped when Dick left and opened his eyes. When Dick questioned him.

You still had Dick, but it felt like part of what you were as a mother, died with Jason. How could you do a “night ritual” properly now, with the memories of your son’s sweet smile, him telling you this was his favorite part of his day ? With the memories of...

You moved from the East wing to the West wing, after Jason’s death. None of you could walk past his empty room anymore.

Dick came back. And it was his turn, to help you fall asleep. More than one night, he spend trying to comfort you as you couldn’t stop the tears from running down. He never left you alone.

Bruce couldn’t handle any of it, and he buried himself under his work as Batman. It would take him some time, before he realized that you had to be there for each others...

When Jason died, it felt like it was the end of everything nice about motherhood. Every night, you fell asleep with your head in your oldest son’s laps, seeing in his eyes the grief and pain of it all.

And you felt guilty. More depressed and sadder. You always hated seeing your children off to bed looking upset...

But it was hard to resist. Everything felt so far away. And Bruce wasn’t there. This was one of the darker moment, in your family life...

Dick felt helpless. He hadn’t been able to save his little brother. Now he couldn’t even help his parents. It felt like the entire family was breaking...

And then. Then Tim came in.

Tim

Tim’s parents never tucked him in, too busy with their high society lives.

So when he started to live with you and Bruce, after he lost both of them, he didn’t really expect you to...

“Do you want a bedtime story, maybe ?”

You asked him on his first night being officially adopted.

Oh but this was rather long after you started to see him as your own son. Tim already stayed over the Manor many times (without his parents ever even calling to know where he was). And he’d been Robin for a few months, before his parents passed away and he was officially adopted into the Wayne family (A/N : no need to tell me that canonically, Tim got adopted quite a long time after his parents died and he was “just” a ward like Dick was, for a while ;). No need either to tell me he was “older” than the age I give him there, which is around 10/11...Firstly because it varies according to canons, like sometimes he’s young, sometimes he’s fifteen, but also because this is a fanfic and my canon ages for the boys are taken from the canon I prefer XD which are not the ones in which he had a certain “Happy 15th birthday” pizza. Anyway what I mean is, that I’m not entirely accurate here for sure, but eh, it’s a FANfic, let’s allow ourself a little freedom...there’s no official canon on his age or how old he was when adopted anyway, it varies wildly from era to era hehe).

Both you and Bruce kept your distance from him, at first. In more way than others, he painfully reminded you of the son you lost. And it felt wrong, to replace him so...

Replace him ?

Slowly, both of you were reminded of that conversation you had with Dick, once. When he was little, and asking if his parents would be mad if he called you and Bruce “mom and dad”.

That conversation, during which all of you talked about how you didn’t replace John and Mary, you just became another family for him. His new parents.

Didn’t mean he would ever forget about the ones who were ripped away from him. Just that he...

He allowed himself to love again.

And you did, too, when you finally accepted Tim in your life.

That boy had a way, anyway, to crawl inside your heart and settle comfortable there...He was just such a bright one, in more than one way. Sure, he was extremely intelligent, but he also just...Shone. A new sun in your life.

Not one that would replace any other Sun. Just. A new one. That you were allowed to love, too.

“Do you want a bedtime story, maybe ?”

Now, he was officially your son. And this was the first night he’d spend in the Manor being yours. Before, you never dared to tuck him in, by fear of getting too attached just for him to be ripped away from you...And he almost did.

His father, almost took him away, before his ultimate demise... But that was another story.

Tonight, was the first night as your son. And he was still so small, just ten little years. The age Jason was too, when the official adoption papers were signed...

You chased away the painful memories, as little Timmy looked at you, surprised. But you could see a hint of interest in his eyes.

“A bedtime story ?”

“Yes, if you want to of course. You don’t have to-”

“I’d love a bedtime story !”

He was in such a hurry to tell you this, that it made you smile. And you could feel it in your bones. That boy never had anyone asking him if he wanted to be told a story, before sleep.

It was obvious in his excitement, and it was obvious in his hopeful eyes. Eyes that were asking : “...Do I really mean something to you ? Enough that you’d spend time reading to me ?”.

It broke your heart. Poor little one. Even though he had parents, and came from a rich family, he was never truly cared for. It was obvious in everything he did.

Often, he’d try to do stuffs on his own, and would be surprised if you, Alfred or Bruce would ask if he needed help...

Ah. Well tonight. Tonight called for one of your made up stories for sure. A mere random storybook wouldn’t do. No. You had to tailor one for him. Just for him. So he would finally know how special he is.

“Ok, well then.”

You settled next to him in his bed, as he sat up, the excitement pouring out of his very being. Alfred chose that time, to drop some milk and cookies, as he informed you he would be down in the Batcave to help Bruce.

Impeccable timing. As usual.

You thanked him, and started your story, as Tim looked at you with wide eyes, eating his cookie absentmindedly, quickly realizing you were telling a story about him ! :

“Once upon a time, there was a little boy. His name was Timothy, and he didn’t know it yet but one day...He’d save the entire Kingdom of Waynalia. How, you might ask ? Well it was simple. You see, young Timothy had a talent to cure people’s heart. And the King and Queen of Waynalia, who were known to be cruel and vile, only were so because they’ve had broken hearts for far too long...”

Tim fell asleep at the end of the story. And just like his brothers, quickly took to this “night ritual”. After all, he was still just a child. And this entire “milk/cookie/ story/lullabies/kiss goodnight” was great.

Cassandra

Cassandra was fifteen, when she started to live with you at Wayne Manor. Too old, you thought, for the “night ritual”

Dick himself stopped demanding it around aged fourteen (after a certain Wally West mocked him when he heard of it), and even that was rather old when you thought of it. One of the main reason he slowly detached himself from it (apart from being mocked), was being Robin full time now, and going most nights out, so he didn’t really have the energy anymore for the ritual. It wasn’t needed. Which sort of broke your heart.

Jason died before he ever got the “chance” to ask you to stop....

But this was not something you wanted to think about. Oh no.

In any case, Cass was fifteen, and you thought, too old to want some bedtime stories by her mom, or any sort of snuggles.

That was until...

A nightmare.

You heard her, it felt even in your sleep. Something woke you, and then she started to scream. Bruce wasn’t home yet, and it was her night off (you forced all of them to have one, at least once a week).

That night, you had marathoned your favorite TV show with her, and went to bed your separate ways. You did kiss her goodnight, and told her you loved her (you always told them at least once a day, because you learned that in your line of work...you never knew what could happen...Jason’s smiling cheeky face came to your mind, did you tell him often enough that he-no. Not tonight.).

And then, late, it was pitch black out, you heard her scream.

Your mother instinct made you run to her. Quickly, you understood she had yet another bad dream about her father coming to get her, and forcing her to be a weapon again. It happened so often...

You shook her up, and she almost knocked you down as she was slowly regaining consciousness and wondering what the hell was happening and where she was. You know, those few seconds before you’re fully awake, when you’re not even sure you’re even someone anymore ? The time you need to remember oh right, I’m human, and I was in my bed. This is my bedroom. Right.

To sooth her, you started to slowly sing to her. To hold her while you rocked gently back and forth, and sung.

She didn’t talk, as you dried her tears. As you reminded that this was all fine, she was home, and David Cain would never hurt her again.

Cass calmed down, and fell back asleep. You held her most of the night, waiting for Bruce to come back. You just didn’t feel like going back alone in your bed, after such screams

The next night off she had, when it was time to part at the top of the stairs after yet another TV show marathon, when you’d go to your room and her to hers...

She stopped. And held onto your sleeve.

“Cass, honey, what is it ?”

There was a few seconds of silence, before she said :

“Do it again ?”

And you understood instantly.

See, the other nights, the ones she didn’t have off, Cass would come home exhausted after a night of vigilanting. But when she had her night off, when she wasn’t “working”...Sleep was hard to come.

You knew all too well what she felt. Your Broosh was the same, and already poured his feelings to you about it more than once.

Now, Cassandra wasn’t much of a talker (your husband either, really, but then it was different with you)but you could see it in her eyes.

“Sing ?”

She nodded. And so you went to tuck her in.

You thought she was “too old”. You thought she wouldn’t like it. You thought, as she was slowly discovering her own independence after being treated as a weapon and not choosing anything in her life, that she’d want to be alone in moments like this.

And oh. Oh you thought wrong.

That night, you sang to her until she fell asleep. And slowly but surely, the “night ritual” put himself into place.

Over the years, it didn’t change much. Because it was such a successful formula. Milk and cookies was talking about their day, getting their feelings out. A story by you. A soothing lullabies. Snuggles and kisses.

Winning formula.

Why change it ? Your children were all wildly different, but the one thing that linked them all, was how much they loved you and your antics.

Each of them had “mom time”, where they’d spend the day just with you (just like your Broosh and you had date nights and such). You always took time to spend individual time with all of them, and during those times the activities would be very different from one kid to another.

But those “night rituals” ? They didn’t need to change. Because they were perfect the way they were. Exactly what they all needed. Pure love, in many ways. And the knowledge they’d never be alone again.

Love and loneliness.

Two things your youngest son, Damian, struggled with for years.

Damian

“I love you, little one.”

The first time, Damian didn’t respond. He just nodded, and turned around in his bed, back facing you.

He couldn’t face you, or you’d see the “stupid” smile plastering his face at the mere thought he was loved, and had a real mom...But that, you didn’t know.

You didn’t really take it personally, you happened to know another “emotionally stunted” Wayne, so you were used to it. It took a while, for Bruce to finally admit his feelings for you. Even if they were obvious, and written all over his face (which is why Damian used the “back facing you” trick).

You knew it’d take time. So for now, you’d settle with a simple kiss, and reminding him he was cherished.

And then one day...

“Why do you not read me bed time stories ? Or make one up, with me as the hero ?”

“Beg you pardon ?”

You were diligently tucking him in, as he never told you off when you did it, when he asked this, taking you by surprise. What he said didn’t quite register, until he added :

“Grayson says that when he was little, you’d tell him a story. Made him the hero of it. And then you’d sing. He said there were cookies, too. Why do you not do that with me ?”

Oh. Oh. Oooooooooh.

You got it now. But you’re no less surprised.

“I thought...You had no interest in those ?”

Damian nodded slowly, and said :

“I know why you would think this...Mom.”

Mom. That...He hadn’t call you that very often, so far...

“But when you come to tuck me in, I never have nightmares. I sleep soundly, and I dream of-Soft things. Like unicorns and cats.”

This makes you smile. Oh. Oh if only people could see the Damian right in front of you, and not the Damian he liked to pretend he was.

Sweet, sweet boy.

“I know why you think I don’t want a story, and snuggles, and all the thing Grayson gushed about for hours. But I...Do. I like when you come to tell me goodnight, and I wouldn’t mind if it lasted longer ?”

He was so unsure. Very unlike his cocky usual self.

This, was the real Damian.

The one who really wants to connect with others, who wants to be good, but he’s just not really sure on how to proceed. So he pretends he doesn’t care.

But he does. He cares a lot.

He’s very much like your Broosh, in that regard. Like father like son, eh ? Both of them love to hide emotions from their faces, and pretend everything is ok, even when they’re breaking inside.

Silly boys.

You managed to reach Bruce. You were sure you could reach your son...

And it had already started. You could see it. You smile, and leave his room to get cookies and milk.

And oh damn it, you should’ve told him you were doing that ! Because when you came back, he was laying in his bed and looked absolutely crestfallen ! There was even small tears in his eyes, oh no !

You quickly understood that he thought you were refusing to do the famous “night ritual” with him. That you just went to bed too, and weren’t going to tell him a story.

His face brightens, truly brightens, reminding you of when the sun just comes out from behind high mountains. He sees the cookies and milk, and oh. Oh he looks so excited.

You dried his tears with the back of your hand, and smiled fondly at him.

It makes everything worth it. All your effort to connect with him, worth the work and heartache it brought.

You knew. You knew you’d eventually make it. And it’s that evening, when he asked for “the night ritual”, that you truly realized it.

First, cookies and milk, and a little talk about his day. His feelings, too.

Then the story, one you made up with him as the hero. He seemed to love that, especially to be a good hero, and not a villain. Cute, and heartbreaking at the same time.

Then come the lullabies.

And finally, the soft drift to sleep, and a last feel of warmth as you kiss his forehead and leave him to a deep slumber.

Damian has never felt so peaceful in his life before.

Duke

You didn’t really dare, at first, going to tell him good night.

Unlike your other children, Duke arrived in the family being a sixteen years old boy. Way pass needing someone to tuck him in. And you didn’t want to overstep your bound, you already knew how difficult things were for him. How hard it was to adapt to it all.

It was quite the same than with Cass. But even more complicated.

Cass’ childhood was inexistent, really. Destroyed before she could enjoy it. So sometimes, when with you or Bruce, she’d let go, and act like a child, even though she was older. It was fine. She never had a childhood, she could make up for it now. And so what if she liked hot cocoas and cuddles ? Nobody would hold it against her.

In fact, most adults would probably LOVE to be taken care of by their mom again.

But Duke, was different. He had a happy childhood, parents who were loving and caring...His mom most likely told him stories, and sung him lullabies.

And he was sixteen. And in the middle of an identity crisis, as his powers just barely manifested.

So you didn’t go to tuck him in. Even if you really wanted to.

You wanted to give Cass freedom, let her explore herself, as she always lived following someone else’s orders and view of life.

But Duke ? Duke was an entirely different case from Cass. And you could see him, at times, feeling lost and sad.

You always hated having your kids go to bed upset. But what could you do ?

He was certainly not gonna let you...Or, was he ?

After all, you never asked.

“Do you...Want a bedtime story ?”

He stares at you, visibly confused and thinking you’re a little crazy. And you realize yes, this question is ridiculous. The boy was sixteen !

“Nevermind, sorry that was stupid. I was just thinking...Well I don’t know what I was thinking. Sorry. Night buddy.”

“Wait !”

Uh ? There was a sort of little panic, in his voice. As if he was afraid you were leaving so soon. You turned around, and waited for him to speak again.

“Maybe not a...bedtime story but...Maybe, maybe we could talk ? For a little bit ? My...My mom and I used to talk every night, it helped me sleep.”

You felt a lot of things at the same time.

Touched he wanted to do with you what he used to do with his mom.

Reassured to realize your guts were right, and that his mom did tuck him in sweetly every night.

And sad that it took him so long to ask you for this.

“Of course Duke, of course.”

Duke, was older than any of your other children, when he came into your life. But it didn’t mean...

It didn’t mean he didn’t need you. Or your motherly side.

He never quite had the full “night ritual” experience, as some aspect of it were definitely too childish. But he had the cookies and milk. And the talk. And the feel that you would always be there for him.

Always.

************

The end ?

No.

Bruce

Bruce tossed and tossed in his bed, sleep evading him.

There used to be a time, every nights were like that. Unable to fall asleep, and when he did, his slumber was plagued with the most terrible nightmares.

Maybe that’s why, more than anything else, he decided to use his nights to be a vigilante ? Of course, the cover of nights helped in many ways, doing his Batman work in broad daylight would be more difficult (even if he did do some work during the day). Especially in regards of his “Brucie Wayne” persona, his cover up, pretending he definitely can’t be Batman.

Ever since his parents died, Bruce had trouble falling asleep. That’s probably why it was so easy for him to train himself to sleep barely a few hours a night, and stay in shape even as he often ran on very little resting time.

He lived like that for so many years...

And then. Then you appeared in his life.

And every nights in your arms were peaceful, he was taken by a deep sleep that could happen only with you. He slept so soundly, when you were there, that often when you had to wake up before him, you had to call Alfred so he’d help you untangle yourself from his grasp (I wrote a story about that haha : How to remove a Wayne safely).

You forced him to take at least one night off, and he was so sure he wouldn’t be able to rest on those nights...yet he always fell asleep like a baby, around 11 pm max, often falling asleep in front of whatever movie you were watching, just the two of you.

You had that power. To allow him to sleep well, and not have such awful nightmares.

So when you weren’t with him, he couldn’t find sleep.

He would toss, again and again, and whenever he’d almost fall asleep, his hand would unconsciously look for you in bed and the fact you were absent would make him be wide awake again.

Yes. He just couldn’t sleep, when you weren’t there.

Which is why...Which is why he was a little grumpy, when you would take a long time telling your children good night. It was a sort of jealousy he wasn’t very proud of.

Fighting other men to get your attention ? Any day. Fighting his own children...Felt a little shameful. Not like he could control this feelings, there was time, he was a little selfish. And you two had such few times to yourself, with the life you lead, that any opportunity was taken gladly.

He’d always try to be there for the story time, and for a kiss and some “Love you, kiddo” before leaving either for the cave, or to take an early night in.

Early night ins. Rare occasion.

Like tonight. His one night off this week.

He trusted his cousin, Batwoman, to take care of the city, and his oldest sons, Dick and Jason, who were now old enough to go out there on their own, too...Well, he did still hid trackers in them, and made sure to ask Kate to keep an eye on them, but they were adults.

Capable of taking care of themselves, and go out there to keep Gotham safe, and take care of their younger siblings.

They were still absolutely forbidden to go out there alone. And no one wanted to argue much with your husband about safety, he had already made punchlines for those occurrences and it was impossible to win against him.

Cass, Tim, Damian and Duke weren’t allowed yet to fly solo like their older brothers. They were only allowed to go out there while Bruce wasn’t IF they were with Kate, Dick, or Jason.

Bruce particularly liked when they were with Jason because although many would think he was the most reckless one, because of his “bad boy” reputation but...When it came to his siblings’ safety, he did NOT joke around.

Dick encouraged them to become their own person, and to take initiative (he trusted them to know what they could and could not do, and he was right). But Jason ? Jason took after you, and your “mama hen” personality, for sure.

Actually, Bruce often sneakily stuck one of his younger kid with Jason, so his reckless son would be more careful. Neither you nor your husband wanted to ever lose him again...So what if you had to resort to dirty tactics and ask him to look after a younger siblings for him to be less incautious ?

In any case, it had been a long time deal by then, that Bruce HAD to take at least one night off. All of them had; They each had one night a week. Conveniently, there were seven of them.

On those nights, you and Bruce would be together every single second of it, relishing in a little alone time, and in spending an entire night together for once, and not just a few hours there and there.

But tonight, Damian was sick, and couldn’t go out either. Which was why you weren’t in bed with Bruce, right now. You were tucking your sick son in, and it already took quite a while on normal days but as he was feeling under the weather ??

Bruce knew you. He knew you would stay with him until he fell asleep. And he knew his son, too. He knew he would try to stay awake as long as possible just to be with you.

Which meant...Your husband being alone, right now, and unable to sleep. Ugh. He should’ve just gone out as Batman tonight, and take a break another day. ...As if you or Alfred would’ve let him. You knew that “taking a break another day”, with him, meant never.

