#edit: I made a huge mistake and accidentally used the word on

[minty-sweet-art]

Wedding between me and Kaufmo on Monday July 1

you all are invited to my 100 day anniversary for officially simping for Kaufmo

(Read more thing because I don’t want to interrupt the Kaufmo tag to much with my joke wedding )

(It was in fact not a small thing for Kaufmo)

Bring you best Kaufmo art/ JOKE this is just a joke. I’m joking. Just do whatever you guys want. This is just a Silly announcement

My Kaufmo art suck anyways but I probably do a doodle of me and Kaufmo together and I already have a silly edit as well.

That it.

That the wedding lol

And remember everyone

Live laugh Kaufmo <3

[realmermaid333]

my first autism awareness month post lol (im so late)

For this autism awareness month I want to talk about the more I guess "taboo" part of autism acceptance and the Autistic Experience TM

People say they support people with autism until an autistic person makes a social mistake and says something weird or stims in an "odd" way or does literally anything "strange". As soon as we unmask or the mask slips people no longer want to support us. 

I see this a lot with social mistakes being made then people being extremely judgmental and even going as far as saying people are using autism as an excuse to make social mistakes. While this has happened before, it isn’t always the case.

A big reason why we need autism awareness is people don't fully understand what autism is. 

I'll give a simplified definition: Autism is a developmental disability that impacts the nervous system. It impacts social and emotional development and common symptoms are difficulty with communication and social interaction, obsessive interests, and repetitive behaviors. 

There's more to it but that's the gist. Autistic people misinterpret social cues pretty often and that can lead to small miscommunications or even huge misunderstandings. Some people with autism struggle to tell when someone's joking, some autistic people struggle to tell when a joke or comment is appropriate, some autistic people struggle to tell if they are arguing with someone, some autistic people can't tell they are hurting people's feelings unless they are told. 

We are a wide spectrum. There are varying levels: level 1 (generally low support needs on most days/for most people), level 2 (generally medium support needs on most days/for most people), and level 3 (generally high support needs on most days/for most people). 

I find that a lot of the time when people are introduced to the topic of autism it is from a level 1, low support needs autist who is great at masking. While those people deserve and need platforms too- I myself am a level 1 with lower support needs, though I am not very good at masking- we often ignore the level 2 and 3 autistics and those who are visibly autistic.

There may be a time when an autistic person says something that makes you upset or uncomfortable and you need to communicate that. Not everyone can tell they said something that made someone uncomfortable. I think we would all also benefit from being less judgemental when someone makes a social mistake. All humans make them from time to time, though especially autistic people and other neurodivergent people do. 

I am also tired of people saying that mentioning you’re autistic after accidentally saying something that makes someone uncomfortable is using it as an excuse. It is not an excuse and shouldn’t be used as one! But it is an explanation. Understanding that someone is autistic is really good background to knowing why they may have said something. An autistic person may share they are autistic after a misunderstanding so you know it wasn't intentional and that they understand now and hope to avoid the same thing in the future. 

As a lot of ya’ll are my friends, and I may be one of the only autistic people you are friends with, though only online. I want to tell you about my own social mistakes. I come across much more neurotypical online because I can overthink what I say lol. And most of the time it isn't healthy. I am so anxiously self aware to the point of self sabotage sometimes. When I am in online spaces I overthink what I'm going to say and sometimes edit and revise messages before I send them (I am trying to stop doing this). This is how I tend to avoid misunderstandings! I do get scared I'll mess up and people won't want to talk to me anymore. I shouldn't do that! But yeah, irl I have accidentally said things that people didn't like. I've accidentally made people uncomfortable because I couldn't edit and revise my words after I said them like I can when I type before sending. 

This is an easy thing to do in general even for someone who isn't autistic! We've all done something like this before. But when you're autistic and you may miss the context of jokes others were making or you may entirely misread a social situation. Then you try to join in and sometimes it doesn't work or you fuck up. It happens! I've done this before many times. And unfortunately people tend to be really judgmental about social mistakes, at least in my experience. It makes being autistic really hard sometimes. 

And this does not mean that you shouldn't tell an autistic person they've made you uncomfortable or said something you didn't like! That kind of constructive criticism is okay and necessary! People won't know you're upset if you keep it to yourself, especially if this is a person who reads social cues and body language poorly. This post isn't to excuse something negative an autistic person may say or say your feelings are invalid if an autistic person makes you upset. It's just to hopefully help people be more understanding. 

i don’t wanna type a tldr, just read/skim i guess. but here’s a crappy one. 

Social mistakes are a huge thing for autistic people and it just saddens me and makes me self conscious sometimes the harsh ways people deal with them. it can be really easy to make a social mistake for most people, but especially for autistic people, and especially in online spaces. 

prepare for more of my rants & musings about autism related things

[maths-screaming]

Doing the Maths, Subtraction Edition

I can't wait for the post-break conversations with my students.

"What did you do over break?"

"Math worksheets."

"...Ms. F, are you okay?"

BARELY.

After spending most of a day feeling stumped about subtraction (and literally counting beans at one point), I generated a worksheet on mathisfun.com and did some test problems.

My Goals, in order:

Use any method that made me feel reasonably confident about my answer,

Show the method I used,

Check my work,

Be able to explain it to y'all.

Some examples:

This one is a combination of "change the numbers to make the problem easier" and "use a number line to check the answer." Notice where I accidentally tried to add the tens column instead of subtracting! I fixed it when I realized there was no way I should need to write out 80 numbers to check my work.

I made this mistake twice in 17 quetions (adding the tens instead of subtracting them), and I caught it both times when I went to check my work. I guarantee you that 7 year old me would not have caught that mistake, because 7 year old me would have been expected not to do something as concrete as a number line to check their work.

Here I again changed the problem to make it easier and then checked my work by reaffirming that, yes, 4 and 6 make 10. (In hindsight, "6+4=10" would have been a better check here - by rewriting the subtraction I basically just did the material part twice.)

I did this one by breaking down each of the numbers into their respective tens and ones groups, then subtracting each. I could have drawn a better diagram showing where all those numbers came from. I did not.

This one has two checks of my work. Again, I broke down 52 and 33 into their respective tens and ones groups. I checked my work by adding 19 and 33, then double-checked that adding 3 to 9 did in fact get me to something ending in 2. (It did.)

What's the Point of All This?

You may have noticed that my to-do list above doesn't include "get the right answer." That's intentional.

The most useful definition of stress I've encountered yet is that a stress response occurs when the resources one has are inadequate to meet the demands one faces. It certainly applies with me and math: For decades, my available resources to do basic arithmetic have been outpaced by the demands of nearly all basic arithmetic.

"Get the right answer" is a big demand. It looms over my puny pile of resources. It freaks me out.

This time, though, I have something I didn't have at age 7: a fully-functioning prefrontal cortex and several decades of teaching experience.

So I decided: The point of this evening's exercise was to understand what I was doing well enough to check my answer and explain it to the Internet. I trusted that if I could do that, "correct answers" would follow logically.

I trusted that I could make some kind of meaning out of numbers. I trusted that if one way didn't work, I could try another. I trusted that numbers are logical.

In other words, I decided to trust that - in spite of 40 years of evidence to the contrary - I can learn to do this.

For me, that's a huge step.

[ramblinseahorsey]

There’s so many people out there trying to give Greg’s parents the benefit of the doubt, saying they meant the best for him, or that Greg just didn’t do a good enough job explaining to them he was unhappy.  That Greg and Steven just need to talk to them, to reach out to them, and hope is a great thing.

But I knew the second I saw this shot that they didn’t love him. They didn’t answer his letters.  Never. Didn’t even read them.  Don’t try and tell me Greg didn’t try.  Don’t tell me he didn’t reach out.

Greg didn’t just say they just discouraged music or pushed him to do sports, this isn’t a Barbara kind of miscommunication.  He clearly said they forced him to do sports and music was off limits. He tried.  From the looks of it, he tried many years after he left too. 

Don’t try and tell me that parents that saw their kid constantly frowning or looking like they were gonna cry in their photos and did nothing about it loved their kid. 

The only picture we see Greg look happy in was his school photo.  Not the one they liked enough to frame.  It is possible there are happy pictures around here with him and his parents we just didn’t see, but I wouldn’t place any bets on it.

The only mistake Greg made in Mr. Universe was not being more tactful with how he explained all of this to Steven.

Greg never specified the lack of love, and therefore Steven just didn’t get it.  He saw all these pictures and trophies and baby items and thought, that’s love, right?  He doesn’t understand or know about the parents who obsess over nick knacks, doesn’t get that these weren’t treasured memories to them, they were collectibles.  Anybody who’d still keep the letters, but not open them, was clearly after the status of being parents, not the actual time with their kid.  They kept in view things from a time he was obedient.  But all Steven sees is the image of a pretty, normal family house, the image Greg’s parents were more obsessed with maintaining than communications with their actual kid.  

They wanted him in their life at first, sure, but only back when they still thought there was hope that he’s end up just like them.  Back when he would still go to the island, back when he couldn’t fight his hair getting cut, back when they thought he could be the cookie cutter clone of them that looked neat in family photos and would prevent them from having to explain to people what he did for a living or why he wasn’t going on vacation for them, yet again, using him as a part of their image, not their son.  

Greg wouldn’t have called all of that junk, when he’s been shown to love collecting and having random junk, failed to emotionally connect or get nostalgic about a single item there, if there had been any love or bonding attached to any of them. 

Greg is a loving, loving, forgiving man.  If there had been any good memories in that house, 

he wouldn’t have constantly looked miserable in it except when he was talking about when he escaped it.

Greg, unknowingly, and only trying to help, bless his heart, made a huge mistake with a single sentence.  

“Trust me, your better off than I was!”  OUch.

He pushed Steven away the second he made a comparison between their lives.  You just can’t play the comparison game with people who were traumatized. 

Was he right that Steven got to grow up with love Greg didn’t? Well, yes, but Steven doesn’t realize that.  All he hears is the man who grew up in a nice, warm, not corrupted gem attacked house, with a nice, normal, not training just in case someone was on their way to murder you education, in a calm, relaxed, not born a war criminal childhood.  And complaining about it!

Of course he got mad!! Even if Greg had specified he wasn’t loved, how could he dare use the word better to describe Steven’s life?  Greg meant nothing bad by it, but as far as Steven was concerned, Greg was telling him he had a wonderful childhood, a wonderful future ahead of him, “just like mom” did.

Greg couldn’t have just brought up a half alien baby wanted dead in a normal community, training with the gems, unstable parents or not, was necessary for his survival.  But in the heat of the moment, Steven doesn’t think of that, the way he talks in this scene, he really thinks he could’ve had that, that a normal childhood could’ve “fixed” him, and that his dad’s choice was the only thing that stopped him from having that.

And between that and the crash, that was the trigger needed for Steven to push his dad away.  The guilt for yet another person he thinks he’s a danger to, and the huge feelings of jealousy he was too ashamed yet still too angry to voice over his dad getting to grow up human.  Steven saw his yearbook pictures and nearly got choked up saying the words “more human” pausing with a frown he quickly gets rid of, yearning to be the human in Greg’s pictures.  

So many out here are trying to take sides, either saying Greg was wrong and Steven was right, or Greg was right and Steven was wrong, but in the end both are true.  Both had the right to be unhappy with what they were given, and both should have done a better job trying to understand and listen to the others plight. 

While Greg should have worded things much, much more tactfully, and definitely, even if accidentally, hurt his kid with his words, he meant no more harm than any of the other people who’ve tried to cheer him up, and was right about all he said.

Yet you can’t get mad at Steven either, because as far as he’s concerned, all he learned today is that his dad had it so much easier, less terrifying, and found an identity in a way that Steven couldn’t relate to, couldn’t use.

That his dad can’t help him anymore.

Edit:  I’m not saying redemption is impossible for his parents,(Steven Universe is all about second chances), I’m saying that I can’t see it happening.  If you wanna be technical about it, anyone can be redeemed.  But that’s the point isn’t it? Anyone can change, but they have to want to.  The only person I could see being less likely to want to change is Marty.  

While possibilities are endless, the people who can not love their own child while raising them don’t tend to be the kinds of people to have a turnaround.  Not saying it hasn’t happened before, just that it’s so very, very rare.

These two made it very clear they didn’t want to, that they don’t want to.  It would be different If the letters were opened.  For a redemption/family reunion to work with these two, they’d have to make the first step.  Perhaps they’d get wind of Steven’s existence, and in a change of heart that came in old age, they’d get motivated to try getting back in touch even though they thought at this point it was too late.  Perhaps we’d get a shot of opened letters falling down not neat and tidy on the dresser.  

For it to work for me, Greg would have to receive a letter.

But i’m not holding my breath.

[clichejoe]

3, 15, 20, 22, and 23 for the writing ask :)

Sweeeeeeet! More questions! I've just answered q3 in another post, but I'll give the others a shot! Thank you for sending these in!! (omfg this one turned out super long Im sorry lol)

15. What do drafting and revision look like for you?

Ooooh good question. Asked at a good time as well, because I feel like my methods have changed a lot recently because of what I've learned writing Candlelight. But let me give it a shot:

So drafting is pretty easy, I have a basic plotting document I saved back in 2017 that kind of helps me outline the beginning, middle and end of a story. I always used to use that religiously - I've planned a lot of stories and fics before using this method, but I've never finished them. Revisions always used to happen as I was writing - I'm a huge perfectionist and I edited as I wrote, which made me lose a lot of enjoyment of the process. I wasn't rereading what I'd done because I liked it, I was tearing through it with a fine-tooth comb, picking it apart until I hated it.

Recently, my plotting has become a lot looser. As I said, Candlelight had a beginning and an end. A general idea. That was it. Everything else kind of just . . . happened as I was writing it, and it's been a lot more fun that way! Revisions have changed too - I barely reread my stuff now (as you can probably tell by all the spelling mistakes in the text lol). I sit down on Monday to start a chapter and try and finish it by Saturday. I have an idea of what I want it to say, but everything else is a bonus and revisions are where I add a few extra words to make it look like what happened was on purpose lol.

20. Where do you begin a WIP? ex: a mood, a scene, a certain character dynamic, etc. Does this differ per project?

Usually with a WIP I have one specific scene in my head. And the mood of this scene for almost every WIP is the same.

It's the lowest point of the story.

Kind of grim, I know, but I love the scene where the protagonist fails, so spectacularly it looks like everything is lost. Usually for me a character dies in this scene as well. It's weird, I know, but I find that this scene works as like a base - from this I can build the character relationships, the high points, the joy of the story. Emotional contrast in stories are my favourite thing (can't have happiness without sadness etc) and it helps me establish where the bottom of that is. I can build it from there. The higher I take it at other parts of the story, the more painful I know this first scene is going to be.

It's also the scene I know (hope, really) hits the reader the hardest - the one they're going to remember. And that emotional response is also an excellent motivator.

22. How much of your own self/experiences do you believe pours into your projects? If this differs per projects, which projects have the most and least of you?

Accidentally? A LOT. I feel like I start every story with a basic idea, a setting, genre. A few characters. But then as I'm writing it and developing it, part of me just sort of leaks in unwillingly. For example, the A Game Called Werewolf horror story I'm working on with a friend has become a reflection on struggling with anxiety and existential dread - a feeling of a lack of control of your own life. Candlelight was meant to be a fun fanfic, but the previous isolation and loneliness of the main character became a key plot point because I, myself, was pretty lonely when I started it (having just left uni and friends etc. Dw I'm chill now).

23. What do you do to engage with your projects which isn't usually writing? ex: playlists, pinterest boards, etc. How much do they play a role in the development of your work?

I usually always make a spotify playlist for anything I'm working on. Pinterest boards as well. They don't really help me develop the work as they more help me get in the right head space before I sit down to write it. Or, if I've not worked on a certain project in a while, they remind me of what I was working towards. The key emotional impacts that I wanted the story to have and why these motivated me to start it in the first place.

[tobesobri]

𝒯hank you for all the love on the first chapter, that was honestly the last thing I expected, and it really does mean the world to me that you guys like this story. I’m going to include the taglist at the end, but if you’d like to be added for future updates, go here and put in your tumblr URL. Okay, anyways, this chapter is very like,,, rocky and emotional so! Have fun reading :)

huge massive thank you to the incredible @youresogolden-h​ for editing ❤️

Chapter Two: Do It One More Time (3.8k)

Harry and Y/N are friends…. with benefits, but not the kinds you’re thinking of.

