#and it's kind of insulting to her clear love for her art and her talent

[guide-to-world-domination]

I can’t stop imagining spider becoming an absolute badass, like the amount of ideas literally keep me up at night. For example, imagine that one day, Neytiri just goes off on Spider and says the most foul things to him - stuff that was so horrendous, even people who equally hated Spider being around had to try and calm her down, because what she was saying was completely out of line. To spider, he’s heard this all from the People, the Scientists, the McCoskers - but Neytiri always strikes a cord that can’t be fixed or shrugged off easily. The only thing that snaps him from his thoughts, was what Neytiri said next while she was being pulled away from the situation.

“You will never be One of the People. Your father is a Demon, and your mother is worse for ever loving him and producing such Spawn”

There it is the breaking point. Spider has always turned the other cheek when it comes to people that insult him or insult him by comparing him to his father. He always found that retaliation and tantrums only proved his accusers assumptions correct. But nobody. Nobody insults his mother. Spider could have screamed back and shouted bloody murder at her, but at this point, he just doesn’t care. She isn’t worth trying to prove himself to. His siblings know who he is, that’s enough.

From that day on, he doesn’t go to High Camp again and doesn’t wear his loincloth. He starts wearing cargo pants and tank tops, but he keeps his armbands, knife and jewellery. He wants to come into his own identity, but he can’t shed what remains of his past life (trying to be part of the Omaticaya). Personally, I don’t think that Norm and the other Scientists wouldn’t care too much about what spider does until he crosses a line or breaks a rule that they haven’t outright told him (that kind of behaviour is traumatising, I would know 🙂). So when figures out to give himself piercings and tattoos, they are livid. They are shocked at the transformation - where painted blue stripes used to be, there were inky black stripes that passed over every limb and even on his face; where dirty brown locs used to be, golden blond hair was fashioned into a Viking braid reaching down his back (similar to a kuru).

The only person that understands and doesn’t overreact is Max. Personally, that man was a dark horse in his family before he came to Pandora, I know it in my soul (Headcanon coming soon or after this post). He takes it on himself to support Spider and nurture his clear talents. He wishes he could have raised spider as his own, but knew that he would be shunned by his colleagues for raising his son - he couldn’t be seen as a disgrace after his time as a child.

Spider had a number of talents and skills, including Engineering, Chemistry, Languages, Marksmanship and martial arts. Max helped to nurture each and everyone. Some days, he would have Spider build and repair weapons and tech. Other days, Spider would learn chemical reactions or a new language. Every evening, Max would instruct Spider in combat and would exercise and lift with him to encourage him. Over the course of a month or two, Spider was unrecognisable. He took in information like a sponge and soon Max was running out of things to teach him. Piloting Samsons and Scorpions - took a few tries, but Spider was truly a born pilot like Paz. Stealth and parkour - He was already a natural, but he was fooling Na’vi warriors more often than not after a week of practice.

Eventually, when Jake started performing raids on RDA Trains, Spider knew it was time to put this all into practice. You see, deep down, he still wanted to prove himself to the People, but not so he could be one of them. He wanted to prove himself, to show them what he forged himself into despite them. However, he knew Jake would never approve him going along - he was still a child. The thought to Spider was ludicrous; Spider never believed he was a child, because no child goes through what he did and remains a child. So he decides to go anyway and doesn’t bother with permission. Though, he does ask Max, who understandably forbids this from happening. After reasoning that he would be safer if he got support to complete this venture, Max relented after hours of back and forth.

And thus, Araña was born. Imagine Winter Soldier getup (Hydra-controlled Bucky, not White Wolf armour) where the half mask acts as his rebreather so he doesn’t risk glass from a regular mask entering his eyes. All manners of weapons are strapped to his body including an Assault Rifle, a revolver (nobody knows that it was actually Quaritch’s revolver that delivered the fatal shot to Grace), A bow and quiver, a LOT of knives and a grenade or two. He looks terrifying but despite this Max feels proud - not about his boy going to fight in a war that has devastated everything he loves, but because this kid, his son, has stepped into his role as a defender and Max is proud of how far Spider has come to reach his goals.

Queue Spider being the biggest menace to RDA society that has ever existed. There was no reason for the Na’vi Ground forces to blow up the rail line, because Spider had already hijacked the train and pulled the breaks. The look of an anonymous Sky Person swing around the train killing and disarming grown men confused everyone in the raiding party, especially the Sully’s. There was something familiar about the acrobatics of this mysterious warrior, the answer on the tips of their tongues. It was only after Spider saved Lo’ak and Neteyam from the missile strike, that everyone realised who this person was. Nobody believed it until Spider spoke and then all he’ll broke loose.

I apologise if this too long or weird, I just needed to get this out of my head. I’ll definitely be adding to this given time, regardless of whether or not people like it, and the only thing that can stop me is my undiagnosed AuDHD.

Farewell to all, Yours sincerely,

Your Favourite Evil Overlord

[winters-rose-daughterofcain]

Part 2 of Everlark and their parents lets go Peeta your turn now.

Now this one is harder. We know very little explicit information about Peeta's family so a lot of this will be inference and my own personal interpretation of the family and their dynamic based on what we do see, what we don't see, and the way Peeta acts, so if you disagree with me that's all good lol.

So first, Peeta grew up in an absuive household. That's not a debate that's explicitly canon. Him mother not only hits him, implied to be with something, but also calls him a worthless creature when he burns the bread for Katniss. No matter that circumstance that is not how you treat your eleven year old child, that is not how you treat any child period, and this clearly isn't a one off or first time. Even though we personally see very little of the abuse on page, I at least think its impact of Peeta is very clear.

This boy has abysmal self esteem, when he discovers Katniss and Haymich have hidden things from him again he feels as if they view him as weak and stupid and too dumb to get it, that's the automatic assumption even though we know that's so far from the truth it's laughable. But for a child that grew up being consistently insulted and belittled it's not that far of a jump to make.

His ability to lie, also I think is relevant here. That kind of ability with words doesn't come from nowhere, that doesn't just happen that's something practiced. A theme with Katniss and Peeta's talents throughout the trilogy is that even the things they are good at and that help them were born from necessity. Katniss is so good with a bow and practical survival skills because she had to be, because even though she grew to love hunting, she and her family would have died without it. Peeta's skill with art comes from working at the bakery it comes from years worth or practise and labor he put in as a child, and I think his ability to lie, manipulate, mask his true feelings and talk his way though things stems from a similar place. His mother is called 'the witch' colloquially, we see she clearly has a temper and resorts to violence and insults quickly. A lot of children who grow up in abuse grow to be very charming, they learn how to lie and manipulate the situation to get themselves out of trouble and to keep themselves and potentially their siblings safe. At least to me Peeta's unmatched ability to impact and morph a situation with just his words could very easily be linked back to his childhood. We all love that Peeta is such a good manipulator but only ever uses it for good, and I think this is partially why, because he doesn't even want to be necessarily, it was a skill born for survival. His mothers cruelty is also shown very much to not be reserved purely for him, she chases starving children away from their empty bins, speaks awfully about the seam and the people from it.

His father is a complicated man. he clearly dose have love for Peeta and is shown many times to be a kind man at his core. But he is passive. He may bring Katniss cookies and make generous trades, he may have been the one to impart that inherent kindness we see in him onto Peeta, and may have been the only safe adult in the house, but he is passive. We don't know the extent of how much he steps in when his wife starts acting out, but from what we can see of her effect of Peeta clearly not enough. He also doesn't come to live with him after the games, none of them do. And while I understand practically that might not be the most reasonable situation, a newly disabled, traumatised sixteen year old boy was still left to live alone. His family may have visited often, they still talk we see him going to dinner with them, but I think their lack of mention speaks more than anything else here.

The relationship between his parents was also not exactly the best model to grow up observing. When he is five years old his dad tells Peeta is was in love with another woman, he points out her child to him, explains how he lost her. There is no addendum of how much he loves his mother now, how it was in the past. Peeta grew up with parents he was acutely aware did not love each other and from what we see and here, don't even pretend to act like it.

Now how dose this relate to Katniss. This first part is more my own speculation so ignore me if you disagree, but Katniss in the first games mentions Peeta doing certain things with her she remembers her parents doing, and wondering where he learnt it from, thinking surely not his own parents. And I think she's right, I think he learnt it from hers. Peeta is observant, I think after his father pointed out Katniss and her mother he payed attention, not just to Katniss but to her parents as well. I think he was a little fascinated by this family, these parents who clearly adore each other these children with skin clear of bruises who have never been made to feel like nothing from there parents who clearly think the world of them. There was six years from when Peeta noticed her to Mr Everdeens death, that's six years for him to observe this family and their love. Not obsessively, not even knowingly, but I think it happened. I think the Everdeens weren't just Katniss's reference for a relationship but Peeta's as well. I don't think she was the only one drawing comparisons, even if he didn't completely realise what he was doing.

(Additional evidence for this pointed out by @intellectual-punk in Mockingjay Haymitch tells Katniss the doctors showed Peeta the propo of her singing The Hanging Tree and he recognized the song and Katniss says she doesn’t know how he could as he never heard her sing it. Haymitch says he remembers her father singing it as their fathers traded. Peeta hasn't heard this song since he was 11, he’s 17 at the time of remembering it. So for him to remembering it after so long after last hearing it and clearly not hearing it around the house we can imagine that her father must have sang it near every time the two men traded and that Peeta was either specifically listening to his singing as he knows from his father that that is how Mr Everdeen won over Mrs Everdeen or he was just generally paying attention to the man either on his own or in relation to Katniss.)*Found in notes {Thank you so much for this}

I also think, going back to people seeking out the familiar, that Katniss reminded him in certain ways of his father. They're both quiet, both people associated with providing food in one way or another. I think he see's her in the way that while they both clearly love him, they both struggle to show him, leaving him to question it for a long time. But where his father fails to protect him, Katniss doesn't. Katniss doesn't have his fathers passivity, far from it, Katniss Everdeen is anything but passive. She actively works to protect him and others, she speaks out loudly when she finds something wrong, she still has that kindness, but it never gets in the way of what's necessary.

This is also where I see his mother come in, I think he dose see some similarities there. In their tempter, in the sharp way they can use their words, in the way she underestimates him in the beginning and even hurts him on occasion, shoving him into the vase (I think?) and cutting his hands after the first interview. But in so many ways Katniss is the opposite. Peeta may have developed a crush because of her voice, but he falls in love because of the way she helps people, because he knows her intrinsically and intrinsically Katniss is someone who cares. He always comments on her healing ability, even if she finds it lacking it's clearly something he loves about her, hands that heal instead of hurt. His mother was cruel to everyone especially those less fortunate, meanwhile Katniss would give everything on her to those who need it more. He see's the similarities yes, and unconsciously that familiarity might be a small drive towards her, but ultimately he loves Katniss for the ways in which she is different from his mother, the ways in which his mother failed, for the ways in which she stepped in where his father fell short. As well as for a lot of other reasons of course, but I think his parents impact is definitely something to consider.

[minor-solemnity]

hi omg i love you so much!!!! every time i see you post i get so excited!!!!! if requests are still open can you please write over protective tom! i'm a simp for tom x reader when he is super protective over her! thank you😘😘

Eee, thank you! You’re the sweetest omg <3 I really hope you enjoy this! (We all simp for super protective Tom, don’t we? I definitely do)

Tag List: @naps-and-lemons @jinxqsu @riddles-wifey @cakesarecute @mostlynonsense

The Dark Forest

“Stand up for me, and stay close now.” You follow his instructions, the basket and the flowers lying forgotten at your feet. There is something about the way Tom’s holding himself, his back is a straight line of tension, his shoulders are taught, the grip on his wand rigid. He looks like he’s ready for a fight.

The Forbidden Forest is a strange and remarkable place. From afar, it looks like a solid wall of black that fades into hazy mist regardless of the time of day. You’ve always held a certain fascination with the forest, spending a lot of your free time edging the perimeter and peering in through the thicket, trying to get a glimpse of what lies within. You’d given up Care of Magical Creatures as an elective when you had learnt that Professor Kettleburn had made it quite clear to you that he had no plan to ever lead students inside. It had been one of your favourite things to complain about in fourth year, and your secret hope that you’d one day find an excuse to venture beyond the borders.

You suppose the phrase be careful what you wish for was penned for situations such as the one you find yourself in now.

You trudge along the narrow path, one hand gripping your wand and the other holding onto the wicker basket that Professor Kettleburn had given you to collect the stella syriaca flowers before sending you and Tom off into the forest. The only light source you have is the lumos you’ve cast to guide you through the forest and the pale, white-blue light your wand emits turns the forest into a strange imitation of nature. In this light, at this moment, you can almost convince yourself that the trees and the undergrowth are abstractions of nature, an impressionist’s depiction of what a forest might look like.

This in itself isn’t a problem - you’re not so easily scared that the dark and unfamiliar are frightening in themselves. The problem is that you’re fairly certain that you’re being followed. Not that you’re going to mention this particular concern to Tom. He’s already been dragged out to the Forbidden Forest unnecessarily because of you, you don’t want to annoy him with your paranoid imagination. “Tom, do you have any idea where we are?” You ask, trying to keep your voice and calm. You don’t want him thinking that you’re scared, not when it’s your fault that you’re both in this mess.

“If the directions that Kettleburn gave us are to be trusted, we should be nearly at the clearing,” He responds, and unlike you, he doesn’t sound like he’s pretended not to be scared. He just sounds unbothered by the situation, like this is as normal as a trip to the library or a walk around the lake. He glances down at you and frowns slightly as he takes in your clenched fists and tight expression. In the light of the lumos, his concerned expression turns sinister, strange shadows forming under his eyes and distort his usually beautiful features into something otherworldly and dangerous. When he talks though, his voice is soothing and calm, “Are you alright? I would have thought that you, of all people, would enjoy this particular punishment.” You hum in response, unwilling to voice your current thoughts but unwilling to lie either. Lying never works well with Tom anyway - his talent for spotting lies is as good as his talent for the art itself.

“I’m just sorry that I dragged you into this mess,” You murmur, which isn’t a lie. You are sorry that he’s had to give up his evening to escort you into the forest. “You shouldn’t have to do this just because I was being an idiot.” And the fact that this is essentially all your fault rankles you immensely. The issue is… Well, the issue is that you don’t really have anyone other than yourself to blame. No. No, that’s not entirely true. You can definitely blame the school for your current situation; it’s insane that they would send students out into the Forbidden Forest at night unaided and alone as a punishment. Professor Seprenta’s petty desire to take out her frustrations on her students by sending them into potentially perilous places is nothing to do with you. But the circumstances leading up to your detention?

Well, that’s all you.

You wish you could pass the blame but frustratingly you can’t. You decided all by yourself that it would be a good idea to sneak out after curfew to practise summoning circles. It’s also your fault that you’d (stupidly) chosen an empty classroom that just so happened to be next to Seprenta’s office and had forgotten to cast a silencing charm. She’d found you, chalk dust up to your elbows, scattering bay leaves, lavender, and mandrake roots in the four corners of the room.

Needless to say, she hadn’t been impressed, and you’re still not entirely sure if it’s because she caught you out after curfew or if it’s because Seprenta has a weird grudge against any magic that doesn’t involve the direct use of a wand. Either way, it hardly matters now. What matters is that you had been landed in detention and Tom is the one who volunteered to watch over you, ostensibly to make sure that you didn’t skive off, but in reality, you know that it’s because he doesn’t like the idea of you venturing off into the forest alone and without protection.

Next to you, Tom stills and grabs your shoulder, using his leverage to turn you in place until you’re face to face. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t take responsibility for my own actions, it’s terribly narcissistic of you.” He says and despite the insulting nature of his words, you find yourself reassured. Tom is… not the best at kind words and sweet nothings, not unless he’s employing them to get what he wants that is. When he’s being honest, he has a tendency towards bluntness that borders on rude. It says a lot about his feelings towards you that he is rarely charming and sycophantic. “If I hadn’t wanted to come with you, I wouldn’t have, so please, save your guilt for when you need it.”

With a small, weak laugh you nod, “I’ll keep that in mind… Thank you.” Even in the alien lighting, the small smile that lifts Tom’s lips is pleased and soft and maybe a little surprised. The fact that he so rarely hears honest thanks is more than a little heartbreaking. The pair of you continue forwards, Tom leading the way and you following close behind, ever conscious of the… thing watching from the shadows.

You’d first noticed the thing about twenty or so minutes into your exploration of the forest - a silent shadow, no bigger than a bulldog, that flickered in and out of existence in your peripheral vision. You’d not paid it much attention, to begin with, there were plenty of strange things that lived in the forest, after all, and you’d been confident in your assessment that the professors wouldn’t actually put you in the way of any real harm. That confidence has diminished the further in you’ve gone, even with Tom by your side. Now, when you catch a glimpse of it, the shadow looks bigger - maybe the size of a large sheep and a lot more defined. It melts into the darkness whenever you try to get a better look, but you’re fairly sure that it’s more solid than it had been when you’d first seen it.

You tell yourself you’re being paranoid, that the stories the ghosts like to tell you about what goes on in the forest at night have finally gotten to you, but the longer you walk, the more certain you are that there is something in the shadows. “…Tom? Tom, I think something’s following us.”

“I’d be surprised if there wasn’t, darling. You know as well as I do that these woods are alive with more than just birds and trees.” His words are not at all comforting and you find yourself growing annoyed with his flippancy. What you might lack in foresight, you make up for in common sense and your senses are telling you to pay closer attention to the shadows that encroach and creep and linger all around you.

“Tom, I’m being serious. Something is watching us.” He must pick up on the vaguely panicked edge to your words because he stops again and flicks his wand in a complicated motion and a vibrant flame erupts from the tip, floating just above your heads. You give yourself a moment to marvel at his ability before the matter at hand takes precedence and you cast around to try and catch sight of whatever it is that you’ve been seeing. “It was… It was right behind us,” You say, scanning the trees for any sight of the thing. Whatever it is, it’s nowhere to be found. “I swear it was here.”

He hums in response, and when you look at him, you can tell that he’s sceptical. Still, he sends the ball of flame in the direction that you’re pointing and the light seems to reverberate around the dark forest, revealing leaves and branches and thick patches of undergrowth but no moving shadow. Satisfied, he flics his wand again the flame extinguishes. “Keep an eye out - if you think you see something again, tell me.” You nod and bite your lip, pressing a little closer to his side as you continue your trek. You feel like a small child, huddled under your blankets to hide yourself from the darkest shadows in your bedroom. Fear is a funny thing, it’s an almost tangible emotion, prickling the back of your neck and sticking to you like sand on wet skin. Still, you’re almost at the clearing and then all you need to do is pick the flowers and get out.

The stella syriaca flowers only bloom at night, the tiny flowers growing in spherical clusters. Under the glow of your wand, they blossom pearlescent and delicate, like miniature moons rising from the forest floor. You set the basket down and begin to pick the flowers, careful not to crush the petals as Tom watches over you. “You don’t fancy helping?” You call over your shoulder and somewhere above you, Tom breathes out a huff of laughter.

“I hardly see why I should - this is your punishment, is it not?” He counters, wry humour coating his words and you roll your eyes but laugh nonetheless. Now that you’re in the clearing, you don’t feel so afraid, the knowledge that you’ll soon be out of the forest bolstering your confidence. Silence falls upon you and you get lost in the monotony of plucking the flowers, the repetitive actions lulling you into a daze so much so that you don’t immediately notice the rustling in the trees towards the edge of the clearing or the way that Tom’s posture tenses and his eyes turn to slits.

You startle when his hands brush the top of your head, and you look up at from where you’re kneeling on the ground to see what the problem is. Tom looks… He doesn't look scared, which you think is probably a good thing, but he does look agitated. His expression is shuttered window, no light or levity flickers behind the darks of his eyes, no ironic smile curling his lips. You only ever see this side of him when someone displeases him in a particularly grievous manner and he’s never looked at you with that cold blankness that reminds you of ice storms and black tar. You spare a thought for his enemies because you imagine you’d probably drop down dead in an instant if he were to ever turn this particular expression on you.

When he talks, his voice is tight, “What did you think you saw earlier?”

“A… I don’t really know—” Tom makes a low, irritated sound in the back of his throat and the hand that’s resting on your head tightens slightly. “—It was like a moving shadow out of the corner of my eye. It disappeared whenever I tried to look at it, but I think it was getting bigger the deeper we went.” You can’t keep the nervousness out of your voice as you scan the perimeters of the clearing, trying to get a glimpse of whatever it is that’s got Tom on edge. The darkness of the forest seems to loom and though you can’t see anything, you can feel it watching you, can feel the way it sizes you up the same way your cat sizes up mice in the courtyard before she pounces. You’ve always thought it was cute - the way her eyes would grow large and black and her lithe body would scrunch up before she attacked. You don’t find it cute now, though. Not when you’re the mouse.

Tom hums in response and he almost sounds relieved, though you can’t think of a single reason why. “Stand up for me, and stay close now.” You follow his instructions, the basket and the flowers lying forgotten at your feet. There is something about the way Tom’s holding himself, his back is a straight line of tension, his shoulders are taught, the grip on his wand is rigid. He looks like he’s ready for a fight. “Stop the lumos, darling.” At your noise of protest, he shoots you a quick smile which you think is supposed to be reassuring but in reality, looks vaguely foreboding. “Trust me.”

“Nox. Happy now?”

“Ecstatic.”

“Oh, yeah, you sound really— Merlin, what the fuck?” The shadows in front of you shift, and something big and black and not really there seems to collect in the near pitch black. Vapours in the air that pool and swirl until they coalesce into a shadowy thing the size of a shire horse. For a moment, it just hangs there, waiting and watching and anticipating.

And then it lunges.

In the grand scheme of things, your life is relatively unimportant. You’re not so narcissistic that you believe that the world will be irrevocably changed or diminished if you were to meet an untimely end - sure, your family and friends would be sad for a while, your cat would wonder why you’re no longer around to give them treats and ear scratches, but nothing would fundamentally change if you were to die. You know all of this and still, you’re staring down the proverbial barrel of a gun and the only thing that’s running through your mind is, Dear Gods, why me?

You realise in this instant that you are not made for combat. This shouldn’t be a surprise to you - you’re pretty good at Defence, but you’ve never enjoyed duelling. In contrast to your frozen reaction, Tom responds immediately. The rigidity of his posture melts into something fluid and instinctive, and he’s stepping in front of you in one smooth motion and slashing his wand through the air in the next. Violet light arches through the darkness and the thing rears back, as though wounded before it pushes forward. You scramble backwards, staring in horror at the thing. In the spell-light, you can see now that its body is made up almost entirely of shadows - living, sentient shadows that join and divide around a curling skeleton. The only thing standing between you and the shadows is Tom, who is in his element, a whirl of controlled energy and deft wand movements. You’ve seen him duel before, but only in the relative safety of Defence Against the Dark Arts, and watching him now, in an environment where he doesn’t need to hold himself back, where every ounce of his focus and skill is directed at a real-life foe inspires awe and wonder and fear inside you.

The thing slinks around the two of you and tendrils of shadow and darkness curl out and whip at Tom’s feet. You think it must realise that of the two you, Tom is the more immediate threat. Tom leaps out of the way and advances, seemingly without fear for care for his own safety and you’re dimly aware that you’re yelling for him to get back and away. He either doesn’t hear you over the sound of his own casting or he doesn’t care - he just keeps moving, ducking neatly out of the way of another tendril as he sends a jet of golden light that splinters and pierces the monster’s shadows. You keep a tight grip on your wand, trying to think of any spell that might do something against an incorporeal monster.

The monster lets out a shriek and you’re not sure if it’s in pain or just angry but Tom is already moving again. He reaches for you blindly, not taking his eyes off the thing that is currently writhing on the forest floor. Before it can get a chance to recover, Tom raises his wand a final time and the bright white light of a lumos encompasses the shadow being burning and blinding until all that remains is a charred husk a skeleton that matches no anatomy of any creature you’re familiar with.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?” In contrast to the surety with which he duels, his voice is wrecked, a kind of frantic worry lacing his words. When his hands find yours, his grip is tight to the point of it being painful, as though he’s half-convinced that if he lets go you’ll fade into the shadows along with the monster.

A feeling of warmth and affection surges inside of you, far stronger than the fear that courses through your veins and you grip his hand back, clinging just as tightly to him as he is to you. “I’m fine— Tom, are you okay? I’m sorry for dragging you out here with me,” You say, anger at having gotten him into this mess and anger that the school would harbour some kind of shadow demon in the forest forging your voice into something sharp and hard.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” He says and you’d be insulted by the way he brushes you off if it weren’t for the way that his thumb brushes your knuckles as he pulls you closer to his side. You know him well enough to hear the unspoken worry in his words. “This is exactly why I came with you.” You know he’s telling the truth. Since you’ve known him, Tom has always had an uncanny ability to know when you’ll need him, has always been there to help and protect you. Usually, that involves editing your essays and handing out detentions to people who trouble you, but you shouldn’t be surprised that he’s taken his chosen role to heart and would gladly put himself in harm's way if it meant you didn’t have to.

Nestled against him like this, you feel the fear that’s been with you since you first entered the forest fade, leaving behind a tired sort of fondness and relief. He’s still glaring at the place where the thing used to be, still tense and stiff as though he’s waiting for it to rise up and start attacking you both again. Tentatively, you reach up and brush your fingers against his jaw, willing him to turn and look at you, so that you can see for yourself that he’s okay, that he’s still here, with you. After a pause, he grants you your wish and your heart quickens at the ferocity lingering in his eyes. “Thank you,” You breathe and just like that, something shifts in the air around you and the tension leaches out of him.

He leans down and brushes a kiss against your forehead and you wind your arms around his back, one hand splayed firmly against his shoulder blades, the other running through the short dark curls at the nape of his neck. “I’m okay, I promise. Thank you for being here.” And you’re not just thanking him for tonight, though are you grateful, you’re thanking him for every instance he’s stepped in to look after and protect you.

“I’d never let anything happen to you, you must realise that by now.” He murmurs, and in the hushed silence of the forest, you can hear the unspoken promise clear as you can feel the warmth of his hand in yours.

[peeterparkr]

red; tom’s version|two.

chapter two: the lucky one. “You don’t feel pretty, you feel used”

pairing: Tom Holland x Reader story summary: you’re reminiscing through your relationship a month after the heartbreak and breakup. Wondering if it went wrong from the very start when Tom arrived at New York, and him being a cautionary tale or if the problems came along the way. Perhaps the key to find back your way to him is going back through the nice things before the heartbreak came. Or is it too painful to go all over again?

chapter summary: bottle caps, a red scarf and two coincidences that probably mean something warnings: angsty a bit, cussing, word count: 6.7k playlist (updated after each chapter, including Red songs+ other for the chapter): Spotify | Apple Music

fic masterlist previous chapter next chapter

Present day. One month after the breakup.

Tom knew he had to stay quiet. Or rather, there was barely anything he could say while he was plotting his next words. He could barely believe he had a chance.

Walking down the streets with her quietly as he saw her, arranging her own thoughts. She had agreed to listen.

And he knew it was because whatever they’d felt, it made it worth it.

Y/N was angry. Not sad, angry. He had expected her to be crying. He didn’t want to be the reason why she would and he tried thinking he wasn’t. Though, deep inside, he was perfectly aware that he would be blamed for the tears that she’d shed in the last few months.

He wasn’t proud of that.

Guilt blinds. And Tom was blind in an attempt to shield. It was easier to shield on his own excuses that would serve barely as a plea to forgiveness.

Glares were directed at him. Her jaw was clenched and she had crossed her arms. The moment she’d realized what she’d agreed to, she’d turned stiff.

“Aren’t you cold?” Tom had tried asking.

“I don’t wish to speak to you.”

Fair.

And it was the middle of the night once again, how many times had they not walked under the stars with barely a destiny to reach. And now he was walking to his doom.

Y/N was mental.

In a good way. But the girl had taught him how insane you can be when it comes to relationships. In the best way possible, not as an insult.

Tom knew that he had fucked up. And he had been in New York for a while, though he hadn’t spoken to her directly, knowing that approaching her would only wound her.

It was colder now, Christmas was barely around the corner. In any other circumstance, it would’ve added to the romance.

Here it was just a bad omen of whatever would come next. The lights flickered as soon as they were walking past them.

“Are—are we not going to talk?” Tom questioned anyway. “I thought—“

Y/N shrugged. “I’m still deciding it, you see, I don’t know if I want to listen to you break my heart in an attempt of forged honesty.”

Tom dug his hands in his pockets. “I genuinely want to apologize.”

“And I genuinely don’t like you,” she snapped. “You see my problem?”

