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alpacaparkaseok · 4 years ago

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Lost & Found - 16

Pairing: Park Jimin x soulmate (oc)

Warnings: fluff, me feeling sad because THIS IS THE EEEEND

Word Count: 3.9k

a/n: there will be an epilogue coming out on Friday, (FROM CHRISTINA’S POV!!) however other than that, this is the end of Lost & Found everyone! I just wanted to say THANK YOU to all of you that have been so involved with this story. I feel like I’ve gotten to see so much of you guys interacting with this story and loving it just as much as I do. I’ve loved your theories and seeing your reactions (lol, some of them were hilarious). This story is...I don’t even know how to explain it. I put a little bit of myself into every story I write, but this is one of those that really made me do some digging. It still is. It was hard to write most of the time. But it was so, so worth it.

I would LOVE (as always) to hear from you about your thoughts. Who your fav characters were, favorite parts, thoughts on the ending, thoughts on side ships (lol Christina and Tae!) and of course, I’m more than happy to answer any questions! Thank you again for reading, and enjoy!

Chapter 16. I’m Proud of You

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The sound of rain battering on the roof of the shop creates a false sense of security. The ambience created by the repeated sound against the tin out in the alleyway lulls me into a dreamlike state.

Jimin appears to be in a similar mindset, leaning against the worktable and watching with glazed eyes as I knead the dough to a rhythm I pick out in the rainfall.

“What’s the next question?”

Jimin inhales deeply, eyes drifting to the appear hanging loosely in his hands. “Um…how do you plan on coping with a life in the spotlight?”

Jimin and I have been at the sweet-bread shop for the past couple of hours, trying to make up for all the days I missed from work. Yuri allowed for us to come in today much later than normal due to Jimin’s schedule in the morning.

Last night I’d glanced through the lengthy list of questions with Jimin and Chung-hei. I’d nearly cried from relief when I found out that she would also be joining in on the interview. Apparently Bighit thought that selling the idea of two close friends at the soulmates for two of their idols might prove to be comforting for the fans.

“I plan on baking a lot of bread,” I respond with a smirk, spreading the dough in a pan and heading toward the large oven on the far side of the room. On the way I prop the back door open just a crack, allowing a bit of air in now that the back will be heating up with baking bread. The sound of rain grows louder, the strong smell flooding the kitchen.

Jimin chuckles, nodding along. “And texting your friend Jaemin?”

“Obviously.” Once everything looks good to go, I set a timer and check the time. It’s pushing eight in the evening, and the rain has yet to let up at all. “Ok, that’ll bake for thirty minutes.” I go to join Jimin beside the worktable, beginning to wipe it down.

“Next…something that’s surprised you so far?”

The thread now extends nearly twenty feet, which the soulmate specialist we met with last night predicted would happen. “At this rate,” he’d said, “Everything should be back to normal within five days or so.”

Normal.

What does that even mean anymore?

“You.” I keep my eyes on the table, trying to scoop up as much flour as I can. “You’ve been the biggest surprise so far.”

Jimin lowers the paper, watching my movements as I dispose of the flour before spraying some disinfectant and continuing to clean.

“Explain that, please.” Jimin effortlessly assumes the role of interviewer. I chew on my cheek, grinning when Jimin takes up a spot on the opposite side of the table and motions for the cloth.

I slide it toward him, watching as he begins to clean the other side. “Well… I think we’re becoming friends. Good friends.” My absentminded smile grows as I recall the events of last night.

By the time we’d finished the meeting with Bang PD, we’d barely had enough time to breathe before launching ourselves into another flurry of meetings. All designed to prepare me for the possible pitfalls of this sudden interview.

When we’d finally made it back to the house, Elle was cranky at not seeing either of us all day and I was bordering on a mental breakdown.

In the quiet of the living room, Jimin had sat on the edge of my couch-turned-bed and tucked me in.

“Take your pick,” he’d whispered, unfolding the blanket. “Burrito or lasagna.”

My startled laugh sounded loud in the quiet house. “What’s the difference?”

With some sort of reverenced adoration, I listened to my soulmate explain the lasagna method (piling several layers of blankets on top of the victim/person), versus the burrito method (one blanket, snugly tucked in).

Laid there on the couch, gazing up at Jimin, I understood why I hadn’t fought against the interview.

I cared. It was a devastatingly simple and perhaps a little lackluster revelation, but I cared about him.

Jimin looks up at me now from the opposite end of the worktable with a crooked smile. “Are you friend-zoning me?”

My eyes fall to that smile, wondering what it might feel like to reach out and trace the little divots it creates in his cheeks.

“…no.”

After his marvelous explanation of the difference in the lasagna and burrito methods, I’d chosen burrito.

Jimin had leapt up off the couch and draped the blanket over my body. I laughed when it covered my face, and Jimin chuckled nervously when he pulled it down.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “This is a hazardous line of work at times.”

Beginning at my toes and working his way up, Jimin had meticulously tucked me in. I’d stifled a laugh when he brushed up against my sides, a knowing smile gracing his lips before he quietly instructed, “Arms up.”

Rather than finishing the job quickly, Jimin took his time. Gently straightening the hem of the blanket and taking my hands in his before guiding them to rest atop the blanket.

He took a moment to study me, the only source of light coming from the kitchen. A little light had been left on above the stove, but I didn’t mind; not when it illuminated the way he was looking at me.

Resting on the edge of the couch, Jimin looked like an ordinary man.

His black t-shirt looked a little wrinkled, and his eyes were tired. He ran a hand through his hair, looking at the other couch.

“I’m proud of you.”

Despite the utter silence in the room, I wondered if I heard him correctly. “Hm?”

His lips turned down in a frown of concentration as Jimin swam in his thoughts. “I think you deserve to hear it.”

I stared at him like he had suddenly transformed into a werewolf. “I…I don’t think…”

At my tone of doubt, Jimin returned his focus on me, surprised to see that I didn’t believe him.

Maybe you aren’t proud of yourself,” he whispered quietly, as though sharing a secret. “But for now, I hope that this is enough.” He reached out to wipe a stray tear from my cheek, quickly followed by another. “You’ve been so brave, and I’m so proud of you.”

For unknown minutes after, all was silent. Jimin stayed, fingers caressing my cheeks as the tears continued to flow. I had clung to his wrist, unable to verbally convey what was caught in my throat as he continued to look at me with so much pride.

I don’t deserve you.

But I will do my best to love you in the way you deserve.

✂

The rain lets up not long after the bread comes out of the oven, although Jimin is nowhere near the end of the questions. He continues asking them as he and Jolie head out to the car waiting for them, Sunmi greeting them with a cheery wave.

He watches with a forgotten smile as his soulmate interacts with her friend. Jolie laughs at something Sunmi says, her eyes alight with some sort bittersweet emotion. Jimin is beginning to understand what that look means.

Last night, he’d seen the way she was doubting herself. If he was honest, he’d been doubting himself, as well. This interview was going to be high pressure. He didn’t want to admit it, but this interview would largely decide how people viewed his soulmate.

Yet, Jolie didn’t complain. She didn’t say a single thing expressing her doubt or worry. Instead, he watched on with amazement and admiration as she powered through the meetings. Steeling herself against the worst.

There had been a moment, as Jimin tucked his soulmate in after explaining the different methods (he’d come up with the lasagna method on the spot, but she didn’t need to know that), that he realized why he’d been feeling so odd all day. Like something about Jolie was so familiar, allowing him to fall into an easy rhythm with someone who should have been one of the last he would trust so readily.

She reminded him of, well…himself.

Jolie was cut from the same cloth that he was. That younger Jimin of the trainee days, trying so hard to be brave but still quick to make rash decisions that he later came to regret with his whole being. Quick to doubt, quick to love.

Somehow, that’s who Jimin saw as he sat perched on the edge of the couch. And after a moment of reflection, he felt like he knew what he had needed to hear back in those early days. What Jolie needed to hear as she embarked on this new adventure.

“I’m proud of you.”

It was true. It still is, less than a day later as Jolie sits beside Jimin in the backseat and chatters freely with Sunmi. Explaining some of the silly answers she came up with to the possible interview questions, making a bet on some random phrase that Chung-hei will probably say at some point.

That pride bubbles up until it has Jimin reaching across the seat to grab Jolie’s hand in his, lovingly running his thumb over her knuckles. He grins at the way she stumbles mid-sentence, eyes flashing to him.

He sees the way she looks doubtful for a moment, and he knows that she’s internally rejecting the notion that he cares as deeply for her as his actions say he does. He just squeezes her hand a little tighter and silently promises to prove it to her.

Again and again, if need be.

“You’ll do great,” Sunmi is reassuring as she pulls into a familiar neighborhood. They’ve arrived back to the apartment at last. “I’ll be watching.”

“That sounds a little creepy,” Jolie teases, glancing over at Jimin as she opens up the door and slides out. “Thanks, Sunmi.”

Sunmi nods, smiling in the rear view. “I’ll see you guys in the morning!”

Once they’ve said their goodbyes, Jimin and Jolie head up to the apartment. They can already hear some of the people inside, and Jolie can’t hide her smile as she hears Christina’s voice.

“Kim Seokjin, I already told you that I’m in charge of the zucchini, now leave it alone.”

Jolie wiggles her eyebrows at Jimin. “Don’t tell me she’s moved on to Jin.”

“Oh, no. Her and Tae and are pining over each other every chance they get,” he quietly confirms. The way Jolie snorts has him smiling at her fondly. “She’s probably just trying to make him jealous by hanging out with Jin.”

The two of them head inside, stepping into a warzone. People are scattered everywhere, jumping to and fro in an effort to prepare a suitable dinner for all those present. It’s a rare sight to see in the house, it’s not often that they cook at home. Due to their busy schedules, they either cook for themselves or eat out.

“What’s going on?” Jolie asks with a hint of amusement as she glances at Taehyung. He’s the only stationary being in the entire house, leaning up against the doorway to the kitchen and staring at Christina with furrowed brows. Almost like he’s confused, but he doesn’t quite understand why.

Jimin comes up behind him, clapping him on the shoulder. “How’s it going?”

Taehyung shrugs, a little lost in thought. “Oh, fine. Fine.”

Winking at Jolie, Jimin attempts to sidle into the kitchen. “Anybody need help in here?” There’s a round of applause from Jin, who begs Jimin to come and help him with something. Taking up a station beside his oldest hyung, Jimin gets to work to prepare family dinner.

✂

“So,” I drawl, posting up on the opposite end of the doorframe from Taehyung. “Whatcha thinking about?”

Taehyung’s frown deepens, his eyes flitting over to mine before sloping back to where Christina chops vegetables at the counter. “Dinner.”

“Mhmm.”

Again, his eyes flash over to me, an accusing look on his face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I shrug, enjoying the role reversal. To think, it wasn’t that long ago before I was quaking before Taehyung at work. “You just look a little distracted, that’s all.”

Taehyung chews on his bottom lip, and I don’t miss the way his eyes flit back and forth between Christina, her severed thread, and his own thread which leads out the door and beyond. Connecting him to his soulmate, wherever they may be.

“I feel a little…strange.” He admits quietly enough for no one else to hear.

“In a good way, or…?”

He shrugs, watching as Christina picks her way across the kitchen to where Seokjin clears a space for her to slip the cut vegetables into a steaming pot. “Sometimes good, sometimes bad.”

“And do you…plan to do anything about these strange feelings?”

Christina steps out of the room, and the second she disappears from sight it’s like Taehyung woke up from a long dream. He blinks, looking around for a second before looking back at me. “I think it’s more of a question of if I should do something about it. If that’s even plausible.” Again, his eyes drift to his thread, and I mull over this odd situation.

In the end, it only leads to heartbreak. It just depends on who it will be that gets their heart broken.

Before I can respond, Yoongi is calling everyone to come to dinner. It takes a few minutes for us to all gather around, and I can’t help but notice the way that Taehyung doesn’t even think twice before settling down next to Christina. The moment he notices what he’s done, however, that same tormented expression from earlier reappears. I offer him a bolstering smile from down the table, which he hastily returns.

We all dig into the food, everyone expressing appreciation for different dishes and sharing all around. Jimin blows on his bulgogi before extending it to me with a grin, which I quickly take.

Toward the end of the meal, Hoseok holds up a glass and a hush falls over the table. “I’d like to propose a toast!”

Jungkook whispers something to Jin, who tries and fails to hide his laughter. A glare from Hobi has the two shutting up in an instant.

“To more family dinners like this,” he says with a smile. “And to all our new additions.” He pauses, thinking for a moment longer. “Some of you arrived in more…unconventional ways than others. But I will say this: you make my friends happy, and that’s all I want for them. Please continue to make them smile as often as you can.”

I can toast to that.

✂

These lights are making me sweat, but then again, that could also be from the way the interviewer is staring me down with a hawk-like glare.

There’s no studio audience, no this is something to be broadcasted in about a month from now. For now, I sit beside Chung-hei and try not to fidget in my seat.

At first, there were plenty of generic questions. A few directed toward Chung-hei or I that were easy enough to tackle; questions like: “What’s your line of work?” or “How does it feel to be in an interview?”

Now, though, we’re reaching the end and the interviewer seems to sense this. They begin to lean into the more difficult questions. Anything to keep ratings going, I suppose.

“Jolie, I have one final question for you,” they grab their card before crossing their legs and smiling at me. There’s no kindness in that smile, but I try to pretend like there is. “If you could go back in time to before you met Jimin, what would you tell yourself?”

I blink. Everyone looks to me expectantly, and I find that I’m suddenly sweating much more than before.

This wasn’t in the list of questions.

Refraining from chewing on my lip, I glance at Chung-hei. My friend smiles encouragingly at me, and I allow myself to go back to a previous time I saw that same smile.

I’m standing beside Chung-hei, grinning wide enough that my cheeks hurt as the intro music begins to play.