🥥MASTERLIST 🌃INSPO TAG 🌻ASK TAG 💃PLAYLIST 🛌

Sneaking Harry out had been the least of her worries. Him being on her mind constantly was a much bigger cause for concern. She had trouble sleeping at night, tossing and turning and even having to wash her entire bedspread to get rid of his scent. It had been no use, however. It was like her body got a taste of something very potent and wanted it now more than ever before. 

And it didn’t take long for her to get back into her routine. To soil the pillowcases in her tears because the emptiness inside her chest had only grown tenfold after what had happened with Harry. Her muscles literally ached and her sobs almost sent her to the bathroom to hurl up an empty stomach full of knots.

Her brain had finally gotten a reprieve from its loneliness. She finally felt what it was like to have someone, even if it wasn’t real. Even if it was a mistake and even if it was fleeting. Harry had filled whatever missing parts were within her and it hurt like hell to go back to normal again.

But she wasn’t the only one. He couldn’t sleep anymore either. His house felt massive and the silence between all the walls seemed to ring just a little bit louder. He found himself buying an unnecessary amount of pillows and setting them all up on his bed just to surround himself with something. He’d been here before though. After a breakup, his least favorite part was going back to sleeping alone. He hated not having someone to hold onto. It took him weeks to get used to it last time, and to get used to the cold spots on the other side of the bed. It only took four and a half hours with Y/N to fuck him all up again.

And he really shouldn’t be doing this, but he was desperate.

“Hello?” Even her voice was a breath of fresh air for him.

“Hey, it’s uh… Harry.”

“Oh. I didn’t know you had my number.”

“Will gave it to me a while ago… for emergencies.”

Y/N took a long pause, unsure why Harry was calling her on a Thursday afternoon, completely at random. It had been almost an entire week since their… incident. Why was he calling her right now?

“So… is this an emergency?”

“Um… well, no. It isn’t.”

“So why are you calling then?”

“I was wondering um… you can say no but um… I was wondering if you wanted to… sleep with me again.” He cringed at his last few words and the way they felt like knives cutting his throat to get out. He had no better way to phrase what he wanted other than being blunt about it and admitting he wanted her up against him. He wanted more than just lifeless pillows to cuddle up to at night. 

And something about Y/N had him losing his fucking mind the past week so asking her to sleep with him seemed low on his list of crazy.

“Sorry?”

“I mean… like we did last week. I was wondering if you wanted to come over tonight, just to sleep?”

“Why?” She asked, unsure why Harry fucking Styles was asking her that. Sure, they were somewhat friendly and she had thoughts about asking him the same exact thing, but it was an odd request coming from him. She was sure if he needed a cuddle buddy that he could easily find anyone else. 

But even the thought of him being like that with someone else gave her a horribly sick feeling in her stomach that she recognized immediately but could not for the life of her explain. She didn’t get jealous, ever.

He cleared his throat, “Um well… I have had a pretty hard time sleeping and then last Friday it was like… like the best sleep of my life. And this past week has been awful again. So I was just… we don’t have to if you don’t want to though. It’s fine. I probably shouldn’t have even called…”

“No.” She cut his spiraling off abruptly. “I mean… yes. I… can do that.”

He immediately let out a huge breath of air in relief but also couldn’t believe she had, yet again, agreed to another one of his stupid ideas. “I just want to let you know I’m not trying to like… get in your pants or anything. I genuinely just…” He stopped then, knowing a more believable story would be him wanting to get into her pants than what was actually going on with him.

“Just what?”

“I just need someone.” He admitted with his eyes closed tight as he laid back onto his couch. “And it’s not very easy asking people to just sleep with you.”

She let another moment of silence go by that just about tore him up. And right when he was about to ask if she was still there, he heard her voice again, as softly as ever.

“What time should I come over then?”

Harry’s house wasn’t easy to access. First, there was the entrance gate to just get into the neighborhood, which had an intimidatingly large security guard posted out front like an oversized bridge troll. Then she had to hand over her driver’s license and try to convince him she was there to see Harry, and that her name was supposed to be on his list of accepted guests. The whole thing wouldn’t seem so unbelievable to her if she wasn’t already trapped in a pit of nerves from being there in the first place.

By some miracle, however, the guard returned her ID along with a visitor’s pass and opened the gates for her. 

Then, of course, there was finding his house, which turned out to be a whole other task and a half on its own. Every house was so far from the main road due to oversized front lawns that she couldn’t read anyone’s house number unless she practically trespassed. He’d given her very vague instructions so she mostly had to rely on Google Maps. Which somehow got her to the house at the end of Spruce Street with the enormous pine tall trees and rose bushes surrounding it just like Harry had described.

She pulled into the short gap of driveway just before the tall, wooden privacy gates that hid most of his house from view. After rolling down her driver’s side window, she inputted the four-digit code he’d given her onto the pinpad. Within a few seconds the gates opened, and after a moment to ogle at his insanely beautiful house, she swallowed the pit in her throat and carefully drove onto his property as if it was made out of glass. She really did not belong there, not in her beat up 2005 Toyota, and she couldn’t afford to break anything. 

The moon was already prominent in the middle of the sky by the time she got to his front door and rang the bell. His house wasn’t at all what she expected. It was old-looking. Almost cottage-like with stone bricks and vines trickling down the architecture. She expected the most modern amenities known to man from him, but it turned out to be the polar opposite.

She stopped staring at his garden fortress of a house, with her jaw hung wide, when his door swung open. Because finally he was there, right in front of her, giving her proof that she didn’t accidentally show up at the wrong address, even though the code had worked and the house was as he described. Her anxiety was just a little extra prominent than normal.

“This is where you live?” She asked, before he even got the chance to invite her in.

He laughed, holding the door in one hand and gripping the frame with the other to keep his balance as he stood in the middle.

“Um,” he sighed, glancing up at the house, “yeah, but I’m trying to sell it soon. I bought it when I was young and impulsive.”

“Oh.” Was all she said, and he worried for a moment that he had completely lost her. That she was going to go back to never speaking a single word to him ever again. That he wasn’t anything like what she expected and it was a little too much for her to take in. 

Just like most of his previous attempts at friendships, once they got even the tiniest glimpse into his life, they either bolted or stuck around long enough to get what they wanted from him.

Instead, she met his eyes again and smiled, “Can I come in or what?”

The inside of his house, however, had been recently modernized and she wondered if Harry had made all the design decisions himself. Like if he picked out the big geometric crystal chandelier in the foyer or the white marble countertops in the kitchen. She liked it, though, it was open with tall ceilings and unlike any home she’d ever stepped foot in. Even though it reminded her what vastly different worlds she and Harry came from, she knew his personality didn’t match up to his big fancy house. 

When they settled into the kitchen, and when Harry began pouring two glasses of water for them, she set her things down on his island counter to give her shoulders a break from her heavy backpack. She knew she’d packed too much stuff, but if she was spending the night at Harry’s place, she needed her own familiar things to keep her company. 

“I was thinking…” she started, watching as he kicked the refrigerator door shut once he’d put the filtered water pitcher back on the top shelf and handed her one of the glasses. “That maybe it’s a good idea to not tell Will… or... anyone about this.”

He thought it over for a moment and then nodded in agreement, “Yeah, okay.” Averting his eyes, his mind thought of a million different things at once while he sipped on his own glass of water until another tangible question popped into his head. “So if we’re not telling them, then where do they think you are right now?”

“At a coworker’s place.”

He nodded again and for the first time around Harry, she felt so incredibly nervous. He’d made her nervous before but not like this. She’d always just avoided him and it worked her anxieties out, but there was absolutely no chance of avoiding him now. Maybe she should have just said no, but that also seemed like an implausible choice. 

“Is it alright if I like… get ready for bed? I just got off work.” 

He let out a small giggle around the brim of his glass and nodded, “Yeah, I’ll show you my room.”

And his bedroom did not, by any means, disappoint. Just the square footage of it was impressive, but her eyes were particularly drawn to his bed, and not for any other reason than the way it faced massive ceiling-to-floor windows that overlooked, as it seemed, the entirety of Hollywood; and she fell in love instantly. It was mesmerizing, and she could not fathom why on earth he planned on selling. Hell if he didn’t want the house anymore, she’d take it.

“Bathroom’s over there. Make yourself at home. I’m gonna set the alarm and turn off the lights. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Nodding, she waited for him to leave before she fully lost her mind about everything. Not only was she in the nicest house she’d ever laid foot in, but she was also about to crawl back into bed with him. His king sized, fluffy-looking bed she could imagine herself getting lost in. 

She knew what they were doing was slightly out of the norm for people their own age. Most people didn’t sleep in the same bed as their friends unless they were doing something friends probably shouldn’t be doing. But the benefits of their budding friendship were a little more innocent than that to the point where even the thought of Will finding out where she was right now, while she slipped into her strawberry patterned pajama pants in Harry’s ensuite, made her lightheaded. She’d almost feel better if Will found out they were actually hooking up instead, because at least that wasn’t so… weird.

With the amount of time she spent getting herself ready, most of it being wasted on psyching herself up enough to go through with all of this, she’d become very familiar with his bathroom. He had two sinks along one wall, and massive mirrors that all faced a shower that could fit an entire army inside. The tiles were either black or white except for the blue pops of color here and there. The best part of it was the massive soaker tub in the back underneath a window that overlooked his garden. It was like he plucked a bathroom straight out of Good Housekeeping.

And of course she couldn’t let his things go unnoticed. She’d make herself a space at the empty sink nearest the door, the one that didn’t have his stuff neatly stacked around it. She eyed his small selection of colognes on a tray between the sinks while she washed her face, and couldn’t help her curiosity from checking out what brand of toothpaste he used when she started brushing her own teeth. 

Other than the little touches of Harry scattered sparingly about, however, it was almost as if no one lived there at all. And she became very familiar with how cold it all was.

It wasn’t until she turned the sink off after splashing her face, again, with ice cold water, that she heard the soft hum of a guitar from just outside the bathroom door. She wasn’t sure if he was playing, or if he had turned music on. She wasn’t even sure if Harry Styles knew how to play the guitar. She couldn’t ever remember him playing any instruments whenever he came over to work with Will, but maybe she was just tragically unobservant.

And that seemed to be the case once she finished up and went back out to find him perched on what appeared to be his side of the bed with his guitar on his lap and a leather bound notebook open in front of him.

Though before she could make out a single melody, he immediately stopped playing the second she re-entered the room.

“Sorry, you can keep… doing what you’re doing.”

He let out an exasperated laugh while she crept towards the bed on the opposite side and made note of the way he quickly hid his journal from her and stashed it into a drawer at his bedside table. Maybe she was overanalyzing things, but it seemed like whatever he was writing down was for his eyes only, and she respected that.

“I was trying to write a song… hasn’t really been working out for me recently.” He leaned away from her to put his guitar down on the floor, setting it upright against the table, and she hated the way her eyes went straight to the small sliver of skin under his shirt that was exposed when he did so. 

“Writer’s block?” She asked, slowly making her way up under the covers next to him, still feeling like she didn’t belong even though this had all been Harry’s idea to begin with. He needed someone and so did she, even if he didn’t fully know to what extent. But it felt like somehow she had tricked him into thinking the someone he needed was her.

“Sucks,” he mumbled to himself mostly, still very obviously in his own little work bubble.

“I usually just try to stop doing whatever I’m struggling with, and do something else, something I wouldn’t normally do.”

“You mean with your art stuff?” He asked and she wasn’t sure how he knew about her hobby, if Will had brought it up before, but it made her heart flutter nonetheless, that he remembered that small detail about her.

“Yeah.” She finally looked over at him, only to find him already staring at her and it weirdly made her less anxious about her current position. In his bed. In her roommate’s best friend’s bed. “If you’re stuck, you should leave it alone and write something completely out of your comfort zone. Then when you go back to where the problem was, you have a new set of eyes on it.”

He was quiet, first just listening to her speak, and then really letting her advice sink in because it wasn’t something he’d ever thought about doing, but he made mental plans to give it a try.

“I’m sorry if this is really weird, Y/N,” he began, getting her attention when he changed the subject. “I know it’s hard to believe but I’m actually horrendously alone and I guess when we slept together I didn’t feel so much that way anymore.”

“I get it, Harry.” She sighed, never wanting to fully open up to him, but feeling like it was now or never to get him to stop making it more weird by apologizing. “Makes you feel like… empty.”

“Exactly,” Harry sighed and she glanced at him when he agreed so enthusiastically. “I haven’t been that close to someone in… months,” he rolled his eyes down to meet hers again, “and I guess I just didn’t want it to be like that again.”

The look on her face alone made it easy to tell everything he said resonated with her, like he was saying exactly what she was thinking too. It broke his heart to know that she, in any way, felt like he did, but it also made him glad someone finally understood what he was going through, even if in just the slightest.

“I understand, Harry. I guess I just don’t understand why you’re alone. Can’t you have anyone you want?”

He scrunched up his face, “It’s not that easy.” He huffed, “People aren’t all that interested in me as they are getting loads of likes on Instagram and having lots of money. I mean… I haven’t had a single relationship that didn’t end the same.”

“Still,” she mumbled begrudgingly. He was still Harry Styles. People still wanted him and, even if it hadn’t turned out so well, he’d still been not alone at some point in his life, unlike her.

He raised his eyebrows, a little irritated at this point. “Okay then, why are you alone? Can’t imagine it’s that hard for you.”

She rolled her eyes away from him and hung her head  to disguise the embarrassment on her face. There were two big reasons why she was alone, and she was not about to admit them to Harry at eleven o’clock on a Thursday night.

“So what is it then?” He talked for her when he grew irritated with her silence and her inability to see his perspective on things, “Your lack of ability to talk to people? Because you have these massive walls to keep literally everyone out, including me, for the past however many months we’ve known each other?”

She shook her head and sunk deeper and deeper inside herself. This was all a mistake. It had all gone wrong because she opened her mouth and said something insensitive. 

“I don’t want to talk about it, Harry.” She looked at him again finally, holding back the stupid tears trying to well up just from the mere thought of being even moderately yelled at, and especially by Harry who she’d never imagined being angry a day in his life. “But if we’re just going to sit here judge each other, I think I should go.”

“No.” He immediately reached across the king-sized space between them to grab her arm before she even considered leaving his bed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell like that.” They stared at each other silently for a moment before he continued, “You don’t want to talk about it and that’s fine.”

She stared at him for a moment, and then at his hand around her arm and just how good it felt to be touched. Just to have human contact, even just something as simple as that. And then she felt just as desperate as she had when she agreed to all of this in the first place.

“Can we just go to sleep? I’m tired.”

It started out like it had before. A gap of space between them after Harry had turned out the lamp beside him. After he spent an ungodly amount of time staring out his window and listening to her breathing, and she spent the same amount of time overthinking, they both realized something wasn’t working.

“Harry?” She whispered like she was throwing out a line into a vast ocean.

“Hmm?”

“You were right… about why I’m alone. But… it’s also that no one’s ever really shown any interest in me because, um... ” she struggled, trying her damndest not to cry in front of Harry. “I’m... ugly, you know… so that’s, um...” Her voice was just a whisper she could barely even make out, but it was still the first time she’d said that to anyone before. Sure, she wasn’t facing Harry when she said it and they were in complete darkness, but it was still hard, hard enough to make her hands shake and the tears fall.

He knew it too, the way her voice wavered like he’d never heard before. He twisted his head over his shoulder to look at her, eyebrows furrowed even deeper when he saw the shadow of her hand move across her face to wipe the tears away.  

And here she was; in Harry’s bed where she thought her problems would be temporarily solved, and yet she was still crying. 

“So that’s why… I feel like I don’t let people in because I don’t want anyone to have to be stuck with me.” She finished and he flipped himself onto his back, still staring at her head like he couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth, that she even thought that way about herself. He was sitting there in shock because, well… he had been wrong. He didn’t understand her at all. 

Without a single clue how to respond without sounding like a disingenuous asshole, he went another route rather than opening his mouth to give her unsolicited advice.

“Come ’ere.” He whispered, helping her until she was in his arms again just like before. He cradled the back of her head with one hand as she hid her face on his chest and wrapped his free arm around her shoulders. Slowly, she warmed up to him and tucked her own arm around his side as they fit themselves together like puzzle pieces all over again. Except this time, they were both consciously aware of it. 

They stayed like that for a while until Harry listened to her breathing even out, and he could hardly keep his eyes open any longer. He still wanted to say a million different things, but knew it might only make it worse because his head wasn’t clear enough to say the right things. So, he just held on tight and waited for morning.

taglist: @afterstylesmadeit @cxnyon-moon @and-im-not-okay-with-it @chrryblsms @whydontharry @harryinsweatersandbandanas @idkthisisjustforfanfic @teddysoldbird @shawnsblue @thurhomish @theasstour @hufflepuff-always-and-forever @staceystoleyourheart @granolagrannie @defineharry @iambabyharry @1142590m @ashtondene @smokeinherperfume @cherryyharryy

[mimzy-writing-online]

Advice to Fanfiction Writers who Feel Guilty about Abandoning Stories

This is one of my greatest struggles in writing fanfiction and to date I have two stories that have been inactive for at least a year, and many that have never been published because I feared I would abandon them.