Tom sighed. “Fine,” he gulped. “But you are cold, that thing isn’t covering your neck or chest.”

Y/N had gone for a rather inadequate option for a cold winter day. Though Tom would agree that the black dress had been yet another punch to his stomach, all of course with an attempt to make him regret it, it was still rather unsuitable for the freezing city. But she looked stunning.

Her coat barely covered her, and her crossed arms were probably more of an attempt to warm herself and it served as a clear exposition of her anger.

She didn’t answer, however.

“You could wear this,” Tom offered, showing her the red scarf that once belonged to her. Tom liked to think that it now belonged to them.

The red scarf that had become a token to their relationship. From the very first day.

Y/N looked at it, and reluctantly took it. “It’s only because I’m cold.”

But Tom wanted to think it wasn’t only because of that. Wearing the scarf meant she was opening a door for him.

Seeing her again had been quite different from what Tom had expected, her hair was different and her makeup too. Her gaze seemed lost.

Whoever was standing beside him didn’t seem like her. She was a stranger, a very familiar one. But there wasn’t that visible spark that he’d fallen for. Not that he wouldn’t be able to love the figure in front of him but he feared he was the reason for its disappearance.

“It smells like you,” y/n whispered as she wrapped the scarf around her neck.

Tom smiled, briefly. “I’ve been wearing it. Your own smell wore out,” he regretted saying that. “That sounded way too creepy or cheesy.”

“Both, somehow,” she agreed. “Don’t ever say that kind of shit again.”

Tom gulped a chuckle, “noted.”

There was still that y/n in there, the one that liked the kind of cheesy things that he could say. The ones that came up at the right moment. Though, there was still that y/n that didn’t take any bullshit.

Tom hadn’t gone exactly through diamonds and sparkles after the breakup. And the city was now quite different from when it had first received him. Now covered with dark smoke and trash, with only skeletons of trees.

Guilt drowns. And Tom was, undoubtedly, drowning in a drought. Everything had dried off yet he felt like he could barely breathe.

Knowing you’re the reason for someone’s hurt is no fantasy.

And he was broken, too. Very, very broken. However, he knew he was seen as the bad guy here and he wouldn’t call himself less, and he wouldn’t admit he was aching too.

So he was trying to ignore it.

Her apartment building hadn’t changed. Not that Tom had expected it to, but it was nice to come to a familiar place. He noticed the stairs were still rusty and unclean and creaked as he walked in. New creaks had come in that he hadn’t memorized yet. He hoped he would have the chance to.

Y/N stopped at her door, with more questions than answers to give him.

“I really don’t know if I can do this,” she admitted to him. “But I know that if I don’t give you a chance to explain yourself I’ll never forgive myself.”

“That’s fair. But…I’ll do whatever you want me to, but please let me explain it to you,” he begged. “I—If you want me to leave New York and never come again I’ll understand.”

Y/N crossed her arms and leaned against the door, a red door that would open to memories he couldn’t quite forget.

“I already said I would listen,” she recalled. “But—“ her eyes met his, they looked tired. “I am having an inner monologue on why this is stupid.”

“Care to share?”

She took a heavy breath, “Well, you see, Tom, if that even is your real name…”

“Really? You’re—“Tom tried hard not to roll his eyes. “Yes, my name is Tom.”

“Tom….”

“Holland.”

“Hm, interesting. Holland, I remembered it being something else. You’re a liar, just making sure,” she said. “I’m—I just feel stupid. Because I shouldn’t be feeling this way for such a short relationship, is that even—was it? Can we even call it that?”

Her words felt bitter to Tom’s own tongue. He understood why she was defensive. “Yes.”

“Well, I don’t fucking know, maybe we confused whatever we were feeling with love, or—“

“I didn’t—“

“Could be easy, Tommy, you’re an actor, actors, as far as I know, act, and man did you play such an amazing role,” she snarled as she opened her door, leading the way. “Be quiet, by the way, I don’t want to wake up Lula or Jules.”

Tom walked in into what seemed a messed snapshot of how he remembered the place. It was the same, in essence. But sadder. The apartment still had a few sweaters here and there, and y/N’s notebooks all over it.

He could see Lula’s leftovers in their coffee table and some candy wraps that Julia had probably been eating while reading her book.

He turned to that one corner and saw it, the jukebox that had been what had defined y/n’s and his relationship. He dug his hand into his pocket to search for the locket y/n had given back. Tom squeezed it as he searched in his pocket for something else.

Guilt kills. And Tom was dying.

“Here,” Tom said as he reached out for three beer caps in his pocket, “I brought these to you,” he offered them to her, knowing there were jars full of them.

Y/N collected them. Or rather, it was her latest collection that she’d later use for her art. Or whatever she was into at the moment.

The apartment was small. It had two bedrooms which they all shared. They’d rotate whoever had the luck to have the single room. So small. And yet it felt so big.

Y/n pursed her lips but then took the beer caps and placed them on the counter.

“We’re going to the roof,” y/n said. “I’m just getting us some wine—No,” she shook her head, probably realizing that having wine would make the moment a tad more romantic or cuddly than she expected it to be. “Make yourself useful and make some tea, I’ll go change myself, I’m freezing.”

She’d brought blankets and a hoodie he hadn’t remembered he had left. They didn’t have to go to the roof, Julia was staying with Matt and Lula was not back yet from wherever she was.

She had stayed quiet, for a bit. Cuddled up in the same couch where they—

“Do you like your tea?” Questioned Tom.

She looked up. “Yeah, you can add that to your many talents. Right before lying.”

“I make better tea than lies? Good to know.”

Y/N shrugged. “How long have you been here?”

“A… few days,” Tom admitted. “I have been trying to walk up to your door but I keep getting lost in the subway, and when I did come here I panicked and cried.”

Y/N shrugged. “I thought I saw you, the other day,” she said.

“Oh?”

“It wasn’t you,” y/n confessed. “So I just yelled at a poor stranger. I—I genuinely feel sorry for him.”

Tom tried not to chuckle. “What did you yell?”

“I called him a bastard and asked what was wrong with him,” she scrunched her nose. “Not my proudest moment. I was kicked out of the bus.”

Tom gulped. “I’m sorry,” he took a deep breath. “You can yell at me if that helps.”

She shrugged. “No, I think I’m good, I let it all out with him,” she grimaced. “But I might just—“she picked up a pillow and threw it at him with barely any energy.

“Fair enough,” he nodded. “But I can be your punching bag, I deserve it,” he admired. “I see the jukebox,” Tom said, motioning to it.

She shrugged. “Yeah, would be stupid if you didn’t. It’s quite big. Barely any space left.”

Tom chuckled. “I meant—“

“No, no, I know what you mean. I’m trying to ignore it,” y/n admitted. “I notice it too, every day. Almost threw it away.”

Tom nodded. “Why didn’t you?”

“Well, it’s a very functional jukebox, the music on it,” she said. “It would be stupid to throw out something like that.”

Tom had expected a different answer, one rather more romantic. Like, that maybe throwing it out would’ve meant throwing him away.

“Right. I’m surprised the cops haven’t come for it.”

She smiled.

She… smiled?

She smiled.

Tom hadn’t thought he would see it again. So comforting. And genuine. Not forced.

“It’s not stolen,” she reminded him, “not really.”

Tom decided to smile back, but to himself. He couldn’t really look her in the eye.

“I guess I also kept it for the same reason why you kept that stupid scarf,” y/n added. Quieter now.

Tom took a deep breath. “It’s a fashionable accessory.”

Y/n rolled her eyes. “It’s been out of fashion for 10 years.”

“Trends come back.”

Y/N looked up. “Not when they're horrible, no,” she said with a heavy breath. “I don’t—“She shook her head. “No, we can’t do this.”

“Do what?” Tom questioned.

“Talk like you didn’t break my heart,” she snarked, gulping down her thoughts. “I always knew your heart never truly belonged to me, you know?” y/n said, holding to her mug. The tea was probably cold now. As so were they.

Tom was taken aback by that statement. “I—at the beginning—“

“No, it never truly did. Not completely.”

“I—“ but Tom didn’t have an answer to it.

The night was cold and New York was still awake. But it felt like it was them and only them even if they felt like oceans apart. He hated it. The first time he’d ever been truly lucky he had run out of luck.

Y/N watched him. “I always knew it was meant to be for a short time and I didn’t need anything more, I somehow knew that you’d hurt me,” she explained.

Tom had never meant to go this far. “I never meant—“

“Imagine if you had meant it though, how crushed would I have been. It wasn’t your intention, and yet I ended up crying on the floor,” she said, ironically

Tom couldn’t say more but an “I am so sorry.”

“I know you are,” she said. “I hope you are.”

Tom stared at her, “I am.”

Y/N directed him a single glance. “I don’t think you understand, Tom. This month has been the shittiest in my life.”

Tom didn’t have enough words to apologize. Or he had too many to say. Instead, he could word out anything.

“The worst part is that you also gave me the best fucking days of my life,” she continued. “So I’m at a crossroads here. Because there’s a part of me that thinks it was all bullshit and there’s also the part that knows it couldn’t be.”

Tom watched her. “It was not bullshit,” he said. “It was real.”

“That’s the worst part,” she pointed out. “I think, yeah, all of it being real then it makes it hurt even more because that means I lost the best thing to ever happen to me and you lost something so real.”

Tom nodded. “I lost the best thing to ever happen to me, too.”

Y/N was, without a doubt, the best thing he’d never looked for.

“Did you lose it because of me? Or did you lose me?” She quickly questioned, raising her brows.

Y/N was also a murderer.

“Well,” she took a deep breath, ignoring his sight as he was trying to know how to Answer. “You better start explaining yourself.”

“Before I—I… I… Right, well—Before I came here—I—Ella—“

She closed her eyes. “Actually, no.”

Tom paused, in fear.

“Here’s what we’re going to do, we will….” Y/N tried arranging her thoughts. “Tell me from the moment you hopped on the plane.”

Tom stayed quiet.

“I need to know how it looked from the moment you arrived, not… before, although I’m risking the fact you’re an unreliable narrator.”

“I am a terrible narrator,” he admitted.

Two months before the breakup. Tom’s version.

Tom remembered how little it had taken him to make the decision to escape. He had decided to escape from what everyone told him he should love.

With a backpack, his passport and a half ass made suitcase, he had hopped on the first flight to New York. No regrets as it had taken off. Sweet Escape airlines had been so kind to him.

Not telling anyone about it. To their eyes, he probably was only late to a party, and they’d see him in a few minutes with an excuse of an apology.

Yet, he was on a plane. Escaping from the perfect life.

They always said how lucky he was. Didn’t they? How incredible it was to have what he had. Because he had everything.

And he was running away from it. He watched the people on the plane, his seat was unflattering, next to an old lady who seemed to be rather impolite.

He remembered when he had made the decision to run out, the night before, a camera flash had blinded him and time had suddenly stopped. Just a few hours before hopping on the plane. Everyone expected him to do something he was not ready for. Everyone thought it would come.

Even Eleanor.

Especially Eleanor. Ella was probably counting only the minutes for his arrival. He had promised her he would be there.

No one could ever judge Tom for the decision he had made. Well, everyone would. But Tom liked to believe they couldn’t. As a technicality, that is. That they had absolutely no right to do it.

His parents wouldn’t be proud of it. Too bad.

Tom was nervous, though. The decision had been, undoubtedly, rushed. He hadn’t shown up to that early brunch.

Still wearing a suit, with a white buttoned shirt unbuttoned on his neck. He had still almost gone to that brunch in that FancyAss restaurante.

A brunch? He thought to himself. How incredibly out of character it seemed, he had become a caricature of whatever they wanted him to be.

Did he have to apologize to Eleanor? He didn’t want to.

He really didn’t want to.

He looked at his phone, Harry was calling him. A few other texts from his mother, too. Two missed calls from Ella. Probably wondering why he was late. He hoped they didn’t wait for him, for he would never arrive.

New York was a bit far from it.

The whole flight had been him trying to figure out if it was a good choice.

But he was given an ultimatum, and when those come you have to decide.

His decision was to go to New York. And it was the best choice.

It was, of course, but it was alright to doubt it. It was not likely of him to simply run away.

He didn’t have it all figured out. And that’s why he was clutching his backpack. He was chasing a dream that he didn’t even know he had.

Maybe that’s why he was running away. He didn’t know who he was. But of course he had heard it, how he looked like a million bucks. And he had said it to everyone else the night before, how the stars looked like diamonds in the skies.

He was making a name for himself, he knew that. Or rather, they were making a name for him. And he didn’t know who he was.

The flight was rather short, or maybe Tom barely had any time to think about it.

Running away from his own country, from his family, friends and from Ella, whom he barely had a title for right now.

The city was quick to receive him with bustling crowds, people pushing and rushing. But also opening up as he was walking in. Dancing around him.

How magical. He thought to himself as he tried texting Harrison, hoping his best friend wouldn’t mind receiving him at his place.

Tom managed to get a taxi that was waiting right outside the airport.

He hopped in and grinned to himself proudly. He was there.

With a new city ahead of him and no one expecting anything from him. With no one telling him what to do, with no one giving him an ultimatum and no one with orders for him.

“Where to?” Asked the taxi driver, as he stared from the mirror.

Tom, though he was not proud of it, was having a moment. “I’m running away from my life,” Tom explained. “don’t you ever get tired of the role you’re supposed to play? Like you were not meant to play it but now you’re too stuck in it.”

“Man, I'm sorry, I ain’t got no time for that kind of poeticbullshit, I need an address.”

The moment ended quickly. “Right. Sorry. I’m an idiot… uh, it’s this one.” Tom had to look up for Haz’s address.

“Every time,” the driver sighed, chuckling. “Why do y’all think New York is some sort of magical city that will give you the answer to whatever you’re going through.”

Tom’s smile widened sarcastically, “Well, isn’t it?”

“Guess it is, in a way, but I’ll tell you something,” the driver stated, “whatever you think New York will give to you, it'll be the very opposite. It won’t be what you want but it might just be what you need.”

“Oh really?” Tom chuckled, “who’s the one with the poetic crap now?”

“No, I’m messing with you, damn all you tourists believe that kind of thing huh? New York, concrete jungle where dreams are made of huh.”

“It’s what we’re sold,” Tom gave in.

“That sounds pretty, don’t it? To not get what you want but what you need.”

“It does.”

In a way, he was right. Tom would’ve thought he needed a break. To escape. That’s what he wanted right?

But what did he need?

The city welcomed him with a short rain, the water reflected the twinkling lights, as the shadows were reflecting the life he had left behind. The people rushed with their coats, as they were off to their lives. And it felt like he was finally breathing.

Although he would not share his thoughts with the driver again, Tom thought this was what he needed. A new start with no one that would judge him.

That’s probably why he’d chosen New York, the people are too busy living their own crazy lives to focus on someone so insignificant like him. He didn’t have to be whoever he was before, the pretty face, the cool guy everyone liked.

No, he was a guy in a stupid cab, and not to be worried if they said he hadn’t chosen a better ride, on a bigger car.

No, no announcement of whatever he was going to do on the papers because his dad had arranged it.

No, now he was but what he always wanted to be. One of those cautionary tales that they tell about people who go mad and escape and live.

He was a legend now.

Maybe they were right, he was lucky. He was lucky because he had finally made it out of there.

And he saw the lights, with Broadway shows waiting for him, with new adventures coming. With a new life that he wanted to create. The Broadway signs changed to Tom’s sight.

‘A very new life for the Lucky One.’ Starring Tom Holland.

A new beginning.

Maybe he was lucky. Though he never wanted to be in the spotlight. He constantly was, though.

Except, of course, for the fact that Haz hadn’t really answered his text the way he wanted to.

Haz probably didn’t believe Tom that he was in the city.

He would just knock at the door then.

“Well man, I hope whatever kind of role you want you get it,” the driver had said as Tom had hopped off.

Harrison’s building was far from fancy. Harrison had often described it as an ‘affordable pigsty’. Tom wouldn’t describe it as anything else.

But it was perfect. The perfect stage for his new charade.

Tom carried the now heavier backpack and suitcase up and was lucky enough that someone had entered the building so he could go up and show up uninvited to Haz’s apartment. If he could call it that.

He knocked, two times and Haz opened the door.

“Piss off, you’re not actually here!” Was the way Haz had decided to greet.

Tom laughed. “I fucking am.”

“You bastard,” Haz grinned before pulling his friend into a hug. “No way, I didn’t believe you. Man, I’m so glad to see you!”

“You too, man your place is…” Tom couldn’t finish.

“A pigsty but it’s home, I’ll make some place.”

And they had.

Haz had left a few years ago, with a dream in his head and a chance to make it. Or… a chance to get a chance to make it.

Leaving London had been quite such a simple decision for him. An inspiring actor that could’ve made it back at home but decided to leave for New York? It was stupid, honestly. Very anticlimactic of him.

But like Tom, Harrison had to escape before he was pulled in.

Just like Tom had been, tangled up. Tom’s ‘big break’ had yet to come but his family had managed to get him to the rising star he was.

He loved what he did, acting was definitely his true passion but not like this. Not buying his way into parts, not going out with someone so he could be considered. Hanging around with the right people just so they could get him a role.

Haz had gone for plays instead, and Tom knew he was fantastic. But he also had to get his big break. The industry had a funny way to say this.

“So, you just left?” Haz asked with a beer in his hand as he’d taken Tom to his favorite bar. Beers were cheaper there, and given that it was a Thursday, the happy hour lasted longer.

The bar was different from what Tom had expected. An old jukebox that was playing odd songs, colorful things. Very odd.

“I bloody just left,” Tom admitted. “What was I supposed to do?”

Harrison rubbed his face, “I dunno.”

“I couldn’t keep pretending,” Tom said, as he played with the bottle. “I—It wasn’t me.”

“But didn’t you just get cast in—something important?” He questioned.

Tom sighed, “Not for talent, no.”

He had seen a girl walk up to the jukebox and pay again to play “Twist and Shout” by The Beatles, she moved her head along to the song.

“Man, who bloody cares?” Haz rolled his eyes bringing the attention back to him. “You’re getting somewhere! You look pretty, you’re cool, and you’re getting somewhere.”

Tom knew where Haz was coming from. Things were going perfectly, one could argue. But it didn’t feel real. It was just a game of make believe where Tom had eventually been dug in.

“It wasn’t that,” Tom admitted. “Ella gave me an ultimatum.”

Harrison stopped, probably now understanding more why he had left. “And how do you feel about that?”

Tom stared at his beer. “Not how I’m supposed to.”

Harrison watched him. “One can only pretend for so long.”

“Yeah,” Tom sighed as he undressed the beer bottle.

“Does anyone know you escaped?” Haz asked.

Tom grimaced, pulling out his phone, turned off. “No, well, Harry knows, I told him I had left but didn’t tell him where to,” he said before unwillingly turning it back on, to show the billion notifications popping up. Multiple text messages, missed calls. “I need a new phone so I can keep this one turned off.”

“I think you should tell someone, otherwise they’re going to call the police or something,” Haz suggested.

Tom sighed, “Before I do let me go get another round,” he said as he headed to the bar.

Though Tom should’ve known right then and there that his life would change, he was very oblivious as he saw a couple. The beautiful girl sitting right beside… some guy. The very same girl who had played ‘Twist and Shout’.

She wasn’t smiling anymore, and Tom could only interpret her stare as something unpleasant. The guy and her were both stiff.

Tom couldn’t blame the guy because he was often criticized for also being like him. Not being able to make the beautiful girl beside him smile. Not understanding her worth and brilliance as anyone else in the room did.

She had dressed up, it seemed, just for her very date and he was just… there. The guy was simply an unuseful accessory adorning her side. His eyes were glued to the TV on the bar, a program that seemed to be very uneventful.

Tom often liked overhearing conversations, and this time wasn’t an exception.

“I recently discovered my new collection,” the girl said. Tom noticed the scarf on her neck,“I will start collecting bottle caps.”

The guy looked over, “Is it going to be for your new project that you’ll never finish?”

“I will finish it,” she said as she took off the scarf, now playing with it, tying and untying it. “And I’m going to ask Ben here to save me as many as he can.”

“Y/N,” the guy said. Pretty name, thought Tom. Fitting. “You never finish them.”

“Art is never finished, William,” the girl, y/n, defended again. “It’s only… abandoned.”

“My point,” The guy, William, rolled her eyes, “You never get through with them.”

“I do,” she defended herself. “You just never pay attention to it.”

Tom watched her frustration. Even then the guy wasn’t really into the conversation. He didn’t blame him, really. But he was more on y/n’s side.

“I think you should pay attention to more important stuff. Instead of wasting your time doing whatever.”

“Art isn't whatever,” she sighed, and then frowned, noticing Tom was watching them.

“I’m not saying it’s whatever, y/n, but you’ve got to have other dreams rather than collecting beer caps.”

Y/N looked away, “It’s for a painting.”

“A painting you’ll get bored of eventually, it’s always the same, y/n,” the guy was still too busy with his own beer watching the TV.

Y/N clenched her jaw but then directed her glance at Tom, still intrigued by the conversation.

Tom cleared his throat as he finally got his beers, the guy opened them for him but Tom asked for the beer caps.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help but listen,” Tom admitted before giving her the beer caps. “Good luck on your project.” The girl finally smiled as the guy accompanying her glared at him.

Tom shrugged and dedicated them both a smile before going back to Harrison. Had Tom been William he would’ve appreciated that someone made his girl smile, it was a waste not to share her smile with the world.

And Tom, out of everyone, understood what the girl had said, people bringing him down were always for him so to have genuine support from a stranger would help her. And him.

Yes never getting anything done but still having a passion for it was accomplishment enough.

“So what’s your plan?” Haz asked as soon as he was back. Tom watched the girl, still.

“I have none,” Tom admitted, watching as y/n and William were still arguing, probably now over the fact that Tom had left the beer caps. He didn’t feel guilty, even when both of them were pointing at him as the argument kept going. “I will just—Get a break for a few days. A well deserved vacation.”

Haz watched him. “Right.”

“You know, be a tourist,” Tom shrugged. “I—I dunno I just needed to get out,” Tom sipped from his bottle as his eyes were glued to the couple, now arguing loudly but not loud enough to be understood.

Haz followed his gaze. “What are you looking at?”

“Dunno, they’re odd,” Tom shrugged. But they weren’t really. He just saw his future, so uninterested to the girl beside him.

“Not really, you should get used to that,” Haz said. “But—You’re going to tell Harry, right!”

“Problem is,” Tom brought back the attention to Haz. “I don’t think Harry will be able to keep the secret.”

Harrison crossed his arms. “What are you really doing here Tom? You do realize that you’re hurting everyone—“

“Yeah, yeah fuck that, I know, I feel guilty. But—I can’t anymore. I couldn’t fucking stay there, not anymore,” Tom snapped. “It’s not Ella’s fault. Well not entirely but—“

“No, I know,” Haz rolled his eyes, “guess the perfect life can get boring.”

Harrison thought so too then. That Tom had the perfect life. How was it perfect? How was it really? Tom was not perfect. He was far from it, nothing about it was spectacular. He wasn’t living. Even though everyone around him thought he was having the time of his life Tom couldn’t help but feel miserable.

He wasn’t getting what he truly wanted. He didn’t enjoy the roles he was getting or the parties he was attending. He was far from what his dream was. And though his ‘breakout’ would come eventually and he’d have the chance to be who he wanted to be, it wasn’t coming any time soon and he doubted that he’d be able to be happy.

Or maybe he would be. He needed a break.

Tom caught up with Haz, his life, his misery and whatever the conversation led to, it’s fair to say that Tom’s head could barely pay any attention. His decision was sinking. He’d escaped his life.

He saw the girl from before leave, with the guy following her with frustration.

“They’re gonna break up,” Haz said watching them too.

Tom saw the girl had left the unfashionable red scarf behind.

He expected them to come back for them but they didn’t.

Eventually, Tom and Haz left. Tom picked up the scarf. He tried to say that it was a little reminder that he’d helped someone. He had actually been drawn to it. He couldn’t explain why. So he kept that idea.

Of course, he’d seen the red scarf and then regretted instantly taking it. Haz had judged him too.

“Why the fuck would you pick up a stranger’s scarf?”

“Because.”

The next day, with very little sleep and a bit of a headache from the jet lag and the beers, and after telling Haz he’d be productive, he decided he wouldn’t be and instead he wanted to visit a museum. Again, he was unsure as to why he wanted to go there. Lately he only followed his instinct.

But then again he had escaped so he could do whatever he wanted, and going to a museum seemed like something they’d never expect him to do. So that’s what he did.

But of course, he didn’t know much about art or anything so he decided he’d end up at the MET. Where else would he start?

He had planned getting on the subway but he decided he didn’t have time to memorize it and he didn’t want to look like an idiot so instead he took another cab. He didn’t tell the drivers this time any poetic bullshit.

When he got to the MET, he was immediately lost. Tom had this stupid habit of never knowing where the hell he was.

He didn’t mind this time. He would take the time to explore, to think to himself. To stare and read and to learn a little.

How ironic it seemed to be at the place where so many people were at. Basic, maybe but he was still enjoying it.

The big walls and endless exhibitions were making him feel small. And he hadn’t felt that way in a while. He liked that.

His path wasn’t being decided and he only followed his heart. He got to the musical instruments exhibitions.

A piano made him stop. It resonated with him. In some sorts, or it was interesting enough for him to make him stop.

“That’s the oldest surviving piano,” a voice mentioned from behind.

Tom blinked, realizing he had stared too long at it. “Oh?” He looked back at the voice and though Tom did not believe in coincidences he couldn’t help but think this was an oddly magical one.

The beer cap girl from the night before.

“Yeah, it dates back to 1538 and was created by—pardon my pronunciation—Bartolomeo Cristofori, the Italian man who is credited with inventing the piano,” she said, staring at it too. Her hair was slightly messed up. Wearing an overall that was covered with slight paint stains, a white cardigan over it.

“Oh, I would’ve never thought that,” Tom said. “It looks old.”

“Yeah,” she hadn’t looked at him, she was too entranced by it, her arms were crossed. “It's very old.”

Tom stared at her instead, how weird it was. He should’ve brought the scarf. No, that would’ve been weird, weirder than taking it.

“So you work here?” Tom questioned.

“No, I’m just incredibly good at lying,” she stated.

“Wha-what?”

“That fact I gave you, yeah that was a lie,” she grinned and finally turned to him. She tilted her head.

“Oh it sounded… very real,” Tom felt like an idiot.

“Yeah, I’ve worked on that for a while, lying to tourists, you’re my first one of the day,” she said. “So, a pleasure lying to someone with an accent.”

“It sounded very real,” Tom cleared his throat.

“I know, it’s a real fact, just slightly twisted,” she grinned. “I gave you the date wrong.”

Tom coughed. “Oh.”

“Yeah, and you straight up believed me,” she grinned. “The date is right there yet you listened to a random weirdo,” she grinned.

Tom blushed, “well, you sounded very—“

“No, don’t feel bad, it’s an art, lying to people,” she grinned.

He nodded in agreement.

She watched him curiously, “Do I know you?”

Tom faked to not recognize her. “I don’t think so.”

She narrowed her eyes, examining him head to toe. Then stopping at his face. “No, wait, were you at Bennie’s Beer Garden last night?”

She had recognized him.

“Uh—I was at a bar,” he decided to fake ignorance. “Oh—“he snapped his finger. “Wait are you—?”

“Beer cap girl, yeah,” she smiled. “Yeah, that was me, but I looked better last night.”

Tom smiled, “No, you look fine.”

“What a coincidence, thanks for the beer caps, by the way,” she chuckled. “How weird, and now you’re the first one I lie to.”

“It’s a pleasure, thank you,” Tom laughed.

“You must think I’m crazy, collecting beer caps and lying to strangers,” she blushed now, stepping back from him.

Tom did think that. In a good way. The girl seemed to be whatever he wanted to be: a fucking weirdo that don’t give two shits about anything in life.

“Surprisingly, no,” Tom shook his head. “I would lie to people instead if I was good at lying.”

Ironic, it seemed. Didn’t he make a living out of lying? Didn’t he technically lie his way through life?

“Yes, it's very tiring work, people say they don’t like being lied to,” she said. “I do, that’s why I love reading whatever is trending on twitter.”

Tom cackled, and turned his attention back to the piano.

“I’m y/n, by the way,” she mentioned casually.

“Tom,” he answered simply.

Y/N nodded. “So, Tom, what's your favorite lie supplier?”

“I watch movies,” he said, “or celebrity gossip.”

“A classic,” Y/N grinned. “Yeah, we all choose the lies we want to believe, I guess.”