“They’re about to come out!” Hei screams despite standing right by me. I laugh at her excitement, even though I know I look just as crazed as she does.

The entire arena floods with music, the bass making my very bones vibrate. All around me people lift up their army bombs and cheer. Smoke floods the stage, creating a mysterious aura before the lights drop and everything is plunged into darkness.

And then, light. Two huge spotlights illuminate seven figures who seemingly appeared from thin air in the middle of the stage. Less than a second later, the already deafening arena picks up in sound.

In a burst of energy, the seven boys begin their routine. I find that I am absolutely mesmerized as my eyes fall on one person in particular.

Park Jimin glides across the stage as though he owns it; which, with some quick negotiating and a bit of cash, he probably could. His flowy white shirt makes me understand why he’s so often referred to as an angel. However, it’s when he smiles that I find myself adopting the nickname to use for future reference.

For a moment, I am blissfully ignorant to all that awaits me. To all that awaits us, as I still have yet to notice the way my thread shifts whenever Jimin moves across the stage.

What would I tell myself in that moment?

The answer comes surprisingly quickly. “If I could go back…I think I’d just tell her that I’m proud of her.” I smile softly at the interviewer, who listens to my every word as though waiting for some sort of slip up to cling to. “For all that she’s gone through, I’m proud. And that there’s light up ahead.”

Right on cue, the producer signals to wrap it up from behind the camera. I spy Jimin’s smile, making me smile in return.

The interview is wrapped up within the next couple of minutes, and before I know it we’re being herded backstage before slipping into our different cars to head to the Bighit building.

Jimin and I sit in the back seat as Sunmi drives, listening to her rant about how well we did. I just shrug, explaining that it’s too soon to congratulate us. The real challenge will come when the broadcast airs.

“You did well,” Jimin quietly affirms. He takes my hand in his like he did yesterday, and it’s a feeling that I can certainly tell I’ll be more than happy with for the rest of my life. “How are you feeling?”

I shrug. ��Alright, I think. Just nervous for what comes next.”

Once we make it to the Bighit building, Jimin pulls me aside before entering the doors. Once he’s ascertained that there isn’t anyone eavesdropping, he pulls me in close to his embrace.

I nearly melt in his arms, instantly relaxing as I take in the citrusy scent of his shampoo. It’s the same that I’ve been using over the past couple of days.

“Let me tell you what comes next,” he whispers before pulling back to see my face. “First off, you quit trying to friend-zone me.”

I laugh, trying to shove him away but failing as he keeps a tight grip around me. “I’m not! You’re just being overdramatic!”

He feigns offense, gasping loudly. “I can’t believe you’d attack me like this. It hurts, jagiya. It really does.”

“Yah, just get on with it.”

“Ok, ok. You’re so impatient.” His easy smile proves that he doesn’t mean me any harm. “ Secondly, I have a question for you.”

“And what’s that?”

Releasing his grip around my waist just long enough to push some of his hair back, he raises an eyebrow. “Do you want to date me?”

I blink, unsure of whether to laugh or question his health. “I- yeah. Of course I do.”

“Ah, so you want to date me.” Jimin smirks, and suddenly I realize that I may have just gotten myself into a lot of trouble. “Alright, I guess I’ll allow it. But I do have some conditions for you if you want to be my girlfriend.”

I scoff. “Woah, technically you’re the one that asked-”

“And you answered that yes, you want to date me. Will you hear out my conditions?” I nod impatiently. “Good. First, you must allow me to tuck you in burrito style whenever you sleep over.” I chuckle, nodding along vigorously while trying to memorize the way he’s looking at me right now. “Second, you quit texting that Jaemin guy. I’m the jealous type, and he seems sketchy.”

Now I can’t hold back my shoulder-shaking laughter. “You realize how contradictory that is, right?”

Completely ignoring my call on his judgement, Jimin continues. “You let me send you chocolates without complaining about getting fat. I get joint custody of Elle. You teach me how to bake bread, your mother’s recipe.”

His soft tone makes me smile softly. “And?”

He holds up his left hand, the red thread shining in the afternoon sun. “When this thing starts working properly again, you don’t run away from me. Let me- let me be your best friend.”

There’s a lump in my throat now as Jimin’s eyes glisten with unshed tears. “And?” I whisper.

“And when the rest of the world is pressing in on you, let me remind you how much you are loved.”

His grip tightens just a cinch as I let out a shaky breath before mumbling out, “How do you plan to do that?”

Jimin’s eyes slowly drop to my lips, head tilting to the side as he smiles softly. “I have something of an idea.”

The sound of the gate opening to let another car in – surely one of the other boys – alerts me to our ending privacy. Before Jimin can change his mind, I throw my arms around his neck and pull him in close.

The first clash of our lips is a bit sloppy, but soon Jimin is leaning in impossibly closer to better capture my lips. It’s unknown and hurried, and full of promise for the future. The only thing on my mind is the feeling of Jimin’s hands digging into my waist before finding themselves at the small of my back, making me stumble forward a step. He catches me, lips parting in a crooked grin a single second before a black SUV pulls up.

Jimin’s cheeks are dusted light pink in the afternoon sun, but soon I’m going cross eyed as he leans in and delivers Eskimo kisses. “I knew it was a good idea.”

“Oi! Don’t tell me you two were just making out in broad daylight,” Jin groans as he exits the SUV followed by a disgusted looking Namjoon.

“I- no, we were…uh, I…” Jimin sputters, looking to me for help. I laugh, saying nothing as I head for the doors.

“Namjoon, you can’t even act like you’re disgusted!” Jimin protests, hurrying after me to avoid a collision with the door like he has in previous experiences. “Don’t pretend like I haven’t seen you and Chung-hei making out like teenagers on the couch-”

All three boys trail after me as I stride down the hallway toward the elevator. They don’t stop their bickering as we enter the elevator and Jin pushes the fifth floor button, red in the face as he scolds the other two for their behavior.

Leaning up against the wall, I close my eyes and smile, listening to the accusations flying around the small elevator.

It’s good to be home.

Previous - Epilogue

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#bts fluff #jimin fluff #bts scenarios #jimin fanfiction #bts angst #bts sfw #jimin sfw #jimin angst #jimin x soulmate #bts x soulmate #bts x oc #jimin x oc #idol!bts #idol!jimin #idol!jimin x soulmate #bts soulmate au #jimin soulmate au #armywriterssupport

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sunnyrosewritesstuff · 3 years ago

Note

OHHHHHH 🥺

Thank you dear ❣️

Be sure I will always cheerlead for you 😤

And cursed dragonball au has a special place in my heart already, let's chat about it anytime you want 😂

Of course friend! 😊 Also, I may have gotten a touch carried away with the Thorin's Fourteen AU...

Incomplete and Unedited Drabbles Below!!

Thorin’s fingers drummed against the table as he waited. He took another sip of his drink, relishing his first taste of alcohol since getting out of jail. A few seats down, a couple of off-duty cops laughed and looked around the room enjoying their own drinks. Thorin tried not to tense every time their eyes rested on him. It was ridiculous that drinking was a violation of his parole, but Thorin had to remind himself that here in Bree, he wasn’t in danger of being recognized by every officer. Just when he was about to get up having enough of the unnecessary anxiety attack, he finally sat down.

“Thorin Oakenshield. I thought you had ten years left on your sentence?”

Thorin could have killed the old man, but realized his voice wasn’t loud enough to carry behind him. The cops threw a few bills on the table and left, allowing Thorin to breathe easier. He glared at Gandalf.

“I got off for good behavior, no thanks to you.”

“I did everything I could as your lawyer. The evidence was stacked too far against you to get you anything lighter than a twenty million dollar fine and fifteen years.”

“Meanwhile, I had to watch that snake get away with framing me for embezzlement and take my grandfather’s company out from underneath me. Do you know what he’s turned Erebor into? A fucking casino, Gandalf!”

Real pain shined in the old man’s blue eyes making him look tired and his wrinkles longer.

“I know, lad. I know. If there was anything I could do, believe me when I say, I would.”

“That’s why I’ve called this meeting, Gandalf.” Thorin smirked, leaning in slightly. “I have a plan. A plan to steal the Arkenstone and topple Smaug, once and for all.”

“Oh?” The lawyer raised his eyebrow. “And is this plan something accomplished by legal means?”

Thorin gave him a hard glare, refusing to answer that. Besides, he knew Gandalf could already guess his answer. The older man nodded at Thorin’s silence and took a sip of his drink.

“What you are suggesting is very dangerous and has a very little chance of succeeding. Furthermore, you’re going to need quite a few extra hands to pull this off. Hands that may not exactly be clean.”

“So Balin, Dwalin, Oin, and Gloin are still loyal to me. I know where to find my old cellmate, Nori, and I think I can get him on board, possibly his brothers too. And, unfortunately, my nephews probably have too much time on their hands and I can’t imagine them listening to me if I try to keep them out of it anyways.”

“That makes ten.” Gandalf nodded. “I have a client by the name of Bifur who has two cousins who would probably aid you well.”

“There’s thirteen.” Thorin shrugged, thinking that was more than enough.

“I think we need one more.” Gandalf argued. “And I know just where to find him.”

***

Bilbo was trying to keep his eyes to his book as he rode the train back to the Shire. He went to Bree for a nice shopping excursion, but he was ready to be back in his armchair in his quiet, comfortable parlor. He hated crowds. Years of conditioning had him constantly aware of his surroundings. Who would make good marks? Who would be less likely to notice a missing wallet or jewelry? Who are the people watchers who would notice something amiss? He shook his head and tried to concentrate on his book again. However, the man directly across from him with the wallet careless stuffed in his jacket pocket almost seemed to be begging for it. The train announced the Hobbiton station, and Bilbo hopped up to move towards the door, ready to get off as soon as possible.

“Excuse me.” An older man apologized after bumping into Bilbo.

He gave a tight smile while subtly checking that his wallet was still there. When everything appeared to be in order, he gave a quick ‘it’s fine’, and jumped off the train. He was a couple of blocks away when he looked down to see a slip of paper had been inserted in between the pages of his book. He pulled it out to see it wasn’t a simple piece of paper, but a business card.

Gandalf Grey, Attorney at Law

Written on the back was a single sentence that had his blood running cold.

I would have expected Belladonna Took’s son to have made that lift.

A location was given after that. The Green Dragon. Who the hell was this Gandalf Grey?

***

“So lad? How did it go?” Balin asked cheerfully after Bilbo made it back to the warehouse.

“I’ll tell you. You lot can certainly pick them.” He complained, earning Thorin’s attention.

“Were you seen?” The taller man demanded.

Bilbo scoffed. “What do you take me for? Of course, I wasn’t! I’m just saying this man is as meticulous as he is ruthless! Do you know he has his own elite, questionably legal, security detail he lovingly calls the orcs? The last person who tried to steal from Smaug was gutted and then had his brother-in-law’s bakery seized!”

“Oh yes, I heard that as well.” Balin nodded.

Thorin frowned. “I thought it was the uncle’s gas station?”

“Maybe his son’s car wash?” Balin offered after a moment of thought.

“Does it matter?!” Bilbo attempted to pull their attention back to the main issue.

“Are you scared?” Thorin mocked with a raised eyebrow.

“Are you suicidal?” Bilbo shot back.

Thorin smirked almost grudgingly before shrugging. “Only in the mornings. Now, what did you find out about Smaug?”

***

Everyone started filing out of the back of the van, quickly and quietly. Bilbo moved to follow only for Thorin to put his hand on his shoulder, pushing him back inside.

“You stay here.” He growled.

“Are you serious?” Bilbo demanded.

Thorin glared back. “Yes. I need to be able to predict everyone’s movements in order to pull this off, and frankly you’re too much of a wild card. Stay, and maybe I’ll trust you with more.”

Bilbo glared at the man long after he disappeared inside the university.

“Cheer up, Mister Boggins.” Kili tried to appease from the front seat. “Uncle made us stay behind too.”

Great, he was nothing more than a child in Thorin’s eyes.

“You want to play twenty questions?” Fili offered.

Bilbo groaned as he held his head between his knees.

“Alright. I’ll go first!” Kili volunteered.

“Are you a man?” Fili asked.

“Yes. Nineteen.”

“Are you dead?”

“Yes. Eighteen.”

“Durin the Deathless.”

“...Damn it!”

Bilbo let his head hit the side of the van. This would be the longest twenty minutes of his life.

“Hey, Mister Boggins? What’s that?”

Bilbo looked over only to see a flashlight sweeping the grounds, followed quickly by another.

“Shit! Those are guards.”

“What do we do?” Fili asked nervously.

“You two stay here and try to remain inconspicuous. I’ll draw them off.”

Bilbo was out of the van and across the lawn before either brother could protest. Not even thirty seconds later, the rest of the crew appeared with the device in hand. As they loaded it into the back, Thorin’s eyes scanned the van realizing instantly something was amiss. Where was Bilbo?

“Fili! Kili! Where’s Baggins?” He demanded.

“He went to lead some guards on a wild goose chase.” Kili offered nonchalantly.

Thorin groaned as he punched the door.

“What do you want to do, Thorin?” Dwalin asked with a knowing look.

“Drive down to the end of the road and give us twenty minutes. If we’re not there by then, just go. I’ll get the damn idiot.”

***

Bilbo took a few seconds in the elevator to catch his breath. Smaug was more terrifying than he ever imagined.

“Alright Bilbo.” Ori spoke through the earpiece. “You are disappearing from their feed in three, two...you are now the invisible man.”

Bilbo nodded as he shed the glasses and jacket. Time to get to work. The elevator came to a stop, and Bilbo jumped up to open up the ceiling tile under the light. Only he shorted it by two inches.

“Come on.” Bilbo groaned to himself trying again.

This would be terribly embarrassing if he couldn’t get out of the fucking elevator because he was too short. He reached down to get the grappling hook out of his briefcase. It was supposed to be used later, but desperate times. When he looked back up, he gave a quick yelp of fright to see Thorin’s smiling face.