In this post: 

We debate the values of finishing a work before you share it online versus sharing it when you’re only a few chapters in and working from there.

What to do if you feel overwhelmed with the size of a project.

What to do it you’re losing traction and fear you’ll never finish your story.

We discuss ways to abandon stories with closure.

And some positive reminders, because

Before I start, let me say this: You are never required to finish a story. You have a right to publish as much or as little of the story as you like, and if you abandon the fic without another word, that is absolutely fine. That is your right. You never need a “real or valid reason” to abandon a story. 

Your worthiness as a writer is not determined by how many stories you write, publish and finish. You don’t need to prove anything to anyone.

Okay, onwards...

Should you finish your story before you begin sharing it online?

It sometimes seems ideal to finish the story before you publish. There are benefits to it:

The obvious benefit is that if you decide to abandon the story, then nobody knows it exists and nobody is waiting for a new chapter, so there’s no guilt or no random comments reminding you to finish that abandoned story.

Additional benefits come in being able to edit previous chapters before they were published when problems like the following appear:

-If you find you accidentally made a plot hole in previous chapters that you can’t solve in later chapters, you can go back and edit before you publish that chapter and have it become your story’s canon forever.

-If there’s something in the world building (like in an AU) that you wish you could change, that doesn’t fit the mechanics/physics of what you want to do. Example, in a soulmate, magic, or superpower AU, you might put limitations or a lack of limitations that you regret having and wish you could change because plot needs it to work differently.

-If you regret a character’s backstory for whatever reason (it’s too angsty, or too simplistic, or doesn’t account for how good they are at a certain skill such as fighting, or their character development in future chapters needs it to change) you can change the backstory before your readers get to know them.

-If you took character or plot development in one direction and decided as the story evolved to take it in a different direction, you have the option to rewrite a few chapters or to continue on and smooth it out in editing.

The benefit is that you can edit the problems out before readers ever see them.

The downside to waiting until completion to publish a story is that there’s a lack of feedback to remind you that you’re doing a good job, and therefore a lack of motivation to continue the story because you’re the only one who cares and you know in theory how it ends. You can just tell yourself the story in your head and let it go, but the downside is that it disappears when you no longer thinks of it. 

The thing is, writers need feedback. Even the most independent and confident writers need support from their readers.

You’re not a terrible person for wanting people to read your story and give you positive feedback before you actually finish the story.

You’re not a terrible person for wanting validation before the story is complete.

You are a human being who needs love and support from people who appreciate your work.

Don’t feel bad about that.

Should you publish a story before completion?

If you feel that’s best, then yes. If your story is relatively short but you don’t know where to take it, publishing it and having readers give you advice or ideas on where to take it might be the ideal. If you’re halfway there but you’re losing motivation, then publishing then might be a good idea, because the positive feedback and appreciation will keep you motivated to write.

A good way to get feedback and appreciation without publishing your work too soon is to find a beta reader or to have a friend read your story. If you want feedback on problems in your story to fix and edit, then you want a beta reader. They will tell you when your story is great and where they’re less interested in, which will give you a place to start improving. 

What to do if you feel overwhelmed by the size of your project:

I’ll break it down into a few steps:

Step One: Word Vomit. This is extremely helpful when beginning a new project, but it may also be useful if you’re stuck on one section of your story and need to reorganize. Open up a word document, open a notebook and put all your ideas onto a page. Scene ideas, bits of dialogue, world building concepts, backstories, anything you think you’d put into your story.

Even if you’re twelve chapters in, taking a moment to do this may help in creating a new idea.

Step Two: Organize your word vomit and outline the story

Step Three: Write

If you’re still overwhelmed with the size of the story but you have a decent amount of progress on it:

Step Four: take all your favorite parts about the story and examine them closely. Pick your favorite scenes and characters and try to rework what you’ve got into something smaller.

Step Five: Narrow down your story to something more concise. You can throw out extra sub plots that you’re not feeling strongly about. You can choose to do time skips during periods of time in the fic where not much interesting is happening and it can be summarized into a paragraph. 

Because this is fanfiction, there’s already a huge chunk of canon for you to fall back on that your readers will understand without you needing to explain too much. If the story you’re working on falls back on canon plot a lot, it’s possible to gloss over canon scenes or major canon events that weren’t heavily changed in your fic. This is especially true in universe alteration stories and fix it fics where the stories still follow most of the canon plotline but with a few details changed. 

Abandoning Stories with Closure

Quick reminder: You are not required to finish a story, nor give it a conclusion. Whatever your reason for not continuing the story, it is valid. You come before your story.

Onwards...

There’s the classic method, which is leaving a note to readers that this story is abandoned. 

Following that, you can choose to leave the fic as is, which is a perfectly good option. It allows you the chance to come back one day and finish it when your mental health is better, when your writing skills are stronger, when your life has more free time, when there’s new canon material to work with, when you have new inspiration.

I think the above option is best, but if it doesn’t sit right with you, the next options are possible.

You can choose to make one final chapter where you try to wrap up as many loose ties as reasonably possible. Realistically you can’t finish everything, but hopefully you and your reader will be able to leave your story with some emotional closure. If you can, end your last chapter on a higher note.

If writing that is not possible, you could leave an outline of what you think might have happened next. It will allow your readers to see what the end conclusion would have been and get closure.

You can allow someone to finish the fic on their own, give them the rights to be the new author. Some readers might even approach you to volunteer to continue the story.

I’m going to restate what I said before, because I think it’s something we all need to remember. Writers are plagued with self doubt, self criticism, and impostor syndrome (i.e. thinking you’re not a “real writer” because you’re not “good enough” which is B.S.) and I think we all need to remember that there’s nothing wrong with us.

We’re allowed to be imperfect, to make mistakes, and to leave projects abandoned. That doesn’t make us bad writers, it makes us real.

You are never required to finish a story. You have a right to publish as much or as little of the story as you like, and if you abandon the fic without another word, that is absolutely fine. That is your right. You never need a “real or valid reason” to abandon a story.

Your worthiness as a writer is not determined by how many stories you write, publish and finish. You don’t need to prove anything to anyone.

I, the author of this post, am proud of each and every one of you for just being here, just existing. You’re real writers whether you think so or not. Your writing is amazing and good and it will always be improving. I believe in you, as both a person and a writer. I know you can do it.

[Note: I began this guide in May of 2019, and now it’s February of 2020, so talk about abandoning a project and eventually coming back to it. I think this is the oldest post in my drafts folder of the blog. Jeez. But it’s done, finally written and edited and now I can publish it.]

[annikasafternoonread]

An Absolutely Remarkable Thing (by Hank Green) -- Part 2

Hello! Welcome to part 2 of the intro post for An Absolutely Remarkable Thing: Annika-has-feelings-about-Hank-Green-and-celebrity-culture edition. This post is less focused on the book itself and more just exploring general themes and ideas; you can find the post that looks more at the book specifically here. 

So. An Absolutely Remarkable Thing is one of the coolest and most detailed explorations of celebrity that I’ve ever had the pleasure to experience. And it really is a pleasure. Not always fun, but so so good. It makes sense that Hank Green would have insights into that sphere of things, as someone who, well, started out as a normal (if comfortably wealthy) guy and then suddenly found himself accidentally skyrocketed into fame from making some fun videos. He was lucky, in that he was able to harness that attention and power and become stable and successful in his newfound role as an internet creator. But he was also lucky in that he had the right mindset or support systems or such to realize what he had, and the possibilities and drawbacks and responsibilities it came with.

Hank very much has a unique view into this, for several reasons. First of all, he was quite early to online fame -- VlogBrothers was started in 2007, and took off later that same year. For reference, YouTube itself was only two years old at that point; it started in 2005. So in the almost 15 years since, Hank has had the opportunity to see a lot of different stories play out among creators -- to see them explode in popularity and then fuck up spectacularly, or see them grow steadily and then burn out painfully, or see them take their fans for granted or even take advantage of them. Occasionally everything goes right, but it’s hard, and honestly it’s kind of rare. It’s hard to handle that kind of attention and numbers and power, hard to remain kind and humble and open, hard to listen to criticism without letting it break you and to not step too far out of line before you know better.

But another advantage he had was -- he was old. Not old-old, of course, but he was 27 when VlogBrothers exploded. When so many celebrities popping up these days (especially through social media) are teenagers, or early twenties at the oldest, 27 feels ancient. It meant that he had already lived in the world, already knew who he was and who he wanted to be, already had a strong self-image and strong values. And he had a strong support system around him through his family and friends -- including, of course, his co-VlogBrother, John Green. Having the responsibility and power of their work shared between them likely made a huge difference, as everything they did wasn’t just about one of them but about their shared brand, and they realized that and respected it and each other.

They recognized the power they wielded. They knew how easy it could be to misuse. They were very conscious of their status as role models. They cared about their community and their relationship with it. And there have been times where things were messy, where they made mistakes or said things they shouldn’t have or were mixed up in someone else’s mess. But they’ve always listened and apologized and learned and changed when they needed to. They’ve always encouraged kindness and compassion and hope and education, trying to provide it and nurture it in others around them. Hank has also talked about how he often reaches out to creators who he has heard rumours about or has concerns that they may be on the edge of abusing their power, to try to explain to them what that could mean and who they could hurt -- and hopefully to make them aware and cautious of those potential harms before things go too far.

Fame can be dangerous. That might or might not seem profound, but it’s very true, and it’s not talked about a lot. When I see famous people -- especially young people -- acting selfish or foolish or hubristic or uncaringly, yeah it makes me angry sometimes, but it also makes me sad. Because, think about it -- if you were 13 years old, and suddenly the world was laid in front of you... if you had more money than you could ever imagine, access to anything or anyone you wanted, if no one ever told you no and you had no one to keep you grounded... you’d probably get lost too. Think of how many child stars have flamed out, have lost themselves in subtances or had mental health crises or turned cruel and uncaring to the people around them or even their fans. It’s still a problem, to be sure, but the path from point A to point B is pretty clear. And I feel bad for those kids, who lost their way, who weren’t protected.

Social media has also had a huge impact on this stuff, of course. It’s so much easier for things to happen so much faster -- someone is nobody one day, and then the next day the world knows their name. It also means celebrities feel more accessible to their fans, and we often know a lot more about their personal or day-to-day lives. But sometimes fans can feel entitled to this information, or to the attention of the people they follow. It’s also easier for someone to say something offhand, without really thinking about it, and for that error to spread around the world in seconds. And you know as well as I do that internet culture is Not Great at accepting apologies or giving second chances. This also comes into play with how social media is almost a repository for all the dumb shit we said before we knew any better, and the internet loves digging up five year old mistakes that don’t represent someone now. I’m not excusing saying those kinds of things, and I don’t really have the patience to tease out the nuance of how “cancel culture” as a concept has been corrupted and twisted and used for a wild variety of things, but suffice to say there’s a lot of range between concepts like “I’m no longer buying work from an author because they turned out to be a ranging transphobe” and “anyone who likes this person’s music is terrible because the artist used a word they shouldn’t have five years ago when they were fourteen” and “this person got fired for discriminating against queer people” and “I’m not going to family Thanksgiving because none of my relatives are vaccinated and I have a heart condition.” 

I’m starting to lose track of what I’m saying, so I’m going to wrap it up here. TL;DR is that Hank Green is super smart and has really unique insights into and experience with internet and celebrity culture, and I love seeing his takes on those concepts through this book. It’s a fantastic book, with complex and important ideas and themes but also a truly captivating story, and the story and the themes feed and nourish and grow each other so well. It’s just great. 

I can’t wait to get started... but probably on Monday. I hope. Maybe Tuesday. 

[zeppelin-and-unicorns]

Is writing hard for you as well. I mean it's so easy when i see you or anybody else write so great stories, the dialogues, the chapters, characters voices that's amazing how do you do it. I wish i was that good like you guys, i love hyde and jackie but capture their voices or the dialogue is just hard for me. By the way you are great writer, i love your stories, keep going, doing the great job.

Writing was pretty hard for me at first, I’m not going to lie. English is my second language and I never really wrote any big stories before (other than really bad Harry Potter fanfiction back in 2012), so I was really struggling back when I was writing the first few chapters of WTLB (my first published story).

Whenever I go back and read my first drafts I legit want to curl into a corner and cry because they were SO bad! I used to repeat a lot of words (I still do that sometimes), I used to make pretty bad grammar mistakes, I used to write huuuuge paragraphs, it was overall a nightmare.

Seriously, the first few chapters of WTLB were awful, I don’t know how people actually managed to read it when I first published it. A few months ago I took some time off and I edited the whole story, correcting a ton of mistakes and trying to make it an easier read. I think I did a pretty nice job with that, but there’s probably a few more things that need to be edited, like some mistakes I accidentally let it slip.

Capturing the character’s voices is not that hard for me, I’ve watched the show a bunch of times and I’ve read a lot of fanfiction as well, so I rarely have trouble in that area. But whenever I do, I rewatch the show and read a lot of good fanfiction, @thestupidhelmet ​ once wrote a wonderful Meta about the character’s body languages and how to properly write them, I literally read it all the time whenever I’m having trouble writing a specific character (normally Fez and Donna, I struggle a lot to write them sometimes), this meta helped me a lot, and I highly suggest you to read it!

I also don’t have trouble when it comes to the creativity part, I’m always coming up with new ideas that I want to explore, putting it into paper is a little more difficult, but not impossible!

The thing is... I got better with practice. My advice to you is: read a lot and write a lot. My writing improved so much in the last year, and that’s because I was practicing during a huge chunk of my day. I am not exaggerating when I say that practice makes a huge difference.

And thank you so much for the compliment!! It made my day, seriously! I hope that my answer was useful to you! 💕💕

[ri-translates]

Translation: Itaru Chigasaki [Schoolhouse at Dusk] - Heart-Throbbing! Kasugamine Academy Part 1

Izumi begins her first day at as a student teacher at Kasugamine Academy.

NOTE: This backstage story correlates to parts of the play in the event, “I Come With the Night.” Please be aware of potential spoilers aside from the fact that this backstage story itself is a spoiler to EN LOL

Part 2 || Part 3

“School. It’s not just a learning institution, but a place where youth awaits with many wonderful encounters. ….Today is the first major step to my teaching dreams! It's the start of my work as a student teacher at the private school Kasugamine Academyーー...!”

Izumi: But all of a sudden, I oversleptーーー! Being late to my first day of hands-on teaching would be a huge problem-! Ahh, I don’t even have time to make breakfast!

*she runs out*

Izumi: *munch munch* ….Of course, I gotta have curry bread for breakfast! If I make a dash for it while eating curry bread, I should be able to make it in timeーー!

???: Uwahh!!

Izumi: Kyaa!! Owww…

???: Ouch… Are you all right? I’m sorry. Because I was looking at my phone, I wasn’t looking ahead properly.

Izumi: It’s fine! I’m sorry as well.

???: Ah, you dropped your curry bread.

Izumi: I’m sorry, thank you very much! (Thank goodness! It didn’t touch the ground because it was inside the bag!)

???: Then, I’ll be off.

Izumi: Of course!

Teacher: We will now begin with the school-wide morning assembly.

Izumi: Haa...Haa… (I-I made it just in time, somehow… The line for teaching staff meets up over there right?)

From today onwards, I’ll be moving locations to work as one of Kasugamine Academy’s student teachers. 

It’s a very popular school in the area.

I think teaching will be difficult, but rather than that, when I think about getting one step closer to being the teacher I’ve dreamed of becoming, I get excited!

Shinbashi: Haha. Morning, Izumi-chan.

Izumi: Shinbashi-kun!

This is Shinbashi-kun, a guy who was in the same teaching major as me in university. He also happened to get a job here as a student teacher as well.

Shinbashi: Ah, your bangs are disheveled. This is our first impression on the students, so you have to take care of your appearance. Did you also come eating curry bread today?

Izumi: How did you know I had curry breadーー

Shinbashi: That’s cuz you’re always eating it… Ah, hold on a second.

Izumi: ーー!! (H-His face is close…! ...Shinbashi-kun’s fingers are long and beautiful, but they also have a manly feeling…)

Shinbashi: ….There you go. You had something stuck in your hair? Probably bread crumbs from the curry bread.

Izumi: Eh, wait….where’s my mirror!

