#but we’re gonna have a little gap and then you’ll probably get the last 3 chapters close together - it’ll be fun!

[weather-mood]

nah take your time. those of us who have been reading since the beginning were used to once or twice a week and we were okay with that speed. you've given us such a beautiful and well written story we're going to patiently wait for you to get it to us when you do 💕

Thank you!! 💕💖 I honestly probably won’t be putting out the next chapter until 22 and 23 are nearly done just so I’m confident that the ending arc is gelling together properly.

[felassan]

Dragon Age development insights and highlights from Bioware: Stories and Secrets from 25 Years of Game Development

Some really tasty factoids here.

Cut for length.

Dragon Age: Origins

The continent of Thedas was at one point going to be named Pelledia, a name initially floated by James Ohlen

“Qunari” was a temporary name that ended up unintentionally sticking, much like “Thedas”

Mary Kirby wrote the Landsmeet. To this day, nobody understands how it works, except possibly her. If she’s “really really drunk” she can explain how it works. There’s as many words in it as Sten’s entire conversations put together

Concept art for Thedosian art - as in in-world art - draws heavily on Renaissance-era portraiture, the Art Nouveau movement, religious styles and media like stained glass, and favorite pieces from the golden age of illustrations in the early 20th century

Andrastianism in-world (art-wise) is depicted in wildly different methods depending on who in-world made the art in question. “One religion, 3 different lenses”. There’s the Chantry take, the Orlesian take and the Fereldan take; each with its own different interpretations, different mediums and different stories

The stained glass images were drawn by Nick Thornborrow for DAI, to decorate religious spaces in that game “and beyond”

irl Viking art influenced Ferelden

Greek and Italian art influenced Orlais

The book also had other insights into and anecdotes from the development of DAO, but I’ve transcribed them recently as they’re essentially the stories DG has recently been relating on the awesome Summerfall Studios DAO playthrough Twitch streams. (On those streams he provides dev commentary while Liam Esler plays through DA. The ones with DG are currently once every two weeks. Check them out! Here’s a calendar where you can check when the next one is) Instead of repeating myself I’ll just provide the link to the first transcript. From there you can navigate to the subsequent parts. Note these streams are ongoing. At this point I will also point you to a related post which is cliff notes of the Dragon Age chapter in Jason Schreier’s book Blood Sweat and Pixels.

Dragon Age II

DAO had the longest development period in BioWare history. In contrast DA2 had the shortest

Initially DA2 was going to be an expansion to DAO. A few months in EA said “Yeah, expansions like these don’t sell very well, so let’s make it a sequel.” So it suddenly became DA2 and they had to make it even bigger, although they still only had 1.5 years of time in which to do this

Production of DA2 officially lasted only 9 months, and at the time the team was still supporting live content for DAO! They finished development that January after the design team crunched all the way through the holiday period that year. Then it went to cert 9 times

The limited time they had is why the story takes place mostly in and around 1 city, and over 7 years (so it was temporal, rather than over physical distance, because a more expansive world would have taken more irl time to make)

They had no time to review even the main plot. Mike Laidlaw pitched the idea of 3 stories taking place at different points in the PC’s life, tied together by Varric’s recollections of events. DG rolled with this and made 1 presentation on the idea. This presentation was then approved and off they went

As they were writing DG realized that there was going to be no oversight and that everything was going to be a ‘first draft’. “Because nobody had time.” He sat down with the writers and said “Look, here’s the conditions we’re working under. A lot of what we’re putting out is gonna be raw. We’re not going to get the editing we need. We’re not going to get the kind of iteration we need. So I’m going to trust you all to do your best work.”

Looking back, DG has mixed feelings on DA2. “A lot of corners were cut. The public perception was that it was smaller than DAO. That’s a sin on its own.”

Despite this he thinks DA2 has some of the best writing in the series, especially character-wise. The DA2 chars are his favorite

The pace with which production progressed may in some ways have helped. “When we do a lot of revision, we often file away [as in buff off] some of the good writing as well. Somehow DA2′s whirlwind process resulted in some really good writing”

The pace meant chars landed on the writers in various stages of completion. For example Isabela was fairly defined due to appearing in DAO. In contrast Varric at the start was just that single piece of widely-shown concept art

Varric was conceived as a storyteller not a fighter. His skills are talking and bullshitting. Hence the question became, so what does this guy do in combat? The direction was to make him as different as possible to Oghren, so not a warrior. He couldn’t be a dual-wielding rogue in order to differentiate him from Bela. But you can’t really picture this guy with a bow. “For a dwarf, it would probably be a crossbow. We didn’t have crossbows, or we only had crossbows for the darkspawn. And they were part of the models. We didn’t have a separate crossbow that was equip-able by the chars. They had to like, crop one off a darkspawn and remodel it. And that became Bianca” (quote: Mary Kirby)

“Dwarven mages are exceedingly rare.” [???]

If DAO was a classic fantasy painting, DA2 was a screenshot from a Kurosawa film or a northern Renaissance painting. (Here Matt Rhodes was commenting on art style)

John Epler: “In any one of our games, there’s a 95% chance that if you turn the camera away from what it’s looking at, you’ll see all kinds of janky stuff. The moment we know the camera is no longer facing someone, we no longer care what happens to them. We will teleport people around. We will jump people around. We will literally have someone walk off screen and then we will shift them 1000 meters down, because we’re fixing some bug.” John also talked about this camera stuff in a recent charity Twitch stream for Gamers For Groceries. There’s a writeup of that stream here

Designing Kirkwall pushed concept artists to the limits of visual storytelling, because it has a long history that they wanted to be present. It was once the hub of Tevinter’s slave empire, so it needed to look brutal and harsh, but it also then needed to feel reclaimed, evolved, and with elements of contemporary Free Marches culture

The initial plan was for DA titles to be distinguished by subtitles not numbers, so that each experience could stand on its own rather than feel like a sequel or continuation. (My note: New PCs in each entry make sense then when you consider this and other factoids we know like how DA is the story of the world not of any one PC). Later, DA2′s name was made DA2 in a bid to more clearly connect the game to its predecessor. For DAI they returned to the original naming convention. (My note: so I’d reckon they’d be continuing the subtitle naming convention for DA4)

DA2 was initially code-named “Nug Storm”, strictly internally

The Cancelled DA2 Expansion - Exalted March

This was a precursor to DAI

It was meant to bridge the gap between DA2 and DAI

It focused on the fallout from Kirkwall’s explosion, with Cory serving as the villain

Meredith’s red lyrium statue was basically going to infest Kirkwall and it would end up [with what would end up] the red templars taking over Kirkwall and essentially being Cory’s army

To stop him Hawke would have recruited various factions, including Bela’s Felicisima Armada and the Qunari at Estwatch, forcing Hawke to split loyalties and risk relationships in the process

It was meant to bring DA2′s story to an end and end in Varric’s death. DG was very happy with this because all of DA2 is Varric’s tale. The expansion was supposed to start at the moment Cassandra’s interrogation of him ended in the present. “And we finished off the story with Varric having this heroic death.” It tied things up and would have broken many fan hearts, something BioWare writers notoriously enjoy. But between a transition to the new Frostbite engine and the scope of DAI, the decision was made to cancel EM, work any hard-to-lose concepts into DAI, and in the process save Varric’s life. DG has talked about the Varric dying thing before

Concept art for EM explored new areas previously not depicted in the DA universe, with costumes that reflected next steps for familiar chars. Varric was going to war, what would he have worn? With Anders, if he survived DA2, the plan was to present a redeemed Warden

A char that vaguely resembled Sera in DAI was first concepted for EM. This fact was mentioned near this concept art (see the female elf) and this concept art of Bethany with the blond bob

The writers sketched out plans to end it with Hawke having the option to marry their LI. This included alternate ceremonies for party members like Bethany and Sebastian if the player opted not to wed. There was even a wedding dress made for Hawke. This asset made it into DAI (Sera and Cullen’s weddings in Trespasser). The dress can also be seen in DAI during an ambient NPC wedding after completing a chain of war table missions

The destruction of a Chantry was explored in concept art as it might have happened in EM. This idea ended up carrying over to the beginning of DAI. (My note: Lol, the idea that DA2 could have had 2 Chantries being destroyed in it 😆)

World of Thedas

Sheryl Chee and Mary Kirby started with “a disgusting little dish called fluffy mackerel pudding”. In the middle of DAO’s busy dev period one of them (they can’t remember who) found a recipe online for this, scanned in from a 70s cookbook. “I don’t understand why it was fluffy. Why would you want fluffy mackerel pudding?” MK says. “We loved it so much we included it in a DAO codex.”

This led them to create more food for Thedas, full recipes included, like a Fereldan turnip and barley stew from MK and SC’s Starkhaven fish and egg pie. The fish pie became Sebastian’s favorite. “To me it made sense for it to be fish pie because a lot of the Free Marches are on the coast”, SC says, “It was something that was popular in medieval times, so I thought, let’s make a fish pie! I looked at medieval recipes and I concocted a fish pie which I fed to my partner, and he was like ‘This is not terrible’”

For WoT the whole studio was asked to contribute family recipes which might have a place in Thedas. SC adapted these to fit in one Thedosian culture or another, including a beloved banana bread that localization producer Melanie Fleming would regularly bake to keep the DA team motivated. “Melanie’s banana bread got us through Inquisition”

DAI

It says part of DAI takes place in or near the border with Nevarra [???]

This game was aimed to be bigger than DA2 and even DAO in every conceivable way

The first hour had to do a lot of heavy lifting, tying together the events of DAO and DA2 while introducing a new PC, new followers etc in the aftermath of the big attack. DG rewrote it 7 times then Lukas Kristjanson did 2 more passes

DG: “Our problem is always that our endings are so important, but we leave them to last, when we have no time. I kept pushing on DAI: ‘Can we work on the ending now? Can we work on the ending now? Can we do it early on?’ Because I knew exactly what it was going to be. But despite the fact that it kept getting scheduled, whenever the schedule started falling behind, it kept getting pushed back... so, of course, it got left til last again.”

“The reveal of the story’s real antagonist, Solas, a follower until the end, when he betrayed the player”. “Solas’ story remains a main thread in Inquisition’s long-awaited follow-up” [these aren’t DG quotes, just bits of general text]

Over the course of development they had 8 full-time writers and 4 editors working on it. Other writers joined later to help wrangle what ended up being close to 1 million words of dialogue and unspoken text. While many teams moved to a more open concept style of work for DAI, the writers remained tucked away in their own room, a choice DG says was necessary, given how much they talked. All the talking had a purpose ofc as if someone hit a bump or wall in their writing they would open the problem up to the room

As writing on a project like DAI progresses, the writers grow punchier and weirder things make it into the game. This is especially the case towards the end of a project (they get tired, burned out)

Banter and codexes require less ‘buy-in’ (DG has talked about this concept a few times on the Twitch streams) from other designers. DG liked to leave banter for last as a reward because it was fun. Banter begins as lists of topics for 2 followers to discuss. These may progress over time or be one off exchanges. One banter script can balloon to well over 10k words. “The banter was always huge because we were always like, laughing, and really at that point, our fields of fucks were rather barren, so we would just do whatever”

The bog unicorn happened pretty much by accident. It was designed by Matt Rhodes and was one of his fav things to design. They needed horse variations and he had already designed an undead variant which was a bog mummy [bog body]. irl these are preserved in a much different way to traditional mummies. When someone dies in a bog their skin turns black and raisin-like. The examples we know of tend to have bright red hair for whatever reason. It’s a very striking look and MR wanted to do a horse version of this as he thought it’d be neat. 5 mins before the review meeting for it he had a big ‘Aha!’ moment, quickly looked up a rusty old Viking sword, and photoshopped it through its skull like that was how it died. “And I was like, ‘I just made a unicorn. Alright, in it goes!’” It got approved. “So we built the thing. It fit. It told a little story”

With the irl Inquisition longsword, one of the objects they tested its cleaving ability on was a plush version of Leliana’s nug Schmooples

The concept art team explored a wide variety of visuals for the Inquisitor’s signature mark. It needed to look powerful and raw but couldn’t look like a horrific wound. In some cases, as cool as the idea looked on paper, they just weren’t technically feasible, especially as they had to be able to fit on any number of different bodies

Bug report: “Endlessly spawning mounts! At one point during development, Inquisitors could summon a new horse every time they whistled, allowing them to amass a near infinite number of eager steeds that faithfully followed them across Thedas. “You could go charging across levels and they’d all gallop behind you,” Jen Cheverie says, “It was beautiful.” Trotting into town became an epic horse siege as a tidal wave of mounts enveloped the streets. Jen called it her Army of Ponies”

The giants came from DA Week, an internal period when devs can pursue different individual creative projects that in some way benefit DA. They also had a board game from one of these that they were going to put in but they didn’t have time. It’s referenced though. It was dwarven chess

Josie’s outfit is made of gold silk and patterned velvet, with leather at her waist. She carries “an ornate ledger” and she has “an ornamented collar sitting around her neck, finished by a brilliant red ruby, like a drop of Antivan wine in a sunbeam”

Iron Bull’s armor is leather. His loose pantaloons and leather boots give him agility to charge

On DAI in particular, concept artists took special care to make sure costumes would be realistic, at least in a practical ‘this obeys the laws of physics and textiles’ sense. “While on Inquisition, we thought about cosplay from a concept art perspective. Given how incredible a lot of [cosplays] are, I now am not worried about them. In fact in some cases in the future I want to throw them curveballs like, ‘All right, you clever bastards. Let’s see if you can do this!’”

2 geese that nested on the office building and had chicks were named Ganders and Arishonk (it wasn’t known who was the mom or the dad). Other possible names were Carver Honke, Bethany Honke, Urdnot Pecks, Quackwall, Cassandra Pentagoose, the Iron Bill, Shepbird, Garroose, Admiral Quackett, Scout Honking, HChick-47 and Darth Malgoose

Bug report: “The surprising adventures of Ser Noodles!” DAI was the first time the series had a mount feature, meaning this had a lot of bugs. A lot of the teams’ favorite bugs were to do with the mounts. There was a period of time where the Inquisitor’s horse seemed to lose all bone and muscle in its legs. They had a week or so where all quadruped legs were broken. It was a bit noticeable in things like nugs and other small beasties but the horse was insanely obvious. “The first time we summoned the horse [for this] and started running around, the entire QA exploration room just exploded with laughter.” Its legs flapped around like cooked fettucine, leading testers to lovingly nickname it Ser Noodles. At galloping speeds the legs almost looked like helicopter blades, especially when footage was set to classic pieces such as Wagner’s Flight of the Valkyries

For DAI the artists were asked questions like “What would Morrigan wear to a formal ball? Can Cassandra pull off a jaunty hat?”

On DAI storyboarding became the norm. John Epler: “Cinematic design for the longest time was the Wild West. It was ‘here’s a bunch of content, now do it however you want’, which resulted in some successes and some failures.” Storyboarding gave designers a consistent visual blueprint based on ideas from designers, writers and concept artists

Quote from a storyboard by Nick Thornborrow (the Inquisitor going into the party at the end of basegame sequence): “Until Corypheus revealed himself they could not see the single hand behind the chaos. A magister and a darkspawn combined. The ultimate evil. So evil. Eviler than puppy-killers and egg farts combined.”

A general note on concept art:

In the early stages of any project, before the concept artists are aware of any writing, they like to just draw what they think cool story moments could be. It’s not unusual for the team to then be inspired by these and fold them into the game as the project progresses

– From Bioware: Stories and Secrets from 25 Years of Game Development

[dameronology]

love in a time of p.t.a meetings {marcus moreno}

one shot #3 - 4am

summary: you’re used to it just being you & your kid, and you’re even more used to taking on the world on your own when it gets hard - so, it’s difficult to let marcus in, even when he wants to help {series masterlist}

warnings: parenting themes, very brief mentions of loss, probably the nearest thing you’ll ever get to angst in this series and it’s not even angst 

sorry about the huge gaps between the one shots!! life is v hectic at the moment and i am running around like a headless chicken 24/7. what a vibe. enjoy :) 

- jazz xx

Things had been going smoothly - too smoothly. 

That meant it was only a matter of time before your mini demon child decided to kick up a fuss and do something completely, irretrievably wild. He’d done it before - there had been the fire incident, the shaving the dog incident, the you can’t re-enact the final scene from Revenge of the Sith with pencils incident. You’d taken them all in your stride and tried to learn from them; what else could you do, other than roll with the punches in life? Nobody was born knowing how to parent and you had to constantly remind yourself that. 

But this? This was fucking exhausting. Jack’s sudden refusal to sleep was absolutely kicking the life out of you. And even though he seemed to enjoy living in the Moreno house, you couldn’t help but feel your big move had been something to do with it. You were plagued with guilt at the thought of ripping him away from his childhood home, despite the fact he’d been excited to live with Marcus and Missy. You knew it was all in your head but still, his sudden misbehaviour was really bad for your guilty conscience. It was one thing having your parenting questioned by the minivan mums on the playground but something else entirely when it came from your own mind. 

‘Jack, please!’ You reached out for him, pulling him off his bed and forcing him to lay down. ‘It is 4am. Go to sleep!’

‘No!’ He thwacked your arms away. ‘I don’t want to!’

This was the fifth night in the row that he had refused to sleep. Whether it was loudly banging on the walls or playing Life Is a Highway at full volume from his iPad, the little human had taken it upon himself to deprive the entire family of sleep. Normally, you could have handled it (just about, at least) - but work had been beyond busy and with the loss of an elderly family member, everything was beginning to pile up on your shoulders.

‘I cannot do this tonight!’ You tried to suppress your frustration. ‘Jack, please.’

You didn’t want to cry. They weren’t even tears of sadness, more tears of frustration. Frustration that you couldn’t seem to get through to your own kid, and frustration that he wouldn’t listen. You were sleep deprived as fuck and it was out of your control. The temptation to wave your white flag and let Jack have what he wanted was almost overwhelming. 

‘I don’t want to sleep!’ He yelled. ‘I don’t have to do as you say!’

‘Fine!’ You flapped your hands in the air. ‘I’m done, Jack. Do whatever the hell you want.’

Tossing the stormtrooper you were holding to the floor, you turned your back and stalked out the room, shutting it behind you. 

Your back hit the wood with a thud as you slid down it, the formidable pressure on your shoulders finally prolapsing. You rested your head in your hands, letting out a silent cry. Fuck, you hadn’t cried in ages. Most of the time, you were immune to the absolute craziness that came with your child, but you just needed a break. It had just been you and him for so long that you were used to handling it all on your own and you hadn’t had a day off since he was born. Even when his dad had been in the picture, you’d still practically been a single parent. Doing it on your own was all you ever knew. 

You hadn’t even realised that Marcus had come to sit beside you; not until you felt a warm pair of hands on your shoulders, and the softness of his pyjama shirt against you. For a man who had been losing as much sleep as you and running a superhero team, he was surprisingly with it. His ability to hold his shit together was astounding. 

‘I am so sorry.’ You murmured. ‘His behaviour has been bad but not this bad.’

‘You don’t have to apologise, sweetheart.’ He replied. ‘Kids are stubborn as hell.’

‘It’s not even that.’ You sniffed. ‘It’s just that he won’t listen. And I’m the one person he should fucking listen to.’

‘You don’t have to have the solution to everything.’ Marcus reminded you. He gently wiped a tear from your cheek with his thumb. 

‘What if it’s my fault?’ You leant further against his side. ‘What if me uprooting him from the apartment messed him up?’

‘No decision as a parent is easy.’ He said. ‘Especially not ones like that, but you did what’s best for you and him and that’s all you can do. It’s a lot of change for you both but it was the right choice, I promise you.’

‘Maybe.’ You murmured. ‘It’s just...I’ve always been his only parent. Like I am single-handedly responsible for the way he turns out and I do not want to accidentally screw up.’

Marcus softly chuckled.��‘It’s gonna take a lot more than you moving house for him to be a screw up - besides, I’m here to help now too.’

You peered up at him. ‘You don’t have to deal with his shit.’

‘Maybe I want to.’

‘Yeah, but you don’t have to.’

He thinned his eyes at you. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Nothing.’

Marcus moved his arms from you, shuffling around so that you were facing each other. He had a way of holding your gaze that nobody else quite managed; even his brown eyes were tired from exhaustion, he still managed to look right into your fucking soul. Maybe it was part of his job, or maybe he just saw through your bullshit. 

‘Please don’t shut me out.’

You let out a small sigh. ‘I don’t want you to feel like you have to get involved with my kid’s crazy shit. You had a peaceful life before this and-’

‘- I’m not gonna do what his dad did.’ Marcus suddenly cut you off. You could only blink in surprise. ‘I know that’s not you’re saying but it is what you’re saying.’

You’d got got pretty good at your little juggling act over the last five years; it was like you had three balls - Jack, work and everything else the universe had to throw at you. And maybe you weren’t just juggling, but you were doing it on a unicycle. Sometimes it felt like you were going to lose your balance and drop everything, but you’d managed it this far. The idea that Marcus wanted to help you and actually, genuinely had your best interests at heart was an alien idea. You were used to doing everything on your own. 

‘I’m sorry.’ You murmured. ‘We were let down and it’s gonna take time to heal. That’s on me.’

‘No, it’s not.’ Marcus took your hands in his. ‘We’re a family, okay? Nothing is ever going to change that now.’

You gave him a watery smile. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too.’ 

He stood up, pulling you up with him. 

The fact that not even Marcus and his unusual talents to get your child to behave were working was a testament to Jack’s rough patch. He was normally obedient as hell when it came to listening to him - probably because he was a superhero, you figured. Either way, you both just wanted to sleep. 

Marcus slowly creaked open the door - the sounds of Jack jumping up and down on his bed had stopped, but the godforsaken song from Cars was still blaring in the background. You peered over his shoulder on your tiptoes, trying to get a view at what was going on. By some miracle, the child was now passed out in the middle of the floor. Five nights of no sleep had finally caught up with him, in the same way they were about to catch up with you. 

You gently crept inside and tugged his iPad from his hands, giving him a soft kiss on the forehead. If you moved him from the rug to the bed, you would have woken him; instead, you pulled his blanket from his bed and tucked it over him. 

‘C’mon,’ you took Marcus’ hand as you exited the room. ‘Before we wake the sleeping dragon.’

He tossed an arm across your back, pulling you into his side as you walked down the hallway. 

‘The only person who can wear that kid out is himself.’ He reminded you. ‘Maybe we just need another Jack.’

‘Please don’t give me nightmares.’ 

[americancowgirl19]

Her Soldier

Summary: Sam gets drafted for the Vietnam war a couple days after he turns 18. Right before he leaves, he meets you.

Warnings: Angst, death, fluff, small age gap (like 2/3 years), 

Reader: Female Reader

Pairings: Vietnam Soldier Sam Winchester x Female Reader

Word Count: 4,565

A/n: Based off the song ‘Travelin’ Soldier’ by Dixie Chicks.. I swear I almost cry every time I hear this song so hopefully I can make others cry

Masterlist

The café you worked at was dead. The only customer in the whole place is the old man at the bar sipping on his coffee rereading the newspaper for the hundredth time. You didn’t mind the old man lingering around. He’s sweet and just wants to be around people instead of his empty house. So, when he asks for a refill for the dozenth time you give it to him with a small smile and begin a short conversation with him.

When he returns to looking at his newspaper you begin wiping tables down. Nobody’s sat at them since the last time you wiped them down but it gave you something to do. 

As you reached the last table, the doorbell rang signaling someone coming in. You turned around to great them but the words die in your throat. The customer that had entered is a tall broad man dressed in an army uniform. He shed his hat and sets his bag down.

His eyes scan the place before falling on you. You’re taken back by the color in his eyes. They’re captivating along with the smile that spreads across his lips.

“Can I uh... Just sit anywhere?” He asks, fiddling with his cap in his hands. His question snaps you out of your daze.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” You nod quickly, a light blush coming to your cheeks. “Wherever you like,” You tell him. He nods to you before taking his bag and choosing a booth by the window. 

You take a deep breath, thankful his back is to you. You take a moment to calm yourself knowing it’s useless. The moment you regain his attention you’ll be a stuttering mess. 

You work in an old rundown café, not many attractive men come in. When they do come strolling in another waitress always snatches them before you do. Although, you don’t put up a fight seeing that you’re anxiety usually keeps you from actively approaching them. However, today you’re the only waitress.

“What, uh.. What can I get you?” You ask, thankful you didn’t stutter too much. He flashes you a smile, although you notice a been of nervousness in his posture. He shifts in his seats and gives you his order.

You bring him is water and leave him be. You wait by the bar for his food to finish cooking. You try not to stare but your gaze keeps falling on him. You watch his leg bounce under the table and how he shifts every few seconds. His head turns from looking outside to down at the table.

You felt bad for him. You knew what was going on in the world and you knew that where he was going is dangerous. You older brother had been drafted to the army. Plus, at night, you heard your parents talking to each other about all the bad stuff going on over seas.

“Order up!” The cook snaps, breaking you from your thoughts. You grab the plate and carry it to the handsome man.

“Here ya go,” You say, feeling even worse when he jumps. You give him a small smile setting the plate in front of him. “Enjoy,”

“Hey,” He says, quickly when you turn to walk away. You look at him, smiling a bit when he struggles to find his words. “Do you mind sitting with me?” He asks, shyly. “I could use someone to talk to,” He tells you, pressing his lips together. Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t say no to him.

“I’m off in an hour,” You tell him. “If you have time, I know a place where we can go,”

“Perfect,” He nods, quickly.

The next hour dragged on. You refilled the old man’s coffee, you wiped the tables down, and you exchanged a couple of words with the guy in the booth. When you finally clocked out, you slipped your jacket on and walked outside with the handsome stranger.

“I’m Y/n, by the way,” You introduce yourself as you lead him down the sidewalk.

“Sam,” He introduces himself, holding his hand out. You shake it, enjoying the warmth of his skin. “So, where are you taking me?”

“The pier,” You tell him. “It’s where I like to go when I need to get my head straight or if I’m feeling a little low,” You explain.

When you get to the end of the pier, you both snag your favorite bench. He sets his bag beside him and looks out into the water.

“I turned 18 a couple days ago,” He mutters, looking down at his fidgeting fingers. “Day later and I get a draft notice,”

“My brother got drafted too,” You whisper. He glances at you, a small smile on his face.

“So, did mine,” Sam says. “He got drafted about 7 months ago... We knew I would be next but when it came it just... it felt surreal,” Sam looks back at the water. “I feel like I’m living a nightmare and I won’t ever wake up,” He whispers. 