Bruce tossed a few more times, and resolved that he couldn’t sleep up until you’d come. So he sat up, and thought he might as well take a walk around the Manor. It always calmed him down, as a child...

That’s when you decided to come in.

“Going somewhere ?”

You ask him, suspicious. He knows you think he was about to leave for the Batcave. And he doesn’t correct you. It’s better you think that, you already knew way too much how to push all his buttons down, he’d rather you not know that he was in fact about to just walk around the Manor and not go to the bat cave because he promise you to take the night off...

Oh. Oh if Superman could hear his thoughts right now. He would surely not recognize his “workaholic” friend...And definitely not recognize his will to not piss off his wife, and listen to her. The Batman didn’t care, if he pissed people off ! Well. Except for his wife, who could be very scary, when angry.

Damn it.

Your face.

Your face shows much concern, behind that slight bit of anger at the thought he was about to sneak to the Batcave, that he can’t hold it back for too long.

To hell, if you were the only one who knew him perfectly, and had him wrapped around your little finger. You gave it back to him plenty. So, just as soon as he was telling himself he wouldn’t tell you the truth...He told you the truth :

“No. I was-...I was just about to take a walk around the Manor.”

You look at him, a question in your eyes. And you don’t have to ask him, as he answers :

“I can’t sleep when you’re not there. Needed to clear my mind.”

It makes you smile, of course. And it’s the truth, oh it’s the truth.

He really can’t fall asleep, when you’re not near.

You climb on the bed, and slowly move to him.

“How’s Damian ?”

“Asleep. His fever went down, finally. Thanks the gods.”

“Was he trying to fight sleep, and argue to have another story ?”

“Oh you know he did.”

“Haha, I don’t blame him. Anything, to keep you closer for longer.”

“What a sappy man you turned out to be, my heart. Who would’ve thunk, right ?”

“Don’t tell Clark.”

This makes you laugh, and you move even closer to him, settling in his laps, facing him. His hands find themselves around your waist naturally, and as you lay your own hands on his cheeks, looking at him fondly and longingly, you say :

“I love you, my Broosh.”

“I love you more.”

“I love you most.”

“I love you so much I think I’d die if you were gone.”

“I love you so much I put up with your bullshit.”

“Hahaha. Cheeky. I love you so much I eat your awful gluten free cake without batting an eye.”

“You ass ! Well, I love you so much I don’t even mention it when you call this disgusting mixture you make in the morning “coffee” “

“Oh wow, ouch. I love you so much I don’t even care about you criticize me.”

You chuckle a little, and kiss his nose, before adding :

“I love you so much, that I wouldn’t change anything in my life. Not even the heartaches...Because everything lead me to you. And a life without you, is no life at all.”

Admittedly, you cheated a bit, using his “I love you so much without you I’d die” against him, twisting things a little to pack a little more punch. And...

There’s a short pause, he looks at you, and then he leans over, slowly and softly pecking your lips. You think this means you won tonight, and you will be back in his arms in no time, allowing him to sleep properly...But you’re wrong.

He says, after burying his face in the crook of your neck, in barely a whisper, his breath tickling you softly :

“I love you so much, I would quit being Batman if you asked me to.”

“Wait, what ?”

You never asked him to. You never did, and never will. Because you were on of the only person on this Earth that truly understood him, and that loved him unconditionally.

You knew and understood why he dressed like a bat each (or almost each) nights, to go fight crimes in Gotham City.

You knew and understood all of his motives.

And for this reason, you’d never ask him to stop doing so. But him admitting he would stop if you did ask, it made you feel...So much.

It touched you beyond all measure. You didn’t even know how to respond to it.

“Ah, I win, didn’t I ?”

You had no words to answer. You knew how much you loved him, how much he meant to you, and how impossible it was to even envision a life without him. But he always managed to surprise YOU with how deeply in love he was with you. How much he’d give up, just for you. How you knew, he would burn the entire world, if it meant saving you...

He would for his children, too. There was no doubt in his mind that if he had been to that warehouse sooner, and killing the Joker meant saving Jason...he would’ve done it. There was no point doing in afterward, once his son was already gone...But there, in the moment, to save him ?

He would. He would kill everyone, just to save his family.

This was a side not a lot of people knew. They all assumed he wouldn’t do it, that he would let you or his children die for the greater good. That’s why considering, you guys weren’t kidnapped that much.

Every villain, everyone, always thought that the Batman would not budge from his principles even if it meant saving those he loved.

And they were wrong. They were so wrong.

It was good, though, that only you knew that.

“Ah. I win, didn’t I ?”

You don’t have the words to answer him, your heart overflowing with so much. Overwhelming. So you go to the next best thing.

Actions.

You kiss him. With all the passion and love you can gather in your being.

You kiss him, and he kisses you back.

That.

That was his night ritual.

The only way he could fall asleep peacefully, like he used to when his mom and dad tucked him in. Before their death.

Finding purchase once more, in your arms, after years of night plagued with nightmares and pain.

Being near you. With you. In every way possible. Touching you, feeling you near. Right there. By him.

The big bad bat’s “night ritual”, it was you.

It was, and would always be you.

The end (for good, this time, haha).

_________________________________________________

As you might’ve noticed, I’m in a very soft mood lately haha. I guess I’m just happy about my current situation, so I wanna write all the fluff and make the Batfam happy...Not for long though. I have some mighty angst in store for you, just you wait ;). In any case, here’s to a small bonus story. Hope you liked it even if it’s not what I said I’d post ^^'. I assure you what I planned is coming, I’m just being damn slow. As usual any comments and reblogs are more than welcomed <3.

PS : Last time I posted a bonus story, an anon wasn’t happy I wasn’t posting longer stories I said I would post soon haha...So just a quick thing : those stories I’ve been posting lately literally take between 20 minutes to an hour to write. It’s extra fast, and I don’t re-read myself. So I can post them rather rapidly. But those I have in store that are long as hell and full on one-shots I thought a lot about, not just random drabbles, need a lot more work. Which is why they take longer. Which I’d think is obvious to everyone (most of y’all are super understanding and nice <3), but I guess not huh...Please. Be patient with me. I’m super busy lately. But everything I said I’d post WILL be posted. I can promise this much.

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nightswithkookmin · 4 years

Note

Was Jk shading Taehyung during his New Years wishes to him at GDA? Twitter people are reading a LOT into it, saying that Jk is still salty at Tae and vice versa. They seem pretty chill to me. Why do people always find reasons to believe there is Vminkook drama?Is there a reason to think they aren't repairing their freindship?

VMINKOOK...

First of all, why would JK shade Taehyung? What are they fighting about, I wonder. Has anyone known JK to be the passive aggressive king slash shade throwing one in that trio? Because, not me...

I don't see him as the, 'those two are hanging out now followed by a slight head tilt,' kind of person. The 'Jimin wants to come but JK is keeping him from coming,' the 'well, you ignore me anyway so I couldn't tell you were on a mission' kind.

Or even the, 'my friendship relationships are gold to me and it's important for me to nurture those connections' knowing damn well the elephant in the room has a possessive streak and he himself has been on record, allegedly, stating he has one same age friend and all his friends are hyungs- so what is JK to you then Jimin?

Then the whole, 'texting is not a great way to build connections and is a barrier to effective communication' -words spewed in full cognizance of the fact JK is a bad texter yet prefers texting to talking on phone anyway- that is what I call shade. Not sure what was in the water that day, but chilee Jimin was all over the place in that Be Behind video. Lmho.

I think everyone, including even the semi-rational Tuktukker, know damn well what JK meant by that statement and what had prompted it- but leave it to them to circumvent.

Ah, V hyung... we used to have a special bond. When we were trainees, we had such great chemistry. V used to be the easiest hyung to talk to, now it's awkward.

Where is the shade in this? I don't think at all that he is or was in anyway shading Tae or any one. To shade would imply he has stock. He don't.

I hate when people talk about Tae Kook as if there is something wrong with their bond. There isn't. It is what it is. It's just not what their shoppers make it out to be. They are looking for depth where there is none. The fact of the matter is Tae Kook lacks depth to their dynamics. We know it, JK knows it, BigHit knows it. No amount of bullying Jimin or Jokers will add that missing depth back to their relationship. Sorry.

'He is still salty,' honey he was never salty about anything to begin with. They tried it! Making it sound like JK wants Tae to change in order to relate with him again. He don't.

Why would JK be salty about Tae's growth? Why would he object to Tae's growth?

Because that's what it is. This whole Tae Kook tensions is not about them fighting, it's about them growing apart. Tae grew the fuck up and JK can't relate with him or treat him the way he used to when they were young.

And if these self absorbed, legally blind shoppers looked beyond Tae Kook for a second, they will know it's not just JK complaining about Tae changing and becoming different as he grew up.

Tae used to be the easiest hyung to talk to and bully because they were closer in age and Tae allowed for such familiarity between them. Similar to how, Jin and Jimin allows for a certain degree of familiarity and informality between them and Jk.

While Tae allowed and was open to this level of closeness and informality between them, JK apparently held on to the gates, only scraping the surface of it and inhibiting the depth that could have been to their dynamics.

Was Tae content with that dynamic? No. Did he communicate that to JK? May be he did but JK wouldn't let his guards down. Tae failed to breach JK's emotional boundaries and years later he would express this sentiment openly to JK in their conversation in Soop.

Whereas, JK admitted to Jimin's successful breach of his emotional walls when he recounted the story of their rainy day fight- let me not hear any one compare Jikook to any of JK's ship in BTS, I whoop your ass. D!

This is the intimacy that is missing in Tae Kook. When you are close to someone, you not only feel at ease with them enough to express your thoughts freely with them, you are comfortable enough with them to be yourself, be different, to antagonize them without the fear that your differences and outbursts will sever your bond or lead to irreparable damage to your bond.

Fact is, in as much as JK felt close to Tae in the early days, he harbored a fear that being fully himself enough to be 'opinionated' and fully honest in his self expressions towards him, would break their bond.

He clearly didn't trust their bond was strong enough to handle all of that. That's the intimacy you find in Jikook. The trust. They are both unapologetically themselves with eachother because they trust in their bond.

Which means they share a lot but are also very opinionated with eachother, clash and assert themselves with eachother. And I know the kumbaya fake woke Jokers hate to hear it, but Jikook are strong not because they don't fight but because their bond withstands the test of a fight as Tae explained in his conversation with JK in Soop.

He was able to get closer with Jimin and Jin by being openly assertive with them- going against Jimin in the dumpling incident and all the times they fought, directly confrontational with Jin over their dance choreo but with JK he had always been scared to open himself in that way with him for whatever reason- I won't bother speculating on. It's their ship, they should do the maths.

May be he learned his lesson. He's learned not to fear conflict, to be assertive without fearing he would be punished for it, to be less passive aggressive as he was before and express himself and his feelings more openly over the years.

But it took him closing himself off to get there. Always looking in photos as if Yeontan ate the last brisket. Exuding melancholic vibes.

Young Jk equally didn't have a positive view on conflict and conflict resolution and I think he knew his place as the youngest and did not want to be as opinionated or assertive against them and so, as he explained to Tae in Soop, he opted to keep a safe distance emotionally from everyone- not just Tae.

When JK talks about we used to have a special bond, all he means is they used to be mischievous, get in trouble together, be brats, chat shit under their breaths behind their hyungs- partners in crime and as I like to call them, be the evil power duo of BTS.

They literally shared one brain cell lol, and conspired a lot. Their bond was unique only in that Tae was a rebel at heart and a bit innocent or immature as RM and the others would say.

Ship wise, Tae used to be on his side. He was protective of him and and looked out for him when they were young- that's of course before he started passive aggressively exposing JK's relationship with Jimin on VLives, incessantly shipping Jimin with Suga, dragging JK's ass away from JM's car so he could ride with him and all of those harmless moments that to anyone with little understanding of Tae's character would assume Tae didn't support JK's relationship.

And even after Soop, he put JK on the spot when he tried eye fucking Jimin through the view finder during their dynamite MV- he knew what JK was going to do. He's seen him do that a countless times to Jimin- HE KNOWS.

There is a reason JK gave him that look in the Dynamite shoot interview when he thought Tae was intentionally trying to expose him holding hands with Jimin behind Suga.

As much as these little things may be irritating to Kook, I don't think Tae gotta kiss his ass too. Jk can be messy sometimes with his Jikook agenda.

Of course they dynamic would change if Tae changed too- which is what Jimin and everyone says of Taehyung. He is very reserved and mature now. He is not the same childish, immature, reckless teen JK or Tuktukkers used to know.

He grew faster than either JK or JM had hoped and they both miss that part of him. Tae said he wished he could get a time machine and show Army the 'Chimchar' he was back in the day. The only way Taekook can be real is if we all hop into a time machine and go back in time to change the trajectory of events.

Tuktukkers need to let go of their old ship, that ship is dead and embrace the new ship brewing in its stead.

Jimin have said occasionally, that side of Tae pops out but he is very different from who he used to be when they were young. Which explains these outbursts of moments and interactions reminiscent of their past bond but that's all that is.

Why do these people insist on infantilizing Tae and holding him to his past?

That comment at GDA wasn't shade. But it was an inside Joke I feel. Like I said, when JK talks about their past history and bond, to me it's reference to a time period where Tae was on his side and was mischievous. To me it's code for 'I miss when you were less uptight and strict.'

He brought up when Tae gave them leeway and was lenient with their schedule during the making of Be- a sentiment all the members expressed in the Be behind video when they praised Tae for giving them much room in their schedules.

It was the same thing he said during his speech to Tae at GDA after bringing up the whole past bond thingy. He wanted to express appreciation to Tae perhaps because the loose schedule Tae had created had given him much time to go home and give his man a blowjob or go house shopping with him- who knows.

The way he kept looking at Jimin while saying that... yea. I'm going with that. Lol.

That loose schedule definitely put Tae in JK and JM's good graces.

My take away from that moment though, is- JK's agenda to give Tuktukkers hernia🤣

Lord I'm dying. I laughed so hard my ribs hurt. Pray for me. Lmho.

Chilee JK.

Dude is on a mission to run the entire Taekook gay, Taekook married propaganda campaign into the ground. What guts me is, he knows what Tae Kook is. I bet he went online after that Tae Kook Vlive to watch Tae Kook compilations. He's been on a mission to obliterate that ship since. Lol.

I mean I won't put it past him. Probably looked up Yoonmin while he was at it and showed Jimin analysis videos of him moaning in Suga's bedroom🤣🤣🤣🤣

Would explain why he was laughing when he saw Yoonmin in the comments during the VLive and why Jimin looked like he wanted to eat us alive. Lmho.

Oh Tae touched my peepee? You bloody moaned in Suga's bedroom how about we call it even?

ROTFL.

I joke but I mean, this is the same dude who took an online personality test after Tae read his results to him in Soop- he definitely watched those Tae Kook compilation-Y'all laugh else I'll shoot you. Lmho. I can't be the only one who finds this funny!

He knows what shipping is, he knows how statements like that would be construed by the fans- and the fact Jimin had spent an entire interview and behind scenes openly disavowing his glorified friendship connections... I smell a renewal of commitment somewhere.

Don't mind me. I play too much sometimes.

There is nothing wrong with Tae Kook's friendship. If anything, it seems JK feels very appreciative of Tae in recent times which is usually a good sign between them because for Vminkook to thrive they all need to make space for eachother and for the pairings amongst them to thrive- Vmin, Taekook and Jikook.

I hope this helps?

Signed,

GOLDY

#jikook #jikooktheories #jikook analysis #jikook bts #jikook is real #goldy analysis #ask response #ask goldy #goldy blogs #goldy #nightswithkookmin

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zamoimagines · 4 years

Text

This Means War

Word Count: 3,769

Pairings: Venable x Reader, Cordelia x Reader

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

Warnings: None

Summary: You’re sent to Outpost 3 on behalf of the coven with Coco to protect Mallory. A spell is put over you so that you forget anything you ever knew of being a witch, including all of your memories of your girlfriend, Cordelia. Without the Supreme and being confined to the Outpost after a nuclear missile launch, you feel empty for what seems to be no reason at all. That’s until a new woman, Miss Wilhelmina Venable takes an interest in you.

A/N: You sluts are gonna live for this shit. I’m extremely proud of this chapter, and I’m excited for you guys to read it. Let me know what ya’ll think ;)

The Outpost was a much warmer place with Venable by your side. When you had first arrived, this seemed like the coldest place on Earth. Lifeless. Depressing. That kiss had changed everything. Suddenly, the corridors seemed much brighter. You were so much nicer and talkative toward the other residents. Hell, the mineral cubes even tasted better. Love had such a wonderful effect on you. It was noticeable that Wilhelmina was becoming happier too. She’d stopped yelling at every little thing, and she’d even become much more lenient. It was obvious when she merely started laughing at one of Coco’s hissy fits.

“This whole place is bullshit! I swear to fucking god if you don’t get me some decent shampoo, I’m going to lose my fucking mind!” she screamed.

All Venable could do was chuckle to herself. No harsh words, no punishments. Just laughter. When Wilhelmina left the room, the blonde looked at you with a crazed expression.

“What the shit just happened?”

“Perhaps she’s just loosening up a little.” You shrugged to her.

Coco squinted her eyes. “There’s something weird going on… I can smell it.”

“No, you can smell that disgusting perfume you’ve been wearing.” Mr. Gallant retorted.

Coco shrieked as you tried hard not to giggle. Mr. Gallant was already cackling. Mallory, one of the Greys that often joined in their conversations, was trying her best not to be unprofessional. You could see a smile crack on her face.

“I will fucking end you!”

“Oh, I’m shaking, really!” He mocked. The three of them had become entertaining to you, rather than annoying like they had always been. You might have even considered them to be good friends of yours now.

The Outpost was starting to finally feel like home. Every night after all the others drifted off to sleep, you would sneak off to Venable’s room to sleep in her chambers. Some nights were just as steamy as the first you’d spent with her. Others were gentler, in which you would stay up all night listening to her read to you or talk about everything and nothing. Wilhelmina was slowly becoming your other half. It didn’t take long for you to completely forget about the mysterious woman that had been haunting your dreams months before.

Everything was growing to some sort of normal. You could admit that you were finally happy once again.

One night, you entered Venable’s room excited to see her after a long day of her working. She’d stayed distant all day but you just figured that she was busy doing things for the Cooperative. You put on the prettiest smile for her.

“Mina!” you sang out as you closed the door behind you. “I missed you at dinner-”

You were caught off guard. Usually, when you came at night, her eyes would sparkle. This was much different. She wouldn’t even meet your gaze. The redhead was pacing back and forth, her silk robe dragging heavily behind her. She hadn’t even taken her hair down yet. Something was most definitely wrong.