“What the hell?” He demanded.

“It’s my stone, my building, and my plan. You didn’t really think I was going to sit this out, did you?”

“Didn’t trust me?” Bilbo snipped as he took Thorin’s outstretched hand.

The taller man gave a slight grunt at the strain, but Bilbo was too mesmerized by the flexed bicep inches from his face. Once he was close enough to the top, Bilbo reached out and helped Thorin out by pulling himself out of the elevator. When he finally got his footing, he looked up to find Thorin uncomfortably close. Bilbo’s throat became dry as he tried not to focus on the sweat gathered in the hollow of his throat.

“You should know by now, Mister Baggins, that you have my full and complete trust.” Thorin growled.

Bilbo swallowed and tried to focus on Thorin’s eyes, and his eyes only. Not how beautifully fit Thorin was in that tight black shirt, and certainly not on those lips the man’s tongue had just wet.

“Bofur’s just about ready to go. Are you and Thorin in position?” Ori’s voice brought him back to the present.

Bilbo cleared his throat several times with the promise of later. This could all be explored later when they weren’t in the middle of a job.

“Close enough.” He mumbled back.

#ocean's eleven au #bagginshield #small headcannons I have with this:#thorin has building blueprints Dis found in the attic that reveal a secret entrance #the pinch scene = the trolls scene #their plan to steal the arkenstone is actually closer to the plan to steal the egg in ocean's twelve #azog works for smaug and it gets heated at the end!

12 notes · View notes

milkybonya · 5 years ago

Text

apple pie

🍎Warnings: food mentions, some angst

🍎Pairing: college!Wooseok x college!(gender neutral)reader

🍎Summary: where i twist my (irl) first year university experience and give it the happy ending i wanted :D

🍎Word count: 5k

🍎first year of university is annoying. some tall guy keeps stealing your seat, making your mornings a little more frustrating. when you find the guts to take your seat back, your feelings of anger develop into something else. but like a poisoned apple, though seemingly sweet, some things, or some people, are just forbidden. yet when an apple is baked with love into a pie, a pie that needs much care and time to bake properly, won’t the outcome be a good one? 🍎

You always sit in the front. It helps you to stay focused and it’s very important that you sit in the same spot everyday.

It always took a few weeks of getting to class early before everyone would stay away from your seat, since in university, there aren’t any seating plans. Consequently, it didn’t normally bother you if someone took your seat.

But this time, it did.

Getting to your chem class from calc involved rushing from one side of campus to the other, so by the time you arrived, someone was sitting in ‘your seat’. You sighed and sat somewhere a few rows back, glaring at the figure of this intruder. He had his black bag on the seat next to him, and you wondered who he was saving his seat for.

It was hard to focus in class, especially when you realized that this boy had not been saving the seat next to him, but was just putting his bag there. I could have sat there... you thought.

During class, there would often be multiple choice questions that you would have to answer on your phone called ‘iclickers’. It was a method of keeping track of attendance and who was paying attention. Your eyes were glued to your intruder’s back for the first twenty minutes of class, so you got the first iclicker wrong. They were supposed to be easy marks, but you got it wrong.

It’s all his fault, you thought. If only he hadn’t sat there!

From that day on, he’d always beat you to your seat. If he only sat there once, you would’ve been able to forgive him, but the fact that he was there everyday made you angry. Even worse, his bag took up the spot next to him. A perfectly good spot taken by a bag...

One day, you stomped up to him and without saying ‘excuse me’ or asking if the seat next to him was taken, you slid into the spot where his bag was, forcing him to remove it.

I did it! You thought. Front row spot secured.

Everyday, you would sit next to him, and the two of you never exchanged a word. You didn’t want to start the conversation because he was the intruder and you wouldn’t do that for him.

Yes, at first, you hated him just a bit. He’d taken your seat! Why wouldn’t you?

You started to notice how he would clear his throat every few seconds right before sniffling. How he’d push up his wire-rimmed glasses after looking down at his notes. How he removed his cap so he could fix his overgrown, dark locks underneath. The sound of his black jacket crinkling as he shifted his arms so he could rest his chin in his palm... Cute, you thought. No! Cute? Intruder man? No no no...

Your crush was in full swing before you knew it. You were excited to come to class everyday just to see him. That was it. See him. Not talk to him, but see him. You were too scared to suddenly start a conversation after sitting next to him in silence for a week, but you knew you would regret it if you didn’t try.

After frantically texting your friends for courage and advice, you walked to class early on Monday so you could be there before him. When he came to sit next you, your heart was racing. Okay, I’ll just ask him about the lecture notes so I don’t seem weird, then I’ll ask for his name, then...

You took a deep breath. Your heart beat was like an earthquake, shaking your entire body. Were your ribs crumbling inside? Why did it feel like your body was collapsing?

“Hey um...” he didn’t hear you, so you gently poked his shoulder and he turned to look at you. You were too scared to meet his eyes, so you stared somewhere to his left.

“Um, do you know where we left off in the lecture notes last week?” You asked. I did it, I’m doing it !

“Yeah,” he said, shuffling a few pages around and pulling out a paper, pointing to something. “Here.” His voice was deep.

“Ah, thank you,” you said, pretending to go through your own notes. “I know I always sit next to you, but I’ve never spoken to you before, what’s your name?”

“Me?” he asked, pointing to himself with wide eyes. “Wooseok.”

“Wooseok... My name is [y/n],” You said. He nodded, looking back at his notes.

Realizing that he wasn’t going to continue the conversation, you decided to try asking him a question while mentally kicking yourself for doing all the hard work in the conversation.

He answered, telling you that he was studying Humanities. Unsure of which specific program he wanted to pursue, he was taking a variety of courses, including chemistry for some reason.

“Just keeping my options open,” he said with a chuckle.

It felt a bit awkward, like you were interviewing him, but you were glad to have started the conversation, proud that you were brave for once despite being so scared of initiating conversations.

The professor strolled in and class begun, so you decided not to bother Wooseok anymore for the time being.

The next day, you tried again, asking him more questions. He told you how he was an international student from Korea, living here without his parents and family. You felt a little upset, knowing that his family was far away. It made you want to be kinder to the intruder who stole your seat. And your heart.

Each day, you tried to talk to him more and eventually, he seemed to feel more comfortable around you.

“How’s your day going?” he asked you for the first time as you sat beside him. You responded while smiling, earning you a grin in return from the tall boy.

At some point, he also started saving your seat for you. He had stopped placing his bag beside him when you forcefully sat next to him the first time, but he started placing his bag there again now, removing it as soon as he saw you rushing through the double doors to the front row.

He didn’t want anyone to sit beside him except for you.

Those brief moments before class were something that you treasured. The two of you talking and getting to know one another, Wooseok’s eye smile as he spoke... it was so lovely. Even during class, you’d share answers for the iclickers, explaining your thoughts to one another and debating the answers. You’d both groan when you got them wrong and grinned when you got them right.

The front row experience meant an up-close view of the demos, so the two of you would share your amazement with every explosion, trying to predict what would happen next.

During your bleak and often stressful first year of university, your crush on Wooseok and his presence had become your solace. That was, until February 14th. The day before reading week. A Friday. Valentine’s day.

Frankly, you were worried that Wooseok was seeing someone from the very start. He was so pretty, and pretty international students were known for having s/os. You used Valentine’s day as an excuse to see if you could find an answer to your question.

“Woah Wooseok, it’s Valentine’s day. The days are passing so quickly, I didn’t even notice!” you said, trying to play it cool.

“Oh yeah!” Wooseok said, scratching the back of his neck. “I should buy something for my s/o...”

s/o. There it was. The answer that you expected but dreaded.

You felt your heart drop but tried to keep it together. Wooseok returned to his notes, unaware of the fact that you were falling apart right beside him.

Even when the professor began to lecture, you were unable to pay attention, drifting in and out of sadness. You didn’t realize how big your crush on Wooseok was until now.

That’s okay! you told yourself. I can still just be his friend. I should ask for his socials later to see if he’ll want to meet during the break.

Wooseok was in a rush to leave as soon as the professor dismissed the class. A big smile on his face, he quickly packed up.

“Finally, the break is here!” he exclaimed.

You tried to keep up with the tall boy’s pace, scurrying behind him and quietly asking him if he would want to meet during your week off school. He seemed to be in a daze, grinning while he took your phone to search for his sns account.

He left you standing there.

You were happy that you could contact him but sad that he would be nothing but a friend.

🍎

During the break, you decided to ask him what he was up to while you were sitting in the boba store at your local mall. He told you that he was in a nearby city, staying at his friend’s house. Damn, he probably won’t want to meet me since he’s so far away.

You were glad that he wasn’t alone though, and after quite a dry text conversation with him, you slipped your phone into your pocket and walked off.

By the time the break was over and you were back in your chemistry class, Wooseok seemed sad again. When you asked him what was up, he told you he was sad because the break ended so fast and he hadn’t gotten much done. A lot of deadlines were waiting for him. It wasn’t even your problem, but you felt upset seeing him stressed.

You had gotten used to recognizing his moods by the way he acted. He was a little more quiet when he was tired, sad or stressed, but when he wanted to talk to you, you could tell he was feeling happier, which also made you happy.

🍎

A few days later, there was a day when the professor didn’t come to class. Half an hour had passed and he still wasn’t there, so you decided to leave. Wooseok wanted to stay to do some work, so you left alone.

You passed a boba shop in the student centre on your way to your next class and quickly messaged Wooseok asking him if he wanted you to buy anything. It was another stressful day for him it seemed, and you wanted to cheer him up.

He thanked you but said he didn’t want anything, so you trudged away to your next class, feeling defeated. You wished you had just asked him to come along with you.

It was your biggest goal and dream to see Wooseok outside of your chemistry class. It seemed like he only existed there, and you wished that you could randomly run into him on campus or have a study date with him... It felt like he wasn’t even real, since you only saw him in chemistry.

One day, it actually happened. Your next class was cancelled so you had an extra two hours, and Wooseok was also free for the next two hours. When you asked him where he was going to spend his time, he said, “the library. Wanna come with me?”

The fact that he wanted you to come along, that he asked the question with his eyes widened and a small smile on his face, eager for an answer, all of this was enough to make your heart flutter.

As you left the lecture hall while walking right next to him, the cold winter air hit your face and both of you almost tripped on a pile of snow right outside the door. You laughed along with him, thankful that you see him outside of the lecture hall.

I guess he is real and not just some figment of my imagination...

The library was packed, buzzing with the sound of students studying for their midterms. The two of you managed to find an empty table though, sitting side by side and opening your books.

Wooseok complained about his crazy final exam schedule, and as you showed him your own schedule on your laptop, he shuffled over to lean in closer, trying to get a better view. It made your heart race; he was so close.

Even as the two of you studied, he would lean in to see what part of the mock test your were on.

When it was time to head to class, the two of you walked side by side for as far as you could until you had to part ways. Wooseok’s tall frame towered over you from your right, and the fact that you had to look up at him every time he spoke made you feel small and cute. He was the only person who could make you feel this way.

Waving goodbye, you checked the time and began to ran as you realized you were late. Quickly shuffling into a seat, your friend elbowed you from beside you, asking you where you had been.

“In the library with Wooseok,” you whispered.

“A library date?!” your friend exclaimed. You slapped their shoulder shyly and tried to pay attention in class, but your head was still spinning. Finally you had gotten to hang out with Wooseok outside of class... Could this mean that your friendship was growing?

🍎

You and Wooseok would leave class together more often, sometimes meeting when you were both free to study. Even though you were both only close enough to talk about school and not your personal interests, you still tried to learn more about him and his love for anime, music, and his weird sleeping schedule.

Sometimes the two of you would only talk instead of studying, which you didn’t mind in the slightest bit.

Things were going well. You even got to hang out with Wooseok on a weekend, walking around town and exploring some shops.

You stole glances at him as his long fingers thumbed through jackets, his eyes focused, trying to find something he wanted. When he pulled out a funny T-shirt that he wanted to show you, you quickly looked away and blushed, not wanted him to know that you were staring.

“[y/n], look! Isn’t this funny?” he asked you, grinning cutely. You nodded and walked over to look at the shirt, which has quite a weird design on it.

“I kind of want to buy it...” he admitted.

“You should do it!” you told him, lightly nudging him.

When you got hungry and found a place to eat, Wooseok shared his food with you.

“Hey, I shared mine with you so you better give me some of yours!” he demanded jokingly. He only ended up taking the smallest amount of your food, not wanting to take a lot from the dish that he noticed you were enjoying.

At the last store that you decided to check out before leaving, you found a keychain that you really liked. You rubbed your thumb over its edges, turning it over and over in your hand. Eventually, you left it there. It was too expensive and you didn’t want to spend your money on something you didn’t really need.

When you and Wooseok were about to part ways, he handed you a small plastic bag, eyeing you eagerly. When you opened it and looked inside, you found the keychain you had looked at earlier.

“I noticed you liked it... it would look pretty cool on your bag,” he said nervously, scratching his neck.

As soon as Wooseok was out of sight, you attached it to your bag right away.

🍎

The two of you had become closer as friends. Things were going so well, and even though you still had a crush on Wooseok, you controlled yourself and reminded yourself that you were only his friend. He was in a happy, long term relationship and you didn’t want to ruin anything.

You didn’t ruin anything, but someone else did.

Strangely enough, even though you never saw Wooseok on campus, you saw him on this day, walking towards you while scrolling through his phone. His cream coloured winter jacket bounced up and down with every one of his long strides.

You nudged your friend beside you.

“You know how you’ve never seen Wooseok before? There he is, that’s him,” you told them.

Your friend followed your gaze and laid eyes on Wooseok.

“Yo! Wooseok!” they yelled. Wooseok looked up, confused, but smiled when he saw you next to your friend.