Shinbashi: Don’t worry. I took it off so it’s fine. ...Yep, you look pretty today too.

Izumi: !! (Shinbashi-kun’s smile from point-blank range…! M-My face is turning red.) Th...Thanks….

Shinbashi: ーー! S-Sorry. I just thought your bangs looked even and pretty….is all.

Izumi: Ah, yeah… I just got them cut yesterday…

Shinbashi: ….So that’s why you’re even prettier today.

Izumi: ….Huh?

Principal: ーーAnd that’s all I have to say.

Teacher: Next, we will introduce the student teachers who will be working here from now on.

Kondo: Shinbashi-sensei, Tachibana-sensei, please get up on stage.

The one who just spoke up is Kondo-sensei, the P.E. teacher. Because of his refreshing appearance, I thought he was the social studies teacher, but he’s actually the physical education teacher.

Izumi: Ah, yes! Understood! (It’s time for the greeting, huh. I’m getting nervous…)

Teacher: Please start us off, Shinbashi-sensei.

Shinbashi: Nice to meet you, everyone! My name is Shinbashi Shin. I believe that coming to this school and meeting everyone will surely beーー

Izumi: (Shinbashi-kun’s greeting really carries his passionate feelings across. I can’t lose, I have to do my best!)

Teacher: Thank you very much, Shinbashi-sensei. Next up, Tachibana-sensei, please.

Izumi: Y-Yes!

Shinbashi: Do your best!

Izumi: Yeah, thanks! I’m Tachibana Izumi, a-and from today onwards, I’ll be working here as a student teacher! At this school, there’ll be various things to learnーー (My voice is shaking due to nervousness. But yesterday, I thought I’d give it my all so I have to do my best until the very end…..!) ーーSo I want to become a theather everyone can count on! …! A-A teacher everyone can count on… [1]

Student A: Ahaha!

Student B: Hehe. Sensei fumbled her words, how cute~!

Student C: Haha! You can do it~ Tachibana-sensei~!

Teacher: Shinbashi-sensei, Tachibana-sensei, thank you very much. Everyone, please give these two a big round of applause.

Izumi: (I’m so embarrassed I messed up at that part, my face is flushing. Rather, it’s on fire. I want to crawl into a deep hole…)

Futami: Haha.

Izumi: (Eh? No way...H-He’s laughing at me….!?)

The person laughing at me right in front of me is Futami-sensei, the modern Japanese studies teacher. His bangs are so long, I can’t read his expression at all. He’s an enigmatic person.

Futami: Whew…. There’s still some bread crumbs stuck on you.

Izumi: !!

Futami: I’m kidding. ….Shouldn’t you quickly get back in line?

Izumi: Eh….Ah, my apologies! (Messing up my words is my fault, but why is he treating me with that kind of attitude? It feels a little creepy….)

TL notes and comments

[1] Izumi says “...先生になりたいでしゅっ！……！な、なりたいです……” where she basically bites her tongue and mispronounces it at the end. I translated it this way because I felt like it sounded more natural this way in English.

I ACCIDENTALLY OVERWROTE THE POST WHEN I WENT TO EDIT ON MOBILE IM SORRY

It’s the 24th of April here in Japan so HAPPY BIRTHDAY ITARU!! I don’t have his other birthday story (and I believe his Playback story has already been translated) so here’s his Mixed Troupe Event Card story! A big shout out to my friend @hanevma​ for sharing the story with me and letting me translate it! CHUCHUS U LOVE U MEDU!!

As always, if you spot any mistakes or errors in the translation, please don’t hesitate to let me know! Keep in mind that I’m not a professional translator/localization pro by any means, so take this translation with a grain of salt. Thanks for reading! Parts 2 and 3 will be up soon!

Part 2 || Part 3

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

Dating Beverly Marsh Would Include...

Requested: [I'm sorry I can't remember who requested this or if this was an anon, I'm sorry!] Hey, could I request some headcanons about dating Beverly? (Also if you could add in the reader having homophobic parents 💕)

Warnings: obviously there will be homophobia, [at the end so people can skip if they need to read safely 😊] specifically from the readers parents so please feel free to skip if need be. And remember my blog is a safe space 💕 oh yeah theres also plenty of grammar/spelling errors i'm sure

A//n: This was WAY longer than I anticipated. I just kept coming up with more stuff and holy crap I love writing Bev x readers???? Please request more Bev Edit: this was in my drafts forever and again as much as i have been trying to get requests out in order, it's been pretty tough but at least this way stuff gets out sooner so here ya go.

Okay

First of all..

Y'all make the CUTEST COUPLE, OKAY?!

Like no joke

You know that cliche about girls stealing their boyfriends hoodies/clothes??

Well that goes for both of you and you both are always swapping clothes cause you both love each other's sense of style

Plus, ya know, it's got that great boyfriend girlfriend smell

It's cheesy and played out, but it's honestly so wholesome, and again, you guys each have an interest in each others senses of styles

If you're bigger than her, and her clothes don't necessarily fit you, pfffttt no big deal, she had a million blankets that smelled like her and then you two got together and now she can only find like,, two. But that doesn't mean she doesn't love stealing your clothes!! They're baggier on her but oH MY GOODNESS DOES SHE LOVE THAT. She just loves being able to completely immerse herself in your stuff. Especially when she isn't feeling safe in her own home and you aren't around, the best thing for her is to wrap herself in her your stuff and be comforted by you. Uggh, its hella sweet

But let's start from the beginning...

Both of you knew about each other from school

You definitely heard the many rumors about "Beaver-ly Marsh"

Not that you participated, but you were always overhearing rumors from gossiping girls and bragging boys in your class

Your school wasn't huge but it wasn't small either

But it was kill or be be killed, and rumors spread like the damn plague

It was inevitable

And it was just a matter of time before you overheard the several rumors of the "slut" who did it with every guy in school.

You'd roll you're eyes at the word and the ridiculous insinuations, knowing the massively overplayed game of telephone that ruled your school was not necessary the most credible source of information

And you were positive there were rumors about you, I mean, it really wasn't possible to go to that school without a rumor going around

Everyone had one

Anyways, you never paid much attention to them, but then you met her...

And oh no.

Immediately, it was:

You already never paid much mind to the rumors, but when you got to know each other??

Nuh uh.

No way

Not Beverly

No no no no, no

She was way too sweet, and shy, and beautiful, and awesome, and funny, annnd oh no the damn butterflies were back and shit she made you feel things

And you??

Bevery had no clue she was into girls until you came along...

You were her gay awakening and her being so used to all those nasty things people said about her and all those boys??

Even though it wasn't true, any of it, she still always expected that eventually one day she'd get her first boyfriend, to love and cuddle with and everything normal

Again, then you came along and her heart was all like

BOOM BOOM BEECH

You both danced around each other a lot. Seeing as you were two precious little gay beans that lived in a conservative town in the 80s, it wasn't exactly the most accepting environment and you guys didn't know if the other was into girls at all

On both sides it was "does she like me or is she just really laid back and friendly???"

It took way too long to figure out you were both into each other

If I'm being completely honest here, y'all were like the female reddie

Two girls who became best friends and always bickered like crazy to hide your feelings

The way you two found out you had feelings for one another was bumpy and awkward but silly and cute nonetheless

It came off in a passing comment that just slipped out

The two of you were having a sleepover like you did every Friday night you were available

and you two were laying on her bedroom floor talking about anything and everything staring at the ceiling

Her radio was playing in the background and the two of you were surrounded by various snacks you had been munching on all throughout the night and the conversation drifted to gossip about your peers at school

It went a little something like this:

Y: "Did you see so and so today??"

B: "Yes!!"

Y: *laughing* "Yeah, what the hell was that?"

B: I have no idea what goes on in her head...

B: but I guess I gotta give her some credit, she's always super confident and I'm like, 90% sure that's what makes her the most desirable girl in the 8th grade"

Y: "I guess that makes sense"

B: "I do wish I had her confidence. Maybe I'd have better luck romantically"

Y: "Oh please, like you need that. You're infinitely more attractive than her"

B: "What?"

Y: *panicked* "What?"

B: *slowly sits up with smug ass smirk on her lips* are you saying you find me... attractive?"

Y: ..."what?" *sweating*

B: *still smirking* "Wait,"

Y: "WhAT?"

B: *stILL smirking* "do you-?"

Y: *full on gay panic* "No!"

B: *smirking and blushing*

B: *lays back down* "well, I think you're pretty attractive yourself, if it's any consolation"

She's still so nervous though so it comes out in a whisper

She's 99 percent certain you just accidentally revealed your crush to her but her heart was p o u n d i n g anyway

What if it just came out wrong and that's why you panicked???

Had she just revealed her crush to you by mistake???

But no

You both were a blushing mess and it did not go unnoticed by either one of you

You're hands kinda accidently brushed and you both just had a heart attack on the spot

But the connection you two had that night

You both just... knew

You guys kinda just... happened

After that you both were aware you liked each other

But it was kind of unspoken

At first

It's not like you guys never talked about it, but you two definitely became more touchy and flirty

Holding hands when no one was looking

Shortly before you guys happened and before that night, she had introduced you to losers and they just totally accepted you as one of their own

You got along especially well with Richie (wonder why)

But Bev wasn't too happy about this particular fact...

Especially after you two got together

She wasn't necessarily jealous, especially cause she already had a sneaking suspicion about his feelings for another loser, but because he took up a lot of her time with you

But then, to her chagrin, Richie found out about you two

the eight of you were hanging out in the clubhouse, and Ben had to make some adjustments so him and the others left momentarily to help him get the resources

Except you, and Bev

You two volunteered to hold down the fort [literally]

aaaaaaand you two wanted to have a few minutes alone together too,

Nothing scandalous or anything like that, but you two didn't get be close around the losers

Then Richie returned way earlier than expected [turns out he was doing more harm than good and they sent him back]

He was just outside the entrance and he overheard you two

"I wish we could tell them,"

"I know. And it's not that I don't think they'll accept us, it's-" *sigh* "I'm just not ready... I'm sorry"

"Don't be. It's okay, we can tell them when we're both good and ready."

"Thank you, Y/n."

Richie just kinda stood there thinking about what he just heard

I mean, it made sense, you guys were really close, but then again, that's just how he thought all girls were

But everything else kinda made more sense the more he thought about it

And, it honestly reminded him of him and Eddie

More specifically, how he felt about his best friend

Now naturally this was a very emotional moment, but Richie Tozier being Richie Tozier wasn't about to waltz in there and give some sappy speech about he accepts you guys and he's here for you no matter what

No, no, no

He laid down on the forest floor, sticking his head in the clubhouse scaring the shit out of you two and said

"You guys should really be more quiet, Ben may be a suspiciously good overnight kid architect sensation but he has yet to soundproof this baby"

He then stuck his arm inside the clubhouse, patting the ceiling, shaking a couple spiders loose from his his hand in disgust

"Richie...!"

You two jumped apart and you about nearly shit your pants

"Relax, I'm not gonna tell anyone,"

You both were startled as hell and absolutely disgruntled but the two of you looked at each other, simultaneously breathing a sigh of relief

He got up and joined you two in the clubhouse, and began lounging in his usual spot in the hammock, arms behind his head

"So, this means you two are both into girls, huh?"

Once again, you looked at one another and back at him, nodding shyly

He plastered on the most mischievous smirk you had ever seen and nodded his head, his huge eyes squinting slightly from behind his glasses

"niceee"

This of course was followed by simultaneous eye rolls, Bev even threw her gum wrapper at him but you laughed

It was a relieved laugh

Here you were, exposed and unintentionally outed to Richie "Trashmouth" Tozier and sure enough his reaction was "nICE"

It was honestly a relief and kinda hilarious

You guys just kinda broke out into laughter

It was nice moment

***TRIGGER WARNING FOR [PARENTAL] HOMOPHOBIA BELOW***

And for a while, everything was great. That was, until your parents began to take note just how much time you were spending with Bev

They kept an eye on it at first

Then they started asking questions

You knew this day would come one way or another

Hell, you grew up with them after all, you knew what they thought about people like you and it broke your heart

It terrified you

And it's exactly what you heard every night when you tried to fall asleep, their voices speaking to you clear as day; how disgusted they were. They weren't really there of course and it wasn't until you became a loser that you found out what that voice was...

The point is, your deepest fear was being realized so you did what you could do

Lie

And it seemed to work. Briefly

Your mother had come in to check on you two for the fifth time - usually she checked on you two four times since their suspicions - and found you two snuggled up on top of your sleeping bags

Your mother screamed, scaring the crap out of you guys and you jumped apart

Your mother was thrown into hysterics and went to fetch your father, wailing like a damn baby

Needless to say that night was a long one for everyone

And as if things couldn't get any worse, just days later you found out that Beverly had been taken by It

Immediately, every doubt, every fear, every inkling of shame your parents and your community had drilled into you was forgotten and all that mattered was getting her back

You and your friends literally went through hell to get her back

Needless to say it was a terrifying ordeal but you all had each other's backs and everyone came out okay

When you left Neibolt, you and Beverly were hand in hand

You couldn't give a flying fck about it, you just fought a shape-shifting demon clown you could face your small minded parents

And more importantly you knew even if your parents didn't support you, you had other people who did that and that was enough

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Hope you enjoyed, sorry it's so long and again this is out of order of who requested it so I'm sorry to those of you who had stuff in before this, but I've just been stuck for too long and I needed to get things moving again. Anyways, I hoped you guys like this and again, omg I love writing Beverly!!! I would not be offended if you guys asked for more Bev fics/hc when I open up requests again

[ninaahelvar]

Chivalry Fell On Its Sword (13/23)

Summary: All Arya wanted so to feel normal and go outside of the damn castle. Now, through a series of unfortunate, she’s stuck with a bodyguard that she accidentally flirted with: Gendry Waters.

AO3

A/N: 10 motherfucking chapters to go! this will probably be my last update for the year, so i thank everyone who read in 2019, and I can't wait for 2020. I'm also incredibly close to get 1000 kudos and i cannot thank everyone enough for the love and support for this fic. it's been such a journey and it's insane that it's gotten so many people that like it. thank you for continuing to read it, and coming back with each update. (this chapter has only had minor edits made, so if there are mistakes....my bad) 

The hospital cleared him, and he was sent home with little more than a nod from Brienne. The entire team was pissed at him - it was the first rule they had; you could be friends with the royals, but nothing more could come of it. Gendry loved his job at the palace, he loved his work with the Starks, and defending them was a drive he never knew he had outside of the army. The risk he took with Arya was careless, but when it was happening, he couldn’t help himself. He was in love. 

He still was. 

But when his mum called him, crying and yelling at him about this and that, he felt a part of him break. Of all people, his mother didn’t deserve to be like that. Gendry had heard Tailya crying too often when he was a child - it was torture to know that this time, he was the cause of it all. So he broke his own heart to save his mother the pain of further embarrassment. It wasn’t right, and he should have thought of something else, but he could only save one woman in his life the pain of his love. 

At home, he sat awake, his orders from the doctor, watching endless, mind numbing television that did him nothing but want to fall asleep. Arya always made this trash seem interesting, her own personal take on the inside lives of the characters on screen. He fell in love with that. And he threw it away for nothing. 

Getting home the night he ended things, he got drunk. Like way too drunk to stand the next morning. Waking the next morning was definitely an eye opener on how he felt the night before. He had to pick up the mess he created. Then, a few days later, Arya created her first mess.  

Discharged, he sat at home, wondering what the hell was going to happen. It’d be a miracle if the palace kept him on. They probably thought he’d fuck up his work...again. They would never trust him in Arya’s proximity again, and never Sansa’s - though he knew what was going on with her. There were the boys, but Robb needed men that wouldn’t get distracted, and as for Bran and Rickon...well...they were odd ones to get along with. They were reckless on a level that was stupid rather than Arya’s rebellious. Stupid was hard to contain.

A knock came to his door after a few hours on his own, and he stumbled to the door. He wanted to grumble about he wanted to be left alone, but when the door swung open and guards he knew swarmed his apartment only to leave a few seconds later, he was left stunned. Especially when the King came rounding the corner and thanking the men that left. 

Gendry’s mouth hung open for a solid few seconds before the words formed. It was the largest lump he ever had at the back of his throat. “Your majesty! What are you doing here?” He exclaimed, swallowing back the panic that was building within his body. 

“Son, we need to talk,” The king said, clapping Gendry on the shoulder and walking past him. Ned walked like a man that was built ten times larger than most, a control over every room. He was certainly controlling the one Gendry was in. 

“Would you like a coffee?” Gendry asked, patting down his pockets as though he had something to offer. He felt like an idiot when the King turned around, a small smirk on his lips.