Slowly, you made your way up to her and touched her shoulder gently.

“Mina? Are you okay?”

Her face was ridden with fear. You had never seen her this disturbed before.

“Someone’s coming, Y/N.”

“What do you mean?” you replied, “I thought no one else was alive?”

“The head of the Cooperative is arriving tomorrow. He intends to conduct interviews on everyone that resides here… All of the Greys, the other residents, Mead, you and I-” She bit her lower lip nervously. “Something isn’t right. I can feel it.”

You took her hand into your own. Placing a soft kiss to her knuckles, you managed to get her to crack a small grin.

“Y/N- You’re so good to me.” Wilhelmina pulled you in close and let her arms wrap around you tightly. You rested your head in her neck.

“You must promise me something.”

“What is it?”

Her chin leaned gently against your hair. “Promise me you won’t go to your interview. I don’t care if this man is running this facility. I don’t trust him, and I have to keep you safe.” She gazed down at you as her hand cupped your cheek.

“Promise me that you’ll stay away from him. No matter what he says, no matter how persistent he is, you must promise me that you will not partake in an interview.”

You weren’t sure what to say. Seeing Venable this shaken up was scaring you. Wilhelmina Venable, fearless leader of the Apocalypse, was showing an emotion you’d never seen from her before; fright. Wilhelmina was frightened. If this woman was worried, then you were completely terrified.

“I-I promise, Mina.”

Wilhelmina pulled you into another tight hug.

“I’m going to do everything to keep you safe, Y/N. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

You wholeheartedly believed her. You trusted Venable with your life.

The next morning, everyone was up at the crack of dawn. Venable was back to her strict ways. It was very obvious to you that she was tense, and you were sure that the others could tell something was up.

“Venable, it’s too early for this shit-”

“Ms. Vanderbilt, I will NOT stand for your catty remarks. If you so much as breathe near me, so help me, I will have you in a straight jacket for the rest of your stay here. Do I make myself clear?”

Everyone was very taken aback. Coco couldn’t even reply. She just remained completely silent the rest of the morning.

A couple hours later, Venable called a mandatory meeting in the common room. Everyone did as they were told and made their way down immediately. No one wanted to be on her bad side today. You sat on the couch in the spot closest to where Venable was standing. Her posture was rigid, almost as cold as the day you met her. You wanted nothing more than to comfort her.

“As many of you may know, the Cooperative is running our operation. We are forever in debt to them for saving all of our lives. We should feel lucky out of all the people in the world, we were the ones they showed mercy to,” she began, “We should also feel honored that the head of the Cooperative has decided to pay us a visit. May I present to you all Mr. Langdon, our savior.”

From the shadows, a well dressed man slithered his way by Wilhelmina. He had long hair, ice blue eyes, and an evil smile. Something in your gut told you this man was bad news. He almost made you want to flee for some odd reason. He made your blood boil and you barely even knew him.

“Hello.” He greeted everyone in a sly tone, “I’m Michael Langdon. I’m here for the next phase of business.”

“Business?” Coco piped up. “What business is there? The world ended.”

Venable shot a deadly look at her. Mr. Gallant surprisingly spoke up as well.

“She’s got a point. What else can there be?”

Michael flashed a smile to the pair.

“I’m so glad you asked. You see, this facility was only meant to be temporary. Our mission was to gather the lost souls that may survive all of the nuclear fallout,” he began, “You are the lost souls we needed.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Coco muttered.

“It means that some of you will be coming with me to your new facility. A true safe haven. I will conduct an interview with each resident… And I expect all of you to speak with me.” He paused for a moment to gaze down at you. You could feel his piercing gaze, almost as if he could see right through your soul. You didn’t dare to make eye contact with him. All of a sudden, you felt a finger lift your chin.

His eyes were locked on you. Michael was studying you rather intently, making sure not to miss a single detail of your features. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Venable’s fingers twitching upon her cane. Her teeth were clenched tight together as she tried hard not to show any sort of weakness toward you.

“You look familiar… Don’t I know you from somewhere, little one?” Michael cooed as he brushed your hair behind your ear. His touch made you want to vomit.

“Ms. Y/L/N was one of the first to arrive. She doesn’t remember anyone from before the apocalypse.” Venable cut in.

“I see.” Michael’s gaze lingered. There was something about him, something absolutely foul. You knew him from somewhere. Langdon radiated malice and hate. His intentions were cruel rather than merciful.

“Will everyone go to the safe haven?” Dinah asked.

Michael left your side to step to the others. You were glad Dinah spoke when she did.

“Not all of you will be eligible. If your interview goes well, then expect a desirable outcome. If you don’t pass…” He grinned to himself. “Then you’ll be left behind.”

“Left behind as in stay here?” Coco laughed in disbelief, “I can’t be here! Not when there’s a utopia waiting for us!”

“Let’s hope you meet the requirements so you don’t stay and rot.”

His remark made Coco’s face twist in disgust. All of you were completely terrified.

“Interviews will begin immediately. Are there any volunteers to go first?”

Everyone remained silent. His head snapped in your direction.

“How about you, little one?”

Anxiety rushed over you as Venable’s eyes widened in horror. You opened your mouth to say something, though someone else spoke instead.

“I’ll go first!” Mr. Gallant cried out. You glanced over in his direction.

“I wanna get this over with anyway. Let me go.”

Michael raised a brow. “Very well. The rest of you may be dismissed.”

The man returned to the shadows to make his way to the spare office waiting for him. You mouthed a “thank you” to Mr. Gallant. He gave you a sympathetic smile before following Michael upstairs.

Once everyone had dispersed, you were alone with Venable. Wilhelmina instantly sat down next to you.

“Are you alright, my darling?”

“Mina, there is something just awful about him.”

“I know, my love.” She murmured as she gave you a tight hug. “I have a plan to get us out.”

“What do you mean?”

“Y/N, we can’t stay here. We’ll die if we don’t go.”

“But where will we go?”

“I know where the safe haven is. If we travel by foot and don’t stop, we’ll be there in two days.”

“Mina, what about radiation poisoning? What will we do about food? What if we die out there-”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take. If you want to live, you’re going to have to trust me.”

This was too much to take in all at once. On one hand, going outside of the Outpost was incredibly dangerous. Though staying inside would get you killed eventually. You realized that you didn’t have much of a choice.

“Okay. Tell me what to do.” You replied.

Her lips barely touched your ear as she whispered to you.

“Stay out of Langdon’s sight. I’ll keep him away from you as long as I can, but whatever you do, do not let him conduct an interview.” She squeezed your hand, “Halloween is tomorrow. Langdon wants us to have a celebration, we’ll sneak out while the party is happening.”

“What about the others?”

“Never mind them. Make sure to gather your things tonight, and pack light. We have a long journey ahead of us.”

You nodded to her. She kissed your cheek lovingly as a single tear fell from her eyes.

“I love you, Y/N. I love you so much.”

Your lips found her own as you kissed her. It was long, almost bittersweet.

“I love you too, Mina.”

-----

You weren’t sure how you’d done it, but you managed to stay out of Michael’s sight. Perhaps it was the fact that you’d locked yourself in your room for the rest of the evening. You were just grateful he’d never found you. Everything that you thought you might need was packed away, lightly, just as Venable had instructed. You were ready to run.

“Halloween?” Mr. Gallant spoke. Everyone at the breakfast table had smiling faces at the sound of a celebration. Even Venable managed to grin today.

“That’s right. We will be hosting a Halloween party this evening in the style of a Victorian Masquerade. At 6:30 sharp. The Cooperative has provided us with some gifts that will be dispersed during the festivities.” Wilhelmina explained.

“What kind of gifts?” Dinah asked.

“What does it matter? They’re gifts! When’s the last time any one of us was given something!” Coco giggled.

You were trying to be as excited as the others. It was hard to think that you’d be leaving all of them behind. As much as these people annoyed you at times, they had become like a little family to you. You’d never admit it but missing out on Coco’s temper tantrums or not being able to listen to Mallory’s stories was something you were going to miss dearly. Wilhelmina winked in your direction as the others began to chat amongst themselves about the evening ahead.

“I assume everyone is giddy about the party tonight?”

Michael appeared out of nowhere, staring at everyone around the table.

Fuck, fuck, fuck you thought to yourself. He was already gawking at you.

“We’re stoked, Langdon!” Coco replied.

“I’m very glad,” he muttered and completely ignored her presence. “Ms. Y/L/N, I do believe we still have to conduct your interview.”

“O-Oh, are we still doing that?” You squeaked.

“Yes, little one. You missed your slot yesterday.”

“I’m sorry. I forgot all about it, that was my mistake.”

Michael sauntered over behind you and gripped your shoulders. His hands were strong, as if he could crush bones with them. A shiver ran up your spine.

“That’s quite alright, dove. Let’s just make sure to take care of it today.”

“Mr. Langdon, I don’t think conducting her interview today would be necessary.” Venable added. Her expression remained cool and collected, though you could tell that she could lunge at him at any second. “After all, today is a celebration. Perhaps the rest of the interviews can wait until tomorrow.”

“It won’t take but a moment. Besides, hers is the last interview of the residents.”

“That’s not true!” Dinah said, “You still haven’t given me an interview.”

Michael loosened his grip. “Ah, Ms. Stevens. I’m terribly sorry, I’m afraid I’ve forgotten yours as well.”

“Save the interviews for tomorrow, Mr. Langdon. Everyone deserves a bit of a rest today, don’t you agree?” Venable cooed. It amazed you how great she was at manipulating the enemy.

“Perhaps. Well then,” Michael moved to stand before the table. “I expect to see all of you tonight. You are dismissed.”

Mr. Gallant pulled on your hand and guided you over to where he, Coco, and Mallory were going. You were secretly glad about it. Who knows what would’ve happened if you’d stayed at that table.

“Okay, I’m doing everyone’s hair. Coco, I think for you, we should do a huge French updo! Like one of those powder wigs!”

“Ooooh! I’m going to look fucking amazing!” She squeaked.

“Y/N, I’m thinking maybe a half up, half down moment?”

“Oh, you’re too kind. But I’m not sure if I need my hair done-”

“Of course you do! You’re gonna be beautiful.”

“It’s Halloween, you have to glam it up with me! I can’t be fabulous by myself!” Coco begged.

“I’m sorry guys, I’m not one for the spotlight. I appreciate it though,” you gave them a tired smile, “I’ll be excited to see how yours turns out though. You will look amazing.”

“That’s alright. Coco’s hair is gonna take forever anyway. This bitch can never sit still.” Mr. Gallant joked.

“I’m gonna choke you.”

“I double dog dare you to do it.”

Coco smacked his arm playfully as Mallory rolled her eyes.

You felt tears welling up in your eyes, though you didn’t dare to let them out. You really were going to miss them. Without thinking, you pulled all three of them into a tight hug.

“Uh-” Mr. Gallant began,

“Y/N?” Coco muttered.

“Just shut up and let me have this.” you said with a small laugh. They all scooted a bit closer and engaged in the group hug happily. You never wanted to let go of them but you knew that you had to. Tonight was going to be the night you departed from this place forever.

----

Music was booming throughout the halls. Laughter and hollering could be heard from the common room. It was hard to believe that you could hear it all from your room for the Outpost was never this loud. It was nice to know that everyone was having such a wonderful time.

Instead of your normal dress, you had put on the pants and shirt you’d come in. It had been so long since you’d seen yourself in normal clothes. You were surprised that you’d found your old shoes as well. You took a deep breath, stopping to take a good look at yourself. You were sure that you were ready.

Just as you leaned over to grab your bag, you smelled that strange floral scent that used to intoxicate your dreams. The room remained the same. Despite this, you could feel an overwhelming presence beside you.

“Don’t leave. I’m coming.”

It was that damned mystery woman.

“I-I have to go. It’s the only way.”

“You must stay. Trust me.”

“I don’t even know who you are! How in the hell am I supposed to trust you?”

“Yes, you do, my love. I’ll be arriving soon.”

“Who are you?”

“You already know the answer to that.”

“Stop fucking with my head!”

“Y/N?”

You looked to your door. Wilhelmina looked very different. Her hair was up in a sleek ponytail. Rather than her usual black ball gown, she was dressed in a lavender pantsuit. She held on tight to her cane. Mina must have been a knockout before the apocalypse happened. You wished that you two had met in different circumstances.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah-” you stuttered, “let’s just go. Are you ready?”

Wilhelmina nodded. “I’ve taken care of the others, so we have to leave now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Doesn’t matter. We have to go.”

It scared you to hear her words. You loved Mina, but she still did cruel things in the past. She was known for killing others prior to your arrivals. You hoped to whatever God was out there that she hadn’t hurt anyone.

The two of you rushed down the hall trying hard not to make a sound. You figured it would’ve been easier over the noise from the party, though to your surprise, the building had gone completely silent. This was the eeriest you’d ever seen the Outpost. Mina led you down the stairs and past the common room. Your eyes widened at the sight of the party.

Michael was nowhere to be found. Bile and blood covered the tiled flooring. All of the residents were dead. You covered your mouth so you wouldn’t scream, but you were completely mortified.

“Y/N, come on.”

“Mina- w-what happened to them?”

“We have to go, darling.”

“But, Mina-”

“I’m not arguing with you!” she snapped. She had never gotten snippy with you before. Though, you were sure it was only because she was scared. You couldn’t blame her.

You continued to follow her until you reached the front of the Outpost. This was the hallway where you had first come inside. It seemed much more daunting to go outside rather than staying here. Mina took your hand.

“Are you ready, my love?”

There was a small silence. You honestly weren’t sure.

“I have to be.”

She gave you a weary smile. You could tell that she wasn’t really sure about this either. But what choice did you have?

“Come on. We have to get out the door before Michael notices that we’re gone.”

Wilhelmina began to make her way toward the entrance. Just as you went to walk behind her, the door at the end of the hall swung wide open. A strong breeze whipped into the building as Venable covered her face with her elbow.

“Oh, what now?!” She cried out.

Though there was something stirring inside of you. You slowly stepped past Wilhelmina and gradually made your way toward the door.

“Y/N! Get back!” Wilhelmina yelled.

You couldn’t bother to hear her. Another softer breeze swirled around your body. That same intoxicating scent of flowers filled your nose. This time, it was all different. Your mind began to wander.

Memories flooded back to you. Robicheaux, the coven, New Orleans, the pretty greenhouse you loved to study in, practicing magic with other women; it was all coming back to you. You could feel your veins surging with power.

More memories came to you. That evening; Mallory was there. So was Coco. That mysterious woman faced you, and you could hear her voice clear as day.

“I will come to see you as soon as I can. I promise that I will find you.”

“I can’t! Delia, I can’t be without you! P-Please!”

“Y/N, I love you more than anything. Please remember me.”

Tears streamed down your cheeks as the breeze grew stronger. Everything made sense now.

“Y/N, stay back! Jesus fucking christ-” Wilhelmina moved to rush to your side, but as the wind picked up, she noticed that you weren’t fighting any of this. You seemed different. Something in you had changed.

All of a sudden, the wind stopped. The clicking of heels echoed through the doors.

“What if we can’t find them?” A British accent rung out.

“We will. They’re here, they have to be.”

That voice. Your heart was racing. It was her.

Three women entered the Outpost. They were all dressed in black. One, a younger blonde, had a concerned look upon her face. Another with bright red hair and thick glasses was keeping an eye out for enemies. The third woman was-

“Cordelia?” you whispered.

It was the mysterious woman from your dreams. It was Cordelia Goode, Supreme of your former coven. She had finally come for you. Her gaze instantly met your own as a beautiful smile widened across her face.

“My love.” Cordelia said through choked tears.

It was really her. She had finally come for you.

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imanativeofswlondondahling · 4 years

Text

Becoming A Stark (19)- Peter Parker x Stark!femReader

Word Count: 2352

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of horrible parenting

Author’s Note: Y/M/I= Your Middle Initial

Chapter One || Previous Chapter || Master List

Walking back through the front door, you’re hoping you can get back up the stairs without your dad spying you, but apparently your luck has run out. “Y/N Y/M/I Stark, living room now.” Your dad’s voice is stern, but not as harsh as you expect it to be. You take a breath before walking into the living room. Both Tony and Pepper are waiting for you, which shouldn’t really surprise you since it’s almost six on a Wednesday night, but still, a disappointed or angry talk from both of them is going to be worse than if only from one of them. Your dad is pacing the living room, while Pepper is just sitting on the couch. “Sit.” He points towards the couch. Pepper rolls her eyes at your dad’s mood, but pats the seat next to her.

“Hello to you too.” You tease only slightly as you sit down next to her.

“Hi sweetheart.” She says having not seen you since this morning.

“We can do niceties later. Right now we’re dealing with the bullshit that is her running off and telling FRIDAY not to tell me where she went, not telling Happy where she went, and oh right not telling her parents where she went.”

“But we aren’t going to talk about how you were in a shit mood and decided to take it out on me? I’m the only one in the wrong here? That’s some real bullshit Tony.” You call him by his real name, not feeling like he’s acting much like a father right now. “You keep acting like it’s a huge threat being your kid, but honestly, I think you just like being controlling more than anything else. You lock me up in a tower like a Disney Princess, choose what I’m allowed to eat, where I’m allowed to go, and who I’m allowed to be friends with. I don’t think you ever wanted a kid. You wanted a robot you could control. Well guess what? I’m not a fucking robot. I’m a human being, with feelings and emotions. And what I’m feeling right now is that I’m done with your bullshit.” You scream at him before storming out of the room.

“Couldn’t have kept your cool for two minutes Tony?” Pepper asks, looking off in the direction you ran away.

“Me? Did you not hear her monologue attacking my entire personality? Apparently I’m no better than Howard so…” Tony shouts before storming off towards the garage. Pepper knows that there are two hotheads in her life, but seeing as Tony is most likely going for a drive, she’ll tackle you first.

Pepper knocks on your door, waiting to hear the reply that never comes. So she opens the door to see you curled up under your blankets, headphones plugged in, staring at the ceiling. Pepper sees the same stubbornness she’s seen from Tony time and time again. Making her way across the room, she sits on the edge of your bed. You try to not make eye contact with her for a few moments, but eventually pull your headphones out and look her in the eyes.

“I’m not coming down to apologize.”

“He’s not even down there right now.” Your eyebrows pull together as you take in what she said. “Like father, like daughter. He stormed out of the room a few moments after you did.”

“Was that when he was yelling? Something about Howard?” You ask. Pepper doesn’t know how much you know about your grandparents, but it’s clear you heard at least some of what your dad yelled, so she nods her head. “When he’s talking about Howard, he means my grandfather, right? His father?” Pepper nods slowly. It’s not really her story to tell you. “Was my grandfather a bad person?” You ask before adding, “No one will tell me about him.”