“People like that, believing lies and feeling like they’re true,” Tom gave in. “Especially if they’re pretty. They help us escape reality.”

Y/N nodded slowly, and smirked. “We are getting deep now, huh?”

What the fuck did New York do to Tom that he randomly said poetic bullshit to strangers. He was embarrassed. “I—sorry.”

“No, no, I like that,” y/n was excited. “I guess you’re right. Lies are a way to cover something.”

“Yes, sometimes lying means protecting,” Tom bit his lip.

Y/N tilted her head. “Is it really?” She didn’t want to agree. “I would say lying is a way to actively hurt someone.”

“Well, were you trying to hurt me with your lie?” Tom challenged.

She licked her lips, defeated. “In a way,” she gave in. “I was trying to misinform you. So.”

“Well, what if the truth hurts more?” Tom questioned.

Y/N took a deep breath. “Then it’s a paradox.”

“Excuse me,” Someone interrupted them. “I’m sorry, y/n? I thought you weren’t coming today.”

Y/N smiled, “oh yeah, I wasn’t, I just forgot something in my locker and decided to walk around.”

The other guy turned to Tom. “Did she give you a fake fact?”

Tom chuckled, “she most certainly did.”

“Y/N, you can’t keep doing that,” the guy warned her. “You’re gonna get fired.”

Y/N grinned as she watched the guy go.

“I thought you didn’t work here,” Tom chuckled.

Y/N smiled mischievously, “I do, just another lie I said to you. You’re very lucky, two lies in one.”

Tom chuckled. “huh. Yeah, lucky me.”

“Yes, now if you’ll excuse me, little British man,” she grinned. “I’ll go lie to other people, nice lying to you.”

Tom grinned. “Yeah, yeah, nice… believing your lies.”

“Enjoy the Met,” she grinned. “Hope I get to see you again, thanks for the beer caps.”

“Thanks for the… lies,” he said, watching her leave. Maybe he was lucky.

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[wowtobio]

Hello! Can I ask headcanons for a new female Inarizaki manager? Someone is cute as a princess and takes care of them as a mom. Something like they relationships with her, how she supports them at matches, how they protect her etc. I need more headcanon about Inarizaki!

✧･ﾟ:*Being Inarizaki’s Female Manager*:･ﾟ✧*

yess i love them sm :’) thank you for the request love!

warnings: none

(credit to the artist of this amazing art!)

When you were first introduced to the team as the new female manager by Kita, majority of the members couldn’t help but be skeptical. It’s not like they wanted or needed a manager so it was strange that you appeared out of nowhere. 

Not gonna lie, you definitely felt un-welcomed when you first stepped into the gym. The squeaking sounds of shoes met the gym floors and the echoes from the hard impact each spiked ball landed shook you up a tad bit. And feeling their darkening stares that added to the menacing aura within the gym did not help at all. 

Naturally they were weary of you, just assuming you were a Miya fangirl wanting to get closer to the twins. Your recruiter, captain Kita was the first person to make you feel welcome to the team. Although he spoke to you in serious tones, he was straight to the point and voiced that he trusted you, which smoothed over your jitters. 

Atsumu was super flirty with you, Ginjima acted rough and passive towards you, Omimi kinda scared you with his intense looks, Osamu and Suna barely spared you a glance, and Aran and Akagi actually greeted you every now and then. 

You just went with the flow, and after a bit of doing serious work that actually helped the team they were like “oh shoot, maybe she is the real deal” 

Despite their coldness, you would still look after the boys. Making sure they were hydrated by providing them water always, scolding them for their injuries before patching them up, etc. They were caught off guard at your motherly behavior, but they slowly warmed up to you. 

Atsumu was still flirty as always, however his words and actions were more genuine and he showed that he cared for you. And, Osamu spared you some glances and he had light conversations with you about your favorite foods and even offered to cook for you!

Suna warmed up to you after you offered him a chuupet and Aran would “save” you from Atsumu’s endless flirting and poke fun at him for you. 

You’re very good at putting people in their place (mostly atsumu) and you are not afraid to stand up to their fangirls. Shutting them up and shooing them away if they cause too much noise in the gym. You shoot them glares if they talked smack about you. And that was probably the first thing the boys noticed about you that they realized you were different.

The members take turns on walking you home just to ensure you get home safely. You would stop by the konbini and get a snack or drink with whoever decided to take you home. You bonded over the snacks, finding out their quirks and what makes each guy unique.

During matches, you always had a thorough game plan with extensive amounts of research to back it up. It surprised the team at first and when it worked they thanked and celebrated your hard-work afterwards to some dinner. 

And you’re a silent cheerleader, being manager and all sitting next to the coaches you can’t exactly scream your heart out though you want too. But your eyes would always have a certain gleam and you would smile brightly when they impressed you, those looks are one of the reasons Inarizaki’s boys vb team fight for.

Team dinner’s are CHAOTIC, especially when they won. Nothing can calm them down, not even your constant exclaims to calm down and to be respectful while eating in a public place haha nice try. Despite your scolds, you still feel warm on the inside watching your boys celebrate.

On the other side of the spectrum, if they lost and were down in the dumps you never fail to brighten up the mood with your sweet smile and comforting words to the boys. They treasure your grin and with it they all feel better and motivated to win next time. 

Someone’s on your nerves? Always report to Kita. You won’t even blink an eye before you see that someone in the corner with double the drills. 

Oh yeah, meet your new personal body guards. Man pray for the next person that eyes you weirdly or insults you. The volleyball team do have a reputation, so once people found out that you were associated with them many would steer clear. Even if you were talking to a guy, that guy would feel knives at the back of his neck from the intense glares from Atsumu or even Ginjima. 

If someone made you cried? They no longer exist. At. All. What happened to them you may ask? Kita and his team have nothing to say about it. 

Gestures and acts of kindness you commit for them. Such as making their favorite onigiris for them (which are eaten in less than five secs, they loveee your cooking), washing their clothes and always folding them neatly, and always lending an ear to listen to their endless rants about each other haha. You’re not the only one who have their limits when it comes to these guys. 

Small gestures are also their thing. Atsumu’s annoying you? Kita’s already shut him up don’t worry. Need help carrying clean laundry? Aran easily carries two baskets. You don’t know what outfit to wear at a party? Atsumu’s already got three different options he wants you to try on. Need help prepping after practice snacks? Osamu’s got tips and tricks and will lend a hand. And if Kita gives you too much responsibilities as manager? Suna will bluntly tell him to lessen it for you.

HEADPATS. 

All day everyday, the boys just love to pat you on the head. They just think you’re so adorable and must be protected at all costs. 

But at the same time, you look out for your boys too because you only want the best for them like the proud mother you are.

It was a rough start at first, but you feel blessed to be able to manage an amazing, talented group of volleyball players. You consider yourself lucky to see the raw, burning passion in their eyes before practice and games. And you appreciate how much they care and look after you as much as you do them. 

They’re your boys! And they’re happy to be considered yours :)

And! Atsumu always steals your phone and spams it with selfies and pics of his fellow teammates. Phone’s flooded and your current homescreen is the image up above ^^ hehe 

-

a/n: work and ap exams got me drained but exams are over so i’ll have more time to write now :) sorry everyone for not being active this past week, i still love y’all!

[havethetimeofyourstyles]

Chapter Four.

a/n: this was one of my fav chapters to write, so hope you all enjoy! I think you’re all gonna like this one hehe :’) pls reblog to share and leave feedback as it continues to motivate me <3

SERIES MASTERLIST | word count: 10.1k

come talk to me about WTSGD! i’d love to know your thoughts!

October 31, 2017 

A lot had happened in the last five months that felt like an eternity. 

After Luci’s very first performance for Miss Saigon and her unfortunate breakdown that was caused by one of the biggest critics of Broadway, practically insulting her, she performed almost every night after that. 

When one bad review on her performance was ratified by hundreds of tweets and reviews, saying that Luci’s performance was one of the best they’d ever seen, she’d say she did her damn job. The night of her breakdown, she received a text from Nina, who sent her a link to a few reviews on her Broadway debut. Those articles directly addressed how unprofessional and poorly written Adam West’s review was, and that he needed to open his eyes to observe and admire brilliant, wonderful, and beautifully performed talent. On top of the important names next to Adam West, theatre-Twitter seemed to agree with the positive articles that were written about her, tweeting that Luci was the next face of Broadway; and who cared if she started her career in commercials and Off-Broadway because getting the role in Miss Saigon had proved that she worked her way up and that she was good. 

After reading the articles and tweets, her mood had drastically shifted. She was so overwhelmed by the positive comments that defended her from a misogynistic man that she cried again, but it was tears of happiness this time around. She walked out of her apartment, headed to Harry’s door to show him the uplifting reviews, and he was happy to see that she was ecstatic—he was happy for her. 

They had definitely become closer since that day. 

Harry and Luci hung out a lot. Whenever they had the chance and they both weren’t busy, they would knock on each other’s doors or text one another, asking to hang out. For the most part, he opened up to her, showcasing his true personality and becoming more comfortable around Luci—enough to joke around and be himself. He loved the way he didn’t feel like he had to be someone he’s not; everything felt true and real. 

It was refreshing for Harry to have a real friend, a best friend, other than Jeff and Mitch. Although he developed a small crush on said friend, it was nice to just have a chat and walk around the neighborhood with her. He’d been talking himself up to ask her out, not knowing if she’ll say yes or if she even feels that way about him; but from what he could tell, he thinks that she’s sort of infatuated with him. Luci would flirt with him from time to time, and would tell him that he’s adorable and sweet, making Harry’s cheeks redden from the sweet talk. 

Luci’s situation with Daisy and Samuel never got better. Ever since she started to perform more and more—sometimes even more than Daisy—they would be nothing but rude to her. They weren’t used to someone taking their spotlight; it was like someone stepping right in front of them on center stage to steal the show—especially if it was someone they despised and was new to Broadway. The two tried to take it up with Tal, demanding and arguing about how they deserved to perform every single night, but Tal kept her word to Luci and the rest of the industry: that she would stand up for her cast and run the show herself. 

Throughout the months, Luci had been talking with Harry about something very, very important. It was a few weeks ago, during their walk to a bagel place in the morning, when she first brought it up. 

“Remember that lady who came up to me after the show?” She asked as they walked along the sidewalk. Harry nodded, letting out a ‘mhm.’ “So, she’s a talent agent…” Harry raised his brows, thinking she was an agent for Broadway. “In Hollywood.” Samantha Stone was one of Hollywood’s greatest and biggest agents; she mostly worked with actors who were first starting out in the industry before making them successful. Samantha was always on the hunt for new and fresh talent; she walked the streets with an eye like a hawk. 

In early September, Samantha was in New York for a small getaway, as well as to meet one of her side pieces in the city. She figured she could watch a show or two since she was already in the city, and it’d been ages since she'd seen a Broadway show. Deciding on Miss Saigon because she saw the tweets and reviews of Luciana, she decided to give it a shot and see what her hype was about. And it did not disappoint. She was so intrigued and invested in the story, and was absolutely blown away by Luciana’s performance. Naturally, even though she shouldn’t be working, she waited until the cast was coming out of the theatre to approach her. 

Luci was in complete shock because she’d never had anyone walk up to her, telling her to give her a call because she was a talent agent and hoped to work with her soon. When Luci got back home, she looked up Samantha Stone and her breath hitched as she found out who she had worked with and what she did for a living. 

“Holy shit!” Harry completely stopped walking, making Luci stop as well. They stood on the side of the sidewalk as people passed by them. Harry beamed excitedly, but soon his smile softened, noticing Luci’s didn’t match his. “What’s the matter? Why aren’t you excited?” 

“I-I don’t know. I just get nervous thinking about it, like she wants to work with me.” Luci fiddled with her fingers. 

“Isn’t that great?” Harry asked softly; he didn’t see what was wrong with that, but he was being patient with Luci to try and understand what she was feeling and thinking about.

She nodded. “It is. I’m just nervous; I hate disappointing people. What if I call her and I do an audition or whatever, and she realizes that I’m not meant for the job? She’s the biggest agent in Hollywood, Harry. That would mean I’m not meant for any job,” she explained worriedly, anxiety bubbling up in her stomach as if it’d been simmering for hours on the stove.

Harry slightly frowned. He couldn’t imagine how it must feel to doubt one’s own talents, and he absolutely hated that Luci was doing it. 

“Luciana, listen to me.” Well, that definitely caught her attention. “You’re remarkably talented, end of. If you end up being dropped by that agent, then fuck her. She shouldn’t be a talent agent if she can’t see clear talent right in front of her. Literally everyone in the same room knows you are so incredibly gifted. Plus, wouldn’t you like to try it out? It doesn’t hurt to try because you have nothing to lose. You’ll still be on Broadway; and then you’ll try again later if right now is not your time.” 

Smiling, she appreciated his words. She nodded, knowing he was completely right. “Okay, I’ll give it a shot.” Her response seemed to satisfy Harry. “Thank you.” 

“Of course. I’ll always be here for you.” She smiled. “Still gonna help me grade papers?” 

She chuckled as they started walking on the pavement again. “Yup. Believe it or not, it’s actually fun grading papers.” 

He turned to her shockingly. “Oh, really? Then maybe you could be my TA and I’ll have you grade all the papers.” Luci laughed, saying that she didn’t mind; she adored moments when they were playful. Their friendship was refreshing to the both of them. 

A week after her conversation with Harry, where he reassured and encouraged her, she called Samantha, who was delighted to hear from Luci. Samantha asked if she wanted to meet for lunch; Luci was hesitant, but she remembered Harry’s words, and it really didn’t hurt to try, so she agreed and they met in Midtown at a Thai restaurant. 

It was a casual luncheon where Samantha got to know Luci before she decided if she wanted to sign her or not. Luci completely rocked her socks; she was funny, kind, and very humble—traits that not a lot of stars had. So, Samantha immediately thought she was perfect and very likeable. After thirty minutes of eating and chatting, Samantha pulled out her business side, along with a contract, and discussed what this could mean for Luci. She went over her contract very quickly, and Luci knew she couldn’t keep up so she pretended to listen, nodding and letting out a ‘mhm’ to be interactive. 

Samantha had a pen ready for her to sign, but if Luci knew anything, it was to not sign contracts right then and there, and to go over the contract in further details on her own. So, Luci told her that she would look over the stack of papers once more before she got back to her potential agent. 

Luci wished she took a business class to understand such things about contracts and how to handle things herself, but she thinks that she might enroll in some classes some time soon. She attended Boston University and graduated with a Bachelor’s degree in Performing Arts in Theatre Arts. On top of auditioning, solo acts, musical pieces, and countless shows for the four years she was there, she maintained a 3.5 GPA in her general education, and that’s something she’s incredibly proud of herself for. There were a few classes during her freshman year that she failed, making her consider dropping out, but she picked herself back up and promised herself to work harder, and she did. 

When she got back home, she tossed the contract on her coffee table as she sighed, grabbing a glass of water. She had felt stressed out about the situation, but then she remembered that Harry’s sister, Gemma, was a lawyer in London. So, she sent Harry a quick text, telling him about her situation, and asked if Gemma was able to help out. Harry was on his lunch when she texted, but he quickly asked Gemma and she was quick to comply, anything to help her brother’s friend.

The day after, Harry and Luci both sat down on his couch, FaceTiming Gemma on his laptop; it was the very first time his sister and Luci were meeting each other. Harry warned Luci that Gemma was a bit tough with his new friends, but once the two women chatted for a few minutes, Gemma was smittened with her; Harry was shocked at how quick they seemed to become friends, but he cherished it because he liked Luci…a lot. 

Luci had sent over a scanned version of the contract, so they went over it together with Harry sitting next to her for moral support; and from what Gemma said, the contract was clean. The most important thing that Gemma was looking for was that Luci had a say to back out of the contract, and it stated that clearly. Gemma told her that she could sign the contract if she wanted, and that eased Luci’s anxieties, making her thank Gemma almost a million times for her help. 

The next day, Luci met up with Samantha for brunch with the signed contract in her hand. Samantha was delighted to see that it was inked with her signature; she told Luci that this won’t be the only thing she was going to sign because so many people are going to want her autograph. That made Luci smile, giggling a tad bit at the thought of it. 

By the beginning of October, Samantha called Luci and informed her that she was booked for an audition for a supporting character in Ocean’s Eight that was to be released late next year. Luci was surprised at how quickly Samantha was able to get her an audition, but they didn’t call her the best for nothing. 

With only two weeks to prepare, Luci put her time and effort into rehearsing the few pages of the script Samantha had sent her. Luci didn’t have a talent coach whatsoever, so she tried her best to see every aspect of her acting, jotting down notes on the margins so she could further better herself. She was hiding her stress and nerves quite well as she tried not to freak out about how insane this opportunity was to even audition. 

When her audition was only two days away, she called Ren for the traditional pep-talk that inspired and motivated her to do better and to try her best because that was all that she could do. She wished that her family was physically next to her so she could feel the comfort and warmth that they provide because after all, they are home and always will be. 

Luckily, some producers were in New York holding auditions, so she didn’t have to fly to California for a day or two. She’d never felt more intimidated and nervous than the moment she stepped inside the medium-sized room that was painted in a light gray tone. A long foldable table was in the middle of the room with a small camcorder on a tripod next to it. Luci’s had many auditions, but this…this was real shit, the real deal. She was standing in front of Hollywood and big name producers who’d never heard of her name until the moment she walked in and they had a glimpse of her portfolio. 

She introduced herself, masking the nerves that were crawling up and down her body with a warm smile—not too bright, but enough to show her gorgeous grin. They asked her to read off of page twenty-three to twenty-five; taking a breath, she gave all that she could. And in her opinion, it’s the best acting she’d ever done, which is saying a lot because she thinks she did quite well after every show of Miss Saigon. 

The producers’ faces were unreadable as they simply looked at one another, writing a few notes on their yellow notepads. Luci wanted to lurk, to see what they were writing as she hoped they weren’t disappointed or had immediately crossed out her name from their list. 

They thanked her for coming in before dismissing her; she thanked them as well, waving as she walked out the door where she released the biggest sigh. It wasn’t from relief because she was still on edge of the result of her audition, but she felt like she had been holding her breath for the ten to fifteen minutes that she was in that room. Her heart was pounding quite sturdily; and if she was being honest, her mind had completely blanked out once they yelled ‘action,’ but that was usual for her. 

Now that it was ten days after her audition and Halloween, Harry practically begged Luci to get out of her apartment. She knew that she couldn’t stay cooped up in her room as she overthought the audition constantly. She began to get headaches from overthinking every single thing she did in that audition, and it drove her insane. 

So, when Harry suggested that she should go to the Halloween party that Daisy was throwing on the rooftop of her building, she dreaded it at first, but the thought of going out was calling her. She assumed Daisy wouldn’t want Luci to be at her party, but she invited the entire cast and a few more people that she knew personally, so it wasn’t like Daisy was going to speak to her. Since it was a party, everyone could bring a guest or a few friends, so that was when Luci begged Harry to attend with her. 

“Please, come with me.” She had her best pouty lip on, looking at him with doe eyes. Just by that look, he almost gave in, but he wasn’t sure if this type of party was for him. Harry was a mellow and chill guy; he didn’t need rooftop parties and unlimited amounts of booze. He was fine with a small gathering, a few movies and board games—now, that was his type of party. “The party would be so much more fun with you there.” 

Harry playfully scoffed. “Please. Luci, I’m the most boring guy there is.” 

Her brows furrowed in disagreement. “No, you’re not. I happen to think you’re quite fun.” He smiled softly at her in appreciation. “Please. We wouldn’t even have to stay that long.” 

He could tell that she wanted, no, needed him to be there with her. She wasn’t very close with her cast mates—despite all the months she’d been part of the production—besides Nina. But Nina knew everyone so Luci would be left awkwardly standing there, waiting for her friend to come back. 

“How long would we stay?” 

Her eyes brightened with hope. “However long you want.” 

“An hour? Hour and a half, tops?” 

“Sounds perfectly fine to me.” 

“And what would we wear?”

Luci was a bit shocked by his question. “You wanna match?” 

“I mean, that would be fun, right?” She nodded, agreeing. “Since it is quite last minute, I say we dress up as the 70s or 80s era. Pretty easy, right?” 

She liked the sound of that. “Yes, let’s do 70s! I wanna raid your closet because I know you have some gems in there.” 

Harry laughed out loud—her favorite laugh that was music to her ears. He knew he had a great sense of fashion, and he’d always go to the thrift store to pick up something that he’d never worn before. It wasn’t like he was not going to wear it, he just needed to be more comfortable with himself to wear the clothes that he buys. So, for now, he settled with black skinny jeans and patterned-print button downs, which is the most ‘flashy’ he’d dress as…for now. 

“I knew I liked you for a reason because I was hoping you’d say 70s.” Luci felt her cheeks warm up before they went to Harry’s apartment. 

It took an hour and a half to find an outfit that Harry liked; it would’ve been shorter, but with Harry’s 70s playlist that was playing in the background, they took breaks to dance and sing. Harry had a beautiful voice, Luci thought; and she wondered if he was ever in a band before or wrote music because he does have an elaborate music taste, and that added to Luci’s liking for him. 

They proceeded to go to Luci’s apartment so Harry could help her find an outfit. He brought his wireless speaker so the music wouldn’t stop; and she continuously threw the articles of clothing onto her bed—where Harry was lying on his stomach—every time he shook his head no. 

With the same amount of time it took Harry to decide on an outfit, Luci settled on hers. She looked in her full-body mirror, twirling around to see if it looked okay and if she was satisfied with it. Harry remained on her bed, admiring how beautiful she looked as he thought that she was way out of his league. As Luci was dancing and prancing around her apartment, Harry was deep in his thoughts; he didn’t know if asking Luci out was the way to go. Not only would he lose her as a friend when or if she rejects him, but he couldn’t bear the ache he would feel in his heart. 

For his own sake, he needed to protect himself before the heartbreak; and if that meant refraining himself from making a move, then that was completely fine to him. 

“Ready?” Luci called out from the doorway. Harry got off the bed, looking her up and down. 

She was wearing peach colored pants that flare at the bottom, sitting high on her waist; a white silk blouse with orange accents, a long brown coat because it was quite chilly outside, and pink glasses that were transparent. He thought she looked absolutely beautiful, and her outfit was meant for her. The colors matched Harry’s outfit as he wore rust-orange pants that sat wide at the bottom, a flashy patterned long-sleeved blouse with the collar matching his pants. Luci gave him a similar pair of glasses as hers, so they weren’t wearing shaded lenses in the nighttime. 

“Yup. You, uh, look really good.” 

Luci smiled, shrugging one shoulder. “Thank you! You look good, too. This color looks amazing on you.” 

Harry looked down at his outfit, hiding the blush that formed on his cheeks. “Thank you. I like it a lot.” 

They headed out and towards Daisy’s apartment building where the rooftop was large enough for everyone to stand comfortably without feeling like they were shoulder-to-shoulder. There were plenty of lounge chairs, and a few tall bar tables next to tall heaters, considering it was just below fifty degrees. 

Some people were making their way towards Daisy's apartment since it was too cold outside, but Harry and Luci decided to stay, both agreeing that the heaters were keeping them warm as they sipped on their drinks. 

“Luci!” Nina walked over towards her, giving her a hug; Luci made sure not to mess up the placement of her fairy wings. 

“You look amazing!” Luci complimented as Nina put her hands on her cheeks, thanking her friend. Luci could tell that Nina was a bit drunk already as her eyes were drooping and she couldn’t stand straight on her own two feet. 

“Harry! I’m so glad you’re here.” He smiled saying hello to her. Nina and Harry met in July when he had gone to see another show. He was giving Luci another bouquet of flowers—the same bundle that he gave her the last time since she told him that she really liked them, and they looked amazing on her windowsill—and she dragged him to find Nina since she was performing the same show. Nina immediately gave Luci that certain look that said ‘he’s really cute,’ and Luci just nodded, giving her an apparent look as well. 

“Did you bring anyone?” Luci asked, knowing that she was talking to a few guys; her favorites, from what Nina told her, was Laurent and Alec—the two guys that are in her Soul Cycle class, one on Monday and the other on Friday. 

Nina shook her head. “No. I wanted to get fucked up today and didn’t want any of my mans see that shit. Oh! Can I take a picture of you two? You both look so cute!” 

Luci looked at Harry, silently asking and he nodded. She stood beside him, not knowing whether to put her arm around his waist. They’d never taken a picture together before, after all the months of knowing each other. Luci handed Nina her phone before she turned on the flash, taking a picture of the two. Harry hesitantly puts his arm around Luci’s shoulder, making her look at him, smiling. She then wrapped her arm around his waist as they both smiled at each other before looking back at the camera. Nina was squealing behind the phone because she just captured the cute and quiet interaction between them that made for a sweet candid. 

Nina handed Luci’s phone back to her before she told her that she was going to talk to some other people. The two women hugged, and Nina said goodbye to Harry. 

Harry leaned into Luci’s side, bending down slightly. “Send me those pictures, yeah?” 

A chill ran through her body at the sound of his voice so close to her ear. “Sure,” she croaked out, sending the pictures to him. 

After a few moments of light conversation and humming the beat of the music, Harry asked, “So, which one is Daisy?” 

Luci looked at him, quite shocked as to what sparked his interest in her, but she didn’t say anything. She looked around until she spotted her in a leather catwoman suit, hugging her body tightly that Luci thought it was cutting off her circulation. But she had to admit that it looked amazing on her. 

“That one.” She slyly pointed at Daisy who was talking to some of her friends. Luci was surprised to see that Samuel wasn’t here, considering that he was part of the cast. Daisy and Samuel seemed to be in their ‘off again’ stage of their relationship; and no one who was part of the cast or who was close to them could keep up with how many times they’d been through that stage, but they seemed to like each other too much to call it quits for good. 

“Hmm. She seems nice.” 

“Yeah, she does—to everyone except me.” They were both looking at Daisy, and it was like Daisy could sense a few eyes on her, so she looked around and made direct eye contact with Luci. She excused herself to her group of friends before making her way towards her and Harry. “Speak of the devil.” Luci sighed, making Harry chuckle. 

“Luci! I’m so glad you made it.” Daisy faked a smile as she greeted Luci with a hug, which surprised both Luci and Harry. Daisy pulled away, immediately locking eyes on this. “Oh, who’s your friend?” Instantly, Luci knew why Daisy was so nice to her; it was because she spotted Harry and didn’t want him to think she was such a bitch. 

With her brows furrowed, Luci shifted a little closer to Harry who was standing there and not saying anything. “This is Harry.” 

Daisy flashed him her stunning smile that wooed almost everyone. “Hi, I’m Daisy.” He shook her hand, introducing himself. “Your outfit looks really good.” She complimented him. 

“Thanks, Luci helped me pick it out.” He smiled at Luci, who was smirking. For a second, Daisy rolled her eyes before she returned to her big smile. 

“Would you like to get a drink with me? I see you’re almost empty.” Daisy’s eyes pointed at his cup, which only had a small sip lingering at the bottom of his clear plastic cup. 

“Uh-”

“C’mon, just one drink?” Her voice was innocent and sweet, nothing like the cruel and rude Daisy that Luci knew all too well. 

What Luci expected Harry to say was that he was okay and that he didn’t want a drink with her, but he responded quite the opposite. 

“Okay, sure.” Luci’s head averted towards Harry as she looked at him with shock and a face asking what the fuck he was doing. But he shrugged as Daisy clapped, grabbing his wrist and pulling him towards the bar. Luci huffed, watching the two walk away and she was left by herself with a watered down drink and the cold air. 

She figured she’d wait for him to come back to where she was sitting, hoping he wouldn’t take too long. 

But twenty minutes had gone by, and Luci started getting annoyed.  

Thirty minutes, and Luci tells herself that she doesn’t care and mindlessly goes on her phone. 

An hour had gone by when Luci huffed, mentally saying that she does give a shit and goes to find Harry. 

How long could one drink take anyways? Definitely not an hour, Luci thought. She searched the rooftop for the two, only to hope that Harry was looking for her too. After ten minutes of looking around the rooftop, passing her cast mates who were asking her to take a shot with them—she took another one, adding more alcohol into her body—she couldn’t find Harry. She started to think the worst; he could’ve possibly taken Daisy home, or Daisy could have taken him up to her room—either way, she didn’t like any of those options. 

For a minute, she mentally debated if she should check Daisy’s apartment, which would be better since it was warmer indoors than it was out—she was convinced it got colder once Harry left her side—but the negative side of her mind, who was taunting her like the devil on her left shoulder, told her to check if Harry was inside because she wasn’t going to like what she was going to see. 