“A beer, if you have one.” To that, Gendry blinked, nodded and went to his fridge. He got one out of Ned, but when he looked back with a stern brow, Gendry got himself one too, joining Ned on the couch. “The queen is trying to keep me from alcohol since the wedding, said I was too reckless, but I think she’s keeping me away from liquor after the accident.” 

“Here you go, sir,” Gendry said, handing off the beer. Cracking the top off the bottle, Ned took a sip and smiled to it.

“So,” he sighed, looking over to Gendry, “tell me what happened.” 

Gendry choked. “Excuse me?” 

“With Arya? Why did it end?” 

“I don’t think we should be talking about this behind her back.” He laughed it off, but the King scowled at that answer. Gendry swallowed back the lump in his throat. He may be a kind man, but that look he gave Gendry made him feel small, like the man in front of him was his father, asking him to be honest. 

“That’s for me to deal with,” Ned grumbled, keeping his eyes locked with Gendry’s, making damn well sure that Gendry knew that he wanted an answer that night. 

Gendry sighed, fingers combing through his hair before he rested his elbows on his knees. “I got a call from my mum that morning. She had to close the shop, because people were harassing her about me. I didn’t know what she meant and I got the article sent to me. I knew what the public was doing. They would have dug through my family, through what my mum went through with the prick that left her when he found out she was pregnant. I didn’t want her going through that. My only answer at the time was to leave Arya. I didn’t want to. I was a fucking idiot to do it, but...my mum is everything to me. I couldn’t do that to her.”

The truth spilled out, like it had been waiting all his life for a chance to explain himself, to tell someone what his truest fears were. That the man that fathered him was to blame for most of the hardship in the Waters’ family line. 

The look that washed over Ned’s face made Gendry’s stomach twist, like he knew something he shouldn’t. “Do you know who your father is? Or is it -” 

“I know who he is. So do you,” Gendry said, and the King confirmed with a nod, “but I don’t need that for my mum. When he left her, she was so hurt, and whenever news comes out, we shut it off. Ever wonder why it’s a stag’s head and not just a stag?” he scoffed. 

“Kill the bastard that hurt her.” Ned smirked, taking a sip of his beer before he sighed, looking back at Gendry. He wondered if when the King looked at him, he saw the man he knew. “He may be my oldest friend, but it doesn’t mean it justifies the things he’s done in his past,” he confirmed. 

“Will you -” 

“I’ll make sure it stays out of the papers, don’t worry,” he said, and Gendry let out a sigh of relief, leaning back into his chair, a weight off his shoulders. Then, Ned continued, a strong change in his voice, deep and threatening, “but son, you’re an idiot. Get back together with my daughter. You’ve proven to me what true happiness is in that girl, and you broke her. Fix it, or I’ll make your life a living nightmare, regardless of Robert’s family name getting dragged into this,” he said, standing and making Gendry get up too. Out of respect, perhaps? But he followed whatever Ned asked him to. 

“Yes sir,” he said, almost wanting to salute, but thought he’d be mocked for it. “Are you sure you want me to get -” 

“You’re in love with her, you prick! Will you always be in love with her?” he snapped, and Gendry gave a knowing nod. 

“Yes.” 

“Then fucking tell her that,” he said, throwing his hands to the sky. “Gods, you kids are the worst, most infuriating morons I’ve ever had to be around. Making a drama out of nothing. If this happens again, you come to me first and I’ll put a stop to whatever mess is happening. That’s all you had to do, not break the love of your life’s heart,” he said, drinking the remains of his beer in one huge tilt of his neck. Gendry watched the bottle drain in a few seconds, and the King burped briefly afterwards, not even excusing himself. He almost seemed proud, probably because it meant he was on his way back to normalcy. 

“Thank you for being so frank,” Gendry smiled, to which, Ned put his hand on Gendry’s shoulder, giving a smile back. 

“If you were my boy, I’d bloody well hit you, but as King, I’ve been told I have to stop doing that to people that aren’t my family,” he chuckled, and part of him wanted to be the son of the man in front of him. He wanted to mean something to the man, to make him proud and be everything he ever wanted from Gendry. He wanted to be the best he could. 

“I’ll try to get her back, sir,” he said, chewing on his lip before he added, “or at least make it better.” 

As the King sighed, he seemed to know the challenge that lay ahead of Gendry. Better was going to be the least he could achieve. “That’s all I want,” he said, and finally, left Gendry’s home. The door was closed and Ned left without even the smallest commotion from anyone nearby. Either the streets were cleared before he got there, or his secret service team was just that good that no one could even tell he was around. 

He watched the car roll away, and for the rest of the night, he knew what he needed to do; Gendry had to plan on how he needed to act, to be better. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy, and he had to think carefully on what to do, because it was Arya after all. Nothing came easy with her. It wasn’t like Gendry wasn’t up for the challenge, he just knew he couldn’t treat it like that. 

The next day, when Arya came to his door, he wasn’t sure what she’d say. He kind of expected her to get angry, start to yell and fume like she did the day before and sent him to the hospital. Instead, she was an Arya that had never truly stepped foot in front of him. He wanted to comfort her, tell her that everything she said and did wasn’t necessary, anything to put her at ease and not have her acting like she were to blame.

“I know this hasn’t been easy. For either of us, but I shouldn’t have acted like a spoiled child about it. It wasn’t right of me,” she said, ducking her head down, Gendry felt his hands tighten at his sides. Why did she have to look so small? Why was he the cause of it all? He hated that Arya wasn’t herself in that moment, that she looked like someone so insignificant compared to who she actually was. “But you have to know…” she paused, and Gendry swallowed, wishing that the words that came out would help the situation. “You were the only person I’ve ever loved, and the first person to break my heart too.” 

Gendry wanted to throw up. He wanted to collapse to his knees and beg for her to take it back, to not let herself have a broken heart because of him. “Your Hi -” 

“It was always going to hurt more with this. With you. I saw myself spending the rest of my life with you. But that isn’t going to happen. It’ll be okay, but I’ll just be a little broken until it is -” 

“Arya, please, just let me -” 

“I hope to see you back at work soon. The palace isn’t the same without you.” She said. And still the words beckoned at the back of his throat. 

Arya, please, just let me explain this, let me tell you what happened, and we can do what you wanted - we’ll work it out. We’ll figure it out together, and I won’t be the asshole that broke your heart. I’ll make everything better, just let me explain.

But he couldn’t get it out. 

The princess that could have armies at her feet was a broken shell of who she once was, and he did it all to her. He broke the unbreakable, and even when men had wished to do the same thing, it meant the worst pain imaginable for him. Gendry was the only man that deserved to die, and when she spoke, her breath hiccuping at the back of her throat, he wished she had throttled him until he was in just as much pain as she was. To be broken down to the bare essentials of who he was, just like Arya. He deserved all the pain that she dished out. 

Instead, he got her apologising, wanting him back at the place where she lived, she wanted him around. 

It wasn’t right, he felt like this was a punishment for her, not him. He was the one at fault for everything wrong in her life, and yet she wanted to keep him around. Watching as she left, much like her father the night before, instead she looked up to him, smiling before she got in the car and drove away. He wondered if watching him leave that day felt the same as watching her go. That there would always be a dull ache that remained as they parted from one another. If they both felt hollow without the other. 

But it was wrong to think like that. To hope. To wish. To pray for it. That she would feel the need to want him in return. He wanted it, more than air, he wanted for her to love him again, to continue to love him in spite of everything he had done to her. All Gendry wanted was to love her, and be loved just as much in return. 

Yet, he had to ask himself, how much did he love her in the first place? If he were so willing to desert her at the drop of a hat? Could she ever see that as anything other than a betrayal? How could she ever think he loved her to begin with? She made it clear the day he saw her that she thought he was just using her for sex. Which was the furthest thing from his mind when he started his relationship with her. 

In the end, Gendry knew that he never meant to fall in love with Arya. It happened in the blink of an eye, without warning or even the slightest inkling that it could come about. Love, like most things, came to him in a crashing moment of realisation, one in which he had no chance in stopping. Either the universe was playing a cruel game on him, or it had all been fated to go this way. He hoped there was a brighter future for them both. 

It took him a few more days at home, another check up with the doctor to see how he was doing, and he was cleared for work. Dressing in his suit, he went to the palace and walked through halls that were all too familiar, yet the stares were new. They were filled with judgment and scorn. He met with Brienne, who gave him the simplest orders: don’t interact with Arya for more than needed. One sentence was enough. That’s what he was told. But he knew them, he knew that, even though conversations somewhat became hard to maintain for both of them, it would flood into arguments and snide comments that would stew in their bellies for hours. They were lit fuses, ready to ignite whatever anger had been stored in them all this time. 

Walking back out, heading towards the stairs, he saw Sansa descending with Sandor behind her. Sansa stopped in front of him, Sandor on the other hand, barged past him. “Prick.” His voice was rough and mean, and Gendry knew it was also a comment that Sansa enjoyed from her slight chuckle at it. 

Gendry was left with the princess, and he gave her a bow, as he was meant to do when first greeting royalty. He was sure Sansa thought he was being an idiot, but it didn’t matter. He already won that prize a long time ago. “You’re going to have a shit night,” Sansa scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, and Sansa stepped in closer to him.

“Sorry. We can chat later, but we can’t tell Arya,” she said, and Gendry nodded back in response. “Also, just cause I haven’t said it yet,” Sansa said, her hands sliding onto his shoulders, then in an instant, his mind went blank with pain, as Sansa’s knee had collided with his groin, stunning him, knees hitting the floor. “Fuck you for hurting my sister,” she said, and he choked, nodding to her aggressive action.

“I deserved that,” he wheezed, trying to get his breath back, holding his crotch to ease the pain. Sansa moved down the stairs and went to Sandor’s side, walking to the kitchens with him. 

“Great shot, little bird. Just like I taught ya,” Sandor praised and Sansa beamed a smile back at him. Gendry coughed, getting back his barrings and moving up the palace steps.

It took him a few breaths and the slowest walk up the palace steps to get himself to a presentable state before he walked into Arya’s room. He gave a knock, but Arya rarely replied, so he went inside. 

Upon stepping foot inside, Gendry’s throat went dry. He’d seen Arya look elegant, he’d seen her look disheveled but still beautiful, he’d seen her naked and bare in front of him, but fuck, he’d never seen her look so sexy in his life. With a leather skirt that hugged at every curve of her hip, tracing lines that only his hands had touched in the past, accompanied by a black lace bralette, revealing just enough to remember where his teeth had pressed in. With thin stockings and a jacket to match her skirt, Gendry was rendered incompetant to do even the most basic of tasks to breathe. 

“Where are we going?” he said, voice cracking like a teenage boy. He cleared his throat as he tried to remember what he was doing. 

Arya bent, her ass on display like she were teasing at something. Well, she was teasing him. Look at what you can no longer have. It’s free and ready to use, and you lost your chance. “Out,” she said, getting her boots and sitting on the edge of her bed as she put them on, “can’t you tell?” she questioned playfully. It made his shoulders ache, the need to readjust himself in every way possible was becoming the most agonising task. 

Sansa was right. He was going to have a shit night.

“I don’t think you going out will give off the best impression, princess.” 

“You don’t get a say in that, do you?” she remarked, going into her bathroom. He could only assume she was fixing up the make up that looked way too out of character for her. But that was possibly the point of it. 

“As your bodyguard, I do,” he reminded. Then, Arya poked her head out, puckering her lips as she reapplied the lipstick that stained her lips. 

“As my boyfriend, you don’t.” She sarcastically smiled, and Gendry felt his chest tighten.

“Arya, I’m not trying to be difficult but -” 

“Then don’t be difficult,” she gave a dry suggestion, then stopped in front of him, a scowl replacing her very smug grin, “and don’t call me my name,” she demanded. Gendry shut his mouth. The detail he had missed, one that he knowingly tried to remedy when he went in that day. It slipped. It shouldn’t have.

Arya moved out of the room quickly, skipping her way out of her room and cheerily behaving exactly as she had done when he first started. 

“Your highness! Wait!” he shouted, following after her. It felt like the beginning, when he lost sight of her and panic set in, “shit, this is going to be a long night,” he swore, racing down the stairs and seeing her get into a car. He flagged it down before it was completely able to leave. Arya scowled at him in the rear view mirror. He now felt dread take him. 

This would be his life, a job where he was condemned every day, sneered at for acting on an impulse he should have pushed aside. This was his ultimate punishment, welcomed back with open arms, and once in the hold, knives shoved in his back and he would never be able to complain - why should he? He was taken back after all the wrong he had caused. 

When they arrived, Gendry felt his shoulders sink as he looked at the building. The fucking Forge. Of course it was The Forge. Gendry wanted to put his head through the windscreen, because from his past experience in that club, it meant a great deal of foreplay that would end up going further in a bathroom stall. Arya was bolting out of the car, stripping out of her jacket and tossing it back in the car. Beric moved to the door outside, keeping watch. Gendry moved to his side when he jabbed Gendry right in the stomach. 

“What are you doing standing around out here? Gotta go in and protect the small pup,” he accosted, and Gendry groaned.

“I fucking hate this day,” he swore to himself. Moving inside, it was bodies pressing together, hands roaming to places they wouldn’t be in any normal situation - but it was hot, and people breathing down one’s neck was exactly what a person there wanted. Gendry waded through the swarms of people, being groped along the way, trying to find a wall where he could easily spy on Arya and keep her from harm. When he got there, he should have known the cruelty that he would be subjected to. 

As hands roamed, Arya smiled eagerly, hands gracing over her form and her own slipping beneath shirt collars, touching at skin that tempted at the edge of clothes. All the while, Gendry had to watch her, watch as her hips swayed, finding friction amongst the crowd, smiling that grew when people ducked their heads to her neck, lingering their mouths on her where once he was the only one to touch.

One guy came up to her, hands on her bare skin, just above her skirt and beneath the bralette that she very well could have slipped out of with how tightly the room was packed. Gendry was on edge, hid fight response was fuelling him in that moment, because all he wanted to do was shoot out across the room and punch the guy in the face - his hands on the princess when they shouldn’t have been. He couldn’t exactly judge anyone, he reminded himself, he’d done the exact same. 

Then, his hands went down, mouth directly next to her ear, whispering to her words that went deaf to the music around them. Whatever it was, it made Arya bite her lip, and the guy got eager, fingers inching down until they were trying to slip past the waistline of her skirt. Arya’s eyes sprung open, hands going to his to stop him. 

Lucky for her, jealousy had overtaken Gendry and he was already through the crowd and pulling the man from her. Taking hold of Arya’s bicep, he tugged her along. 

“Your Highness,” he said, dragging her out. Her hands tried to ungrip his hold on her, but he could do it - he had to get her out of there. He held her out the back door, pushing her out the back entrance and into the cold. 

“Get off me, Gendry!” she snarled and he finally released her. 

“You can’t do this out of spite,” he snapped back. Was he even really mad at her, or just the guy she was using? Either way, jealousy was moving its course, and he’d place blame wherever it laid. 

“You’d be amazed at what I’d do out of spite,” she replied with a scoff. A wisp of cold Northern air came through and shook Gendry. He wasn’t used to it, even after the year or so of being there. He suspected that it would be the same for Arya, if she weren’t half dressed. 

“This isn’t you, and you know it,” he replied, and Arya frowned at him. 

“Wow, really? You’re observant,” she scowled, rolling her eyes as she clutched tighter to her biceps, holding herself for warmth that was lost in the Winterfell night. Why he felt sorry for her, he hated it, because at the end of the day - all he knew was what Arya made him feel. In the depths of the cold, she always would provide warmth. Shaking off his jacket, he pulled it around Arya’s shoulders and stood back in a huff. Arya clutched it to her, but provided no surprise in his action. She just took it, as she should have. 

“Gods, you’re acting like a child, you know that?” he growled, hands going into his pockets. 

“Says the man that ran away when he got scared,” she snapped. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he scoffed. 

“Fuck you,” Arya snarled, turning from him, taking her place as a royal, her chin high and shoulders square. She wouldn’t stand for how she was being treated. Yet, there was a flicker in her eyes of pain - that she shouldn’t have said what she did, she shouldn’t be acting the way she had been. 

“Do you love me?” 

“Don’t ask me that,” she groaned. 

“I still love you, and this is what you’re doing,” he replied, and Arya looked back at him, shocked that he would eve say it. 

“I’m allowed to do what I like, regardless if I love you or not. You ended things too, remember? So why do you care?” 

“Because I do! Because I love you!” he shouted, unleashing the pain in his chest. He just needed to say it. Needed her to know that his heart hasn’t changed. He needed to...he wanted to better for her, and wanted her to know she was still loved. “Don't you still love me? What more is there?” 