You bite your lip when you hear the shakiness in his voice. Unable to help yourself, you reach over and grab his hand. He clings to it tightly. You shuffle closer to him and lay your head on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry you have to go, Sam,” You whisper.

“Maybe I’ll see my brother,” He hopes optimistically. “We’re all each other has. My mom died when I was a baby and my dad was never around... It’s always just been me and him,”

“Well, when you come back, find me,” Sam turns his head to you. You lift your head off his shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere, I’ll still be working at that café, I’ll be real easy to find,”

“If I come back,” Sam whispers.

“When,” You correct him. “When you and your brother come back, come to the café,” You order him. “I’ll make sure you both have a free meal,” Sam smiles, relaxing on the bench.

“When I come back,” Sam whispers, releasing a slow sigh. “As soon as I got that notice... I never thought of the possibility of coming back,”

“Well, now you have to,” You tell him. “Because if you don’t, you’re gonna make me real upset,” Sam smiles, laughing a bit. “We’re friends now, Sam. You’re stuck with me and that’s just how it’s going to be,”

“Is that so?” He asks, looking at you with a half grin.

“Exactly so,” You nod. The two of you didn’t say anything for a while. Eventually, you got tired of the silence and filled it with stories about your life. You told him about the school you went too only to find out that he had gone to your rival school. You talked about your parents and how they supported everything you and your brother did even when it was something beyond stupid. 

You learned that the two of you were nerds but different kinds. He loves to read and had wanted to go to college to become a lawyer while you were passionate about music and were currently in your high schools marching band. You told him how you weren’t sure if you wanted to become a professional musician or a teacher, perhaps you would try to become both.

The conversation flowed easily between the two of you. When you ran out of things to say he talked. He told you about all the trouble he and his brother, Dean, used to get into together. His stories mad you laugh and cry.

The both of you sat on the pier for what seemed like hours. You had sat down together as strangers yet at this point you couldn’t imagine not being his friend. You hated that he had to go into the army because now you couldn’t spend more time with him.

Sitting next to him, hearing him laugh and talk, you knew if he were to stick around you would fall hopelessly in love with him. He’s beyond attractive but on top of that he’s sassy and so very smart and kind. You loved listening to him and you couldn’t help but wish you could take all his pain away. You wished you could take his fear away and protect him from the world but you just couldn’t. You felt useless but at least you were able to get him to relax before the army bus comes to pick up the recruits.

As the day passed on you noticed more army men coming to the area. You both knew that it meant the bus would be arriving soon. You both knew Sam would have to leave and you didn’t want him too.

“I should go wait with the others,” Sam mutters, looking at the group of soldiers gathering together. You frown but release his hand. He stands and slings his bag over his shoulder. He bites his lip obviously wanting to say something but looks hesitant.

“What is it, Sam?” You ask. You’re barely able to finish your question before he’s spitting out whatever he wants to say. 

“Look, I know you probably have a boyfriend, but I don’t care,” Sam shakes his head, turning toward you. “I’ve got no one to send letters to, would you mind if I sent some back here to you?”

“I was hoping you would,” You smile at him. You push yourself off of the bench and pull him into a tight hug. “I expect letters as often as you can,” Sam smiles, tightening his arms around you.

“I’m gonna need your address,” He mutters. You grin pulling away from him. Your eyes glance behind him and you instantly smile.

“I’ve got an idea, come on,” You grab his hand and yank him down the pier. He laughs, following you willingly.

“Really?” Sam asks, noticing where you’re pulling him.

“Oh, come on!” You beg him. “It’ll be fun,” You turn to him and wink. He rolls his eyes but nods. You pull him into the photo booth. He sits on the seat and steers you onto his lap when you go to sit down. He grins as you blush. “Smile,” You whisper, turning to the camera.

There’s a flash as the picture is taken. Only problem is that in the corner of your eye you notice Sam still looking at you. You turn your head to him, your arm wrapped around his shoulders.

“You’re supposed to look at the camera,” You whisper.

“I’d rather look at you,” He whispers back. You nibble at your lip, a blush painting your cheeks as another flash brightens the booth. “You’re beautiful,” He mutters.

“You just had to walk into my café when you’re about to leave didn’t you?” You pout. His hand comes up to caress your cheek just as the flash comes again.

“I’m sorry, I’ve never been good at timing,” Sam whispers.

“I don’t have one,” You whisper to him. He frowns his eyebrows and tilts his head. Gathering up your courage, you press your forehead against his. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” Sam smiles a bit.

“I’m gonna have to take you out when I get back,” He whispers. You smile at his word choice. You close your eyes, resting your other hand on his chest as the final flash comes.

“Come back, Sam,” You whisper, your eyes opening to look into his. Sam closes his eyes, clenching his jaw. “Please come back, Sam,” You whisper to him.

“I’ll try,” He whispers back. You want to demand that he promises to return but you don’t. Your head moves to his shoulder as you hug him tightly. When the two of you finally slide out of the booth, you pick up the photos. You reach into your pocket and pull our a pen.

“My address,” You said writing it on a couple of them. You slip the first picture into your pocket and let him keep the other three.

“I have to go,” He whispers, seeing the bus coming to pick up the soldiers. You sigh slowly and pull him into another hug. “Thank you,” He murmurs. “For staying with me,”

“It was my pleasure,” You smile up at him. The two of you pull away. You stay still, watching him walk away. He only gets about five steps away before he stop and turns back to you. You smile widely when he come strutting back. He extends his arm and cups your cheek.

“Can I...?” He whispers and you just nod. He grins, lowering his head to yours. You lean into him as your lips press against each other lightly. 

“I really wish you would have found me sooner,” You whisper. He smiles hugging you tighter than before.

“I’ll come back and I’ll take you on a date and we’ll do this the proper way,” He promises, pulling from you.

“I don’t care how we do this as long as you come back to figure it out with me,” You tell him. He clicks his heels together and gives you a salute.

“Yes, ma’am,” He winks at you. You blush smiling at him. “I’ll be back before you know it,” He promises before forcing himself to go to the back to the bus. You force yourself to smile and wave as the bus drives away with him and a dozen other soldiers on it.

His first letter came about a week later. He talked about his training and the other guys he’s bunking with. He talks about what they plan to do with his group in the future. Then he asks about you and your day. Your favorite part is when he mentions about how much he wants to come back home and go back to that pier with you.

The instant your done reading the letter, you pull out paper to write one to him. You talk about mundane things. Things that will hopefully distract him from the world he was forced into, even if it’s just for the few minutes he reads the letter.

Towards the end of your letter you tell him that you miss him. You talk about the possible dates the two of you could go on. You tell him that you look forward to him coming home.

For the next few months, the letters between you two are frequent. You learn more about each other. Every day you find yourself racing for the mailbox hoping that he had sent a letter.

“Who have you been sending letters too?” Your mom asks you one afternoon. You were going to lie and say your brother but she would know it would be a lie. While you and your brother are close you don’t get as excited for his letters as you do Sam’s. 

“I met someone a couple of months ago,” You tell her. She arches an eyebrow. “He came by work before getting on the army bus.. I talked to him for a while before he had to leave. He asked me if he could send letters, he doesn’t have anyone else to talk to,”

“Oh?” She says. “And how is this man?”

“His names Sam,” A wide, effortless smile comes across your lips. “He was drafted a couple days after he turned 18,”

“He’s 18?” She asks. You slowly nod. “You’re only 16,” She states.

“So?”

“So, isn’t he a little old for you?”

“It’s only two years mom,”

“Yeah and you’re barely a junior in high school and he’s going off to a very ugly war,”

“I don’t think any war is pretty,”

“Y/n,” Your mother states. 

“He has no one else, mom,” You tell her. “I’m just talking to him, giving him someone to come home too -”

“Someone to come home to? Are you two dating or something?”

“No, not yet at least...” You mutter. She sighs, rubbing her face.

“You barely know him,” She tells you.

“We’re learning about each other, what’s the big deal?” You ask. “Nothing bad is going to happen,”

“He’s going to war, Y/n... He might not come back,”

“He will,” You snap. “And when he does, I’m going to be there for him.”

“You’re only 16, Y/n... You’re too young to be waiting for a soldier to come home, you’re too young to be worrying about stuff like that,” She tells you.

“It doesn’t matter if I’m too young, I’m waiting for him and I’m going to worry about him no matter what you say or what you think. Sam, needs someone and I’m gonna be that person,” You state before going up to your room.

While that’s the first argument over Sam, it’s not the last. Neither of your parents liked the fact that you were mailing and receiving letters. You were too young. You didn’t understand the world. You need to focus on your future. You heard all that and more. 

Word spread and your entire family soon knew about Sam. None of them were on your side but you didn’t care. You still looked forward to hearing him from him and you didn’t let anyone stop you from replying.

The closer time got to him being shipped over seas, the darker the letters became. Sam was scared. He’s terrified and it showed in his letters. He spoke on and on about the fears of war. He talks about how he would pray to be sent back home, back to you instead.

He tells you about how he lays in bed, staring at the photos of you two, and imagine life back home with you. He imagines holding you, kissing you, and falling in love with you.

You reread the letter a hundred times, a shit eating grin on your face. He was practically confessing to you about falling in love and you couldn’t help but to reciprocate the feelings.

When you went to reply to him, you couldn’t find the right words. You wanted to give him something to look forward to. You wanted to give him a little ray of sunlight in the darkness surrounding him.

When you finally started to write, you couldn’t stop. You made sure that he would have no doubt that you felt the same way, if not more, for him. You promised him that you would be waiting for him to come home to you and that when he did, you’d be all his.

You knew your parents thought you were crazy for falling in love with someone you only met once and talked to through letters. Did you care? No. You fell for Sam, you fell hard. 

You found yourself laying in your bed at night, staring at the one picture you have of him. The picture of you staring at the came, a wide smile on your face, while he’s staring at you, a gentle grin on his. You didn’t want to read too into things but you wondered if you believed in love at first sight. Every time you thought about it, you’d smile a little wider.

Eventually another letter from Sam came. It was the last letter he wrote before being shipped over seas. By the time it reaching your house, you knew he was no longer in the U.S. He told you not to worry, he told you he might not be able to write for a while. He told you he loved you and he’d do anything to come back.

You wrote back to him, begging him to be safe. You promised you’d still wait for him. You told him that you’d be here to welcome him back to America. You told him you loved him.

Even though you looked for his letters every day, they came sporadically. He stayed true to his word and wrote whenever he could, it just wasn’t often. He didn’t go into details about the war but you knew it was horrible. Even after being over there for almost a year, he was still scared and wanted to come home. You didn’t blame him, you wanted him home too.

He wrote about how his platoon came across another one. You smile as you read about the fact that he and his brother were reunited. You couldn’t help but feel relief as you read his own words of relief over the fact that his brother’s still alive.

Towards the end he talks about how when it gets rough, he thinks back to the day the two of you sat at the pier. He explains how he closes his eyes and imagines your smile. He yearns for another kiss, another hug. He wishes he could just be with you.

You reply to him and assure him that his wishes are the same as yours. You wish for him to come home safe. You promise that even though it’s been over a year since you last saw him, you still love him and that you’re still waiting for him. You promise to wait forever as long as he returns to you. 

You tell him about how that day at the pier has become your favorite. You promise to recreate that day with him when he returns only you make sure he knows that you won’t let him leave next time.

After you sent the letter, you wait for his reply. A few weeks pass then a month with no word from him. You try not to worry because it’s not the longest he’s gone without sending word. You know how hard it is for him over there. Even though he hasn’t sent you a letter, you continue to send some to him. You pray every night that when you wake up there will be a letter from him.

“Hey, Y/n, are you alright?” Your best friend asks. “You seem a little distracted?”

You were. You were completely distracted. It’s Friday night, you’re in your marching band uniform at the football game. You love football games and you’re usually the most pumped in the bad. Only tonight you’re quiet. It’s been three months since you last hard from Sam.

“I’m fine,” You promise her. “I just haven’t been getting sleep lately,” 

Your friend accepts your answer and doesn’t force you to explain or talk. You’re thankful. You stand with the others and slip out the picture of Sam. You keep the picture close to your chest. You completely ignore yourself and just focus on Sam. Oh, what you wouldn’t give to see that smile in real life. What you wouldn’t give to simply hold his hand, to hear his laugh and be beside him.

When it got closer to kick off, a prayer was said before the band was instructed to play the national anthem. When the last note was ended, a man came over the speakers again. Everyone in the sands practically froze.

“Folks, would you bow your heads,” The man spoke to the crowd. “For a list of local Vietnam dead,”

This isn’t the first time the schools done this. It’s their way to honor the lives lost. Every time they do it, you feel like you’re going to be sick. Your heart races in your chest. You feel like you’re going to pass out as he goes down the list.

“... Benny Lafitte... Sam Winchester... Adam Milligan...” He continues to read off the list but you don’t listen. All the sound around you just dies.

Sam Winchester

Sam Winchester

Sam Winchester

Sam Winchester

Before you know it, your pushing through the crowd and hiding under the bleachers. Nobody gives pays any attention to you. You’re ignored but you couldn’t care less.

You collapse to your knees and wrap your arms around yourself. You’re trying so hard to be quiet but a sob escapes your lips. You want to scream, you want to punch at the ground, you want to just lose yourself in your grief.

All you can think about is his dorky smile as he gives you a salute before walking on the bus. All you can think about is how you should have begged him to stay with you.

“I’ll be back before you know it,”

 His words repeat in your head which only causes you to cry even harder. You rock slowly on the grass. You want to disappear, you want to home and cry yourself to sleep.

Slowly, you pull the picture that’s clutched to your chest back. You sniffle, your eyes glued on Sam. You bring the picture to your lips and kiss him softly. You leave the picture against your lips, your eyes shut tightly as tears continue to seep through them.

“Sammy...” You whimper. “Oh, my Sammy,” You cry, curling into yourself again. “I love you so much,”

Bonas

You’re working at the café. You refilling the old mans coffee and preparing to wipe down tables. You force a smile at the old man before walking away from him. The doorbell rings when you grab a rag.

“Go ahead and sit -” Your words die in your throat when you see who’s standing at the door. You’ve never met this man but you know exactly who it is.

“Uh, hi,” He says, slowly walking up to you. “I’m Dean,”

“I know,” You whisper, offering a small smile. You hated it but seeing him brought tears to your eyes. It’s been six months since Sam was read off the fallen soldiers list. You were still struggling with the fact that he’s no longer coming home.

“Sammy talked about you all the time, couldn’t get him to shut up,” Dean laughs a bit. You bite your lip knowing this was hard for him. “You meant a lot to him,”

“He meant a lot to me,” You whisper, a tear falling down your cheek.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t bring him home to you,” Dean chokes up. “God he wanted to come home to you,” Your feet move before you realize that you’re walking up to him. The two of you instantly bring the other into a tight hug. When you pull away, he reaches into his pocket and gives you a warn and torn letter. “He asked me to give this to you,” You’re breath hitches when you see red smears on the paper.

“Th-thank you,” You whimper.

“Yeah...” He mutters before backing away. His movement snaps you out of your daze.

“Hey, Dean?” He hums, wiping his eyes. “Don’t be a stranger,” You smile at him. “I know you don’t know me but you’re family... If you ever need anything, I’ll be around,” Dean smiles and slowly nods.

“I’ll see you,” He whispers before walking out of the café.

The instant he’s gone, you walk straight to the bathroom. You cry, barely holding in the sobs. A few minutes later, you pull yourself together long enough to look at the letter.

You can barely read the shaky hand writing but his words bring fresh tears to his eyes. You could tell that he had written this the day before he died. He talked about how scared he was, how he didn’t know if he’d be able to come home. He promised he would do everything in his power to be with you but in case he couldn’t he wanted you to know just how much he loved you. He promised that if tomorrow is to be his last day then his final thoughts will be of the two of you sitting at the pier. 

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for being Tony Stark’s Daughter (The Aftermath)

Tony Stark x daughter!reader

warnings:

a/n: y/n is about 17 or 18; i cried while writing this. sorry this is really long!!! pls forgive me 🥺

prompt: takes place from a3 to smffh

The Early Years (1) The Teenage Years (2) The Intense Years (3) Continued (5)

let’s start on a happy note! ahahah

so for a while, earth was calm

you, pepper, and tony got to be a family for a while

wedding planning!

of course you got to try the ben&jerry’s ice cream named after your dad: Stark Raving Hazelnuts

“it’s not fair that you got ice cream named after you and i didn’t”

“well, when you grow up to be as awesome as me, maybe you’ll get your own ice cream flavor”

developing nanotech suits together for a Bonding Experience(tm)

speechless after the first test

“dad, this is...”

“the coolest thing to ever exist?”

“yes!!”

yall ready for some shit?

the day that ebony maw invaded was pretty—what’s the word? interesting? no. well, yes, but...HORRIBLE.

it all started when you got the call from your dad

“y/n, incoming call from ‘big fat meanie’”

“god, i really have to change that. okay, JOSHIE, answer it. hey, dad? what’s up?”

“hey, kid! you know that weird ass building on bleecker street? how fast can you get here?”

“JOSH can you track FRIDAY really quick? lets see how far dad is...uh, okay, be there in five, see ya”

taking your suit for a spin and realizing how GREAT it was to be able to basically fold up your suit and put it in your back pocket

knocking on the door and it opened on its own, it was kinda cool

“is this a museum? cool.”

bruce turning around to see you after about three years and giving you an awkward smile and a wave while you stood frozen around the wizard-guys

“y/n, god, you’ve grown up!”

charging into him for a long overdue hug

“you don’t know how much i missed you. it’s been chaotic without you”

“i can...i can only imagine”

a debriefing on the situation you were about to face, and bonus! having to play the catch-up game with bruce

“just call him, dad. we need as much help as we can. steve will understand”

rushing outside to face off with some ugly-ass aliens

“oh nooo, it’s roger smith from american dad”

bruce: 👀, stephen: 👀, wong: 👀, tony: 👏👏🥰 that’s my girl

simultaneous nanosuit unveiling

“you ready for this one, pops?”

“of course! ive waited years to kick some more alien ass”

montage of you and tony getting your asses beat together (as a family <3)

peter showing up

“give me one good reason why i shouldn’t send you back to that school bus”

“because i’m good company?”

“whatever, just listen to whatever dad has to say, i forfeit my responsibilities over you”

pew pew, repulsors, pew, tiny rockets! fun! action! destroying new york again and again. good times...

until JOSHUA gave you notice that your dad was flying high

“call him. now.”

“hey! how’s it going down there?”

“dad, you know how i feel about you and space”

“i know, i know. i just...i gotta take care of this. keep pepper safe for your old man, okay?”

“i lo—l��ve y—”

“y/n? y/n?! i love you! shit!”

“we lost connection with her, sir”

trying to call peter

“call failed, y/n. should i try again?”

“i’m gonna kill them...”

walking through the rubble to find bruce, the only sensible man you know

taking him to the avengers compound asap to get to rhodey and figure out what comes next

meanwhile, tony was dealing with space and another teenager

and worrying a lot about leaving you on earth

“i mean, mr. stark, y/n’s one of the most capable people i know. she’s probably trying to fix this whole mess as we speak”

“i didn’t get to tell her i love her”

“oh...”

having a lovely meeting with thaddeus ross with rhodey, having a lovely time watching them passive-aggresively argue until your former teammates arrived

having to patiently (and professionally) wait for ross to hang up before running into them for a hug

“holy shit, you guys have no idea how bad i’ve wanted to see you. it sucks not being all together anymore”

“i know, y/n. we’ve all missed you.” -cap

“a lot” -nat added

bruce’s little entrance that was sure to bring some awkwardness

you, secretly freaking out about your dad

sam was the one that found you crying after you “stepped out” for a few minutes too long

“oh, y/n,” he was contemplating grabbing someone else to step in, but decided to sit next to you in the hallway, “i’m sorry, kiddo. i can’t promise you anything, but your dad is a fighter. a big pain in the ass. i think your odds are good”

laughing through your tears

“yeah, you’re right. thanks, sammy”

he gave you a little hug while you calmed down

getting to business, the ass-kicking kind

as the wise natasha romanoff once said to your father, you were being “uncharacteristically non-hyper verbal”

your mind did this funny thing...wandered into places it really should not go

the talk about sacrificing vision led to wakanda, where you had a swell time patrolling

“guys! we’ve got incoming. a lot of incoming”

well-deserved uncle/niece team up. who wouldve thought?

you would have nightmares about these aliens for years to come

“you get to die, and you get to die! everybody gets to die!”

“y/n, what did we talk about?” -rhodey

“using humor as a defense mechanism makes the team uncomfortable...”

covering the girls 😌 because we gotta have those all-girl teamups, uh-huh?

some more blasting

thor made his comeback and you just could not miss it

“hi, thor!”

you landed next to him and your helmet receded

“well, hello, miss y/n! good to see you again! my, you got taller...oh! meet my friends: rabbit and tree”

having a “what the actual fuck” moment upon seeing thanos for the first time

and flying at him from behind with a massive nanotech blade ready to kill this purple bastard

but he grabbed your arm and flung you into the dirt, that was gonna leave a mark

“i just had to make a suit when i was ten...no one stopped me, huh? i couldn’t be elon’s kid, he was a nice guy”

watching thanos snap his fingers and looking around to see dust floating through the air and thanos retreat

“rhodey? uncle rhodey?!”

“i’m right here, kid, don’t worry”

he grabbed your hand while you were dusting

“tell my dad i love him, promise?”

fading away and leaving rhodey with your last words

he was mad before anything else

all he could think about was a promise your dad made him take years back

“rhodey, you keep my daughter safe no matter what, promise?”

the avengers recooperating at the compound, waiting to figure out whether any of the space-crew survived

they had to let pepper know that you didn’t make it, she was a mess upon hearing that news

tony finally making his way back to earth

and stumbling out of that ship

“where’s y/n? where is she?!”

“tony, tony, calm down”

“dont tell me to calm down! where is my daughter?!”

“she made me promise to tell you thay she loves you”

tony knew the answer by now, he lost his mind over your death

it didn’t feel right not having you by his side, for the past 18 years you’ve been with him

after a long period of recovery, tony and pepper moved on, got married, built a home, had a new daughter...

tony made sure there was a spare room for you

he put all the things you left behind in it

there were so many photos of you in the house

and he’d show your sister, morgan, all of them. he wanted morgan to know her sister

“that’s y/n when she built her first robot. it snuck up on me a few times. it went ‘boo!’”

morgan loved the stories about you, but she didn’t understand why she couldn’t see you

“when do i get to meet her?”

“uh...maybe someday, sweetie”

after being unbothered for almost 5 years, the remaining avengers came back with a plan that was so tempting, he just wanted his little girl back

cracking under pressure and telling pepper that he couldn’t ignore this mission because it was his chance to get you back

“get her back, tony”

“you think so?”

“i miss her, too.”

and so it began, he made it his mission to get you back

peeking at the wallet picture of you on his shoulders when you were so little

tony travelling to 2012; loki’s invasion

and there you were, the sassy genius 12 year old that he missed so much

“we’ve got this, tony, we’ll bring her home” -scott

and then things went badly and also 2012 tony went into cardiac arrest and 2012 y/n dove onto the floor to tend to him

“dad? give us some room, would you?!”

2023 tony smiling at how much he missed you worrying about him and how reckless he was

but also...the mission kinda went bad so that sucked

push it a bit farther back and now tony was with grandpa stark! asking how to be a dad and all that!

he could barely stand still waiting for you to come back to him, god he missed you more than he thought

and after a bit of hard work, it was time to snap

just like that, you were back in wakanda, puzzled by the gap in time before one of dr. strange’s portals opened in front of you

and then you were in the ruins of the avengers compound

“JOSHUA, can you locate my dad?”

“i think you’ll be able to see him”

“wow, i cant believe i programmed your cocky artificial ass”

“i think you can”

seeing your dad flying high and patching into the comms

“miss me, old man?”

and then he hit the gas to get to you and when this man hugged you, you almost couldn’t let go

“i’m so sorry, y/n. god, i’m sorry. these last five years...i was so lost without you”

“it’s okay, dad, i’m here now”

getting shot at during your reunion

“son of a bitch...we’re having a family moment here, asshole!”

yes, im gonna say it again. of course i am! and.........father/daugher team-up

the last one

“peter, is that you? you asshole! i cant believe you went to space without me!”

“missed you too!”

rhodey!! cant forget about uncle rhodey!!

“you gave my dad the message, right?”

“it was your dying wish, of course i did!”

“great. don’t forget i love you, too, rhodey!”

“couldn’t let me forget it”

lest we forget that pepper joined the fight?

plot twist: (step)mother/daughter team-up

mother/father/daugher team up!!!! ultimate stark machine!!!!!!!

and then you left him alone for 5 minutes and he’s got the infinity stones and you know it’s the last time you’re going to see him and you cant decide what your next move is and you’re just frozen and you cant catch your breath and he snaps and your heart plummets

you have to rush to his side, the last time you can sit beside his tired body and let him know that its going to be okay

“hey dad, it’s okay, we’re gonna be fine. thank you for everything”

peter grabbing your hand as you both sobbed next to your dad, feeling robbed of your time with him

pepper brought you home where she told you all about the five years you missed

both of you just cried harder than you’ve ever cried before

“so i have a sister?”

morgan was so happy to meet you, she couldn’t contain herself, practically latched onto you

and she didn’t fully understand what happened to tony

you saw your new room for the first time and didn’t leave it for a while, occasionally pepper or morgan would pop in

morgan actually crawled into bed with you a few times

the funeral was one of the worst days of your life

the remnants of your young life pulled back together for one day

then you hid back in your room before you heard a knock

“who is it?”

“it’s happy”

“come in”

“hey, kiddo. me and morgan are gonna get some cheeseburgers, you wanna come?”

she really was a stark

after a long hibernation, you started to get back into the groove of your old life

but the press was brutal and harsh, you were bombarded with questions regarding your dad

it took everything not to explode on camera

you stayed in contact with the rest of the avengers, mourning your dead, keeping the support system, staying a family

it was all you could get...for now

[bkfics]

I. (edited)

Osaka, 7:30 a.m.