The three of you stepped off the sidewalk and onto the grass, since there were a lot of people walking around, trying to get to places and you didn’t want to cause what you and your friends called a ‘hallway traffic blockage’.

“Hi Wooseok, this is my friend,” you told him. He greeted your friend and your friend seemed quite excited. They were very outgoing, and finally having met your crush of a few months made them even more ecstatic.

“Nice to meet you, Wooseok! I’ve heard so much about you and now I finally met you... I’m like ‘ohhh, so this is the guy who [y/n] has a phat crush on’, they’re always talking about you I swear-” your friend rambled.

What? Crush? Did they just...

Your friend slapped their own mouth, turning to you with wide eyes.

You started laughing out of nervousness, making Wooseok, who was quite speechless, chuckle along.

“You’re so funny!” you said to your friend. “They’re just joking, Wooseok. Anyway, we’re so busy, gotta go I’ll see you soon!”

You grabbed your friend and pushed them forward, both of you speed-walking away from Wooseok.

“What are you doing?!” you asked your friend.

They looked down, completely guilty.

“I don’t know why that just slipped out; I have no idea...”

How am I going to face him again?

You couldn’t. Even though you thought you shook it off as a ‘joke’ quite smoothly, you still couldn’t face him knowing that he heard what he heard.

You started to skip lectures. So full of embarrassment, you followed along with the podcasts and recorded lectures instead, doing the iclickers from the library and teaching everything to yourself. It was difficult, but for the sake of hiding your shame, you would work hard.

Wooseok messaged you after a few days.

Hey... Have u been ok? why aren’t u in class anymore?

You responded by telling him that you were extremely sick, but after a few weeks passed and the end of the term approached, Wooseok continued to message you.

Is it really bad? It’s been a couple of weeks now... Do u need any help? Will u be able to write the exam?

I can write the exam... it’s just hard to come to lecture, I’m sorry

After the final exam, you spent the rest of the summer ignoring Wooseok’s messages out of pure embarrassment. He didn’t message you often, but tried to check up on you every few days.

hello? r u still sick?

are you feeling any better yet? is everything ok?

it’s not bad... right?

pls if you need any help, pls tell me

He stopped messaging you after a month, but your friend told you that they got a message from him asking about you.

“Tell him I’m fine, I’m just busy,” you told them.

“That’s not a good enough excuse, [y/n]... you can’t keep hiding just because he found out you like him. He probably thought it was a joke anyway, just message him back, okay?” your friend told you.

You never got the courage to message Wooseok, but your friend was pulling tricks behind your own back.

A month later, your doorbell rang, and you cautiously approached the door. Not expecting anyone, you peeked through a window beside your door and saw Wooseok, who waved at you with a worried look on his face.

My friend did this, didn’t they... I’ll get them back for this..

Wooseok had seen your face, so you couldn’t ignore him anyway. You slowly opened the door, ducking your head down.

“[y/n], are you okay? Are you still sick? What’s going on?” he asked.

“Do you want to come in?” you asked him. You let him into your house and he politely removed his shoes, shuffling into your living room.

“Do you want anything to drink?” you asked him, hovering in the kitchen.

“I’m fine, [y/n], please just tell me what’s going on. I’ve been so worried, you never missed lectures and you always messaged me... What’s happening?” he asked you.

You sat next to him, leaving adequate space to avoid making either of you uncomfortable.

There were no more lies that you could make up now. Might as well come clean and end the friendship here.

“Wooseok... did you know I liked you?” you asked, quietly.

“You liked me?” his tone was high-pitched and sharp. “So what your friend said...”

“It wasn’t a joke. I know you didn’t believe it, but I couldn’t face you anymore after that, so I lied to avoid coming to lectures, I’m sorry. I swear I didn’t have any bad intentions, I know you have an s/o but I don’t want you to break up-”

“I don’t have an s/o,” Wooseok said.

“What?” you asked, finally turning to face him. Wooseok’s face was flushed, his long, soft hair perfectly sitting around his face as he looked down.

“We broke up... Some things just didn’t really work out,” he said.

“Wooseok, I’m so sorry...” You said, carefully placing a hand on his shoulder.

It wasn’t because of me, right? What if they found out I liked Wooseok and they broke up with him because of that?

“You better not think it was your fault,” he said, looking into your eyes. “Cause it wasn’t...”

You bit your lip, trying to think of something to say.

“Do you wanna watch some movies... or something?” you asked him, carefully.

He smiled and sat up straight, suddenly towering over you.

“That sounds nice.”

You pulled out whatever snacks you could find and let Wooseok choose a movie. Despite feeling awkward at first, the two of you eventually sat comfortably on the couch.

Hearing Wooseok’s laugh when a character cracked a joke, feeling his happiness and presence from beside you filled your heart with so much joy that you wondered how you had ignored him for all this time and went weeks without seeing him. You were glad that you could be friends again.

After the movie ended, Wooseok decided to leave, saying he ‘didn’t want to bother you’, but he made you promise to answer all his messages and hang out with him over the summer.

Following that, there were many late night messages from Wooseok ‘checking up on you’.

are u awake?

yes, Wooseok, i’m awake

but why, you should be sleeping

IT’S 9PM !

yeah.. bedtime cmon, don’t stay up late

says the one with the whack sleeping schedule

Wooseok was messaging you all day and was like a reminder to drink water, eat your meals and sleep on time. It got so out of hand that you had to meet up just to tell him that you were okay. He didn’t let you go though, and grabbed your hand to pull you towards the bus stop.

“Well you’ve come all the way here, wanna go to my favourite arcade?”

He didn’t even wait for your answer, but pulled you onto the bus and to the seat at the very back. Seeing his long legs squished together and his knees hitting the back of the seat in front of him, you let out a giggle.

“What’s so funny?” he asked you.

“Your legs... you must be uncomfortable.”

You shuffled over so he could move his legs over to your side. The cute shorts that he wore and his pale, exposed skin made you want to poke his legs. They looked as soft as mochi.

While he was staring out the window, you quickly poked his leg and looked away. Wooseok poked you back in response, starting a poking war that caused the two of you to miss your stop.

It was okay though, because you got to walk back to the arcade and pass through a pretty park.

“[y/n]!” Wooseok said. “We should have a picnic in there someday.”

“That sounds nice,” you admitted, watching some kids running through the green grass, chasing each other.

The arcade was quite a small one with mostly claw machines.

“You like claw machines?” you asked the tall boy.

“Well...” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “I just really wanted to win you something.”

So he set off one a mission to win something from one of the claw machines, but it turned out to be harder than he’d thought. There were many frustrated groans that escaped his lips and he even hit one of the machines, earning the both of you a glare from the worker.

“Don’t worry [y/n], I’m going to get it this time,” Wooseok said, pouting as he carefully moved the claw around with the handle.

“It’s okay, Wooseok,” you told him. “You’ve already spent so many tokens!”

When he pressed the button and the stuffed animal was captured by the claw, lifted higher, dropping into the compartment, both of you high-fived one another in excitement.

“See, I got it!” Wooseok exclaimed, handing you the result of his hard work.

“It’s so cute... It even looks like you,” you said, holding it up to his face.

“Well I guess that means you’re stuck with me for life,” he said with a cheeky grin as he left the arcade.

You ran to catch up with him, trying to shrug off his comment.

🍎

After spending your summer being in touch with a worried Wooseok every day and meeting up with him several times a week, the two of you were laying down in the sand at the beach. The sun had set and it was getting dark, but the calming sound of the deep blue waves and the soothing, chilly breeze was putting your mind at ease.

Another year of classes would be starting after the coming weekend, and you were trying to get as much rest up until that point.

Kicking at the darkened sand with your shoe, you looked up at Wooseok, who was staring at the sky. There was a glint in his eyes that you’d never seen before, and he seemed to be deep in thought.

Looking up the sky for yourself, you admired the navy colour and the dim stars that tried their best to shine through. Your gaze trailed back down to Wooseok and you stared at the straight outline of his nose.

Boop.

Wooseok’s nose gently squished under your finger as you touched it, and his eyes shifted to your face.

“What are you doing?” he asked in his deep voice.

“Booping your nose.”

He shifted in his position so that he could face you, and your heart felt like it was gasping in shock at how close the two of you were.

“[y/n],” Wooseok called out softly, even though he was right next to you.

“Yes?” you mumbled.

“Has it been lonely liking me all this time?”

Your eyes shifted down to the shore where the waves seemed to hesitate before falling on top of the sand.

“I’ve been controlling my heart, so don’t worry,” you reassured him, meeting his eyes again. His facial expression held pity, but also something you couldn’t quite describe. His small smile gave you a peek of his teeth, which you always told him you adored.

“I think I owe you an apology,” Wooseok said. Then he pressed his lips together in a smirk, turning his back to you as he quickly looked through his bag for something.

He turned back to you with an apple in his hand.

“Apple-ogy,” he said, wheezing at the corny mess of a joke that just escaped him.

You pressed your lips together, supressing a laugh.

“What’s the apple-ogy for?” you asked him, lightly punching his shoulder.

“I think, [y/n],” Wooseok said, choosing his words carefully. “I think I’ve actually liked you for some time too, but I made it seem like it was only you who liked me, I’m sorry.”

“You what?” you asked. “Since when?”

“When you ghosted me in that chemistry class and things fell apart with my s/o, I found myself worrying about you more than I worried about myself. And now I can’t even go a day without hearing from you. I really think I like you, [y/n].”

“Are you sure?” you asked him quietly. You didn’t want him to mistake his feelings as any sort of love if it was something else; you didn’t want him to feel bad that you liked him.

You wanted him to be sure of his feelings.

“Yes, [y/n]. This is kind of cringe and sappy to say, but even now Ireallywanttowrapmyarmsaroundyou and hold you,” he muttered quickly.

A smile made its way on your face before you even knew it, and you reached out to hug Wooseok first.

“If you’re sure, then I’m glad,” you hold Wooseok, who snaked his long legs in between yours, pulling you closer. You were laying on his chest now while he laid on his back, your ear against his ribs, listening to his heartbeat.

His arms were the only thing that held you in place.

🍎

When classes finally began again, you and Wooseok had purposely taken the same elective. You both enjoyed it, which was a bonus, but you would also be able to see each other in class everyday.

On the first day, you had to rush to your shared class from another class. You instinctively walked towards the front row, scanning for free seats. A tall boy was sitting with his black bag on the seat next to him, and you felt nostalgia deep in your gut.

Walking towards him, you realized that this was exactly who you thought it was. Wooseok looked up just before you reached where he sat, and with a big smile, moved his bag to the floor so you could sit beside him.

“Still saving seats for me?” you asked him as you settled in.

“It’s not my fault you’re always late,” he said, fake annoyance in his tone.

87 notes · View notes

plutodexay · 4 years ago

Text

For the first time in years (12)

Waking up, (1757 words) Ao3

I was wrong. In all fairness, he didn’t yell the moment he woke up. Rather when he caught me staring at him, sipping my coffee I made maybe twenty minutes ago?

“What the hell are you looking at Potter?” Draco practically growled at me, shaking me out of my daydream where he was still lying down. Now, I can’t recall when he's sitting up, the blanket I gently placed over him earlier this morning being tugged up against his chest as if he was shirtless. That’s when I see the glare, the same smug yet anger filled look he would give me, or really any Gryffindor when they got something right that he got wrong. This Draco resembles Hogwarts and childish rivalry.

Once again he had to drag me out of my thoughts, only this time was to throw one of the tea packets I left on the table from last night for him, square in my face, successfully knocking my glasses off. Carefully, I grabbed the warm cup of tea I made along with my coffee, the statis charm still keeping it almost steaming. Making eye contact with his still oh so Slytherin glare, I held the cup out to him.

Nothing was said, an awkward silence filled the room for the first time since he arrived. The cup was starting to burn my hand as we just stared at one another, as if trying to study the others next move. We were good at that. Draco had always been predictable to me, his next move, next hex, or his next verbal jab, I had always been able to predict him.

But this Draco? He was no longer the Lucius Malfoy direct copy, he wasn’t the death eater's pride and joy, no longer Voldemort's secret weapon against me. He wasn’t predictable. He wasn’t the Draco I once knew, but did I ever actually know him? I couldn’t predict his next move, whether he was going to yell at me or just walk out the door.

He didn’t do either, actually. Slowly his glare holding my own stare softened. Going from anger to slight confusion, his eyebrows furrowed together as he got up. Letting the blanket fall from his chest, he carefully, as if the ground was covered with glass, walked over to me. When he got to me he watched my face for a moment, maybe waiting for a Weasley prank to insue when he got too close. After waiting for a few seconds, he caved.

Grabbing the cup of tea out of my hand, almost in slow motion. Our hands grazed one another for a moment, making my head fuzzy as I looked from his eyes to his hand. The fear held in the pit of my stomach now turning into what everyone calls butterflies. I could feel my heart start to quicken as he didn’t move his hand away at first. Just barely, I could see his eyes tilt down to our hands just as mine had.I looked back up at him when he did, his gaze quickly moving off our hands and back onto my own. For a second, nothing happened.

Until an owl landed at my window. Pulling us both out of whatever we were stuck in. His hand finally grabbed the cup and took it out of mine. Quickly, he backed up a few steps away from me. Looking at the tea for a minute before drinking it, his eyes closing and both hands coming up to rest on the cup, the same way he drank it last night.

“Thank you”

“You fell asleep so I made you tea” We both spoke at the same time, voices coming out rushed and slurred together as we looked at eachother.

“Thank you, for the tea, and the uh, the blanket” Draco said ever so quietly, looking back at the couch for a moment before looking down at the tea again.

“You fell asleep, figured you might need it” He nodded as a response, sipping the tea once again. The silence was just beginning to fall again as we were reminded of the owl that has dragged us out of it. Realizing my own cup was empty I decided to go check the unfamiliar owl. Draco went back to the couch as I did so, once again grabbing the blanket and tugging it around himself as he settled back into the spot he silently claimed as his last night.