“Your dad and him didn’t see eye to eye. It really should be your dad to tell you the story.”

“That’s what Aunt Nat told me too.”

“But, what I can tell you, is your dad loves you very much. Is he overprotective at times? Very. But does he love you? Very much. However the two of you are more similar than you are different. And that comes out in your tempers more than anything.” Pepper runs a hand over your leg.

After cooling off, you decide to get your homework over with. You don’t have that much for a Wednesday anyway. It takes you barely an hour and you end up on your bed, scrolling through social media and texting Peter and friends, when a noise interrupts your music.

Tony knocks on the door, opening it slightly. “Can I come in kiddo?”

“Are you coming in to yell at me again?” You ask, not looking up from your phone, not wanting to look at your dad yet.

“No.” He opens the door more, walking towards you. He notes the sweatshirt you’ve put on- a black shirt with white writing that reads ‘I Suck At Apologies So Unfuck You Or Whatever’. “Pepper was right that I should have kept my cool earlier instead of yelling at you when you got home.” Tony wants to sit on your bed, like he’s done a thousand times, but decides to sit on your desk chair instead, so that he doesn’t invade your space entirely.

“Yeah, well according to Pepper, we’re both hotheads.” You say, not disagreeing with him, but not agreeing either.

“Sounds like something we both got from our pops.” He says, not letting anything else out. You want to ask more about the grandfather you don’t know, but you know it’s not the time for it. “Can we try having a civil conversation about everything now? Or we can have Pep come be a mediator if we need it?”

“I think we can be calm if we try?” You suggest.

“I’m not trying to make your life a living hell.” Tony says after a moment of thinking. You set your phone down and turn to look at him, sitting cross legged. “I promise you that. And I’m sorry. I know it feels like I have a bunch of rules but I’m trying to do the best for you and by you. Part of it is about your safety. That’s the parts that may not seem like a ton of fun and we had a conversation about it when you first moved in. If I could change it to be less strict and more fun I would. But I’m literally being the least strict I can be while still ensuring your safety.”

“Really?”

“Really. The food stuff, maybe,” he grimaces, “we can try and be a little more lenient. But I’m also trying to ensure that you have stuff that’s going to make your blood sugar good. So can we try to come up with a compromise on everything?” You nod. “And on the friends, the only people I keep away are the ones who could be safety issues. Normal humans, that’s on you to decide who you want to be friends with. And I shouldn’t have taken my frustrations about Peter out on you. But, the biggest thing, I one hundred percent want you, just the way you are. I don’t want a robot. If I did, I’d make another one. I have plenty as is. But you? I love having you. And I wouldn’t change who you are.” You stare at him for a moment, not sure what to say. “Did I miss any part of what you were mad about?”

You try and think back to what all you yelled at him, and what he yelled at Pepper before leaving. “You didn’t miss anything, but I’m sorry too.” Tony looks at you in confusion. “I wasn’t trying to attack who you are-”

“Ah, you heard me yelling at Pep.”

“Maybe I did, but I did honestly attack who you were which wasn’t fair to you either.”

“Maybe not. But also I was still pissed off when I was yelling at her. Which gives me another person I need to apologize to, because let’s be honest, I don’t deserve her.”

“She’s the best you’ll ever get.” You say honestly.

“Very true.” Tony agrees. “But, I should have just removed myself from the situation instead of saying anything.”

“We both should have.” You can’t help but admit.

“True.” Tony walks over to you to give you a hug. “Even though we’re apologizing, I do have to tell you, you are grounded. One month.”

“Yeah, you told me on the phone.” You lean into his hug, but bite the bullet and ask the question that no one is willing to answer. “Dad?”

“Yeah kiddo?”

“Why will no one talk about your dad?” You feel your dad stiffen, but then he takes a deep breath as he pulls away from the hug.

“Well I should have expected this to come up eventually. Who all mentioned him?”

“Well you mentioned him earlier, but Pepper did because I asked and Aunt Natasha did a while ago.”

“Well, it’s kind of a long story. You sure you want it?” You nod. “Ok, then scootch over.” You slide to the left of your bed and your dad sits down, wrapping an arm around you. “My dad was older when he had me. He was uh... fifty two when I was born. And he was of an older generation. So when I was growing up, he tended to be somewhat harsher. He didn’t believe in praise and tended to live by the motto that ‘Stark men have iron in their veins’. Made for harder times trying to impress him or just having him show affection. Growing up it was easy to feel like my father never wanted me, or that I was nothing more than a name to carry on the Stark legacy. As time went on, nothing I did was ever good enough. How could it be, when he helped create Captain America? All I heard growing up was Captain America this and Captain America that and it was easy to believe that Captain America was the one that could have been a better son for my dad, even though they were only a year apart.”

“So did your mom not step in?”

“Mom believed that Dad was showing his love in the ways that he knew how to. She showed her love in the ways she could. Which was better than Dad. But that doesn’t mean she didn’t have her faults either.”

“So did you just disown him as a father or something? Is that why I haven’t met them?”

“They’re, uh, dead. They were killed when I was seventeen.” You look up at your dad’s face, looking for hurt or something but seeing not much of anything. “Mom would have loved you. Would have told me I was getting all the karma for all the years of partying by having a daughter that I now need to protect from all the boys and girls out there.”

“And your dad?”

“I can’t say. I’d want to say he’d see you and hopefully see past his past mistakes, but I can’t promise you that. But I know your grandmother would have loved you- just the way you are.”

“Can I ask you something else?”

“You can ask me anything, always.”

“When Aunt Nat was telling me about him, it was because she was telling me about your reaction about finding out about me. I wanted to know back when I first moved in. And she said you didn’t want to be like Howard.”

“I’m waiting for the question kiddo.”

“Well and then earlier you yelled at Pepper that you were no better than Howard.”

“Again, still no question.”

“What did I say that made you feel like you were no better than him?”

“Kiddo, we both already said that we said things we probably shouldn’t have-”

“You said you’d answer anything-”

“I said you could ask anything. Never said I’d answer it.” Tony says jokingly, trying to let humor cover the stuff he doesn’t usually talk about.

“Dad, please?”

“Fine. Um, Howard was always really controlling growing up. He made decisions about whether I was allowed to go places, who were the right kind of friends, and other things along the same lines. Honestly if I hadn’t gone off to college at 15, I don’t know if I would have gotten out from being under his thumb so early. That’s not to say that others didn’t try to take his place after his death but still. When you said I was treating you like you were supposed to be a robot I could control instead of a human, it reminded me of too many fights I had with him and Mom.” You can’t help but wrap your arms around him and hug your dad tightly.

“I really didn’t mean those ones. You’re honestly a really good dad. And you and Pepper show me all the time that I’m loved. Far from a robotic situation.” You try to eat the words you spat out earlier, knowing you can’t take back words once they’re said.

“You might not say that once I take Homecoming away.”

“I honestly wasn’t even sure if I was going to go. I haven’t been asked to go. Plus it’s the same weekend of all the moving stuff so Happy will probably be dealing with all of that so,” you shrug, “just seems like a busy enough weekend already.”

“Then I guess taking it away is pointless. However, if you go anywhere without Happy again, the forehead of security will be a 24/7 thing, not just a to and from school thing, got it?”

“Ok, ok. I get it.” He pulls you in close for another hug.

“Did you two kiss and make up?” Pepper asks from the doorway.

“We’re all better.” You say, still leaning into your dad’s arms.

“Good, because dinner is ready, and I wasn’t going to let the two of you continue your fight at the table.”

Becoming A Stark Tag list: @persephonehemingway @iamaunicorn4704 @furiouspockettoad @daughter-of-stark @eternalharry @huntective-kyeo @riiis-stuff @sunnyoongles @cosmicqueenieb @sovereignparker @bbarnestan @teenwishes08 @iamthescarlettwitch @skyfallstilinski @cutie1365 @a-mnd

Permanent tag list: @wormonastringonastick

#peter parker #peter parker fanfic #peter parker fan fic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fan fiction #peter parker x reader #peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker x you #tony stark #tony stark daughter #tony stark x daughter!reader #tony stark x daughter!you #tony stark can't be dead if you just don't let yourself believe it #pepper potts #peter parker imagine #becoming a stark?#becoming a stark #imanativeofswlondondahling

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sugarless-suki-writes · 3 years

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First Lines Meme

Tagged by @nikkxb -- sorry it's taken me so long to get to this, lmao

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!)

See if there are any patterns.

Choose your favorite opening lines.

Then tag 10 authors!

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

I just kinda went to my recents on my google docs, so this is gonna have a mix of stuff, some original stuff too. ye :3 but I'm starting with fics that I currently have posted online. All of them are the first paragraph of the update that's in progress

Favorites have bolded and italicized titles :3

1. Sobriety || KouKag

Kagome had three sessions of therapy so far and she wasn’t fully sure how to feel. She knew it was helping her, but she was left feeling so.... raw and open after every session that she felt like she was just back pedaling and it was hard to cope with. A part of her wanted to just stop altogether and go back to self medicating, but she knew that this was just part of the process. The first couple sessions were going to be hard because there was just so much to unpack, but her therapist was nice and calm and patient with her. She really had to thank Kouga again when she saw him later today.

2. 100 Arms, 100 Years || KouKag

This was the fifth day that an offering had been left in front of Kagome’s door for her. The fifth time she would receive the carcass of a large animal that she wouldn’t accept. The fifth time that Inuyasha found himself in front of her and Kikyō’s shared hut and bringing the carcass to the village for her. His fifth time taking the credit for a hunt he had no part in. He had to admit, this was quickly grating on his nerves. He hated the attention that he was getting from the villagers now. They praised him for shit that he didn’t do. That, and he didn’t want to be praised for anything. It was bad enough that he practically had the Sacred Jewel within his grasp and wasn’t able to use it to become a full-fledged youkai, but now he was being celebrated as a hero by some mere humans? Keh... they’re lucky I don’t tell them what this is all actually about. I bet they wouldn’t be so happy then. He sniffed and scratched at his nose. He talked a big game, but Inuyasha knew deep down that he would never do anything to hurt them. If he did that, that would in turn hurt Kikyō and he couldn’t do that to her.

3. Big God || KouKag

Kagome let out a frustrated huff as she shoved her phone into her pocket. She then plopped down onto the couch, tucking her legs up underneath her and curling into Kouga’s side. “That’s the fourth test we’ve ran, and we just... can’t figure out what the hell that stuff is... It’s so frustrating!” she grumbled.

4. You are the Moon || KouKag

Kagome took care of dinner that night, going out to pick up a few things she would need before returning home and cooking. Her mother tried to talk her out of it, but Kagome insisted, wanting to give her mother a break for the night and do something nice for the family. She missed them, and she wanted to make up for being gone for so long.

5. The Demon of Nabewari Yama || KouKag

Kagome let out a small huff as she looked up at the mountain she was heading towards. She had been traveling for several days, bordering a week now, looking for somewhere to settle. However, all the villages she had come across already had a miko or monk residing there, and if they didn’t, they didn’t want one. To be fair, there weren’t many villages she had come across between her hometown and here, and sure, maybe she should go further out after completing her training, but it was still just a little frustrating.

6. Seasons of Love || ZelGan

Zelda looked herself over in the mirror, and the corners of her lips pulled down into a small frown. Her hair was pulled up into an extravagant updo, several locks braided and pulled into the bun that rested on the back of her head. There were some flowers pinned in as well, all of them white in color. She would have preferred something with a pop of color, so they would stand out against her hair; but she figured that, in the end, everything had to match her dress.

7. Gerudotown || ZelGan -- Title may change for this, idk lmao

Ganondorf let out a grunt as he dismounted from his horse. The beast was large with a jet-black coat and a matching mane. He gave the steed a pat on his neck before handing the reins to a stable boy, holding back a chuckle from the look on the boy’s face. He was certain the child had never seen a beast so big, nor a Gerudo, based on how he was looking up at Ganondorf with wide, disbelieving eyes.

8. Shit, Let's be Pirates || DaveJade

Jade ran down the dirt path leading to a hidden beach. She had just gotten out of class and was eager to go down to the coves. She wanted to find some cool shells and snap a couple pictures for her biology class. She always went above and beyond in that class, but she just had a passion for marine life.

9. Changing Fate || ZelGan

“You can’t possibly be serious about this, father!” Zelda snapped indignantly. Her hands were balled into fists at her sides and her face was contorted in rage. King Rimoll let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. They had been at this “conversation” for what felt like hours. He didn’t expect it to go this badly. Of course, he didn’t expect it to go well in the first place, but this was beyond what he anticipated.

10. Moon Bonds || KouKag

All Hallow’s Eve. A powerful night for witches and magick users alike. A night that better helped connect them to the spirits of the earth and those who had been lost. It was a night that Kagome looked forward to every year. The surge of magick that tingled under her skin and filled her very being... by the goddess it was an amazing feeling. And this year would be even more delightful and powerful.

11. Princess and the Pirate || Amuto

Growing up, Amu had been told many stories about pirates, everyone on her small island had. But Amu felt as if she had heard more than most. Her mother would tell her tales before bed about the pirates on a ship called the Emerald Line. Despite the name of the ship, its hull and sails were completely black. The only speck of color was the pirate flag it flew, which was emerald green and depicted a cat head with crossbones beneath. It was also known to be the fastest ship to sail the seas.

12. The Black Card || KouKag

Kagome paced around her room in her tiny apartment, struggling with picking out an outfit. It was her first day off in a while and she wanted to look cute, seeing as she wouldn’t be restricted by her, somewhat lenient (semi-strict?), dress code at the bookstore. However, she also wanted to be comfortable, so she was at a bit of an impasse. It wasn’t really as big a deal as she was making it out to be, but she was exhausted and she hoped that dressing nice would throw Sango off her trail. With a huff, she finally settled on a nice sundress she had stuffed in the back of her closet, one she rarely wore and almost forgot she had. It was light blue in color with a floral print.

13. Harvest Moon || KouKag

Kagome stretched as she woke up that morning. She opened her eyes and saw the torn-up ceiling and frowned to herself ever so slightly. She had moved into the country several days ago and had only recently started working on repairs that her home needed. It was a pretty large house, but the rent was extremely cheap. The only downside was she had to pay for the repairs, but in all honesty… she wasn’t too bothered by it. Apparently the house had been abandoned for years. No one was really sure how long... but Kagome could take a guess that it had been at least a decade with how worn down and dirty things were.

14. Memories || Original Fic - No Pairing

Lotus looked around at the scene before her. It would be an easy job, simple. She could do it in her sleep no problem. She scoffed and looked at the man beside her. “Really? You need me for this?” she asked. He turned to look at her, a scowl on his face.

15. Any Way the Wind Blows || ZelGan

Zelda woke up to the sun on her face. She grumbled and grunted, rolling over onto her side on her small mat. She opened her eyes and looked out ahead of her, at the grass and flowers swaying in the breeze. Her stomach gurgled and she placed a hand on it, a grimace on her lips. Food...

16. Found || KouKag

When Kouga had heard that there was a disturbance along one of their borders, he had been prepared for anything. He pulled together a team quickly, not taking all the strongest warriors, making sure to leave some behind to protect his pack. They ran off, ready to fight. Ready for anything. Anything except this.

17. Interlude IV (Showtime) || KouKag

O Signore, per amor del tuo nome, perdonami la mia iniquità... Perciocche ellà e grande Kagome sat there in the street, blood seeping through her clothes and soaking her knees. Tears continued to stream down her cheeks in a never ending flow. Her breath kept catching in the back of her throat as she tried to force down her sobs. Her hands were curled up into fists, pressed against the pavement, soaked in blood and in pain from being clenched so tightly and pressed so firm against the rough asphalt. Regret, despair, and guilt crushed her heart. They squeezed tight, holding onto her and keeping her trapped in the moment. A moment she’d rather drink away and forget, only for her guilty conscious to bring it back in her dreams at night, keeping her away from the blissfulness of sleep.

18. Bubblegum & Nicotine || Original Fic -- Astrid/Loki

Astrid opened the door to the apartment and latched her keys onto her belt loop. She then bent over to pick up the bags of groceries she had set on the ground to unlock the front door. Once she had crossed the threshold into the house, she raised up her right leg and kicked the door closed behind her. With a bit of a grunt, she hoisted the bags up a tad higher and made her way to the kitchen. She set them down on the counter with a thud and took a moment to catch her breath. She may be in good shape, but carrying several pounds of groceries up three flights of stairs because the elevator was out? That would wind anyone.

19. We Are Complicated || Bubbline

Bonnibel Kaugummi entered the school and was quick to drop her things off in her locker so she could head straight to the Student Council room. She grabbed a couple of her books out of the locker and shoved them into her messenger bag. The tan colored bag complimented her uniform, which consisted of a grey sweater, a red ribbon tied into a neat bow, which was neatly tucked underneath the collar of her white button up shirt underneath her sweater, and a red plaid skirt. The red accents to her uniform identified her as a Junior, and they complimented her red-orange hair and rosy complexion.

20. The End of All Things || KouKag

Kagome let out a soft sigh as she curled up in her spot on the bench, bringing her legs up to her chest. She was sitting out on the small deck that overlooked the garden in her backyard and watching the rain. It was fairly cool out thanks to the constant drizzle that had begun early that morning. The sound of it pattering against the ground and roof that extended over the deck filled her with a sense of calm, a calm that she desperately needed right about now. Working as a nurse wore her out. She loved her job, of course, but gods if it didn’t have its trials and tribulations. She had been working almost every day for a solid two weeks now, covering shifts for people on top of her own. Thankfully she had a couple of her shifts taken from her after being at the hospital for a full 24 hours at one point in time. Today just so happened to be her natural day off, and she felt pretty great about it.

#ask meme #koukag #kogkag #bubbline #zelgan #amuto #inuyasha #adventure time #legend of zelda #shugo chara #original content

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auditionsuggestions · 4 years

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Show Breakdowns - Little Women: The Musical

Here’s a new thing I’m trying! Basically breakdowns and descriptions of characters in a show along with the audition songs I suggest for them! I figued I’d start with a show I know inside and out. Below the Cut for length. This is specific to the 2005 Jason Howland/Mindi Dickstein version.

Josephine “Jo” March

Playing age: 15-22 (character ages through the show)

Lead. A Star Vehicle role. Jo barely leaves the stage (I should know, I’ve played her before).

Range: E3-A5, Belt to E5. Mezzo Belt (or strong mix)

Dance Requirement: Some movement

Jo is fiery, exuberant, and passionate. All her emotions are extremes which can lead her to be rather blunt or brash and very headstrong. She starts as a complete tomboy and keeps a lot of that as she grows up. The show begins with her in her 20s living in a boarding house in New York City and then Act I flashes back to her teen years in Concord, MA with Act II coming back to her 20s. Her journey is tied to finding her own unique voice as an author rather than just writing what she thinks will sell.