“Of course I still love you, idiot! But you still broke my heart and my trust!” she snapped back, her cheeks going rosy because of the crisp night air.

“Then we can figure this out, we can work through this.” 

“I don't want to figure this out. I want to know you’re in this. I need to know you’re gonna fight for me.” Arya looked hurt, that breathing was becoming painful, or maybe it was just the same air they shared. 

“I am fighting for you!” Gendry roared. 

“You’re begging for me, there’s a difference!” Arya yelled back, her eyes pleading for him to know the difference. 

“I have always fought for us, you just don’t -” 

“You ran! You ran when you told me you loved me, and you ran when things got hard. You want me back? You make damn well sure that I trust you enough not to leave again,” she said, shoving at his chest. “Prove me wrong!”

“I’ve literally bled for you!” he snarled back, stepping into her space. Arya’s next breath came out shaken, the wind catching it and whafting it away like smoke. 

“I just want you to want me! Without fear, without concern or a care! I want you to fight to want me!” 

“Arya, please, I'm trying,” he said, voice soft, and Arya whined, her hand going to her forehead. She seemed like she was ready to cry, and Gendry felt it too, the tension in his chest was becoming agonising. Arya seemed to be worse off in the situation. 

“I know. I need to know you understand that for me and my position, I can’t just give trust back. You taught me that.” Her words stung, and he stepped back, watching as she clutched her arms tighter around herself. “I’m in the spotlight and at massive risk everyday. Trusting people, even someone who I don’t interact with regularly, is trusting that they won’t kill me or my family. It’s not that I could lose my title. It’s that I or my family could be killed and risk the lives and livelihoods of our people.” There were truths and lies in her words, but it wasn’t the time or place to argue with her - she was close to tears. “I trusted you, and even though I know you’d never physically hurt me or my family, I can’t just go back to normal. I have too much to lose.”

“So do I, that’s why I left,” he admitted. “I panicked. My mum has been through so much to get me here and because I followed my heart, her life was being affected. I have to protect her, she’s the only thing I have unconditionally.” Arya chewed on her lip as Gendry stepped back into her space. It was so familiar there, a perfect encasing for who she was in that space, warm even in the freezing night air. “I saw the statement. I know your family had to post it but I can’t help but think...was any of it true? Did you really...was it really all for nothing?”

“Don’t ask me that. You’re not going to like the answer,” she lied. He could tell by the tear that slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away, looking off from him. 

A flash went off close by and they both shot their attention to the guy with the camera. “Princess! Is this a lovers spat!” he yelled, and Arya was ready to haul herself at him. 

“Fuck you!” 

“Your highness,” Gendry caught her quickly and she snapped her anger to him. He gave her a cautious raise of his brow, “allow me, please.” Gendry looked down at her, a warning look. Her stubbornness could have won out, and he very well could have pulled her away from the situation, dragging her away and causing even more of a scene than necessary. Instead, she huffed, giving him a nod of approval. She wasn’t happy about it, but she allowed it nevertheless. 

“Hey, buddy, gimme the camera,” Gendry said, walking to the guy. He had been frozen solid by the realisation that a threat was coming, and it made Gendry confident with his coming actions. As he got there, the paparrazi gave over the camera, and Gendry looked it over before throwing it hard against the wall beside him. The paparrazi went to his destroyed camera, looking up at Gendry.

For a moment, Gendry felt sorry, but knowing what guys like him usually did for money, his pity went away. Kneeling beside him, Gendry gave a sarcastic smile. “Go fuck yourself. The princess has been through enough. She gets to speak to me or you however she likes. So on her behalf, you can cordially, go fuck yourself right up the ass, and please, for everyone’s sake, shut the fuck up, would ya?” he said, and the guy simply nodded, leaving his broken camera on the ground, staggering to his feet, ready to race off. “Send a bill to the palace and we’ll replace it for you,” he said, and Arya came to his side. 

“You’re too nice,” she whispered, “I would have broken his arm.” Gendry believed that. 

“Which is why I had to handle it. You know you would have broken more than just an arm, princess,” he said, looking down at her, and she scoffed out a laugh, something she probably didn’t want to do, but did so against her will. 

“We need to get back to the palace before you freeze,” Gendry cleared his throat, gesturing out to the main street. Arya furrowed her brow, going to head back to the club, only for his arm to shoot out and stop her. Arya folded her arms over her chest, snarling back at him.

“I’m a Northern Princess, Gendry, I don’t freeze.” 

“Normally, I’m sure. But you’re currently in the worst outfit imaginable. Let’s go,” he demanded, and Arya rolled her eyes. 

“You ruin all the fun,” she said, moving around the corner.

“So I’ve been told,” he replied, voice far quieter than it had been before. They were back on the street and heading to the car. As they got there, Beric moved from the door, scoffing at Gendry as they moved to the car doors. 

“Have fun back there?” Beric chuckled. Gendry sucked in a breath, lunging to him and binding his fists in tight to Beric’s jacket. 

“Shut the fuck up, Beric. Nothing happened,” Gendry barked, holding on tight to Beric. 

“Sure,” he rolled his eyes. Gendry slammed Beric’s back to the door of the car, making Arya jump out and look over the top of the car. 

“That’s the fucking princess, you’re talking about. She isn’t just any woman. I lost sight of that, but I haven’t anymore. Treat her with more respect,” he said, throwing Beric against the car again and nodding up to Arya. 

“Sorry, your highness,” Beric apologised with a grumble in his voice. 

“It’s okay, Beric. I didn’t take anything by it.” Arya moved back into the car, and they were off, no other word or arguments as they got to the palace. 

Gendry walked up the palace stairs and to Arya’s room. Arya walked in, exchanging Gendry’s jacket for a throw blanket on the top of her bed. Gendry looked around her room, noticing that her furniture that changed its position, something he hadn’t picked up on the first time he was in there that day - that most of her room felt different then what it once was. That it was no longer one he knew to be...theirs. 

With his jacket over his shoulders again, Gendry gave to nod to Arya as goodbye. “Goodnight, your Highness.” 

“Gendry,” Arya said, her voice weak but urging him to stay. He stood still, waiting for Arya to speak. “I want you to know that I never meant to hurt you. When you fell, I was hurting and angry and I just -” 

“Acted. I know how you felt. When I broke up with you that night,” he stopped himself, unsure if he should say it. In the end, he looked at Arya’s face and knew he could never lie to her again. “I got home and trashed my apartment. I broke a bunch of windows and the frame of my bed is kind of resting on three legs currently.” 

“Why would you do that?” 

He shrugged. Truth was all he had to gain back trust. “Cause I was an idiot. I broke up with the only woman I’d ever love.” 

“But being with me, meant hurting the only person that had ever been there for you before me,” Arya reiterated what he had told her.

“Yeah,” he said, looking back at his feet. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Me too,” he said, raising his chin before giving a soft bow. “Your Highness,” he cleared his throat, wondering if the words would come out. “I’m sorry for how I acted tonight. It isn’t my place anymore to get in your way. I wish you all the happiness. I promise I won’t get in the way of that anymore,” he said, needing to clear his throat once more. It would be torture to do it, but he truly just wanted her to be happy again. He turned on his heels, getting ready to leave her room. 

“You were my happiness,” she whispered, but he heard it, and it felt like her full fist reached into his chest and squeezed. Were. It was clear, even if he had the chance to win her back, to get back into her good books and mend the wounds he had formed, she’d never give it back. The trust he had built from the very start was shattered beyond repair - a piece always missing from the heart they once shared. 

Gendry kept walking and hoped to god that when he got back to his apartment, he still had alcohol hidden away somewhere, because he was sure he needed to end this day drunk. 

 *~*~*

 “You were my happiness,” she whispered, and for a moment he stopped before he left the room. Arya choked on her small sob, chewing on her lip before she said something he’d never hear. “You still are.” 

[tiaragqueen]

Dubious Honor

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Jeon Jeongguk x Princess! Reader

✂ Word Count: 2k+

✂ Trigger Warning: Possessiveness, mentions of death

✂ The story is fictional and for amusement only. I don't believe any of the members would do this in real life. As always, thank you for reading and I hope you have a good day!

Do not re-upload my writing to another website or use it without my permission.

[Edited]

***

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

“I’m growing madder by the day. It doesn’t matter, anyway. Over dramatic and insane, but you look at me so differently. Oh, me specifically.” - Problematic [Get Scared]

         To be engaged with a stranger or an acquaintance was common in the royal family. It might sound restricting because that meant you would be married to someone you barely knew, but the life of royalty had always been predestined since birth. Clearly, it wasn’t all wealth and elegant garments like most people thought. They had an image; a reputation to uphold. One blemish was all it took for everything to go downhill, and for them to lose their honors.

          Jungkook was the second and the last son of the Jeon siblings. However, just because he wouldn't be the next king, doesn’t mean he had more freedom than his brother. He was still a prince after all - had an area that he needed to look after as his responsibility - and a prince needed his partner as well. Jung Hyun, his brother, was already betrothed with a princess from the Gwangju Kingdom. Thus, with Jungkook's 19th birthday drawing near, his parents decided to drop a bombshell on him.

          “Darling,” Queen Jeon spoke up once her younger son had seated in front of them.

          The butler had approached him after his meeting with the officials, asking for his assistance in the great hall as requested by the king. Jungkook was confused but obeyed nonetheless in case it was important.

          “Your father and I have discussed regarding your future partner. We know that you’ve received a lot of marriage proposals from other kingdoms. Thus, we elected Princess [Name] from the Daegu Kingdom as your consort.”

          She paused, taking in Jungkook's silence before her husband continued. “We shall visit them tomorrow after breakfast.”

          Jungkook remained quiet. He supposed he should be angry that they had decided such an important thing without his knowledge – for God's sake, they wanted him to marry a woman he had never met! – but Jungkook felt... content. Content because that meant he shouldn’t have to undergo the laborious process of wooing and courting. That, and because Jungkook was too shy with the opposite sex. So with this engagement, he just needed to proceed without having to worry about who he would marry later.

          “This engagement will strengthen our relationship with the Daegu Kingdom. I hope you understand, Jungkook.” Queen Jeon said softly, fearing that her son might lash out to them. Not that he would, though. Jungkook had always been an obedient child, and a tad naïve too.

          He nodded dutifully, much to their satisfaction. “Of course, I understand.” he murmured.

          “I’m glad, son.” King Jeon reached out to pat him on the shoulder, smiling proudly for Jungkook's compliance despite the guilt that gnawed on his chest.

          Every parent wants their child to be happy, and this arranged marriage was less than ideal. Yet how he could object, when he had been ordered to marry Queen Jeon either? Sure, they had eventually 'grown' to love each other - to make the best of it because they didn't need to trouble their families - but to marry someone that you loved would better.

          “But I should forewarn you that Princess [Name] can be a little... aloof. So I hope you don’t take her attitude too personally.” King Jeon said, his expression turning a bit serious.

          Jungkook shook his head. “I won’t, don’t worry.”

          ‘A little’ was an understatement. You were as distant as your oldest brother, Yoongi, if not more. Taehyung, the middle child, was friendlier and slightly eccentric. Although he did retain a somewhat aloof aura like the other two. Jungkook noted it was a trait that ran in the family, despite the fact that their parents had made the efforts to be more welcoming.

          Even though Jungkook had been informed by King Jeon regarding your demeanor, he couldn’t help the sadness that prickled his chest by your lack of enthusiasm over their arrival. Other than a curtsy, you didn't bother to start a conversation with him. Jungkook might be shy, but he still wanted you to be comfortable around him. How would he know about your true feelings concerning this betrothal if you refused to talk?

          The answer came very soon – fortunately for him and unfortunately to you – when your mother asked you to bring him to the garden for a ‘chat’. You complied without a second thought, leading him to a huge backyard. Flowers and plants of various sizes, types, and colors bloomed magnificently under the warm sunlight. Dare he said it was bigger than his own garden back at home.

          “You have a gorgeous place,” he murmured as an icebreaker. His chest squeezed painfully when he picked up the sound of your quiet scoff.

          “I don’t like you,” you said bluntly, face emotionless and lips stretched into a thin line.

          Jungkook's eyes looked like they were about to pop off from their sockets; the abruptness of your response completely threw him off guard.

          “The only reason why I agree with this engagement is that I don’t want to have unnecessary problems with your kingdom. Because, obviously, a peaceful relation is more important than a loveless marriage. I don’t even know you.”

          You sneered, oblivious to the tears that stung his eyes when you said those acrid words. Did you really hate him that much even though you claimed that you didn’t know him? Wasn’t it a bit unfair though? You hadn’t given him a chance to show more of his personality yet. How could you suddenly decide that you despised him?

          “Why...?” he whispered, afraid that if he raised his voice any higher he would accidentally break down. He wasn’t a weak man, but even he wasn’t insensitive to pain. Just because men are often taught to be tough, doesn’t mean they don’t possess feelings. Just like women aren't always sensitive and a crybaby.

          “Isn’t it obvious?” you huffed as if his question wasn’t worth answering. “I don’t like you. I’ve said it a few minutes ago if you bothered to listen.”

          Jungkook scowled. “You're so judgmental.” He didn’t intend to be sassy, especially at first meeting, because his parents had told him over and over again to make a good impression before they arrived. Yet, your senseless hate was starting to irk him.

          “Aren’t we all?” you retorted offhandedly. Jungkook noticed your gaze drifted towards a man in the distance, crouching near the roses. It was discreet; others might dismiss it as you staring off the distance.

          But Jungkook wasn't a fool.

          The man looked about in his mid-twenty; with big physique, natural black hair, and handsome profile. Maybe too handsome for a mere worker. He wore a plain top with brown overalls and dirty dark boots. He carefully cut the flowers, brows furrowed and pink lips pouted. Sweats dripped from his forehead, and Jungkook observed the way your eyes watching them disappear under his shirt intensely.

          Jungkook pushed his tongue against the hollow of his cheek. It didn’t take a genius to know that you liked him – that gardener. Both sexually and romantically. Your body language practically screamed longing and attraction; lingering yet wistful glances, one foot pointed towards that man's direction, body shifted slightly to him, head turned away a little, brows furrowed, and lips lowered. However, you refrained from approaching him due to Jungkook's presence, as it could indicate disrespect to the current partner.

          At least you knew how to be polite, despite your bluntness and captiousness.

          Still, that just wouldn’t do.

          Growing up as he did, Jungkook was used to people paying full attention to what he said. And now, here you were, ignoring him and instead of indulging yourself in watching some lowly worker.

          He needed you to focus on him, and him only.

          If you said that everyone was judgmental, then surely you wouldn’t mind if he was being judgmental to that scum?

          “I see now...” Jungkook nodded to himself, ignoring your curious and confused glance. He raised his head and stared straight into your eyes.

          How pretty, he thought. If only you’d look at him the same way you looked at that man. After all, Jungkook was your betrothed. Not that man. Jungkook deserved better treatment than this. And if he couldn’t get it with a gentle approach, then he just had to use the hard way.

Jungkook didn’t want to do this, but boundaries need to be drawn. He was a prince; he wasn’t born to be treated like trash, especially by his own fiancée. The one person who should revere him the way he revered her.

          “It is pleasant to talk with you, Your Highness. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to tend to some important matters.” He bowed and headed inside before you had a chance to reply.

          Of course, just because that bastard was the object of your affection, doesn’t mean you were free from punishment either. But Jungkook was a lenient man; willing to overlook an error as long as you learned your mistake and promise not to repeat it.

          The next month, he visited the Daegu Kingdom again. This time, he came without his parents' assistance. You appeared in the threshold of the castle, having been informed that he'd like to see you in person, with a stoic face. Yet, one could see the deep sadness and grief in the crevices of your hollow eyes. And although Jungkook felt a bit guilty to see your state, he knew that it was the right choice to make.

          Nobody messed with Jungkook and stole what was his.

          “Your Highness,” he bowed respectfully and deeply because even if you were rude to him before, you were still a princess. And you deserved your honor.

          Jungkook was optimistic that you would open up to him very soon. How could you not? All a grieving person needs is reassurance and consolation, and Jungkook was more than happy to share them with you. Thus, a closer bond would eventually be formed.

          It was such a simple plan, yet it still required great thinking and accuracy. Everything needed to proceed according to his bidding; to ensure that there would be no evidence left. Jin’s body shouldn’t be found in any way, be it a strand of hair or even a lint. He had to disappear. Literally and figuratively.

          Jungkook frowned, assuming the front of a concerned prince. “Your Highness, you seem a little pale. Is everything alright?”