“So who’s owl is it?” He asked as I grabbed the envelope from the little owl, the thing was staring up at me in complete wonder for some reason. Opening it I heard a clinking noise, looking down I’d noticed a small, almost toy like container had fallen out. Reading the paper as I picked it up.

“It’s from Neville,sent me a- vase is what it’s called apparently, for the flowers you bought last night” I said as I finally grabbed it, the owl above chirping as I did.

“Oh, it just looked like you didn’t recognize the owl is all.” Draco said looking at the tiny fellow, before looking at the shrunk vase in my fingers. “And why is it so tiny?” Continuing to read the letter for a moment, Draco got up. Walking over towards me, I thought he was going to rip the letter out of my hand when he instead went to go pet the owl. “I thought I recognized you buddy” he whispered as he went to hold the owl, who then started flapping his wings and screeching in what seemed as excitement.

“Wait, you know who this owl is?”

“You don’t? Even after reading the letter” He responded back, a slight smirk on his face as the owl tilted his head with him.

“Neville said it was his girlfriends owl an-”

“Allison’s yes”

“And- you know her name?” I must’ve looked like an idiot by the laughter that came out of Draco.

“We were acquaintances back at school” He started as his laughter died down “She didn’t quite believe I was who I said I was, she was right but it was still annoying” Picking up the happy owl he continued. “She helped me during the war, more so how to get out after it all went down. Stayed with her for a bit after so I wouldn’t be stuck at the manor.” Sipping the tea once again as the owl burrowed into his neck.

He walked over to the couch, owl still burrowing into him before he continued. “I didn’t notice till we were older, but she has quite the inkling of helping broken things.”

“How do you figure?” I asked, trying to keep him talking for as long as possible so he doesn’t notice the struggle I’m having with the shrunken vase.

“Well this little guy.” Reaching up to scratch the top of the owls head. “He had a broken wing when she got him, broke it as a baby, spent 2 years in the shop before she got him, said he’d been hidden in the back of the place. Funny thing is, she doesn’t even like owls” The owl chirped as Draco was talking, practically shoving himself into his hand. “Not to mention she has shelves full of damaged or once alone trinkets and stuffed animals she’d find at stores.” Walking the owl back over to the perch and setting him down he spoke. “And me of course, don’t know how she realized it before me, but that's the past right?”

“You think you were broken?” Finally unshrinking and with silent victory walking over to the sink to fill it.

“You don’t?” He has walked back over to the couch, once again grabbing the blanket, only this time resting it on his lap. Watching me as I struggled to move the vase onto the table, I heard him chuckle as I placed the flowers inside and water starting to overflow. Rushing to grab towels, I heard him laugh. Stopping for a moment I looked at him, his head was buried into the blanket as a stifled laugh rang throughout the rooms.

As I got the mess sort of cleaned up, I walked back over to the couch. Deciding to test my luck, I sat a bit closer to him than last night. When he didn’t flinch as I sat down, I relaxed into the couch. The blanket still held close to him. The owl decided to chirp again before finding its way into the treat bag. Deciding to break the silence that had settled once again.

“I’ll have to tell Mrs. Weasley how much you love her blanket.” Draco looked up at me stunned for a moment, before looking down at the blanket he had been attached to all morning and noticing her signature ‘W’ on one of the corners. Slowly, as if it’d burn, he ran his thumb over it cautiously a few times before looking at me.

A soft smile creeping up on his face, it looked as if he was about to speak before the clock gifted to me by Luna a few years back went off. The weird bird thing popping out of it. Draco looked at it for a moment before panic swept across his face. Throwing the blanket off of him and scanning the room for the jacket he brought with him. Finding it, he rushed over to it, practically ripping it off the rack it was resting on.

“Do tell her that when you see her next.” He rushed out as he struggled to get his jacket on by my door. Noticing my look of confusion he spoke again. “I didn’t expect to stay over, I have a meeting with the Minister in ten minute and all my work is at home.” Finally pulling his arm through the sleeve. “I’m terribly sorry I have to leave so rushed.”

“It’s okay, um, good luck?”

“I’ll owl you. Okay?” He said as he was opening the door, I nodded which caused a small smile to show on his face. “Watch that owl by the way, he’s extremely spoiled he’ll scream for attention” The owl chirped to prove Draco’s point. Chuckling he waved good bye as he was walking out the door. “See you later Harry.” He said as he walked down the steps, the owl started to screech and he stopped and chuckled. “Goodbye Francis.” The owl chirped and got silent as Draco appeared away.

“So your name is Francis?” The owl fluttered its wings while looking at me.

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erics-meep-morps · 4 years ago

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An Imperfect Christmas Eve

A very cheesy self-ship Christmas fic with Lapis and Peridot. If you manage to read all of it then I hope you enjoy! But even if you just read parts of it I hope you still enjoy it.

Our plans for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day were planned out, and while both days would be busy we would have relaxation time at home on Christmas Eve night before heading to Beach City in the morning to visit Lapis and Peridot’s friends and family. Technically they didn’t have family, but they considered Steven and the Crystal Gems to be family.

We had already bought gifts for each other so at least we didn’t have to worry about that. I got Lapis a fancy pool float so she could sit back and relax on the lake that’s next to our house. For Peridot I got a nail gun, which may seem odd but she had talked about wanting to get one for some of her projects.

Lapis and Peridot were still soundly asleep when I woke up on Christmas Eve morning. I carefully got out of bed to start making my breakfast, which was going to be french toast. However, when I opened the bag of bread there were many spots of mold on it. Disappointed that there would be no french toast and I wasted bread, I threw it in the garbage and looked for something else to eat. Everything I found was average instead of something special for a Christmas Eve breakfast, and I settled on cereal.

“Good morning,” Lapis said as she walked into the kitchen. “Weren’t you planning to have something different for your breakfast?”

“Yeah, french toast, but the bread got moldy,” I said in disappointment.

“Aw, that sucks. Well, I’m sure lunch and dinner will be much better.”

A few minutes later Peridot was awake. “So what’s the plan for today,” Peridot asked as she rubbed her eyes.

“Take the train into the city in about an hour, and then we’ll spend as much time as we want exploring the holiday market in downtown,” I replied.

“Sounds good,” Peridot said with a thumbs up.

After my small breakfast and all of us getting ready for the day, we headed to the train station. Lapis and Peridot rarely rode the train since they could fly, but when they did join me on the train it was always nice. While it was slightly chilly outside at least the sun was out.

Fifteen minutes later we got to the station, and the train would be coming in around five minutes. It was surprisingly quiet, and I realized there were no other people on the platform. Obviously there wouldn’t be any commuters on Christmas Eve, but I figured a decent number of people would also be taking the train to downtown for the festivities.

We waited for five minutes and there was no train. Ten minutes passed and still no train. After twenty minutes of waiting I knew something wasn’t right. I noticed a small piece of paper taped to a pole and looked at it. Turns out they were running on a different schedule for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, and the next train wouldn’t be here for a couple hours. I sighed and told Lapis and Peridot, and there was agreement to just fly to the city instead. Peridot got on Lapis’s back and Lapis cradled me in her arms.

There was a breeze that made it a lot cooler flying through the air, and I shivered in Lapis’s arms.

“Doing okay,” Lapis asked with slight concern in her voice.

“Y- yep,” I replied simply with a shiver in my tone.

“We’re almost there,” Lapis assured me since she knew I was actually freezing.

I made a mental note to wear more layers when we headed to Beach City since Lapis would be carrying me there and the trip takes a few hours.

When we arrived in the city there was a hustle and bustle of holiday themed activities going on. The holiday market spanned several blocks with many little outdoor shops selling various foods, drinks, and goodies. The three of us each had $40 to get whatever we wanted.

“Try not to spend all your money in one place,” Lapis said to us half jokingly.

“No promises,” I replied with a chuckle.

We began our journey through the big holiday market and looked around at the various shops. A lot of it was touristy, but since it was only once a year even the locals were partaking in it. As we walked around we held hands with Lapis being in the middle.

Not long after we started I was getting hungry, and I wanted to go to the shop that sold goulash in a bread bowl. I tried it last year and it was quite good, and it reminded me of my trip to Budapest several years ago.

I remembered where the shop was located, but when we got there it was a different shop. Instead of making goulash they were selling scented candles.

“If you’re looking for the goulash, they aren’t doing it this year,” a random person said as they walked by me.

“Oh, well that’s a shame,” I said in a disappointed tone.

We continued looking around, and while there were a lot of food shops, none of them got my interest for something I wanted to have as Christmas Eve lunch. Eventually I got to the point where my stomach was growling and I needed to eat something. I settled on a shop selling British food, and bought myself fish and chips. I’ve had fish and chips many times before and always loved it, but this time it wasn’t that good. The fish was already cold and it had a weird taste to it. The chips (fries) weren’t much better, as they were also cold as well as soggy. On the bright side I wasn’t hungry anymore, but it was definitely not worth the $10 I spent on it.

“How’s the food,” Lapis asked.

“It’s... not the best to be honest,” I replied.

“Hm, well there’s always dinner. If needed we can pool our money together so you can get something fancy,” Lapis suggested.

“Well hopefully I won’t need to borrow money from you two, but I appreciate the offer,” I said.

I followed Lapis and Peridot to a few shops that were selling art stuff, and Lapis bought a small art kit. Meanwhile Peridot inspected the different art and I could tell she considered her and Lapis’s meep morps to be superior.

Since it was winter it didn’t take long for the sun to begin setting. Besides the fish and chips and the art kit we hadn’t spent any money, but of course we weren’t obligated to spend all of it that day. However, since I had a lot of money left I decided to get something fancy for dinner to make up for the disappointing breakfast and lunch.

As the sun set it became slightly cooler to the point where I was shivering again, so I didn’t want to spend too much time looking for dinner. I preferred getting something from one of the small shops, but decided on an Italian restaurant since I wanted to be warm as I was enjoying dinner. However, this restaurant ended up being too fancy for us, as the host pointed out there was a dress code. All three of us were wearing winter jackets and our regular clothes underneath, so we awkwardly turned around and left.

“Clods,” Peridot said.

“We saved the world and all they care about is a dress code,” Lapis muttered.

“Well I think I’m ready to head home, if that’s okay with you two,” I said, feeling slightly unsatisfied about the holiday market.

“Yeah, that’s fine. Are you ready Peridot,” Lapis asked.

Peridot nodded, and Lapis took off for home. This time Lapis held me closer to her to try to keep me warm. I appreciated her trying, and it felt comforting but with no sun and a breeze I couldn’t help but shiver.

After getting home we turned on the fireplace, settled on the couch cuddled up together, and watched random shows that we were interested in even though they weren’t necessarily holiday themed. My dinner ended up being a sandwich, but I also brought out my favorite wine and had a few glasses. Peridot didn’t drink, or eat for that matter, but Lapis had a glass with me.

Suddenly I felt my phone vibrating and looked to see who it was. Seeing that it was Steven on FaceTime, I answered and all three of us greeted him.

“Hey guys! How was your day,” Steven asked.

“It was pretty good,” Lapis responded enthusiastically.

“That’s good! Were you guys still planning on coming here tomorrow?”

“Uhh, yeah, why,” Lapis asked.

“Well there’s supposed to be a blizzard starting in the early morning and they’re predicting it’ll last all day.”

“Oh, I thought it was only supposed to be very light flurries,” I pointed out.

“The forecast just changed. The blizzard that was supposed to miss Delmarva is now supposed to head straight for us,” Steven said.

“Hmm, so I’m guessing trying to fly in that would be a bad idea,” Lapis said.

“Yeah, probably. We’ll just have to get together and exchange gifts some other time. I’m sure soon,” Steven said.

“Sounds good buddy. Merry Christmas to you and the gems,” Lapis said with a smile.

“Merry Christmas to you as well,” Steven said and smiled and waved.

“Wait Steven! One more thing before you sign off of your communication device,” Peridot said hastily.

Steven chuckled. “Yes Peridot?”

“We love you,” Peridot said with a big smile.

“Awww, I love you guys too. Catch you later,” Steven replied and hung up.

Everyone has one of those days where nothing seems to go right, and unfortunately for me that happened to be on Christmas Eve.

“Well since we can’t go to Beach City tomorrow, want to just open the gifts we gave each other now,” Lapis asked.

“Sure! It’s not like there’s a law we have to open them on Christmas Day,” Peridot said.

We didn’t have a lot of Christmas decorations in the house, and that included the tree, which was just a small plastic Christmas tree I’ve had since I was a kid.

I searched for the gifts we got each other since several of them were supposed to be for Steven and the gems in Beach City.

“You two can open your presents first,” I said. Each present for Lapis had a blue ribbon while the presents for Peridot had a green ribbon. Lapis opened her gift from Peridot first, which was a hooded sweater.

“You always like taking Eric’s hoodie so now you have your own,” Peridot said with a giggle.

Lapis snort laughed. “I love it.”

Next Peridot opened her gift from Lapis, which were gardening gloves. “Now your hands won’t get dirty and gross after working in the garden,” Lapis said with a chuckle.

“Hm, coverings for my touch stumps. I like them! Thank you Lapis.”

Then they opened their gifts from me. For Lapis it was the fancy pool float that she could use on the lake, and for Peridot the nail gun.

“Ohhh, I love it Eric! But how does it turn into a chair when it’s in this small box,” Lapis asked.

“Oh, you just have to inflate it,” I explained. We opened it from the box and I tried inflating it, though it was a bit of a challenge. After blowing air into it for awhile it seemed like it wasn’t inflating at all.

“Well that’s strange,” I said and inspected it. Something caught my eye on the material and I looked closer. There was a tiny cut in it, so it was never going to inflate. Upon finding that I sighed deeply. “Well, there’s a cut in it, so I need to get a new one,” I said in a disappointed tone.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Lapis said with a slight frown. “Well I still really appreciate it, and I’ll definitely use it a lot when we get one that works.”