Either way, she needed to find Harry and she didn’t want to go home without him, so she went inside the building and took the elevator down to Daisy’s floor. There were people walking in and out of her place, so it wasn’t that difficult to find which one was hers. With the same amount of people inside her apartment as there was on the rooftop, Luci made her way through the nice and luxurious apartment. She was just on the edge of tipsy; the drinks with her coworkers had gotten her there. Heading up the stairs, she passed by people who were making out, cuddling on the steps, and talking. 

Once she got to the end of the hallway, she had almost given up on her search for Harry until the door at the end of the hall opened, revealing Harry who was leaving and quietly closing the door. 

Luci stood in the middle with an expressionless face. He hadn’t seen her yet, but the way she wasn’t giving any emotion didn’t mean that she didn’t care; the thoughts in her mind were invading every inch that there was just too much to focus on. 

Harry turned around, stopping in his tracks once he faced her. 

“Hey,” he greeted softly. 

“Hi.” 

“I’m sorry for leaving-”

“Were you…” Luci referred to what was happening inside the room as she couldn’t finish her sentence because the thought and the words simply disgusted her. 

“N-No.”

“Why do you seem unsure?” She was testing him; she heard the hesitancy in his voice, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell the truth. 

A new attitude rose him. “Why do you care?” His voice was a tad bit harsher, but he was a little confused on why she was questioning his actions. 

She inhaled and exhaled deeply, crossing her arms, avoiding his question. “I’m going home. Are you coming with or…?” Harry bit the inside of his cheek, remembering that she hadn’t answered his question, so he’ll ask again later. He nodded, and Luci turned around; he followed. 

The entire ride on the subway and walking towards their apartment building was quiet. They didn’t even sit next to each other like they always did; just across one another, avoiding eye contact.

It was when they were both in front and unlocking their doors was when Harry spoke up. 

“Luci.” She stopped her movements, turning around slowly as did he. This time, she looked at him so deeply in the eyes that it was physically difficult for her to take her eyes off him. “Why were you mad at me before we left?” 

On the ride back home, Harry thought about the events at the party. He’d never seen Luci so annoyed at him before, so it got him thinking a lot about what she felt for him. She was jealous, anyone could see that, and he wanted her to say it out loud why she was jealous because he could name a few reasons. 

“Did you have a good time with Daisy?” 

Harry breathed out a chuckle. “You’re jealous,” he stated immediately. 

“Answer my question-”

“Then answer mine.” 

The tension was so thick that with just one small poke of a needle, it would collapse and break. They’d never had this type of conversation before, where the tension was rising and the room felt warm; they were always playful and laughing with each other that neither of them thought they were capable of having this certain type of energy with one another. 

“I was mad because you left me alone at the party…with Daisy of all people,” she said honestly, leaving a few things out. 

“Is that all?” He raised his brows, crossing his arms. 

Luci shook her head. “That’s not how it works, Styles. I answer yours, you answer mine.” 

A smug grin landed on Harry’s face. “Did I have a good time with Daisy?” He repeated her question. “To be honest with you, no. She was pretty drunk, so I took her to her bedroom—that’s why I was in there, She was…nice.” Luci sensed a ‘but’ trailing. “She even asked me if I’d wanna go out some time.”

“What’d you say?” 

He tsked. “Not how it works, Suki.” Luci rolled her eyes, letting out a soft huff. “Hey, they’re your rules.” He chuckled. “Now, answer this: why were you jealous?” 

There was a surge of confidence that Harry’s never felt before; maybe it was because he knew things Luci didn’t know herself, but watching her unfold those realizations was definitely feeding his ego. 

Luci sighed deeply before she started. “Knowing that Daisy could possibly get anyone she wanted was a bit of an insecurity of mine when we were on our way to the party. That was because I knew she’d want you. I mean…look at you, you’re literally so gorgeous.” Harry blushed. “And I knew that it was inevitable that she would ask you to hang out; I was just surprised when you said yes.” 

He nodded. “I rejected her when she asked if I wanted to go out.” A bit of weight lifted from Luci’s shoulders, but not completely as there was still something heavy she’s been wanting to say. “Why’d you hope I’d say no? Besides the obvious that she’s mean and rude to you.” 

Alright, time to fess up, Luci. 

Luci inhaled deeply, hoping her confession wouldn’t have him running for the hills. “Because why would you go out with her when you could go out with me? Like, on a date…” Her anxiety was up to her chin as she locked her hands behind her back, preventing them from shaking any more than they already were. 

That one simple question had answered all of the other questions swirling in his mind; not the ones that were asked in the rapid fire round of questioning and answering under the thick cloud of tension over them, but the ones he asked himself a few months ago when he was doubting that she’d ever felt something for him because all this time, she had felt something, and she just asked him out. 

His heart flipped. “You wanna go on a date with me?” 

“Yeah, I’ve been wanting to ask, but I didn’t know if you were interested in me or not,” she said shyly. Luci hadn’t asked someone out before—someone she was really interested in. She’d either wait until they asked her and if they didn’t, she’d move on and pretend that her feelings for them never existed. But Harry was different; seeing him with Daisy tonight had made her realize just how much she felt for him. He made her laugh, smile, and he was such a kind person. 

“I’d love to.” He suddenly answered, taking her back a little. 

She looked at him with wide eyes. “R-Really?” 

“Yeah. I’ve been meaning to ask you too, because I’m very much interested in you, but I didn’t know you were interested, well, until tonight.” Luci giggled. 

“I made it pretty obvious that I was jealous, huh?” 

“A tad bit, but it’s sweet; and I wasn’t gonna go on a date with Daisy. She’s no Luciana Ivy Suki.” He teased, making her face heat up at the sound of her full name coming from his lips. She wanted to kiss him right then and then, wanted to taste the sweet taste that he was storing in his mouth; but she refrained from doing so, figuring that they’d wait until after their date—whenever that was—to wait to kiss him because it would very much be worth the wait. 

“Okay, I’ll, uh, plan the date then.” Her lips turned up, feeling a certain ache on her cheeks already from smiling too much. 

“Can I plan it too?” He genuinely asked. 

“I did ask you, Harry.” She raised her brows teasingly. 

“Alright, alright. I’ll plan the next date then.” He blushed. 

Luci tilted her head, smiling sweetly at his words. “The next date, huh? We haven’t even been on the first date; what makes you think there’ll be a second one.” 

“Oh, love, I think there will be.” Harry stepped closer to her, heart pounding in his chest; Luci gulped at the closeness. For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her by the way he was looking at her intently. And for a moment, she was gonna give in and say ‘fuck waiting,’ and kiss his pink lips until he leaned forward and kissed her soft cheek for a brief moment. “Can’t wait for our date. Let me know what the plans are.” 

“O-Okay.” The touch of his lips on her skin had stunned her, and she wanted them back on her instantly. 

Harry opened his door, giving Luci a small smile before walking in. She started to slowly back into her open apartment, holding onto the door handle tightly. Before they closed their doors, they stared at one another, admiring each other before they said: 

“Sweet dreams, Luciana.” 

“Sweet dreams, Harry.” 

November 8, 2017 

Harry strongly knocked three times on the door right across from his own door with a bag full of takeout, another bag full of snacks, and a small brown bag that had a white box inside. 

The door swung open; Luci smiled at the person behind it. 

“Happy Birthday, love!” Harry greeted.

“Aww, Harry, thank you so much.” She was surprised that he remembered, let alone bring a celebration to her as she eyed the bags in his hands. Luci turned twenty-six today; her day was full of greetings from her cast mates, her family, and FaceTime calls from her brother and parents. She was going to make a trip back home for a day or two since she had to perform on Friday, but she was going to see her parents during Thanksgiving, so FaceTime calls had to suffice till then. 

Stepping to the side, she invited him in. He hugged her tightly, kissing the side of her head as her face heated up. They walked to the kitchen, and Harry set the bags on the countertop, unraveling the tie of the takeout. 

“First, I’m sorry for just showing up unannounced and invading your place.” He added a breathy laugh. 

“No, it’s okay! You’re welcomed any time,” she genuinely said; Harry made a mental note of that. 

“Second, this is not a date. I know you didn’t want today to be our first date, but I couldn’t just sit in my apartment and not do anything on your special day! So, here I am.” 

“Here you are.” Luci couldn’t help the warmth that rushed to her face and neck. 

“Third, I brought Chinese since it’s your favorite food. And I just so happen to know a lovely place that has the best Chinese in Brooklyn, which is my favorite place that I’ll take you to soon, but know that you’re so incredibly special because I never take anyone there.” He took the takeaway boxes out of the bag, opening them up as steam released from the boxes. 

Luci leaned against the countertop. “And what makes me so special?” Teasingly fluttering her eyes. 

Harry stopped what he was doing, looking at her intently. “You’re so sweet, funny, and incredibly kind. But most importantly, you’re grounded and humble; and you’re special to me.” His dimpled poked through his skin as he smiled, meaning every word. 

Heart flipping, stomach in knots, and tears washing over her eyes, Luci walked around the counter to hug him, head resting against his chest as she whispered a ‘thank you’ in his ear. 

For the rest of their night, they ate the authentic Chinese food while Harry told her about the restaurant he got it from, including the workers who owned the place. They also talked about work, teased, flirted, and bantered about whether fruit belonged in salads—they do not. 

Harry gave her the brown paper bag that held her gift, and she opened it with shock. He gifted her a gold circle pin that was customized with her initials engraved in the middle, and the saying ‘Shine bright, Dream even bigger,’ separated at the top and bottom. He’d noticed that she had pins on her travel backpack, and would occasionally wear one on the side of her baseball cap. It was the most thoughtful and attentive gift she’d ever received, and that earned Harry a tight hug and many thank you’s. 

After the night was coming close to eleven-thirty, Harry called it a night as he still had to wake up early tomorrow for work. Their goodbye at her door was a long one that was filled with tight and long hugs as they swayed for a moment, enjoying the warmth of each other. They promised each other that they would find a day that was open in their schedule so they could finally have their date; they even pinky swore on it—Harry kissed her pinky, vowing. 

Luci watched Harry open his door before walking inside his apartment; she blew him a kiss as he caught it, placing his palm on his cheek, making her smile. 

As they closed their doors, Luci couldn’t help but think that she just had the best birthday ever. 

November 17, 2017 

Luci’s leg nervously shook as she waited for her digital clock to hit 2:30 p.m. 

Today was Luci and Harry’s first date, and will hopefully be written down in history. She’d been anticipating this day for a while now, and she couldn’t believe the day was finally here. The few days after she asked him out, they tried settling on a date, but the two weeks after Halloween were booked for them. 

Luci was performing most days out of the week and Harry needed to figure out his teaching plans since it was close to Thanksgiving break and winter break. But when Harry found out that he had a random Friday off, he immediately told her, and to their luck, Luci wasn’t performing that day. So, they were settled on a day, and Luci couldn’t wait to take him out. 

She told him that he was going to need to dress warm since they were going to be outside for most of the day, so he opted for light blue jeans that were a bit baggy, a white t-shirt, a black coat that had faux fur on the thick collar and cuffs; since he, assumingly, was going to be walking around a lot, he wore black old school vans. Harry looked in the mirror, ruffling his hair in his hands to get it to stick the way he wanted it to. His hands slightly shook as he was fixing his hair, and he realized he hadn’t felt this nervous in a while; it had been a while since he’d gone on a date with someone he truly liked. 

When it hit two-thirty, Harry opened his door and locked it before taking a step forward. He took a breath, shaking his nerves off; as he was just about to knock, he heard Luci shuffling around inside her apartment as her keys jingled in her hands and her boots thudded against the wood. He put his hand down, thinking it would be nice for her to just see him right when she opened the door. After a few moments, Luci felt like she had everything she needed, so she swung her door open to only find Harry standing right in front of it, hiding behind a familiar bouquet of flowers—her favorite ones from him. 

“Hello.” He smiled, dimples clearly present. Luci felt like she could cry on the spot from just being so overwhelmed with her nerves and the anticipation leading up to this day, this moment. “These are for you. Hope you never get tired of them.” Harry handed her the bouquet, and she hugged them to her chest. 

“Harry, thank you. Believe me, I would never.” The start of her cheek aches had begun, and it had been about thirty seconds into their date. But cheek aches with Harry were her favorite type of aches, so she didn’t really mind it. 

She went back inside her apartment as Harry followed her in; she put the flowers in a vase before fixing them a little, making sure none of them were drooping down on the edge of the glass vase. Placing them on her windowsill, where she usually puts the flowers Harry gifted her, she smiled gratefully at them before turning her head and smiling at Harry, extra grateful. 

“Shall we go?” He asked, and she nodded. 

Harry followed Luci down to the subway station as she got on the M train. In eleven minutes, there were four stops; the subway was quite packed with no available seats, so the two stood, holding onto the silver bar in between them with their bodies close in proximity as they stood. Harry took the chance to look down at her, simply admiring her beauty as she mindlessly looked around, not noticing his eyes lingering on her. 

When their stop was on Essex Street, they got off, transferring onto the F train towards Coney Island; and Harry suddenly knew exactly where they were going. He didn’t say anything but smile. The entirety of the ride took forty-two minutes with twenty-two stops; they were able to sit down next to each other after the first stop. 

Their bodies were close—thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder. Luci took out her wired earphones—figuring they were going to be there for a while, why not listen to some music—handing Harry the left one as she put the right one in. She played Fleetwood Mac, Tame Impala, ABBA, Lorde, and Hozier—a few artists they’d bonded over—as they both swayed in their seats, making up some dance routine with their arms and shoulders. They laughed and ignored the weird looks of bystanders, who were trying to have a peaceful train ride to their destination, but Luci and Harry were too focused on each other to care. 

Once it was their stop, Luci put her headphones and phone in her purse before they got off and walked side by side one another. Harry had the urge to pull her close to his side, to hold her soft hand, but he was too shy to make a move. When they walked up the stairs to exit the station, their fingers brushed together—practically bumping into one another. Luci confidently made the move and linked their fingers together; Harry looked down and back up at her as he blushed, squeezing her hand lightly. 

“Is this okay?” She asked, looking up at him. 

“It’s perfect.” He meant it; the way her small hands fit so perfectly into his, as if he was protecting them. Holding her hand was comforting, and it surprised him at how comfortable he was to be making physical contact with her; but ever since he met Luci, he’s surprised himself quite a few times already. 

They finally reached their first date hotspot, and Harry assumed right as to where she was taking him. 

Three wide entryways painted in navy blue and orange had ‘Luna Park’ painted in orange at the top. Above the entryways were large flower-like and crescent moons that lit up during the nighttime, giving the boardwalk the most illuminating glow. The large Ferris wheel could not be missed as the carts swung and rattled back and forth. On top of the excitement of the amusement park, there were screams from people who were on the roller coasters, and the smell of fair food that they couldn’t wait to devour. 

Luci paid for their entrance admission, and Harry frowned, wanting to pay, but they both agreed that they could go half on the food, and games and rides. 

They felt like little kids who were at Disneyland, minus the famous castle and Main Street music, as they walked around the park to check it out as the wood beneath them creaked with every step while they hadn’t let go of each other’s hands. 

“Everything looks really fun,” Harry exclaimed.

“Right! Do you wanna play some games first or ride on some rides?” 

“How about we get the rides out of the way? You look very excited to go on them, and I have a feeling there’s no way you’re not going on them without me.” Harry assumed, quite accurately. 

Luci put her hand on her heart teasingly. “You know me too well.” Harry chuckled. “Okay, let’s go on some rides!” She dragged him to the admissions booth, and Harry paid for both of their passes for rides. 

They waited in line for the ‘Cyclone,’ which was the biggest rollercoaster besides the Wonder Wheel. Luci sensed Harry’s nerves as he kept looking up at the ride, and he couldn’t keep still. 

She squeezed his hand tightly. “Harry, you don’t have to go on the ride with me.” She was starting to feel concerned for him because his hands were becoming damp, which she didn’t care for, and he kept bouncing his leg everytime the line stopped moving. 

He raised his brows, and brushed away his nerves to the side but not very far. “No, no. It’s okay—I’ll be okay.” 

“Are you sure?” 

Pressing a kiss to the back of her hand, he nodded. “I’m sure. We’re here to have some fun, not be nervous, right?” 

“Yeah. But I’ll admit, I was nervous before we left,” she said, hoping to change the subject to distract him from the fast ride above them. 

“Why’s that?” He curled his lips into his mouth. 

“This is our first date, I want it to go well,” she said honestly. It had been a while since she’d been on a real date—the last one being in college—but to be nervous for a date was a feeling she wasn’t familiar with. 

“Think it’s going quite well, don’t you think?” He gave her a toothless grin, brows raised. Luci nodded, happy that he was always reassuring her and making her feel comfortable. “Plus, I was nervous too—still am, if I’m being honest.” 

“Yeah?” 

He nodded his head as if his nerves were the most obvious thing. “Oh, yeah. I want this to go well too. But by the way we’ve been friends for months before this happened, I think we’ll be okay, Ci.” Her eyes slightly widened at the new nickname that she’d never heard; Harry instantly noticed her shock. “I-Is it okay if I call you that?” To be honest, he’s always wanted to call her some unique nickname that would only be for him. ‘Luci’ seemed to be the name everyone called her, ‘Ana’ was her brother’s name for her, so the last syllable in her name seemed to be free. 

“No one’s ever called me that.” And she thinks that’s extra special. “But yes, please call me that.” She approved, and he smiled. 

It was their turn to get onto the Cyclone, and Harry suddenly didn’t feel so nervous anymore as they were being safely strapped into their rollercoaster cart. The ride was quite high, looking over the blue water and Coney Island Beach; the view was quite gorgeous, even in the middle of a cold November day in New York. 

They screamed as the ride dropped; Luci held up one of her arms as the other held tightly on Harry’s hand as he grasped the metal bar, afraid to bravely put his arm up like his beautiful date. 

When the ride was finished, they had a rush of exhilaration, wanting to go on the other rides. So, they did; they laughed, screamed, and were the most carefree people they’d ever been in their entire lives because they brought it out of each other. 

After they filled their rollercoaster crave, they ate and talked. Individually, they were both worried about this part of the date where they had to talk because they’d been hanging out for so many months and getting to know each other that they thought coming up with conversation topics were going to be difficult. But it was natural for them; they didn’t put any pressure on themselves to speak every single minute of the date. Instead, they relished in the comfortable silence they seemed to form, not minding it one bit. 

The sky had turned into a cotton candy pink from a bright blue quite quickly. Luci wanted to watch the sunset, but was a bit sad that they hadn’t played the majority of the games; but Harry told her it was okay, and they would come back another time when the park reopened again during the Spring. 

Hand in hand, they walked to the beach that was just across the street from Luna Park. The bright lights from the park were becoming distant as they continued to walk further away from it. Since it was mid November, there weren’t that many people out because of the cold temperature—just the few people who were passing by along with others who decided to watch the sunset as well. 

“Tell me about your last relationship?” Luci suddenly asked; Harry looked at her amusingly. 

“Like now? In the middle of our date?” He teased, making her laugh. 

“I mean, if you want to. I was just curious.” 

Harry thought for a moment. “Hmm. My last serious relationship was over a year ago. We broke up right before I started teaching at the middle school.” 

“What happened?” She asked softly, not wanting to pry, but she was also curious. 

“We weren’t good for each other anymore. I guess life happened, and we turned into people we weren’t proud of. We grew apart; she was more in love with her career than she was in love with me. Couldn’t say I was the best boyfriend either,” he explained, not getting into too much detail. But he’d neglected her without even realizing it, causing his ex to occupy herself with work. “So, we broke up. And it felt like it was a sign from the universe that was holding me back from venturing out because I immediately got a job at the school when I had been putting off finding a proper teaching job.” He breathed out a chuckle, remembering the memory.

He’ll admit, his last relationship had hurt him quite a lot. He’d never felt such pain before, and it had made him quiet and reserved. But how it ended made him not seek out to find a relationship. For a while, he didn’t like the idea of love because it had only hurt you. But then he met Luci, and at first, he was hesitant to even be her friend because just at first glance, he was ruined, and he didn’t want to go through that process again; but here they are now. And maybe, he’ll tell her this, but for now, he doesn’t want to scare her off. 

“Do you still talk to her?” 

“Nope. Last I heard of her, she was engaged to this woman she met a few weeks after our breakup, but I have no clue if they’re still together.” He shrugged his shoulders. “What about you?” 

“My last relationship?” Harry nodded. “To be honest, I’ve never been in a serious one…like ever.” 

He raised his brows in shock. “Really?” 

“Yeah. The furthest I’ve gone that was close to a relationship was a friends-with-benefits towards the end of college, which didn’t end well.” Harry sensed her mood change a bit, so he didn’t pry on asking what happened in the past. The bad memories had filled her mind, making her frown, but she pushed those thoughts away, not wanting to think about them at the moment because the timing is unbelievable. “That’s that; I don't have any exciting or tea-spilling relationship stories.” 

For a moment, she didn’t want to jinx her luck, but she imagined what it would be like to be in a relationship with Harry—despite it only being their first date. Her mind took her to a fantasy that was so special and sweet because that was how she pictured what it would be like to be with him. 

They sat in silence as the sound of the waves crashing and the seagulls above them took over their hearing. It was nice and refreshing to sit side by side, taking in the beautiful scenery that the world provided. Sunsets had always made Luci feel a vast amount of gratitude towards the world and the people around her; the opportunities, the things that she got to see—they all wouldn’t have happened if the sun didn't go down, promising a new tomorrow. 

Suddenly, Harry stood up, brushing the sand that had gotten on his jeans. He reached out to Luci, who was still sitting down and looking up at him. 

“C’mon. Let’s walk,” he suggested. She grabbed his hand as he helped her up, and she patted away the soft sand that had stuck to her black jeans. 

They held hands as they walked the shore of Coney Island Beach, walking towards where the sun was departing from the world. Once the sky had turned into a purple and orange blended masterpiece, Harry stopped walking, facing Luci as he took a deep breath. 

“I’m trying…really hard to hold back.” He held her cold hands in his, lightly pushing and pulling her towards him. He’d been thinking about it for the entirety of their date, and he just wanted to pull her in and kiss her whenever.

Luci shook her head softly as she stopped swaying; her eyes flickered towards his mouth, glad she wasn’t the only one thinking the same thing. She dreamed of this—had been wanting to press her lips against his for quite some time 

“Don’t hold back. Please, don’t hold back.” Her tone and eyes were pleading for him to not refrain himself from the most magical feeling. Luci let go of his hands, wrapping them around his waist as if she was giving him permission to kiss her. 

He placed his hands on her shoulders, gently rubbing down to her elbows before he trailed them back up and to the sides of her neck and jaw. Placing a soft kiss to her forehead before placing his on Luci’s, he inhaled deeply, taking in the saltiness of the ocean next to them and the sweetness of her skin. 

Luci fluttered her eyes closed, and Harry took that opportunity to connect his lips with hers. They molded their lips together as if it were one, tasting one another for the first time. The feeling of their passionate kiss felt like the ocean had synchronized together, forming the most beautiful and largest wave for the most dedicated surfer; and when it crashed, it was powerful, breathtaking, and strong—like no other wave could top this one, no one could top this one of a kind kiss. 

Harry smiled into the kiss, making Luci smile and giggle as well. Her stomach fluttered, hugging him tighter to her as his thumbs gently caressed her soft skin. Nothing could top this feeling. 

Pulling back, Harry breathed out a giddy chuckle before placing a few more pecks on her lips as if he was dreaming the first time. Luci opened her eyes as did he; she looked into his and found an immense amount of adoration within him. 

“I like you…a lot.” 

She leaned her forehead against his chest, cheekily smiling and restricting herself from squealing before she looked back up at him. “I like you too, Harry.” 

Harry flashed her his smile, something that he couldn’t wipe off his face, not like he tried. Nowadays, he was smiling a lot more, and he was one hundred percent sure Luci was the cause of it. 

Kissing her forehead, Harry hugged her to his chest as they watched the sun go down. With her face pressed against his chest, she heard the erratic heartbeat that was pounded heavily; and in that moment, she knew exactly how that felt—to feel so much for one person that your heart could fall out—and she only hoped he could feel hers because it was pounding just the same. 

As they held each other tightly, they both knew that this was going to be something special. 

And they were all in for the ride.

an exciting chapter! come talk to me about your thoughts, feelings, favorite moments and scenes! thank you for reading <3 next chapter will be up next saturday!

[lofi-tophat]

Let’s talk about the 70s punk scene and HWS England

I sometimes feel that the fandom doesn’t give England’s love for punk/rock music much justice. Some authors usually write about this human AU in which Arthur wants to be a rockstar and some others plainly avoid the topic whatsoever. Which is a pity because I actually believe the whole character has a deep punk reference, specially regarding appearence (might expand on this in another post but basically, for me, England seems like some random bushy browed anime 70s punk guy who suddenly has to put on a suit and attend world meetings, which is both fascinating and hilarious).

So I thought maybe we could dive a bit into very general punk history and then I’d like to share with you some hc regarding England’s involvement with punk culture in general (if you just want to read the hcs just scroll down to the last paragraph with the bullet ponts).

My experience in punk stuff is actually that I’m kind of a metalhead lol. Metalheads and punks had and probably still have a deeply-rooted rivalry. However, punk influenced metal a lot, and metal also influenced punk. So I stumbled upon many punk facts while browsing about my favorite metal bands. 

Take this as historical hetalia... but counterculture historical hetalia :D (which is something we need more in the fandom, btw, I know military history is cool but its also cool how humans expressed themselves through art, fashion and music when they felt the pressure of authority and the frustration of society).

Historical context

Let’s return a bit in time and remember the 60s. The 60s were this blessed time in which people tried to defeat the establishment with peace and love. The hippie movement is from this decade and it influenced a lot on how people thought and behaved. In terms of counterculture, I must say this is a fascinating time in history (I recently discovered psychodelic science and its so incredible what was being talked back then).

Anyways, although a lot of young people were into this discourse of love and peace, some weren’t really that happy about it. In Europe, the post-war situation was sad and a lot of young people either were jobless or had the shittiest jobs you could imagine. Politics were also depressing. This was the origin not only for punk but also for other genres of heavy music, such as metal: People who didn’t want to be all happy and peaceful and had the need to express their frustration and anger, shouting about how society was fucked up. They needed an outlet.

Origins of punk

The origins of punk music are actually not quite clear. In fact, the US and the UK both claim that punk music was born in their country. Funnily enough, my country also claims to be the origin of punk (I’ll leave this mini-doc for you. Sadly, I don’t think this is a correct claim, mainly because their music was in spanish and I doubt that major punk bands took them as reference. Its a cool band tho).

I have to side with americans on this: The arguments for the american origins of punk are quite solid. The Ramones were the first actual punk band out there. They were active since 1974. Their music had all the elements of punk and, chronologically, they were the first ones performing this type of sound.

However, they didn’t have the aesthetic. That actually was a british invention. American punk had still leather jackets, jeans and sneakers. British punk? Well, remember all those ripped pants and shirts you commonly associate with punk? Yes, those were the Sex Pistols all along. They were the ones introducing the attitude and the style. The Pistols had some insane performances and a huge shock-value that can’t be found in early american punk. So you can safely say that your image of what a punk is is based mainly on the Pistols (also, for singing anti-authoritarian lyrics, they actually were managed by some dude who had a fashion shop. So yeah...).

Punk attitude or philosophy or whatever

The reason why I addressed the rockstar thing at the start of the post is because I find it curious. Punk is characterized by the whole Do It Yourself attitude and breaking with the establishment. Anarchism in punk is scandalizing people since there is no authority whatsoever. There wasn’t really any deep philosophy behind all of this, nor any political movement. Punk has nothing to do with a formal anarchist philosophy (which actually exists and has nothing to do with disorder). However, punk is characterized by the anti-establihsment lyrics. Remember, this is all about scandalizing people (which sometimes took great lengths). Presentations from british punk bands were also quite wild those days. They involved a lot of insults, spitting and, of course, pogo.

So, it is obvious that there is this deep concern about turning into a sellout, a pretty common fear in any underground scene. Authenticity was encouraged. Aspiring rockstars really didn’t have much mercy in the community so to speak, at least in this specific period. 

I would also like to add how punk had other aspects beside the music. For example, fanzines were pretty popular in the punk scene in the 70s and a great way to engage with what was going on with bands and music. I remember also this interview of this band in which they remembered how a very high guy decided to recite his poem while the band was playing. So, yeah, literature, illustration, fashion and other stuff were involved in the punk scene too.

British punk was also characterized by a very nihilistic attitude and a total disregard for previous influences. 1977, a song by The Clash, stated:

No Elvis, Beatles, or the Rolling Stones!