          You nodded, unable to look at him in the eye like you used to. Jungkook mentally scoffed at your stubbornness. It was obvious that you weren’t in your best condition, as you appeared that you would rather be on the bed than here. But Jungkook understood the importance of appearing healthy even if you weren’t.

          For the sake of other people. It was always like that. Unchanging.

          “I’m fine. Thank you for asking,” you mumbled. Jungkook detected the slightest crack in your voice and resisted the simper that twitched his lips.

          “I’ve heard about what happened to your gardener...” he trailed off, discerning your tensing shoulders. Great reaction, just as he expected. “It was truly an unfortunate accident.”

          You looked down. “I know...” Was all you said before drops of tears trickled down from your reddened nose.

          “Oh, Your Highness.” Jungkook gently pulled you into his embrace and noted with great satisfaction your lack of resistance. Instead, you accepted it as if it was the last hug you would receive from a living human being. “I’m sorry. It must be hard to lose such an important person.”

          You merely sobbed against his chest, unaware of the emphasis he purposefully put on the edge of the sentence. Not that you needed to know, anyway. Jin was already gone. Once and for all.

          “He left...” you hiccupped, your tears staining his crimson vest but he didn’t care. “He left... just like that. He didn’t even say goodbye...”

          “Shush,” Jungkook stroked your hair affectionately. He knew it was rather inappropriate to exhibit an intimate action like this, especially when there were a lot of guards nearby. Then again, since when did Jungkook ever care? You were finally in his arms, and he’d be damned if he let such an opportunity to pass by. “It's all right. You don’t need to say anything. Just let it all out; I promise I won’t judge you.”

          It was true; you really didn’t need to say anything. Because Jungkook knew. Because he was the real mastermind behind Jin’s accident.

          Because he was the manipulator. The cause of it all.

          Not that you needed to know, anyway.

[c0smicdaisy]

unintentional summoning

read on AO3

Description: Crowley can´t sleep because Aziraphale isn´t there. Unintentional summoning happens.

Crowley grumbled frustratedly as he rearranged himself in his bed for the 8th time in the last minute. He couldn´t find a comfortable position even though he tried all of them twice: This patch of his pillow was too warm, the next one was too cold, his sheets got tangled with his feet, the silk was too smooth and then too hot. If he lay down this way his neck hurt, that way his elbow collided with his ribs, he turned around and put his hands above his head but that only strained his shoulders and also, something was digging umcomforatably into his hipbone. Finally Crowley gave up, flung the sheets and his pillow to the floor and stared at the white ceiling, wide awake and growling frustratedly. On any other day he would be fast asleep at this time of day. He liked sleeping through the night and sometimes the day too. It was... nice. Comfortable. To just stop being conscious for a set amount of time and dream. He understood why humans liked it so much. He did, too.

So yes, on any other day - or night to be exact - Crowley would be fast asleep. But any other night he wouldn't be alone.

Since Armageddon didn´t happen he hasn't spent a single night alone due to the rather lovely company of one angel. Crowley flinched at that word. He totally blamed Aziraphale for his expanded vocabulary but nevertheless the word was fitting. Aziraphale´s company was lovely in every meaning of the word. It was comfortable to have him around, his presence like a warm blanket on a rainy October day, that made you feel save and soft and at home.

That made Crowley´s non existing heart beat faster.

That made him want to cuddle up with the angel and never let him go.

That made him want to kiss him and make the effort of doing things to him that would make a catholic housewife blush and stutter.

That made him miss him.

Crowley growled again with the realization of what kept him up tonight. He missed Aziraphale, cuddled up next to him even though he rarely slept. One arm across Crowleys waist, a secure weight anchoring him in the present and his warm and familiar body pressed against his back. He missed Aziraphale silently reading a book and sipping his cocoa while watching over the demon´s sleep. Kissing him goodnight and goodmorning with a sweetness that made Crowley´s head spin in the most wonderful way.

Crowley put his hand on his chest where he felt the hollow and painful feeling that made him restless. It was similar to the feeling he´d carried with him for 6000 years. Until Armageddon didn't happen. Until Aziraphale stayed the night. Until the angel finally realized they had their own side and until he finally confessed that he - a demon - in fact does have feelings. That he loves and loved Aziraphale for so long now that he doesn't remember living without this feeling. And that Aziraphale feels exactly the same.

Crowley smiled unwillingly when he thought back to that night, their first day of the rest of their lives that ended with delicious kisses and whispered I love you's against warm skin and hands reaching for each other, feeling, stroking, exploring; finally holding what once seemed unreachable.

Crowley sighed deeply and turned to the other side of the bed which was empty and cold. Of course Aziraphale had to spend he weekend at Anathema´s house in... somewhere. Crowley didn't bother to remember all the countries that the Device family had properties in. He just knew that Aziraphale spent the weekend somewhere sunny and hot and that he wasn't there with him. Whose stupid idea was that anyway? Yes, maybe there were some bookshops that sold first editions that Aziraphale had been hunting down for years. Yes, maybe Crowley couldn't go with him because he´d promised Adam he would visit on Saturday to help him set up his new telescope and teach him about stars, planets and constellations but still. That didn't change the fact that he couldn´t sleep because he missed Aziraphale terribly.

Crowley sighed again when he felt his heart that didn´t exist, thank you very much, throb painfully in his chest. He spent 6000 years without the angel in his bed, helping him sleep. He should be able to survive a weekend without him. If he closed his eyes he could pretend that Aziraphale was here. Maybe that would trick his brain into sleep and let him get some rest. Crowley´s imagination had always been pretty good. He'll just pretend that Aziraphale is lying next to him. His even breathing like a lullaby for Crowley, and the low rustling noises of bookpages being turned. It was almost as if he was there. If he concentrated strong enough he could even feel the slight dip in the mattress where Aziraphale would be lying next to him. Or the familiar smell of tea and biscuits that always seemed to stick to his clothes. And the confused little cough he always did when something unexpected happened. It almost felt real. As if Aziraphale was really...

»Crowley? I'm very pleased to see you, but wasn't I in a beach cottage two seconds ago?« Crowleys eyes snapped open and he turned so fast that he nearly rolled over Aziraphale. Who was lying next to him. In his bed. In London.

»I... Tha... H... Wha... Aziraphale!«, Crowley finally stuttered and stared at the angel next to him.

»Hello to you, too, darling«, Aziraphale said smiling a warm smile that was so full of love it made Crowley feel like he'll burst any moment. He still had to get used to Aziraphale calling him darling as well. The first time he did, Crowley accidentally transformed into his snake form to hide his flaming red cheeks and refused to turn back until Aziraphale stopped cooing and at the same time teasing him about it.

»So?«, Aziraphale started. »Care to explain why or how you summoned me in the middle of the night?« Crowley proceeded to stare at his angel for a few more seconds until he remembered how to speak and mumbled something unintelligible.

»What was that?«, Aziraphale asked and Crowley grumbled.

»I can't sleep because I miss you«, he finally said and Aziraphales expression softened. He opened his arms for Cowley to snuggle against him and hid his nose in the demons hair.

»I missed you, too«, Aziraphale whispered and Crowley felt warmth spread through his entire body. »That was the longest weekend of my life. And it's not even over yet.« Content to just press his face against Aziraphales chest and to breathe in his familiar scent already made Crowley sleepy. Aziraphale slotted their hands together like two puzzle pieces that finally found their place. And that's exactly how Crowley felt. A feeling of rightness when he was with Aziraphale that made his soul come to a rest. Because Aziraphale felt like home.

»Goodnight, Angel. Love you«, Crowley murmured and felt a warm kiss against his temple.

»Love you, too. And have pleasant dreams, my dear.«

---------

This is the result of a very sleepless night. This is also the first ficlet I wrote in English and actually published. A huge thank you to my best friend @rosedemon14 who hopefully found all the mistakes. If not feel free to tell me so. (I should probably mention that both of us are very confused by the english comma rules so we more or less ignored them...). Thanks for reading. I hope you liked it!

[tobesobri]

𝓐h okay sorry again for the delay, my last two brain cells don’t work apparently but I really hope you guys don’t hate me too much after this one 😬

huge massive thank you to the incredible @youresogolden-h for editing ❤️

CHAPTER EIGHT: HURTS WHEN I’M LEAVING YOU (3.7K)

Harry and Y/N are friends…. with benefits, but not the kinds you’re thinking of.

🥥MASTERLIST 🌃INSPO TAG 🌻ASK TAG 💃PLAYLIST 🛌

Harry placed two silver-plated keys, bound together by a thin piece of faux leather tied in a secure knot, on her thigh while joining her on his couch. She had just finished tying up her shoes when he reappeared in the living room.

She stared at the keys carefully before picking them up and looking at him quizzically until he gave her an answer.

“I thought it a bit weird if you stopped sleeping at your coworker’s place the same time I was out of town.”

She glanced at the keys again in her hand. He wanted her to come over while he was gone. To sleep in his bed without him. To simply be in his house when he wasn’t, knowing full well how his last relationship had gone and still he trusted her with something like that.

He was quieter the next time he spoke. “And if you want to come over to look at the lights while I’m away.”

He wanted to tell her it was overdue, that he’d wanted to give her keys their first consistent week together because it would have been easier. But he had been too scared of how that might come across because it was a huge step for him, letting someone in, and he was worried she might think he deserved what happened to him in the past if he was truly that reckless. But now, there was no fear at all. He trusted her with a huge portion of his life, if not all of it.

“Why are there two?” She finally asked.

He glanced at them in her palm and then back at her. “There’s two locks on the door. The smaller one,” he picked up the one he was talking about, “opens the lock on top. And this one,” he set the small key down and pointed at the next, “the main lock.”

He scooted closer to her at some point when explaining the keys and she only knew it because of how her heart raced, which was the weirdest thing for her heart to be having a meltdown over, since Harry being close was nothing new to her at this point. But here she was, hyper fixated over the way his knee touched hers and how his fingertips had brushed against her palm and how close his voice was to her ear, she could suddenly pick out the intricate details of his broken accent. Like how some words he pronounced were as British as it got, and others were a little more California. She wondered if, when he spent more time home, his accent bounced back to how it was supposed to sound.

“Should also mention there’s a security system,” he pointed his gaze to a pin-pad on the wall near the front door she had always known about, having seen him punch numbers into it countless times before they went upstairs, but never thought about in too much depth. “I’ll leave you the code. You have to put it in when you get here and before you go to bed.”

There it was. The confirmation that she was fully allowed to sleep here if she wanted to. She had assumed that’s what he meant when he gave her the keys, but it settled her worries knowing she had verbal permission to do so.

And with everything she needed to know about his home while he was away, and their sarcastic little goodbyes to one another out of the way, the only thing he had left to do was pack a suitcase and meet his team at the airport.

Amongst searching his drawers for a particular pair of jeans he wanted, however, he came across her drawer. The one that kept filling up with her clothes, whether it was various pieces from her work outfits or her spare pajamas, it had become her little space in his closet. And once his eyes landed on one of her plain heather grey shirts, there was no stopping him from smuggling it into his suitcase. Just for good measure.

Just so that when he was in his lonely New York hotel room, the nights went a little easier knowing he had a piece of her with him. It wasn’t nearly enough, however, when he still lost vital

hours of sleep and showed up to his six a.m. meetings looking and acting hungover even though he hadn’t had a stitch of alcohol.

“It’s the jetlag,” he had excused when Jeff had asked about the bags under his eyes and the third cup of coffee. He knew very well he was running on about four collective hours of sleep since Tuesday and it was getting a bit ridiculous at this point.

Thursday night was when things changed, or at least he hoped they would. Sick of going back to his room alone before eight o’clock, he finally agreed to get drinks instead. He finally had some amount of human interaction outside of work. Outside of discussions about album sales and what his sophomore era might look like.

He was done with all of it by the time he got down a burning shot of tequila that Jeff had ordered for their entire group.

“You look tired, man,” Dan planted his arm around Harry’s shoulders, practically shaking him back to life. He was a new producer they’d been working with on the album and right now Harry preferred the sting of the alcohol over the way Dan squeezed his shoulders so recklessly. It made him long for the way Y/N touched him, always careful and delicate.

“He doesn’t sleep,” Jeff offered, recalling the three a.m. text messages he’d received from Harry on Wednesday to prove his point. Harry remained quiet with a permanent grimace on his face, seeking out more alcohol.

“You need to get laid!” Dan exclaimed, shaking his poor shoulders again, and just about doing Harry’s head in. As much as he tried to hide it, a look of pure disgust rolled onto Harry’s face because for the first time in... however long, he didn’t want sex. Didn’t even want to think about it. He just wanted Y/N. That was it. If it wasn’t her in his bed, he wanted nothing to do with it.

And he realized at that point that Will had been right. He was helplessly in love with someone who might not ever love him back.

He took another shot and found his attention being pulled away from his immediate table to a flash of hair swooping halfway across the club from where they sat. It was definitely his mind, and the alcohol swimming around in it, doing tricks on him, but he could have easily mistaken her for Y/N. It was the hair, he thought. It was the exact same, at least under the piss poor lighting, but to the point where he smelled coconut in his nostrils even though there was nothing physical around him that was remotely close to smelling like her. His nose was so used to her, and missed her so much, it was making shit up out of thin air.

And with a few more shots and a little bit of flirting later, he wasn’t so alone when he stepped through the door of his hotel room Thursday night.

He wasn’t alone when he got to his bedroom, when the girl’s hands were already undressing him and he was comparing it to when Y/N had unbuttoned his shirt that one drunken night. She’d been so soft and gentle, though. So very unlike how it was now. It was going too fast for him, especially when she accidentally scratched her nails against his abs and kissed him so impatiently, he wasn’t even sure what he was doing anymore.

Nevertheless, he was drunk and she looked like Y/N if he squinted hard enough, so he let her undress him all the way to the bed where she crawled on top of him and undid his jeans. He had no clue what her name was and although he felt horrible about it, he was positive it was better that way. Particularly when she got her hands on him and he saw stars behind his eyelids. He tilted his head back towards the wall behind them with a gasp when it was her mouth next. Her name was extremely unimportant when he pretended it was Y/N every time the girl traced her fingers across the tattoos on his hips.

Even when she was on top of him, giving him all the warmth he’d been craving, he still pretended she was someone else when she kissed him again, when she ran her hands through his hair, and when he dug his fingers into her hips.

He closed his eyes through all of it and imagined being with Y/N like that. 

He was so fucking fucked.

The ding of his phone as it vibrated on the bedside table woke him hours later. It was still dark outside, that much he knew. He also knew that whatever sloppy sex he’d had was not worth it when the girl had turned the other way and fell asleep with her back facing him, several inches apart. He could have gone without the sex, but holding on to someone while he slept? That was harder to go without.

Shaking his head clear of his stupid, drunken mistakes, he pressed the button on the side of his phone, lighting the entire room with his screen before he lowered the brightness and read the text message waiting for him.

He squinted at it at first, realizing it wasn’t a message, but rather a picture. Either way, he swiped it open quickly because the least he knew was that it was from Y/N.

Tapping the picture open, he quickly saw that it was of her when he zoomed in on what she hadn’t cropped out of her face. It was her, standing in front of the mirror in his closet dressed in her typical casual attire apart from one thing.

She was wearing his bright pink suit jacket he’d worn on the Today Show a couple years ago.

He couldn’t help but smile, even wider the longer he looked at it. When he pulled the covers off of himself and sat up on the edge of the bed, he even laughed at it, as quietly as he could manage, while he attempted to tame his hair by pulling his clammy fingers through it.

While typing his message, he tried not to think about her rummaging through his closet. Her light touch spreading across the various colors and textures of his clothes. He tried not to acknowledge the overwhelming fluttering in his chest.

(Harry, 3:13 am, NY time)

Looks better on you.

He waited patiently while the three little dots from her side of the conversation disappeared and a new bubble from her popped up in its place.

(Y/N, 3:13 am, NY time)

I know.

He couldn’t help his laughter then, glancing behind him only when he heard the other girl shuffle under the hotel sheets, realizing for the first time in the past few minutes that she was still there.

Instead, he gathered himself and went out into the living room, snagging a shirt from his drawer to slip on and turning the heater up a few notches on his way out.

(Harry, 3:24 am, NY time)

Finally missed me then?

His next text was sent once he was settled on the couch without a single light on. He had the moon and his phone screen though, and that was enough.

(Y/N, 3:25 am, NY time)

I missed the heated floors in your bathroom actually.

He laughed again at her response, not having been this happy his entire trip. Not even remembering the last time he genuinely smiled since he’d been with her on Tuesday morning. It was very much needed. Even if it was past three a.m. in his timezone.