Upon Peridot opening her gift that was the nail gun she didn’t seem very excited. “Oops, I uhh, should’ve told you I already bought a nail gun. But I still really like it! Now I have a spare just in case,” Peridot said and did her best to show that she appreciated it.

Once again I deeply sighed and facepalmed. “This is... definitely not my day,” I said in a defeated tone and sat on the couch.

Lapis and Peridot sat beside me on the couch and hugged me. “You still haven’t opened your present,” Lapis mentioned with a smile and got up to get it.

“I hope you don’t mind that this present is from both Lapis and me,” Peridot said.

Moments later Lapis came back with a tiny box in her hand and sat down next to Peridot, and both of them faced me. “Peridot and I have known each other for a long time, but we’ve also known you for awhile too. We’ve talked with some of the gems and Steven about relationships, like how they develop and how strong and healthy relationships get through challenges in life. Some days are bad, but the majority of them are good and that definitely applies to our relationship with you, and well... we were thinking...,” Lapis said with a hint of nervousness in her voice.

“Let’s get married!” Peridot blurted out.

My jaw dropped and it felt like my heart just did a few flips.

Lapis opened the tiny box and inside were three rings.

“If you want to get married that is. We don’t fully understand it, but we know it’s a tradition between humans who are very close, and in Garnet’s case two gems who are very close,” Peridot said.

“We were going to wait for tomorrow, but decided now was the best time to ask,” Lapis said with a comforting smile.

I was still in shock, and all the inconveniences of the day disappeared from my mind. When I was able to finally collect myself I gave a deep breath and hugged them tightly. “Yes,” is all I could say and tears started rolling down my cheeks.

“Oh no, are you sad,” Lapis asked with concern.

I took another deep breath. “I’m okay, I promise these are happy tears. I’m just so overwhelmed with emotions. I love you two so much and I would absolutely love to get married,” I said while still holding them tight.

Lapis and Peridot started to get teary eyed and returned the tight hug. “We love you too,” they both said at the same time.

It was a very emotional evening that lasted awhile with us holding each other tight, and then it became a long conversation about how far we’ve come in our relationship. With a day filled with imperfections, it ended up being the best Christmas Eve I ever had.

#lapis lazuli #peridot #self-ship #fanfic #christmas #holidays #steven universe

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heychangbin · 5 years ago

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Title: I have a fucking Soulmate

Wordcount: 1466

My first piece for @banditthewriter Ben Barne’s Bingo! hope y’all like it. might continue this later!

Billy never gave much thought to the idea of him having a soulmate. If his own mother didn’t want him around what were the chances some random person would? And he was alright with that, not everyone could be Frank and Maria, besides there were people that went their entire lives without finding their soulmate and were perfectly fine, he would just be one more name in that category.

It was a friday night, he had been chatting up some busty blonde at the bar for less than twenty minutes and he knew she was going home with him. They had one more beer before he asked if she wanted to get outta here, as predicted, she gave him a smile and nodded.

Billy downed the remains of his beer, dropped a few bills on the bartop and wrapped an arm around...Sarah? Stacey? And guided her out. He was nibbling on probably Stacey’s neck, whispering filthy things into her ear when he bumped into someone, knocking them over.

“Sorry ‘bout that” he says to the person--to the woman-- on their hands and knees in front of him, letting go of probably Stacey to help them up

“Don’t be sorry, just look where you’re going jackass.”

Her head snaps up, eyes glowering and boring into his own and he feels his body flood with that tell tale warmth that bonded pairs say they experienced when locking eyes with their soulmate for the first time. Everything else fades out of existence, his sight narrowing to her and her alone.

The arch of her brow, the shape of her eyes, the slope of her nose, the curve of her cheek, the line of her jaw, the shape of her cupids bow and the color of her lips.

He sees the recognition mirrored in her face and curses, her face falling at the word, which makes him curse again.

Probably Stacey tugs on his arm to get his attention, unaware of the situation or simply not caring, saying something about it getting late and him having promised her a ride. He wants to tell her to fuckoff and find someone else, he can’t deal with her right now.

He's just found his fucking soulmate.

o0o0o0o0o

He has a soulmate.

He has a fucking soulmate!

The thought was running through his mind in a constant loop.

but it still seemed--felt foreign.

"You alright there Bill?"

Billy blinked, snapping back to attention as Frank's words filtered into his consciousness.

"I have a soulmate."

Frank gave a throaty chuckle,

"Yeah, you said that already."

"I did?" He said dazed

"Yeah man, five times already."

If Billy wasn't still so shell-shocked he would've blanched.

"Who is she? Do you know her name or did you just see her on the street?" Frank asked, grabbing a couple of fries from the basket between them and dipping them into a ketchup paper cup.

Billy blinked and forced himself to pay attention to everything around him. They were at one of the metal tables beside Frank's painted ponies, a half eaten burger in front of Frank and soda cups spread out on the small table, the food in front of him barely touched. It took him a second to remember why they...why he was there. He looked around and he could see Maria and the kids, standing in line at one of the nearby concession stands. He thought harder, his eyes narrowing as he saw Frank Jr. and Lisa point at different displays of junk food.How long had he been spacing out if the kids were already getting dessert?

He remembered then, they were shipping out the next day, they always went to the painted ponies before each deployment, then again when they returned.

"Bill?"

He said your name, the feel of it strange, not in a bad way, no it isn’t bad just...foreign, but the way it rolls off his tongue... it feels like home.

"Met her last night...was leavin' the bar with some girl I picked up, we were walkin’ out the door when I knocked into her...literally."

Frank took in a sharp breath through clenched teeth making Billy focus on him, his face pulled in that way it usually did when he thought Billy had done something stupid.

"I didn't leave with 'er...the girl from the bar I mean...there was no…” he trailed off, letting his hang unspoken in the air between them, knowing Frank would know exactly what he meant.

For a second he saw your face again and wanted, more than anything, to fulfill the filthy promises he had made to probably Stacey with you. The thought had him imagining the sounds you would make as he teased you, what your voice would sound like as you chanted his name, would it be breathy? Or would it be more of a moan? Would your nails rake his back or were you the type that brought your partner infinitely closer? He wondered how you tasted, how you would feel around him when he was inside you, wondered how it would feel like when he bottomed out, he’d go slow, he’d drag it out as much as possible, give small languid thrusts, kiss every inch of skin he could reach until you were a shaking mess--

“BILL!”

His eyes snapped into focus and took in Franks questioning eyebrow. He gave him a look back, leaning forward on the table and stopping immediately.

Billy Russo, 30 years old, decorated lieutenant in the United States Marine Corps, scout sniper, rifle and pistol expert, on the eve of his fourth tour overseas, was blushing and had a hardon in public, 2 things he hadn’t done since his early teens.

He propped his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands and groaned making Frank let out a bark of laughter. He dropped his hands and glared at the man he considered a brother.

“This shit ain’t funny Frankie!”

“This shit is hilarious Billy!” Frank said between guffaws that made him sound like a deranged hyena.

“What am I gonna do?”

“Settle down hopefully.” Frank said

Billy was quiet, the thoughts that had plagued him ever since he was a kid circling his mind.

“She ain’t gonna want me Frankie, my--”

“She ain’t your mom Bill, this girl, she’s…” Frank’’s words trailed off making Billy look up, seeing Frank look past him, no doubt at Maria if the loving look and small, barely there smile was anything to go by.

“She’s your complimentary piece, Bill, someone that’s gonna make you wanna do better, be better. Not a half but the missin’ set piece.”

Billy swallowed and nodded, he knew that Frank was right.

“So, what’re you gonna do?” Frank asked, trapping the straw from his cup between his lips and taking a long pull of the soft drink.

Billy thought for a moment, before you parted ways last night you had exchanged numbers.

“Imma call her.” he said, taking out his phone and bringing it to life, there were a bunch of missed notifications on the screen, his eyes widened when he saw your name, a text that had been sent almost an hour ago.

He felt his stomach drop at the realization of how badly he had been in his head and for how long.

“She wants to have lunch.” he said, his voice coming out strained

“So go have lunch with her, you haven’t been here mentally all morning, Frank Jr. thinks you’re having a midlife crisis.”

He laughed at that, “Maybe I am.”

“Nah Bill, you’ve convinced yourself that you don’t have a soulmate for so long that now that you’ve found ‘er, it’s shifting your world view.”

They were quiet for a moment, Billy processing the words Frank had said, was that really what was happening? Was the fact that he had a soulmate making him think about everything else that he thought about?

“Invite her over.” he heard frank say making him look up, catching his brother shrug, “Maria and I can take the kids through the park so you and her can get to know each other.”

Billy thinks about it for a moment and nods,

“Yeah, that...that’d be good,” he says as he starts typing out his reply, even if she had already had lunch, they could just walk around Central Park.

“Don’t forget to mention that you’re shipping out tomorrow and might be radio silent until you get to your overseas station.”

Billy stopped midtap. Fuck.

#ben barnes bingo #the punisher #billy russo #billy russo x reader #soulmate au #au #billy russo fic #billy russo fanfic

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chwrpg · 5 years ago

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Murray, I have asked you repeatedly not to call me "woman".

A NOTE FROM ADMIN R: Oh, oh, oh ! Y’all don’t know how happy I am to be accepting this application. Dylan is truly one of my CHW faves and to have her taken up by you, Cailin... that’s just an honor. I can not wait to see what you do with her, but I know one thing... this dash ain’t ready fro the looks Dylan is about to serve us. Thank you so much for applying and welcome back, love !

OOC NAME/ALIAS, PREFERRED PRONOUNS, AGE & TIMEZONE:

cailin, (she/her), 25, est

DESIRED CHARACTER:

queen mother, dylan davenport

HOW ACTIVE WILL YOU BE?

8-10

SECONDARY CHOICE:

taylor flick

DESCRIBE THE CHARACTER:

Dylan is shrouded in beauty, bold fashion choices, witty comebacks, and her daddy’s debit card. But the woman wearing the Amina Muaddi heels to 7/11 is much more interesting than her out of this world clothes. If Chanel’s head is in the clouds, Dylan’s feet are planted on the ground. She’s the fuel to the fire, the one who gets shit done. Things don’t move without her — and that includes the fashion scene in Rosewood. Dylan could’ve been a surgeon, she has the brains and attention to detail for it, but, you see, what Dylan says or doesn’t say goes. She predicted high waist jeans making a comeback before Vogue did, telling the girls one day during first period. So she’s a bit of a culture oracle. It’s why people care about what she’s thinking, who she’s endorsing, what designers she’s buying. They even want to know what she’s watching on a monday night. Her confidence and sincerity is inspiring. When she’s not taste making though, she’s the loyalest, most straightforward friend you can find in her tax bracket. Balancing the thin line between being no-nonsense and fun to be around. She does it well, though. In fact, she does most things well (driving not included.)‌ Her peers boast about her style and charisma, her professors brag about her work ethic and creativity, her boyfriend….well, her love life is a tumultuous roller coaster but every icon needs a fixer upper. Plus she gets diamonds every time he fumbles.

SAMPLE WRITING:

( Alexa, play Daddy )

The day Dylan was born she became a daddy’s girl. Stevie Wonder could see it. Dada was her first word much to her mother’s chagrin. He never raised his voice at her, never got impatient with her when she spilled her juice or threw her food. He got up in the middle of the night so his wife wouldn’t have to even though he had meetings at 7 in the morning. It didn’t stop there, though. Mr. Davenport didn’t put her down at parties. He carried her around on his hip as he mingled and held court, demanding on no one use baby talk for his brilliant baby girl. “She’s smart like her mom.” He would say to his captivated audience. For her third birthday he rented out an entire amusement park. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t yet tall enough to ride the rides, she had asked for it so he made it happen. He was a doer and a fixer, but he wasn’t perfect. Mr. Davenport had always been a better father and provider than a husband.

So, when she was five, her parents went through a nasty divorce. The papers their lawyers drew up cited irreconcilable differences but she’d come to realize, many years later, that was just how rich people skirted around the truth in hopes of keeping people out of their business. In truth, Mr. Davenport had spent the better part of his career sleeping with secretaries, temps, and clients. Basically anything that was of age and not nailed down. Mrs. Davenport had only grown tired of it after watching Halle Berry cry over Eric Benet on Oprah. But like she’d taught Dylan, Mrs. Davenport thought three steps ahead, and had arranged to have a cheating clause in their prenup. She saw the board before she’d even stepped foot on it. And, Sure, they’d been in love when they got married at twenty three, but a cheater never changed its spots, just his lies. In an instant, she got half of everything. Twenty percent of his future earnings, and 360 lipo for a girls trip to Maui to celebrate her emancipation.

All Dylan got out of the deal was two houses, two birthdays, two Christmases, two cars she still couldn’t drive when she turned sixteen. The court awarded them joint custody, ruling they both had enough sense to figure out the schedule on their own. But since that was the year her mom went back to school for her PhD, Dylan spent the majority of her time with her dad and a nanny. Those double holidays also served as a good distraction from the heartbreak she couldn’t explain. Though she was sharp as a whip and actually funny, not laugh because it’s a kid funny, but really funny, she still couldn’t wrap her little mind around why her parents drove to separate houses at the end of the night now. At all those parties, what stuck out the most was everyone saying what a handsome couple they were, how lucky they were to have another. They danced and laughed. They seemed so happy. But looks are deceiving and lucky for her, the loneliest year of her young life was also the year she met her best friend.

( Alexa, play Wannabe )

Dylan and Chanel became an instant package deal, and she thanked her father for not being able to keep his dick out of seedy holes because she wouldn’t have went to school in another district if her mom hadn’t won the house in the divorce, and she wouldn’t have sat down next to Chanel at show and tell, and they wouldn’t have bonded over their pretty dresses, or shared their organic apple juice. God worked in mysterious ways like that. She had a partner for life, and nothing came between them. Not even boys. And, despite having the power to date any eligible bachelor in her grade, she really liked one in particular.