You're already up cooking a healthy breakfast for everyone because today is the match between Schweiden Adlers and MSBY Black Jackals

You're so excited for this and you really want the team you're managing for to win, you're the manager of Schweiden Adlers

But the excitement is not alone, there's also this strange feeling that something might happen, bad or really bad. So now you're filling your head with questions like: What if you guys lose?  What if someone makes a mistake and gets hurt? What if someone is sick before the match?  You know the boys didn’t want to watch any footage nor didn’t want you to give them any informations about the other team because they want to play having fun and feel the adrenaline rush, they really don't want to know any weaknesses or strengths of the MSBY

Even if you think that they're so childish, you understand them, but you don't want to see them lose, because you know that they keep practicing really hard.

‘Okaasan (mom) what are you cooking?’

You turn around and smile at your princess, Kisara

‘I’m cooking pancakes, your favourites’

‘YAYYYY PANCAKESSSS!!’ your daughter cheerfully shouts

You chuckle at her silliness

‘Isn’t your onii-chan (older brother) awake yet?’

‘Nope’

‘Can you wake him up, please? You guys need to get ready’

She nods and goes off to their room

A few minutes later, they enter the kitchen and your son, Kazuhiko, runs towards you with a big smile ready to jump and hug you

‘OKAASANNN GOOD MORNINGG!’

‘Goodmorning, my handsome prince. Did you sleep well?’

You asked as you embrace him, then you sit him and his sister to the table to eat breakfast.

You go make your own breakfast and sit with them. You keep staring and smiling at the sight of your children eating happily and you just couldn’t help but feel happy.

They’re now three years old and they’re the reason for your sunny smile. You’re really thankful to have such wonderful blessings.

And honestly, you think that the more you look at them, the more they remind you of their father, Sakusa Kiyoomi, because they look exactly like two mini-versions of him, a little girl and a little boy.

You don’t know how he’s been in the last 3 years because you decided to not have any social accounts on the internet, and you also wonder how is his family doing, because it’s been a while since you saw and heard from them, unfortunately you don’t know any ways to contact them unless you go to their house, but.. you remember that..

After the break up, everything that reminds you of him is too much for your heart, there’s this feeling on your chest, it’s like a node that keeps tightening your heart the more memories keep playing on your head.

‘Stop thinking about him, nothing’s gonna change the fact that he left’ You tell yourself in your head

‘Mom, are you okay?’ Kisara worriedly asks

‘Yes? Ah, yes I’m okay honey, why?’ you reply back

‘Because you look really sad’ She answers back and starts getting sad too, while her brother is eating his meal nonchalantly.

‘Don’t worry, honey, I’m okay, finish your breakfast and go brush your teeth.’ You tell them so you won’t be late

‘Yes, mom’ both of them replied

‘Oh, right, your uncle Ryota will be back today. He will pick you up at Aunt Satsuki and then you’ll go to the Arena to watch the game, okay?’

They got really surprised that Ryota is finally coming home

They both yelled ‘OTOOSANNN (dad) IS COMING HOMEEE!!’ at the same time

You just let them call him ‘dad’. This started when one day they got home really sad because all the kids in the kindergarten got picked up by their dads most of the time and when the kids asked the twins why their dad never picks them up, they couldn’t and didn’t know what to say

They started to call him dad when you three were hanging out with Ryota and the twins subconsciously called him ‘Otoosan’ and he got really surprised, but he never denied nor told them that he wasn’t their real dad, instead he just let them

You’re really grateful, but one day they will find out the truth and you don’t know how will they react. You really fear that day, because you feel that they’re not going to trust you like they are trusting you now…

After a few minutes, you’re all ready to leave the house

‘Let me put your shoes on and let’s go to aunt Satsuki’s home.. also’ you said ‘also’ with a stern voice.

‘She accepted to look after you when she has no work, so you better not stress her out, okay?’

They nod really fast and nervously, but you find that really cute and adorable.

You are now having a conversation with Satsuki after arriving at her house, the conversation’s really going well that you have lost track of the time and fortunately Kagayema called asking why you’re not in the venue yet

After the call you say bye to the kids and Satsuki and hop on the car. Carefully driving fast the 20 minutes gap between you and the Arena

You surprised yourself by the parking you just did, but you don’t have time to congratulate yourself for the outstanding parking

You sprint to the entrance and look for the boys for a good 5 minutes, but you can’t find them so you decide to give up and call Kageyama

‘Yes, Y/N-san?’

‘Kageyama-kun, i tried to find you but i still ended up at the entrance, where are you?’ After that sprint, you’re trying to catch your breath

‘Y/n-san, are you okay? You’re breathing really hard, calm down a bit’

‘Yes, i’m okay. I just ran from the parking to here, by the way, are you coming here?’

‘Ah, i’m coming right now. I was just talking to some friends from high school days. I’ll let you meet them, is that alright?’

‘Yes, no problem at all’ Friends from high school? You ask yourself if he ever said anything about his high school days

You see Kageyama and someone else coming and you walk towards him

‘Kageyama-kun, i’m really *breath* sorry, I thought i was *breath* really going to be late’

‘Relax, you’re just in time y/n-chan’ Hoshiumi says while giggling

You don’t really get why he’s giggling, but then you see your own reflection on a glass, and your hair is really messy right now

Now that you know, you glared at him, giving him chills on his back

Hoshiumi stops his giggling and you go with them to the locker rooms, and Kageyama tells you to wait for a moment

Then he comes back with an orange-haired boy, shorter than Kageyama, but he’s really a sunny guy, you think that whenever he goes in any room, he could probably start a party, he’s like a sunshine

‘Y/n-san, this is Hinata. Hinata this is y/n-san, our manager’ Kageyama says while having some kind of competition

You greet him and say ‘Nice to meet you, Hinata’

Before Hinata could speak, Kageyama says ‘He and I were in the Karasuno volleyball club together’

‘Oh, so you were the one who considered Kageyama-kun as his rival, got it!’ You say jokingly

‘Well, he’s still my rival though, can you tell me if he’s gotten worse.. hmm.. how should i call you? He asks with a big smile

You say ‘I’m L/N F/N, but you can call me with my first name, Y/N’

‘Well, y/n-san, did Kageyama get worse??’ Why do his eyes have sparkles?

‘That.. you’ll see during the match, Hinata-kun, and you should be the judge for that’

‘I’ll see how bad you got, Kageyama’ Is this how their friendship works?

‘This midg-‘ Oh, he stopped himself.

‘Y/n, i’ll briefly introduce you my teammates, hehehe.. do you see that boy with piss- i mean the blond hair? He’s Atsumu’

You giggle to how Atsumu was looking straight to Hinata’s soul without him noticing it, and he continued introducing them to you

‘Hmm..’

You’re confused as to why he has stopped and you’re wondering if he’s looking for someone in the hallways

‘Are you okay, Hinata-kun?’ you ask him

‘We’re missing someone, where’s Saku‘ Saku? Who’s Saku? Is he someone new? you ask in your head

You and the others turn around when you heard a door opening and you heard a familiar voice, catching everyone’s attention

‘You’d better have all gotten your flu shots.’

That voice.. isn’t that..? There’s no way that’s him, right?

As you’re hoping that it isn’t him..

There he is, standing straight at the door, with his face mask on, the man you fell in love with, the man your kids asked for over a year, yet you couldn’t tell them about him, and also the one who decided to leave you to pursue his career as a Pro Volleyball Player

At the sight of him, you can’t move your feet, you’re frozen and paralyzed, you just keep staring at him and have so many questions filling your head

Then, after he finished scanning and asking everyone, he turns his head at you and sees your little figure, you can tell that he’s in pure shock and that he’s surprised 

‘Sakusa Kiyoomi’

‘L/N F/N’

You two whispered at the same time

masterpost | prologue | II. 

FACTS: 

Momoi Satsuki is another character from Kuroko no Basket and she was Kise’s manager in Junior High School 

Y/N was Kageyama’s manager in Junior High Schoo, and when she first Kise she got immediately comfortable with him because his childness/silliness reminded her of Oikawa 

The name ‘Kisara’ means ‘princess’ 

While the name ‘Kazuhiko’ means ‘a respectable man’

@rrroadkill @samwise-though @lola2001 @velociraptorenthusiast @mjade1321 @farmertoshi @kurosiee @googiembul @hohoshiumi @floralkawa @miwtze

[gotham--fc]

Yeah like the size difference is mad, sometimes a pass turns into icing which isn’t fun, or it’s waaay longer when your chasing icing (which I normally chose when I’m on just cause I play so high) or you’re just wholly out of position cause of the size. The drop down to the ice is also weird too cause my rink doesn’t have much of a drop and some rinks legit have a foot drop 😂😬.

Omg is it safe to have it next to a power plant that seems a little sus.

Damn those night time slots seem bad, but better for weather ig, playing an indoor sport were not that effected by the bugs or weather (except sometimes in summer there’s a little layer of unfrozen water on the ice and the water just dispossesses u and it’s pain)

Oh damn yeah tourneys sound rough. I complain enough about some of the trips I make but they’re always one day things so I guess I’m lucky in that area.

Im glad you got to move teams and get more playing time that sounds fun, it’s kinda stupid your coach only played the same people every week cause that’s not gonna help with development or even keeping those 11 healthy , plus people will get used to how your team plays if they always play the same people with hockey cause of the lines we all get to play (except the backup goalie that game ) so that’s good and cause we’re figuring out lines we switch quite a bit so it’s hard for teams to scout us out😂.

And yeah a big fuck you to the teammates who weren’t nice we stan the nice teammates. And with the call back haha that’s a big mood.

The winter football sounds fun, almost like hockey with the rolling changes (I’m guessing you didn’t do line changes like in hockey tho where you play less than 2 mins a time ). And playing with the lads and girls probably helped with your play style as D cause I know in hockey they play differently so I’m guessing it’s probs the same too. Like my example of them playing differently is that bc the men are all like 6’ (at least when In skates skates ) (and I’m like idk 5’5 something like that )they all play like you’re thier size so when I’m going between people or along the boards they don’t really close into me as much as they need to because they’re closing in the 6’0 guy they’re imagining I am (if that makes sense) and leaving me with a gap I can fit through.

Good luck with your rat situation and your presentation I’m sure you’ll smash it!

😂😂 it’s like when turnbull got hurt in the worlds celebration getting onto the ice 😂 that’s you and your team not being prepared for the foot drop

It wasn’t like right beside it it was just evenly spaced between a power plant and the generator plant the more I’m thinking about it the worse it gets there hasn’t been a meltdown in years!! It’s fine kinda 😂

It was just that the little kids got the early slots because they’re children and the older teens got the slots left over which were late, we only have so many fields that we can play on and my teams home field was under construction for 2 years so we played a local college’s home field so we had to work around their schedule too, but yeah I can imagine trying to play ice hockey when it’s warm isn’t gonna work out too well 😂

Yeah tourneys weren’t too bad like they weren’t great but I didn’t mind when I was playing in them, except that one time I got hurt I was pissed that I couldn’t play the last 2 games

Yeah that coach was a dick he was the one girls dad and he played only her and her friends and he was so cruel like he would straight up scream at players I cried after practices because he was so mean to me I’m not surprised that everyone quit and I was like buddy you didn’t want me because I wasn’t good enough and now that you’re desperate you want me?? Screw you I hope the entire team folds

Yeah kinda like hockey changes but not really, we only had maybe 4 subs max and everyone didn’t show up every game so usually 3 subs so you played for a while before you were subbed and they didn’t want to sub everyone at once because that leaves you high key vulnerable so we usually subbed one person at a time, or both your defence if you had possession up front, but yeah I think it helped me develop because I definitely got more physical because the boys were super physical so that helped on defence except when the fucking refs called me on bullshit fouls because the other player fell 🙄 I will never get over the ref calling me on pk in the final it was shoulder to shoulder and she didn’t even have possession okay it was a 50/50 ball and I got it!!! Anyway

I’ve decided to embrace the rats and I missed the presentation deadline so it is what it is

[seiin-translations]

2.43 S1 Chapter 3.1 - The Dog’s View and the Giraffe’s View

1. FRESHERS

If my one accomplishment in life is teaching everyone how cool Odacchi is...I’m okay with that

Translation Notes

1. Volleyball and ballet in Japanese are written in the same way (バレー)

2. Yuichi Nakagaichi is a former volleyball player who played for Japan in the 1992 Olympics

3. Tadahiro Nomura is one of the most famous judo competitors in Japan who won three Olympic gold medals in a row

Previous || Index || Next

When he first entered high school, “Oda” was second from the top for the boys on the class register. The seats in class were temporarily allocated according to student number, so he was second from the front, two files from the window.

However, he couldn’t see the board very well in this seat due to an obstacle. If he were to apply a nicely fitting expression to it, then it would be as though a tree had spurted up from the seat of the chair. An extremely tall back completely blocked his sight. His shoulder blades were at the height of Oda’s line of sight, who was sitting normally.

“Whoa,” Oda bent back in shock, then leaned over his desk and poked the tall guy. “Hey. Hey!”

“Mmm?”

The tall guy twisted his long back around and placed his elbows on the back of his chair. His sleeves of his brand-new blazer, the same as his own, was already a little short at that point in time, his wrists peeking out quite a bit. His arms look long too… Oda, out of habit, imagined how far he could reach if he added the reach of his arms to his height.

“You’re huge. The biggest in this class. How tall are you? Were you the biggest in middle school too? What club are you in?”

“Club? I’m not in any, but…”

When he showered enthusiastic questions on him, the other boy leaned away from him suspiciously. A mild personality could be inferred from his gentle-looking features reminiscent of a horse-like creature, as well as a low voice like his throat was slightly stuffed, coupled with a relaxed way of speaking, however…

“Huh, with that height? You’re kidding, right? What a waste.”

Oda’s eyes widened, and the boy frowned, as though he had said something that hurt his feelings.

“You’re prejudiced to think that if someone’s big, they’re in some kinda sports club. I don’t really like exercise. There’s a lot of guys who say stuff like that, but it’s annoying.”

…He was the type of guy who spoke harshly and without restraint from the first meeting. Oda felt daunted at the gap from his first impression of him, but he immediately collected himself. They would be classmates from now on. It was much better to have someone to state clearly what they hate rather than let it go vaguely.

“Hey, wanna join the volleyball team together? I played it all the way through middle school and was thinking of playing it in high school too.”

“Volleyball? The ball sport?” (1)

After a short while,

“You?”

He said with a faint mockery in his voice. Oda was discouraged. It was the first day of school. Anticipation bounded in his chest and there was still absolutely no reason to doubt his own future.

“Well, it’s true that I’m small now, but I’m gonna grow tall in the future. They say there’re guys who grow thirty centimeters in high school, so I’m sure that I’ll have caught up to you by third year.” For some reason, at that moment he never doubted that he would be as big as the guy in front of him after two years. “And then I’ll be a super ace, like Gaichi.” (2)

“Super ace? What’s that, sounds strong.”

Oda’s eyes sparkled like he had been waiting for that question.

“It’s a team’s coolest, most dependable attacker.”

After that, he enthusiastically talked about how Nakagaichi Yuichi was from Fukui Prefecture and how amazing of a player he was until the new homeroom teacher arrived and made them stop chatting. The tall guy didn’t seem particularly impressed as he listened, but after school that day, he followed Oda, who immediately went to visit the boys’ volleyball team.

This was the second boy in attendance, Oda Shinichiro’s encounter with the first boy in attendance, Aoki Misao, who was one spot before him. That was exactly two years ago from now.

***

I. Prohibition of the posting and distribution of flyers other than in designated posting areas

I. Prohibition of any solicitation activities that obstruct traffic, on campus or off campus

I. Prohibition of any solicitation activities accompanied by the transfer of money, goods, privileges, etc.

I. Prohibition of any solicitation activities that could be seen as coercive or intimidating, as well as forcibly making someone join a club

The above was the notice handed down every year by the student council during the welcoming period for new students in early April, but practically no club strictly adhered to those rules. In actuality, the student council took a stance of toleration unless some sort of problem occurred.

That was why, during this season, as soon as school let out, the hallways became so crowded with people that it became difficult to walk. Those who indiscriminately pushed flyers on any new student coming out of their classrooms, those who tried to get their attention by offering sweet conditions such as answers for past exams or joint training camps with girls’ schools, those who wrapped their arms around the new students’ shoulders and trying to bring them into a room, extortion showing through beneath their friendly behaviors—. A large number of flyers were trampled underfoot, staining white like a cherry tree-lined path after a spring storm scattered all the petals.

Oda was considerably fed up with the tumult that filled the hallways, and he advanced through the crowd while hugging his enamel bag to his chest. Although he thought that the student council should manage it a little more, every time he saw the innocent faces of the new students whose shoulders didn’t quite align with their uniforms, he thought that it might be insensitive to say so. Although they were overawed by their upperclassmen’s overbearing approach and backed away, their cheeks were flushed with excitement and anticipation and their eyes were sparkling. He probably had that same face as he walked down this hallway two years ago.

The him from two years ago who triumphantly entered high school with pure anticipation and groundless self-confidence had already somewhat transformed into being part of his dark history, and he felt embarrassed when he recalled it. That was two years ago. At some point during those two years, I think I was forced to acknowledge my own limits…

“Hey, you, yeah you, walking over there.”

Someone heartily placed their arm around his shoulders from behind.

“Ooh, nice abs. If you’re this fit in your first year, you must have been in a decent sports club, right? Which club? Baseball? Soccer? Wanna try judo? You’ll be in the lightweight division at a tournament in no time. If you do soccer, there’s a chance you’ll be on the bench until graduation, you know?”

His abs were being rubbed while a huge guy was leaning on him and making him slouch over. “Hey, stop it!” Oda twisted around and pushed the other person’s elbow aside.

“Ah? Oh, what, it’s Oda. Sorry, sorry. I got it a bit wrong.”

“Not just a bit. You got it completely wrong.”

“Well, you’ll do too, Oda, you’re an instant asset. You can still switch clubs now, right? I’m seeing a second Nomura Tadahiro (3) in you, Odacchi. I don’t care if you’re in two clubs at the same time either, if you want. Let’s accomodate each other, seeing as how we’re both minor clubs.”

“I don’t know who Nomura is. If you have the time to invite third years, then go get a first-year.”

“We already lost all the good first-years. It’s all about soccer for them. I guess judo really is that uncool. It has a stinking image I guess.”

“Well it is uncool. I’m in a hurry.”

He was getting bitter, so he dealt with him bluntly and started walking.

“Odaaaa!” A rough voice chased after him. When he turned around, the stern face of the tall judo club member popping out from above the heads of the students crowding the hallway.

“I’m serious. The only club that wants you is us, you know? You don’t have to do volleyball… Why volleyball of all things?”

It’s none of your business, he cursed in his mind, faced forward, and squeezed through the crowd of people. Even when he thought he got out, his enamel bag that was wider than him got caught and he stumbled backwards. He frustratedly pulled on the strap and held it to his chest once again.

Why volleyball of all things, you ask? He had already asked himself that a long time ago without being told that by others. Did he miss the chance to give up? Maybe if he had switched at an earlier stage, there would be something else he could have displayed his power at? I don’t know, I don’t think there is something like that in this world, but maybe there is.

But, this year would definitely be the year where I’m glad I continued. This year, we’ll definitely get stronger. Even if I can’t do it by myself, the actors are coming together.

A feeling of exhilaration gradually welled up from the pit of his stomach. His steps, which become a bit heavy, lightened. He held his bag, raised his head that was hanging down, and looked forward. Unable to suppress his excitement, he hastened to the room.

For the Nanafu Seiin High School boys’ volleyball team, today was the first day of practice for the new first-years.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

When Oda changed into his practice clothes and went to the gym, the second-years were in the center of preparations with the new first-years helping out as well. When the third-years were all there, they would look good as a team. After all, during his second year, after last year’s third-years retired, there were two people in Oda’s grade and three in the grade below, so the total was a meagre five people. It was a situation where they didn’t even have the head count for a game.

Four provisional admission forms were received three days after the entrance ceremony. That could be called an excellent result. I don’t know how many people will stay after this, but assuming they’ll all join officially…

“Eight people…ah, nine including me?”

How can a court not look so lonely when there’s nine people?

As he stood in place at the gym entrance for a while to take in the scene, Aoki approached him with a wry smile.

“Oi, oi, don’t tell me you’re getting emotional from just this?”

“I’m, I’m not getting emotional!”

He looked away to gloss over the embarrassment. In the first place, his neck got tired when he looked this guy in the eye and talked. Not liking how the shoulders of Aoki, who was standing next to him, trembled slightly as he suppressed his laughter, he made a stern face on purpose.

It was just as Aoki said. How could he be feeling satisfied with this stage? The Inter-High-slash-prefectural qualifiers were at the beginning of June, two months later. He would be picking the starters from these new members at once.

“Whew, this really puts the high in high school.”

A first year said with his mouth wide-open, after the first- and second-years finished putting up the net. He seemed to have volleyball experience. His shoes were Mizuno Volleyball, and you could see that they were worn in. He still has iinnocent, middle school student features, or rather, he seems spoiled, but…he’s big. Though not as big as Aoki, he was definitely over one-eighty. It seemed he would be useful just by having him stand in the center.

“Wanna try hitting one?”

Oda called out as he walked up to the court.

“Is it okay?”

It was a look of irrepressible joy despite his shyness. Yeah, that’s nice. That’s a good face.

“Where are you hitting from? You can just choose your strong spot.”

“Then, I’ll start from the back, right in the middle.”

He was a bit surprised that he requested to do back row attacks without hesitation. Not center, but a side hitter? The first-year flexibly used his knees to bounce twice before lightly running to the court end. “Kanno, give him a pass.” The second-year Kanno picked up the ball Aoki rolled to him and assumed the position of receiver. Oda went to the setter’s position, close to the right front. His position wasn’t originally setter, but he wanted to get a first taste of this raw material to see how good he was.

Kanno sent forward a light overhand pass. As a preliminary test, Oda started with a slow high set—

“Oi!?”

The first-year kicked the floor with his legs, and by the time the ball might or might not have left Oda’s fingertips, he was already jumping. It almost looked like the floor itself had elasticity and added power to his jump—he was that high! And not just that, but far! His body, which was bent back like a bow, jumped nearly three meters in one go from the front of the attack line to the net.

But of course, the set didn’t meet him at all. Before Oda’s high set even reached the top of its parabola, the first-year refreshingly and very energetically attempted to hit it and missed, and unable to kill his momentum, went under the net and tumbled all the way to the other side of the court. There was even time for Kanno to nonchalantly walk right underneath the ball and catch it as it fell after drawing a huge arc.

“O…oi, are you okay!?”

He was stunned for a moment, but then realized what happened and rushed over. They couldn’t afford to have a new team member get injured on the very first day. “Sorry—!” The first-year said. He was relieved to see him suddenly raise his upper body up from his spread-legged forward bending position, looking surprisingly unconcerned.

He’s pretty flexible…with that height…? From Oda’s experience, big guys had stiff bodies. He himself was fairly flexible, having properly did stretches since middle school. He secretly thought that it was one of the few physical advantages he possessed. This first-year had easily overturned that. This is a bit…no, very frustrating.

But, what was that timing just now? Didn’t he jump after he saw the set? “Huh, that’s weird,” the first-year muttered to himself, tilting his head.

“Well, that’s enough entertainment for now. Assemble!”

Aoki clapped his hands and called the other team members over.

Facing the captain and vice-captain Oda and Aoki, the three second-years and four first-years stood on the right wing and left wing respectively, standing moderately spread out. Kanno was also participating today’s gym use day, so it felt good to see everyone’s faces and start the new year off right. The new members, including that astounding first-year from just a moment ago, looked a little nervous, their cheeks unconsciously slackening with their innocence.

Aoki handed him the forms they were made to fill out when they tentatively joined the team. He flipped through the four forms in his hand. The provisional admission form had a common format for all clubs, requiring students to write down the club they wanted to join, class, full name, and middle school. Obviously, all four forms had “boys’ volleyball team” written for the first item. That one line written in poor handwriting on each of them was dazzling…If he got emotional here, Aoki would laugh at him again.

“Now, we’ll have each first-year introduce themselves. Class, name, middle school, height, and position if you have experience. If there’s another position you want, you can say it. If you don’t know because you’re a first-timer, don’t worry. First is…”

He read aloud the first form.

“Nagato Ryo. Where are you?”

The first-year on the far left answered with “Here!” almost immediately. He wasn’t badly built either. He remembered seeing his face at the middle school prefecturals last year.

“Nagato Ryo from Class 1-E. I’m from Monshiro Middle. My height is probably around one-seventy-eight now. My position was pretty much the center.”

Fourth in the prefecture, Monshiro Middle. He exchanged a glance with Aoki and nodded.

“All right, next. Kuroba Yuuji.”

This time, there was no one who answered immediately.

“Hmm?”

He looked up from the sheet of paper. The one who had introduced himself as Nagato earlier poked the person to the right of him with his elbow. It was the first year who had swung and missed earlier who answered “Here” while looking down with Nagato’s elbow in his side.

“Kuroba Yuuji from 1-C, I’m from Monshiro Middle, now I’m probably one-eighty-three or four or something like that. I played left-side and right-side…”

While talking, that Kuroba was glowering at Nagato next to him. When he looked, he saw that Nagato had his hand to his mouth with his shoulders shaking.

“What’s going on here?”

The two’s faces stiffened when Oda’s tone turned sharp, but…

“It’s nothing. I’m Kuroba Yuuji.”

Kuroba named himself again while seemingly reluctantly giving Nagato the side-eye, a “pff” sound burst out from Nagato’s mouth.

“…Senpai. It’s Yuni. The reading.”

Kanno interjected from among the second-year right side players. “Ah,” Kuroba said and turned protesting eyes to Kanno. Come to think of it, Kanno was also from Monshiro Middle.

“Well, if that’s true then say it earlier. Why didn’t you correct me?”

“It’s fine. I will change my name starting today.”

Kuroba said with a solemn face while the tips of his ears were bright red. “You’re gonna change your name starting today?” Oda’s temple twitched. Is this guy an idiot? Nagato was clutching his stomach and bending over like he couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Senpai, apparently his name got laughed at a lot in his new class today. When he was asked the reason for it, he said it was Yuni from ‘universe’, and everyone said it was a super over-the-top name. That’s why you’re sulking, right, Yuni?”

“Shut up…no one said anything in middle school.”

“Nah, I thought that too, but I knew you since first grade so I missed the timing.”

“Say, say stuff like that earlier! You’re making my wounds worse.”

The other two first-years, who had been just standing there with confused faces at the back-and-forth between the graduates of the same middle school, laughed reservedly. “Sto-stop laughing at me!” Kuroba said, aghast. Oda sighed.

“Isn’t it fine, Yuni from ‘universe’? Who named you?”