While he thought about what to say next, he slipped his shirt on over his head for some relief from the chilly room. What he didn’t expect, however, was to smell her shampoo again. And then her perfume. He smelled all of her like she was there in the room next to him. And it wasn’t his nose being a little bitch again.

Looking down at himself, he realized he’d grabbed her shirt. The light grey, oversized one. It had fit a little baggier than all the ones he had packed, but he didn’t make much of it until his senses were filled with everything he loved about her.

He was really, really fucked.

His phone dinged twice more.

(Y/N, 3:27 am, NY time)

Sorry I didn’t realize how late it was there. 

Goodnight harry :)

She set her phone down on the top of one of his shelves. If his closet was anything, it was well-organized. After slipping out of Harry’s pink jacket, she neatly replaced it back onto the rack with his other nice coats. She didn’t want to know how much money she’d just squeezed herself into, but Harry didn’t seem to mind.

And she hoped he wouldn’t mind her wandering hands as she slipped them into a drawer she knew he kept his shirts in. She’d meant to go in his closet, secure her own pajamas, and be out. But she saw the bright pink and got distracted. And now she was even more distracted while she pulled out a black t-shirt of his and slipped into it instead. He would never know and she would get a little bit of relief.

Once she had it on though, and she looked at herself in the mirror, she felt horrible about it. Here she was snooping about his wardrobe like she wasn’t supposed to be doing. He didn’t give her his spare keys so she could try his clothes on while he was away. Quickly, she pulled his shirt off and folded it neatly back into its spot.

She flipped off the light in his closet after getting what she needed from her designated drawer and retreated to his bed. It didn’t look the same as when she’d left it. He’d cleaned it up between then and now, making it neat for her again just in case she ended up here at some point. She didn’t expect to actually follow through, but her own sleepless nights got the best of her and by Thursday, she broke down and made the drive up to his house. She punched in the security code to turn the alarm off while she ate her takeout she’d picked up after work in his kitchen. Then she cleaned a little bit for him, putting away the dishes drying out on the counter and organizing his collection of cookbooks that were slowly falling over.

And now she was here, standing in the middle of his room while the whole of L.A. watched her sneak back into his closet to retrieve his black t-shirt once again.

With it secured, she removed her bra from underneath and then her jeans. And the cool air on her bare legs felt too good to cover herself in her plaid pajama bottoms. So, she went without them. She had never lived alone before, but she imagined this was what it felt like. Like she was

free. She could go around in a shirt with no pants on and not worry about anything. And it’s not like he would ever have to know the shirt she was walking around in was his.

She became obsessed with the way his shirt looked on her in the bathroom mirror as she finished her nightly routines. It was just a normal fucking crewneck but the fact that it had previously hugged his body at some point and smelled just fucking like him, it made her feel all sorts of ways. She especially felt not as alone anymore while she crawled into his bed by herself. She sat upright against his pillows for a while, on top of the blanket with her legs spread straight out in front of her and her ankles crossed over each other, flipping through apps on her phone until she had enough and then stared out at his all-too-familiar view.

She missed it almost as much as she missed him. She missed the feeling of him looking at her while she looked at the city. She missed his touch that pulled her back. She missed talking to him like she’d never missed talking to anyone else before.

She missed the way he sometimes glanced at her lips. The way he had giggled when she’d practically taken his shirt off of him in her bedroom and how soft his skin had been that made her feel less guilty about the whole thing. The way his muscles pulled tight across his back. The way his arms stretched over her body, flexing when he hugged her closer.

The way she was currently lost in her dreams about him. And his back and his shoulders and the beads of sweat that might exist on his silky skin if he were to...

She shook her head clear of that image. Because frankly, she really needed to stop thinking about Harry like that. It would never happen, and she knew that. But in her head, it made sense. In her head, he liked her back. He liked her enough to more than just sleep with her. He liked her enough in her head to be on top of her, filling her up while the entire city watched.

And then it just happened. Not that she didn’t feel bad about having her hands down the front of her panties in his shirt and in his bed at just the mere thought of him, but she couldn’t quite help it. She wished he was touching her instead, something she never thought about anyone else in real life before. And with her eyes closed, teetering her head further back into his pillows, enough that she got stronger whiffs of his scent, it was so easy to imagine him doing so.

She saw his hands behind her eyelids, gentle but eager to touch her, and she heard his voice close to her ear, his broken accent telling her it was okay to let go. Her mind had completely left reality, lost to the clouds even though her body remained in Harry’s bed. Her head in the clouds was a better place to be, however. Harry was there and he liked her the way she wanted him to.

She felt it in her chest before her mind even fully comprehended what Will was saying. It was a kind of pain she didn’t let herself feel often but when she did, it was the worst kind of hurt she ever faced.

Her morning had been the best she had all week, mostly due to the events of the previous night. Then there was the text from work telling her not to come in until eleven because of a cancelled meeting that only made the outlook for her day that much brighter. She cleaned up around Harry’s house some more, throwing his clothes into the laundry, including the shirt she’d slept in, while she showered, almost succumbing to her fucking thoughts all over again, but witholding by some grace of god.

She drove home to eat before going to work, craving a bowl of her usual Lucky Charms that not a single drive through breakfast could suffice.

But, when she was at the table surrounded by her roommates again, it had all gone to shit. She wished she had just gotten that fucking McMuffin and driven her ass to work instead. But no. She had to sit and listen while Will gave them all the daily report on Harry’s personal life. The part of him Y/N thought she knew quite well, but apparently she couldn’t have been more wrong.

Will showed off photos of a girl in Harry’s car taken earlier this morning in New York and Y/N suddenly lost her entire appetite.

“Do you know who she is, though?” Violet asked, having taken Will’s phone from him to scroll through all the candid photos and zoom in to try and figure it out.

“No, but I’m ninety-nine percent sure she’s the girl he told me about.” Will explained, causing Y/N’s eyebrows to furrow. Harry had talked to Will about a girl that he liked?

Why hadn’t he mentioned her to Y/N? Not even just last night when they were texting? Her mind started spiraling from there. She went as far as thinking that Harry might feel bad for her, that he didn’t know how to break off their situation and he’d just been stringing her along. All while he had someone he really wanted.

Or maybe he hadn’t been stringing her along at all, maybe she was just imagining something was there when it clearly wasn’t.

She shut it all off quickly before she found herself getting mad at Harry. “He told you about someone?” Violet asked, far too invested in Harry’s love life.

“Well, not much.” Will answered vaguely, “He was writing songs about her but he wouldn’t say who she was.”

“Found it!” Violet exclaimed, sharing the screen with Will again, “It says her name is Jessica,” Violet added fuel to the fire burning behind Y/N’s eyelids.

She hated that the first thing she thought of was his journal and the way he hid it away from her that first night she’d been at his place. She stared, empty, at her half-eaten bowl of cereal until she completely lost her appetite. Part of her knew her roommates were jumping the gun. Harry could be seen with a girl and not have any kind of romantic connection. But it didn’t explain his songs. He was writing them about someone.

She felt like an idiot. Like a stupid, goddamned idiot. And worse than that, she felt the same way she did all those years ago in high school and she hated mixing Harry in with any of those feelings. But he made her feel stupid. Like she had any bit of a chance with him when he was clearly interested in someone else. She’d trusted him with so much, especially the last night she’d spent with him, and now she was doubting if he even cared at all this entire time or if he just didn’t know how to tell her he was done with her.

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[living-dead-parker]

Met Gala - P.P

Summary: Request - Omg what if stark!reader got invited to a really important event like the met gala or something and brings Peter (her crush) as her date? 

Ngl, I forgot about the crush think while writing this so, they’re dating in this lmaoo sorry

Warnings: cussing maybe, sexual undertones (I might need to do a smut blurb night type of thing if people start sending me requests bc I have some pent up stuff ngl), probably some mistakes

Word Count: 2k

The Met Gala. Such a fancy event. One that your father refuses to go to because the celebrities there only want to be friends so that they'll have security. He refuses to be friends with any of them just to be used for safety purposes. So, he's always putting their offers down. Since they can't seem to get the older Stark, they've resorted to inviting the younger of the two Starks. His very own daughter, and actress, Y/N Stark.

"No, you're not going. They only want you to go because I keep saying no. I've made my donation, their exchange with the Stark name is done," Tony rants as he sees the very formal looking envelope from one of the many sponsors. You roll your eyes and set the envelope down on one of the workbenches.

"Come on, dad. I have nothing to offer them in terms of security! Plus, I'm an actress, so maybe they want to invite me for my work?"

Tony sighs and shakes his head. As much as he doesn't want to agree, he can't exactly deny either. You don't have powers or some kickass suit. You just have basic training from Nat, a phone full of contacts, and money. So, realistically, you don't have much to offer besides great conversation, acting skills, and enough arrogance to prove you're a Stark. Plus, he trusts nothing will happen. Nothing usually happens.

"Fine, you can go to the stupid event. Just make sure to not whore the Avengers out to Rihanna or something," Tony says loudly as you walk out the lab. However, you take the moment to respond before leaving.

"The only person getting whored out to Rihanna is me."

Now, it's the day of the Gala. You're in your room, sitting at your vanity in just a towel and looking over at all your makeup. Peter texts you that he's coming over in a few minutes, and while the idea of him walking in on you is pretty bad, you could not be bothered to actually get up and put on some clothes. You just wanna chill for a few minutes. So, you sit back and continue picking out all the makeup necessities you'll need for your look while singing to some Ariana Grande song. Suddenly, there's a knock on the door.

"Can I come in?" the person -so obviously Peter- asks from the other side of the door. You shrug and respond with a 'sure, come in'. When he does come in, he jumps and stutters as he notices you're in only a towel. A giggle pushes past your lips as you turn to look at him.

"Don't be startled, Parker. This isn't your first time seeing me naked," you flirt. Peter rolls his eyes as he throws himself onto your bed, right next to the large bag he'd laid out on the mattress. You turn back around and put away the items you knew you would not need. All the while, Peter scrolls through his phone.

After a few minutes of just listening to music, Peter sits up, looking over at you. "So, the Met Gala? Are you sure you want me to go?"

Another giggle escapes your lips as you stand up. He watches as you walk over to him. He slowly becomes nervous as you rest your hands on his shoulders. You stand between his legs and press a kiss to his cheek.

"Of course I want you to go with me. I'd rather you go with me than anyone else. I trust you to make things fun," you tell him as you grab his chin, making him look up at you. His slight frown turns into a full-on grin and you can't help but wanna kiss him over and over again. He leans up and presses his lips to yours. You move closer to him and when his hands feel the thin cloth covering you, his eyes go wide and he stops.

"We should probably stop before I get even more excited. Because then I really won't wanna go," Peter jokes as he stands up. You giggle at his sudden nervousness. He smiles as he moves to the en suite restroom, mentioning something about a shower.

When Peter comes back out, he sees you're in some panties and in a strapless bra. You have your hair done and you're finishing up your makeup, adding on some nudish-pink lipstick. You stand up and walk over to your closet and grab the hanger with a bag over it. Peter walked out with his hair already slicked back, smelling like his cologne which you loved so much. He has on some boxers and some socks on. You also have a pair of black heels in your arm. You set the heels on your bed and open up the hanger with the dress in it.

The dress is a long, rose-gold gown. It has a long train, extending for a good five feet. The bust is covered in diamond sequins and the dress is pretty form fitting. After a good few minutes of getting the dress on -who needs stylists?- you turn to Peter to ask for help. However, when you look at him, you see him putting on the jacket to his suit. It's an all-black suit and it fits perfectly tight on him. You're almost breathless as you look at him.

"Holy fuck," you say breathlessly. Yeah, Peter's a real cutie, and you've seen him in some sexy outfits, but this. This is next level. This is the type of Peter that could boss you around -because quite frankly, you don't like being bossed around- and you'd have no problem getting on your knees for. When Peter looks up at you, he begins to blush. He takes notice of your stunned expression and then his breath is taken away when he looks at you in the dress. Neither of you are completely dressed and you're already wanting to undress each other. You both have too much power at once. "C-can you zip me up?"

After a half hour of helping each other get ready and making out, you take note of the time, seeing it's already 6:30. The red carpet starts at 7:00, so leaving five minutes ago would've been a good idea. You call for Happy and once in the car, he speeds off towards the event venue.

Upon arrival, you see so many artists. So many musicians, actors, business owners, fashion designers. Peter is left stunned by all the big names in the room, leading to the red carpet. At some point, you have to remind Peter that half of those people don't even care to be there, so just chill. So instead of him freaking out over everyone, he stayed close by and held on to you. Maybe it was so he could make himself look cooler, but he's literally Spider-Man and he's already cool as is, it's just too bad nobody knows.

"I'm gonna say it this one time, but I'd suck Shawn Mendes' dick," Peter tells you as you both see him up ahead the red carpet. You nod eagerly in agreement. Peter laughs at your eagerness.

"Vanessa Hudgens, couple feet up. If she had a dick, I'm sure it would be colossal," you tell him. Vanessa Hudgens is a beautiful person and you have a huge crush on her. Peter agrees, commenting that she looks cute. Suddenly, a woman is calling you over, so you drag Peter over to where the woman stands in front of a man holding a camera.

"Now we're here with Y/N Stark, actress, and daughter of Tony Stark," the woman says. You smile and shake the woman's hand as she looks over at Peter. "Who do you have with you here?"

"This is my boyfriend, Peter," you say as the camera pans over to Peter, who shyly waves at the camera.

"How adorable. Now may I say, you both look absolutely amazing. How are you feeling tonight?" the woman asks.

"Totally nervous," Peter accidentally too loud. His eyes go wide and cheeks go red when he realizes the microphone picked that up and that the question was meant for Y/N and not him. There he goes, making it about him.

You giggle as you gently squeeze Peter's hand. "Yeah, like he said, totally nervous. This is my first big event like this. The only red carpets I go to are movie premiers or my father's expo, so I'm not totally surrounded by such big names often. It's wild."

"Now, how did Peter know you before getting together?" the woman asks. Your relationship with Peter was public for sure, but nobody really knew who Peter was. They just know you have a boyfriend and that's about it.

"We'd gone to school together and then he became an intern for my dad, so we spent a lot of time around each other."

After a final question, you and Peter go back to the carpet where you both get tons of pictures taken of you. After a few boring pictures, you and Peter decided to have fun with it. So, for each photographer, you'd take one normal picture and the rest would be the two of you making dumb poses. It started with it looking like you and Peter we arguing, followed by one where it looked like you were punching Peter, even one where you hold bunny ears up to Peter's head. Some of the photographers had fun with it, others seemed annoyed by it, but neither of you cared. You mostly did it to calm Peter's nerves and it really got him out of his shell.

"So I wanna play a game with you guys," some guy interviewing you asks.

"Sure thing, we love games!" you say.

"Alright. Fuck, Marry, kill. And the three names are Shawn Mendes, Ed Sheeran, and Drake."

Peter sighs and you do too.

"Okay, fuck Ed, but the room would have to be pitch black," you say, causing Peter to giggle. However, he nods and ultimately agrees with you. "I speak for the both of us on this one, but Marry Shawn Mendes, that man is beautiful and we're both crushing on him,"  you say. Peter lets out a groan in agreement as he says yes. "And then kill Drake."

"Had that one prepared, huh? How about Ariana Grande, Vanessa Hudgens, and Selena Gomez?"

"Fuck Ari because she's hot and awesome, marry Vanessa Hudgens and kill Selena Gomez," you say.

"I'd have to switch and say fuck Vanessa, marry Ariana, but I'd still kill Selena," Peter says. You nod, giggling at the end.

"Final round, Avengers edition. Thor, Black Widow, and Captain America."

"Fuck Thor, marry Thor, and kill none of them," Peter says loudly, proudly, and excitedly. The fact that he was so quick to answer, so sure of it made you cackle.

"I couldn't pick any of them, they're like my family. As a kid when they started coming around, though, I probably would've said marry Thor, fuck Nat, and kill Steve."  

After that, you continue through the red carpet, ruining more pictures. People started to walk with you and Peter as well. You'd walked with Rihanna for a few minutes, joined Kendall Jenner and Gigi Hadid for a few minutes and any other model, actor, or musician who would randomly walk up to you. Most of them seemed to be genuine in their intents, but there was always that one person to ask about your father, so you had to quickly shut them down. In the end, you and Peter finally reach the Metropolitan Museum and in there, the two of you walk around and laugh at the art.

Soon, the night comes to an end, and you call Happy to pick you up, asking him to make a stop at the nearest McDonald's. He obliges, despite not wanting to. Once you reach the tower, you head up to your bedroom, Peter in tow with the food in hand. It wasn't too long after eating the two of you fell asleep, any plans to tear each other's clothes off each other long forgotten.

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