The day she brought Paxton home her took one look at him and chuckled. Dylan figured it was because of the grill he hadn’t learned to talk without slurring with yet, but her mother had other ideas. “He reminds me of your father.” She said, long after he’d gone home, but not before Dylan spent fifteen minutes walking him to his car. The driveway was super long but her lipstick was nonexistent when she returned. That didn’t matter though, because Dylan knew what that meant. Her mom thought Paxton was charming, likable, handsome — but she also knew he was a liar and a dog. They argued for well over an hour, and she said some things she regretted but that’s what teenage girls did, they rebelled against becoming their mother all while doing so. She didn’t realize just how much he was like her father until she caught him DMing other girls on instagram and got a diamond necklace out of the deal. Still, it was clear that he could shoot a man in broad daylight and she would always be daddy’s little girl, nothing could change that.

“Daddy!” Dylan whined, clinging to her dad’s arm as they traipsed through another commercial property with their real estate agent. Today was the day she was finally going to buck up and switch locations from her dad’s pool house to an office space in scenic, downtown Rosewood. Being interviewed by magazines had been life changing, sitting front row of the hottest runways next to A-listers had its perks, doing a skincare routine video for vogue was dope, but expanding her business because the calls wouldn’t stop coming in to be styled be Dylan and her associates? That was something she’d done herself from the ground up. She’d started with styling her friends and now she was going to style the world.

( Alexa, play Successful )

Her heels were tall enough to greet God but she still only reached his shoulder. “I hope this one has vaulted ceilings.” Her tone was way past passive aggressive. She would’ve dialed it back had their agent not been set to make serious bank off of this, but had only been showing them office spaces with disgusting lighting and rude doormen. For all of their sakes, she hoped this one was better. “I need two sessions of hot yoga after the last mess you showed us, at least. My chakras are all out of wack now. Thanks a lot, A.” She was being dramatic but her dad didn’t stop her. He just smiled that infamous smile at the agent and excused himself to the back of the elevator to take a call. Dylan rolled her eyes when she caught their real estate agent, Angela, fawning. She was a slender woman with the proportion of a fashion model who only modeled in theory, never practice. With cropped hair and full lips. She’d been their families real estate agent for decades, found the house her mom had one in the divorce, but Dylan couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d slept with her dad while he was married to her mom, and for that she hated her.

The light dinged to signal they were at their floor, and the elevator doors slid open. When she bothered lifting them from a lengthy text she was typing to her beau, her eyes lit up like when her dad gifted her a patek for her eighteenth, or the G-Wagon that was still collecting dust in the garage for her sixteenth. Whatever the occasion was, she was aglow just like then. The floors were European oak, all the walls were white sans a charcoal accent wall that would be the space of her future desk, and yes, the ceilings were vaulted with windows to match. It was beyond.

“Daddy!” She squealed, running around the space and dreaming up renovation ideas. “This is the one. It’s, like, perfect.” Dylan ignored the real estate agent when she repeated the price tag. 1.2 million may have been a lot for some people, but some people weren’t his little girl and Angela should have known that by now. “Wait. I need to call Chanel!”‌ Dylan could bet she’d be calling Chanel the day Play got down on one knee ( What?‌ A girl could dream ) before she even said yes. She was greeted with a selfie when she unlocked her phone, tapping her chanel platform sneaker clad foot against the wood while the facetime call connected, “What do you think about staining the floor another color?” She asked before absolutely beaming when Chanel’s face appeared on the screen.

“I found it! I found the perfect space.”‌ Without another word, she flipped the camera and did a little dance when Chanel’s excitement nearly exceeded hers. She knew a squeal of absolute glee when she heard one, “I know! Ok, so Just imagine a chaise here, we can install some shelves here. Do you think we can get a Prosecco fountain?…” She walked her through the office like Angela had done moments before, moving out of earshot so her dad could handle business, while they discussed all the possibilities. “Today an office with a view, tomorrow Dylan Davenport’s Fashion Academy,” she beamed.

All her daddy had to do was sign on the dotted line, and she knew he would. He was, after all, her doer. He wouldn’t dare break that illusion…right? The journey from the bathroom back to the main area of the office space was a short one, and she was all smiles until she rounded the corner only for her dream to turn into a nightmare. Her face cracked along with the screen of her phone as it hit the ground and shattered, “DADDY!” She screamed. The sight of her dad and Angela kissing over paperwork causing her to gag instantly.

“Honey, let me explain…..”

There was nothing to explain. Horrible step parents was Jasper’s lane, not hers.

( Alexa, play Ring Off )

ANYTHING ELSE?

1985.

#accepted #submission

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starspangledbanner27 · 6 years ago

Photo

Fandom: Saving Mr. Banks

Description: Don DaGradi’s musings about P.L. Travers. Oneshot; may eventually include more chapters featuring different characters’ perspectives.

Characters: Don DaGradi, P. L. Travers, Richard M. Sherman, Robert B. Sherman, Walt Disney

Rating: K+

Genre: Drama

Language: English

Read on Fanfiction.net, AO3, Wattpad, Quotev, or below.

Many thanks to Laura and Dr. Riley for beta-reading this story, and to my mom for her constant encouragement and support.

A/N: This story was inspired by Ink Mage’s fanfic entitled “Saving Mr. Sherman” on FFN, so if you enjoy this, I would recommend that you check out “Saving Mr. Sherman” as well. And, as always, please leave reviews! :)

Disclaimer: I don’t own Saving Mr. Banks, Mary Poppins, or any of the characters from those two movies.

Chapter 1: Don

A heavy, brooding silence hung over the dimly lit rehearsal room in the Animation building at Walt Disney Studios, where three men were working late into the night. Don DaGradi, the animator-turned-screenwriter, slouched despondently in a rolling chair with his feet propped up on the end of the long table in the center of the room. He’d spent the last twenty minutes staring with unseeing eyes at the sketchpad in his lap while his mind stewed over the conundrum that was Mrs. P. L. Travers.

He should have seen it coming. He’d been working at Disney Studios long enough to know that most authors jumped at the chance to have their stories make it to the big screen, as Mrs. Travers herself had put it, “in glorious Technicolor, for all the world to see.” But she, the author of the Mary Poppins books, was less than thrilled about the opportunity, and had made sure to let them all know it. Don pursed his lips in frustration. He should have known. A woman who, after denying Walt the film rights for twenty years straight, had finally accepted his offer only on the condition that she be given the authority of script approval—he should have known she’d be nothing but trouble. But, despite everything, he had still held out hope that she’d at least turn out to be tolerably friendly and cooperative.

It had taken her all of five minutes to crush his optimism.

“Good morning, Pamela!” he had greeted her as she stepped out of the car that first day.

“It is so discomfiting to hear a perfect stranger use my first name,” she’d returned with a coldness that belied the smile on her face. “Mrs. Travers, please.”

And things had only gone downhill from there.

Every time they came up with a new idea to show her—a new song, a new sequence, a new concept drawing—she immediately shot it down.

“No, no, no!”

“Goodness me, no!”

“It’s all a big mistake; it’s all wrong!”

Eventually, this routine had become as predictable as it was painful, like throwing one’s body against a stone wall in the pathetically vain hope of knocking it down on the hundred-and-first attempt. Obviously, it hadn’t worked. None of their attempts had; on the contrary, everything they did only seemed to make her more upset. A few times—earlier that very day, in fact—she had even left the room in anger. And, try as they might, none of them could ever figure out what it was that had ticked her off, or why, or what they could do to fix it. All they knew was that she seemed to hate the entire project.

After witnessing the ruthless way she picked apart his script—and it was his script, no matter what she said—Don had quickly concluded that this peevish author could give any Disney villain a run for their money. “Whatever she says, don’t let it get to you,” Walt had encouraged him after the first day of fire and brimstone. “Remember, you don’t work for her; you work for me.” But that assurance was small consolation when Don still had the woman’s venom to contend with on a daily basis. His mind was exhausted; his nerves were shot; his head had been aching for the past three days . . . yet still he had to push through it and keep swallowing her barbs, because it was the only way this project would ever have any hope of completion.

The last week had been a lot of walking on eggshells for him. As the scriptwriter, he was more or less the head of this whole collaboration period, which made him responsible for keeping things running as smoothly as possible—a difficult task when he himself struggled to conceal his exasperation. But he had to press on, to keep doing and saying whatever it took to placate that woman—no matter the cost, no matter how distasteful—because, as they had discovered the other day, she still had the upper hand in the form of the unsigned rights agreement. And now that they knew about it, she took perverse joy in holding it over their heads as a reminder that if any of them displayed even the slightest hint of “impertinence,” she wouldn’t hesitate to flounce back across the pond and throw all their hard work to waste.

He remembered what it had felt like to watch that whole showdown between her and Walt. Up until then, he’d been at a loss as to why Walt was letting her walk all over them. It was completely contrary to everything he knew of the man—Walt, who always got what he wanted, who always had the last word. That day when Walt had confronted Mrs. Travers about her demand that the color red not appear in the film, it had been clear that the man was at the end of his rope; and Don had fully expected to see him finally put the petulant author in her place. But then she had pulled out those papers, and the two of them had stared each other down for several long moments . . . and then, much to Don’s surprise, Walt had drawn a deep breath and turned to his team in exasperated defeat.

“All right . . . no red in the picture.”

With that, he had stormed out of the rehearsal room; and Mrs. Travers had sat there, smugly fanning herself with the papers as she watched him go. Bob Sherman had been the one to finally break the stunned silence.

“He doesn’t have the rights.”

“Quite,” she’d replied with a self-satisfied nod; and Don, from where he stood next to the window, had heaved a sigh and shaken his head hopelessly. It was discouraging enough that Walt couldn’t simply win her over as he did everyone else with his trademark Disney charm. But now that they knew the truth, that Mrs. Travers had his hands tied . . . well, what was the point in even trying?

Suddenly he thought of the drawing he’d made the other day—a rough depiction of Mrs. Travers sitting primly in one of the rolling chairs in the rehearsal room, snapping “No! No! No!”—and he smirked wryly. He might have to grin and bear it while in her presence, but at least no one could stop him from venting his frustration on paper. In fact, after the “Spoonful of Sugar” incident—when she had bashed the lyrics to the nursery song and tossed a copy of the script out the window before stalking out of the room, as usual—Don had shown his snarky sketch to Dick and Bob Sherman, and the three of them had shared a hearty laugh. He remembered thinking that in the face of all she had put them through, it hardly made sense to laugh—but then he’d realized that the moment they ceased to find humor in the absurdity of the whole situation would be the moment they might as well give up.

As he glanced up at Dick and Bob where they sat on opposite sides of the table, looking just as dispirited as he felt, Don couldn’t help wondering if they hadn’t finally reached that moment. There was certainly no laughter in this room now; only a heavy tension that hung palpably in the air—as if Mrs. Travers, though absent in body, were present in spirit, just waiting for something to find fault with.

Don’s heart went out to the two songwriters, for he knew that Mrs. Travers’s constant criticism had taken just as severe a toll on them as it had on him, if not more so. Dick, whose lively cheerfulness she had rebuffed at every turn until it was all but squelched; and Bob, whose outspoken annoyance at her ornery demands had led her to single him out several times as the object of her fits of temper—neither of them should have had to endure the treatment she dished out. Don hadn’t been personally acquainted with the Sherman brothers for very long; but through working on this project, he had developed a sort of fraternal bond with them. Not only did they live up to their reputation as legendary creative geniuses, but they were also good men and great friends. And having to stand by and watch Mrs. Travers unleash her wrath upon them day after day . . . it was just too much.

Of all the insensitive remarks she had made to any of them, the singularly unforgivable one—to him and Dick, anyway—was what she’d said about Bob’s leg. It was only the second day of negotiations; and after a long morning of her quibbling about petty details, the older Sherman brother had unwisely dared to voice his annoyance. What had happened next was all too predictable: he and Mrs. Travers had gone head to head; and this time, in his frustration, he had pushed her too far. She’d sent him out of the room like a disobedient child . . . and as he limped out the door and down the hall, she’d asked, “What is wrong with his leg?”

“He got shot,” Dick had replied; and for a brief moment, Don had thought she might actually show some sympathy. But instead, she uttered a little scoff.

“Well, that’s hardly surprising.”

Don’s mouth had fallen open in shock; and he hadn’t needed to look at Dick to sense the fury radiating off him. But all Mrs. Travers had to say was, “Can I expect any more drama from anyone else?” The heartless witch. How she had ever managed to write a children’s book series was beyond him.

He should have come to hate her by now. In the face of such unyielding hostility, it seemed like the only natural response. And yet he still couldn’t bring himself to—because, much as he hated to admit it, a part of him (albeit a very small part) sympathized with her. He was, after all, a writer . . . maybe not on the same level as she was; but still, he understood the protectiveness a writer felt for his—or her—stories. And for a woman as set in her ways as Mrs. Travers clearly was, it couldn’t be easy to cope with all the modifications that necessarily took place between the page and the screen. Don understood this; and he’d have been more than willing to work with her to make sure she was satisfied, if only she had given him the chance. If only she had given any of them the chance.

But she hadn’t. And now, there they all sat, at a loss as to how they could ever hope to pull this off. The current state of things was disheartening, to say the least; in fact, they probably would have given up long ago if Walt weren’t so particularly invested in this project. The company had put out many films over the years, but this one . . . this one was special. For it was the fulfillment of a promise that Walt, all those years before, had made to his little daughters: that someday, somehow, he would make their beloved Mary Poppins fly off the pages of her books. And he was clearly determined to keep that promise, at whatever cost to his and his team’s sanity.