When he interjected, all four of them reflexively straightened their postures and contained their laughter. “Grandpa did…” Kuroba answered embarrassedly with his head hung. “The Buddhist priest at the temple decided the number of character strokes and read it as Hirohito at first, but Grandpa said he changed the reading since he wanted it to mean ‘May you be able to reach the universe…’”

The person himself didn’t seem to like it very much, but Oda was impressed by that origin. That’s nice…he thought again. The other first years other than Nagato seemed to have come out of their shells with this episode. They were already familiarly whispering and poking each other. He made the people around him like him, perhaps because he had a strange, hopelessly unguarded character to him. There was a big difference between having a moodmaker like that on the team and not having one. And of course, the first thing his eyes were drawn to were the height he was blessed with, and the jump power he displayed earlier. The suppleness of the body led to less chances of injury.

That’s nice…but…it’s frustrating. Two feelings were jumbled within him—the sincere feelings of welcome as a captain, and envy mixed with jealousy as a fellow attacker.

“Kuroba Yuni, eh. I don’t approve the name change, so keep it. Okay, next!”

When he turned over another temporary club entry form, he saw that there were no more people from Monshiro Middle School. He looked over them starting with the last one first, just to be sure, but that was also wrong. I assumed that he’d be among these four, but…

“Kuroba, Nagato, there’s another guy coming here from your school, right?”

The two first-years, who had gone from poking each other to joking around with each other, immediately froze. Kuroba’s reaction was especially conspicuous. His smiling face stiffened in an instant, and his huge body seemed like it shrank a size.

“What’s wrong?”

The two made noncommittal answers and looked away from Oda.

“Haijima goes here, doesn’t he? Haijima—Kimichika.”

When Oda impatiently repeated that, Nagato gave Kuroba’s profile a meaningful glance before nervously speaking.

“That guy, Haijima, stopped showing up to practice after prefecturals, and he doesn’t seem to be playing volleyball anymore.”

Previous || Index || Next

[heyyyharry]

Chapter 3: The Things We Do for Love

(from the My Girl Trilogy: Stay Mine)

…in which Harry and Y/N get into a fight, and she thinks her ex still has feelings for her.

Word count: 5.4k

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

Warning: This chapter contains smut (not that any of you cares tho 😂)

Wattpad link (original character: Thea as Y/N)

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“You okay?”

“Yeah.” Y/N nodded as she gulped down the rest of her champagne and gave her empty glass to a waiter who walked past her and Harry.

As the party got more crowded, she got more impatient. There was something about partying with celebrities that made her feel exhausted, and she couldn’t wait for it to be over so she could go home.

She supposed Harry felt the same way. After all, they were only there because his manager had put them on the guest list. The host was a famous new director named Finley and Jeff didn’t want his client to waste such a good networking opportunity. And she, of course, was trying to be the supportive girlfriend he deserved.

He interlocked their fingers and brought her hand to his mouth, giving it a kiss. “If you want, we can leave.”

“Don’t worry. I’m good,” she said, faking a smile.

“Are you sure?” He arched an eyebrow. “Honestly, I don’t really want to be here either. So if you want to go—”

Before Harry could finish the sentence, his eyes stopped at the entrance where he saw Isaac walk in with his manager Lee.

“What is Isaac doing here?” Y/N asked. She was surprised, but Harry wasn’t.

“He photographed Finley last week. I should’ve known he was invited too.”

“Go talk to him then.” She tugged at his arm. “About your dad, remember?”

Harry hesitated for a second as if he was having second thoughts, but then he inhaled deeply and turned back to her. “Are you sure you’ll be fine on your own?”

“Yes. I’m not a kid, H.”

“To me you are.”

She rolled her eyes as he pecked her cheek and was about to leave when he remembered something. “Forgot to say I love you.” He kissed her once more, this time on the lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she said. “Now go.”

Harry gave her a wink and made his way across the crowded room to Isaac.

Y/N was anticipating how their conversation would turn out, but an unfamiliar voice caught her attention.

“Ms Y/L/N.”

She turned around. It took her less than two seconds to recognise the man, but she decided to play it cool by only giving him a smile and letting him introduce himself.

“John Conall. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr Conall.”

They shook hands and he said, “I’m a friend of Harry’s and I’ve heard so much about you.”

“I can’t believe he didn’t tell me he was friends with John freaking Conall!” That sentence wasn’t meant to be said aloud, but Y/N was too elated to help herself and lucky for her, Conall didn’t seem to mind.

“You’ve heard of me?” he asked.

“Of course, you are a famous actor, best-selling author, and one of the best literary agents,” she said, trying to contain her excitement by taking in a shaky breath. “I’m actually a big fan of your works, Mr Conall.”

“Please, call me John,” he said and looked over her shoulder to spot Harry talking to Isaac. “Harry’s mentioned that you’re a writer.”

“Well, I wouldn’t call myself--”

“Honey, I’ve read your manuscript. You are a writer.”

Y/N turned completely paralysed as she heard those words. She looked at him, her eyes widened, her mouth agape. She almost had to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

“You have?”

He nodded. “Harry sent it to me, and I loved every part of it. I heard it was inspired by your actual relationship, right?”

“I’ve told him not to go telling everyone about that but...yes, it was.” She shyly giggled. “May I ask, what was your favourite part?”

Conall took about a second to think, tapping a finger on his lips. “I cannot just choose one, but the ending was brilliant. We all love a happy ending.”

If Y/N had been on cloud nine just a second ago, now she’d hit the ground and continued falling. Conall’s favourite part could not be the story’s happy ending, because there wasn’t one.

Her book ended with the lovers saying their last goodbye and the man driving away from their hometown and never looking back. She and Harry hadn’t got a real chance to say goodbye last year so she’d given them one in her imagination. Eventually, she’d decided to keep that ending because it was perfect for the story.

Conall had lied to her. He had never read her book. And as disappointed as she was, she was not surprised at all. She glanced at her boyfriend who gave her a smile, and all she felt was a big lump in her throat and a turning stomach.

“So if you’re ever interested in working with me--”

“I’m very flattered, John, but...I’m gonna have to turn you down,” Y/N said.

From the look on Conall’s face, she knew she would never get a second chance to work with him in the future. She might regret it tomorrow when she’d forgiven Harry, but she could never forgive herself if she'd got her first book deal because her boyfriend was famous.

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“Are you sure about this?”

“Yes. I can’t let Gemma meet him,” Harry said as he took another sip of champagne and rubbed his fingers around the rim of the glass.

Isaac chewed on his bottom lip, staring at Harry for a long moment as if giving him another chance to change his mind. But when he said nothing, Isaac finally gave a nod. “All right, I’ll tell Emilia you want to meet them.”

“Thank you,” Harry said as they clinked their glasses and finished their drinks. “So...you and Emilia…”

“Are just friends.”

“I wasn’t gonna say that you weren’t.”

“Oh, please. I know you H.” Isaac lifted an eyebrow as he smirked. “Is this still about Y/N and I? Because we’re also just friends.”

“No, this is about you.” Harry chuckled. “I just want to know how you’re doing.”

He honestly couldn’t remember the last time they’d told each other about what was happening in their lives. They used to be so close. And even though Harry had hated Isaac last year, he’d also missed him a lot. It was nice to finally get to know him again.

“I’m doing great,” Isaac said, his lips curved into a smile. “What about you and Y/N? Good?”

“Yeah, we’re good,” Harry said as his eyes travelled back to his girlfriend, who was now standing with John Conall. He saw her looking and gave her a smile, to which she responded with another one and immediately looked away. Something seemed odd. But he didn’t think too much about it.

“Did you have anything to do with that?”

“With what?” He raised an eyebrow at Isaac, who let out a slight chuckle and pointed to Y/N and the man.

“That’s John fucking Conall. You know what I’m talking about, H.”

“Okay, maybe...a little,” Harry breathed as he combed his fingers through his unruly hair. “Please don’t tell her. I just wanted to help her out because you know how cutthroat the publishing industry is.”

“Be careful, mate. Y/N’s a smart girl. She’ll find out on her own.”

Isaac’s warning worried Harry quite a bit, but now all he could do was hope he’d done the right thing.

“Hey,” he changed the subject as soon as another one crossed his mind, “you should know that she didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Do what?”

“Tell me about Emilia,” he said, carefully studying Isaac’s expression. “Don’t be mad at her. She feels terrible about it.”

“I can’t stay mad at her. You know how she is.”

When Isaac saw the look on Harry‘s face, he couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “Don’t worry. I don’t love her anymore, at least not the same way you do.”

“No offence but I don’t worry about you anymore,” Harry snorted, giving his empty glass to a waiter. “Before we came to your house that night, she was going to tell me about her other ex, but I freaked her out and she blurted out about Emilia.”

“Wait,” Isaac narrowed his eyes. “Blake?”

“Yup. He’s her neighbour now.”

“Shit, really?”

“Yeah.” Harry exhaled sharply. “Did she tell you a lot about him when you two were...together?”

“Kind of,” Isaac said. “I mean, he was a big part of her life. She said she wouldn’t be who she was if she hadn’t met him.

A big part of her life, the voice inside Harry’s heart mockingly repeated the words. Fuck Blake Roman. Why didn’t that kid just stay in the US?

As if Isaac could hear Harry’s thoughts, he grabbed his shoulder and shook it slightly. “He’s your problem now though.”

“You’re such a good friend.”

“Just kidding. I wouldn’t worry about him if I were you. Blake might have been a big part of her life--”

“Can you stop saying that?”

“Sorry,” Isaac breathed out a laugh. “But believe me, H. What you two had then and what you have now cannot be replicated. Just believe in yourself.”

Isaac’s pep talk had somehow put Harry at ease, but only for temporary. When he finally said goodbye to Isaac and walked back to Y/N, the first thing she said to him was that she wanted to leave. He assumed she was tired. But her silence had maintained all the way to the car, and for the entire drive back to her place, which made him wonder what John Conall had said to her back at the party.

He knew how much she admired the man, so she should’ve been thrilled and gone on and on forever about meeting him. Was she really tired, or was she upset because she knew he had something to do with it? Shit. What if Isaac was right? She’d probably figured it out.

“I saw you talking to John Conall earlier,” he said as she unbuckled her seatbelt. They were right outside her building and he feared she would run off without answering him, but Y/N stayed still in the passenger seat.

“Tell me you didn’t do it,” she said, looking straight ahead.

"Kid..." his voice lowered.

She turned to him. He almost told her he’d done it for her, but when he looked into those big round eyes and saw his own reflection. He knew she didn’t want to hear a reason. She was disappointed and offended and hurt. So how could he look her in the eye and say he’d done it for her?

“I’m sorry,” Harry uttered, his eyes fell to her hand as he reached out to touch it, but she pulled away and got out of the car.

He parked it there and chased after her. “Wait, Bambi, wait!”

“Go home, Harry. I’m tired.” She walked faster to get away from him but he refused to give up and followed her into the building.

“Let's talk about it. Tell me how much you hate me. Yell at me! Just--”

“Oh, you want me to yell at you?” Y/N laughed angrily as she rushed up the stairs with him running right behind. “What pissed me off wasn’t you taking me to that party to put on that shit show but it was you underestimating me! You of all people!”

“I don’t!”

“You fucking do!” She stopped and turned around to stab a finger at him. “You think my book is shit and no literary agent would want me unless it was because of you!”

“No! I just wanted to help!” He quickly caught her hands, but she pushed him away and continued running. He followed, panting heavily. His heart was pounding against his chest but it wasn’t only because he was racing her up five floors.

“We’re not doing this again, Bambi!”

“Fuck no, we’re not! I can’t even look at you right now.” She stopped in front of her flat, catching her breath, but Harry took the key from her hand before she could unlock the door. “Hey, give it back!”

He straightened his arm to raise it high above his head. “Please let me apologise.”

“Harry," her expression hardened, "give me the key or we’re done.”

He knew she didn’t mean it, but she always said crazy things when she was angry, and he knew better than to upset her even more. He released a sigh, put the key back into her hand, and before either of them could say another word, they heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

Blake stopped as soon as he realised that Y/N and Harry were fighting.

“Hi, Blake,” she said and walked straight into her flat, leaving the door open for Harry.

The two men shared an awkward moment of silence in that hallway. But right as Blake opened his mouth to speak, Harry immediately followed his girlfriend.

He locked the door, standing with his back against it to watch her kick off her high heels and toss her clutch onto the floor. As she flopped down on the sofa and buried her head in her hands, he quietly approached.

She didn’t flinch, not even when he dropped down on his knees in front of her and took her hands away from her head.

“I’m sorry. Please look at me.”

She shook her head, her voice trembled, “you think I’m a loser…”

“No, baby, I don’t…”

He cupped her chin, tilting her face slightly upward so he could look her in the eye. His Bambi was already on the verge of tears. She tend to get softer when she drank and he’d always liked that, but not tonight, not right now.

Frowning, he tucked a strand behind her ear and spoke softly, “Conall asked me to attend his daughter’s birthday because she was a fan, so I asked him for a favour and sent him your manuscript. I didn’t ‘buy’ you a chance with him if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“He didn’t even read it, H,” she said at last, rubbing her nose.

“What?” His eyes went round.

“He said he did but he only lied to win you over.”

Harry stiffened at once. He turned away to curse under his breath and then cupped her cheeks. “I can’t believe he did that, baby. I’m sorry. We’ll find you another agent, yeah?”

“No.” She stood up, stepping away from him. “I will. You stay out of this. I don’t want to depend on my boyfriend, okay? I don’t want to drive his Ferrari, wear his Gucci clothes and live in his big mansion!”

When she mentioned his mansion, he was at a loss for words, and she immediately realised how bad it sounded as he’d just asked her to move in with him not so long ago.

“I’m sorry.” She stood with her head hung and a hand on her forehead. “I-I didn’t mean that. I just…”

“It’s okay. Maybe I should leave.”

Harry took a step forward, but Y/N got in the way. She caught his wrist before he could walk past her, and right before he could even think, she pressed her mouth against his. She kissed him hungrily. He didn’t bother to question and caught her effortlessly as she jumped and wrapped her legs around his waist. He took her tongue into his mouth, stumbling backwards until she hit the front door.

They kissed harder as she dug her nails into his broad back. She was only wearing a silk slip dress which made it easy for him to just pull it off and toss it somewhere in her living room.

Once her panties came off, she was completely naked, sandwiched between him and the door. Her bedroom was just a few steps away, but his mind was already clouded by the thought of fucking her against this door and having her scream his name so that all of her neighbours could hear it. Blake could hear it. And he believed she was well aware of his intention. But if anything, it only turned her on.

Y/N only broke the kiss once to unbutton his shirt and pull it off his shoulders. Their mouths collided again. She sucked on his tongue, tracing her palms across the ink on his chest, down to his abs and then to his cock, pulling it free as she pushed his pants right past his bum. Her fingers tightened around his hardened length, making him gasp and buckle his hips against her hand.

One arm locked around her waist, Harry fucked himself in sync with her slow strokes and snuck his other hand between them to squeeze her breast and tease her nipple.

“You’re so warm,” she moaned against his lips when his cock twitched in her palm and he slipped his fingers between their bodies to feel her arousal.

“So are you...And you’re dripping...God, fuck,” he inhaled deeply, dipping two fingers in with no trouble. Her mouth fell open as she started riding them while stroking his cock.

“I need it...Need you inside.” She tossed her head back, squirming. Their skin was slick with sweat, and he was too horny to pay attention to this uncomfortable position they were in. He kissed her hard on the mouth, looking down between them to watch her guide him to her hot entrance. She was so wet but also so tight, and the way she squeezed around the swollen head of his cock made him go frenzy.

He fucked her slow at first, not wanting to hurt her. But as she started thrusting down on him, he picked up the pace and fucked her harder. She was moaning his name just the way he wanted as he bent his knees to hit that spot over and over again. She felt so good around him that he could barely open his eyes, but he had to. He had to look at her face when she came.

“Say you’re mine,” he growled, making her nod rapidly.

“Yours. I’m yours.”

“Fuck yes, you are. And I’m yours. All yours.”

He fucked her hard and fast, not wanting this to end but she felt so good, he couldn’t help it. He slipped his hand down to rub her clit, making her hip jolt up only to drop back down on his dick, both of them groaned loudly.

When she came, she was chanting his name, gripping his shoulders tightly as he sucked a nipple into his mouth and chased his own orgasm. He fucked his cum into her, his forehead pressed against her shoulder as he tried to catch his breath and bring himself back down to earth.

After a moment, he slipped out. They stayed in that position and looked into each other’s eyes without exchanging a single word. His heart was like a drum, he could hear it beating in his ear as he waited for her to snap out of it and tell him to go.

But then she cupped his face and murmured, “let’s take a shower and go to sleep.”

Harry freaked out a little. “What about--”

“We can talk about it tomorrow, H. It’s fine.” She traced her finger along the bridge of his nose to calm him down and leaned in to give him a chaste kiss. “Let’s get some rest and then we’ll talk.”

He didn’t know if it was a good thing to wait until tomorrow, but if she said it was fine, then it should be fine.

“Okay. Tomorrow then.”

Smiling, Y/N rested her cheek on his shoulder and let him carry her into the bedroom.

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“Mr Whitney.”

“Y/N! Sit down, please.”

“Thank you, but it’ll be quick,” Y/N said as she put a paper folder on her English teacher’s desk.

Whitney looked up, beaming at the sixteen-year-old. “You’ve finished your book, I see.”

“It’s just the first few chapters actually. I want you to be the first to read it,” she said.

He picked up the folder, staring at it for a second before putting it in his bag. “I’ll read it tonight.”

That was all Y/N had wanted to hear. She’d always admired Whitney. Not only was he a great teacher, but he used to be a writer as well. She’d read some of his books, and they were so good it made her wonder why he was a teacher and not a famous author. Anyway, she was glad he was her teacher and she was his favourite.

On Tuesday of the following week, Y/N had another class with Whitney. She was so excited to finally read his feedback so she showed up at school earlier than usual. On the way to class, however, she ran into him.

“Y/N!”

Blake Roman, aka The Troublemaker. Why was he talking to her outside the classroom? And why was he even in school? He was always in the car park smoking and drinking with his mates. It was none of her business though. They weren’t friends.

“Gee, didn’t you hear me calling your name? Because everyone did,” Blake said as he finally caught up with her.

She didn’t look at him even though they were walking side by side. “We did one project together, Blake. We’re not friends.”

“We’re not. Promise.” He smirked but then grabbed her hand and spun her around. “I just want to give you this.”

Y/N was about to scold him for wasting her time, but when she saw what he was holding, she turned speechless.

“This is yours, right? Your name is on it. Anyway, I think it’s good, why did you throw it away?”

“Where did you find it?” She snatched the folder from his hand. He didn’t understand why she was mad, but it seemed like he knew that he shouldn’t have found this folder.

“In the car park,” he said.

“Where in the car park?” she asked, her eyebrows pulled together. Don’t worry, she told herself, Mr Whitney might have dropped it on the way to his car and--

“In the trash bin.”

Those three words felt like a hard kick in her stomach. Y/N exhaled sharply as her face twisted. “It couldn’t be...I-I gave it to Mr Whitney…”

Blake was quiet for a second. He was smarter than people assumed he was, and it didn’t take him too long to figure out what was happening. He shoved his hand in his hair and released a long sigh as he muttered, “shit…”

Y/N said nothing else. She pushed right past Blake and stormed to Whitney’s classroom. Despite Blake calling out her name, she didn’t look back.

“Mr Whitney.”

She burst through the door. Her teacher didn’t notice she was acting differently so he said, “good morning, Y/N,” and continued organising his desk.

Y/N walked toward him, gripping the straps of her bag as she couldn’t stop thinking about Blake finding her folder in the trash bin. “Hey, um...I want to ask about my story. I wonder if you’ve read it.”

Whitney stilled for a second.

Her mother had told her that good liars only needed a second to come up with a good lie, and that was how she knew what he was about to say would make her hate him even more.

“Of course I’ve read it. But I haven’t got time to write you some comments.”

She supposed he would continue using that excuse until she forgot about the story and stopped bothering him.

As a few other classmates entered the room, Y/N faked a smile, thanked the teacher and went to her seat. The image of the man she’d been idolising for a whole year had crumbled down before her eyes, and not only did she felt extremely disappointed, she also felt bad about herself.

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Y/N and Harry didn't get to have the conversation she’d promised in the morning. He’d got a work call at 5 AM and left before she woke up. He’d left her a text, saying he loved her and that they would talk when he got back so she decided not to think too much about it for now.

She’d already spent the whole night replaying the conversation with Conall inside her head. Although it had hurt her as much as what had happened a long time ago with her English teacher, she knew if she wanted to succeed, she must not give up easily.

It was Sunday, and she’d got no other important plans, so she decided to put those negative thoughts aside and start editing her manuscript.

After two hours of writing, her doorbell rang. She already could’ve guessed who it was, but she didn’t expect to see a sweaty Blake in his running clothes.

“This is embarrassing but,” he said, giving her a tired smile, “my shower broke. Can I use yours?”

“Yeah. Sure.” She agreed without reluctance.

“Thanks. I’ll go get my clothes,” Blake said and hurriedly went back to his flat.

Y/N supposed if Harry had been there, he would’ve said Blake was lying. But she’d lived in this estate long enough to know how awful the facilities were, and her shower had broken way too many times before so she knew the struggle was real.

The bathroom was in her bedroom, so while Blake was in the shower, she sat at her desk to work on the book. She was so concentrated that she didn’t even hear him come out.

“Hey,” his voice made her jump. They both burst of laughing as she shoved him away.

Blake apologised as he took a seat on the edge of her bed and looked at her laptop screen. “Oh, you’re writing a book?”

“I’m rewriting a book, actually.” She breathed, pinching her temple. “I thought I’d finished it, but it sucked so now I’m rewriting the whole thing.”

“Where are you at?”

“Chapter One.”

“Want some feedback?”

She turned to give him a smile. “Sure.”

He scooted over for her to bring her laptop to the bed and sit down by his side. Before handing it to him, she looked into his eyes and said with a serious expression, “I want your most honest and brutal comments. Do you think you can be honest and brutal?”

“I’m a law student, Y/N. That’s my job.” Blake cracked his knuckles, making her laugh. “Now, show me what you’ve got.”

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For all those years Y/N had been in school, she had never been called to the principal's office. She was the type of student who followed the rules, got good grades and hoped it would get her into a good university after graduation. So when she heard her name on the speaker in the hallway, she believed it was only a big misunderstanding.

She walked to the assistant’s desk, her heart was beating so fast as the woman looked up and gave her a smile.

“Hi, I’m Y/N Y/L/N. I’m here to—”

“Oh, Ms Y/L/N! Sorry for the misunderstanding,” the lady said, to her surprise. “Your friend said you had nothing to do with it and he’s taken all the blame. You can get back to class.”

“Wait, what?”

The door suddenly creaked open and Y/N was startled to see Blake walk out from the principal’s office. They held each other’s gaze for a full second and Blake was the first one to break it as he walked right past her, out of the room.

“What did he do?” she asked the lady who was shaking her head at the boy.

“He took Mr Whitney’s phone, locked him in the classroom and only let the poor man out once he’d read your story.”

Y/N was left speechless. Then she snapped out of it and rushed out of the room to chase Blake down the hall.

“Wait! Stop!”

He didn’t stop walking but he did slow down for her to catch up. “You’re chasing after me. How the table has turned.”

“Detention?” she asked, looking up to read his face but he didn’t look at her.

“Yeah.”

His one-word answer made her giggle.

“What’s so funny?”

“I can’t believe you locked a teacher in the classroom. That was childish.”

“Yeah, it was.” He agreed, laughing and scratching the back of his head. “But it worked. He left a lot of comments for your story.”

“Really?”

“Yup. I’ll give you back the folder later. I’ve read those comments by the way. They weren’t bullshit.”

“Thank you.” She shyly smiled, but he didn’t see it for he was staring straight ahead. They continued walking together and it was Y/N who broke the silence, “why did you do it? What’s in it for you?”

Blake took some time to think as he took a deep breath. “Well, nothing. Whenever I decide to help someone, I only need to find two good reasons to do it.”

“What are the two reasons in my case?” she asked when he sank back to silence.

He lifted his shoulders. “I’ve read the story and I think it’s great. I think you’ve worked hard for it and therefore deserve respect and recognition.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And the second reason?”

This time, he stopped and turned to face her at last. “I like you.”

“What?”

“That’s the second reason, Y/N. I like you.”

Y/N opened her mouth to respond but instantly realised she didn’t know what to say. It seemed like he didn’t need her to say anything though. He only wanted to let her know.

“See you later.”

Blake waved goodbye and then he was gone, leaving her standing there like a scarecrow on an empty field. And for the first time in her life, her heart was racing for another boy.

.

.

.

Y/N finished three chapters with Blake’s help and it was only 3 PM. She had never been more productive and she wanted to continue, but Blake suggested that they should take a little break to relax and clear their minds.

“Thanks for helping me out,” she said, pouring him a cup of tea.

“You’re welcome.” He grinned.

Y/N watched him blow into his cup, staring attentively at the tattoo of her initial. They hadn’t met in three years, so why was he still so nice to her? She felt her stomach twist at the thought.

What if...

“Why are you doing this?” she blurted.

The question didn’t surprise Blake. He looked her in the eye as if he’d been expecting it and calmly said, “because I believe in you. If the shit bomb called Fifty Shades of Grey is a bestseller, then so should your brilliant book.”

What is the second reason, Blake? she asked herself when he sank back to silence.

But then her ringtone interrupted the conversation. She looked down at the screen and saw ‘BoYfRiEnD’.

“Excuse me.” Y/N grabbed the phone, but Blake got up at the same time she did.

“I better go,” he said. “Thank you for letting me use your shower.”

“Oh, you’re welcome,” she said and watched him head back to the front door. “Thank you for today!”

Blake didn’t respond or even look back. And the door fell shut behind him.

.

.

.

Y/N was on the fence about telling Harry about today. She’d pondered it for the entire afternoon after the phone call with him, and eventually decided to be honest because there should be no secrets between them.

Harry came over at around 7 PM. He looked exhausted, but went straight to her for a kiss and gave her the flowers he’d bought on his way back from the film studio.

“Before you say anything, I just want to say I’m very very very sorry,” he whispered, hugging her waist. “I know I’m...too much sometimes. It could be overwhelming to be with me. I wasn’t good at being in a relationship in the past, and I’m trying not to let my mistakes ruin us again. I’m being too careful and...I’m well aware that I’m driving you away by trying too hard to not disappoint you. I’m gonna change, I promise. Please be patient with me.”