Suggested Songs:

Uptempo: Spark of Creation, Children of Eden; Watch What Happens, Newsies; I’m Your Man, Meet John Doe; Times are Hard for Dreamers, Amelie; The Writing on the Wall, The Mystery of Edwin Drood; Live Out Loud, A Little Princess

Midtempo: Journey to the Past, Anastasia;

Ballad: Woman, The Pirate Queen; He Threw Me, Meet John Doe; A Change in Me, Beauty and the Beast

Theodore “Laurie” Laurence

Playing age: 15-22 (ages through the show)

Supporting Character. Doubles as Roderigo I

Range: Bb2-Bb4 (A youthful, contemporary high Tenor)

Dance Requirement: Some movement

Laurie is the quintessential boy next door. He lives with his grandfather and his cat across the way from the March sisters and quickly becomes enthralled by the love, warmth, and joy in their family that he feels lacking in his own house. He and Jo are best friends and almost too alike. After Jo rejects his proposal, he goes away to Europe where (after reuiniting with a now grown up Amy) he matures and he and Jo are able to resume their friendship (now as brother-in-law and sister-in-law). As Roderigo I, he starts as the generic hero of the story Jo is writing.

Suggested Songs:

Uptempo: Top of the World, Tuck Everlasting; Partner in Crime, Tuck Everlasting (Originally duets, can be arranged as solos)

Midtempo: My Petersburg, Anastasia; Corner of the Sky, Pippin (overdone)

Ballad: Proud of Your Boy, Aladdin; I’ll Be There, The Pirate Queen

Margaret “Meg” March

Playing age: 16-23

Supporting Character. Doubles as Clarissa

Range: Bb3-B5 (Legit Soprano)

Dance Requirement: Some movement

Meg is the eldest of the March sisters and takes it upon herself to try and teach her younger sisters how to act like a proper lady--though she’s still really a kid herself . Meg is the only one of the sisters with a solid memory of what it was like when the family was wealthy and often finds herself yearning for the ease the money would bring to her life. She wants to be accepted and admired in society, but learns that her own happiness is much more important than status or money. As Clarissa, she is the heroine of the story Jo writes growing with Jo��s skill as an author from a generic damsel in distress to her own knight in shining armor.

Suggested Songs: Till there Was You, The Music Man; I’ve Never Been in Love Before, Guys and Dolls; Goodnight My Someone, The Music Man; I Saw Him Once, Les Miserables; I Could Have Danced All Night, My Fair Lady

Elizabeth “Beth” March

Playing age: 13-21 (character ages through the show)

Supporting Character. Doubles as Roderigo II

Range: A3-G5 (Mix Soprano)

Dance Requirement: Some movement

Beth is the third-born of the March sisters. She is the peace-maker of the family and can always be counted on to support or uplift her sisters whenever they need it. She is constantly willing to go out of her way to help those who need it (such as their poor neighbors, The Hummels) and has a deep love of music through which she bonds with Grandfather Laurence. As Roderigo II, she is the twist that shows Jo’s unique flair as a writer, turning out to be the heroine’s sister in disguise rather than another generic swashbuckling hero.

Suggested Songs: How Could I Ever Know, The Secret Garden; The Girl I Mean to Be, The Secret Garden; Much More, The Fantasticks (overdone); Far From the Home I Love, Fiddler on the Roof; The Secret of Happiness, Daddy Long Legs; In My Own Little Corner, R&H Cinderella

Amelia “Amy” Curtis March

Playing age: 12-20 (sometimes cast with 2 actresses as younger and older Amy)

Supporting Character. Doubles as Troll

Range: G3-G5 (Bright, Disney-esque Soprano or Mezzo)

Dance Requirement: Some movement

Amy is the youngest of the March sisters. As a 12 year old, she longs to be grown up and elegant. She normally feels forgotten or left behind as the youngest. Very feminine Amy often butts heads with tomboy-ish Jo as they’re both headstrong and impulsive--two sides of the same coin. As a 20 year old, Amy has been chosen by Aunt March to accompany her to Europe to become cultured and (ostensibly) to be educated in painting (though it’s really more that Aunt March wants Amy to find a suitable husband). Amy returns still headstrong and impulsive, but also now the refined lady she dreamed of being as a child. She eventually falls in love with Laurie as their personalities compliment each other where Laurie’s and Jo’s clashed. As the Troll, she is an obstacle for Clarissa to overcome, representative of conquering materialism.

Suggested Songs: Love is an Open Door, Frozen; That’s How You Know, Enchanted; A Lovely Night, Cinderella; I Could be Happy With You, The Boy Friend; Follow Your Heart, Urinetown; Beyond My Wildest Dreams, The Little Mermaid; Much More, The Fantasticks (possibly overdone)

Marmee March

Playing age: ~42-50 (Flexible as Marmee’s age is never given)

Supporting Character. Doubles as Hag

Range:D3-E5 (a warm Mezzo or Alto)

Dance Requirement: A little movement (one number).

Marmee is the mother of the March girls. With her husband away at war (and not featured in the show at all), it falls on her alone to raise the girls to be strong, brave, and compassionate young women. Marmee is wise and loving, but not overly indulgent or lenient with the girls. She hides much of her grief and struggles (and temper) from her daughters so that they feel they can always lean on her. (Fun fact, Meg and Amy are both named after Marmee, whose given name is Margaret and maiden name was Curtis). As the Hag, she is an obstacle for Clarissa to overcome, representative of conquering vanity

Suggested Songs: Back to Before, Ragtime; What Kind of Woman, Ragtime; Sensitivity, Once Upon A Mattress; When There’s No One, Carrie: the Musical, Close the Door, Anastasia

Aunt March

Playing Age: ~65-73 (Flexible)

Supporting Character. Doubles as Mrs. Kirk

Range: D3-E5 (Character Mezzo or Alto)

Dance Requirement: Optional (Possible in “Could You”)

Aunt March is the girls’ formidable, crabby, and very wealthy Great Aunt for whom Jo was named. While she is stern and rigid, she genuinely does love her great nieces and wants to see them succeed in life (granted: “succeed” by her definition). Jo works as a companion for Aunt March, reading to her and fixing things around the house. Amy later takes over this job as she gets older. Mrs. Kirk is Jo’s landlady and employer in New York. Jo is governess to Mrs. Kirk’s daughters. She can be a bit of a busybody, but is overall very kind to and supportive of Jo.

Suggested Songs: Perfectly Nice, Jane Eyre: the musical; A Slip of A Girl, Jane Eyre; Liaisons, A Little Night Music; So What, Cabaret; Brimstone and Treacle, Mary Poppins; Haven’t Got a Prayer, Sister Act

Professor Friedrich “Fritz” Bhaer

Playing age: 34-35 (but looks older.)

Supporting Character

Range: G2-F#4 (A high Baritone/Baritone with a strong upper extension--should sound older than Laurie and Mr. Brooke)

Dance Requirement: None

Prof. Bhaer is another tenant of Mrs. Kirk’s boarding house in New York. Originally from Germany, he emigrated to America upon his sister’s death to raise her two sons. He and Jo strike up an odd friendship and he becomes her beta-reader. He is nonconfrontational by nature, but will give his honest and blunt opinion when asked (much to Jo’s chagrin at times). He finds himself fascinated by the adventurous young author and eventually they fall in love--a union of equals rather than simply being in love with the idea of Jo as Laurie was.

Suggested Songs: Some Girls, Once on this Island; I’ve Grown Accustomed to Her Face, My Fair Lady; Love Sneaks In, Dirty Rotten Scoundrels; Emma, Emma the Musical; Charity, Daddy Long Legs

Mr. John Brooke

Playing age: 20-28 (Flexible, no age is given in the story).

Supporting Character. Doubles as Braxton

Range: C#3-Gb4 (A darker tenor than Laurie, but sitll lighter than Prof. Bhaer).

Dance Requirement: None

Though he starts off as Laurie’s rather stiff tutor, Mr. Brooke is a romantic at heart and a big dork. He and Meg are immediately smitten with one another. He later shows off his latent courage by joining up with the Union Army and endears himself to the other sisters (Jo was not particularly keen on his and Meg’s relationship) by escorting Marmee to Washington DC when her husband falls ill. As Braxton, he is the classic over the top melodrama villain in Jo’s story who Clarissa vanquishes with the help of her sister.

Suggested Songs: Everything To Win, Anastasia; There She Was, The Scarlet Pimpernel; Her Voice, The Little Mermaid

Grandfather Laurence

Playing age: ~65-73 (Flexible)

Supporting Character. Doubles as The Knight

Range: C#3-D4 (Gruff Character Baritone or Tenor with a strong lower extension)

Dance Requirement: Optional (possible in “Off to Massachusetts”)

Laurie’s distant and rather foreboding grandfather. Mr. Laurence took Laurie in after the boy was orphaned and is very strict with him. He originally sees his grandson’s involvement with the March girls as an unnecessary and detrimental distraction from Laurie’s studies, but is won over by Beth with whom he bonds as she reminds him of his dead granddaughter in both demeanor and love of music. He eventually becomes a surrogate grandfather to all the March sisters. As the Knight, he is the final obstacle for Clarissa to overcome, representative of accepting self-sacrifice and putting the needs of others first.

Suggested Songs: A Sentimental Man, Wicked; No Matter What, Beauty and the Beast; Something Was Missing, Annie

#Little Women #little women the musical #Jo March #Broadway #Musical Theatre #March Sisters #Show Breakdowns

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moreaugriffins · 4 years

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Let him wear what he wants

This one took longer than expected to write, but it is done! Finally. I hope it was worth it.

TW: panic attacks, maybe emotional abuse (just to be safe)

The first time he tried on a dress, he was five years old. Percival was a child driven by curiosity, always watching people around him. He noticed how some servants and his mum wore flowey cloth that looked different from the clothes he had to wear. What they wore looked light, and soft, and very comfortable, whilst the trousers he had to wear were itchy and annoying.

He wandered into his parent’s room whilst they were somewhere else, he wasn’t sure where, to grab the toys his dad took away from him, when he noticed something laying on his parent’s bed. It was the clothes.

With some struggle, he grabbed it, and tried to put it on. It clearly was too big for him, it was practically falling off his body, but he liked it. It felt as soft as it looked, and it made him feel like a pretty boy!

Percival smiled to himself, trying to take a few steps towards the mirror, but tripped on some of the cloth that touched the floor, and landed with a thud. After a few seconds of pain, he couldn’t help but laugh. It was fun! Maybe he could have one of these things, but smaller. Falling over wasn’t fun.

“Percival Milquetoast.” He heard his dad say with a booming voice. He looked towards the door to see that his dad clearly was not very happy. Had he done something wrong?

“I wasn’t taking the toys.” Percival tried to explain. Yes, he came in for the toys, but he doesn’t want them now.

His dad did not reply, but walked over to Percival, and grabbed his arm, pulling him out of clothes. Maybe it was the fact that his dad was gripping him too tightly, or the fact that his dad was angry at him, but he started to cry. He didn't understand.

“Men do not wear a dress Percival,” his dad took him out of the room, unaffected by the crying,”I expected better from you. Do not do that again.” Percival nodded, wiping away his tears. He didn't know it was a bad thing to do.

As a teenager, he made it his mission to piss off his father. Trying to grow his hair out, talking back to him, putting his feet on the table, speaking his opinions when his father’s friends are around, the list could go on.

His clothes however, he does not mess with. He would untuck his shirt, yes, and get his expensive trousers muddy, but walk around the house wearing a skirt? Or gods forbid a dress? That was not happening.

He actually liked wearing those.

He couldn’t buy any of them though, as people would talk, and his father would know. He couldn’t steal any because what if he got caught? So he learned to sew fabrics that he collected from around the house, and from his old clothes. Luckily, with the amount of times his father locked him in his bedroom, he had the time to practice, and soon enough he was able to make some decent skirts. Well skirts that did not fall apart after wearing them two times.

He hid them away at the back of his closet, out of sight. He knew that at some point, he would have to find a better spot to hide it, otherwise eventually a servant could find it.

He heard his door slam behind him, and waited until he could no longer hear the sound of footsteps, before opening his closet and taking out one of the skirts. He learned to love wearing his shirts and trousers, they were very practical, and could be comfortable to wear, but there was something about.. Wearing, not only skirts and dresses, but anything with flowy material, that was rather freeing.

Getting changed into the skirt, he played with the mismatched fabrics that made up the clothing item. Though it was not the prettiest thing he owned, he certainly liked it more than most of his clothes. Maybe it was because he made it. He heard that people tend to like what they've made themselves, more than something made by someone else.

With a small smile, he walked over to his shelf, and picked out a book on pirate history. He had been meaning to annotate the book, so he may as well start now.

He didn’t know what happened after that, other than he must have made it to his bed and fell asleep. He groaned at the sound of knocking, as he buried his head in his pillows, not wanting to deal with the servant.

The door creaked open,”Sir, your father requires your pres-” The servant fell silent.

“My father what?” Percy prompted, rolling over to face the servant, only to find them staring at him in horror. He frowned, confused. What did he do now?

It took a few seconds for the cogs in his mind to start moving. He started reading, then sat on his bed because it was more comfortable, but did he get changed before he fell asleep? One glance at his own clothes answered that question.

His heart rate skyrocketed,”get out,” He managed to say, feeling his throat close up. He had been caught, his father will know, he will know. Oh gods. He couldn’t breathe.

His father had not mentioned anything, and Percy dared not mention anything to him. He started to think that the servant had not told his father about the incident, if it weren’t for the fact that one evening, when Percy returned home, he found his father sitting in front of the fireplace.

That itself was not the thing that raised alarm bells, but it looked like something was burning in the fire, other than the logs.

He walked into the room, to have a closer look.

Was that..

“I must say, I was hoping that the servant was lying,” His father stated. It was clear that he was ashamed of Percy, he could tell, and disgusted. He didn’t even want to look at his child, instead, he looked at the fire,”But alas I found those hidden away.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that, suck on the spot. He was too shocked to feel anything.

“I could tolerate your other… feminine behaviours, as i knew you only did them to get a reaction out of me. But this.. You wore them in private.”

“It doesn’t harm anyone.” His mouth was moving quicker than his mind, as the shock started to wear off. He burned them. He didn’t just confiscate his clothes, he was burning them to ash. To nothing. All because he wore them?

His father scoffed,”Doesn’t harm anyone? It harms our reputation,” he finally turned to face Percy, glaring at him,”If i had not paid them a considerable amount, they would have told everyone. They would have said you were not truly a man, that you are a sissy. People would lose respect for us.”

“Well, that only shows how ignorant they are. It’s just a skirt.”

“And skirts are only worn by females. You are my son. You do not wear those things!”

“You can’t fucking tell me what to do-”

“I am your father. I can do what I see as fit,” his father stood up,”It has been clear that I have been too lenient on you. From now on, a servant will keep an eye on you at all times, except when you sleep, shower, dress, so on.”

Percy’s mind was reeling from this information. It was utterly ridiculous. He wanted to scream at his father, about how unfair he was being, how he was already being too strict. He was burning his fucking clothes for crying out loud!

But he said nothing, he couldn’t.

He just watched the last pieces of fabrics disappear.

He hated himself for this. How many years has it been, since he ran away from home? He could do whatever he wanted, be with who he wanted, wear what he wanted. So why couldn’t he wear his dresses outside of his room?

He knew why. Everytime he tried to, he remembered the last time people saw him dress like this. He couldn’t risk that happening again. So it was his secret, nobody had to know.

He spun on the spot, watching the delicate fabric float and twist in the mirror. It never failed to make him smile. The clothes had become comfort items for him over the years. When everything felt like it was falling to shit, insecurities were getting the better of him, when he needed an escape, he would lock himself away, and do the things he wanted to do, without being ridiculed, or worse.

His hand ran over the neckline of the dress. He was glad that he chose a silk dress. It’s very breathable, so at least he wouldn’t sweat buckets in this dress, even if it was black. Plus it’s very smooth to touch and doesn’t irritate his skin, and it fits his shape very well.

Dare he say it, he looked fucking stunning!

“Hey Corazon, the others were wondering if-” Corazon’s head snapped towards his now opened door, which was where he saw Dob. Apparently, the half orc didn’t think that knocking was important.

Corazon’s heart started beating faster, and he slammed the door on Dob, before staggering backwards, as far away as he could. Of course this would happen. Why didn’t he lock the door? Why couldn’t his secret stay a secret, for once? His throat started to close up, as his whole body started to shake. Dob saw. He’ll tell the others. They will know. He’ll lose the people he cares most about. Oh gods, they’ll be disgusted, won’t they?

He sat himself on the ground, feeling too light headed to stay standing up. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think properly, all he knew was that he had messed up. Everything was fucked. The stupid dress didn’t even feel nice anymore. It made him feel disgusting. Why did he have to wear this shit?

“-azon? Corazon are you ok,” He heard Dob say, barely, it was hard to hear of the ringing noise. Corazon didn’t even try to respond, just trying to fucking breathe. He just needs to breathe,”Cor?”

It was only a few moments later when he heard the sound of wood snapping and the door opening. He could just feel Dob’s eyes on him, he hated it. He didn’t want him to see him like this, and give him more of a reason to ridicule him.

A few steps, and Dob crouched down in front of the pirate, looking rather worried. Well isn’t that great.

“Corazon, buddy, take some deep breaths, ok?” The half orc reached to put a hand on Corazon’s shoulder, but he pulled away immediately. He tried to take some deep breaths anyway, not to any major success, but at least he didn’t feel like he was being strangled anymore.

“Please don’t talk about this.. To the others.” Corazon mumbled, daring not to look at him.

“About.. The dress or the..”

“Both…”

“Of course.” It felt like some of the weight was lifted off of his chest. Dob has always kept his word, so he meant it, right?

They sat in silence for some amount of time, as Corazon started to calm down. He couldn’t say he was completely fine, he was still very much on edge, but he could breathe, he could think.

“So,” Dob looked for something to say,”switching up your fashion, hm?”

“I’ve always worn stuff like this.” He admitted, running his finger over the silk. He couldn’t believe he admitted that. Why would he do that?

“Oh? Why don’t you ever wear it,” Dob paused, probably realising maybe not to ask,”well.. I think it suits you!”

Corazon looked at him finally, raising an eyebrow skeptically. He tried to find any sort of sign that he was lying, because he must be. He has to be.

“..Really?”

“Yeah! You look very pretty in it.” Dob smiled softly, and Corazon couldn’t help but smile as well.

“Thank you,” he cleared his throat, feeling a little too emotional for his liking,”um, you should probably head back to the others now.”

“Oh! Are you sure you don’t need me to stay?”

‘I’m sure. Just, tell the others I won’t join tonight.”