Now, for the important stuff: The music. Punk music is all about being simple. Punk musicians aren’t really known for their virtuosity in their instruments, something that actually inspired musicians from a lot of heavy bands later. In fact, the famous Sid Vicious from the Sex Pistols never could learn how to play the bass. So the band disconnected his instrument from the amplifier and he only had to pretend to play. The guy actually tried to learn how to play bass but music wasn’t exactly his talent. He had tons of punk attitude though, and that was the reason why his band didn’t kick him out. 

Vocals are usually shouted, the rythm is fast and the riffs are quite simple. In fact, there is this famous publication on a 1976 british fanzine that stated:

This is a chord

This is another

This is a third

Now form a band

HWS England and the 70s punk scene and onwards 

Thanks to his immortality, it is obvious that England had to experience the 70s in all their glory (what a lucky bastard). Was he there? Hell yes. As I explained before in some of my hc posts, nations represent the population more than their Government, so I really believe that England felt the frustration from that post-wwii decade and he probably also felt pissed about this. Working for the Government must have felt really frustrating during those years. 

In the past, he probably would have tried to take his ship and sail the seas or whatever, but that was not possible in the modern era. I guess that’s how he discovered punk. 

Now, rock existed in England before punk. I mean, the Beatles, duh. So Arthur wouldn’t have been completely ignorant about rock music in general. Contrary to popular belief I don’t imagine him being that much of a beatlemaniac though. Sure he likes them, but the music didn’t resonated with him as much. But boy, that first time he heard the Pink Fairies in 1971 (Yes, this was an actual band, a proto-punk band)? Yeah, he could relate more to that.

More detailed stuff here:

Pubs were crucial for the development of punk music. They were these spaces in which bands could play, a venue to discover new music. Yes, Arthur must have been a regular in a lot of these pubs.

Fanzines probably fascinated Arthur as an outlet for his own writings and silly drawings. He probably created a cringey pseudonym and collaborated with a lot of them. 

Its canon that England likes to critic american movies, and, taking from there, I think he’s the type of guy that has an opinion for everything. So I can imagine him also writing about what bands he enjoyed and what bands sucked.

Yeah, I can also see him being drunk and just reciting a poem while some rock band played behind.

With some ability, and a lil bit of tricks, Arthur could escape normal Government activities and perform with punk bands at nights. People were so into the music that he had no problem passing by.

Some cover art in CDs show Enlgland with a guitar and a bass (yes, not many people remember the bass cover art). So he probably plays both guitar and bass. He also probably plays the drums. Of course, he’s no virtuoso and he only knows the most basic stuff in those three instruments. I can see him being into songwriting tho.

Music equipment:

Guitar: Definetely a Telecaster

Bass: Fender P-bass and I can also see him having a Rickenbacker 4001

All these instruments are full with stickers. Punk instruments look really cool btw. (I wish my bass could look like those I see in certain punk bands)

England’s probably the kind of guy that doesn’t cut his strings at the head of his guitar.

He can actually play guitar/bass and sing at the same time.

England plays bass with a pick (what an asshole, we bassists know picks are not allowed)

Contrary to popular belief, I can see England appreciating good rock music from other countries and supporting them. He probably insists that punk music was born in the UK though.

1977: The Queen was going to celebrate her silver jubilee. And England had no problem with this. He really had none... but he HAD to be in that boat trip with the Sex Pistols. There’s no way he was going to miss that. He later had to explain his abscence that day to his Government officials (Btw, my hc for England’s relationship with his monarchy is “It’s complicated”. I can explain this later. Just remember that he was really pissed those days)

I can see Arthur in general being really involved with the scene. A lot of the stuff they were making actually matches with his canon interests and even personality. So he probably enjoyed those days and felt quite at home. I can even say that, for a long time, he hadn’t felt that kind of connection with his own people.

Although I can see England being attracted by the nihilism in the scene, I think his romanticism protects him from embracing it fully.

England had to live a double-life during this era. Not that it was new for him.

Arthur was pierced several times by some random, drunk teenagers. He doesn’t remember who tho. He was also drunk. Obviously his piercings close really fast, unless he has a permanent jewel in there.

I can actually see England expanding his music taste. Although punk is in his heart, it wouldn’t be strange for me that he’s overall a rock nerd and enjoys other genres, specially those with fast drum beats and heavy riffs. So I can see him having some metal favorites too, having a certain taste for prog rock and even digging into hardcore.

I’m still unsure if England would have been a massive Pistols fan as fanfics usually portray him. I mean, maybe? I would say he is definetely into acts such as the Pink Fairies (I mean, c’mon, its perfect). The Clash and the Damned probably also have a place in his heart.

After the punk scene dried out (the 80s weren’t that great for punk music although it was the birth of even heavier forms of music based on punk), England also was eager about the new genres flourishing during these times based on punk. Acts like folk punk might have had an appeal for him. He’s also fond of the punk-ish bands from the 90s like Green Day.

“Punk will never die!” shouted England while stage diving in some random small concert. He likes to support new bands these days.

The most fascinating thing, maybe in a more poetic sense, is that England’s immortality probably also helps him to keep up a punk spirit as much as his nationhood allows him, instead of aging poorly and angry like a lot of punk musicians... I mean, he aged poorly, but for other reasons lmao.

[misssophiachase]

You Make My Heart Smile

So, happy (belated) birthday, Tina @tnapki Your edits make me smile (pardon the pun) and I wanted to thank you for that and everything you bring to the fandom.

I based it on your GORGEOUS EDIT

I also made it about food cause it’s SO you. On AO3 HERE

Also thanks to the gorgeous Kait @an-awesome-wavve for being amazing and my part brainstorm, part beta, part researcher and part undercover partner in crime. 

Renowned Chef Klaus Mikaelson has a bad reputation until he meets food blogger Caroline Forbes and has no idea how to handle her or the unfamiliar feelings she evokes, especially that annoying ability to make him smile. 

3 May - Alinea - 1723 N. Halsted St, Chicago IL - 3pm

“I’m not going to do some stupid interview, you know I have other, more important things to do, right?”

Klaus Mikaelson didn’t do interviews. He didn’t need to because his accomplishments spoke for themselves. He hadn’t slogged away in kitchens since he was twelve and worked his way through culinary school and some of the best restaurants to waste his time. 

Being a world-renowned chef owning not one, but four, three-Michelin-starred restaurants across the globe meant he could do whatever the hell he wanted. 

But yet here she was running his life. 

Still. 

“Like yell at me? I mean, you’ve been doing that since we were little so I guess it’s nothing I haven’t experienced before. ”

“I knew I should have never mixed business and family,” he snapped. “You always throw our childhood back in my face as an excuse to insult my life choices.”

“Because it’s too easy not to,” she pouted, flicking a stray, blonde lock over her shoulder.  ��And, while I am unfortunately related to your sorry ass, I am also your publicist and this interview is good for your career.”

“I don’t need publicity.”

“Correction, you do need publicity,” she argued, her fork now attacking the very veal he’d cooked with more fervour than needed. 

“Easy on the product, little sister,” Klaus growled, his protectiveness for his art on full display. 

“Oh, silly me I thought it was already dead,” she shot back, tartly. “And before you interrupted, I was going to say that, yes maybe you shouldn’t need publicity given your career achievements, but that was before you dropped an entree on the food critic’s lap from the Chicago Tribune, fired your sous chef in front of the entire restaurant and insulted Gordon Ramsey on national television.”

“Ramsey is a sell out, I stand by my comments,” he muttered. “The critic had it coming and, now you mention it, so too did that sorry excuse for a sous chef.”

“You realise people call you the angry chef, right?”

“Better than the naked chef I suppose.” He shrugged his shoulders indifferently. Klaus wasn’t in the business for gimmicks or to secure his own cooking program. He took his food seriously and there was nothing wrong with that. 

“At least people like Jamie Oliver,” she replied, arching her eyebrows knowingly. “Anyway, there’s no point in arguing because she’ll be here in five minutes.”

“Please tell me you didn’t just schedule an interview without my permission?”

1717 N. Halsted St, 3:10pm

“What’s with the expression of impending doom, Care Bear?” He asked, lugging his camera equipment as they walked up the block toward Alinea. 

“What have I told you about calling me that?”

“Not to do it but it’s too fun not to, Care Bear.” Given his general maturity level, Caroline decided it was a losing battle and she had more important things on her mind. 

“Anyway, it’s not doom,” she muttered. “It’s just the overwhelming desire not to do this interview but given I don’t want to get fired and also pay my rent, there’s no other option.”

“Is someone afraid of the angry chef?”

“Oh, puh-lease, I’m not afraid. Although, I might not be able to bite my tongue if he decides to insult me like he did Gordon Ramsey.”

Caroline wasn’t one to judge but his indiscretions were well-known and well-documented. Although, chefs with egos weren’t an entirely new phenomenon to the industry or to Caroline given interviewing them was her job.

“You and I both know Ramsey deserved that dressing down, if anything Mikaelson earned my respect that day.” Caroline couldn’t argue with that. 

Although this one was another kind of beast. 

The effortlessly attractive kind. 

For Caroline, this was an unsettling prospect. Until she reminded herself why she was here in the first place. 

Caroline loved food. Sometimes, she thought, more than life itself. 

So, when she became a food blogger after graduating with a journalism degree from Northwestern, it wasn’t a surprise. She was currently the senior blogger at popular food blog Delicious. 

“You love food and writing about it,” Was Enzo reading her mind? “How about instead of focusing on the negative, remember that this will be your biggest interview yet. Think about all of the exposure this will garner.”

The upper echelons of Delicious had decided that an interview with Klaus Mikaelson would be a big scoop. Caroline was all for interviewing chefs about their food and the passion behind it but she knew her editor wanted something less about his craft and more about his bad boy reputation.  

“Yes, but I want to write about food, not produce tabloid fodder.”

“Just think, once you do this then maybe you’ll have enough of a following to start your own blog and write what you want and not what someone tells you to do.”

“Mmmm, you do have a point.”

“Of course I do because Enzo knows everything. Also, take me with you because you’d be lost without me, sweetcheeks.”

“Third person, huh? That ego of yours knows no bounds, Lorenzo.”

“You know it, Care Bear,” he joked, flashing his most dazzling smile. “Well, looks like we’re here.”

“Looks like it,” she murmured, noting the intimidating sign overhead and wondering what she’d gotten herself into. “Here goes nothing.”

3:15pm

“Caroline Forbes?” 

“You must be Rebekah and this is my photographer Lorenzo St John.”

Klaus, who’d been throwing a temper tantrum not one minute ago, found himself looking up into the blue eyes of one Caroline Forbes. Suddenly, all of the white noise of the moment fell away and it was just the two of them in the room together and the blonde in question was looking at him expectantly. 

It was paralysing. 

But good paralysing he decided. 

“Nik?” Rebekah questioned. Now they were both looking at him. Had he zoned out and not realised it?  Well, if so, this was all kinds of embarrassing. “Caroline is the senior blogger for Delicious and she’s here for that interview, you know the one we talked about earlier?”

Yeah, ten minutes earlier, he thought to himself doing everything he could not to bite back in front of the new arrival.   

“It’s nice to meet you Mr Mikaelson, I have to say I’m a big fan of your…”  

“Look, it’s not going to be possible, I have to prep for dinner service,” he lied, although regretted it immediately when he noticed her expression. Klaus wasn’t used to being nice, it wasn’t in his DNA and usually it didn’t bother him. 

Until now. 

Klaus decided to blame it on the foreign feelings she was causing. As soon as he got some distance between them it would be fine, especially that vanilla scent he couldn’t ignore given it was infiltrating his first line of defence.

Klaus liked women, in fact he slept with many when his busy schedule permitted, but that was sex and nothing else. Just the way he liked it, easy and unemotional. 

“Why don’t we multitask then? I’m happy to help. ” Her voice was light and melodic. Klaus was hoping it wasn’t going to sound so enticing. He also wasn’t expecting that response. “I worked in a restaurant kitchen for years, I can do dishes, polish cutlery and peel a mean potato and an onion, well almost without crying.”

Why was he buoyed by that ridiculous statement and increasingly trying not to flash her a goofy smile? 

Klaus didn’t smile. He just didn’t. Ever. 

This wasn’t how he saw his day going at all. He was going to kill Rebekah. Before he could reply, the current subject of his ire spoke. 

“That sounds like a fantastic idea,” she grinned. “How about Lorenzo and I make ourselves scarce then?” 

“It’s actually Enzo, darling, you sound a bit too much like my mother and my oppressive boss Care Bear here.” 

Klaus hadn’t even realised there was someone else in the room up until this point but it was clear Caroline wasn’t too impressed by his nickname or the oppressive part. Maybe they had more in common than he thought? 

Care Bear.  Klaus thought it was adorable. Then he could feel it, that idiotic urge to smile again. 

Before he could object again, Rebekah had made a quick exit with the photographer and she was just standing there. Klaus could feel the awkward tension between them and knowing he’d caused it wasn’t helping matters. But he didn’t know any other way to act. 

Then the words he’d struggled with just tumbled out. 

“How do you feel about fish?”

Not the most suave topic or question but this was his ‘uncomfort’ zone. 

“Depends on the context.”

“The context?”

“I mean, if you think I can clean, fillet and debone a fish, you’ve obviously overestimated my cooking talents.”

Klaus had to practically eat the smile that was threatening to appear.  Again. 

“Everyone has to start somewhere and get their hands a bit dirty, otherwise what’s the point?” He advised. “But, if you don’t want to then…”

“Oh, I never back away from a challenge, chef,” she promised. 

Again, the pesky smile was hovering just beneath the surface. 

Leading her towards the kitchen, Klaus told himself that preparing a fish was definitely going to keep his emotions at bay and also block out that perfume which was throwing him off balance. 

4:45pm

“Why do I feel like this was a ploy to distract me from my interview?” Caroline asked, dipping the fish into egg wash and then flour as instructed by her cooking mentor for the day.. 

This was not how she saw her day going. It was surreal to say the least. This guy was supposed to be an ogre but Caroline was realising he was something else entirely. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he shot back. “But you filleted that fish like a professional, maybe you’ve missed your true calling?”

“I suppose I had a semi-good teacher,” she admitted wryly. 

“Wow, tell me what you really think, Forbes.”

Caroline was trying not to to get too caught up in the moment but Klaus Mikaelson had challenged every judgment she’d ever harboured about the temperamental chef.  He’d been unusually kind and patient.

The one thing she’d noticed was that his overall demeanour didn’t match his expression. 

He didn’t smile.

Not once. 

A few times, Caroline could swear it was close or maybe she was just imagining it?

“So, why do you like food?” It was a question she wasn’t expecting. Especially seeing as she was the interviewer and him her subject. 

“Isn’t that what I’m supposed to be asking you?” He was silent for a moment, almost like he was contemplating it. “But I get the impression you don’t like that question much?”

“I’d much prefer to hear your story first, call it a warm-up.” Clearly he was nervous and Caroline was happy to oblige if it helped. 

“My grandmother,” she smiled knowingly, visions of her nana filling her head. “When I was younger I’d go to her house most weekends and we’d cook together. She could make anything and everything. She died last year and it’s been tough without her but at least I still have those memories.”

Caroline didn’t mean to get personal, especially with the so-called “angry chef” but for some reason she felt nothing but comfort in his presence, even if he didn’t smile. 

“What was her specialty?” 

“Banana cream cheesecake,” she smiled, the taste of it rushing back in all its delicious glory. 

“Hard to beat,” he murmured. “Have you ever eaten a Bananas Foster? My restaurant in New Orleans does a modern version over flame.  According to my maitre’d there’ve apparently been a few proposals over dessert.”

“Over your dessert?”

“Someone sounds dubious. Let’s just say it’s fireworks but without the danger. Well, unless the tablecloth is accidentally set on fire but the fire department down there are pretty good first responders I understand.”

“I just didn’t take you for the romantic dessert type.”

“I suppose there’s a lot of things you don’t know about me then.”

“So, why do you like food then?”

“Well, of course I like food, I wouldn’t be a chef otherwise,” he shared, moving swiftly in behind her and taking the fillets from her hand and placing them in the hot pan, Caroline was trying not to react to his touch or that welcoming and heady mixture of sandalwood, spices and soap . “But one interview isn’t going to even begin to answer that question.” 

He had a point and Caroline knew it. How could you sum up what food meant to you in one interview?  

“So, what exactly are you trying to say? I do have a deadline to meet.”

“How about we schedule a follow-up interview tomorrow morning? Dinner service is imminent and if you stay I’m going to have to ask you to do more than fillet a fish. My pastry chef Lucien is also very needy, requires constant gratification, and you don’t want to be on the receiving end of that.”

“Not gonna lie I’m intrigued and by that I’m talking about Lucien. Did you insult his choux pastry or something?”

 “Not if I want my patrons to eat dessert this century. But, if you insist on staying, there’s a whole pile of onions there with your name on it and we can call it even.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” He raised his left eyebrow by way of response. Caroline was trying to ignore just how good he looked, even if there was no smile forthcoming. 

“Fine,” she conceded. “Tomorrow morning but that’s it otherwise my editor might fire me.”

“Great, let’s make it 10:30, you can poach an egg, right? And I also expect extra crispy bacon.”

Caroline knew she was possibly in trouble and not because he was tasking her with cooking. Enzo would also parrot that particular concern but she couldn’t help herself. 

Today was probably the best day she’d had in a long time and she didn’t want it to end. She told herself that she’d return tomorrow and get her interview, that’s all she wanted from him, right?

4 May - Alinea - 1723 N. Halsted St, Chicago IL - 11am

Klaus Mikaelson was in uncharted territory. 

That’s what scared him the most. 

Caroline Forbes was seated across from him at his best, window table in jeans and a cream sweater, her plate empty and a very full but satisfied look on her face. Klaus decided to add that to his favourite expressions file. It was fast filling up and he’d only known her for 20 hours. 

He wasn’t this guy. 

At all. 

But she’d consumed his thoughts since their first meeting and all night through dinner service and beyond. He’d barely slept, but it wasn’t a bad thing. He’d been looking forward to seeing her as soon as she left. 

The only problem? Not smiling because it was that difficult when she was in his presence. He had his reasons of course. 

“So, why do you love food? And no arguments given I poached a mean egg and also let you have a reprieve yesterday.”

“The bacon could use some work, just saying.”

“Well, you’re more than welcome to cook itself yourself, Mikaelson. Are you always such a critic? Last time I checked that was my job. Also enough with the distractions. So?”

“My mum,” he admitted quietly, even if it took a minute or so to verbalise. For some reason her opening up about her grandmother had filled him with courage. He didn’t do feelings or talk about them for that matter. “She cooked with me practically from birth until she got too sick last year.” 

Those last words wobbled, it was unfortunate as it was expected. He’d struggled for a long time and losing his mother had been difficult.  

“What was her specialty?” Klaus recognised the question he’d asked himself yesterday, but the fact her hand squeezed his at the same time filled him with the confidence and warmth he needed. 

“Rosemary braised lamb shanks, it was her favourite protein. I’ve tried to pay homage on all my menus since.”

‘So, that explains the Saddle of Elysian Fields Farm Lamb with Babaganoush, Romano Beans and Harissa Jus on your menu then?”

“You’ve done your homework clearly?” 

“That and the fact it’s the first time I’ve seen you smile, and I have to say it’s really nice.” 

Klaus didn’t even realise he’d let it slip but suddenly it didn’t matter anymore. He didn’t want to hide it, not with her. 

“She used to tell me to smile all the time because I was too serious, you could say it’s something I’ve battled with ever since she passed.”

“All the more reason to smile, even just to introduce those dimples to the general public. Has anyone ever told you they should come with a warning?”

“No, but more than happy to discuss further.”

“If only, but I have to get going.” Klaus felt almost deflated that she was leaving as quickly as she’d arrived. Maybe he’d shared too much. “Deadlines and all that. But if you could just consult the email I sent confirming the details of our interview that would be great.”

Klaus felt disillusioned, he’d opened himself up to someone and she was running away.  She was out the door before he could even move from his seat. Checking his emails was the last thing he felt like doing, but his hand went to work on his cell checking it anyway and dreadfully waiting for its contents.

“As of three minutes ago, I no longer working for Delicious. It wanted a story I wasn’t prepared to write. I like your smile and dimples too much and I also want a Bananas Foster.”

His chest constricted as he read each word and his grin was unmistakable.  It didn’t take long for him to reply.

“You make my heart smile.”

Tabloids would report months later that famed food blogger Caroline Forbes married famed chef Klaus Mikaelson in rural England after proposing over a dessert of Bananas Foster in New Orleans. 

[swanlake1998]

Article: Where Are All the Women Ballet Choreographers?

Date: May 5, 2021

By: Chloe Angyal

Claudia Schreier choreographed her first dance, a solo for her summer camp talent show, when she was twelve years old. In her sophomore year of high school, she did it again, choreographing a pas de deux for herself and her best friend, Kaitlyn, which they danced as the school orchestra played music from Swan Lake. The year after that she made a solo and performed it with the accompaniment of the school jazz band. By college, she was making ballets not just for herself and her best friends but for larger groups of dancers, and they consisted of a mix of classical and contemporary movement that reflected her own training.

Schreier, who grew up in Stamford, Connecticut, with a Jamaican mother and a white Jewish father, remembers feeling a compulsion to move to music when she was a child.

“My parents will tell stories of when we were growing up, it’d be time to sit down for dinner and I would be spinning in the kitchen,” she says. “I just was too restless to sit down. I’d be doing pirouettes by the dinner table.”

It’s a familiar story among dancers, but Schreier didn’t only want to move. “For me, it was beyond just the dancing,” she says. “It was the idea of wanting to create movement that felt like something outside of myself. That’s really what I remember the most, this compulsion to make movement and not just move.”

Schreier, thirty-four, is now a full-time choreographer, and has made ballets for Miami City Ballet, Dance Theatre of Harlem, the Joffrey Ballet, Atlanta Ballet, and American Ballet Theatre’s second company. Her path into ballet choreography, and her presence in it, are both unusual.

For one thing, Schreier was never a professional dancer. As a teenager, she was prone to injuries: bone spurs that led to severe tendinitis in both ankles, problems with the ligaments in her shoulders, and repeated strains in her hip adductors. “PT was just a regular thing for me growing up,” she says, “and I think it was in large part due to the fact that I was trying to get my body to do things it was never meant to do.” Her knees didn’t straighten all the way, and she wanted hyperextended knees, the kind with a slight curve at the back of the leg to emphasize the opposite curve of the pointed foot.

“I was surrounded by long-legged ladies with hyperextended legs, high arches, flexible backs, arms on the right way,” she says, and she tried all kinds of tricks to make her body more like theirs. “I tried to bend my knees backwards, to make them hyperextended. And so I would put my knees through things that they should never be put through to try to elongate the lines I put myself through hell.”

By the time she was preparing to graduate from high school, it had become clear, she says, that she wasn’t meant to be a classical ballet dancer. Injuries aside, she’d been told over and over again that her body was wrong for ballet. Her feet didn’t point enough; her legs didn’t straighten enough; she had a swayback and, by ballet standards, a prominent backside. “It was always a point of reference or conversation” with her teachers, she remembers. “Always.”

But she loved classical ballet, even if it didn’t love her back. “I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.” When a teacher encouraged her to audition for the contemporary dance program at Juilliard, she was insulted. In hindsight, she concedes, she had no reason to be—it was an excellent program and she had very little contemporary training. “That’s something I would gladly take now and was not even remotely interested in at the time,” she says, “because to me it represented a failure on my part . . . a failure to achieve the look of the idealized ballet dancer.”

At the age of eighteen, Schreier stepped off the path that would have been mostly likely to lead to a career as a dancer: instead of enrolling in a college dance program or auditioning for full-time preprofessional ballet schools like Joffrey Ballet School, she enrolled at Harvard, where she could only minor in dance. She majored in sociology.

There isn’t much of a clear or formalized path to becoming a ballet choreographer, but to the extent that one exists, this is not it. Most ballet choreographers were once professional ballet dancers, usually full-time at a company, and sometimes that company is the first place where they are paid to make dances. After college, Schreier did go to work for a dance company, but in the office, not the studio. For seven years she worked in the marketing department at Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater, juggling a full-time arts administration job with what was, at the beginning at least, a side hustle in choreography.

Every spare second was devoted to choreographing and rehearsing a small company of dancers for performances of her work. “I would work during the day at my desk and then I would throw on my garbage pants and go downstairs to the studio and set [a] ballet until nine, ten o’clock at night, whatever it was,” she remembers. In her off-hours, she could use Ailey’s studio spaces at a discount, so she spent all of her paid vacation days in the same building where she’d usually go to work.

“I took my two weeks of rehearsal vacation to stay in the building,” she says. “I went back into my office building every day, putting on my other hat. [I’d go] past my coworkers and then take a left and go to the studio.” It was exhausting and unsustainable. “I was wearing myself out. I was waking up way too early, going home way too late. Every single lunch break, every free minute, every moment I had I was trying to split the difference.”

Choreographing, like all other creative pursuits, requires time and space. Rehearsing dances requires a very specific kind of space, and staging them requires another; neither of those spaces is free or even inexpensive, especially not in New York or other major cities. And of course, while choreography can be done alone, you will eventually require dancers, who need to be paid for their time and labor. Choreographing, like all creative pursuits, can start to look less like a career path and more like a luxury for those who have alternative sources of income or wealth.

After almost a decade of splitting the difference, well after her side hustle had become its own nearly full-time gig, Schreier received a choreography fellowship that allowed her to quit her office job and focus all of her energy on making dances. She had the time and the space she needed, as well as access to dancers, and didn’t have to maintain a full-time job in order to subsidize her art. At last, choreographing was no longer in the seams of her life but in the center of it.

Schreier is unusual not only because of her path from aspiring ballet choreographer to full-time dance maker. She’s also a woman of color in a line of work that has traditionally been inhospitable to women and to people of color. In the 2018–2019 season, 81 percent of the works performed by American ballet company companies were choreographed by men. Of the world premieres that were performed that same season, 65 percent were choreographed by men. New York City Ballet, one of the nation’s oldest ballet companies, has more than four hundred works in its repertory; only ten were choreographed or co-choreographed by Black artists.

In 2020, among companies that had installed resident choreographers—“one of the most secure opportunities for the otherwise freelance choreographer” because it provides “a steady salary, the possibility of benefits, a group of dancers with whom to workshop, time, access to set, costume, lighting designers and a regular audience”—76 percent of companies worldwide had a man in the position. In early 2020, Schreier was appointed to a three-year term as the resident choreographer for Atlanta Ballet.

The question of why there are so few women making dances for ballet companies is not a new one. In 2005, dance historian Lynn Garafola noted the dearth of women in the current ranks of ballet choreographers and also argued that the apparently slim contributions women have made over time were a matter not of fact but of historiography. It was not that women did not choreograph, she argued, but that they were barred from choreographing for the most prestigious ballet companies and theaters. And because of ballet’s fixation on the elite, those dances—and the women who made them—have largely been written out of ballet’s history.

“Viewing the ballet past as a succession of individuals of genius,” she wrote, “consigns most of ballet history to the dustbin. Yet it is here, in the now invisible crannies of the popular, the forgotten, and the second-rate, in the everyday chronicle of the ballet past as opposed to the selective chronicle of its most privileged institutions, that women made dances.” Garafola recounts finding traces of these women—Louise Virard, Adelina Gedda, Rita Papurello—almost by accident, calling them “turn-of-the-century ghosts . . . invisible to history although they had worked in the theater for years.”

In other cases, the dances women made have remained on record, but the women have not been credited for their contributions. Women have always choreographed, Garafola wrote, but theirs were rarely the names in the programs—or, because the programs were not printed for the most revered theaters in town, they were never saved and placed in an archive to be fished out and dusted off by dance historians who were writing the story of ballet.

Women, Garafola wrote, “were seldom entrusted with entire productions: indeed, because their choreography usually took the form of isolated dances within a larger work (dances, moreover, that they themselves often performed), their contribution rarely was acknowledged.” Instead, the story of ballet has been written as one in which women dance and men make dances. The dancers die, but the dances are written down, passed down in notation and in dancers’ bodies from one generation to the next, almost always with a man’s name attached to them. Men create ballets on women, but the women fade away. The ballets make the men immortal.