She waited for him to finish and pecked him on the lips, pressing their foreheads together. “I’m not Mr Finny or Ruby, love. I’m your Bambi. I’m not gonna leave you because you love me too much. But you still gotta have more faith in yourself, in me, and also us.”

Harry nodded fast and nudged her nose with his. “I didn’t know Conall wouldn’t even read it...If I had known, I wouldn’t have asked for his help.”

“It’s okay. Let’s forget about it,” she sighed. “I’ve rewritten the first three chapters today. Would you like to read it?”

“Sure.”

“Blake came over this morning and helped me.”

When Harry pulled away to arch an eyebrow at her, she dissolved into laughter. “Relax, babe. His shower broke so he asked to use mine.”

“His shower broke?”

“Yes.”

“That’s the lamest excuse people use in porn.”

“Harry.” She glowered and he rolled his eyes, letting out a long breath.

“Okay, sorry.”

Y/N playfully smacked his shoulder before kissing his cheek and pulling him to the sofa. They sat down together as she turned on her laptop.

“Does he know the main character is me?” he asked. “Because you should tell him the next time he comes over because ‘his shower broke again’.”

Seeing him do the air quotes made her cackle. “I think he knows. It’s clear that I’m so in love with you,” she said, placing the laptop on his lap and resting her head on his shoulder.

“Good girl.” He grinned. “Someone deserves to have their pussy eaten tonight.”

Y/N quickly pulled away. “Okay, I love you except for when you ruin romantic moments with stupid sex jokes.”

“It’s not a joke if I’m actually gonna eat your pussy tonight. But you know what? I’m actually hungry now.”

“Just read the damn story, asshole.” She laughed, grabbing his face and turning it back to the laptop screen. 

[pronouncingitwang]

pre-canon Jon/Georgie | 4.3K words | for @the-magnace-archives

1.

“Laundry detergent is practically a self-contained emulsion—not that it has to be a mixture of anything, but it has a hydrophilic and a hydrophobic end,” says Jonathan-Sims-but-I-usually-go-by-Jon-oh-and-it’s-nice-to-meet-you-too, and Georgie grins. She hadn’t expected much when she dragged herself out tonight, prompted more by the vague feeling that she really ought to make some friends this year (apparently, her tutees don’t count, thanks Mum) than any real desire to do so. Then, she’d looked across Balliol Bar to see the student who’d interrupted their Modern-ish Lit prof in lecture yesterday, holding a briefcase in his lap and scowling at his beer as if it too wasn’t planning to analyze Jane Austen through a post-colonialist lens this year. Georgie had headed over as a gesture of BAME Literature student solidarity, and now it’s been an hour and she’s still here, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Jon doesn’t seem to be a fan of eye contact, which gives Georgie plenty of opportunity to observe. None of his initial red flags—being dressed like a professor on TV, for one—have proven to be signs of a deeper rottenness yet. There’s something in Jon’s gestures—abrupt, abortive, like he’s holding himself back—that assures Georgie that he’s not just doing this as an ego boost. This is all to say that the last three hours of banter and infodumping have been wholly pleasant. Probabilistically, it can’t last.

“Do- do you want to go back to mine?” Jon asks, and god does Georgie hates being proven right sometimes. It’s not that Jon’s unattractive, per se—Alex would have called him “hot in a murder victim kind of way” (and the memory of her voice hurts, but less than it would’ve a year ago)—but Georgie had hoped for a little more class. Plus, even if Jon seems harmless and even if Georgie's not scared, she'd rather not run the risk of being called a bitch tonight. She starts scanning for nearest exits.

Something about her silence must’ve clued Jon in because he quickly exclaims, “Not like that! God, sorry, not like that.”

Georgie pauses in her room surveyal. “Oh?”

“Sorry, sorry, I just meant that- that I’d like to keep talking to you, but it’s really loud here and I can’t think of anywhere quieter that’s open right now. I promise. But in retrospect, I can... I can see how that might’ve sounded.”

He looks earnest enough, and a little flushed as well. Georgie wants to—does—believe him. But she takes a second to size Jon up anyway. Between the eyebags, height (or lack thereof), and twig limbs, he looks like someone she could defend herself against if needs be. Also, she kind of does want to learn more about emulsifiers, or just watch him as he talks about them.

“Well, as long as you mean it—” “I do.” “Then, let’s go.”

(Georgie wakes up seven hours later with a crick in her neck and an Oxford sweatshirt she doesn’t own draped over her shoulders. Her hair’s a mess—she hadn’t pineappled it last night, and the back of this chair(? yeah, it’s a chair) is definitely not silk—and the time is… shit. Oh, and there’s Jon, perched on his bed and looking at her.

“You, ah, fell asleep during the ghosts debate? I didn’t know whether or not to wake you.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Georgie says, rolling her neck and wincing. “Sorry for stealing your chair.”

“Tea?” Jon asks, holding out a mug Georgie’s almost certain was just in the godforsaken microwave. Not that she hasn’t done the same thing on many an occasion.

“Sorry,” Georgie says, “I should probably be going; I’m gonna be late for a lecture. But before I leave—do you want to do this again tomorrow?”)

-

2.

Georgie spends some time deliberating over when to pop the question. It’s not fear holding her back; it’s practicality. There’s only a small window of feeling—after “certain she wants this” but before “starting to think losing Jon’s company would require her to take another gap year”—where taking the risk is worth it, and the second stage is coming up much faster than anticipated. (She’s never thought of herself as someone who falls for people fast—she hadn’t even realized her feelings for Alex until it was far too late—but now this. Maybe it’s another side effect of getting a philosophy lesson from a corpse. Or maybe it’s just a Jon thing.) All in all, it’s only been three weeks after their first meeting before she asks.

“Are you seeing anyone else?”

“What?” Jon asks, eyes jolting from his book to scan his room for uninvited apparitions. They’d both been unusually absorbed in their readings for the past hour, only interrupting the silence with scoffs and huhs.

“No, like, are you seeing anyone else romantically?” Jon frowns, and a thread of doubt worms its way into Georgie’s throat. “That is what we’re doing, right?” Granted, lunch meet-ups in the dining hall that spill over into long and unproductive study sessions might not scream “date,” but there’d also been a fair amount of (well, okay, Georgie-initiated) arm-around-the-shoulder action a few times. Also, hand-holding, of the fingers-intertwined variety.

“Oh. Um, yes, we’re romantically involved, or I suppose I should say that I hoped we were and didn’t know how to ask for clarification”—note to self: communicate clearer in future, Georgie thinks—“and no, I’m not seeing anyone else.”

Georgie had thought as much, but the confirmation is nice. “Cool. Me neither. Want to keep doing that?”

“Seeing each other?”

“And not anyone else, yeah.”

“Oh.”

“Maybe even start calling each other girlfriend and boyfriend?”

“Oh. Um.” Jon’s leg starts to bounce, which doesn’t seem like a good sign. Georgie waits.

“It’s not that-” Jon begins, then cuts himself off with a frustrated sigh. “It’s not that I don’t want to, believe me. I just—I have a… ground rule. That you may not be happy about.”

“Just one?”

“What?” Jon looks startled out of his worry for a second, which Georgie counts as a success.

“Well, I mean, if you’re talking about boundaries, I’ve got plenty. Routines that I’d need you to work around, stuff I don’t want to talk about, and if you’re ever even slightly sympathetic to the Tories…”

Jon doesn’t even laugh at the last one, and she knows he’s not a Cameron cocksucker. Something’s really bothering him.

“This one is… a pretty big deal.”

Georgie tries to keep her tone reassuring. “Let me be the judge of that, yeah?”

“Okay,” Jon says, “okay, yeah,” then nods decisively. “I’m… not going to have sex with you.”

What?

Jon continues, hands fluttering nervously as he explains. “I mean, I can’t say for certain that I’ll never change my mind, but if we’re doing this, it should be under the assumption that I won’t. And it’s not—it’s not a you thing, I swear, it’s just the thought of doing that with—with anyone is just…” he shudders slightly, and Georgie gives him a sympathetic wince. “And I know that’s a dealbreaker with a lot of people. I think I’m—well, it’s called asexuality, there’s some books I found if you don’t believe me, here, I’ll write the titles down—” Jon reaches for his briefcase, presumably to find paper and pen, but Georgie grabs his hand before he can.

“Jonathan,” she says. He tightens a little at the sound, and damn if that doesn’t near break her heart. “Jon. I believe you. And”—she squeezes his palm—“I still want to be with you.”

“Are you—are you sure?”

“Completely. Honestly, I’m kind of relieved?” Georgie says, realizing as she replies just how true the words are. “I’m not sure how I feel about sex yet either, really. I’d wondered, each time I’ve been over, if you’d try to… and then you never did, and I was always glad. I’m not like you, I don’t think—the thought doesn’t repulse me, it just… might not be something I’m ready for yet.”

“But you think you’ll want to later?”

Georgie shrugs. “Well, yes and no? People are hot, but even if I changed my mind about sex, I wouldn’t ask you for anything you don’t want to give me, and I doubt I’d be so horny that we’d need to renegotiate our relationship. I’ve been doing just fine dealing with everything single-handedly. Or,” she amends, “sometimes double-handedly.”

And there it is: Jon laughs, a rusty exhale that makes Georgie smile more than anything.

“So…” she whispers, bumping her nose against Jon’s, “Unless my boyfriend has any more objections…”

“Just to—just to clarify. That’s me?”

Despite her best efforts, a giggle escapes Georgie’s throat. “Yes.”

“Well. In that case. He does not.” Jon says. “Oh. Except. Can I kiss you?” he asks, which conveniently answers one of Georgie’s unvoiced questions.

“Absolutely.”

Their lips meet despite Jon’s grin, but only because Georgie’s smiling just as wide as he is.

-

3.

That conversation, it seems, marks the beginning of Jon-initiated physical affection. Georgie had assumed before that his lack of cuddliness was fully a result of touch sensitivity, but it's clear now that although the sensory stuff was a factor, Jon had also been holding himself back, trying to avoid any touch which could be seen as either too clingy or a prelude to sexual activity. Now, on some days, there’s a head leaning against Georgie's shoulder in the dining hall, a leg swung over her lap as they sit on his bed, an arm around her waist when they walk to Modern-ish Lit together. It’s not all effortless—Jon still moves like he half-expects Georgie to bat his hand away, and sometimes Georgie forgets to ask before she touches Jon—but they’re getting there.

Currently, Georgie’s wheeling a shopping cart around Tesco with Jon draped over her back like a very determined lichen. It was Steve-from-down-the-hall’s birthday last night, so Jon and a few of Jon’s acquaintances-turning-friends from a budding local urban exploration group had come over to duck into the party and snag several bottles. Georgie’s more than a little hungover, and Jon is no better for wear—he doesn’t drink, but staying up all night has taken its toll.

Jon’s wearing a sleeveless top that, on second thought, may actually be an old skirt of Georgie’s. Either way, he looks great. Georgie’s in her pajamas, and also, for some reason, a top hat? Between the outfits and Jon’s posture, they’ve gotten a few looks, but being literally fearless does wonders for one’s ability to ignore that stuff. Plus, Georgie knows almost all the employees here. They’ll have her back if needs be. Georgie’s not bothered, not by the other shoppers and not by her barnacle boyfriend—Jon’s not heavy, and he matches her every step, only disentangling himself to add items to the cart. She’s just glad they’ve both stuck around long enough to see each other like this.

In fact, there are a plethora of behaviors Georgie can sort into pre-commitment and/or post-commitment Jon things. She’ll make a Venn diagram once she’s certain her observations are solid. Pre-commitment things that Jon has since dropped include making his bed in the morning and keeping his professorial garb on at home. Things that go into both categories are Jon’s love of debate, the posh accent (though sometimes, after Jon’s just finished up a stilted call to his grandmother, his “of”s sound more like “off”s), and the fact that every time Georgie comes over, he opens the door before she knocks, like he’s been listening for her the whole time. Post-commitment, there’s calling her “George” when he’s sleepy; launching into completely sincere dramatic readings of his assignments to help him think passages through; stimming without looking self-conscious about it; and luckily for Georgie, cooking.

“Pasta tonight?” she asks as Jon squints at two identical-looking tomatoes so hard Georgie thinks they might explode.

“Mm.”

“The one on the left is a bit bigger?”

Jon puts the other one down with a scowl. “Maybe.”

The kitchens in Jon’s building have a stovetop and just enough counter space for prep. Georgie insists on helping this time, so she chops vegetables as Jon gets the noodles going. As the water nears boiling, Jon begins to hum something that Georgie thinks is meant to keep time, tapping his foot to the rhythm.

“Whatcha singing?”

“Oh,” Jon says, foot no longer tapping. “I didn’t notice—that is—it’s just. Something my grandmother sings when she’s cleaning.”

Jon doesn’t talk about his grandmother much, but Georgie can fill in the blanks. Again, she's been in the room for some of their phone conversations, and though she doesn't understand Urdu, she does understand silence. So she doesn’t push, just says, “Well, it sounds nice” and keeps chopping. Jon doesn’t sing, or speak, for the rest of their time in the kitchen.

Georgie’s dad said something once about vulnerability being a mutual exchange, and it’s stuck with her ever since. (Seems even more relevant now, since the no-fear thing means vulnerability doesn’t cost her much anyway.) Five minutes into a very silent dinner, Georgie speaks.

“You know, during first term, on the weekends, I didn’t eat dinner at all. Or any meals, really.”

Jon doesn’t move, but she can tell he’s listening.

“It made sense to eat on weekdays, because I’d always come across a cafeteria on my way to class. But on weekends, it was way too much work to drag myself out of my room, sometimes even out of bed. There didn’t seem to be any reason to. And I always had some rolls on hand that I’d taken from the dining halls earlier that week, so it’s not like I was starving myself. But still. Wasn’t great.” Jon nods, which is enough encouragement for Georgie to finish. “So I guess what I mean is, thank you? For being a good enough reason.”

Georgie takes Jon’s hand, and he squeezes back.

(A few days later, when Georgie’s almost forgotten the incident, Jon pulls the blanket tighter around them and says, “I think I’m going to tell you about my grandmother now, if that’s okay,” and Georgie says, “okay.”)

-

4.

Georgie hasn’t had a bad episode in a long time, but then her dad gets into a car wreck and he’s fine, he’ll be fine, but the bill’s gonna be hell to foot, and Georgie should be calling her English course freshers to see if they or their friends want any more tutoring hours, but instead she hasn’t brushed her teeth in four days and she’s missed her weekly scheduled room cleaning and she has that marked in her calendar for a reason, she has a routine for a reason, but every limb feels heavy and she’d rather stare at the ceiling and wait for it to collapse on her the way it one day will and therefore always has been. She misses Alex. She misses home. She misses being able to move without feeling like she’s dragging her body in a bag behind her.

Jon finds Georgie on what she thinks is a Saturday. He takes a second to scan the room before his eyes alight on the pile of blankets she’s under. “You haven’t been answering my messages,” he says.

The one time Jon had a meltdown in Georgie's presence, he shouted at her to leave, immediately. Georgie thinks she should extend Jon the same chance to escape, never mind that Jon's brain in crisis does better alone and Georgie's doesn't.

“Please go away.”

Jon does go away, but only to the other side of the room—where Georgie had accidentally knocked over her laundry hamper two(? three?) days ago and then stared at it until it felt like her insides had been hollowed out—and starts picking up each item of clothing on the ground, inspecting it, and shoving it back in the basket.

“Is this clean?” Jon asks, holding up a pair of knickers. Under most circumstances, the image would be funny, but as it is, it’s just surreal.

Georgie sighs. “I don’t think there’s a single clean thing in this room.”

“That’s good to know,” Jon says, and then, “Maybe you should get up.”

“Make me,” Georgie says. He does not.

As Jon continues to tidy up the floor, he asks her various bite-sized questions—trying to ground her, she assumes. Where did she get these jeans? What’s that poster on her wall of? Does she need the notes from Thursday? How is she doing? That last one, she elects not to answer.

When Jon’s done with the laundry pile, he asks for a hand to lift the hamper upright again. Georgie considers calling him out on the ruse, but finds that it’s easier to take Jon’s hand as he half-pulls her out of bed. Standing upright makes her a little dizzy, but he holds her still until her vision clears.

But then they go to lift the hamper, and Georgie drops it again and Jon doesn’t catch it fast enough and the clothes go spilling over the floor again, and she screams something at Jon that burns in her throat and Jon blinks and blinks and hardens and yells something back and Georgie wants to throw something or hide or fall asleep but instead she just tells Jon to get the fuck out out of her room.

“Fine,” Jon snaps, and wrenches the door open. He pauses before he takes his first step into the hall. “I’ll be back in an hour, if you want me here then.”

Georgie curls up on the ground and thinks about what Jon breaking up with her would look like and she isn’t scared, just sad, and then she counts prime numbers until she falls asleep again. And then Jon does come back, and Georgie is no less frustrated and Jon is no less hurt, but he’s holding a takeout bag. (Georgie tears through the wrap, and then, upon Jon’s prompting, all of his kebabs too, and he sits there until she’s finished. Once she’s full, she feels a little less heavy.)

-

5.

Georgie practically runs up the stairs to Jon’s room, phone still clutched in hand. “URGENT,” the text had read, and Georgie had felt a sharp curiosity course through her.

When Jon opens the door, he’s practically vibrating. “I figured out a way to get into the Sheldonian after-hours,” he whispers.

“No fucking way,” Georgie whispers back. “Seriously, how? We have to tell the others right fucking now. But how?”

Georgie had recently dragged Jon into her latest obsession—Oxford history—though “dragged” implies that he hadn’t come extremely willingly. She’d wondered if the incident in the medical building would come up, but Jon had quickly turned to fixate on something else. For the last month, Oxford’s main theater has been the subject of most, if not all of their conversation. That's spilled over into their conversations with their urbex friends (read: all their friends), which has then spilled over into their collective ability to engage in academia. Each member of their friend group—going on different days to deflect suspicion—has been on a tour to scope out the surveillance cameras’ blind spots. Plus, they’ve pooled their money to buy a fancy lockpicking kit.

“Well,” Jon says, hands flapping wildly as he looks for his phone, “I was talking to one of the violinists who played there last year, and then there were some blueprints in the Balliol Library—here, I took pictures—and…”

There’s more planning to do, obviously, if the six of them want to achieve their ultimate goal of “don’t get caught, like, seriously.” They practice treading lightly, quiz each other on floor plans, and (at least try to) confine themselves to a strict sleep schedule to keep their reflexes sharp. It’s unbelievably overkill, but such is life.

Then, there’s scheduling, which is difficult because Marie has two big assignments coming up and Steph works night shifts five days a week, but eventually, the expedition is a go.

Two weeks later, Georgie finds herself standing on the wood floor of the Sheldonian Theater, looking up at the barely-moonlit ceiling.

“Wow,” Jon breathes over a chorus of April’s “holy shit!”s.

“Kind of stupid that Truth is white,” Georgie says, but her voice is tinged with as much awe as Jon’s is.

Jon lets out a huff of laughter. “Next time, we can break in and repaint.”

“By stacking like ten ladders on top of each other?”

“Obviously.”

Georgie’s seen the ceiling before on daytime tours, of course she has, but those times, it was always just a painting, no less shiny and solid than the rest of the theater. The fresco she sees now is smudged with shadow, but that only makes it look more real. It depicts a vortex of orange clouds surrounded by scholars and cherubim. The figures curl themselves around the perimeter, simultaneously drawn into and bracing themselves against the storm. In the center of the swirling mass, Truth raises itself up, holding out its glowing hand. Structural support beams run over the mural to hold the ceiling up, sectioning off various parts of the scene. Every figure is drawn in exquisite detail; the shadows of their robes, the strands of their hair. But from down where Georgie stands, the whole thing just looks like an ancient mouth straining against a golden net, ready to consume them both.

“It’s beautiful,” Georgie whispers, and then, because one time doesn’t seem enough, “It’s beautiful!”

“You’re beautiful,” Jon tells the ceiling, though his whisper doesn't carry very far.

“You’re beautiful!” Georgie whisper-shouts at Jon. (Georgie senses, more than hears, an exasperated groan from Nick behind her, but she pays him no mind. She’s earned the right to be this sappy, thank you very much.)

“So are you!” Jon whisper-shouts back.

“I am!”

Most of their friends begin wandering farther off, but Jon and Georgie stay put. The Sheldonian is a flat-floor building. There’s no raised platform that draws the line between stage and audience, just an area with chairs and one without. Whatever secrets the two of them whisper to Truth, it is both call and response.

“Sometimes, I feel so lonely I could scream!”—from Jon.

“I wish I remembered what fear felt like!”—from Georgie.

“I don’t understand poetry and I never will!”

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong because I don’t know what I’m doing!”

“I wish I’d chosen a different course! I have no idea what to do after graduation!”

“When professors call me Georgina, I feel physically ill!”

“I hate having short hair!”

“I hate having long hair!”

“I wish I’d actually taken my Urdu lessons seriously when I was younger!”

“I don’t feel guilty about quitting all my clubs in first year but I feel like I should!”

“We should be a little quieter!”

“I agree!”

A pause.

“I’m going to fail all my exams!”

“Funny, I’m gonna fail all of mine!”

“I’ll always feel like a disappointment! And I love my girlfriend!” It’s not the first time Jon’s said it, but the words send a thrill through Georgie anyway.

“I stubbed my toe yesterday and it still hurts! And I love my boyfriend!” It is the first time she’s said it. It feels right.

“I’m going to try to get to the balcony without being seen!”

“Good idea!”

“I really do love you,” Jon says again, and begins to move towards the nearest staircase, where Steph and April appear to be arm-wrestling. As Georgie watches his back, she’s suddenly struck by another memory—someone else Georgie loves standing in a building she’s not supposed to be in, taking one of her very last steps away from her. The feeling that rises in Georgie isn’t fear, but it must be the closest thing to it.

“Wait,” she says. (Jon turns around. He really is beautiful.) “I’m coming with you.”

-

+1

It’s third year, which means fast-approaching papers and goodbyes and post-graduation uncertainties, but it also means Georgie and Jon (and Nick and Marie, but they aren’t arriving until tomorrow) are moving in together.

“You’re gonna have to try to hold still,” Georgie says as she attempts to apply a second coat of purple to Jon’s pinky nail.

“I am,” Jon says. “Can’t you tape around it?”

“I don’t know which box the tape’s in,” Georgie says. “And since someone insisted on having his nails done before we began unpacking…”

“New place, new hands,” Jon says. “It just makes sense.”

“It really… doesn’t… but… there! That’s all of them! Now, just- don’t touch anything for the next ten minutes. I’m gonna do mine now.”

“Yes ma’am.” Jon gives a mock salute, and of course, grazes his nails against his hair in the process. “Oh, shit.”

“You’re the worst. I’m stealing all the blankets tonight for revenge.”

“Which blankets did you pack?”

“I thought that was your job?”

“It definitely wasn’t…”

“Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no…”

“What did you say the last time I asked you to check the packing list…?”

“Shut up!"

“No, I don’t think ‘shut up’ was it. I’m pretty sure it was more along the lines of ‘I’m not an idiot, Jon,’ but if you’re sure…”

“We can check if they’re still there after our nails dry, okay?”

“Okay.”

A few minutes pass.

“I think we should get a cat,” Georgie says. “Do you want to get a cat?” and Jon breaks the holding-still rule again by shouting something incomprehensible and flinging his arms around her.

(Later, over takeout and scuffed nails:

“This year will be a good year,” Georgie tells Jon. “I can feel it. And if it’s not, I’ll make it good.”

“I’ll make it good, too,” Jon says, “Or I’ll try to, at least. I promise.”

And Georgie believes him, and Georgie is not afraid.)

[where-dreamers-go]

“Part 3 -- Lemons” Riley Poole x Reader

(A/N: Requested. Welcome back to the Riley Poole x Reader series! The Declaration of Independence is safe from Ian, but an unexpected turn of events has changed your plans. But you, Ben Gates, and Riley Poole have to find out what’s on the back of the Declaration in midst of a time crunch. Danger is racing to catch the three of you. Will you all be fast enough to outsmart the others and handle Doctor Chase knowing what you all were up to?

Ideally, I wanted to have this typed and uploaded in March, but…yeah..the rest of February happened and then…stuff. So~

Check out Part One and Part Two.

Word Count: 3,999)

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

The time seemed to tick away faster the more you needed it. A different destination in the plan, the van continued down the roads in the extremely late hour. The darkness eased some anxiety, if only because it meant no traffic in sight.

Sitting in the van, much quieter than earlier, the four of you entered a neighborhood. It was calm and held no activity. A familiar house sitting on a small lot. Patrick Gates’ house.

Having been friends with Ben since you with both teenagers, you just knew Patrick would not react well to any of the situation at hand. Not even if he knew a small fraction of it. You dreaded to see the look on his face if you knew about the Declaration. You cringed, actually.

To the left sat Patrick Gates’ house. Short green hedges lined as fencing. Lights were still on inside even on the second floor.

You peered over the back of the driver’s seat to get a better view.

“Looks okay.” Riley peered out of the driver’s side window as he slowed the van to a stop. The window that had been shot out by one of Ian’s men.

“Park a couple of blocks away.” Ben said.

“Well, how long do you think we got?” Riley eased the van forward.

“I'm gonna give them a couple of hours at least. I hope.” Ben started pulling off his bow tie.

“What do we do about her?” Riley gestured with his head to Abigail. “I've got some duct tape in the back.”

Your eyebrows shot up. Both you and Abigail looked to Ben.

“No, that won't be necessary. She won't be any trouble. Promise you won't be any trouble.” Ben said glancing over to her as she silently evaluated the situation.

She sighed. “I promise.” Abigail said without a hint of sass nor anger. She sounded more tired and over it than anything else.

“See? She's curious.” Ben said.

Well at least she toned down in her yelling and name calling, you thought. Added that one of the last things you wanted to do was be duct taping someone, especially her. She seemed more than capable of handling herself and getting all of you into extreme trouble later on. She didn’t appear inherently bad, just tired and appalled.

. . .

The walk to the house was cold. Quite cold. It made the four of you move even faster. Your feet would thank you for changing into even more comfortable shoes. Yet everything else would nag you for cold-weather clothes. You had considered nabbing a blanket from Riley’s van, however thought better of it because you wanted full arm movement without restrictions.