“Ok then. Get some rest.”

Taglist

@ninjagrumpbomb

#oxventure #corazon de ballena #dob #(later on)#tw: panic attack #tw: emotional abuse #I think I put too much of myself in this #so this is interesting

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the-tribune · 4 years

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The Tribune: Chapter 1

A science fiction story The idea of the Galactic Parliament, not to mention it’s associated vast bureaucratic apparatus, would be absolutely absurd if it was not already an ancient and enduring institution. The galactic diameter was greater than 100,000 light-years, meaning even light speed communication methods took one hundred millennia to travel the galaxy’s wingspan. Half a million species of intelligent life across millions of worlds each with billions of inhabitants were governed by The Parliament. What’s more, there was no faster than light travel, for the laws of physics were strict in their regulation. The laws of biology were more lenient, however. A large proportion of the galaxy’s intelligent species were able to achieve biological immortality. This allowed for a communications infrastructure to be constructed which, while glacially slow, allowed for information to be disseminated across the galaxy within a lifespan. With the large distance between these so called “immortonations”, it is natural to ask why a structure was established to govern them. After all, if two groups of people cannot communicate without extreme effort, why bother attempting to impose a common set of laws on both? The answer lay in trade. There were certain highly useful trace compounds which were impossible for life to fabricate because they were formed in black hole accretion disks, neutron stars, or other extreme environments. These resources were not scattered uniformly throughout the galaxy, however, and existed in localized veins. Since these compounds were used in many advanced technologies, their exchange was desirable. Galactic governance thus evolved out of thousands of trade agreements, trade regulatory organs, technological sharing initiatives, and common currency deals. As cooperation intensified however, so did competition and interstellar war was born. Defense pacts and arms sales were therefore woven into the fabric of the emerging Galactic System. As species communicated — even at the slow rate afforded by physics — ideology, culture, and language mingled. Eventually people even began migrating across the void to other immortonations, driven by commerce, war, or exploration. The result was that the galaxy, while colossal beyond comprehension, began to shrink. Friction between democratic and authoritarian immortonations eventually escalated into a billion year period of violence, known simply as “The Struggle”. The Struggle was a brutal, all encompassing total war in which almost a quadrillion lives were lost. The conflict was eventually won by the Democratic Front. In the latter stage of the war, a Galactic Constitution was drafted and signed by the members of the Democratic Front. It established a democratic Galactic Commonwealth — led by the directly elected Galactic Parliament — and reorganized local governance. The independent immortonations became provinces under the new Galactic Commonwealth. In addition to codifying the structure of the government, The Galactic Constitution included a section outlining the inalienable rights and liberties of sapient beings. It also provided for the creation of an enormous Army of the Galaxy and outlawed locally controlled militaries. Because of the huge lag in communications between worlds, a system of closed party-list proportional representation was used to elect members of The Galactic Parliament. Political parties located on the capital planet Zaast created huge lists of people in the order which they would like them seated in parliament. The lists were then communicated to all the inhabited planets in the galaxy where local branches of the Galactic Commonwealth would hold an election and individuals would vote for the parties. Once the results of these elections were transmitted back to Zaast, seats would be proportionally allocated by party. Term lengths were one million years, and if an elected parliamentarian died part way through their term, they were replaced by the next person on their party’s list. Parties could also reorganize their list at any time, meaning that during a term, party leaders could promote or demote members from office at will. This system, while effective at allowing democracy to take place at a galactic scale, had the consequence of power being highly centralized in a political class ruling from Zaast. Only those who lived on Zaast could effectively become parliamentarians, and the parties controlled who was in office at any time. The ruling party could even demote the prime minister and promote someone else to their place without a vote, because the office was not legally held by individuals; it was held by the party itself. The struggle for power between the parties was a cutthroat affair. Alliances and coalitions shifted constantly due to political maneuvering and backstabbing. Competition for power was just as fierce within the political parties, as positions on the parties’ lists were fought over. The maxim of Zaast was “trust no one”. Darker still, assassinations were a normal part of political life on Zaast. Indeed, despite being the richest and most powerful class in the galaxy, the life expectancy of the parliamentarians was fairly low on average due to the murders. The one check on the powers of the Zaast based parties was the Jury of Tribunes. Every one thousand years, one thousand tribunes were selected at random from the entire immortal population of the galaxy (using a pseudorandom number generator called R-19, which had had it’s seed synced with all the planets of The Commonwealth). These tribunes were legally compelled to serve and had to make the long journey to Zaast to do so. Being selected through sortition, the tribunes were diverse in species, religion, language, culture, profession, and class but were joined together in their common duty to the galaxy. The Jury of Tribunes had extensive powers. The jury could propose legislation to be voted on by the parliament and veto and legislation which the parliament produced. In addition, the jury was able to prosecute and try members of parliament: an important role due to the parliamentarians’ immunity to prosecution in the courts. The tribunes were sacrosanct and violence against them was punishable by death. This hardly stopped the parliamentarians, however, who, as a rule, hated the tribunes. The tribunes lived in constant fear of persecution from the parliamentarians and their cronies. Cowed in this way, the tribunes were unable to effectively perform their constitutional duty to curb the parties’ power. The Army, which was usually close with the parliamentarians, would not protect the tribunes, nor would the Zaast Public Order Service (the local police force). The tribunes had to look out for each other on the cruel planet which they found themselves on. Ayr was a shepherd on the agricultural world of Ostlot IV. She lived a simple life with her husband and children moving an indigenous variety of livestock from pasture to pasture. She was content with her lot, worked hard, and loved her family. The animals were calm and easy to work with and the weather was temperate all year long. She only had one thing in her life to complain about: the annual trip to the local city: Qual. The family would bring the livestock to Qual yearly to sell some of them to local vendors and buy what they needed to survive for the year. Ayr loathed coming to Qual. The city was claustrophobic to her and, accustomed to a lifestyle of freedom in the wild, she took poorly to the city’s rules and customs. More than anything else she detested the local branch of the Army of the Galaxy, who would demand a huge sum of “protection money” on top of the taxes which were already due. This type of racketeering was just how things were done. The Army was strong, the people were weak, and there was no oversight. So once again she found herself paying the protection money at the local army office. This time, however, upon tuning to leave she was stopped by the soldier taking the money. “You should really stay in the city for a month until the jury selection happens.” The young soldier said. “Means we won’t have to track you down if you get picked.” This caused some snickers from other soldiers. “No, I’m serious!” the soldier protested. “Just because someone from Ostlot hasn’t been selected in forever doesn’t mean it couldn’t happen!” “I’ll take my chances,” Ayr said and left to find Elic, her husband, who was with the children in the bazaar. When she reached the bazaar and found Elic and the children, she looked at them from afar for just a moment before joining them. She saw her husband tenderly caring for scrape their youngest had just gotten from a little fall and had a sudden feeling like she was seeing them like that for the last time. She joined them and said to Elic “I think we should stay in the city for a month longer.” Surprised Elic looked up and asked “Why? You hate the city.” She paused for a few seconds. “Yes but Jury selection is in a month and you never know if one of us might be picked.” she replied. Elic smiled, he knew better than to question his wife when she had a feeling about something, and he knew better than to question his wife’s gut. “Ok, we’ll stay until Jury selection,” he said. One month later she was chosen. The army came to the inn the family was staying in, took her to the spaceport, and put her on a ship to Zaast. She somehow knew that it would be her. She didn’t know how, she didn’t believe in gods or fate or luck or the supernatural. But somehow she had known. Now she was leaving everything behind. Her husband, her children, her home, her life, even her place in time (for she would be put into cryosleep for the duration of the journey). But she wasn’t alone. Strangely enough, after the long drought, not one but two representatives from Oslot IV were chosen to be tribunes. The launch craft from Qual spaceport met up with the interstellar transport ship, and Mareen, the other green tribune, was waiting for her there. As soon as the airlock opened. Mareen appeared with her hand extended and a smile on her face. “Name’s Mareen, nice to meet you!” she said with a twinkle in her eye. Ayre shook her hand. “Likewise, I’m Ayre!” Ayre replied, happy to see such a friendly face. The two immediately got on well. Mareen, Ayre learned, was a farmer before being chosen. Ayre also learned that Mareen shared some of her more rebellious sensibilities. When no guards were around Mareen said “I mean it’s bullshit! They take a big fat cut of my profits on top of what I’m already paying in taxes! I’m going to give the parliament an earload when we get to Zaask. There’s no way they should let the Army rob us blind like they do.” After talking with Marreen about all manner of things for about three days, the cryopods were ready and it was time to go into suspended animation. “See you on the other side!” Mareen said as they were lowered into the pods. This was it. This was the end of Ayres old life. She would wake to an uncertain dawn on a dangerous planet. She steeled herself and felt the cold and the artificial sleep come.

#scifi #science fiction #fantasy #fiction #writing #dystopia #future

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juodojimirtis · 5 years

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If Morga and The Devil had a second child Headcanons 🐆 💕 🐐

Based on this post x and also my NSFW headcanons here x

• Morga couldn't even think about having another child for a very long time - not with all the regrets tormenting her because of Montag. Eventually though, the idea grew on her.

• "if this one turns out an idiot, you won't get another chance"

• She doubted she could even conceive at her age*. The Devil however insisted it won't be an issue.

• That night was different than their usual intimate encounters. He took her to the heart of the forest - a place soaked with ancient magic bound to fuel forgotten rituals of fertility he guided her through. Consuming nine raw rabbit hearts, wearing a cornflower wreath during the act... She found it challenging not to sneer at such details. He though made sure she was comfortable, and enjoyed every moment. It was slow and gentle, and he held her for hours afterwards, murmuring sweet nothings into her brow as she slept in his arms.

• Morga's pregnancy was a risky and grueling one one**. Aside from usual discomforts associated with such a state (which she obviously had gone through before), she suffered hom extreme swelling, headaches and shortness of breath, as well as exhaustion and constant nausea.

• She often found the experience emotionally overwhelming, for she was still afraid to become a mother once again despite her desire to - afraid to open her heart for unconditional love which has stabbed her in the back and of failing her secondborn the way she felt she failed Montag.

• The Devil on the other hand was extremely enthusiastic about their situation as well as affectionate towards her changing form. She often found it awkward and irritating, but it would ease her worries too.

• She would mindlessly place her hand over her growing stomach and let it linger even if she caught herself doing so (no, she did not talk to it, ever).

• The Devil insisted on never leaving her side for any reason - even if he had to shapeshift to stay out of sight. To her annoyance, he also became ten times fiercer in his protectiveness over her.

• Her chronic nightmares became a lot worse

• Her ailments also worsened towards the end of the pregnancy

• "If I don't pull through, you watch over it, and you raise it better than Monty... Swear to me you will, Djevel".

• She went into labor prematurely

• The labor itself wasn't smooth either - she suffered a severe hemorrage and a fever, but luckily the Devil was able to prevent seizures (since as I alluded with mentioned symptoms, she did have pre-eclampsia).

• At first she refused to hold the baby, delirious from blood loss, but later calmed down and fell asleep with her secondborn beside her, Papa Devil guarding them both.

• They had a girl - Hel. I have a sketch of her, I'll give her a bio of her own.

• Morga would catch herself smiling as she breastfed... unless it was in the middle of the night. Hel was a great sleeper though, at least compared to her older brother.

• She would hum old war songs as a lullabye to Hel.

• Little Hel woul crawl into bed with Morga. She didn't mind.

• Jæger is far more fond of Hel than of Lucio.

• The Devil was much more hands-on with Hel than he was with Lucio. He however is a far more lenient parent than Morga.

• Morga is determined not to repeat the same mistakes she feels she made with Lucio as well as deeply afraid to lose Hel (aside from Jæger and the Devil, she is the only close soul she has left), so she is extremely strict to her daughter.

I suppose I could try and develop more specific headcanons, but those tend to develop with plotline. 😅 I also have no idea how would Lucio react that he has a younger sister... Big Brother™ Lucio sounds kind of fun though... Not for Hel.

*Don't worry, she won't die when the kid is still young. As if the Devil would allow his wife/lover to ever die.

**I mean I could let it be smooth and easy, but where's the fun in that.

#the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana: a mystic romance #the arcana headcanons #the arcana ships #otp #the arcana morga #mama morga #the arcana devil #morga/the devil #the devil x morga #the arcana fanchildren #hel morgasdottir #otp headcanons #fanxhikdren headcanons #morga's second child #medical headcanons #pregnancy headcanons

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glassbangtan · 5 years

Text

who they say you are {Kim Taehyung x Reader}

Words: 9.7k

Summary: Sewing is something you should be good at, but you’re not. It’s as simple as that - you just can’t do it. So, you are quick to snatch up Kim Taehyung’s offer of teaching you the basics.

Genre: fluff - slight angst - historical!au

Warning: a lot of old-time views in this one lads

Notes: masterlist - buy me a coffee!

---

“Miss Beckett, I really can't do this.”

The teacher didn't even give you a glance this time. She kept her back to the classroom, too busy scrawling on the chalkboard to care about one of her students struggles.

You frowned, looking down at the piece of fabric in your hand; it was badly twisted at this point, the navy blue string having got tangled halfway through – you hadn't noticed the mistake and continued sewing, meaning all of the fabric was folding in on itself.

This happened most days; sewing was certainly not your favourite class. Your finger got pricked on the needle too many times to be comfortable, forcing you to spend half the day wiping blood on the jumper of your school uniform. Miss Beckett tried her hardest to help you understand the rules and decorum of sewing, but you were certain by now that you were just a lost cause.

“Miss Beckett,” you said again, looking up. “I really messed up this time.”

Miss Beckett's fingers tightened around the stick of chalk. Even from her side profile you could see the tensing of her jaw, though it quickly disappeared when she finally turned to look at you, replaced by that beaming smile of hers. Her dark grey eyes were watery and blood shot, and her curled blonde hair was stuck up from where she'd ran her hands through it only seconds prior.

Slowly, she walked over and inspected your work. Her smile never wavered, but her eyes hardened. “How did you manage this, Y/N?”

“It was an accident,” you replied. “I think I looped the stitches-”

Miss Beckett grabbed the fabric out of your hand. The swipe was a little too rough to be called calm, but Miss Beckett tried her hardest to keep up the charade of being the kind and patient teacher she was meant to be. Nonetheless, you sensed her anger and slid further down in your seat, folding your arms over your chest. The other girls in your class were trying not to snicker, sitting straight backed, as they always did.

Miss Beckett tapped your shoulder as she inspected the damage. “No slouching in my classroom.”

You shimmied back up. “Sorry.”

“You're going to have to start again,” Miss Beckett said. “I don't see any point in trying to fix it now; you really must be more careful, Miss L/N. We're running low on supplies as it is without having to give you extra.”

“Sorry, Miss Beckett.” You tried for a smile. “I'll try harder next time.”

“That you will,” she grumbled. “Next time you step out of line, it'll be the ruler across the knuckles giving you a punishment, not just me.”

You nodded, watching her leave. Looking down, the bruises on your knuckles from your last punishment were still healing; the next set would surely cause some permanent damage, and you really didn't want that.

“Okay class, break time has started,” Miss Beckett announced. “We'll be looking at some recipes when you get back.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Gathering up your stuff, you headed out onto the playground and immediately went straight for your little hiding place, as far from the girls building as possible. It was just outside the boys building, though none of the male teachers would be able to see you; if one of the students saw you, you wouldn't mind. They weren't touts.

The day was already off to a bad start. Finally being alone gave you unexplainable relief as you tucked yourself into the tiny little alcove, folding your legs to your chest, leaning your head back against the bark; bugs would be crawling in your hair in no time, but you didn't care at the minute. That would only be an issue when one of the teachers saw it, but until then, you would bask in the pleasantries that came with having to deal with no authority figure.

You wanted to be like all the other girls.

It was a sad thought, but it was the truth. From a young age, your parents taught you that you were going to be raised as every other girl was – you were to become a wife, cook the food, bare the children. That was the path set out for you, and yet you stumbled as you walked along it. You were getting older now, teenage years nearly in your past, and yet you still couldn't do the things all the other girls seemed to do with ease.

Sewing was the bane of your existence, but it was a necessity.

You cooking was a danger in and of itself, but it was a necessity.

You didn't know the types of things men enjoyed, but again, this knowledge was a necessity if you were to ever grow up and be the good, homely wife everyone expected you to be.

You squeezed your eyes closed, pressing your forehead into your knees. You would just have to work harder, study for longer hours, maybe get some help off some of your classmates, even though they didn't like you. You were the girl who didn't know basic etiquette – that confused them. They came from households that drilled this kind of knowledge into their heads at a very young age – your mother and father had been a little late in their realisation that being a wife was your end goal, as it always should have been.

A groan slipped past your lips before you could stop it.

“Oh, bloody hell!”

Your eyes shot open, body lurching to the side to get away from the loud voice that just boomed to your left. The boy kneeling by the door was covered in leaves and brambles, his puffy brown hair adorned with broken twigs. His broad shoulders could barely fit in the door, and so he looked to you for help.

You narrowed your eyes, staring back at him. “Who are you?”

“I'm a little stuck,” he said. “Could we maybe do the introductions later?”

You hesitated for only a second before the silence got too overbearing and you suddenly felt the need to do something. You reached over, grabbed his outstretched hand and tugged; he came free from the door, landing in a heap at your side. His knee brushed against your own – you hastily shuffled away, continuing to stare at him in confusion.

“Who are you?” you repeated.

“My name's Kim Taehyung,” he replied, brushing moss from his uniform. If you had done the same thing, Miss Beckett wouldn't have just taken the ruler to your knuckles – this carelessness called for the punishment of humiliation, if nothing else. “What about you?”

“Y/N L/N.”

His eyebrows shot up, weirdly well shaped for someone who didn't seem to care about etiquette whatsoever. “Is that right? You're the girl everyone's been talking about, huh?”

You blinked. “I suppose.”

Taehyung nodded, settling down against the wall. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, and you couldn't help but notice the tiny little smile playing on his face as he spoke; you wondered what there was to smile about.

“Yeah,” he said. “I've heard about you. Not too good at your classes, are you?”

“I don't think I'm awful.”

“I never said awful.” He opened one eye, looked at you. “I said you're not too good.”

You huffed, turning away. “If you've come in here just to insult me, I'll have you know that this is my den and I did not invite you in.”

Taehyung giggled. Giggled. “Does it make you angry that I'm in here?”

“N-not angry, but-”

“Oh yes.” Taehyung clicked his fingers above his head, as if just realising something big. “Girls aren't allowed to get angry. I forgot about that.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Who told you that?”

“I've witnessed it with my own two eyes,” he replied. “You think that stupid little wire fence can keep us from seeing what you ladies do on your breaks? You're so passive with each other, it nearly makes me feel ill.”