The disappearance of women’s choreographic contributions from the historical record means that women who aspire to make ballets don’t look like the “succession of individuals of genius” that come to mind when the ballet world collectively pictures a choreographer. That succession—Jules Perrot, Jean-Georges Noverre, Marius Petipa, Sergei Diaghilev, Kenneth MacMillan, Frederick Ashton, George Balanchine, and Jerome Robbins—is a centuries-long line of white men, with brief appearances by white women like Bronislava Nijinska and Agnes de Mille. Whether or not the mental image is historically ac- curate, this is what the ballet world thinks a choreographer looks like.

This bias adds yet another obstacle to the already hard road for aspiring women choreographers, even those who enjoy advantages Schreier did not. Even for white women who belong, or have belonged, to ballet companies, there are structural barriers to entry. The first will be unsurprising by now, given all we’ve learned about how girls and women are valued and trained in ballet. Choreography requires creativity; ballet teaches girls the importance of conformity. Choreographing requires finding and using your voice; ballet rewards girls and women for silence. Choreography is a form of leadership; ballet punishes girls and women who aren’t obedient. From their earliest days, girls in ballet learn that what is valuable about them is not their mind or their creative spirit but their body and their ability to follow instructions.

From Turning Pointe: How a New Generation of Dancers Is Saving Ballet from Itself by Chloe Angyal, copyright © 2021. Reprinted by permission of Bold Type Books, an imprint of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

[shnuggletea]

This is my entry for the Inuparents Day 2021! I was paired with a lovely and talented artist @kirrtash​. She'll be posting this fic with her art on her AO3 account for us. You can also find her Ko-fi account here! Make sure you check out her page for the AMAZING art that goes with this fic! I'm so glad I got to work with her; this was a true collab as I really felt she was working with me the entire time. I enjoyed every minute of this event! Thank you so much @inuparentsday​ for hosting and sharing with all of us! 

Link to AO3 HERE!!!

If you want more from this event (and trust me, you totally do) here's the Tumblr page! I would post the AO3 page buuuuutttt yeah I deleted mine lol! But there is one as well!!

Playlist is right here!!

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Chapter One

“Whatever you do will be insignificant, but it is very important that you do it.”

― Mahatma Gandhi

It was a cold night. The kind that made your skin tense as soon as you stepped out into it. It also had a tendency to make a man’s scrotum shrivel and seek warmth. Not something they liked to talk about… usually.

“God damn it’s cold! My balls are up my ass!” Toga said at a level that made it even more inappropriate.

Miya shook his head, the image of Toga dancing on his toes to stay warm filling his brain. “How unpleasant that must be for you…”

“No, seriously! And those are big balls…”

Sitting back from his scope, the Monk pulled his shoulder-length black strands back and tied them there. “Just because we’re on comms doesn’t mean you have to talk so loud. No one is supposed to know you’re there, remember?”

“Right, right, right,” Toga was silent save for his huffing, warming up his hands with his breath, “still fucking cold though…”

“For fucks sake, aren’t you a demon? The temperature shouldn’t bother you!”

Pulling the sight around, Miya zeroed in on the loud mouth, shifting on his toes just as he knew Toga would be. He lifted his gold eyes right at him, somehow knowing Miya had turned his sights onto him. “Yeah, I’m a dog demon. I’m just as if not more sensitive to cold than insensitive humans like you!”

“Say that a little louder, I don’t think the old lady across the street from you heard it.”

“She needs new batteries in her hearing aid…”

“You couldn’t possibly know that!”

“I do, she just told the Shopkeep when she went inside.”

“Can you focus? Use that extra sensitive hearing to find our target?!”

“Can’t find what’s not there, Miya.”

“Then keep searching, Toga!!”

It was silent again but only for a second. “Now who’s being too loud…” Miya growled, getting to his feet and pacing away to kick something. “Calm down, you’re going to have a stroke.”

“Why the hell do I put up with you?”

Miya didn’t need to see Toga to know he was smirking. “Cause I’m the best. And who else you got? Myouga?” As much as he didn’t want to, a laugh sputtered loudly out of him, one the dog demon would have heard even without their comms. “See? You need me and I need you. Now get back to your post.”

Sighing and groaning, he did as ordered; laying down on the cold pavement of the thirty-story building he was perched on. He wasn’t an idiot, Toga placed him this high to keep him ‘safe’ if they found who/what they were looking for. It had been over an hour but Miya knew better than to question Toga’s judgment. Or Myouga’s intel.

Toga was cursing the inconvenience of it all. Winter was by far his least favorite season and he swore the others knew it too. It was why they waited until the middle of the season and hours after sunset to pull this crap. It was all to mess with Toga and nothing anyone said would change his mind about that. The heat from playing with Miya flooded out quickly so he was back to bouncing on his toes.  It made his two blades smack against his thighs but that was a nice distraction from the cold as well.

Black toboggan on his head was large enough to cover his ears and his long silvery-white hair covered his neck. But it was his fucking hands and feet, his fingers and toes numb with cold. 

He hated cold feet. 

Humans passed and didn’t even glance in his direction. And why would they? Humans had no clue of his existence. Him or anyone similar (like Miya) were a secret from the world. Even though Miya was far from a demon; he wasn’t human either. It was that difference that had Toga placing Miya on the high building and far from the fight. If there was even a fight to be had. 

He wouldn’t be surprised if this was all a rouse to force him to stand out in the cold all damn night!

That was until he smelled it. “Miya… they’re here.”

“You’re sure?”

Toga glanced upward towards the tiny dot. If he were human, he wouldn’t be able to see the agitation on Miya’s face. But he wasn’t human and it was always there. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

He pulled out So’unga and moved to the outer edge of the alley he hid in, glancing around. “Toga, get back! I’m here to scout not you!”

“Even with that scope you still see shit.”

“Toga, it’s an order! Get back!!”

“I’ll be fi….”

Toga was cut off, ice splitting up from his feet towards his heart. Leaping back, he avoided impalement with relative ease. When he found the perpetrator, Toga didn’t hold back his laugh in the slightest. “Good to see you too, Snowflake.”

The cat demon was growling at him and it had just as much to do with the fact that she was a cat and him a dog as it did that he called her ‘Snowflake’. “That’s not my name!!”

“Right, right, right. What was it again?” Toga teased.

If she wasn’t wearing a black hoodie that covered up all her fur, it would be standing up in anger. “It’s Toran, prick!!”

She slung out her arm and ice followed in a path along the ground. Toga stepped to the side to avoid it; making it seem like child’s play. “Well that’s not very nice. At least my nickname for you is a term of endearment. Yours sounds like an insult.”

Toga had his lower lip popped out and Toran roared, pissed. “IT IS AN INSULT!!!”

Glancing around, Toga saw that his little distraction had worked; the street was clear of all possible casualties. They had all seen the display the kitty cat had made and smartly left the area. Which was good because now Toran was tearing up the whole area with her rage; jagged and angry ice breaking up the sidewalk and pavement as it shot upward without warning.

Toga jumped and dodged it all, keeping his hands in his pockets. “Ice. Just had to be ice.”

The already frigid air was made much colder with the glacier that surrounded them. A small arena of sorts, Toga released a slow breath and watched the white puff float away. 

Toran broke out of her thoughts of murder for a moment and spun to find him; realizing quickly (but too late) that it was just the two of them now. “What have you done?!”

“Me? You’re the one creating your own ice castle. You know, for an Ice Queen, you sure are hot headed.”

Toga smirked while the cat hissed, throwing out her arm again. Only this time the ice didn’t form on the ground. It shot out of her hand like a missile; long and sharp like a spear. Aimed right at his heart.

He moved out of its way with little struggle. “Careful there Snowflake! Pretty sure your Boss didn’t order you to kill me!”

Toran shuddered and then turned her head back and forth to work out the tension. “No. Not not you.”

The smirk that grew on her face had Toga dropping his. Spinning on his feet was a pointless gesture, they had comms after all. “Miya! Look out!!”

This was why Toran’s attacks were lackluster and easy to dodge. He had thought she was holding back to keep from killing him. But no, it was because her attention and powers were split; ice racing up the front of the building Miya perched on. It shot out of the top in deadly spikes completely destroying the top floors of the short tower. And Miya was silent. Myouga hadn’t told them the target but given the location Toga had assumed it was a human they were after. And he was half right.

“He’s a human with demon powers. Powers that are extremely dangerous for demons; a Black Hole. Why you’ve allowed him to not only live but also stay by your side is a wonder, Fighting Fang. He shouldn’t be allowed to live…”

“Miya has lived just fine by mine and your side for a time. You pick now, of all, times to kill him?!” Toga screamed.

Toran’s smirk grew to a grin and she shrugged. “Orders are orders.”

“Oh?” They both turned and found the monk, a little out of breath, but with his sniper rifle on one arm and his hand out at the ready. “Good to know my life is worth so little. But I knew that already.”

Toga rolled his eyes at the drama queen. Miya had his fist closed tight but the runes that covered the cursed hand were removed. He was ready to kill. 

“You won’t do that! Not with Fighting Fang so close! You don’t have the control to suck up only me!” Toran said while shaking with her fear.

Miya tilted his head to the side at her and glanced over at Toga. “That’s true. But he’s such a pain in the ass…”

“HEY!”

The monk used the small distraction to whip his rifle up and fire. He got Snowflake in the upper thigh and she released a loud whimper mixed with a roar. The shot to the leg didn’t slow her down as she leaped away over her ice walls.

Toga turned back to his friend, a lopsided grin on his face. “I knew you wouldn’t risk it, buddy.”

“I should have. She got away.”

Now at his side in a flash, Toga clapped a hand on Miya’s shoulder. “You got her in the leg! Without aiming!!”

“I was aiming. For her gut. I missed.”

“But not completely!”

Miya pulled away roughly from his friend and surveyed the damage. “Those nosy people are going to have a coronary when they get word of this.”

“Speaking of, we should get out of here. I’m sure they’re already on their way.”

Toga grabbed Miya by the collar and hoisted them both to another high building; one not destroyed and closer to the scene below. It was a mixture of cops and men in lab coats. Toga didn’t know how much Miya could make out from their distance but he was sure the ones in lab coats were the ones that were at the last mess they made. One in particular was hard to miss; his long black ponytail stood out amongst the others. And he was becoming a constant in their lives.

He was becoming a problem.

“Izayoi, take a look at this for me please.”

Setting down her notes and her pencil, Izayoi straightened her lab coat as she made her way to her colleague’s microscope. Quickly, she pulled back and tied her long black locks out of her way and leaned over. Her colleague had stepped back out of her way and said nothing; so there was no bias.

“This can’t be right. It appears… deformed.”

“Right? I thought so too!”

Stepping back, Izayoi took the sample’s file and began reading. “It says here it was taken from an incident on fifth and Topsail last night? But it doesn’t say anything about the incident or those involved.”

The woman next to her nodded in silence and Izayoi handed her back the file, hurriedly leaving the lab to the one down and across the hall. The man she was looking for was directing boxes that looked like they were filled with ice of all things. He glanced up at her and quickly signed the form in his hands and pushed the attendant off hurriedly. “Dr. Hime, how are you finding your new lab?”

Izayoi shook her head. “It’s fine, Dr. Setsuna, but I’m here about the samples you sent us?”

“What about them?”

“Well… what are they?!”

He chuckled at her and she felt her blood rise to her temples. “That’s your job to figure out, isn’t it?”

“Sir, all science aside, it’s difficult to ascertain much from a few drops of blood when we know so little about it…”

“Run it through the database and see if you get a match.”

She squeezed the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. Izayoi liked her job, she really did, until it started to become some kind of cloak and dagger operation and Takemaru got promoted. “We already did that and it came up with nothing.”

“Of course it did.” Takemaru mused quietly.

“Excuse me?” 

Izayoi’s attention shot up to her boss but he shook his head with a fake smile. “Nothing. Just mark everything that you find in what you have, Izayoi.”

She turned and left quickly; part in frustration but also because it bothered her greatly when Takemaru spoke informally to her. Just because he was her boss now didn’t mean it was appropriate. Quite the opposite. With so much more going on, Izayoi let it go. For now.

Back in her lab and feeling safe, she looked over the blood sample again. Five had been taken and although they all looked the same they had different locations marked in their file. Izayoi looked again, taking the sample her colleague had away from her (and she was gracious to have it off her plate too). Switching back and forth, Izayoi looked over the DNA results again. They were inconclusive; the only recognizable strands reminded her of feline DNA while the rest were mutated or something. But she noticed one thing; although from different locations the blood was from the same person.

“Maybe the cat DNA is the answer?” She asked herself. The lab was empty as Izayoi got lost in her task. 

Even though all the same, she didn’t want to risk any more contamination, taking each sample and amplifying them. Polymerase Chain Reaction took a few hours so Izayoi left for the small cafeteria (more like a break room with a coffee maker and vending machines) for a cup of coffee. She had taken a seat at the small table in the middle when bodies hustled hurriedly past the door.

Leaving her cup behind, Izayoi leapt to her feet and followed as fast as she could behind the small group of overly excited Scientist. They went to the loading bay which was odd in itself. The loading bay was for supplies like chemicals and printing paper. Nothing exciting came through here except when her new genetic analyzer arrived. Izayoi doubted this many were excited over something like that. It was also far too late for a delivery; already nearing ten pm. 

Standing off to the side, she hid as she watched the large armored car as it backed into the loading dock. A few men in police uniform hopped out; Izayoi’s confusion and curiosity increased at the sight. One opened the back doors while the other stood right behind, his weapon up and armed. 

Everything that Izayoi could have possibly imagined dropped to the floor and shattered as a man walked off the truck. His long silver hair was pulled back and swung as he looked around at the group of men that surrounded him. It was pretty.

Izayoi shook her head of the thought, focusing on the man. His red jacket and dark jeans hid his body from her but he looked normal otherwise. He had drawn purple streaks on his face just under his eyes for some reason. She couldn’t see his eyes from where she hid or make out many details of his face but the purple was hard to miss. 

Her eyes traveled down to his hands; cuffed in front of him. He had long, sharp looking nails. And they looked thick and dangerous even from a distance. Her thoughts were interrupted when the man lifted his joined wrists and held his hands up. Everyone jumped except her as she watched with rapt attention; intrigued to just what the man was going to say.

“I come in peace.”

Her eyes rolled instantly and she let out a loud huff. What the hell was this guy even doing here? And why was the staff of Takemaru’s lab about to wet themselves with excitement?

She hadn’t seen him the entire time, too focused on the ‘specimen’ on the truck, but now Takemaru stood before the strange man with a wicked looking grin. He looked over the man in cuffs but said nothing to him, turning to his men who salivated behind. “Take him to the lab.”

They didn’t take the usual hallway. Instead they took the man the back way designed for deliveries. Izayoi stepped back and completely out of sight; sneaking down the hall and back to her lab. When the noise from Takemaru’s lab reached hers, she slowly left hers again and snuck down the hall. When she peeked inside, there was nothing out of the ordinary so she straightened herself and walked right in. Only to be stopped by Takemaru.

“Dr. Hime? What are you doing here?”

“I work here.” She said plainly. “I’m still working on those samples you gave me…”

“Oh there’s no rush. You don’t need to worry about them anymore.” He said, waving a hand at her like it was no big deal.

“I don’t need to worry?! Sir, I spent all day running them. I’m not about to drop them…”

“Fine, Izayoi, you do what you need to. In your lab.”

He was kicking her out and she resisted the urge to run from the informality; stretching on her toes to look around him instead. “Did you get a new project?”

Takemaru swayed and moved in her way more, blocking her view completely from spying the back of his lab. “It’s ‘need to know’.”

Izayoi seethed. Ever since Takemaru got promoted (over her) he acted like it was some kind of ‘boy’s club’. That’s what it was, all the men in the room moving around without issue while she was stuck in the doorway. She was sure that was how Takemaru got promoted instead of herself. Even with a few women on the board it was very much a ‘man’s world’ in the lab as of late. As much as it pissed her off they did give her a nice raise. And she loved her work as well as those who worked in her lab. 

She would put up with it for now until a better offer came along. As it stood, this was the only lab in town that could handle her caliber of study. Didn’t mean she had to pretend she was okay with it, huffing as she turned on her heel. “Whatever, Dr. Setsuna. Enjoy your new toy.”

Let them think they’re keeping their secrets. Izayoi was sure she would figure them out soon. She hated secrets. Secrets and liars her two main pet peeves. It was the reason she became a scientist. To discover all the secrets the world held and to uncover any lies. This was all just another mystery for her to unravel.

And unravel, she would.

[mistergrass]

Zodiac Mom Headcanons: Momiji’s Mom

Slowly but surely I am making my way through these mom posts. This time let’s talk about someone whose worst moments as a mother were put on blast for the audience to see. 

Rat & Snake Mom | Ox Mom | Tiger Mom | Rabbit Mom | Dragon Mom

Momiji’s mother is an only child born in Berlin. 

Her father, a handsome and charismatic man, is a renowned photographer. Her mother, beautiful and alluring, is a dancer. They’re drawn to each other immediately when they meet on a photoshoot that features her mother’s dance troupe. 

Their romance is as short-lived as it is passionate, and the affair comes to an abrupt end when her mother becomes pregnant. 

The responsibility of a child falls almost completely on her mother’s shoulders, essentially ending her dance career (something she had left her family to pursue), and the beginnings of a cruel resentment begin to take form.

Her father has the spirit of an artist -- not wanting to be tied down to one woman, and not very suited for a traditional family lifestyle. That being said, he doesn’t abandon mother and child completely. 

As Momiji’s mother grows up, her father will pop in and out of her life as he pleases. She thinks her mother can be too strict, too mean, and becomes a difficult child to handle as a result. But when her father comes to visit, she is over the moon and perfectly behaved. He’ll take her to museums, show her the photographs hanging in his studio, give her a stepping stool so she can help in his dark room, and (unlike her mother) will never ever scream at her even when clumsy, childish hands accidentally spill things or knock things over. 

Her father never sticks around for very long, and as wonderful as it is to see him, it hurts tenfold when he leaves. And so, she grows up with her mother’s snappish impatience, and her father’s casual and conditional affection. 

Going into her teenage years, Momiji’s mom begins to come into her own as an artist -- admiring and following the path of her father. She loves painting and ceramics, but she begins to grow into an undeniable beauty and it’s not long that she’s discovered as a model.

Her mother does not approve of this choice. For her, it’s bad enough that she has to watch her daughter openly prefer her father’s company to her own (despite everything she’s given up to raise her, while he can barely spare to send a postcard on their daughter’s birthday), but now her daughter is adding insult to injury by pursuing her father’s lifestyle. A lifestyle her mother was forced to give up to have a child. 

It also doesn’t help that Momiji’s mom finds almost instant success as a model. 

Where her mother was simply impatient before, now she becomes cruel. 

She begins to undermine her daughter’s beauty, nitpicking at every little thing about her appearance. Momiji’s mother is now being constantly told that her photos are drab, ugly, unprofessional. That her beauty is fleeting, that the world around her will discover one day how little talent she has, and that her artistic abilities are worthless and boring. All this while she’s still only a teenager. 

Momiji’s mom acts out in different ways, but mostly by taking on more modeling work (that exhausts her) and bringing home boyfriends her mother would never approve of (for good reason).

Her first serious boyfriend is a man six years her senior who is possessive and jealous, and rips to shreds the last bits of self-esteem she had left. 

By the end of their four year relationship, Momiji’s mother has come to believe that something inside her is deeply, truly ugly. She has an overflowing anxiety that others will see her for what she truly is. Something that is wholly incompatible with her inability to be alone -- whether romantically, or via the need to surround herself constantly with people. 

It’s at this time, at 20 years old and in her second year of university, that she meets Momiji’s father at a campus mixer.

At first, she’s intimidated by him (thought that doesn’t stop her from making conversation). She finds he’s not just studying abroad here, but attends the university full-time. He’s fluent in Japanese, German, and English, and seems so much smarter than she believes herself to be. In addition, he has a cold, distant demeanor to him that makes him seem unattainable. 

Momiji’s father on the other hand, is taken immediately by this woman. He’s awkward and nervous in large social gatherings, but has been told from an early age never to outwardly show his discomfort. But she talks so passionately, so freely, that he can’t help but be drawn to her. When he fumbles over his words at the end of the night to ask her out for dinner, she realizes that she’d mistaken his shyness for apathy, and it immediately enamors him to her. 

After two dates, they become inseparable. 

She’s taken in by his kindness and gentility. He listens to her as if everything she says matters. He isn’t at all like the arrogant personalities she’s dated in the past, and if anything has an aversion to talking about himself. He never once makes her feel stupid, puts her down, or makes her feel worthless.

She’s prone to terrible mood swings and bouts of manic self-loathing that will leave her a sobbing mess. But where this has driven away boyfriends in the past, it only serves to make him more devoted to her. He holds her in his arms, and never once gets upset with her for being so much to handle.

Momiji’s father is an only child from a high-ranking Sohma family, and has had the entirety of his life mapped out for him since birth. He works to inherit his father’s business, and to maintain their standing in the family. Insurmountable pressure had been put on his shoulders from a young age, one that isolated him from making true friends in favor of focusing solely on his studies. He was never allowed to be overwhelmed, to not be good enough, nor to be disobedient. 

But Momiji’s mother is like a walking piece of art -- chaotic and beautiful. He finds her endlessly interesting. He’s never met anyone who talks so openly about the things they love, the things they hate, or their own fears and insecurities. He likes feeling as though he can take care of her. He likes being someone reliable for her. And, eventually, he finds her to be the only person in the world that he can be vulnerable with. He has only ever cried in front of her. 

For the last two years of college they spend all their free time together. He uses his cushy Sohma allowance to take them on trips and long weekends around Europe. And when the time comes for him to return to Japan after graduation, he can’t picture even a moment of his future without her. 

He proposes, she says yes, and she agrees to leave her life in Berlin behind to move to Japan. 

It’s a difficult transition. Though she had started learning Japanese when they first started dating, she’s far from fluent. It makes forming friendships and new connections within the Sohma family all the harder. 

It’s also clear that her mother-in-law does not take too much of a liking to her. Momiji’s father bends over backwards making sure that their new home has space for her to continue her artistic pursuits, which comes off as frivolous to her new family. She also has limited housekeeping skills which reflects poorly on her ability to be a proper wife. 

It’s an isolating experience, especially with her husband working long, late hours nearly every night. The loneliness begins to eat at her, resurfacing the shattered self-esteem that her new husband had spent the past two years healing. She seriously considers moving back to Germany on more than one occasion, but then she gets pregnant. 

She’s not ready for a child. It’s too soon, and the thought of taking care of a whole other person is terrifying when she can barely stand to get out of bed most days now. But her husband assures her this will be a good thing, that maybe it will help the aching loneliness she feels. 

Before she has a chance to get excited, they’re summoned by a young Akito. 

Momiji’s mother doesn’t really process what she’s being told. Her husband has to translate what the little six year old is saying to her, and when he does his face is pinched and anxious. 

A curse, he says. Her child is cursed. Somehow it makes sense, what with everything that dwells inside herself, but it’s hard for her to grasp this whole thing beyond that.

The pregnancy is a difficult one, filled with complications and scares that leaves her health completely depleted. When Momiji is born two months premature, her nerves are completely frayed. 

True understanding of her child’s situation doesn’t really hit her until she holds a small rabbit in her arms, swaddled like a baby. 

She vomits when it first happens. The transformation leaves her completely shaken, and she can’t understand why no one else around her seems to find this as horrific as it obviously is. 

She does her best for the first few years. Honestly, she does. But the child makes her nervous. The supernatural nature of it all terrifies her, and she shakes every time she tries to hold her child and finds a little rabbit there instead. 

As he grows older, she finds herself snapping at him over the smallest things, just as her mother did to her. A guilt builds inside her steadily that somehow she is at fault for this, that her hidden, disgusting nature warped and mutated their child. The thought of it puts her in hysterics at times, and she finds she can never relax in her own home.

Her husband urges her to keep herself together. There’s a desperation in his voice when he talks to her now. He reminds her, again and again, that above everything else Momiji is their child. Theirs, and no one else’s. He is their son that they have created, and he is still a symbol of the love they have for each other. Once she adjusts to the situation, she’ll learn to love him the way he knows she can. She just needs more time.

During this period, other zodiac mothers make an attempt to reach out, and her Japanese is finally at a level that she can have pleasant conversation with them. Haru and Yuki’s mothers invite her to lunch often enough. Shigure’s mother is also very hospitable. She also takes a real liking to Kureno’s mother, though the woman is clearly disliked by many of the other women in the family. 

It helps, but it’s still difficult to talk to these women about her issues with the curse and with her son. Their eyes are judgmental, and she worries if she falls apart in front of them it would not be met with the same warmth as her husband (though he’s hardly ever around anymore). 

Stress and guilt and shame and fear slowly build inside her for the next four years. Then, one day, she sits down to paint and realizes she can’t. She’s too locked up -- the reality of her situation has become too overwhelming, and she can’t even release it through her art.

She finally decides to tell someone about what’s going on. Her husband had been very clear with her that this curse is to remain completely secret, but it’s not as if she wants to do a news interview. All she wants is to talk to her mom. 

Her mother is still the same harsh, critical woman she’s always been, but they’ve grown closer in the past few years. Becoming a mother herself has made her appreciate her own mother more, and the distance has softened both of them to each other considerably. 

She tells her mother the whole story, with her listening surprisingly sympathetically throughout. By the end of the conversation, Momiji’s mother feels more comforted and loved by her mother than she has in years. 

It’s Momiji’s father that gets the call from his livid mother-in-law demanding to know what’s happened to her daughter, and if he’s doing anything about the fact that she’s having a complete nervous breakdown that features wild delusions regarding their child.

Momiji’s father comes home that night, and for the first time he becomes truly angry at her. He scolds her for telling her mother anything about their situation, which only serves to make her just as angry since she was only seeking a bit of support. 

But it all gets much much worse when he says how lucky they are that her mother thought she was deranged. 

The whole world drops from below her feet when he admits that he let her mother continue to think that she was clinically insane. The man who had always defended her, understood her, cared for her -- the man she had left everything for -- had created a lie so egregious and spouted it back to her own mother. 

She demands to know why he would do such a thing, and when he sputters out his thoughtless obedience to this strange family -- the one with the child treated like a king, and with all these dark secrets. After so long of telling her that she was his light when his family treated him like nothing, after telling her that she was his most important family now -- it’s a betrayal that she’d never expected from the man she loves.

The reality of her isolation comes down all at once. There is no one left she can talk to, there is no place she can go, and this child now represents something completely foreign to her. The only thing that was keeping her together was her husband’s assurances that the child was completely theirs -- but it’s not. This child belongs to the Sohmas, to some curse that her body housed and nurtured. The disgust that’s been building inside her body breaks like a dam and completely washes over Momiji. 

She becomes inconsolable. She refuses to look at her son, and her husband becomes subject to fits of rage and anguish. He feels as though he’s completely lost her, and with the love of his life so indisposed, he feels just as alone. 

Momiji’s father is the one who tells her about the option to wipe her memory. Not just in hopes of reeling back her sanity, but because he wants her to forget the lie he told. If she forgets that, maybe their marriage can go back to how it was. If she forgets that deep cut of betrayal, maybe she won’t look at him like he’s some misshapen stranger. 

She agrees as quickly as she had when he proposed. Together they decide that forgetting Momiji will ultimately be for the best.

At first when she recovers, things seem to return back to normal. But there’s always a piece missing as the years go on. There’s always something not quite right. Momiji’s father is paranoid and nervous -- the presence of his wife is no longer a comfort, but a stressor. And sometimes, for the briefest moment, he’ll catch her staring at him. Her eyes far off and distant, like she’s completely lost in thought, and the expression that rests on her face will be one of fear. When she comes back to herself, it’s as if she hadn’t even noticed. 

The zodiac mothers are told not to speak to her after her memory is erased, which suits most of them just fine (Haru’s mother took particular offense to the decision). Below is the relationship chart for pre-memory wipe: 

Friends with: Kureno’s mom, Haru’s mom, Shigure’s mom, Ritsu’s mom

Doesn’t like: Yuki’s mom, Hatori’s mom

[diariesofaplutonian]

Pluto in the 5th house

Pluto in the 5th house natives are intensely devoted to their pastimes and their talents. Pleasure and fulfillment are their goals and sometimes addictions. They crave excitement, and maybe even danger. Works hard, plays hard. Can be impulsive or indulgent at times. Finds pleasure in being daring. What is most palatable to them is what hasn’t been done or expressed before, or if it has, doing it in a novel, groundbreaking way. Strong individuality at the core. Electrified by desire. Many hobbies. Drawn to art, literature, film, especially film noir, books. Needs to do something fun to feel alive. Likes giving a show or performance, dazzling or surprising people. Understands that sex, like life, like gender, like sexuality, like identity, can be a performance. Relishes in that. May find joy in fashion or trends or theater. Constantly searching for the perfect entertainment—emotionally enriching, fulfilling, pleasurable experiences. Creating and innovating and exploring themselves and the world, discovering their bodies, experimenting with ideas, and navigating their identities gives them purpose and a sense of drive. There is a deep need to self-define who they are. Like Pluto in the 11th or Pluto in aspect to Uranus natives, they have to innovate. Excel. Reimagine creative possibilities. These natives transform themselves and push the boundaries of something through their art or their bodies, through affirming their sexuality and owning their bodies and their uniqueness. Sex is not something to be ashamed of. Showing their bodies is not somebody to be ashamed of.