Head held as high as he could manage with the Declaration hidden in the maroon cylinder over his shoulder, Ben lead the group to the front door and rang the doorbell. Lights were still on even then. It was mildly surprising that Patrick was awake this late.

You took a deep breath, standing beside Abigail on the short path.

The door opened, Patrick answering in a robe.

“Dad.” Ben breathed out.

“Where's the party?” Patrick asked in a flat tone.

You glanced down at your attire. It wasn’t exactly casual wear. Ben was in a tux and Abigail was in a ball gown.

“Well…uh…I'm in a little trouble.” Ben started slowly.

“Is she pregnant?” Patrick asked, glancing over to Doctor Chase.

You clamped your mouth shut.

Oh, dang.

Riley and Abigail looked at each other. Everyone else glanced at her.

“Well, if she is, are you gonna leave the woman carrying your grandchild standing out in the cold?” Ben played along, anything to get indoors.

“I look pregnant?” Abigail’s voice was hushed as she directed her question to Riley and later to you.

He shook his head and looked down, couldn’t look at her.

You kept your mouth absolutely shut, shaking your head. It wasn’t entirely surprising to hear Patrick say that, for how long you had known Ben, but still.

Without a word, Patrick stepped back inside with a beckoning hand gesture as he allowed all of you in.

Ben, cautiously, walked in first. His father whispering something to him that you could hardly make out besides the words ‘dumb treasure’. Riley followed in second as you and Abigail were the last ones to enter.

The four of you shuffled into the room to the right. A living area with a fireplace.

“Well, have a seat. Make yourselves comfortable.” Patrick said as he walked into the room passed all of you. “There's some pizza. It's still warm, I think.”

All of you walked further into the room. It was nice, cosy, and decorated with various historical pieces. Yet your eyes darted towards the cardboard box of pizza.

Hello, you thought, walking over to the thin box. Starting to lean down to snatch a piece, but you stopped when you noticed the box was on top of a few books. How could he? And on the ottoman no less? That’s s—.

“Dad… I need the Silence Dogood letters.” Ben said, he stood with his father at the other end of the room. “Yeah, it's about the treasure.”

“And he dragged you three into this nonsense?” Patrick turned to the three of you.

You straightened your posture and gave a weak smile.

“Literally.” Abigail said as she crossed her arms.

“Kinda.” You said quickly.

“I volunteered.” Riley smiled.

“Well, unvolunteer, before you waste your life.” Patrick walked closer.

“Knock it off, Dad.” Ben moved in front of the fireplace.

Riley walked around you and opened the top flap of the pizza box. More than half of the slices were still uneaten. Plenty for a couple of hungry adults. Riley sat down down in the armchair as you immediately reached down to nabbed a piece of pizza.

The pizza was room temperature, but honestly at that point it wasn’t much of a negative because you were hungry and cold.

“Sure, sure, I know, I'm the family kook.” Patrick’s voice rose as his hand gestures increased tenfold. “I have a job, a house, health insurance. At least I had your mother, for however brief a time. At least I had you. What do you have? Him?”

There was a fit of uncomfortable silence.

At that moment, you did not want to tell Patrick that you were more talked into it than dragged. You wanted to help your friends. So you took the hero card instead of sitting at home in a large puddle of anxiety.

“And you’ve brought (Y/N) into this. Ben, their parent was/is a freemason!”

“Dad.”

“Master Mason,” you murmured before taking a rather large bite of pizza.

Patrick glanced at you for a second. Long enough to make your shoulders hunch and you sink closer to the pizza.

“Look, if you just give us the letters, we're gone.” Ben said calmly.

“You disappoint me, Ben.” Patrick walked to the other side of the room once more.

“Well, maybe that's the real Gates-family legacy. Sons who disappoint their fathers.” Ben fired back.

“Get out. Take your troubles with you.” Patrick spoke without even looking to his son anymore.

Ben stood his ground, however less tense.

“I found the Charlotte.” Ben added in, his voice soft, happy.

His father stood still, rigidity gone. Possibilities running through his mind.

“The Charlotte?” Patrick glanced back to his son. “You mean she was a ship?”

“Yeah, she was beautiful. It was amazing, Dad.”

“And the treasure?”

“No, no.” Ben tried getting back to the positive conversation, knowing he was literally walking a thin line. “But we found another clue that led us here.”

“Yeah, and that'll lead you to another clue. And that's all you'll ever find, is another clue. Don't you get it, Ben? I finally figured it out. The legend says that the treasure was buried to keep it from the British. But what really happened was the legend was invented, to keep the British occupied searching for buried treasure.” Patrick tried persuading his son. “The treasure is a myth.”

“I refuse to believe that.” Ben stood unmoving.

All attention in the room had focused on the two Gates. Their tension in different views on the treasure was well spoken. Neither man was one to hold back their thoughts.

“Well, you can believe what you want. You're a grown person. What am I doing? Do what you want, Ben. Do what you want.” Patrick said walking out of the room.

“He's probably right.” Abigail spoke up. “You don't even know if there is another clue.”

“Well, I can think of a way where we could find out. And we can find out right now.” Ben nodded.

The dining room. Ornate and fully furnished. It would become the testing room for the Declaration of Independence.

With a few questions for locations of specific objects, the four of you set up the room. You had cut up a couple of black trash bags and used Riley’s duct tape to piece them together to cover the table. You weren’t about to mess up the table nor contaminate the document. Being that the table was quite long, Abigail helped you tape the plastic together without leaving any bumps or gaps. It made the process faster and it eased your need for having it straight and clean. The dining chairs had been pushed out of the way while gloves were gathered.

Working quickly, the group of you placed a small dish with freshly sliced lemons, yellow gloves, blue gloves, two pairs of white gloves, an open box of baking powder, a small glass of q-tips, a box of tissues, and four short drinking glasses all onto the table. You left the salt and pepper shakers on the table. Force of habit, maybe? It wasn’t any of yours’ table. Riley set a big roll of paper towels down beside the roll of duct tape.

Abigail and Ben had removed their jackets before grabbing the maroon cylinder. You and Riley stood adjacent from the pair. Once all of the necessary tools were set out and ready, each of you put on a pair of gloves. It was time to get started.

After taking the Declaration of Independence out of it’s protective containers, Ben and Abigail gently laid it out on the table. The four of you were silent, focused.

“Looks like animal skin. How old is it?” Patrick’s voice startled all of you for a second.

“At least two hundred years.” Ben answered.

“Really? You sure?” Patrick asked, hands holding the disposable remnants of dinner.

“Pretty darn.”

“Now if this thing's in invisible ink, how do we look at it?” Riley asked.

“Throw it in the oven.” Patrick answered.

“No.” Abigail voiced strictly over Riley’s “Uh-uh.”

“Ferrous sulphate inks can only be brought out with heat.”

“Yes, but this…” Abigail started, but Ben cautiously took the lead in explaining.

“It's very old.” Ben said slowly. “This is very old, and we can’t risk compromising the map.”

“You need a reagent.” Patrick insisted as he started walking away with the empty pizza box.

“Dad, it's really late. Why don't you get some rest?”

“I'm fine.”

Ben took a moment to compose himself.

“Lemons.”

Riley offered the bowl of lemon wedges and Ben chose one. Like surgical work on M*A*S*H, Riley acted as the nurse.

Just as Ben went to squeeze the lemon wedge, Abigail seized ahold of his wrist.

“You can't do that.” Said Abigail.

“But it has to be done.” Ben said, if more to himself than to her.

You had not realize that was how he planned on using the lemon. Obviously, there needed to be a tad more communication. He had not fully explained how to reveal invisible ink prior to getting the document.

“Then someone who is trained to handle antique documents is gonna do it.” Abigail said sternly.

“OK.” He straightened up slowly.

“OK.”

Ben gave Abigail her space as she prepared.

“Now, uh, if there is a secret message, it'll probably be marked by a symbol in the upper right-hand corner.” Abigail explained. Her voice was professional and informative.

“That's right.” Ben whispered.

She rotated the cotton end of the q-tip on the lemon wedge, allowing the material to absorb the liquid.

“I am so getting fired for this.” Abigail said as her right hand and the q-tip reached its destination.

All of you watched on, eyes trained to the back of the document. Abigail only hesitated once before gliding the q-tip across the corner. She did not stop until the small section was covered.

Seconds ticked by as everyone waited. The document had only gotten slightly darker because of the liquid, but nothing appeared.

Abigail gave Ben a firm look.

“I told you. You need heat.” Patrick piped up from a doorway. Head held high and a proud smile on his face.

After multiple checks to make sure the other was going through with it, Abigail and Ben leaned close and breathed onto the document together. A small freemason symbol appeared. The pair smiled.

“See?” Patrick said leaving with a kitchen towel in hand.

The symbol slowly started fading away.

“We need more juice.” Ben nodded.

“We need more heat.” Abigail smiled, actually happy.

You bumped Riley’s arm, “It’s real.”

The four of you rushed out of the dining room.

You went into the kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator for lemons. There was a whole bowl of them. Thankfully plenty more than you thought you needed earlier.

Why’s he have so many lemons? You thought. Probably got a bag of them. Too bad he didn’t have any lemonade..wait. No.

“Riley?” You called out as you grabbed the bowl of lemons.

There was a patter and squeak before Riley appeared in the doorway.

“Can you help me cut up some lemons?”

“Yeah.”

It didn’t take long for you two to slice lemons. Abigail had made it back into the other room with an old hairdryer before Ben had a chance to check up on you two.

Back at the covered dining table, you set a bowl full of lemon wedges down. There wasn’t much time to calmly take a moment before running the tests. Time was still ticking. Even Riley removed his coat before all of you set up more q-tips absorbed with lemon juice. Abigail was firm in that she would be the only one to run the test. None of you argued. She was trained. You all trusted and respected that fully.

Abigail immediately plugged in the hairdryer and waved it over the document once she was finished using the q-tips. Numbers and dashes appeared as the heat activated it. Ben carefully wrote down the code on a yellow pad. He did not want to risk miswriting anything.

“That's not a map. Is it?” Riley asked, taking a closer look.

“No.” You answered in a hushed voice.

“More clues.” Patrick said, watching on. “What a surprise.” He layered on the sarcasm and you suppressed the oncoming eyeroll.

“Are those latitudes and longitudes?” Riley then asked being as he still didn’t know what they meant.

“That's why we need the Silence Dogood letters.” Ben explained to his friend.

“That's the key?” Abigail questioned.

“Yeah. ‘The key in Silence undetected.’” Ben was on a roll. “Dad, can we have the letters now?”

“Will somebody please explain to me what these magic numbers are?” Riley asked from the end of the table beside you. Couldn’t blame him for wanting to be in the know when others were.

“It's an Ottendorf cipher.” Abigail said once she shut off the blowdryer.

“That's right.” Patrick said, still observing.

“Oh, OK. What's an Ottendorf cipher?” Riley sighed.

“They're just codes.” Patrick shrugged.

“Each of these three numbers corresponds to a word in a key.” Ben answered further as he stepped back from the table. 

“Usually a random book or a newspaper article.” Abigail added.

“In this case, the Silence Dogood letters. So it's like the page number of the key text, the line on the page, and the letter in that line.” Ben pointed to the numbers with the tip of the pencil. Riley and yourself leaned in to see. “So, Dad, where are the letters?” Ben stood straight with a bright smile on his face.

“You know, it's just by sheer happenstance that his grandfather—”

“Dad.”

“—even found them. They were in an antique desk from the press room—”

“Dad.”

“—of The New England Courant. That's a newspaper.”

“Dad, where are the letters?” Ben asked, his genuine smile gone.

“I don't have them, son.” Patrick finally answered.

Ben blinked. “What?”

“I don't have them.” His hand gestures had stopped completely.

A sickening feeling filled your stomach. If the anxiety from breaking the law and most likely having your name on radar was troubling you, having another obstacle wasn’t helping. You were rushed and had a time limit before anyone, Feds especially, came to the house looking for information.

If Patrick didn’t have the letter then that meant there was another step as well as another trip. It was becoming increasingly harder each time you all accomplished one task you had set for yourselves.

Your lips formed a thin line to avoid grumbling or mouthing a curse word. That and you really didn’t want to start down the dark, rapid tunnel of anxiety at the moment.

Ben sat down in the chair behind him with a thump. Frustration rising, he used his teeth to pull off his white glove.

“Where are they?” Ben asked his father without loosing eye contact.

“I donated them to the Franklin Institute in Philadelphia.” Patrick said firmly, if not stubbornly.

“Time to go.” Ben pushed himself up and walked passed Abigail to retrieved his tux.

You started pulling off your blue gloves, your mind giving you visual steps of what you might do next. Having a drink of water and using the bathroom were on top of your list.

Tiredly, you looked over to Abigail who had her eyes back on the document.

“I still can't believe it. All this time no one knew what was on the back.” Abigail spoke softly as she stared down at the Declaration.

“The back of what?” Patrick’s hands were already reaching out.

“Uh-uh-uh!” Riley lurched forward.

“No!” Ben spun around.

You ran into the table’s edge and did nothing but cause pain in your midsection.

It was too late.

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” Patrick’s hands remained on the sides of the document. The more he looked, the more he touched it with his bare hands.

You cringed, physically and internally.

“I know.” Ben stated.

"Oh, my God. What have you done? This is... this is the…” Patrick stuttered.

“I know!”

“This is the Declaration of Independence.” Patrick could probably cry or crumble to the floor.

“Yes.” One of Abigail’s gloved hands delicately held the top of the Declaration. “And it's very delicate.”

“You stole it?” Patrick asked as he backed away. Panic had been quickly replaced by disappointment.

Riley immediately pointed a finger at Ben.

You stood frozen. The best you could think to do or do instinctively was to remain absolutely still. You already knew how much trouble all of you were in to not spark anything more from Patrick.

“Dad, I can explain, but I don't have time. It was necessary. And you saw the cipher.” Ben said as he approached his father.

“And that will lead to another clue, and that will lead to another clue! There is no treasure. I wasted twenty years of my life. And now you've destroyed yours.” Patrick huffed. “And you pulled me into all this.”

“Well, we can't have that.”

He gave his son a questioning look.

“Hey, Patrick?” You asked, taking off your gloves and tossing them onto the table.

“Yeah?”

“How do you feel about duct tape?”

“Excuse me?”

. . .

After quick bathroom trips to freshen up, the group set to work again. Car keys were found, a disposable cup was filled, and the tv remote was located.

You approached Patrick.

“Hey, if this doesn’t work out…I have undeveloped photos in my camera hidden by the rice in my apartment.”

“Oh—I’m not getting invol—.”

“Of The Charlotte.” You quickly added.

His mouth sort of hung out in a look between shock and happiness.

“By the rice. Camera film. All yours,” you said.

“The Charlotte,” he whispered. Patrick shuffled passed you and the armchair in a daze.

Riley walked in with his roll of duct tape.

“You’re so weird,” you smiled.

Riley made a face, looked down to the tape in his hand briefly and replied, “You have like three types of tape in your apartment.”

“…true, but technically I have like five or six.”

“Focus,” Ben voiced as he pushed a chair in front of the television set.

. . .

Open road in front of all of you, the quest to protect the Declaration and the treasure continued. The four of you left after taping up Patrick to a chair with a tv remote in one hand and a cup of soda in the other. You had all ‘stolen’ his car, but at least you left Patrick in front of the television for entertainment until the Feds arrived.

The car blended in better than Riley’s van and had seating for all. No chance of anyone falling on the vehicle’s flooring.

Ben took his turn in the driver’s seat on route to the Franklin Institute. It was his father’s car anyway. Doctor Abigail Chase sat calmly in the passenger’s seat. There seemed to be less confrontation after she had more time to digest that you all truly wanted to protect the Declaration of Independence. She had not even raised her voice since leaving the van. Perhaps she was seeing how the three of you weren’t out to hurt anything of historical importance. That you were just people who loved history. Aside from the fact that Abigail had yelled, insulted, and scolded you all in the beginning, she was pretty cool. She had a right to react that way then anyway. You’d be pretty peeved too.

You had your head leaning against the window as you sat behind Ben. Sharing the backseat with Riley and the Declaration of Independence was pretty comfy. Then again, you were so tired you could probably sleep on the floor. Riley had his legs bent to be as close to a cuddle position as he could while still sitting with a seatbelt on.

“Your dad's got a sweet ride.” Riley muttered as he hugged the maroon cylinder and his backpack.

“I think we should change clothes. We look kind of conspicuous, don't you think?” Ben asked.

“I'd love to go shopping, too, but we have no money.”

“Here, I took this from his house. He usually tucks a few hundred dollars somewhere between those pages.” Ben said, handing Abigail a small handbook.

“Common Sense. How appropriate.” Abigail mused. She shook out the cash onto her lap.

You yawned and accidentally kicked the back of Ben’s seat as you adjusted your legs.

“When are we gonna get there? I'm hungry. This car smells weird.” Riley rambled off with closed eyes.

“Food’s on me.” You announced, padding your side where you had a wallet of emergency money in other hidden pocket. “I didn’t know what would happen. Plus I went out to eat with…,” you paused, aware of Doctor Chase listening, “my friend.”

“Cool.”

It was better if you and Ben were the only ones who knew which person let you go as a guest to the Gala. Then again, if the Feds had Ben’s name then they very well had checked the list even after checking who Ben was close to. Meaning that your friend was definitely questioned.

Crap.

“What friend?” Riley murmured.

“The one who is probably really confused right now.”

“That’s not a name.”

~~~~~

~~~~~

(That concludes Part Three - Lemons. I hope you enjoyed it. I enjoyed writing it. I haven’t written more since February, so it’s weird, I’m excited to move on throughout the story of the movie National Treasure. How do you think relationships will change now that the friends’ plans have be altered and danger lurks around the corner? Let me know! All the best!