“Oh? Have you just admitted to peeping on us during break times, Mr Kim Taehyung?”

Taehyung grinned. “I won't lie.” He rolled his head towards you. “It's difficult to keep my eyes off some of you.”

You bit your lip and looked away; this was the kind of behaviour Miss Beckett was forever warning you against. Boys and their flirtations – you needed to focus on your studies. You needed to figure out how to do everything else before you even thought about throwing yourself into a relationship – and certainly not with someone as brash as Taehyung.

He sighed at your silence, looking back up through the canopy of leaves shielding you from view of passers-by. “So tell me, Y/N – why is your poor little finger all bloodied up like that?”

You looked down, hiding your hand beneath your leg. “No reason.”

Taehyung raised a brow. “It looks quite painful. Do you want me to fix it up?”

“I'm fine.”

“Was it from your sewing classes?”

You narrowed your eyes, glancing at him; he wasn't even looking at you as he spoke, simply staring up at the ceiling with a slightly dazed expression on his face. It was only now, when you were no longer afraid to look at him, did you realise just how dishevelled he really looked; his uniform had been put on with complete abandon by the looks of things, his canary yellow blazer stained with dirt, his white shirt rumpled beneath it. His striped tie was pulled to the side, revealing a lick of tanned collarbones that were, too, stained with dirt.

However, it wasn't just his uniform that was suffering. His brown hair was like a mop, feathery atop his head, not styled in the usual slicked back style you knew most boys to wear. Though the boys side of the school was much more lenient with what they let their students do, you knew they were fairly strict on appearances. How Taehyung was getting away with all of this was completely beyond you.

Part of you even admired it.

With your silence, Taehyung looked at you. “You don't talk much, do you?”

“What?”

“I asked you a question.” He snickered. “Lost in your own world, little lady?”

You scowled. “What did you ask?”

“I asked about your sewing classes.”

“They're fine.” You awkwardly rubbed your bloody thumb against your wrist. “I'm just. . . not very good at it yet.”

Taehyung tilted his head to the side. “Are you asking me for help?”

Your head snapped up. “What? No! When did I say that?”

“You didn't need to. I heard you loud and clear!” He pushed himself to his knees, too tall to stand up. Even just halfway up, his head was brushing the leaves. “I'm very good at sewing. Very, very good.”

“They don't teach boys sewing,” you pointed out.

“Not in school, but boys can teach themselves if they want to.”

“How do you have that kind of free time?”

Taehyung frowned, glancing down at you. You simply shrugged, to which he rolled his eyes and pointed at the white shirt he was wearing. “See this? I made it on my own.”

You would be lying to say you weren't shocked at this little revelation; the shirt looked store-bought. Yes, it was dishevelled and crumpled, but it was in one piece and it looked comfortable enough. It fit against his chest perfectly, hanging off his frame just the right amount to look purposefully lazy.

He grinned, noticing your startled expression. “You seem surprised.”

“I am,” you said. “How did you make that on your own?”

“Practice,” he replied. “So what do you say? I'll help you out with your sewing every day after school.”

You eyed him. “What's in it for you?”

He grinned. “A nice bit of company.”

You found that exceptionally hard to believe, but you had no time to argue before Miss Beckett's voice was ringing out across the yard, demanding the girls to file up at the door. You stared back at Taehyung for a moment longer; he glanced over his shoulder, regarded his own form tutor standing patiently by the doors before turning back to you with a sharp, raised eyebrow.

“What do you say?”

You bit your lip. Miss Beckett called out again. You had to make your decision now.

And there was so much wrong with it; why was he being so nice to you? Why was he offering up his precious time to a person he barely even knew? It was confusing, and you were determined to get your answers, but for now, you just needed to seal the deal.

Hesitantly, you pushed yourself up onto your knees and stuck your hand out. “Deal.”

Taehyung glanced at your offered palm, a slow smile appearing on his face before he shook it. “Great. See you after school, Y/N L/N.” ---

Boys didn't usually make you nervous.

For one, you had no interest in them. Thanks to Miss Beckett and other teachers at your school, you'd been taught that boys should not be a priority at this age; yes, you were growing older. Soon, you would be expected to move out and start a family of your own, but for now, your studies should be the priority.

Secondly, you didn't exactly interact with boys your age that much. Your school was split into two buildings; the boys side, and the girls side. The two buildings were split by a wire fence, and the only time you ever caught a glimpse of the boys was when you were in your hiding place, waiting for the bell to ring. They would come pouring out the front doors, pushing each other and fighting over footballs – it was a direct contrast to the calm and quiet yard of the girls school.

But now, as Taehyung led you towards his front door, you were feeling the effects of what were undeniably nerves. You kept your hands tucked in your pockets, your head down, made very little attempts at conversation – Taehyung didn't seem to mind. The man was strange like that. He walked with a skip in his step, even as you passed the group of whispering girls who were pointing in your direction; you recognised them from school. They were the year below you, and clearly found the sight of you and Taehyung walking together to be something quite scandalous.

Which it was.

You weren't meant to be associating with boys just yet. Word would surely get back to Miss Beckett, and she'd scold you for prioritising a boy over the studies you were so dramatically failing at. She would take a ruler to your knuckles, humiliate you in front of-

“My mother's in.”

Taehyung's voice snapped you out of your daze. He was looking down at you, a slight arch to his brow.

“Is that alright?”

“Of course,” you replied, quickly flattening down the front of your uniform. “Should I have brought something? Maybe I should have gone home and changed into something a little more-”

“It doesn't matter.” He chuckled, amused at your sudden flustered state. “She won't mind what you're wearing, and she doesn't expect to be showered in gifts. Come in.”

You hesitated, but knew you had no choice. The girls from the year below you were still staring, whispering amongst themselves, pointing at you. You glanced at them only one final time before scrambling in the front door of Taehyung's home.

And a pleasant home it was.

It was nothing special. His mother was a baker, you were aware, having visited her shop on multiple occasions. She baked the loveliest little lemon cakes, and stepping in the front door of her home brought you back to the first time you tried them; though the scent was shadowed by a mixture of other things, the unmistakeable smell of said lemon cakes was present.

You found yourself smiling, trailing your hands along the slightly bumpy wallpaper. Taehyung bounded directly into the kitchen, throwing open the door with a yell of, “I'm home, mother!”

“Oh, Taehyung, quiet down! The neighbours are already chewing my bloody ear off about all the noise!”

You trailed after Taehyung. He was hugging his mother when you walked in – a small woman with shoulder length brown hair and a pointed chin. Taehyung was much taller than her, so much so that he now rested his chin upon her head, twisting from side to side as he embraced her.

You awkwardly stood by the door, keeping your head down.

“And who is this?” Taehyung's mother asked, pulling away from her son. She gave you a warm smile, definitely not the reaction you'd been expecting. “I didn't know you were bringing guests home, Taehyung.”

“Mother, this is Y/N.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, and you stifled the urge to gasp at the contact; what would Miss Beckett say to this? “She's here to learn how to sew.”

His mothers eyebrows shot up. “To sew? Do they not teach young ladies that down at the school?”

“Oh, they do,” you said. “I'm just not very good at it.”

You expected her to laugh at you, just like everyone else did. The idea of a woman not being able to sew was so uncommon these days that any woman who couldn't handle a needle and thread was seen as incompetent, a joke, a hindrance on society because what else could they possibly be good for?

But Taehyung's mother simply nodded. “I wasn't very good at it, either, darling. I wouldn't worry about it.” She turned to Taehyung. “Are you gonna show her some of the stuff you've made?”

Taehyung shrugged, glancing at you. “If that's something she'd be interested in.”

“I'd love to,” you replied, and you really meant it.

Taehyung smiled before turning back to his mother, his arm still wrapped round your shoulders. “Well, I guess we should get going. Call me if you need anything, alright?”

His mother nodded, turning back to the cookies she'd previously been baking with nothing more than a thumbs up to send you off; it was so bizarre. This was something you couldn't help but think as Taehyung steered you out of the kitchen and led you upstairs to his room.

Your parents would never allow this kind of thing. A boy in your room? It was unheard of, nearly laughable to think about. They would be utterly furious if they were to find out you were heading into a boys bedroom without his mothers supervision; this was definitely something you would have to keep to yourself for now.

Taehyung's room was nothing special. These days, people couldn't really afford special. The war was going on, and things weren't cheap any more – however, it was nice for what it was. Plain grey walls, a white ceiling with the paint chipping off onto the dirty brown carpet. His bed was a single, freshly made with dark red covers. Beside it, he'd kicked his brown work boots to the side. Now, you watched as he did the same with his black school shoes, volleying them across the room.

“Feel free to take your shoes off if you want,” he said, walking towards his wardrobe. “Comfort is key, after all.”

“So they say,” you muttered, wrapping your blazer a little tighter round your shoulders. “Your room is lovely, Taehyung. Very cosy.”

He grinned, ducking into his wardrobe as he did so. You were given only a brief flash of the boxy grin he'd shown you so many times before; it was one you weren't sure you would ever get enough of. Despite seeing it all day, you were still disappointed by the missed opportunity to see it again.

“It's small,” he said. “But I like it that way. Keeps the heat in, you know?” He pulled away from his wardrobe holding a denim jacket. Little patches were sewn into the denim, unlike anything you'd ever seen. Almost carelessly, Taehyung tossed it over his shoulder onto the bed, before ducking back into his wardrobe.

You walked over and picked up the garment. It was heavy, the denim slightly damaged and crinkled, but it was beautiful nonetheless. The patches were of different patterns; plaid, little swirls, one even containing a cluster of stars on some dark purple cloth. He'd somehow managed to stitch them together before plastering them onto the shoulder of the jacket.

“Have you always been a fan of fashion?” you asked, running your fingers along the seams. “You're awfully talented.”

“Why, thank you,” he replied, voice muffled. “I tend to get very bored when I have to wear the same thing over and over, so I just. . . jazz it up every now and then to keep things interesting.”

You frowned. “Jazz it up?”

“You know.” He glanced at you. “I add stuff to it. Some patches, some beads, sequins – I just change the style of it to stop my fashion getting stagnant.”

“What an interesting concept. You must save thousands.”

Taehyung scoffed. “It's not about the money. If it were up to my mother, she'd be buying me a new jacket every other week – she always says I grow out of my clothes quicker than a newborn.”

You giggled. “You are tall.”

Taehyung stood up, revealing just how tall he really was. “I think I've stopped growing by now. Mum just likes to be dramatic because I'm taller than her.” He took the denim jacket out of your hands. “You like this?”

“I think it's wonderful,” you replied, a hint of wistfulness in your voice. “I would never be able to hide the stitches like you do – that's something Miss Beckett is forever telling me to work on.”

Taehyung raised a brow. “Is that right? Well, it looks like we've got our first lesson sorted out, then.”

You started. “What?”

“Sit down. I'll go get my things.”

He didn't give you a chance to say anything else. He shuffled out of the room, leaving you entirely on your own in a bedroom you were unfamiliar with – the bedroom of a boy with whom you barely knew.

You hesitantly sat down on his bed, biting your lower lip. You glanced around as if expecting your parents to jump out of the wardrobe and catch you in the middle of such a taboo act, but you would be lying to claim there was no thrill that came with it. It wasn't quite the thrill of rebellion – that provided more anxiety than anything else. It was more so the thrill of being in Taehyung's room that excited you.

You barely knew Taehyung. The two of you had not conversed in any way, shape or form throughout your time at school, but you'd heard about him. Most girls in your class had heard about him, because he was him. The rebellious little kid who somehow excelled in all his classes even though he did the absolute bare minimum. Rumours spoke of him kicking his muddy feet up on the desk, lounging back even as the teacher stared at him from the front of the classroom. You'd seen his ragged uniform for yourself. You'd heard his loud laughter and boisterous, confident singing from over the fence during break.

Yes, Taehyung certainly didn't keep himself subtle.

And you were sitting in his room. You were waiting on him to come back so he could help you with your studies – it was so bizarre.

Taehyung arrived not five minutes after leaving, carrying a tray of nick nacks with him. “Sorry I took a while. Mum was asking me about you.”

You sat up straight. “She was? Should I go? Does she not want me here-”

Taehyung sat beside you. His shoulder brushed your own, and your words immediately caught in your throat. “Calm down, Y/N. It was nothing like that. She was just asking me if you were staying for dinner, and I said no.”

You deflated. “Oh. Good.”

“Unless you want to.” He reached into the little blue tray and pulled out a dark blue thread and needle. His forehead creased when he brought the needle up to his eye and started to push the thread through the tiny little hole.

“I don't think my parents would like me being out so late,” you replied, watching him closely. “How do you do that so easily? Getting the thread through the needle's eye is difficult even for Miss Beckett.”

Taehyung grabbed your hand, placing the thread in your palm. “Practice makes perfect, my dear. Now, follow my instructions, okay? You're going to walk into class tomorrow knowing more about the needle and thread than even Miss Beckett herself.”

---

“Miss L/N, I love what you've done with your piece this morning. Have you been practising?”

You looked up from your needlework, giving Miss Beckett the most genuine smile you could conjure up – in truth, you were nervous. You had spent at least four hours at Taehyung's house last night, allowing him to explain everything he thought you needed to know. There were even some moments where he'd leaned over and guided your hand for you, which was a most pleasant yet terrifying experience; especially considering you were in his bedroom.

“A little bit,” you replied, fiddling with the needle. It had pricked you multiple times today, but not nearly as much as you were used to. “It's getting a bit easier, I think.”

“That's so good to hear. Keep up the good work.”

You nodded, continuing to smile until she'd walked past you and was distracted by the needle work of Lauren McGee who sat behind you. You exhaled shakily, looking back down at your work; you would need to work on your speed. Taehyung told you last night that being meticulous, unforgiving with your stitches would improve the final product tremendously, but it also meant slowing down the process. The girls around you had already moved on to their second set of stitches, whilst you were barely halfway through your first.

Nonetheless, Miss Beckett clearly wasn't worrying about speed. It was your own self consciousness convincing you that you needed to keep up.

You leaned back and continued stitching. Around the room, people were looking at you and whispers were being shared; you chose to ignore them. It was much easier that way. None of them really knew what they were talking about – they saw you walk out of school with Taehyung, but anything beyond that could be nothing more than assumptions. If their guesses came back correct, you wouldn't be the one to tell them.

At the end of the day, nothing happened. You and Taehyung were nothing more than friends – if that. He was your tutor above all else. You had no connection to him whatsoever.

As you walked out the door for break that day, Miss Beckett gave you a pleasant smile. It wasn't normal for her to do that; she usually scowled at you, told you to work a little bit harder, or just ignored you completely. The smile was a nice one to receive.

You headed straight for your hiding hole at break, ducking beneath the brambles and tucking your legs into your chest. You felt like treating yourself this afternoon, and so you reached into your rucksack and dragged out the sketchbook you'd made for yourself a few months prior – it was your fourth sketchbook, but the only one you'd kept. Your mother would scream if she knew you were taking up such a hobby. Chances are, you would probably have to discard of this sketchbook when the time came, too, but for now, you let yourself get lost in the feel of the charcoal beneath your fingers and the bumpy pages gliding beneath your fist.

You were so lost in the landscape drawing that you didn't notice the shift of the trees, the way the canopy roof shivered with sudden movement.

“Ay, you are here!”

You yelped, flinching back with a hand pressed to your collarbone. Taehyung climbed into the hiding hole beside you, tugging his knees into his chest, making himself as small as possible so he could fit.

“What you got there?” he asked. Today he wore a flat cap that pushed his messy brown hair into his eyes. You reeled back the urge to reach over and brush it away.

You nuzzled your sketchbook into your chest. “Nothing that concerns you.”

“Oh, so we're back to that, are we?” Taehyung shook his head, reaching into his back pocket to retrieve a packet of wine gums that he purposefully did not offer you. “That's fine by me. I'll just take my expertise elsewhere.”

You raised a brow. “Are you talking about our sewing lessons?”

“That I am.”

“I didn't ask for those, you know. You were the one who offered.”

He glanced at you. “And did they help?”

You frowned, regarding him with a displeased expression. He grinned, a purple wine gum pressed between his teeth, before he turned away and leaned his head against the wall.

“I'm gonna take that as a yes,” he said. “Anyway, it was fun teaching you a few tips and tricks; a shame that it has to end like this.”

“Taehyung-”

“I was enjoying your company, too. I always gain so much pleasure from teaching the innocent.”

You groaned. “Taehyung-”

“Now my dreams of becoming a professional sewing tutor have gone to hell-”

You gasped. “Watch your mouth, Kim Taehyung!”

He laughed. “That's what gets you to burst?”

“You're being over dramatic. I'm not going to humour you with any type of response.”

He shrugged heavily. “Fine by me, my dear. As I said, if this is how our little deal ends, then I can do nothing about it.”

“You just want me to show you my drawings. It's quite an invasion of privacy, if I do say so.”

“But you coming into my home and sitting on my bed isn't?”

You bit your lip, looking down at the sketchbook – he made some good points, whether you wanted to admit it or not – plus, you'd be lying to claim you weren't desperate for another one of his tutoring sessions. They were so laid back, and you learned so much from them. You were clearly improving – surely losing such a thing wouldn't be worth it?

You sighed and dropped your sketchbook, open, onto the grassy floor between you. Taehyung hesitated, examining your face for just a second before he let his eyes drop to the open page; it was a portrait of your father you completed a few months prior, your reference being a picture he'd sent from war. It came attached to a post card with some lovely words written for you and your mother scrawled on the back; your mother had been kind enough to send you off with the picture, as long as you let her keep the letter. The deal was a fair one to you, and as soon as you got in bed that night, you'd drawn it – just to keep an extra copy somewhere.

It wasn't perfect by any means. A few of the lines were smudged with your tears; any picture sent by your father could make you cry. However, you were happy with how it turned out. You could really make out who it was, and that was the important thing.

Taehyung didn't bother to pick up the book. He kept it on the ground, but ran his fingers along the thick black lines. His eyes raked over the page repeatedly; you only knew this because you couldn't keep your own eyes off him, the way he bit his lip and tilted his head, getting a better look at the art you'd created but never shared.

“This is wonderful.” His voice was quiet. You leaned forward instinctively, tilting your head.

“You think so?”

“I didn't know you had this kind of talent in you, Y/N. You seem so . . . not confident with your sewing, that I just assumed you held no passion for anything like this.”

You scoffed. “Just because I don't like sewing doesn't mean I can't do anything with my hands, Taehyung.”

He blushed. You weren't sure why.

“Well, I think you're very talented,” he said, looking up with a small smile. “Maybe you can draw me one day.”

You blinked. He stared back at you.

What an odd suggestion.

You coughed and gathered up your sketchbook, slamming it closed. “Maybe one day.” It was the best answer you could give at the moment.