They are fiercely passionate people, as individuals, as lovers and friends, and they often chase after people who appear as a challenge to them. This excites and thrills them: the notion of going after and getting someone who is supposed to be unattainable for them or untouchable. However, if not careful, they can become entangled with romantic partners who are unsuitable for them. Pleasure often comes with pain, for these people. May have submissive or masochistic or dominant tendencies. May like to seduce rather than being the one seduced. May play hard-to-get. Dating may be fun to them, so much it becomes a game, a cat-and-mouse affair, though, make no mistake, they are not the mousy ones running away. They are the bold and in-your-face, confident ones doing the chase. They almost like something more when they can’t have it. Once they get it, they may get bored, for the fun’s gone—and the thrill of the chase. The key with these natives is to keep the attraction alive. There is a great need for these individuals to be recognized for their talents and their unique abilities. They feel very strongly about the work they create and produce and the energy they provide. Their contribution is always great. They can be as passionate about sex as a Pluto in the 8th person can be with death or a Pluto in the 12th person with the paranormal or mystical or absurd. May have to overcome their attitudes about themselves; self-limiting beliefs can become self-fulfilling prophecies. Obsessions are common and constant. May be obsessed with romantic interests, self-gain, prosperity, love, or their personal hobbies or recreational activities. They are most happy when they’re active and doing something. Invests a lot of effort and time into what they love, as well as makes sacrifices to keep doing what they love. May experience fatal attraction or encumber fatal accidents if they meet the wrong people. They are not necessarily the obsessive one in their relationship; with this placement comes the danger of partners or even random strangers from afar being obsessed with them, studying their movements, tracking them, and yearning to have them, wanting to conquer them or have sex with or harm them. Others tend to find natives with this placement irresistibly attractive, physically or sexually; they may find them drop-dead sexy, say they’d kill for them or die for them or claim they can’t live without them or either they will kill themselves if they can’t have them or if they can’t have them, no one can or will, etc. There’s a danger of these natives being abused or manipulated in intimate relationships, or experiencing dating scares or even intimate partner violence (IPV).

These natives can turn people on without trying. Others may misinterpret their casual actions as inviting or welcoming sexual undertones, and may be very suggestive. Some of these natives are naturally flirtatious, but just because they’re nice or flirty doesn’t mean they’re coming on to you or asking for some sort of sexual favor, or wanting it. These individuals can be taken advantage of sexually or be sexually harassed by people who sometimes don’t even recognize their actions fall under the umbrella of sex harassment. These natives can then feel violated or used or dehumanized. Sure, there are some that like role play in the bedroom and will willingly be your sex toy or plaything, but if so, on their terms only—they will vocalize this and make it clear to you. Don’t assume they are hypersexual beings just because you interpret them as being sexual or unafraid of and willing to embrace their sexuality. Even if they are, that’s their call and it’s not for you to judge. And you need to respect people’s boundaries and privacy and ask for consent. Also, it’s never okay to sexualize someone. That being said, these people may enjoy freaky sex or sexual games. And they might be flattered by others showing/demonstrating interest, even sexual, in them. But remember, they call the shots! Even when they’re choosing to take the backseat and let somebody else run the show, it’s by choice; it’s because they wanted to and only because they wanted to. These natives might alternate between being a top and a bottom, being dominant and submissive, or might have a favorite role. May be involved in a dangerous but thrilling, secret love affair, or may enjoy no-strings attached sexual arrangements and low-key, down-low, covert hookups. Like Pluto in the 8th, they might endure sexual trauma in their lifetime or be seen as a freak in the sheets. Very seductive natives. Their desire may increase when nobody knows who they’re seeing or dating/who they’re sleeping or hooking up with. These natives love to feel desirable. They need or crave partners and friends who make them feel good about themselves and celebrate them; they need to feel celebrated. Sometimes, there is a danger of having stalkers with this placement or needing to take out a restraining order, or several. I have observed this pattern several times within people I know, in fact, one person I know had to take out over 5 restraining orders in 2 years because random men became obsessed with her after seeing her social media posts and began sending creepy notes saying they were going to **** her and DM’ing her uncomfortable messages explicitly stating their intent. Some people with this placement may experience being followed or harassed or catcalled or propositioned, especially by people they don’t know. That is the dark side of Pluto in the 5th. Others I know with this placement have experienced pretty intense, toxic, all-or-nothing, soul-consuming affairs, the whole “when it’s good, it’s good and when it’s bad, it’s bad” shebang. Natives with this placement should really exercise caution and always be vigilant. I have also seen this placement commonly along the charts of sex workers or sex-positive individuals. You see a lot of body positivity among these natives as well. Natives with these placements, however, may be seen in a derogatory light—they may be slut-shamed and considered a “thot,” “skank,” “hussy,” or “harlot” or be considered ultra-femme or hypermasuline. Some might love being considered a sex symbol, but for others, it’s yet another way wherein they are ostracized or penalized for their sexual freedom, values, way of living, or sexual/bodily appetites and energies, and it can be a source of shame and trauma for them. They may be called out or exposed or even “cancelled” due to public outrage about how they choose to live, and can be accused of not being classy or being “low-class.” Their worth and bodies can be insulted, demeaned, and degraded. Their sexuality can be intensely scrutinized or criticized, especially if sex is their speciality.

This tendency can be amplified among natives who possess Pluto conjunct Lilith, as well as the public shaming or backlash. More on Pluto in the 5th house: These natives may be the typical tortured artist. Part of them likes to feel tormented, and other parts of them find peace or intense pleasure/satisfaction in playing that role. Role-playing of any kind tends to be a source of amusement or entertainment for them. They love to feel entertained and they are natural entertainers. They are intensely focused individuals and may shine in investigative work or artistic fields. They are very aware of their own flaws, and thus sympathize easily with others’ struggles and demons. Can get into trouble if they repress their desires. This placement needs to express what pleasures them in order to live happily. Creating something or beginning a project tends to make them feel alive. They feel most powerful when they feel the most beautiful and assured in their abilities. They’re most confident in themselves when they feel confident in their bodies. May not have issues flaunting their bodies because it belongs to them and they don’t see it as something to hide or cover from anyone else’s eyes as others may feel. They ooze confidence and fierceness. Taking ownership of who they are makes them feel strong. I always see this placement linked to gambling and other addictions but I don’t think this placement suffers more than anyone else does, in that regard. That being said, they can run into trouble if they go beyond dabbling in recreational substances or activities and turn it into a habit or vice instead of a mere hobby or distraction. So much of their selves are channeled into what they pay attention to and what they expend their energy in or use, including how they express or don’t express what intrigues and empowers or stifles/inhibits and disempowers them. It’s important for them to stay away from anything that makes them feel disembodied. They are more capable than they could ever dream of, far more than the world will ever know. If they have insecurities, they either nurse it and keep it a secret from the public, or disclose it as a way to get over it/overcome it, take their power back and ensure it can never be used against them. They’re very open about their desires. Very gifted, charming, and persuasive. Charismatic. Tend to be extroverted, people-oriented. They like to tease and please/pleasure (and sometimes toy/play with) people. Unbelievable capacity to self-transform. Many gifts and tricks. Very spontaneous people. Tremendous willpower. The power to act and determine, the power to seize at will. The power to create, the power to manifest. They can often speak what they want into existence, but they must be careful, for the opposite is true and they can easily speak what they most fear into reality.

[choerrypuffs]

the element of power.

pairing: firebender!renjun x avatar!reader

genre: fluff, angst

word count: 5.4k

author’s note: renjun’s chapter to my 00 line x avatar series! i’ve gotten such kind feedback so far and i want you guys to know that your messages never fail to brighten my day and make me smile :’)))) thank you so so so so so much!!! 💕💞💓💗💖💘💝

warning(s): abuse, suggestive content 

additional: check out the art that the lovely and EXTREMELY talented steph ( @aqiaquas​ ) did for this fic here!

There’s just something about the Fire Nation that unsettles you.

Perhaps it’s because you’re from the Water Tribe, making you their (literal) polar opposite. Or because you’re sticking out like a sore thumb with your blue garb in a sea of red. Or the fact that they’re all staring at you and whispering amongst each other. It also doesn’t help that you’re being escorted by soldiers. Whatever the case may be, you just want to get this over with. 

You’re on your way to see the Fire Lord, who had his elite palace guards pick you up immediately upon your arrival. Most people would just see it as a courteous gesture, but Fire Lord Yoo is not a hospitable man. This is clearly a warning, though you’re not really sure what for. You may be the Avatar, but even you couldn’t take on the entire Fire Nation alone.

Honestly, you feel more like a prisoner heading for execution than an esteemed guest. 

The royal palace is exactly as you had imagined it. Tall, grand, and intimidating: the epitome of what the Fire Nation stands for. It looms over you like an ominous presence, and you’re almost a little scared to step foot inside. You don’t realize you’ve stopped in your tracks until one of the guards clears his throat and gives you a small nudge with his elbow.

Gulping, you begin to walk forward again. The entrance is manned by more guards and two giant red doors branded with the Fire Nation insignia in pure gold. The guards escorting you nod at the guards by the doors, communicating only by expressions. Nobody says a word to you as the doors slowly begin opening, making you flinch at the sudden noise.

You expect to see a palace bustling with life, with various staff running around, but it’s completely deserted. The inside is eerier—pitch black corridors lit only by a couple of torches. Every step you take echoes in the hollow interior and it feels like someone is following you.

The throne room is the most nerve-wracking of all. Surprisingly, there’s actual people in it (which only makes things worse). About six or seven men clad in military uniforms sit ram-rod straight around a long, rectangular mahogany table. It looks like some sort of ritual is happening, and you nearly yelp when all of them turn to look at you at the same exact time. Their expressions are neutral and that scares you even more.

“Avatar Y/N.” 

A loud, booming voice not coming from any of the men in front of you announces. Glancing up, you see a shadowy figure sitting upon a dais behind a wall of fire. You can tell by the sheer authority radiating off his silhouette alone that he is Fire Lord Yoo. A war hero known for his ruthlessness, he was a boogeyman of sorts to you when you were a child. Your mother would tell you stories of him to scare you into doing your chores and that trauma seems to still be ingrained into your psyche because you feel yourself trembling.

“Welcome to the royal palace,” Fire Lord Yoo continues, “the Fire Nation is honored to have you.”

“The honor is mine, Fire Lord Yoo,” you quickly say, bowing your head. 

“Your reputation precedes you,” he muses. 

Yours too, you think wryly.

“Some are hailing you to be the strongest Avatar since Wan, the first.”

“Nothing but frivolous rumors,” you say, shaking your head. “I haven’t even mastered all of the elements yet.” 

“That’s more impressive, no? To already have such rumors when you’ve barely mastered two out of the four,” he shoots back. 

“You think too highly of me, Your Majesty,” you awkwardly say, not really sure how to respond.

“I suppose we shall see.” 

There’s something foreboding about his words, and it makes your blood run cold. 

“But I digress. Let us discuss your firebending tutelage,” Fire Lord Yoo finally moves on after watching you squirm for a couple of seconds. “General Huang Renjun of the Fire Nation Navy will be your teacher.” 

The youngest one, by at least a few decades, at the table stands up. Even with that nasty scowl on his face, Renjun’s beauty shines. His features are delicate, like a prince, and you would have never believed that he was the fearsome general of the navy. Though the way he’s glaring at you is just a tad frightening. 

“Hi,” you say dumbly, giving him a small wave.

Renjun gives you a curt nod, barely even looking at you, before sitting back down.

Rude, you think to yourself.

“Your training will begin tomorrow. For now, the maids will lead you to your quarters so you may rest,” Fire Lord Yoo explains. 

“Thank you for your hospitality,” you say, quickly bowing again.

A handful of maids begin to usher you away and though you can’t see Fire Lord Yoo, you feel his gaze (even through the wall of fire) linger on your back. .

It seems your stay here is going to be worse than you’d imagined.

Despite the fact that you felt like someone was going to come into your room and murder you at any minute, you sleep like a rock. It takes a rather hard shove from a frazzled maid to wake you. Barely registering what’s happening, you let yourself be manhandled by the maid. Within ten minutes, you’re dressed and somewhat alert. She leads you by the hand down a corridor, clearly in a rush. She’s mumbling to herself, but you can’t make out what she’s saying, though she does sound pretty scared. 

“Is something wrong?” you finally ask. 

“No, I—it’s just that General Huang hates tardiness, and we are about five minutes late.”

“Five minutes isn’t that bad. I’m sure he’ll understand,” you shrug.

The maid turns and gives you a pointed look. “You have not met General Huang.”

“Well, he sounds like a bit of a hardass,” you say wryly. 

Shushing you furiously, she looks around as if Renjun is going to be right behind her.  “Mind your words, Avatar Y/N. Someone is always listening.”

What she says slightly terrifies you, but you’re not about to tell her that.

When you finally arrive at the training room, the maid bolts. Dumbfounded, you watch her scurry off and awkwardly stand at the entrance, unsure of what to do. Just as you raise your hand to knock, the doors suddenly open. You let out a small squeak as an extremely angry Renjun glares down at you. The height difference between the two of you isn’t that large but you feel tiny underneath his intense stare.

Now you know why the maid abandoned you.

“You’re late,” Renjun says, scowling. 

“S-Sorry,” you mumble. 

“I don’t want an apology. I want you to be on time,” he snaps, stepping aside. “Aren’t you going to come in?”

Every rational fiber of your body is telling you to bite your tongue as you stiffly walk past him, but you just can’t. Whirling on your heels, you turn and look him directly in the eyes. “There’s no need to be so cross, general. It was an honest mistake, and I’ll make sure it won’t happen again. Besides, it’s only five minutes.”

Renjun’s dark eyes narrow, flashing dangerously. “Perhaps punctuality is not as strong a value in the Water Tribe, but we do not take it lightly here.” 

“What did you just say?” you demand, temper finally bubbling over. 

“I said that the Water Tribe needs to teach their benders to be on time,” he taunts.

“Leave the Water Tribe out of this,” you hiss, “Your qualms are with me.”

“Are you not a waterbender?” 

“No, I’m the Avatar.” 

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” Renjun raises an eyebrow.

“Maybe not, but I’ve been trying to treat you with respect and I deserve the same from you,” you say through grit teeth. 

“You’ll get my respect when you’ve earned it,” he sneers. 

You’re so angry that you begin to shake like a wet dog, unable to form a verbal response. Instead, you contemplate drowning him in the palace’s toilet. However, Renjun isn’t bothered by your murderous glaring as he brushes past you. 

Rolling his sleeves up, he walks toward the center of the room and waits for you to join him. “Now then, let’s get this over with.”

Reluctantly, you skulk over to him and cross your arms. Despite how despicable Renjun is, it is extremely hard to ignore his beauty. He’s clearly put in the bare minimum—mussed black hair, simple long-sleeved shirt, and linen trousers—yet even you can’t help but admire him for just a moment. Then, he shatters the mirage by opening his mouth. 

“I’m only going to do this once, so pay attention.” 

Renjun takes his stance, left leg bent and right leg straight out behind him. Inhaling deeply, he delivers a swift punch in the air. You don’t even have time to register the dangerously close fireball that whizzes past your face. All you can feel is the lingering hot air against your cheek. Some of your baby hairs have been charred too. 

“Arrogant son of a bitch,” you blurt out, unable to stop yourself in time. 

His eyes widen slightly at the insult, and you brace yourself for some sort of retaliation but it never comes. To your utter shock, he’s smirking, as if your words are amusing to him. “Your turn.”

Smoothing your hair down and tucking it behind your ear, you shoot him another dirty look before taking the stance he showed you. Squeezing your eyes shut and imagining Renjun’s face right in front of you, you punch the air as hard as you can. 

Judging by the total silence that follows, you’re guessing you weren’t that successful. When you open your eyes again, he has his arms crossed and eyebrow raised. “So...did I do it?” 

“What do you think?” he asks, tilting his head.

You sigh, lowering your fist. “Damn.” 

“For starters, you could keep your eyes open. How are you going to know where to aim when you can’t see your opponent?” Renjun shakes his head. “Your form is sloppy too.”

Reaching down for your hand, he balls it back into a fist and yanks it toward him. Gasping at the sudden force, you stumble forward and faceplant directly into his chest. He smells like cinnamon and soap, and it’s making your head swim. Dazed, you slightly step back, trying to regain your balance. “Wh-What the hell was that for?” 

“I was trying to show you the proper form, but your foundation is so weak that you let me pull you around like a ragdoll,” he scoffs. 

Your head shoots up so you can give him a piece of your mind, but your words die inside your throat when you realize how close his face is to yours. There’s virtually no space between your bodies, despite the fact that you thought you had stepped away a considerable amount. You can feel the heat radiating from him and the rise and fall of his chest against your own. It surprises you just how much power you can sense in him. Chi courses through his veins almost more than his blood, and it pulls you toward him like a magnet. Huang Renjun is a live wire, ready to blow at any moment.

He’s watching you carefully, waiting for a response. His eyes are pools of molten gold that you find easy to get lost in. You don’t notice his hand is still holding your fist until he lets go, and you mourn the loss of warmth. Clearing his throat, Renjun takes a step back—a light pink dusted across his cheeks. Now that there’s finally a substantial amount of space between you and him, you snap out of your haze.

“Jerk,” you mumble weakly, too wobbly in the knees to snap back. 

“Again,” he orders, crossing his arms. 

Renjun makes you practice the same drill for the next hour, until you’ve got it down perfectly. Your entire body aches just from that one simple move, but you’re definitely not going to tell him that. You had always assumed firebending was simply pure aggression and brute strength. Oh, how wrong you were. Firebending requires control of every muscle in your body; it’s a delicate balance. 

Despite your attempt to hide it, Renjun notices your exhaustion. Instead of taunting you like you were expecting, he gives you a five minute water break. Your fatigue trumps your pride, and you plop to the ground without a single word. He tosses you a canteen, and you don’t hesitate gulping the water down. 

“Pace yourself,” he says, almost kindly. 

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, it finally occurs to you how much of a mess you must look like right now. Flushed cheeks, ponytail falling apart, and chunks of hair matted to your neck with sweat.

No wonder why he gave you a break. 

You’re not sure what possesses you to say this because you still think Huang Renjun is a total asshole that doesn’t deserve anything from you, but the words are spilling out before you can stop yourself—

“Thank you.” 

He’s equally as shocked as you are when he hears you say it. Coughing, he fidgets slightly and mumbles in the quietest voice you’ve ever heard:

“You’re welcome.” 

You don’t even have time to register his words because the doors are thrown open, making Renjun flinch and you almost spit out your water. Two frantic-looking soldiers rush in, sweating and out of breath. “General Huang!” 

Renjun’s brows draw together in concern, but he stays calm as he walks to the men. “Breathe for a second, and then tell me what’s wrong.” 

His sudden switch in demeanor slightly jars you, and it also kind of pisses you off. Why is he only cranky with you?

“One of our fleets is under attack by a band of pirates, near Crescent Island. They’re requesting immediate backup,” one of the soldiers finally manages to pant out. 

Renjun’s face pales. “Did you already notify the other fleets stationed nearby?” 

“We did, but the closest one is hours away. You’re the only one you can get to them in time and that’s only by speedboat.” 

“Go prepare one for me then,” Renjun orders. 

“Yes, General!” 

Renjun finally turns to you after they run off. “I have to go.” 

“I’ll come with you,” you immediately say. 

“Absolutely not,” he snaps, “you’ll only be in the way.” 

“Don’t you think having a waterbender with you while you’re out on the ocean would be helpful?” you retort back.

“I thought you were the Avatar, not a waterbender,” he mocks. 

“I’m coming with you, and you can’t stop me.” You cross your arms, ignoring him.

“What makes you think I’ll let you get on the boat?” He raises an eyebrow. 

“You won’t be able to let me do anything when you’re tossed overboard.” 

You and Renjun have a staredown, but he eventually relents because he knows he’s out of his element on this one (pun intended). 

“Fine, but stay out of my way,” he warns. 

“You stay out of mine.”

Once you two get on the boat, Renjun stops picking a fight with you. In fact, he goes completely  silent. His grip on the steering wheel is so tight that his knuckles are white, and his jaw is clenched tightly. You don’t say a word either, knowing that his mind must be a whirlwind of thoughts. Despite your dislike of his personality, you have to acknowledge Renjun as a leader. He didn’t hesitate to jump right into action for his men, even planning to take on an entire band of pirates by himself. 

“Why can’t this damn thing go faster?” You hear him curse under his breath. 

The lightbulb finally goes off in your head, and you chide yourself for not doing this from the beginning. Turning and walking to the back of the boat, you hold your hands over the water. You create a wave that pushes the boat forward at a much quicker speed, almost using too much strength and falling backward. 

“What are you doing?” Renjun calls back to you. 

“Making this damn thing go faster,” you answer. 

He doesn’t respond. 

“What were you saying about me being in your way again?” you muse. 

He rolls his eyes, but the corners of his mouth quirk up. 

With your help, the two of you arrive at Crescent Island in no time. You can hear loud explosions and yelling in the distance. It’s not long before you see two battered ships in the middle of all the chaos. One of them has a tattered Fire Nation flag on it, so you direct the boat toward it. Renjun is already at the very front of the boat, ready to jump onto the Fire Nation ship. 

You’re not far behind him as you two jump over the railing of the ship, abandoning the speedboat for now. Fire Nation soldiers are wildly running around; some trying to take cover, some trying to fight back. There is absolutely no hierarchy of command, which means the attack clearly blindsided them. 

“Stay here!” Renjun yells over all the noise. 

“Wha—” 

“The soldiers don’t know who you are! They’ll think you’re an enemy, so just stay put!”

He doesn’t wait for you to argue with him, running in the opposite direction as he barks orders at soldiers he passes. You’re about to follow him anyway, but you nearly get killed by a stray fireball. The pirate ship has a squadron of benders lobbing fireballs at the Fire Nation ship like cannons. 

Chewing on your lip, you decide you have to do something about the pirate ship for order to be restored on the Fire Nation ship. Taking a deep breath, you lift your hands up, palms facing out. Conjuring up the biggest tidal wave you can muster, you push your hands forward. The wave is bigger than the actual ship, and you capsize it. 

Letting out a relieved sigh, you dust your hands off as you watch the pirate ship sink. However, you don’t get to relish in your work because there’s another loud explosion. It’s coming from the front of the Fire Nation ship, and it was strong enough to rock the entire vessel. 

When you arrive at the scene, you see a standoff between Renjun and his soldiers and a handful of pirates that were already on the Fire Nation ship before you sank theirs. They appear to have stopped attacking each other, since they just now realized you capsized the pirate ship. 

“It’s over,” you announce, “Your ship has been destroyed. Surrender now while I’m feeling nice.” 

“You did that?” Renjun gawks.

“What do you think?” you echo, tilting your head. 

His eyes sparkle as he breaks out into a full-on grin. You feel your breath hitch slightly—

But your moment is quickly ruined when the remaining pirates let out strangled cries, seemingly refusing to go down without a fight. They begin hurtling fireballs blindly, trying to use up as much of their power as possible. 

You’re not in their main line of fire, so you manage to dodge pretty easily, but the other soldiers aren’t as lucky. Since they were in a military formation, they’re much more compacted together, thus making them as easy target. Renjun does his best to redirect as many fireballs as possible, but there are just too many. You quickly trap the berserk pirates in a ball of water, freezing it, then letting it fall onto the ship like a giant boulder.

However, you’re not fast enough.

You hear one of the soldiers cry out. Whirling around, you see Renjun slumped over another soldier—clearly having taken a hit for him. He’s unconscious (which is for the better), face pallor and sweat collecting on his forehead. His shirt has a charred hole in it, and the smell of burning flesh hits you all at once. Renjun’s side is scorched; his skin almost black from how bad the burn is. 

Everything becomes fuzzy after that. You run toward Renjun, nearly falling onto him because of your momentum. Pulling just enough water from a soldier’s canteen to cover the wound, you try your best to at least keep the bacteria out with the limited healing abilities you have. You scream at a soldier to find the speedboat you and Renjun came here on. 

When he does and pulls it over to the side of the ship you’re on, you freeze the water on Renjun’s wound—a makeshift bandage for now. You lower him onto the boat with a stretcher made out of water. 

“Backup is on the way for you guys. I’m taking General Huang back to the palace,” you explain, turning back to the men. Looking around, you point at the most reliable-looking soldier. “Hey, you.” 

He straightens up. “Y-Yes, ma’am.” 

“You’re in charge. Have a plan of defense in case there are more pirates. This ship won’t be able to withstand many more attacks until backup shows up, got it?” 

“Understood, ma’am!” He salutes. “But, um...who are you?” 

“You’ll find out soon enough.” 

With that, you hop onto the speedboat and drive away. 

After creating the wave that capsized the pirate ship, you knew that you didn’t have long until your chi was completely exhausted. Your body is protesting profusely as you continue to use waves to make the speedboat go faster. There are black dots in your vision, and you keep losing your balance. Gritting your teeth, you make the waves even stronger. 

When you finally get to the dock, you barely have enough energy to stand up, but you put Renjun on your back and you stumble toward the gates of the palace. Your limbs feel like jelly at this point, but you trek on. 

The guards manning the entrance of the palace notice you from a distance and rush over when they see Renjun. You collapse onto the ground when you see them coming. One of them picks up Renjun, while the other picks you up. 

“Medic,” you mumble continuously. “Medic, he needs a medic, medic, medic...”

The guard carrying you says something, but it sounds like you’re underwater and you can’t hear a single word. 

“Medic,” you say again. 

Then everything goes black.

You’re not sure if you’re awake or still dreaming because of how dark the room is. You feel sore and achey to your fingertips, and blinking even hurts. You suppose pain means you’re conscious. You lay in the darkness for a little longer, trying to piece together everything that happened before. You’re not sure how long you’ve been asleep, but it feels like years.

Get up. If you’re late again, Renjun’s going to kill you.

Renjun. 

Gasping, you are out of bed and your room in an instant. You dash down the corridor in your nightdress, looking around for anyone to give you information. Luckily for you, the maid that abandoned you the other day is headed right in your direction with a stack of laundry. Judging by the blue, it’s your clothes, but you don’t particularly care at the moment. 

“Where’s General Huang?” you ask, grabbing her by the arms. 

“Avatar Y/N, you need to be rest—”

“Nevermind that! Where is he?” 

“The infirmary, but—” 

“Where is that?” 

“Avatar Y/N, I really—” 

“If you don’t tell me, I’m just going to wander around until I find it.” 

She sighs. “Down the hall, on your right.” 

You quickly thank her before taking off again. Before you even get to the entrance of the infirmary, you are already able to sense Fire Lord Yoo’s presence. The pure terror and authoritarianism in his aura is enough to stop you in your tracks. The door is ajar, however, so you’re still able to hear them talk. 

“Why are your men telling a different story than you are, Renjun?” Fire Lord Yoo asks calmly, but there’s venom in his words. “Did she or did she not single-handedly capsize the ship?” 

“She claimed she did, but it’s not possible. There’s no way a mere pacifist waterbender could conjure up a wave large enough to capsize a boat. My men believed her because she’s a good liar, but she can’t fool me,” Renjun says. 

“Hm. Very well. I shall take your word for it.” 

“Thank you, Fire Lord Yoo.” 

“Injured or not, I still expect detailed reports of her progress from you.” 

“I understand.”

“Do not fail me again, my son.”

“Yes, Father.” 

You don’t sleep that night. You lay in your bed, eyes wide open, until the maid knocks on your door to wake you for training. Sitting up without a word, you don’t miss the surprised look on her face when you get up without protest. You let her dress you in total silence, and you’re in the training room five minutes early. 

Renjun arrives shortly after, also shocked that you’re early. His face has a much healthier glow now, and he doesn’t look to be in much pain anymore. You hate that you feel relieved. 

“The maid said you were looking for me yesterday. What did you need?” he asks, raising an eyebrow when you don’t initiate a conversation. 

“How’s your injury?” you deflect. 