If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful. coffee

Best wishes and happy reading.)

~~~~~

DreamerDragon Tags: @imacuteprincess @gingerlaserbeam @cubedtriangle @sledgy14

PART 4

[raywritesthings]

Scares and Sweets

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Oliver Queen, Laurel Lance, Thea Queen, Moira Queen, Robert Queen Fandom: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary: Halloween, 2000: Oliver's plans to impress Laurel are waylaid and then improved by his baby sister. Inspired by @unusual-raccoon *Can be read on my AO3, link is in bio*

“Mom, no come on!”

Oliver couldn’t believe this. Had his parents always been trying to ruin his life or had it only been since his little sister had come along and decided to be such a pain?

He didn’t normally feel that way about her. And it was hard maintaining the anger as Thea skipped around him in her yellow princess dress, humming under her breath. But she was seriously cramping his style here!

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but Raisa is too sick to go out tonight.”

“So pay somebody else a little extra,” he suggested.

His father now shook his head. “You know your sister doesn’t listen to anyone else as well. We don’t want her going out tonight without someone who can handle her — why, thank you, your Highness,” he added as Thea stopped in front of him and gave a little curtsy, tripping over the plastic shoes she was wearing. Their dad bowed and reached out to straighten her back up.

“Can’t one of you take her, then? Tommy’s got Scream 3 on DVD,” he said. “There’s no point watching it if it isn’t Halloween. Laurel’s dad even okayed her staying till 10!” He’d been over the moon when she’d told them at school that morning. That was like a solid two hours longer than she could stay out most school nights.

“Then you can watch your movie after. I’m not sure why you’d even want to watch something like that,” his mother said with a shake of her head.

Oliver’s gut twisted a little as he wondered himself. But Tommy had gotten the DVD and said that girls loved it when guys comforted them during the scary parts. This could be his chance to really impress Laurel and show her he was more than a goofy slacker at school.

“And you know your mother and I are meeting with Walter and the board tonight about goals for the rest of this quarter,” his father said. “We won’t be home until dark, and that’s much too late for your sister. It’s her first year, Oliver. Don’t you remember how excited you were at that age?”

As if on cue, Thea looked up at him with her big green eyes. “Trick or treat!” She chirped through the gap her missing front tooth created.

“Man,” he groaned. “Fine, I’ll take her. I gotta call Laurel. I promised her a ride.”

Oliver got out his cellphone and pulled her up in his recent contacts, waiting for her to pick up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Laurel!” Oliver said, his hand jumping into his hair and ruffling it as he continued, “Listen, I’m gonna be a little late picking you up for the movie tonight. My parents are making me take Thea trick-or-treating.”

“Aw, is it her first year? What’s she going as?”

“Uh, Belle. The Disney Princess? She liked the dress, and mom said no to the seashells.”

He heard Laurel’s giggle on the other end of the phone, and it caused his heart to pick up a little as a chuckle left him in response. “I remember those fights. Did you want some company while you take her? You could still pick me up on time, and we could just go to Tommy’s after.”

Oliver felt his mouth drop open in shock for a moment. “Really? Yeah, great! I’ll let our driver know right now. See you in a bit!”

When they picked her up, Laurel was still wearing the headband with cat ears she’d had on at school that day, and she smiled ear to ear at Thea. “Wow, I get to meet a Princess tonight!”

Thea bounced up and down on the seat in excitement. “My name’s Belle!”

“Well, Belle, you look very pretty in that dress.”

Their driver took them back out to the suburbs and to the neighborhood Oliver and Tommy’s parents had always designated as a safe place to walk from house to house when they were little. The sun was only just starting to lower in the sky as they all got out of the car and started down the sidewalk, Thea tugging on his hand to pull him towards the first house.

Oliver stopped on the sidewalk and let go. “Just walk up there with the other kids, okay?”

“Ollie, we can go with her,” Laurel scolded him. “Come on.”

So he found himself standing back a little from the stoop as Thea proudly brandished her bag for a middle-aged lady. “Trick or treat!”

“My, what a sweet princess you make, young lady! Here you go.” She dropped two candy bars in Thea’s bag, her eyes rising to him and Laurel. “And aren’t you two precious! Would you dears like anything as well?”

Oliver and Laurel exchanged surprised looks. “Uh… okay.”

They continued down the street, Oliver unwrapping the chocolate bar they’d received to split with Laurel. Sometimes Thea would run up to the houses ahead of them, sometimes she needed some encouragement and hand-holding, especially if one of the houses had put up freaky or gory decorations. Oliver found himself frowning at those more often than not.

“They know little kids are coming tonight,” he remarked to Laurel as they came up the walk, passing gravestones and a fog machine.

“I know,” Laurel agreed. “We can always skip—”

A large man burst out of the bushes with big fake paws on and fangs in his mouth. “Rawr!”

Oliver and Laurel both jumped, but Thea screamed.

“Oh, geez, I’m sorry!” The man said, faltering back a step.

“Hey, what’s the big idea, you jerk?” Oliver demanded, scooping Thea up as she wailed and tucking her into his body. If she wasn’t here along with other kids up and down the block, he would have said asshole like he was thinking.

“I couldn’t see her over the bush. I swear, I thought it was just you two,” the man excused. 

His front door opened, and a woman stuck her head out. “Stan, what’s going on?”

“Your husband made my sister cry, that’s what’s going on,” Oliver snapped.

“Oh no.”

“We’ll keep moving,” Laurel suggested, tugging on Oliver’s hand to get him to stop glaring at the couple. Though she cast a scathing look back over her shoulder as she added, “Maybe put up a sign with age restrictions next time.”

Oliver did his best to rub Thea’s back with one hand as he continued to carry her down the block, his other hand gripping the candy bag she had dropped in her fright. He could kick himself; he’d ruined his baby sister’s first Halloween. 

Gradually she quieted and stopped shaking like a leaf, though she remained clinging to him, her plastic shoes dangling precariously from her toes. He kissed the top of her head and kept walking.

Laurel reached out with her sleeve to wipe at the tears running down Thea’s chubby cheeks. “It’s okay, Thea. The bad man’s gone.”

“I- I’m not, not scared,” his little sister stammered.

“That’s right. You’re a brave little princess,” Oliver encouraged her. “And we’re gonna get you all the candy that a brave little princess like you deserves, okay?”

Her head bobbed up and down in a nod. “Okay!”

He set her down, and she took one of his hands and one of Laurel’s, walking down the street once more. Oliver kept carrying her bag as he glanced over and shared a relieved smile with Laurel.

By the time they’d made the full circuit, it was dark enough that the porch lights and lampposts were all lit, and Oliver was still carrying the candy bag due to the sheer weight of it. Thea was skipping ahead once again towards the car, already babbling excitedly to the driver who stood at the ready to open the door for her, the earlier scare totally forgotten.

“She’s so cute,” Laurel said, and he felt her slip her hand into his as they walked the last few yards to the car. “And I really am glad you gave that guy back there a piece of your mind. He was totally out of line.”

“Yeah?” Oliver tried to play it cool as he added, “Well, all in a day’s work being a big brother. But, uh, we can stop home with Thea and then head over to Tommy’s, okay? He probably hasn’t even missed us.”

Unfortunately, when they got to the Manor, his parents still hadn’t returned from their dumb meeting. None of the house staff that was typically assigned to watch Thea if Raisa was unavailable were still in. Just his luck.

“I’ll text Tommy to just start the movie without us,” Laurel offered, and Oliver let out a defeated sigh as he flopped onto the couch. Thea dumped her whole bag of candy onto the rug in front of him, sorting it into piles and cackling with delight. He was suddenly very sure supplying Speedy with all this extra sugar had actually been a terrible idea. But hey, at least one of them was having fun.

Laurel settled down on the cushions beside him, smiling as she watched his little sister. “She is gonna crash so hard in an hour.”

“Mm-hm. Sorry we aren’t gonna make it to Tommy’s.”

Laurel shrugged. “That’s okay. I’ve already seen it anyway.”

He sat up and looked at her. “You have?”

She grinned. “I went the first day with mom. Actually, she just paid for both tickets and left the theater to grade papers in the lobby. Sara was so mad cause dad wouldn’t let her go.”

“Dinah Laurel Lance, are you a horror film buff?”

She gave another shrug. “Maybe. It’s okay. I would have warned you and Tommy about anything too scary.”

His cheeks burned with embarrassment. So he’d been caught out. “We just thought it’d be cool to, you know, watch something grown-up.”

“I know. But I kinda like that you’re a big kid at heart, Ollie. And that you’ll go trick-or-treating with your little sister instead of ditching her for some movie. It’s really sweet.” She sat up a little as well and leaned in, pecking him quickly on the lips. Laurel looked away as she tucked a bit of her hair behind her ear.

“Oh,” he said, just as soft. “Cool.” He nearly smacked himself in the forehead after. Cool? He was such a moron.

But he was distracted when Thea toddled over and dumped a whole bunch of candy in his lap. “Here, Ollie,” she said, her lips smeared with chocolate. She repeated the process with Laurel. “Thank you.”

Oliver reached out and ruffled his little sister’s hair. “Thanks, Speedy. Happy Halloween.”

“Happy Halloween,” Laurel agreed with a smile.

“Trick or treat!” Thea crowed one more time.

The pair of them dissolved into laughter, Laurel’s head leaning on his shoulder. On instinct, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders in return, and she didn’t pull away.

Well, turned out he didn’t need a scary movie after all. Awesome.

[vespertine-legacy]

My new least favorite datacron: the Ossus endurance datacron. I wish I’d gotten more screenshots along the journey, but I was too busy shrieking in frustration.

I ended up using Dulfy’s written and video guide, because I would not have been smart/patient enough to figure out all of it on my own (and mostly my frustration at trying to just jump up the first mountain for the first switch like a damn goat made me start getting less and less interested in actually doing this The Right Way or whatever).

Ossus has tons of secrets. There’s Don, the Exiled Knight (a fun little side quest to find, and I’m pretty sure he’s become an alcoholic during his exile). There’s hidden caves that are tucked into the scenery as almost optical illusions like the doorways in a Labyrinth (that you can fall into if you’re not paying attention and actually looking for them because you’re actually trying to find the best spot to be a mountain goat for the switch for the datacron). There are the datacrons, which sit out in the open but require spelunking or convoluted exploring of the entire planet to actually get to.

My misadventure getting this datacron under the cut:

For this datacron, there’s a hidden personal instance on the edge of a cliff with a really pretty room (partially pictured above, at the end of the journey) with a neat gnarled tree, a stand for a holocron, and a giant ancient tablet with some symbols on it which match the symbols on the ancient switches you have to find and activate across the planet in the correct order. The switches are pretty well hidden (switches 1 & 5 require mountain goating, switch 2 requires artfully falling down a waterfall without falling too far down, because if you fall past the hidden ledge, you’ll fall to your death instead of landing inside the little crevice with the switch, switch 3 is in a secret cave behind the farms which I found on my own while exploring the first time I went to Ossus and had no idea what it was for, and switch 4 is inside the Jedi Library in an off-map area that you also need to go to when you’re looking for the Exiled Knight). I watched someone gracefully leap up the mountain for switch #1 and prayed it was a sorc who could pull me up if I asked nicely, but it was a merc, but they did stand there and watch me stumble my way up and we celebrated when I made it. 

Clicking the switches in the correct order applies a hidden buff to you that allows you to access the area where the datacron is hidden, inside the Jedi Library. You can return to the personal instance to check the tablet and make sure you clicked the switches in the right order. If you did, there will now be a little glowing circle mark above the symbols. If you did anything wrong, it will look the same as before and you have to start over. It starts in the same area as the story area, but before you get to where you would fight Malora/Gnost-Dural, along one of the hallways, you’ll notice a light on the wall that I’m pretty sure wasn’t there before. Lo and behold, if you climb up onto the ledge there, there’s a hole in the floor there. Jump down in the hole, even though logic screams at you not to, and now you’re stuck in a cave in near-pitch-darkness, with what looks like a giant gaping maw of the void in front of you and then a ledge with some glowing blue mushrooms. Walk straight over to the mushrooms. Or, exfiltrate because you’re on an Agent and a chickenshit and you really don’t trust that there’s a floor between you and that first set of mushrooms. When you get to to mushrooms, you get a nice light probe over your head so that it’s not completely dark in the cavern anymore, but it’s still pretty damn dark.

Again, logic says “Please, no,” but, follow the mushrooms. You’ll be climbing and jumping, doing some zig-zagging back and forth across the canyon as you go until you eventually end up on the second floor of the Library. A couple times, the Dulfy video used the Rocket Boots to make the jump across gaps, but I just exfiltrated and flung Raz face-first into the cavern wall instead. If you’ve got SCORPIO as your active companion, she’ll mostly walk along the cavern floor until you forget that she’s there until your camera autorotates and she walks up out of nowhere with her glowing eyes and you suddenly think there’s an enemy walking up right underneath you and it’s GREAT for your anxiety. Oh, and don’t worry! It is easy to get turned around and start accidentally backtracking, because you’re in an area that’s off-map so if you fall and you’re not very Boy Scout minded, you can just get overwhelmed and want to sit down on the cavern floor and cry until SCORPIO slaps you in the face and tells you to pull yourself together.

Once you get to the second floor of the Library, there’s a blue switch on the left. Click it, because that’s what ensures that if you fall to your death, you respawn here instead of at a medcenter. Now you get to hop across some giant cracks in the floor and make your way about halfway around the room until you get to the datacron. Yay, we’re done! Right...? Wrong! The datacron is in some sort of cage and can’t be clicked. Keep making your way around the room until you find another blue switch. On the last jump, you’ll probably need to use rocket boots because the switch is on a slightly higher ledge than you are (and you can’t walk along the ledge on the edge of the room, because an invisible wall will push you off and you will cry). This button does two really neat things: 1) it makes a light floor appear in all of the gaps in the floor making it safe to walk there and 2) it lowers the cage around the datacron. Okay, so now we’re done, right? Fucking wrong again. Return to the datacron again, and it disappears. But look at the little table it is sitting on. It matches the stand from the cave in the little hidden personal instance from the beginning of this nightmare. So go back there, and voila! There’s your datacron. It also makes the tree all glowy, and you get a weapon tuning that makes vines grow all over your weapon.

Important things to note that I didn’t see mentioned in the guide I was using: 

If you die at any point during this adventure, you will lose the buff that allows you to actually get this datacron. (Guess who fell off a cliff 100 meters from the instance when going back to check I had clicked them right and had to start over... Go ahead and guess...). 

Quick traveling does not interrupt the buff, so by all means, quick travel between the various points (which I haven’t included here, because Dulfy’s guide includes map screenshots and coordinates). 

I don’t think there’s a timer on the buff? I wouldn’t try to like log out in the middle of doing this nonsense, but I think it’s safe to take your time while trying to complete this.

This datacron is only Endurance +2, so like, don’t beat yourself up over it too much unless you’re a completionist and just really want all them datacrons like me (even though I know I’m never gonna finish the Indiana Jones bullshit one on Onderon lol).

[i-do-trash-fanfictions]

Thera’s Journal Entry #24

(Wasn’t sure what to do for this one. Finally I decided on a ship race)

I was relaxing, reading one of my books, when Ann busted through the door.

“We’re in a race.” She stated, as if I had no say in the matter.

“Sparrow or ship?”

“Ship. You can’t back out, I already signed up you and the Queen of Hearts.”

“Ann, you’ve really got to start asking me before you do stuff like this.” I said, standing up and shaking my head. I left my book on my nightstand. Scout got up and floated above my shoulder.

“But you’re in, right?”

“I haven’t got a choice.”

She pumped a fist in the air. “Awesome! The race starts in fourty-five minutes, but Guardians have already headed to the EDZ to place bets and get their ships ready. Let’s go.”

I sighed and left the room, locking the sliding metal door behind me with a finger scan.

“Are you placing any bets?” Scout asked me as we walked. Ann was practically skipping beside me.

“Maybe one or two. The Queen of Hearts has never let me down before, I doubt it will this time. Probably will just be, I don’t know, a thousand glimmer bet?”

Scout sighed. “You sure you want to put that much on a race?”

“First of all, I won’t lose. Second of all, even if I do lose, with as many missions I go on, I’ll make double that in a day.”

“If you say so.”

We reached the hangar. Ann headed to her ship, a model called the unsecured/OUTCRY. She had changed it’s name to Trailblazer. I headed to the Queen of Hearts.

I sat in the pilot’s seat and opened up coms on the console in front of me. Then I started up the ship.

“Coordinates?” I asked Ann.

She sent them to me, I typed them in, and we left the hangar and headed into orbit.

“So, how big’s this race?” I asked, leaning back in my seat.

“They hold it once a month. Guardians put a lot of money on it. The ones that are in the race, and the ones who watch.”

“Is it filmed or something?”

“Yeah, it is. After they upload it, all the Guardians in the Tower can see it.”

“I’ll try to give them a show.” I said as we exited orbit and neared the ground. Ann showed me where to go, and we landed near a lot of other ships.

Guardians were all over the place. Some stood around talking. Some bought food (there were a few small stands spread around the place, I guessed it was a few mortals who wanted to watch the race).

There were a few screen consoles standing in places. I asked Ann, and she said it was directed live to those that showed up. Anyone who didn’t show up would have to wait till later that night.

We exited the ship and I bought a corndog as Ann disappeared to sign us in, that way they had known that we showed up.

I finished off my food and went around the place to see who the competition was, while also taking a look at the other ships. A lot of the color schemes were colorful, some were normal. But it wasn’t how flashy they were that mattered. It was how fast they were.

“Didn’t think you’d be racing.” A male voice stated behind me.

I turned around to see an exo sporting a hunter cape.

“Well, I had a friend who already signed me in. But I could use some old fashioned action like this. I remember that way back when, I’d get my ship and me and my old fireteam would do stuff like this.”

“Now you’re all tied down by the Vanguard, huh?”

“That isn’t true. If I wanna leave, I can leave, they can’t do a thing about it. I stay for the good of the city.”

“Spoken like a true hero.” He put his hand out. “Name’s Issac-3.”

“Thera. But you already knew that.”

“Yep. You doing bets?”

“Maybe. Betcha five hundred glimmer I’ll make it first.”

“I’ll betcha one thousand five hundred, that I’ll make it first.” He said, in a challenging tone.

“Three thousand. I win, you owe me three thousand glimmer, if you win, I owe you.”

“Deal.” We shook on it just as Ann walked up.

“You’re already doing bets?”

“I’ve got confidence.”

“Come on. There’s this drink I want you to try.” Ann led me away by the hand, eager to show me what was there and have me try some of the food.

For the next half-hour we talked to the other Guardians there (most were hunters, which didn’t surprise me), and tried new foods (note to self: figure out how to make deep fried oreos). For the last five minutes I headed back to my ship and opened up coms to the leader of the race. He would tell us when to head to the starting point, which was above a long valley, and when we had ended. We would do a circle around the area, and would end up back and the valley. He would also tell us if we were doing something that was considered cheating. 

I set up my playlist until there was a blinking light on my console. Issac was requesting for us to open up a comlink. I did so.

“You here to back down on that bet?” I asked him.

“Not a chance. Just wanted to make sure there would be no hard feelings when I win.”

“Who said you were gonna win?”

“Hey, now how do we know that neither of you are going to win?” Ann said. “What if I win?”

“If you win, I’ll give you five thousand. But there is no way you’re going to win against the Queen of Hearts.” I said.

“Sure, sure.”

“Alright, everybody needs to head to the starting point of the race.” Came the announcers voice.

Ann muted herself and Issac did the same.

Ships took off and we stayed floating far above the valley. Trailblazer was right beside me. I couldn’t see through the tinted windows, but I was sure that Ann was grinning.

“Everybody get ready. And... go!”

Thrusters started up and engines roared as the ships all took off.

“Scout, you know what to do.”

Welcome to the Jungle started to play on the speakers. I turned it down a little bit, just so that I could still hear the announcer.

Ahead of me was a narrow crevice. Two small mountains stood next to each other, leaving a small gap between them, big enough for three ships to fit in a row, as long as they were tilted to the side.

I moved through it with ease, with Ann right on my tail. I laughed and gave the Queen of Hearts a burst of speed before slowing down again. I remembered a time where Zane and I had gone racing and I had overloaded my engine. A little bit later I saw Issac’s ship pass me. I growled and sped up again. I refused to lose to him.

I couldn’t help but be a bit competitive.

I was right on his tail, but every time I tired to pass him, he moved so I couldn’t. I growled again and gave another quick burst of speed. I angled my ship up, and moved up and over him before he had a chance to stop me.

“Racers, turn left here. You’ll turn left again when you reach a thin, rocky mountain. You can’t miss it.”

I turned left as the announcer said. Issac tried to speed up to pass me, but I sped up as well. I laughed again. I wasn’t sure what place Ann was in, I only knew that I was first, and that Issac was second. He tried to pass me every chance he could, but I stopped him every time.

A mountain stood in front of the path we were all taking and I split to the left while Issac took the right. We nearly collided when we both met on the other side. Issac was in the lead once more. I sped up and didn’t stop it. 

“Thera, if you overheat the engine-” Scout warned.

“I’m not going to overheat the engine.” 

“Yes you are,” I heard Scout mumble.

I turned left again, as the announcer had said and only slowed when Issac was far enough behind me for my liking.

“What place are you in?” I turned on the coms with Ann.

“Like, sixth? I don’t know. I know you’ve taken first place though. HEY!” There was silence for a minute. “Sorry, this guy tried to ram me. Oh, I think I’m in fourth now. I see you and Issac up ahead. He looks like he’s about to speed up, you might want to handle that.”

“My plan is to stay in first, and then once the valley comes into view again, I gun it.”

“Good plan. What happens if Issac passes you?”

“I won’t let him.”

We got off coms again and I watched to make sure that Issac wasn’t trying to pass. Then he did something unexpected. He flew forward, faster than I had expected.

“How did he go that fast?” Scout exclaimed. “No ship goes that fast.”

“That cheat’s probably got some upgrades on it. No way can he keep going like that for long, otherwise he’ll overheat his engine. I have to beat him.”

I gunned it, determined to reach first before he did.

“Thera, if you keep this up, you’ll overheat your engine!”

“I only need to do this long enough for Issac to overheat his.” I never stopped and Issac didn’t either. Until he tilted to the side with smoke coming out of the rear of his ship. He slowed down and I saw him try to straighten out. The valley was just in view. I sped past him, and saw him angle the ship towards the ground.

A warning blared but soon stopped when I slowed down. The Guardian who was now in second place was far behind me, and in another quick minute, I had reached the valley. I swiveled around and landed on the ground. The other ships followed. As I exited the Queen of Hearts I heard cheers around the crowd. People passed around glimmer.

Ann came in third, with an awoken coming in second. The announcer approached me. 

“Here we have the winner of the race. Pretty close call right there. We checked the ships before the race to make sure there was no added modifications. His didn’t appear on the scanners.”

“Speaking of the cheat, I have money to collect.”

Ann ran up beside me.

“Let’s go collect it.”

I walked over to where his ship was. It was smoking badly and he stood outside of his ship, looking at it. His Ghost was at his side, scolding him. She saw me approach.

“And you better plan to hand over that three thousand glimmer.” She told him in a stern voice. “I told you cheating wouldn’t work, but you didn’t listen to me.”

He sighed. “Alright, alright. You were right, I was wrong, are ya happy?” A pouch appeared in his hand and he handed it to me. “Three thousand. There.” He growled.

“Oh, and from what I’ve heard, when you’re caught cheating, you’re not allowed to get in another race for six months.” I said as I pocketed the glimmer.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m already getting an earful from my Ghost. I don’t need you to lecture me too.”

“I won’t give you a lecture,” I turned to see the announcer coming forward. “But I think he will. See ya.”

I walked off, glad that I had won the race and the bet.

“I can’t wait to watch that when they upload it.” Ann said. “From what I saw, it was crazy! It was a fight for first and you won!”

I laughed. “Yep.”

“Did you doubt?”

“What, that I was going to win? No, I didn’t doubt.” I was lying.

“Come on, we’ll head back to the city and get some ramen to celebrate this win.” We both walked back to our ships.

Whew! Glad I finally got this done!

With school just coming back from virtual, I’m going to be busy most of the day, and won’t have as much time to write journal entries. I’ll try to publish at least two or three times a week, but there is no way I’ll be able to post everyday like I was before.

[iknowicanbutwhy]

To anyone who thinks texting is a billion times worse than talking on the phone and that texting is a miscommunication disaster ready to happen: I get you. You're probably 100% exactly like my friend who I hate texting despite how i rather appreciate talking with them on call or in-person.

Hear me out, though. Please.

You know what's weird? I love talking with my other friend on text more than i talk with them in real life. No, it's not because they're untalkative irl. No, it's not because they have a different personality in text. No, it's not because they have any trouble whatsoever communicating in-person (more than the usual trouble everyone sometimes deals with).

It's because I'm the one with the auditory communication issues. I stammer and stutter, I can't forward my opinion in that microscopic pause between people talking, i can't think quickly when i or someone else is speaking, i can't think quickly, and i can't double check my grammar when ive already said something - among other problems.

And that friend i like to text? Just so happens to be skilled at texting.

Yes, texting well is a skill. Something that you can learn and cultivate and look up on Google. So if you hate texting and find it irredeemable, you probably don't have the skill for it. But you can still learn just by using your normal speaking skills while remembering and sticking with only a few bitty - yet crucial - rules of texting.

You may not want to learn to text. You may want to speak and text only when necessary. You may defend your point by stating that texting lacks key human communication, such as body language, tone of voice, rhythm of voice, and other context that adds to the meaning of words in a way texting could never have. Aaaand you'd be right, actually. Italics and bold and emojis/emoticons and writing style can only do so much while the imagination fills in the gaps - and unlike with books, if the imagination sees/hears something terrible in a text, it's offensive instead of interesting.

So, what about the people who don't have the skill to make coherent, intelligent sentences with their mouth in the first place? The context doesn't help too much, then. Of course, why should you have to learn how to text when clearly these people who are afflicted by their inability to speak should be learning how to talk, because it's more effective and healthier for them that way?

You're right, they should be learning. And they are! There's no avoiding speaking in real life unless you're mute, selectively mute (let's be understanding), deaf (sometimes they learn to speak and that's awesome), or something else I can't think of. Those with speech impediments - when they don't know sign or there's no one who knows sign nearby - are generally forced to try to speak, and are constantly training to communicate well. People with social anxiety don't want to be afraid of talking, and especially if you befriend someone with social anxiety in real life and talk with them in-person, they'll try their best to open up in-person too. And me? Who can't think fast enough to speak for some reason? I'm trying to change that, too. I hate being unable to speak as well as I text, because speaking is more efficient.

But it would still be really, really nice to have a deliciously complex conversation sometimes, and for those of us with trouble speaking, we developed the skill of texting to better fulfill that human need to communicate and share. We're trying to speak. But.. it would be really nice of you to text.

To text more than just "okay"

To elaborate on "I can't"

To exclaim more than only "ah"

To give something that isn't difficult to find a specific response to.

And it can be easy to; we text-savvy people swear our hearts on it!! Google provides lots of good links when you search "how to text well," but I'll sum up a few common tips to texting with meaning.

Text proportionally. This is probably the only rule you need to remember, because all-in-all, the best way to text someone (if they're not sending one or two words a text) is to follow in their example. If they ask your opinion? Tell them yours and ask theirs. If they send texts of two or three sentences each? It's polite to try responding with the same magnitude (keyword: try. You can't always do it). They send you a paragraph? You don't have to send one back (even though that'd be real cool) but if they seem to be expecting a thorough response, don't be afraid to tell them you can't think of much. Just make sure you follow tip #2. Just imagine what it's like talking to a cat that only meows vaguely at you in response. Maybe you think the cat is smart enough to somewhat understand, and you're getting the chance to let your thoughts out at it, but getting basically nothing back is kind of boring.

Dont send curt, few-worded answers. This includes saying just "k" or "ah" or part of a sentence that you're never gonna finish. It sends the message that you're not interested in thinking about whatever the person texting you just said. Sometimes you can send a tiny response as a joke, but do it over and over again, and the other person will think you're never interested in talking. If you're not interested in talking (not just in text, i mean audibly too), it'd be less rude to simply say your not up for talking, with a short, polite apology.

Respond as soon as possible to a genuine question. If you need to think, say so. If you can't respond just yet, say so. This is a personal thing for me. I'm in the middle of a conversation that has been active for a while, i ask an important (sometimes timed) question, and nobody responds for an hour. I lose confidence and take the silence as "no, don't be ridiculous," and take back what i said. Then, very suddenly, i get a response finally informing me that someone needed to ask their mom and the conversation took a while, or they were researching the question, or chores suddenly came up, or etc etc. People get busy all the time, and especially on text, it's easy to suddenly drop out because something irl shows up. But it's hard to tell the difference between being ignored, missed, or being considered. Your excuses are valid, but even a vague "brb" and then later a quick explanation would be more informative than straight silence.

If you need to leave in the middle of a conversation that's been very active, say so. Building off of the last one, it's just polite to be informative. Now, you don't have to say you're doing this at some specific location for a particular amount of hours and you'll be hanging out with whats-their-name and then you'll go into the bathroom and pick your nose in the mirror - no, you don't have to be specific. Just make it clear that you'll be gone for a bit and you'll get back to the conversation another vague time. It's polite, that's all, and alleviates the worries of all us anxious individuals who think "oh no did i say something wrong its been like 20 minutes and they left suddenly-"

Try to leave an avenue of conversation open for the other person to pick up on. This one is easy because generally, all you need to do is think of an open-ended question that isnt yes-or-no. Say something, then ask a question that relates to what you said that the other person can add to. Like.. the other person said they like a certain band, and you like that band, too. You could tell them your favorite song from them and gush about why, then ask what their favorite song is and why? Then it's up to them to give a good response.