He settled back against the wall, wrapping his arms round his knees.

You awkwardly settled beside him. “So does this mean we can continue our tutoring?”

“I think I can make arrangements, yes.”

You nodded, biting your lower lip. “T-tonight again?”

Taehyung smiled softly. “You almost sound eager.”

You shrugged.

He nodded, nudging his arm against your own. “We'll have you being a top needleworker in no time. I promise.”

----

His promises did not come loosely.

Three weeks in, and visiting Taehyung's house after school had become a daily thing. He would wait for you just by the wire fence, then the two of you would walk to his house and spend a good few hours sketching and practising needlework. Somehow, Taehyung managed to convince you to let him use your sketchbook, and so now the pages were being filled not only with your rough sketches, but Taehyung's attempts at art, too.

He wasn't even all that bad. He was improving as you gave him little hints and tips, and he was obviously very proud of himself.

You were also improving with your needlework, which wasn't going unnoticed by Miss Beckett.

“She didn't even yell at me today when I dropped the saucer during cooking.” You were sat on your knees, hands pressed together in excitement as you recalled the days successes to a tired Taehyung; apparently, he'd had army training that afternoon, so he was now attempting to lay horizontally in the hiding spot, a tiny bit of his head popping out the doorway, his feet squished up against your leg.

“That's really great, Y/N,” he drawled. “What were you cooking?” He poked his head up, narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Why didn't you bring me any?”

“Because it isn't finished yet,” you said. “We're finishing it when we go back in for next lesson.”

He grunted, dropping his head back to the floor. “Can I have some on the walk back to my house?”

“If you want.” You tapped his ankle. “But maybe we should skip our lessons today. You look awfully tired.”

“I'm not tired.” His words were a slur.

You frowned. “Honestly, Taehyung, I don't mind. My parents probably want me home earlier tonight, anyway; we have some distant relatives over.”

“Oh? Are you close to them?”

You shrugged. “Not really.”

“Then they don't matter. You can come over to my house for as long as you like.”

You rolled your eyes, though you were unable to hide your amused grin; you quite liked when Taehyung got like this; drowsy, barely understanding what he was saying. He was never a very subtle person, but he at least had the decency to have some kind of filter on a normal day. This, however, was him when he cared too little to keep a leash on his words. It was a nice change, even if it did sometimes work against your favour.

“Do you ever think you'll tell your friends about this place?” he asked suddenly.

“What place?”

“Our hiding place.”

Our hiding place. Neither of you had discussed the logistics that came with him basically moving in – it just kind of happened. He'd moulded himself to the place, and you weren't complaining.

“Well,” you said, “I don't really have very many friends to tell, to be quite honest.”

He paused. “That's a shame. Them girls are really missing out.”

“Thank you, Taehyung.”

“I mean it.” He looked at you through the bottom of his eyelids, too exhausted to lift his head up but too serious to not make eye contact. “I think you're one of the best friends I've ever had.”

You bit your lip, trying to fight the heat from your cheeks.

“And you're very gorgeous.”

You nearly gasped. However, you just managed to catch yourself, instead snapping your eyes down to his outstretched form. His eyes were now closed, one hand draped over his forehead whilst the other rubbed lazy circles into his stomach. He grumbled beneath his breath, complaining about his exhaustion and how overworked he was, how he just wanted to go home, but you could barely hear those tiny little complaints over the sound of your own heartbeat, the echo of his previous words.

You looked away. Boys were a distraction. You couldn't afford to be distracted right now – not when everything was finally starting to work itself out.

---

During lunch time, you didn't go to your hiding place. You actually ate lunch.

You didn't mind eating on your own. Actually, you preferred it. You had an entire bench to yourself, and not a single person could judge you for whatever drawing you were producing during the half hour you had to eat the ham sandwiches your mother packed for you.

A few feet ahead of you, the wire fence stood. Behind that, you could make out the shape of Taehyung, standing tall amongst his group of friends. You never saw them sit down to eat lunch; Taehyung, at least, was always stood up, chewing away at a sandwich or a banana, throwing an apple idly into the air. Now, however, he stood with both hands stuffed in his pockets, laughing at something his blonde haired friend said.

You wanted him to talk to you, but even he wasn't that reckless; if the teachers saw the two of you speaking through the wire fence, they would be furious. So, during lunch times, you pretended not to know each other.

“He's a pretty boy, isn't he?”

You jumped, charcoal darting across the browning page. You looked up, stifling a curse of frustration.

Standing beside you was Catherine Warren, one of the girls in your year. She was tall, had a bulky build and pig tails that sat atop her head; this late in the day, her hair was starting to fall out of its bun, and she looked similar to that of a used rag doll.

She sneered down at you. “I didn't want to believe you had eyes for Kim Taehyung, but here I am, witnessing the tragic love story for myself.”

You swallowed. “Excuse me?”

She nodded towards the boys yard. “My little sister saw you walking into his house a few days ago – what was all that about, Y/N? You told Miss Beckett you went straight home after school to work on your needle work.”

Your stomach was tied in knots; you weren't sure what to say, how to reply, how you could even wiggle your way out of this. The younger kids always stood outside Taehyung's house, but you didn't see any of them as an issue. You hadn't known one of them was Catherine's little sister.

“I don't. . . My mother is friends with his mother.” You said it too quickly. You knew you did, but you couldn't help it. You needed to get the lie out as fast as possible, before she realised you were, in fact, lying.

Catherine tilted her head to the side. “Is that so? How come you lied to Miss Beckett, then?”

You winced. “Now, you see-”

“He really isn't going to love someone like you.”

You blinked. “I'm sorry?”

She shrugged as if to say What are you gonna do? Slowly, she lowered herself onto the bench, staring at Taehyung the entire time. “A man like that deserves a wife who can serve him just right. When he goes off to war, he shouldn't need to be worrying about his wife falling over a water puddle, or pricking her finger on a needle and bleeding to death; he should be coming home to a nice cooked meal and warm clothes – preferably clothes that have been freshly stitched.” She eyed you. “These just aren't things you can offer him.”

She wasn't wrong, but you didn't think those things would be an issue. When you were with Taehyung, he never made you feel inadequate or less than for not having the same set of skills as the other girls. He praised you for the skills you did have, made you feel special for the things you could do.

But maybe Catherine was right.

After all, that was the kind of thing your mother was always talking about – your husband was meant to be treated well. He goes out of his way to provide for the family you are expected to provide for him, so the least you should do is be able to give him a nice, tasty, home cooked meal – but cooking wasn't part of your expertise, either.

You looked back over at Taehyung and imagined him coming home to Catherine every night; it fit so much better than him and you. Sure, you and Taehyung had chemistry. That much was undeniable – but would you be able to make him happy? Catherine certainly would. She was a top student in almost every single class, had studied wifely etiquette from the moment she could read.

“You know I hate being the bearer of bad news,” she said, placing her hand into your own. You started, tried to pull away from her grip but she curled her fingers and pressed the back of your palm into the wood. “But I don't want to see your heart get crushed. Not so early on in life. You've made the mistake of falling for someone at such a young age, but it's only going to cause you heartache. I come to you with the best intentions – I swear.”

You nodded dazedly. “Thank you, Catherine. I – I appreciate it.”

She smiled, a look of sadness in her eyes that seemed so real. You were so ready to believe her, because every word she spoke made so much sense.

She stood up after that, not saying a word of farewell or anything else on the subject; she simply turned and started jogging back to her friends, who all giggled and cheered when she crashed back into their tight little circle.

You turned back to the fence; Taehyung had turned around now, was saying his final goodbyes to the last of his remaining friends. As soon as the unknown boy was gone, disappearing behind the swing set, Taehyung made eye contact with you and waved.

You gathered up your sketchbook and darted away without acknowledging him.

---

Keeping your head down, you scuttled towards the exit gates, pressing your sketchbook and your slate into your chest.

You couldn't bare to see him. Not right now, not after what Catherine said. Throughout the remainder of the day, you'd sat at your desk and pondered over her words, really giving them a once over – and you came to the conclusion that she was, of course, correct.

Taehyung did deserve better. Taehyung probably wanted better, but he'd started something now and he had too big of a heart to send you away. However, even as these thoughts came to the forefront, you were still left with questions: Why did he still visit you at the hiding place every break time? Why did he offer his help in the first place?

Why did he call you gorgeous?

He was tired that day, but does that really mean he wasn't speaking the truth? It was a guessing game – his exhaustion could have made him dazed, unable to pinpoint what he was actually talking about; or, his exhaustion could have made him careless, meaning he was speaking the truth and just didn't really care that you heard.

You tried to push these thoughts out of your head as you walked towards the exit in a sea of girls wearing the exact same thing as you. The boys and girls came together as they walked out the gates, but none of them mingled. The girls kept their heads down, and the boys stayed within their own small groups-

You saw Taehyung.

He was waiting for you at your usual spot, his hands tucked into his pockets and his head tilted back; he didn't seem as chipper as usual, his lower lip between his teeth and his eyes half closed. You desperately wanted to walk over to him, take his arm, lead him away to tell him all the things you'd done today. You would tell him you were nearly finished the garment you'd been working on, that cooking class went amazingly, that you'd managed to wash the dishes and prepare the food all before Miss Beckett called time.

But you didn't.

You kept your head down and carried on walking, hoping and praying the cover of similar uniforms and a sea of students would be enough.

“Y/N!”

You closed your eyes, walking a little faster. Taehyung, however, had very long legs and a determination you'd never seen in any one else. It was only a few seconds before he'd managed to grab your wrist and spin you around, so abruptly that you nearly stumbled into his chest.

He was looking down at you with a frown, his perfect brows furrowed. “I was waiting.”

You tugged your hand from his grip. “I have to go home, Taehyung.”

“Home?”

You started walking again. He grunted, stumbling to catch up.

“Hey, hey, that's fine,” he said. “If you can't do the tutoring today, that's fine. We can just do it tomorrow.”

“I won't be able to do it tomorrow, either.”

Taehyung paused. “Right. Okay. The day after tomorrow-”

“I don't think we should keep seeing each other outside of school.”

Taehyung froze, and this time, you froze with him. You glanced at him, noting the frustration building on his features. He clenched and unclenched his fingers, keeping his dark eyes locked on your own, searching for an answer you couldn't give him because then he would realise this entire thing was your fault and not his.

“Right...,” he drawled. “Why is that?”

“It's inappropriate.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Inappropriate? After nearly a whole month, you've finally decided that us being friends is inappropriate?”

You flushed, looking away. “It makes sense, Taehyung. People have started talking, and you have a reputation to keep up. I have a future to think about-”

“Reputation.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “A future. You're saying this like I can't possibly be part of your future.”

“You can't.”

“Why not?”

“Because . . .” You faltered; there really was no reason he couldn't be part of your life. He was male, but that didn't mean you couldn't be friends as you grew older – the two of you could easily continue this platonic relationship, and nobody would bat an eye once you finally managed to get a husband.

If you managed to get a husband.

But the truth was, the more you thought about it, the more the word friends just didn't seem to fit. It was the strangest feeling, the closest thing to romantic feelings you'd ever reached, but they were there and you could no longer completely deny them. Taehyung was special to you in a way nobody had ever been, and the idea of keeping him around to just be your friend was nearly enough to make your stomach turn inside out.

Taehyung tilted his head at your silence, stepping closer now that you seemed dazed enough to let him. “Why not, Y/N?”

“I'm just not good enough for you.” You inhaled sharply, the words released. Before you could catch a glimpse of his face, you turned on your heel and started walking in the opposite direction. The tears would start soon, and you could not let him see such a thing.

His fingers wrapped round your wrist again. You groaned in frustration, and he immediately let go, stumbling back when you span around to face him.

“Can you not just leave it at that?” you demanded.

Taehyung shook his head. “Say that again.”

You blinked. “Say what?”

“What you just said. You're reasoning for not letting me be in your life.”

“Tae-”

“Just say it again.”

You inhaled shakily. “I'm not good enough for you. There. Are you happy now?”

“You sound utterly ridiculous. You know that, don't you?”

You opened your mouth to respond, some quick retort to send him off his feet, but your words faltered when you processed what he'd said.

Narrowing your eyes, you said, “How so?”

“How can you not be good enough for me when you're the most perfect girl I've ever met?”

You hadn't heard him right.

This wasn't how any of it was supposed to go – he was meant to walk away and let you wallow in your sadness. He was meant to go off and get a wife – someone like Catherine – who could treat him right and give him the life he was meant to have. He was meant to forget about you.

He stepped closer. You were so caught up in your shock that you didn't notice the way his arm lifted slowly, the way his fingertips traced over your elbow before he tugged you towards him just that little bit. You should have pulled away, but you couldn't.

“Have I finally stunned you into silence, missus?”

“You don't mean that,” you whispered.

“I meant every word,” he replied, grinning from ear to ear. Your stunned state was clearly very amusing to him. “Now, can you explain to me what you meant when you said you weren't good enough? Because I'm awfully confused by that statement.”

You looked down at the ground between you; he was so close. His black school shoes scuffed your own. “I don't know how to sew.”

Taehyung paused. “Right...”

“I don't know how to sew, and you deserve someone who can fix your clothes when you get them messed up.” You groaned. “I don't know how to cook, either, and how am I meant to be a decent wife if I can't even give you a home cooked meal when you get home? It's unheard of! I'm a lost cause, and you don't deserve that.”

Taehyung blinked. “W-wife?”

You flinched back, pulling your elbow out of his grip. You stumbled back until you were pressed up against a tree, panting breaths escaping you. Taehyung shook his head, fighting out of his daze before he walked towards you, throwing caution to the wind and cupping your face.

“Ay, breathe, love,” he said. “I'm not gonna judge you.”

“How am I ever going to have a good future if I can't do what they all say I should?” you asked, voice cracking.

Taehyung closed his eyes, before his hand traced lightly to the back of your neck. He pulled you in, and it was with your head buried in his shoulder that you finally let go; you didn't exactly cry, though you wanted to. You gripped his shirt tightly, bundling the fabric until your knuckles grew white. He held you just as tight, swaying softly back and forth.

“They've really messed you up, haven't they?”

“W-what?”

“You're so much more than just the things you can do for a man. You're so talented at drawing, so talented at building things, so talented at climbing; just because they aren't the ideal skills for a woman to have, doesn't mean they're any less impressive.” He tilted his head, lips inches from your ear. “It doesn't mean a man will be any less interested in you.”

Your breath hitched. “But . . . I should be able to provide-”

“If a man doesn't know how to cook his own food and fix his own clothes, then he's a lazy scoundrel who you shouldn't waste your time on.” Taehyung pulled away then, though he kept his hands on your waist – you were thankful for that. “It's not your job to provide for people who are too caught up in their beliefs to provide for themselves.”

You stared up at him, unsure of what to say – actually, no. You knew what you wanted to say. You were so, so certain about what you wanted to say, but the words got lodged in your throat because Taehyung was staring back at you with that glint in his eyes, and his hands were on your waist, and people were walking out the school gates but neither of you cared.

He tilted his head to the side. His feathery hair flopped to the side, and this time, you didn't hesitate when you reached up and brushed it back. His eyes slid closed for only a second before he opened them again and grinned.

“And personally, I'd be honoured to come home after a long days work and cook dinner with you rather than just expecting it on the table as soon as I walk in the door.” He leaned down, pressing his head into your shoulder. “But I think we should be taking things a little slower.”

Your breath hitched. “Tae...”

He hummed. “Yes?”

“People are looking.”

“Does that bother you?”

You looked around at the confused, wide-eyes of the girls in your class, all of whom had been making it their lifes mission to ward you as far from Taehyung as they could possibly get. Catherine was glaring at you from across the way. Miss Beckett was walking out of her classroom, her eyes immediately widening when she saw the scene in front of her.

But you were too far gone at this point.

You reached up and cupped Taehyung's face, pulling him away from your shoulder. He looked down at you in amusement, though his smile faded as soon as he saw the look of pure determination on your face.

“What are you-”

You kissed him.

It was unplanned and you had very little experience, but somehow, just having Taehyung's lips on your own made you feel like a professional – you weren't good at a lot of conventional things, but this was something you could certainly get used to, something you were certainly willing to practice and improve on.

Taehyung growled against your lips, his hands winding tighter around your waist. The girls squealed, looking away as if the scene in front of them was something taboo and sinister – they would go home and gossip to their mothers about the absolute horrors they'd witnessed today, and you would be curled up in your hiding place with Taehyung sprawled out across the brambles, and everything would be perfectly fine.

Miss Beckett screamed your name from across the playground. You pulled away, eyes widening, but Taehyung had other ideas – he turned, gave Miss Beckett a thumbs up before he snatched up your hand and started running towards his house. You stumbled after him, an unexpected laugh bursting from your chest that Taehyung mimicked.

And the two of you just ran.

---

“What are you hiding?”

You just continued to grin, staring at him as he crawled beneath the canopy, into your usual hiding spot.

Taehyung raised a brow. “Y/N, I'm too tired for guessing games. Why have you got your hands behind your back?”

“Sit down and I'll show you.”

“Oh, don't mind if I do.” He flopped down on his back, groaning in relief. His head lay in your lap, his feet hanging out the door of the hiding spot, but neither of you cared any more. There was nothing to hide.

He opened his eyes and looked up at you. “So? What is it?”

You pulled the garment out from behind your back and waved it in front of his face. His eyes immediately widened, a grin forming. A grin that you loved so dearly.

It wasn't perfect. By no means was it up to the same standards as the garments Taehyung made, but it was an improvement from what you used to produce, and you were so, so proud of it. Miss Beckett had been giving you the cold shoulder these past few weeks, but upon seeing your progress, even she had been able to break out of her shell to congratulate you on the hard work you'd been putting in.

Taehyung slowly reached up, tracing his fingers along the hemline; you'd sewn a few little ribbons along the bottom of the jacket. Taehyung always told you he liked ribbons, things dangling off his clothes. There were sequins on the shoulders, patches sewed into the main body of the garment.

“Y/N...,” Taehyung drawled. “This is amazing.”

You grinned, dropping it onto his stomach. “A gift.”

His eyes shot up. “For who?”

“For you, of course.”

“I can't take this!” He scrambled up, grunting when his head hit off a branch. “This is your first finished piece – surely it should go to someone special.”

“You are special.”

He rolled his eyes. “Someone a little more special than me.”

You reached forward and brushed your thumb along his cheekbone. He narrowed his eyes at your affection, but melted into your touch anyway. “I don't think there is anyone more special than you, Kim Taehyung. At least not to me.”

His eyes softened. He released a puff of air, looking back down at the jacket you'd presented to him. Biting his lower lip, he said no more, but instead wrapped an arm round your shoulders and tugged you into his side.

“Do you like it?” you asked.

“I'm going to cherish it.”

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