“It’s basically gone, just a scar now. We have great healers,” he replies. “I, um, owe you both an apology and a thank you—”

“Can I see it?” 

Renjun sighs irritably. “I told you it’s fine—”

While he’s distracted, you walk over to him in two large strides and lift his shirt up. The injury from last time isn’t the only scar he has. His entire chest and torso is covered in them. Jagged, tough ones that you knew hurt like hell. Ones that were purposefully inflicted. And you’d bet that he has more. 

Renjun recoils from you, turning away. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“Where’d the others come from?” you ask, even though you knew. 

“That’s none of your fucking business. What the hell is wrong with you today? You’re acting crazier than usual.” 

“I’m trying to buy you time,” you answer simply. 

“Can you please say something that actually makes sense?” Renjun scowls. 

“I’m going to kill you, and I want to see if you can convince me otherwise.” 

There’s a beat of silence as he processes your words. 

“Oh? Pray tell, why are you going to kill me?” He smirks, tilting his head. 

“Because you’re spying on me and relaying information to the Fire Lord.” 

Renjun’s eyes widen and his body stiffens.

“But you lied about me capsizing the boat yesterday, so I’m confused. Therefore, I’m giving you some time before I decide,” you explain. “Let me ask you again. Where’d the others come from?”

He continues staring at you in stunned silence. 

“Actually, I’ll re-word the question. Why did your father do that to you?” 

The cogs finally fall into place for Renjun. “So you were listening.” 

“Yes.” 

There’s no longer anger or shock in his features anymore, just defeat and weariness. “When I fail one of my missions, I receive a lash. They are marks of remembrance for soldiers. It signifies incompetence and the oath to never make the same mistake again.” 

Your insides twist at how sick this all is. “No, it’s wrong. It’s cruel. Soldiers are not livestock that can be whipped into submission. They’re human beings too. You are his son, the most beloved to him. Or supposed to be.”

“Our loyalty is to the Fire Nation first, not blood.” 

“Are you nothing more than sheep? You don’t have any free will of your own? You are your own person first. You have feelings. Those feelings will not always fall in line with your loyalty. There needs to be a line between right and wrong, Renjun. What the Fire Lord is doing to you is wrong. It’s absolutely nauseating,” you plead, stepping closer to him.

“You think I don’t know that?” Renjun whispers harshly. “My mind has been so damn muddy the moment I laid my eyes on you. You’re my mortal enemy. We were taught that fire was superior to the other elements, especially water. Waterbenders were caricatured as weak and feeble, and I believed it. But you weren’t. In fact, you were the opposite: confrontational, stubborn, damn annoying, and strong as hell. And I liked it. You made me question everything I knew. Then, you went and saved my life and made me even more stupefied. I was nothing but a jackass to you, but you still exhausted all your chi for me. When I woke back up, all I could think about was you. Without even realizing, I lied to the Fire Lord. Every fiber of my being wanted to protect you. But I know I shouldn’t have these feelings. You say that I should be able to draw the line, but this—the Fire Nation—is all I know. It’s all I have. Fire Lord Yoo, no matter how cruel, is still my father. What am I supposed to do, Y/N? Tell me.” 

���What do you want to do?” you ask softly. 

“I want,” he swallowed, eyes flickering to your lips. “you.”

Renjun’s hands cup your face, his thumbs brushing across your cheekbones. He places his forehead against yours, shutting his eyes. “Why aren’t you resisting?” 

“Maybe I don’t want to,” you whisper. “Maybe I want this too.” 

“Can I kiss you?” 

“Yes,” you breathe. 

In an instant, his lips are sealed against yours. Your mouths move together in a desperate, frenzied dance. You whimper when he bites down hard on your lower lip before running his feverish tongue across the indent. Your arms wrap around his neck, and you card your fingers through his hair, pulling on it slightly. He moans into your mouth, and his hands slide down to your thighs. Renjun picks you up and presses you against the wall, slotting your bodies together perfectly. You begin tugging at his shirt until he finally gets the hint to take it off. You trace your fingers across the scars on his chest. 

He leans down and kisses your fingers. “You aren’t disgusted?” 

You brush some stray hairs from his face. “Never.” 

You promise yourself that you’re going to kiss every scar on his body when you get the chance.

“You can’t stay here,” Renjun murmurs into your hair, running the the back of his hand up and down your bare arm. “I won’t be able to lie to him forever.”

“I know,” you say, burying your head further into his chest. “But where will I go? I need to learn firebending.” 

“I have an old friend who lives in Ba Sing Se. His name is Doyoung. He defected from the Fire Nation when we were children and the Earth Kingdom granted him asylum. I used to hate him so much, thought he was a coward and a traitor,” Renjun says wryly. “Turns out he was the smart one.” 

“But will he even agree to teach me?” 

“You’re rather persistent. I’m sure you’ll be able to convince him,” he laughs. 

“Come with me,” you whisper, propping yourself on your arms.

Renjun has never looked more beautiful. His pale skin illuminated by the moonlight as he stares at you like you created the universe. 

“You know I can’t,” he says softly, pulling up the blanket that slipped from your bare back. “Get back under the covers, you’ll get cold.” 

“Why not?” you ask, slipping back under the blanket and wrapping an arm around his torso. 

“I can’t leave my men.” 

You already knew what his answer would be, but you wanted to ask anyway. “When I master firebending, I’ll come back for you.” 

He smiles, kissing your fingertips. “I’ll be here waiting for you.” 

You grab his face, squishing his cheeks together. “Until then, you better not do anything stupid. If you get killed, I’ll revive you and then kill you myself.” 

“That does sound pretty terrible.” 

“That’s why you have to stay alive.” 

“I promise.” 

You wished this night would last forever, so you wouldn’t have to say goodbye.

[chaoswillfallrpg]

SYBILL TRELAWNEY is TWENTY-TWO YEARS OLD and a WAITRON & TEA BLENDER in ROSA LEE’S TEABAG at DIAGON ALLEY.  She looks remarkably like SOFIA BRYANT and considers herself NEUTRAL. She is currently TAKEN.

→ OVERVIEW:

tw: death, bullying, alcoholism 

Whimsical with a curiosity for the unusual, Sybill Trelawney is the lingering scent of tea leaves, the promise of truth in the decorated illustrations on worn tarot cards and the gentle cascade of fragmented light dancing freely in a sanctum of solace. Born to DOROTHY HAROLDS, a Muggle dramatic arts teacher, whom despite having a witch for a sister had never had a desire for the wizarding lifestyle until she’d met EUGENE TRELAWNEY. A charismatic wizard, he was an enigma who possessed an electric magnetism; drawing those that dared venture close into his entangled web. Quickly married after being swept by his charms, while never wanting a child of her own Dorothy was blinded by love for her husband and craved to please him. Despite concerns, the pair had Sybill and settled on the outskirts of Cornwall, England, basking in the fame of their ancestor CASSANDRA TRELAWNEY whose reputation gave them status and social standing. Even with their union disgusting higher brows, the name Trelawney was still esteemed with the mere notion of decedents sharing the same gift of the inner eye as their predecessor. Unable to survive on reputation alone and aided by his wife, Eugene began to serenade Muggles with false fortunes and prophecies. Manipulating the misfortuned and downhearted, they clung to the lies of a showman in hopes to find peace within their fractured lives. Conning lonely people to aid in their plights, Sybill grew up oblivious to their shortcomings. Clinging to the good of her parents' word as they mislead her to believe their ‘work’ as acts of compassion rather than deceit. 

After several years of playing tricks, Eugene grew cocky. Reviling in his deceptions he boasted of his bidding all while basking in his wife’s keen acting skills. Together, the pair rejoiced in their new found wealth. Though their cunning intellect did not go unnoticed by all. Caught in a lie by RONAN SKENDER, a wizard who too was well versed in the art of deception, Eugene’s slide of hand and false pretenses were as clear as day to the fellow trickster. Drunk on the knowledge he’d caught the famous fortune teller in his own scheme, Skender threatened to destroy the reputation and very name of Trelawney. But unbeknownst to the Trelawney’s, he had a scheme planned of his own. Instead, he offered a proposition in exchange for his silence. Knowing the mere whisper of fraud would ruin them, the Trelawney’s were black mailed into the net of Skenders and in turn joined the ranks of Le Cirque Des Rêves. A home for the whimsical and peculiar, The Skenders in passing years had reclaimed the narrative from their ancestors' callous reputation at Cirque Arcanus. Famed by the dreamer ENZO SKENDER, the reputation of the late Ring Master was carried in the art of his wife KAMALI SKENDER and younger twin brothers Ronan and CONRAD SKENDER. Sybill, oblivious to her family’s reasoning for joining and at only seven, revealed in the marvel that her new home encompassed. Promising wonder under the glittering strung lights and striped tents, it was filled with sorcerers and creatures who prided themselves on their peculiarity. With it came, Sybill hoped, a place that could finally feel like home.

Though slowly Sybill began to realise that her dreams of wonderment were merely that of fantasy. A curious child and overlooked by her parents, she ached for their company. With a mother that could barely meet her eye and a father consumed in his showmanship, hopes of rekindling her relationship with them grew slim. Claiming she was young and naive, they deemed her foolish; though her intellect was more than either could have foreseen. Piecing together fragmented whispers exchanged at twilight, the witch soon learned the reality of her parents tricks. With the facade crumbled, she saw the man her father really was. Not a famed Seer whom she had deeply admired, but a mere crook and fool. Searching for solace in the stars and tarot cards, Sybill hoped to find answers to her parents' cruelty but fell short. Comfort, however, came in her best friends CORIN HALE and CHRISTOPHER HIGGLEBOTTOM. Fellow children of the circus with merely a few years separating them in age, the three were an unlikely trio. A feisty young werewolf, Corin grew up the princess of the circus, dreaming of following in her mother’s footsteps as the adopted daughter of Kamali and SILAS CRUMP. Christopher on the other hand was nomadic, a quieter soul he fell into the circus with his talented nibble fingers though never held the same love for the mystery of the night as Corin did. Sadly, the pair understood the ache of betrayal and heartache caused by those meant to love them. 

As they grew, the circus felt more like a cage than a sanctum for the strange. While growing more reliant on Corin as time passed, Sybil began to see Chris in a new light. Chris longed for normalcy and stability while Sybill craved a place she could finally call home. Laying under stars on the outskirts of secluded towns, they planned on one day living outside of the shadows. Exchanging promises with a gentle brush of hands and a tender kiss, unaware that Sybill’s chance at happiness would come merely days later in the form of a letter to Hogwarts. Sorted into Ravenclaw, the witch held her reservations about mingling with others. Isolating herself in an attempt preserve her inner eye, Sybill found she preferred secluded areas along forgotten passageways and mingling with the tower ghosts. With glitter adorning her cheeks and colourful scarves in her hair, Sybill’s unique sense of self wasn’t always well received. One particular witch that took a disliking to her was PERSEPHONE WILKES; a queen bee among the hallowed halls who believed she was Merlin’s gift itself. Thinking the wailing insults sounded more like a newly potted mandrake craving attention, Sybill attempted to brush comments off with a witty remark and roll of her eyes. However if it wasn’t for Wilkes’ sourness to anything challenging the norm, Sybill never would have met the spunky Irish witch SAOIRSE MACMILLAN. Having left a gathering for Sorcerers for Equality, Persphone’s tried to bate yet another reaction from those that had attended. Exasperated, anger boiled and Sybill sent a crystal ball flying at Wilkes’ head. Left stunned, Persephone fled with her gang of purebloods, leaving Saoirse impressed and inviting Sybill to the great hall.  

From then, Sybill traded one group of misfits for another; Saoirse, AUGUSTUS ABBOTT, TILDEN TOOTS, EVE DIGGORY and EDGAR BONES. Quickly she found that her friends became her family and Hogwarts the only place that had ever felt like home. Steering from the ‘mainstream’ of the school, the group took pride in being different. Spending hours by the black lake, they shared secrets and sang along to Fleetwood Mac carefree in each other’s company. While she loved them all dearly, over time Sybill found the same feeling she held for Chris reflected in Edgar. While not fully understanding her emotions or how to deal with them in both parties, she keeps them safe like a jar of fireflies; warm and safe in her heart. With an evident aptitude for divination and showing she was in the possession of the inner eye, Sybill took deep pride in being able to reclaim her ancestry and the name of the Trelawney. Even being invited to attend the infamous Slug Club for her excelling grades and ancestry. Hogwarts was a sanctum for Sybill, while summers cast her back into the shadows of the circus. The summer of her seventeenth year, the witch had innocently been practicing reading tea leaves in her father’s company. Untill she caught sight of the pattern at the bottom his cup; the grim. Shaken off as merely eccentric and a false reading, it wasn’t until mere two weeks later when he was found dead under suspicious circumstances - rumored to have been killed by one he’d once tricked - that for the first time Dorothy really looked at her daughter. Eyes filled with hate, disgust and a lifetime of regret.

Devastated, Dorothy scorned her for bringing the grim reaper upon their home; blaming her for the death of her husband, she abandoned Sybill. Forsaking the wizarding community and disappearing into the night never to be seen again. Heart broken, Sybill left the circus for good with tears and a trail of broken memories. A dear friend to her late aunt EDITH HAROLDS, MINERVA MCGONAGALL swore to keep a tender watchful eye on the witch and took Sybill in with a motherly hand. News of her father’s death spread, followed by the unraveling of years of fraud at her mother’s hand it left the name of Trelawney tarnished for all to see. The truth ruined any chance of Sybill being taken seriously as a Seer despite her gifts and ancestry. Viewing her as equally troubled and fake, no one dares to believe her predictions. Managing to take a job in Rosa Lee’s with a kind word from Minerva, unfortunately her readings of the grim have become more frequent in the passing weeks. Disconcerting; most recently the witch has screamed in fear at the site of tea cups belonging to ANNABETH PEBWORTH, LILY EVANS and GILFRED ABBOTT. While McGonagall tries to assure her of false readings, obstinate in the fact she seems to claim visions of the grim in a teacup every week; the toll that it is slowly started to take on Sybill is evident to see. Taken to an unhealthy coping mechanism much to the deep concern of her flatmate Tilden, Sybill can often be found shaken and muttered nonsense to herself in candlelight. Sipping on sherry and repeatedly aligning her healing crystals to try and cope with the grief of losing her family and the deep fear that darker times lie ahead.

→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION:

Blood Status → Half-Blood (Seer)

Pronouns → She/Her

Identification → Cis Female

Sexuality  → Asexual

Relationship Status → Single

Previous Education →  Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Ravenclaw)

Family → Dorothy Trelawney (estranged mother), Eugene Trelawney (deceased father), Cassandra Trelawney (deceased great-great grandmother) Edith Harolds (deceased aunt)

Connections  → Tilden Toots (best friend/roommate), Saoirse MacMillan (best friend), Eve Diggory (best friend), Augustus Abbott (best friend), Edgar Bones (best friend/potential love interest), Christopher Higglebottom (childhood best friend/potential love interest), Corin Hale (childhood best friend), Dorothea Lovegood (close friend), Pandora Fortescue (friend), Gaspard Shingleton (friend), Persephone Wilkes (adversary)

Future Information → Ex-Wife of Christopher Higglebottom, Professor of Divination at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Author of My Eyes and How to See Past Them

SYBILL TRELAWNEY IS A LEVEL 5 WITCH.

[iinamoratos]

( herman tommeraas / demi boy ) SYLVAIN FROSSARD is 23 years old and is a JUNIOR at thales university. he is majoring in BUSINESS and is known for being THE FACADE as he can be INTELLIGENT and CHARISMATIC as well as SELF-DESTRUCTIVE and PROMISCUOUS. every time i see him, he reminds me of LIPSTICK SMUDGES AT THE COLLAR OF YOUR SHIRT, and THICK BOOKS HIDDEN FROM PRYING EYES. ( wiv )

this is also a terrible intro but consider: i love him

BASICS.

name. sylvain frossard

nickname. sylv, sylvie

gender identity. demi boy

pronouns. he/him

birthday. november 13th (i’m too dumb to calculate the birth year <3)

age. 23

height. 6′1″

sexual identity. bisexual

romantic identity. demiromantic

pets. a dog named pepper

likes. lively places, board games, pretty people

dislikes. his family, unclean spaces, himself

interests. the fine arts

CONNECTION.

sylvain was nana’s childhood friend. he was always closer to her twin, felix, but he adored them both and would frequently come over to play with them as kids. he was still close with her as adults, and frequently spent time with her by hopping from one college party to another. the last time he ever saw her was during one of these parties, and after her disappearance he spent many hours trying to look for her.

HISTORY.

( trigger warnings: child abuse, disappearance )

sylvain was supposedly made for greatness. his father was the ceo of a large company, and so expectations were set on him from the second he was born.

however as he grew up, it’s made abundantly clear that this was far from his real calling. his talents favored the arts and strategy much more - he loved to paint, could analyze a book’s elements without issue, and is a surprising threat at chess. this is not the path he was meant to take, but as much as he tries to be good at his training as an heir, it simply doesn’t come to him as easily as the arts did. the only thing he really does right is his charisma and ability to talk to clients.

so when the business started to fail, as their profits started to sink by the day, his father senselessly placed all the blame on his young son. how could you doom us like this, he would rant, i placed the roof over your head, i put food on the table every night. if you dropped your stupid art ventures then we wouldn’t be in this position at all.

he learned to hide his interests from everyone, hating how he would only get insulted and shamed whenever he tried to show them off. but instead of obeying his father without complaint, he rebelled. if they were going to place the blame on him, he should at least play the part.

all throughout high school, he partied, failed all of his classes, acted like the worst person to ever exist, throwing away fling after fling, in an attempt to ruin his father’s name and sink the company even further. he became notorious - sylvain frossard, the playboy, a light to the moths. if you come to close, you will get burned.

not that it mattered much. his father easily paid for his grades, and paid his way to a good university, too - thales university, with a business major to match. a last ditch effort to get him to straighten up and take the mantle.

his attitude hasn’t changed - still partying, still skipping classes to do whatever he wanted, with a new fling in his arms every week, sometimes two at once. deep down, however, under the mask he has built, he truly is a kind person - even if he himself has forgotten it. one person who knew that hidden side of him well was nana mun.

nana was a childhood friend of sylvain’s, and one of the very few people to know him for who he truly is. while she never approved of the way sylvain lived his life, she always turned to him to go to all the best parties, taking care of each other’s hangovers when after passing out in her house the night before. 

he must have spent months looking for her after her disappearance, stopping all of his antics to spend every free time he had investigating, going out to places she might have been. he also started investigating on alexandria, wondering if the two really are connected.

this has since slowed down with time, going back to wearing his mask - after all, he’s got a reputation to ruin - but he never really stopped. and with the death of steven walker reopening nana’s case, it’s unlikely he will stop any time soon.

[quickspinner]

Take a Chance - Ch 1 First Meetings

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

Summary: Lukanette college AU.  It all starts with a little mix-up. One look in her notebook and Luka is intrigued. One look in her eyes - and he’s in love.

This story came from the prompts for the first week of Lukanette September 2019. I was still pretty new to posting my stories and I wasn’t confident committing to the whole month but I figured, I could manage a week!

This story is complete on AO3

Marinette didn’t get a lot of phone calls, and she never got calls in the middle of the day. She stumbled a bit as she tried to get her phone out and walk at the same time. The number on the screen wasn’t a known contact, but it looked familiar. Wasn’t that Juleka’s number? But then why wouldn’t it show up under Juleka’s name? Frowning, she answered the call, trying not to sound too breathless. “Hello?”

“Uh, hi, I’m looking for Marinette?” The voice was male, so, definitely not Juleka. 

“I’m Marinette,” she said cautiously. 

“Cool, I’m Luka, I’m Juleka’s brother? I think we might have met once a few months back.”

“O-oh,” Marinette stammered, confused. 

“Jules gave me your number because I have something of yours and I’m kinda hoping you have something of mine. A plain black notebook that basically looks exactly like yours, except mine has music inside instead of clothes. Sound familiar?”

“Oh gosh—um, hang on, let me check.” Marinette dug through her bag and pulled out her sketchbook. She flipped it open and her stomach dropped as she found that it wasn’t hers at all. It was full of music notations and scribbled notes that might have been song lyrics. “Yes, I have it,” she confirmed. “I’m so sorry, I’m such a klutz. You live with Juleka right? I was over there this morning and I knocked over a stack of things and I thought I put it all back but I must have switched these. I hope you didn’t need it, I’m so sorry—“

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Luka said, soothingly, a touch of amusement in his warm voice. “As long as you have it, that’s fine. I do kind of need it tonight though, is there somewhere I can meet you and trade?”

“Um, let me think. I’m on my way to class now...it’s Tuesday, so my next break is at 3.”

“Okay, I’m in class until 3:30, but I could meet you right after? Um...there’s a coffee shop near the music building, do you know it? I can’t remember the name, but it has a red awning. I can meet you there after my class is over.”

“That sounds perfect,” Marinette agreed. “I know the place, I’ll meet you there.”

“Great.” Luka seemed to hesitate. “Okay, I hope this isn’t weird, but I was wondering if I could look at some more of your sketches? I only saw a few before I realized it wasn’t mine and found your name, but they looked really cool and I’m really curious to see the rest.”

Maybe it was a little weird, but it was also flattering. Marinette appreciated that he asked instead of just snooping through and not mentioning it. “Um, sure, there’s nothing really personal in it, just designs for one of my classes.”

“All art is personal,” Luka said easily, and then she heard someone calling to him. “Shit, you’re right,” he said, voice a bit distant before returning. “Marinette, I’m sorry, I’ve got to go before I’m late. I’ll see you a little after 3:30.”

“Okay, see you then,” Marinette replied, half expecting him to hang up before she finished speaking. 

Instead she heard, “See you soon, Marinette,” before the line cut out. 

***

Luka headed to the coffee shop with a quicker step than strictly necessary after escaping yet another boring, pedantic lecture from his least favorite professor. He hadn’t even heard half of it, fascinated by the book in his hand. He knew less than nothing about fashion in general and even less than that about the process of design, but there was so much life in the sketches covering the pages of the misplaced notebook. He couldn’t judge her talent, but Marinette’s passion was clear and he was curious about the girl behind the designs.

He found her easily enough, sitting in a booth facing the cafe’s entrance, his composition book placed prominently towards the edge of the table. For a moment, he felt disappointment. He wasn’t sure what he expected, and there was nothing wrong with her exactly, but...she didn’t really stand out, dressed in shades of pink and black, sweet but without any of the edge he’d seen in her art. 

But it wasn’t like him to judge on appearances and he silently berated himself as he made his way over to the table. “Marinette?”

Then she looked up and locked eyes with him, and the deep blue of the sea fell into the endless blue of the sky and he swore he heard music.  

***

Marinette had met Juleka’s brother once before, if you could call a hurried introduction and hello-goodbye a meeting, as he was rushing out to perform with his band. All she was really left with was the impression of blue, and lean muscles highlighted by body glitter.

She could see neither muscle nor glitter at the moment, but the blue was there, in his eyes and the tips of his shaggy hair. He wasn’t classically handsome but he had an interesting face, and she thought to herself that she’d like to dress him. It would be a nice change from cookie cutter models and he looked like he had a fun style. 

He smiled and gestured at the empty bench across from her. “I’m Luka. May I?”

“Oh sure, of course,” she said quickly, shuffling her things ineffectually before realizing there was plenty of room. He slid in across from her, sleepy eyes a deeper shade of blue than her own fixed on her. She blushed faintly without really knowing why and his eyes flicked away. 

“Thanks for meeting me,” he said. “I hope It wasn’t too far out of your way.”

“No, it wasn’t too far, and I’ve gotten some work done, so it’s all good. I’m so sorry about the mixup.”

He took her book out of his bag and slid it across the table towards her. “Thanks for letting me look at it. Way more interesting than my music theory class.”

“Oh,” Marinette blushed deeper. “A-are you interested in fashion?”

“No,” he admitted. “Honestly I never thought about it much, I just wear things that are comfortable and make me feel good. But I am interested in art, and I can see now that fashion is art too. So, thanks. For...a new perspective, I guess.”

Marinette couldn’t help smiling, there was something so sincere about the way he said it. He must have a really interesting way of looking at the world. 

Which maybe shouldn’t surprise her so much. Juleka was hardly known for conventional thinking. 

“I wish I could get as much from yours,” Marinette said, gesturing towards his notebook where it still lay on the table. “Not—not that I looked through it or anything, but just what I saw when I opened it, It’s only gibberish to me, I’m afraid.”

Luka smiled slowly. “You think so?” For a moment Marinette was afraid she’d insulted him, but he only took his notebook up and turned the pages for a moment. Then he laid it back down and turned it so she could see the open pages. “What do you see here?”

She looked, and at first it was only gibberish, as she’d said, a mix of notes and musical terms, with occasional notes that made sense but didn’t, like “dark, flash flood, drowning.” Marinette glanced up at Luka, who was watching her with a small smile on his face. She looked down at the page again, and this time she noticed the dark lines and deep grooves, the places where things were not just crossed out, but scratched through or scribbled black. The whole feel of the page was frustration, maybe even anger. “This,” she said slowly, looking up at him. “This was not a good day.”

Luka’s smile widened. “See? You can’t read the notes, but the feelings still come through. I felt the same way about yours.” Marinette slid the notebook back to him, smiling herself. “Can I ask you something?” Luka asked. “You don’t have to answer if it’s too personal.” He gestured to her notebook again and she handed it back to him. He thumbed quickly through the pages until he found the one he wanted. He put it back down in front of her, watching her face. “What happened?”

The page was scribbled over with thick black marker lines, zigzagging across the dress that had been coming to life on the page. Beneath the thick scribbles, there were notes written around the sketch, some scratched out and some visibly messier than others. Marinette winced looking at it. “It couldn’t do what I wanted to,” she said, after staring at it for a moment. “It was...the dress wasn’t right for the concept, or the concept couldn’t be a dress at all, and the more I tried to fix it the more frustrated I got. Then my TA reviewed my work for the week and ripped me a new one over it, and...I just knew I wasn’t ever going to be excited over it again, so I scrapped it.”

She felt ashamed as she said it, like she was admitting she was a quitter, but Luka just nodded, as if she made perfect sense, then reached over and turned a couple of pages.

“Not that my opinion’s worth much, but this one was my favorite. It just has so much energy. It feels...hopeful. Like it’s waiting for great things to happen.” He glanced up at her, looking uncertain for the first time in their conversation. “I hope that came out right. I’m not always great at explaining things.”

Marinette just stared at him in wonder, a bright smile slowly spreading over her face. “No, I think you got exactly what I was thinking. It’s a first date dress, I mean, that’s what I was thinking when I made it.”

Luka nodded slowly. “Potential.”

Marinette beamed. “Yes, exactly.” She leaned on the table and put her chin on her fist, looking at him with renewed curiosity. He looked back for a minute, and then straightened abruptly.

“I think I’m going to get a drink, would you like anything?” Luka said, sliding from the booth.

Marinette blinked. “Um, yeah, that would be great. A cinnamon latte?” 

“Got it. Be right back.”

Marinette sat back as he walked away. 

He seemed nice.

***

Do you believe in love at first sight?

He’d heard the question many times before, usually from people trying to pick him up after performances, but until now he’d been largely agnostic on the matter. It could happen, but I’ve never seen it.

Luka was a thorough believer now.

Of course he knew the term coup de foudre but he’d never known it was so...accurate. He’d never experienced a shock to his system like the one he’d felt when he locked eyes with Marinette.

They were supposed to just exchange books and go on their way. He was bad at small talk, he knew it, but jumping into such an intimate conversation hadn’t been his intention either. He fervently hoped he wasn’t scaring her off. He knew his natural intensity could be off putting when he was too focused on a single person, and right now he was very, very focused on Marinette.

Luka ordered the drinks in to go cups, just in case. 

When he returned with the drinks he felt a bit better. Marinette looked more comfortable and relaxed, and made no move to flee once he set her drink in front of her. 

When he was back in his seat, Marinette surprised him, asking, “So, um, is music your major or just a hobby?”

“Music Ed, actually,” Luka replied, wrapping his long fingers around his cup. 

“Really? You want to be a teacher?”

Luka chuckled. “I’d like to be a musician and not starve. Honestly, I’d like to give private lessons so I can work one on one with the kids and still work on my own music.”

“I remember you play in a band,” Marinette said. 

“Yeah, we’re playing this weekend actually.” Luka rummaged in his bag for the stack of fliers, grateful for the opening. He pulled one out and handed it to Marinette. “I’d love for you to come.” Her eyes met his again and he felt that same shock run through his system. He wondered if she felt it too. 

He flexed his fingers, wishing for his guitar.