If a conversation turns exhausting because you feel like you're pulling all the weight, then drop it and politely say goodbye. There's all these tips about good texting but sometimes, when you can't bring the other person out of their shell or they are genuinely uninterested, it's because they are the ones not doing their part in the conversation. You've tried your best, and if they wont thank you, then I will. And someone in your future who knows how to text and is interested in what you have to say will thank you in their heart. Just, not the person who you're walking away from right now.

Observe the texting "body language" of others. This sounds weird, but examples of this would be using bold to outline the absolute importance of things, italics to slightly emphasize something, s p a c i n g to signify your mind being blown, emojis to express light emotion (unless someone uses way too many, which, that's just a bad habit and sometimes an art form), "ha" for sarcastic laughter, fjsjskajfjie for real laughter, ALL CAPS for high energy, etc. Im sure you can Google it, too, otherwise you can just learn from experience. It's all generally very universal unless you meet a Homestuck, and pretty soon, picking out and giving out emotions in everyday text will be a little easier.

That's all I got right now. Thank you for reading this far and indulging me with this topic. It's okay if you want to keep your avenues of conversation far away from texting, because it's all your own choice, but just know that if you ever do find someone interesting who speaks better in text, it's not impossible for you to communicate with them as well in that format. Just takes practice :) (<- that's a genuine, gentle smile, otherwise I would use c: or :3. Someone else may use it differently, however. Think of it like my personal accent.)

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Acting Your Age (Part 3)

Summary: Jensen and the reader continue to grow closer but the reader has a fight with her brother over her new relationship...

Masterlist 

Pairing: Jensen x reader

Word Count: 6,800ish

Warnings: language, age gap

____

“No, no,” groaned Jensen in his seat at the rooftop restaurant Sunday night. You were already laughing though as he ran his hands over his face. “Please don’t remind me.”

“I think it’s cute that your first acting job was that,” he said.

“A show you used to watch!” he chuckled. “Oh, God.”

“It was a children’s show,” you said. “Then you really hung on to that horror thing, huh?”

“So you’ve never seen me do anything aside from the kids show?” he asked.

“I don’t even remember. I know I used to watch it. You could be a horrible actor for all I know,” you teased.

“I’m the worst,” he laughed. “Seriously.”

“Oh yeah. You had one of the longest shows ever. You must be horrible,” you said.

“At least I had a job,” he teased.

“I’m happily unemployed thank you very much,” you said.

“You only moved back like a week ago, right?” he asked.

“A little more,” you said. “I’ll take the vacation time.”

“I can’t believe I’ve never asked but what do you do?” asked Jensen.

“I’m a spy,” you said. Jensen raised an eyebrow and leaned back in his seat.

“Oh really?”

“Yup. Can’t tell anyone though.”

“Interesting. Very interesting. You like a James Bond kind of spy?” he asked.

“Oh, definitely,” you laughed. “I’m an interior designer. My firm worked with a big architectural firm over in London. I’ll probably do that again once I talk to a few firms in the city.”

“Nice. Spy stuff is your side job?” he said, a big smirk on his face.

“I don’t think I’ve been a spy since I was seven,” you said.

“Seven? Come on. You were goofing around until at least twelve,” he said.

“Maybe you were,” you teased. “Girls mature faster than boys though.”

“You’re telling me you stopped playing games and stuff when you were seven?” he asked.

“I started playing soccer a lot around that age. I don’t really remember. My siblings always had stuff going on,” you said.

“Well yeah but I mean, I used to play with my little sister, even when I was 18,” he said.

“Just different families I suppose,” you said.

“You didn’t want to bother them, did you,” he said. You turned your head and looked out at the street below, Jensen grabbing a roll from the basket. 

“You know I did good in school so that I could get a full ride for college? Like excessively good?” you said.

“Jared mentioned you’re a bit of a smartie pants,” he said with a smile. 

“I was the accident kid. My brother became a doctor, my sister went to school, Jared got some help from mom and dad during the early days...I was an extra expense. They never said that but I knew. They tried to hide it from me. I got lucky Jared did so well and could help them retire a little early,” you said.

“You have that classic Padalecki thing,” he said. “You all take care of somebody else before you take care of yourselves.”

“I know. I’m not saying I didn’t have a happy childhood or anything. I was aware of our situation was all,” you said.

“Well now that you're back home and have this new perspective on things, maybe you can take care of yourself more,” he said.

“I plan on it,” you said. “I might need some help in that department though.”

“I’m more than willing to volunteer my services,” he said.

“So at what age does the wisdom thing happen?” you asked.

“You just give less of a shit about certain stuff,” he said.

“What about acne?”

“Never goes away,” he said, tilting his chin up, rubbing over a small red bump underneath. “Getting old is fun.”

“You’re not old, trust me,” you said.

“Alright,” he said. “I think I will, kiddo.”

Your food came out and you made small talk, Jensen telling you about Austin some and places to check out. But halfway through dinner, his hair caught in the wind and he had this one piece that was sticking straight up, defying gravity even more so than all the other fluffy hair he had.

“What are you giggling at?” he asked after a minute.

“Your hair. It’s...it’s very fluffy,” you said. He patted his head and he eventually smoothed down the spot, more hair spiking up elsewhere.

“I get it?” he asked.

“Yeah, you got it,” you said. “God I love your hair.”

“Well thank you,” he said, a cute little smile on his face.

“You probably get told you’re handsome a lot, huh,” you said.

“I guess. In one ear, out the other,” he said.

“I could have sworn you just blushed though.”

“Well you’re special,” he said.

“I mean the hair has to make up for the appalling face,” you said.

“Oh does it? Here I was going to tell you how beautiful you looked,” he said, biting back a smile.

“It’s alright,” you said, grinning as you went back to eating.

“How’s the steak?” he asked.

“Delicious,” you said with a thumbs up.

“This place has really good dessert too,” he said.

“Do they have steak flavored dessert?” you asked.

“I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

“Do you have work tomorrow?” you asked as you walked around a quieter part of downtown after dinner.

“No. I got to pop in the brewery for a few and my agent normally sends me new scripts I might be interested in on Mondays to look over but that’s it,” he said.

“When do you think you’ll act again?”

“Probably after the new year. There’s this one job I really want. They were holding back all auditions though for a while. I got to film that and send it in later this week. That job would start in January,” he said.

“I hope you get it,” you said.

“Me too. Been a while since I auditioned for anything,” he said.

“I’m sure you’ll nail it,” you said. “Jared said he’s got a guest star role starting in two months.”

“He told me about it. Sounds fun,” he said.

“Still gonna do your checks with him?” you asked.

“He told you about those?” he asked.

“Once. Back around Christmas. You were texting him. You sent a little green check mark and he wrote one back,” you said. “He told me that’s your way of checking that everything is okay. You do it everyday apparently and if he’s out of cell service, he checks in when he gets back.”

“He’s your brother. But he’s my brother too,” he said.

“I’m okay with sharing him,” you said with a smile. “I’m glad you’re his friend.”

“Me too,” he said. “I know he wants to get to know you better.”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” you said, Jensen stopping at a street corner when the light was red. He hummed to himself and you felt his hand bump yours once and then twice before his wrapped around yours, lacing your fingers together.

“Your little hands are always so cold,” he chuckled. 

“You’ll warm them up I’m sure.”

“Goodnight,” you said when Jensen was dropping you back off at Jared’s house. You leaned up and gave him a kiss, Jensen smirking through it.

“Goodnight,” he said when you pulled back. “Tomorrow night?”

“Alright. We can talk about our golf date,” you said. 

“We could go Tuesday if you don’t have plans,” he said.

“Isn’t it supposed to be like a hundred out?” you laughed.

“How about you wear a cute little golf outfit and I’ll bring the sunscreen?” he said.

“Oh, I bet you’d like that,” you said, leaning against his truck. 

“I mean I’d wear the skirt but I don’t have the legs to pull it off,” he said. You shook your head, smirking as he started to laugh. 

“You are such a loser,” you said, giving him another kiss. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“Oh, you’re taking me out?” he said with a big smile. “Well now I’m even more excited.”

“You’re adorable,” you said.

“You know it,” he said with a laugh, the sound of the garage door opening. You looked over your shoulder, Jared walking out with his car keys in his hands. He gave you both a nod before he walked over to his truck and climbed in. “Night, kiddo.”

“Night, Jensen.”

He walked back to the car as you headed inside. You barely had your shoes off when you heard the garage open again, Jared back in the house with a toy in his hand.

“Toy was in the backseat,” he said, giving you a nod as he went past. 

“Shouldn’t the kids all be asleep by now?” you asked.

“Your brother is spying on you,” called Gen from the family room. 

“Oh is he?” you said.

“I’m not…” said Jared with a shrug, heading into the family room. You walked over to the couch, crossing your arms as you stared down at him.

“Gen. What is he up to?” you asked.

“Nothing,” said Jared.

“Jare, if you’re gonna be…” you said. “I’m not a child. You either give me my privacy or I’m gone. You’re the one that wanted to set me and Jensen up in the first place.”

“I think you’re going a little fast is all,” he said.

“He’s kissed me a few times, that’s it. I haven’t even made out with him. What’s fast about that?” you asked.

“Well you hang out with him every night now,” he said.

“We had a family party on Friday with plenty of people. We all went to dinner last night and then I went mini golfing with him and I hung out with him for like three hours tonight. What’s the problem with that?” you asked. Gen stood up and walked into the kitchen, giving Jared a look along the way. “What? Is he suddenly a bad guy now that we’re spending time together?”

“No. No, he’s not,” he said.

“Then what is it?” you asked.

“I think you should spend some time with just you is all,” he said. “Don’t throw yourself into a guy.”

“So you’ve decided you want me to just what, be your little sister that lives here and follows her big brother around when it’s convenient for him?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“No. I thought you wanted to start being yourself is all. I think you might have an easier time doing that if you’re not constantly-”

“Throwing myself at a guy?” you said. “You think I do that?”

“Y/N,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“You were younger than me when you met Gen,” you said.

“Gen’s not fifteen years older than me,” he said. 

“Why do you suddenly have a problem with this! You were the one that tried to get us together,” you said.

“Maybe because you have a habit of going head first into a relationship and then it goes bad. He’s one of my best friends and-”

“Don’t worry. I won’t ruin your friendship,” you said. You jogged upstairs and into the room you were staying in, shoving some clothes in a bag before you were downstairs and heading for the front door.

“Where the hell are you going?” he asked, following you as you put on your shoes.

“None of your damn business,” you said, storming outside, Jared right on your tail. “Leave me alone.”

“Hey,” he said, grabbing your arm as you got to your car. You shrugged and he held on, Gen sighing as she stepped out onto the front porch. “I asked where you were going.”

“I don’t have to tell you,” you said, shrugging him off this time. You ripped open the backseat and tossed in your bag, slamming the door shut. You grabbed the drivers side door, Jared catching it once it was open. “Let go, Jared.”

“Y/N-”

“Maybe he is too old for me. At least he doesn’t make me feel shitty. But don’t worry about that. You can have your friend back,” you said. You climbed in and yanked the door shut, pulling out and on the road like that.

“Y/N,” you heard the next morning, your dad coming out to the patio in the backyard. “There’s someone here to see you.”

“I don’t want to talk to Jared.”

“Hey, kiddo,” said Jensen. You turned around in your seat, Jensen wearing a soft smile. “Can we talk?”

You shrugged, your dad heading back inside as Jensen wandered around to your side of the table and grabbed a chair, spinning it around to look out at the yard with you.

“Jared stopped over last night,” he said, resting his elbows on his hands. “He was pretty upset.”

“He’s sensitive,” you said.

“That’s not nice.”

“Maybe I’m not a nice person,” you said, not bothering to look in his direction, tucking your knees into your chest.

“I think he pushed your buttons,” he said.

“I’m not a child,” you said, closing your eyes. “Maybe I am. I ran home to my parents house last night after all.”

“Well I’m a lot older and sometimes I run home to my parents,” he said. You peeled open your eyes, Jensen still looking into the yard. “He’s really upset, Y/N. He’s in the house.”

“He doesn’t like that I hang out with you now,” you said.

“Well that’s his problem to deal with, isn’t it,” he said, turning his head. “He didn’t use some choice phrasing last night from what I heard.”

“He basically called me a slut,” you said. Jensen frowned, giving you a long stare. “He thinks I throw myself into guys.”

“Funny. I think the opposite,” he said.

“Oh yeah?” you scoffed.

“Forget the age difference. Just forget it. I don’t give a shit about it. I don’t want to be with someone that it’s going to bother them,” he said.

“It doesn’t,” you said.

“I know,” he said. “I know you told me about that British guy that was embarrassed of you and made you feel bad about yourself. I know you said older guys are less likely to cheat in your opinion. I think you got more than your fair share of battle wounds.”

“Everyone does,” you said.

“No, they don’t,” he said. “And I’m guessing considering how you aren’t super close with your family, maybe they don’t know those things.”

“Why does it matter? He’s right. Shit, I broke up with the British douche less than two months ago,” you said. “I’m already going on dates again.”

“You think there’s some kind of mandatory feel shitty period?” he asked. “No, there isn’t. I like you and I think you like me. That’s all that should matter.”

“You’re right but I can’t deal with going home to him after dates if he’s going to ruin my nights,” you said.

“You don’t have to live with him,” said Jensen.

“It’s going to cause drama if I did that,” you said.

“Well I’m not a fan of you being unhappy so someone’s going to have to give,” he said, looking back at the yard.

“You barely know me.”

“I like you,” he said, his face hard when he turned it towards you. “I don’t like people like that. I’m not some teenage boy anymore that gets crushes and nervous around girls. But you…I like when you tease me and when you laugh and you make me feel like I am that teenage boy again and it feels good and I’m not ending this because your brother doesn’t get that you are free to do whatever you want.”

You stared at him, his face softening some. He went to turn away when you caught his cheek with you hand, green eyes glancing back at you. You leaned over and kissed him, slowly, brushing your thumb over his cheekbone. He went with it, sinking into the movement before you leaned away.

“You didn’t come here for Jared, did you.”

“Not really, no,” he said. “Someone’s got to have your back.”

“You have a crush on me?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he said with a smile. “I do.”

“Good,” you said. “I don’t have to worry about blushing around you anymore.”

He chuckled and grabbed your hand, pulling you to your feet.

“You got to talk to your brother,” he said. “Maybe your parents too. They’re pretty worried.”

“I know. It’s an overdue conversation.”

“Are you gonna say anything?” you asked, sitting in Jared’s old room an hour later, the two of you crammed on the extra long twin sized bed.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, trying to make his body smaller. “I’m sorry about last night and...never being there to talk to.”

“I could have said something.”

“You tried to tell me when you were sixteen that your boyfriend cheated on you and all I could do that thanksgiving was go on about Gen,” he said. “When you were a freshman in college and it happened again? I was too busy to talk to you. No wonder you don’t like me.”

“Jared, you’re my brother. I love you,” you said.

“We never gave you the time of day once you got older, none of us did. We shoved you out,” he said. “We’re your siblings and we did that.”

“You guys are a lot older than me,” you said with a shrug.

“So any of these four douchebags that cheated, they ever do anything worse?” he asked.

“No. The last guy didn’t cheat,” you said.

“He made you feel shitty though,” he said.

“Not a crime,” you said. 

“You’re not like me, right?” he asked. You titled your head, Jared tapping his own. “You don’t get like I do, right?”

“I went once,” you said. “Therapy. I got scared something was wrong with me. I just have bad luck with men apparently.”

“I’m sorry I said that stuff about you seeing Jensen. He makes you happy and I know you make him happy. And I love him but I’ll always pick you over him,” he said.

“I don’t want you to pick anyone,” you said. “I’m your little sister but we missed the you getting to be an overprotective brother phase. Just be my friend. Please.”

“I’m always going to be an overprotective brother,” he said, ruffling your hair. “I’ll be less of an ass though. I’m sorry. I-”

“I know you’re sorry, Jared,” you said. He hummed and stood up, going to his bulletin board and grabbing the baseball cap hanging off the corner. He wiped the dust off of it and carried it over, plopping it on your head. “Your Cowboys hat?”

“You used to annoy me to death, coming in here everyday asking if you could have it,” he said. “It was mine so I always told you no. Dad got you a white one for your sixth birthday. You were so pissed cause you wanted mine specifically. Never understood why.”

“Cause you said I could have it,” you said as you stood. “But you forgot.”

He sighed and pulled you into a crushing hug. 

“It’s yours now,” he said. “Hey, next family vacation, you pick where you want to go. It’s on me. Just kids, I promise.”

“I’ve never been on one,” you said.

“Cause we’re shitty,” he said. “That’s over. I promise.”

“I always made excuses to not go,” you said, looking up at him.

“Well you’re going on this one. You can even bring Jensen,” he smiled.

“We’re not there yet,” you said with a laugh. 

“Will you come home? You can have your privacy and I won’t ask about Jensen or dates or any of that, I promise,” he said. “Please?”

“Do you really think I throw myself at guys?” you asked, his head already shaking.

“No. I’m sorry. Friday night you seemed happy about trying to be yourself from then on and I was so happy you were doing that but I know that’s something easier said than done, especially if you’re trying to deal with a new relationship on top of that and I’m sorry I said it. You’re careful and I know you’re a little scared of this relationship and-”

“Actually not so much. Neither one of us cares about the age thing. Or the him being kind of recognizable thing. We’re just two people starting to date,” you said.

“I didn’t mean that stuff. I know now you’ve been hurt more than once. So has he,” he said.

“I don’t plan on hurting him,” you said. He smiled and nodded, giving you another hug. “Also, moving back was expensive as hell so yeah, I totally need the free rent right now.”

“Ah. So that’s what it is,” he laughed.

“You got an awesome pool too,” you said.

“I see,” he said with a smile. “You’re gonna come home then?”

“Yeah. Until I’m on my feet,” you said.

“Stay longer than that,” he said. “We want you to. We haven’t lived together since you were seven after all.”

“Alright,” you said. “We should probably start the drive home.”

“Let’s catch lunch with mom and dad first before we head out.”

“So what was my dad saying to you just now?” you asked, pulling onto the highway, Jensen riding back to Austin with you.

“He thinks I’m a little old for you to be honest,” he said.

“Seriously? I thought-”

“I’m joking,” teased Jensen. “I mean, yes, I don’t think I’m exactly what they envisioned for you in that department but they know me. They trust me with you.”

“I didn’t really want to have that parent conversation already,” you said.

“It’s fine,” he said. “I’ll dodge the bullet with mine as long as I can.”

“Right,” you said with a nod, giving him a quick glance before looking back at the road.

“Not that I have a problem with introducing you to them. I think that’s more of a maybe down the road kind of thing,” he said.

“Jensen, it’s cool. I promise. I’d like to go back to this being drama free if we could,” you said.

“I don’t think we ever had a problem with that,” he said.

“True. Do you still want to get dinner tonight?” you asked.

“You’re taking me out on a date. I can’t wait.”

“That’s a pretty skirt,” said Jared as you headed downstairs. “Is it one of Gen’s?”

“No. She got it for me for Christmas last year. I never wore it. I have a date with Jensen,” you said, fixing your shirt. “I look okay?”

“Well you’re not as ugly as usual,” he said.

“Too bad I can’t say the same about you,” you smiled.

“Yeah, yeah. You look fine. Where are you going?” he asked.

“Dinner downtown. I’m picking him up,” you said. “There’s a lot of restaurants here.”

“Yes there are,” he said. “Still, don’t think I’ve seen you in a dress or skirt since my wedding.”

“Shut up,” you said, grabbing your purse. “Don’t wait up.”

“I won’t. Have fun!”

“You look very pretty,” said Jensen as you started to walk along the sidewalk after parking downtown. 

“Thanks,” you blushed. “You too.”

“Oh yes. A flannel shirt and jeans. So classy,” he teased.

“You make it work,” you said. He hummed and grabbed your hand, squeezing it for a moment before walking around to your other side, grabbing your right hand instead. You glanced at him as you walked past an alley, Jensen looking forward. “I have lived in a city by myself before. London.”

“I know,” he said.

“I did take a self-defense class,” you said.

“That’s great,” he said with a smile, walking around the corner, the restaurant down at the far end. 

“You walk between me and the alleys though, huh,” you said.

“Yup,” he said. “Call me paranoid but better safe than sorry.”

“Sweet dork,” you said with a laugh.

“Your sweet dork, kiddo.”

“Bats?” you said after dinner, walking through the park with Jensen, stopped on a bridge, some other people around. “Bats are kinda creepy.”

“Come on. Baby bats are cute as fuck,” he said, a giggle escaping you. “We have one of the biggest bat populations actually. They help with the bugs. They normally fly out to go hunt around this time of night.”

“So I’m gonna see a giant swarm of bats? Do they bother people?” you asked.

“What, you scared?” he asked, throwing an arm over your shoulders. 

“Pft, no,” you said. A mosquito flew in front of your face and you jerked back, Jensen chuckling when you went back to leaning against the railing. “Shut up.”

“They ain’t gonna do anything to you. They eat pesky mosquitoes,” he said.

“Good,” you said, Jensen rubbing your bare arm. “You take all the girls to see the bats, do you?”

“Oh no. Only the special ones,” he said, biting back a smile. “If you like this, we can go see some bugs and dirt tomorrow.”

“My dream come true,” you laughed. “Also, please no. I don’t like bugs.”

“We have more important plans, like golfing,” he said. 

“I will go golfing once,” you said, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Once, Ackles.”

“You’ll have fun, I promise,” he said.

“What am I supposed to wear? A dorky outfit?” you asked.

“You got any of those long sleeve shirts for the sun?” he asked. “Wear one of those and some shorts and you’re fine.”

“Alright, alright,” you said, spotting a single bat float up from under the bridge. “What’s…”

You spotted more, Jensen chuckling when a large swarm of them flew out and you tilted your head all the way back.

“Cool,” you said with a smile, watching them take off.

“Told you so.”

“How’d it go?” asked Jensen the next day at the golf course, a bag of clubs on your shoulder as you found him outside.

“I rented my clubs and some shoes,” you said, setting the bag down . “And I’m already hot.”

“Come here,” he said, grabbing the bag and setting them on the back of the cart. He opened up a side pocket of his bag and pulled out sunscreen, slathering some on your face and neck for you, letting you get your legs as you readjusted your hat. “Cowboys fan?”

“Hm?” you asked. He nodded upwards and you smiled. “Oh yeah. Not into it like Jared or anything but yeah.”

“We’ll have to watch a game together some Sunday,” he said. “I make a mean bean dip.”

“I'm a sucker for tailgate food,” you said, following his lead and hoping in the passenger seat of the cart.

“So have you ever been golfing before?” he asked.

“Once when I was like ten,” you said. “I hated it.”

“Well I figured we’d only do nine holes so you don’t end up killing me,” he said.

“Hey, I lost the bet. I can take it,” you said.

“Alright. We’ll see how it goes. Let’s get out there.”

“Alright. Practice swinging your driver. Hold on to that sucker tight when you swing it,” he said. You spread your feet, Jensen making a strange noise but he didn’t say anything. 

“Yes?” you laughed.

“Can I show you?” he asked.

“Sure,” you said. He stepped up behind you, nudging your feet farther apart. 

“Sorry,” he said, taking a step back.

“It’s alright,” you said.

“Alright,” he said, getting close again, laying his arms over yours. “Keep your hands like this.  When you swing back, use your hips and then when you’re moving forward, move them forward and let your back foot come off the ground. It let’s you keep the power through the whole swing.”

“Okie dokie,” you said. “Can you go first so I can watch?”

“Sure,” he said. You got out of the way from the woman’s tee, watching from the side as Jensen stepped up and hit his first ball, hitting it to the side of the fairway. “See what I mean about your foot?”

“Mhm,” you said. You set up your tee, taking a few light practice swings first before you stepped up. 

“Don’t worry if you hit it out of bounds. We got plenty of balls,” he said.

“Okay,” you said. You stepped up to the ball, fixing your hands and making your stance wide. He gave you a smile before you looked down. You pulled back and swung hard, the ball going somewhere. When you looked up, Jensen had a dumbfounded look on his face. 

“You’ve been fucking with me, haven’t you,” he said, a smirk crossing his face.

“What?”

“You hit the ball farther and more center than I did. You’re a golfer aren’t you,” he said.

“No way! Beginner’s luck,” you said.

“You’re serious?”

“Yeah. I’m horrible at golf,” you said.

“No. No, horrible is the opposite of the word I would use,” he laughed. 

“Maybe I just have a really good teacher,” you said.

“That must be it. Let’s see if that was a fluke or what.”

“Golfing is more fun than I thought,” you said, Jensen smiling as you returned your clubs.

“Hey, if you worked on your short game, you’d probably break a course record,” he said.

“Hey,” said some guy around your age, walking over with a beer in his hand at the clubhouse. “You the chick that hit the ball onto the green on the sixth in one stroke?”

“Is that impressive or something?” you asked. The guy smiled and nodded, leaning against the counter, seeming to ignore Jensen.

“Oh, for sure. Would you want to maybe grab a bite for lunch?”

“Sorry. I got plans,” you said, glancing at Jensen.

“Your golf coach is welcome to join,” he said.

“He’s sort of my boyfriend,” you said with a smile. The guy raised an eyebrow at Jensen.

“You’re totally like nailing this married guy though for fun right?” he asked. “We can still get a bite.”

“Let’s go, babe,” you said, grabbing Jensen’s hand, Jensen chuckling as you headed towards the restaurant there. “Pretentious little douchebag.”

“You don’t need to defend my honor, Y/N. I get how this looks to-”

You grabbed his shirt and pulled him into a kiss when you saw the other guy walk around the corner, hearing him scoff as he went past.

“Well if you’re protective of me, I get to be protective of you from douchebags,” you said. “Got it?”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “You want to grab lunch?”

“Yeah. Thanks for taking me golfing today,” you said.

“I know you didn’t like it as much as you said you did,” he said.

“Maybe I got aggravated towards the end but I like hanging out with you, doing something you enjoy,” you said.

“Well I appreciate you trying it for me. After lunch if you’re not busy, do you want to come over and have a lazy day in the pool?” he asked.

“Sure. But would you want to come over to our place? Jared and Gen would love to get to hang out too,” you said.

“Sounds perfect, kiddo.”

“Hey,” you said two hours later, stepping outside to where Jared was laying on a patio chair, looking through his phone. “Jensen’s coming over to swim in a minute.”

“Cool,” he said, staring at you for a moment. “Neither one of you has heard yet, have you.”

“What?” you asked, Jared handing over his phone to you. There was a picture of the two of you kissing on your date the night before. “What’s this from?”

“A tabloid,” he said. “You probably want to avoid any of your social media for the near future.”

“Do I even want to look at these comments?” you asked, handing the phone back.

“No, not really. They’re pretty bad,” he said.

“Well...I don’t give a shit,” you said. “That’s other people’s problem, not mine.”

“What’s other people’s problem?” asked Jensen, wandering around the back of the house, setting a cooler down on the patio.

“Us dating,” you said as you walked over. “Apparently someone saw us kissing last night.”

“I see,” he said. 

“Come on. Let’s go swimming,” you said, grabbing his hand and dragging him over to the steps and into the water.

“You know things like the guy this morning are going to happen more often,” he said.

“So?” you said, swimming out to the deep end and floating on your back. “I don’t care.”

“Don’t look at me,” you heard Jared say as you spun around, Jensen still in the shallow end, a slightly worried look on his face. “You heard her.”

“Y/N,” he said as you swam back. You stood up and stared him down, a small nod leaving him. “I don’t care either. I just want you to be happy.”

“Come play then,” you said, swimming back to the deep end, Jensen following this time.

“Hey, Jare. Why don’t you find Gen and grab that speaker that can go in the water so we can listen to some music?” asked Jensen. Jared hummed and left, your gaze going back to Jensen when you were alone. “There’s water balloons in the cooler.”

“Sneak attack? I like it,” you said with a smile.

“You sure you’re okay with the public stuff?” he asked.

“I’m sure. I didn’t need to spend that much time on my phone anyways,” you said.

“Can I ask you a question?” 

“Shoot,” you said, following him to the shallow end and out of the pool.

“Why do you like me? We do fun stuff I suppose but I…” he said, watching you step in front of him.

“I like that you’re kind and creative and attractive and there’s a bunch of little things. But I like you the best,” you said.

“I’m sort of confused,” he said.

“You want me to be happy,” you said. “It’s such a simple thing but that means the world to me. You make me happier too. I want to be able to do that for.”

“You do. I haven’t dated in a while. I was starting to give up on the whole thing and then you swoop in and make me some shy boy around you,” he said. “S’not really fair if you think about it.”

“Never said I was going to play fair,” you said.

“Someone’s getting more flirty,” he said, resting his hands on your hips.

“You’re one to talk,” you said.

“I think you both talk too much,” said Jared, both your heads whipping up to see him and Gen on their bedroom balcony, each holding a water gun.

“You two think this is our first rodeo?” she asked, turning the super soaker in your direction.

“Oh, that is so not fair,” you said, Jensen grabbing your hand and the cooler, jogging around the side of the house before you could get hit more than once. You each pulled a few out, keeping an eye on the corners before you heard whistling come from the front of the house. They both stepped out from the garage, Jared smiling as he held the hose in one hand. 

“Uh oh,” said Jensen.

“Yeah, I’d run if I were-” he said, just as you hit him in the chest with a balloon.

“Get Gen,” you said, Jensen taking off as you threw more at Jared, Gen wide eyed for a moment before she took off across the driveway, Jensen on her tail. You ran out of balloons quickly, Jared narrowing his eyes as you shrugged. “Uh…”

He took a step forward by the time you were spun around, Jared on top of you like that, hoisting you up over his shoulder.

“Oh my God. Do not drop me,” you said, Jared humming as he carried you and his water gun around to the back of the house where some squeals were happening.

“Only place I’m dropping you is the pool,” he said, slowing his walk and setting you down on the ground. He wrapped an arm around your waist, your feet in the air again as you looked across the pool, Jensen holding Gen’s gun and Gen in his other arm. “Ackles.”

“Padalecki,” he said.

“I assume you want a trade?” asked Jared.

“Not happening,” said Gen, ducking her head down and pushing Jensen into the pool, Jared tossing you in the next moment. When you popped back up, Jared was around to the other side, high fiving her. 

“Dinner’s on you two tonight,” he said.

“Alright, alright,” said Jensen. “We lost fair and square.”

“Oh it was most certainly not fair,” you said. “Jensen’s supposed to push me in the pool, not you.”

“We’ll plan our revenge later,” said Jensen quietly, a mischievous little look on his face. “Won’t we?”

“For sure,” you said. Jared went back to put away the hose while Gen jumped in the water with the speaker, turning it on a station before she started to swim around the shallow end. “We don’t bite.”

“He’s a bit of a sore loser sometimes,” she said. “Never can tell with that one.”

“Oh no, I want our evil plan to be carried out when you least expect it. You’re safe...for now,” said Jensen.

“Oh joy,” she said, swimming over to you both, Jared returning after a moment, the boys swimming off, talking about dinner plans from the sound of it. “He really likes you.”

“Jensen?”

“Yeah. He’s not putting on his fake smile anymore,” she said.

“Fake smile?” you asked, the two of you swimming over to the edge, resting your arms on it.

“He’s forty one. He was over about a month back, had too much to drink. He said a lot of stuff about how he wished he had what Jared and I did, told us not to take it or the kids for granted. I think he’s very good at pretending it didn’t bother him,” she said.

“But he’s so smiley and happy,” you said.

“No, he’s really not, not in the past few years anyways,” she said. “He’d never admit it but I think he’s falling hard for you, real hard.”

“That’s okay,” you said with a smile, spotting one on his face when he looked back at you from the other end of the pool. “I’m pretty sure I’m okay with that.”

_____

A/N: Read Part 4 here!