Don sighed. As fathers, he and the Shermans understood the necessity of keeping promises to one’s kids; but still, it seemed almost cruelly unreasonable of Walt to keep them working on a project that was so obviously futile. After all, Walt himself had already battled the author and lost; what made him think their luck with her would be any better?

Just then, Don heard the door to the rehearsal room swing open. Knowing that there was only one person who’d be coming to see them at this hour, he took his feet off the table and sat up a little straighter as Walt strode over, hands on his hips. “Guys, we gotta fix this,” he stated.

“Easier said than done,” Don muttered.

“How?!” Bob demanded. “How can we fix it when she hates everything we do? What is there to fix, anyway? She’s the problem!”

Walt heaved a sigh. “Well . . . I don’t know. I’m taking her to Disneyland tomorrow; if nothing else, that’ll at least give you guys a day to come up with something.”

“You’re taking her to Disneyland?” Dick repeated incredulously. “How on earth did you get her to agree to that? She hates that sort of thing.”

Walt smirked. “Well, I don’t have to get her to agree to it; I’m the one who pays her driver.”

“So, what, you’re just going to kidnap her?” Don asked sardonically. “That’s sure to go over well.”

“Hey, you never know,” Walt replied. “They say Disneyland is the happiest place on earth; maybe a few hours there will soften her up a little. I might even get her to try out one of the rides.”

Don gave a wry chuckle. “Now there’s something I’d like to see.”

“Mrs. Travers on a Disneyland ride?” Bob snorted. “All due respect, Walt, I doubt even you can pull that off.”

Walt’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “Really? Care to bet?”

Bob’s eyebrows rose in disbelief; but when he saw Walt was serious, he laughed. “All right.” He reached into his pocket, drew out a bill, and waved it in the air. “Ten bucks says you can’t get that woman on a ride.”

Grinning, Walt looked over at the other two men. “Any more takers?”

Dick shrugged. “Well, I hate to take your money, Walt, but since you offered . . .” He pulled two five-dollar bills from his pocket and held them up. “I’m in.”

Walt then turned to Don, who regarded him skeptically. “Walt, how come you’re suddenly so confident about this?” he asked. “What do you know that we don’t?”

Walt drew a deep breath and looked downward, thinking. “I’m not sure yet,” he answered after several moments. “But what you guys told me about how she reacted to the bank song, how it seemed like she was close to tears . . . that got me thinking. Maybe this isn’t just about her being ornery. Maybe there’s something else going on, something we’ve been missing.”

“And you think you can find out what it is?” Dick asked.

“I don’t know,” Walt admitted. “But if I can, then I think that’ll be our best shot at getting through to her.”

The three men nodded slowly in assent. Then Don spoke again. “So, what do you want us to do now?”

“For now? Go home.” Walt waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. “Get some sleep. Goodness knows you’ve earned it.”

“And then what?” Bob pressed.

“Well . . .” Walt sighed again and ran his fingers thoughtfully over his moustache. “When you boys came to me earlier, you said Mrs. Travers seemed to be upset specifically about Mr. Banks.”

“Right,” Dick and Bob agreed. Don nodded silently, thinking back to what had happened earlier that day.

In retrospect, he realized, they should have noticed that something about her was off from the minute she arrived in the rehearsal room that morning. Rather than lighting into them immediately with some biting remark as usual, she had walked in without saying a word, only giving a brief nod to acknowledge their greetings. Then, after setting her purse down on the table, she had meandered over to the window—the very same window she had tossed the script out a few days ago—and stared out, silent and subdued, until Don approached her to ask if they might play her the Sherman brothers’ new song: “Fidelity Fiduciary Bank.”

Upon receiving her go-ahead, he had proceeded to act out a short segment of the scene leading up to the song—the dialogue between Dawes, Sr., and Michael Banks. Mrs. Travers had given it a rare nod of approval; and Don, encouraged, had then turned his full attention to Dick and Bob’s performance. When, a few minutes into the song, he glanced over at Mrs. Travers to catch her reaction, he had found her apparently distracted, with her gaze fixed not on them, but across the room. Don had thought nothing of it in the moment, his attention absorbed in helping act out the song. The men poured all their energy into it, Dick pounding out the tune emphatically while Bob pumped his fist and Don tapped his pencil in time with the beat, until at last they reached the end, and all three belted out the last line together with dramatic flair. It was afterwards, as they were remarking excitedly on how well the song fit with the rest of the scene, that the storm had hit.

“Why did you have to make him so cruel?!” she’d exclaimed, whirling around to face them. “He was not a monster!”

The men, taken aback by this outburst, had stared at her in bewilderment. Don had been the first to regain his power of speech.

“Who are we talking about? I’m confused.”

Ignoring his question, she’d asked, “You all have children, yes?” Once they had all replied in the affirmative, she’d continued: “Well, and do those children make letters for you—do they write letters, do they make you drawings? And would you tear up those gifts in front of them?”

They had remained silent, unsure how to respond.

“It’s a dreadful thing to do! I don’t understand! Why must Father tear up the advertisement his children have made for him, and throw it in the fireplace? Why won’t he mend their kite? Why have you made him so unspeakably awful?!”

Throughout her impassioned speech, Don and the Shermans had barely reacted except to blink in astonishment. Her yelling at them was nothing new, but this . . . this they had never seen coming. It wasn’t just another temper tantrum; no, this time there was real emotion behind it. Her mask of cold severity had, for once, been stripped away, revealing tears of distress in her eyes; and the men, who had almost ceased to believe she was even capable of feeling anything besides irritation and self-importance, were flabbergasted, with no idea what to say or do.

“If you claim to make them live, why can’t he—they—live well? I can’t bear it. Please don’t. Please don’t.”

Those were the last words she’d uttered before leaving the room in a fluster—or at least, the last words she had directed at them. As she was walking out, Don had thought he heard her mutter something else—something about having “let him down again” . . . whoever “him” was. Don had called after her; but if she heard him, she ignored him, and neither he nor the other two men had made any attempt to follow her.

She hadn’t returned to the rehearsal room for the rest of the day, and they had later heard a rumor that she’d been seen sitting out on the lawn with her driver, making a peculiar little setup with twigs and leaves, or digging holes in the ground and pouring the contents of a paper cup into them, or some strange thing like that. After everything else Don had seen of her, he was hardly surprised. Meanwhile, shortly after she walked out, he and the others had gone to Walt’s office to tell him about the incident. Walt had listened with folded arms and a furrowed brow that revealed him to be as perplexed as they were; and once they’d finished recounting everything, he took a deep breath.

“All right,” he’d said quietly. “You boys get back to work; I’ll see what I can do.”

So they had. And now, here they sat, waiting expectantly to hear Walt’s next words. After a brief pause, he spoke again. “So, if it’s Mr. Banks that’s bothering her, then I think that’d be a good place to start.”

Suddenly, in a flash of insight, Don recalled what Mrs. Travers had said right after throwing the script out the window the other day.

“You think Mary Poppins has come to save the children, Mr. Disney?”

Walt had merely given her a blank stare; and she had then stalked out of the room in disgust, leaving them all to speculate about what she meant. It wasn’t until now that Don finally figured it out.

“It’s not the children she comes to save,” he murmured to himself as the realization dawned.

“What’s that?” Walt asked.

Don met his gaze, a wave of excitement bubbling up within him. “That’s it!” he exclaimed. “That’s what she meant; that’s what we’ve been missing! Mary Poppins—she’s not there to save the children. She’s there to save Mr. Banks!”

He looked over at the Sherman brothers, who nodded slowly. “That’s why she was so upset earlier,” Bob mused aloud.

Don grimaced. “I guess we did make him pretty harsh.”

“Well, that is how he came across in the books,” Dick reminded him.

“Maybe, but—and, believe me, I never thought I’d say this—I think Mrs. Travers has a point. Mr. Banks might be harsh, but he isn’t cruel, not really. And I think we—I made it seem like he is.” He sighed. “I hate to think about rewriting the whole script, though.”

Bob shook his head. “No, you can’t. We’ve come too far for that. There has to be some other way.”

They all fell silent for several moments. Then Dick snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it!”

“Huh?” Don and Bob looked up at him quizzically.

Dick leaned forward eagerly in his chair. “Mr. Banks is harsh in the beginning. He has to be; otherwise there wouldn’t be a story. The only problem with our version is that he never changes. So, really, all we have to do is rewrite the ending!”

“A redemption arc.” Don nodded thoughtfully. “I can work with that.”

“And we could write a song for it,” Dick added, gesturing between himself and his brother. “Something upbeat.”

“A happy-ending song,” Bob agreed. “I like it.”

“What do you think, Walt?” Dick asked.

Walt, who had stood there in silence while the seeds of inspiration germinated, now spoke. “Well, it’s an idea.” He looked around the table at each of them in turn. “You think you can pull this together in twenty-four hours?”

Don shrugged. “I don’t think we have a choice.”

“Well, all right then,” Walt said. “I’ll stop in tomorrow afternoon to see how it’s coming along. But for now, you boys should go home and get some rest.”

They nodded again; and once he had bid them good night and left, the trio rose from their chairs and made a cursory effort to tidy up the table before grabbing their jackets and heading out of the room. As they strode down the hall, Dick heaved a sigh. “Just five more days, guys,” he said. “Then she’ll be gone, and we can get back to work.”

“. . . Following some drinks, a large bottle of aspirin, and a forty-eight-hour nap,” Bob amended, eliciting a weary chuckle from the other two.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, until at last they emerged from the building into the breezy cool of the southern California night. There on the front walkway, they paused, and, as if drawn by some ethereal pull, tilted their heads back to gaze up at the heavens. Although the smog and city lights of greater Los Angeles obscured the stars from view, Don found the velvety blackness of the sky to have a soothing effect upon his soul; and for a moment, he allowed himself to be lost in it, forgetting everything else.

At last, Dick broke the spell by inhaling deeply. “Ah . . . the sweet smell of fresh air and freedom.”

With a sigh, Don shook himself out of his reverie. “Enjoy it while you can,” he remarked wryly. “We’re all going to be back here bright and early tomorrow.”

“Don’t remind me,” Dick groaned, then turned to nudge his brother. “Hey, you think our wives are still awake?”

“Well, I told Joyce not to wait up for me . . . but I doubt she listened,” Bob replied, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Dick laughed. “Yeah, it’s probably the same with Lizzie.” Heaving a sigh, he laid a hand on Bob’s shoulder. “And on that note, I’m gonna head home. Tell Joyce and the kids I said hello.”

Bob nodded. “Sure thing. You do the same for me, all right?”

“You bet.” Dick gave his brother a thump on the back, then turned to their friend. “’Night, Don.”

“Goodnight,” Don replied. “Drive safe.”

“Thanks.” With that, the younger Sherman brother headed down the sidewalk towards the lot where his car was parked.

Don drew a deep breath. “Well, we should probably get going too. Goodnight, Bob.”

He had just turned to walk away when he felt a hand on his arm. “Don, wait a minute.”

“What is it?” he asked, turning back around.

Bob glanced over his shoulder to confirm that his brother was now a good distance away, then leaned in toward Don and lowered his voice. “I didn’t want to say anything about this when Dick was around, but . . . what are we going to do if she finds out about the ‘Jolly Holiday’ sequence?”

“You mean the animation?” Don asked.

Bob nodded.

Don sighed heavily. “Well . . . that’s just not going to happen.”

“Well, yeah, but . . . you know . . . what if it does?”

“It can’t,” Don replied firmly. “Because we’re not going to let her find out.”

They remained silent for several seconds, staring across the street at nothing in particular. Then Bob shook his head. “I don’t like doing this,” he muttered. “Mrs. Travers might be a pill, but I don’t like lying to her.”

“Neither do I,” Don replied. “But Walt’s the one who insisted on the animation; and honestly, at this point, I just want to get this whole thing over with.”

“Yeah,” Bob agreed. After another few moments, he turned to face Don once more. “Well, you’re right; we should head out.”

Don nodded. “See you tomorrow.”

“You too,” Bob replied; and with that, the two men parted ways.

She can’t find out, Don thought as he walked to his car. A sick heaviness settled into the pit of his stomach as he realized, not for the first time, that everything they’d had to endure from her up to that point would be nothing compared to the wrath she would unleash upon them if she discovered the hidden truth about that sequence—that, save for Mary, Bert, and the kids, it was entirely animated, in direct violation of the terms of her contract.

He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. No, she couldn’t find out. She wouldn’t find out. And worrying about it would do nothing to help. So, as he got into his car and drove home, he instead tried to focus on what tomorrow would bring. Together, he, Dick, and Bob would somehow manage to come up with a new ending—one that, hopefully, would meet with her approval. A happy ending for Mr. Banks. And then she would be satisfied, and they would finally be able to move forward and bring this project to fruition. Walt would be happy. Mrs. Travers would be . . . well, hopefully the closest thing to happiness that she had the capacity to feel. Anyway, she’d soon be headed back to England, and then everything would return to normal.

In just a few more days, Don would once again feel the relief of coming to work every day without a cloud of dread hanging over him, the pleasure of doing the job he loved without a constant stream of vitriol assaulting him. He’d once again know the joy of going home at a reasonable hour and kissing his wife and having dinner with his family and saying goodnight to his kids. As for Mary Poppins, she would eventually make it from script to screen, like every other Disney movie Don had been involved with . . . and then life would go on, and all this insanity would be nothing but a distant memory.

And everything would work out fine. Because it had to.

Tag list… let me know if you want to be added or removed!

@iwillalwaysreturm | @writings-of-a-narwhal | @24hourshipping

#my fanfics #fic: chaos in her wake #saving mr banks #disney #don dagradi #richard sherman #robert sherman #p l travers #walt disney world #fanfiction

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vanquisher2099 · 6 years ago

Text

Part One: A Waitress Walks Into a Bar

Jennifer Stock woke up grumpy, which was nothing new. She was exhausted, because she’d had to work overtime the day before and she’d need to work overtime today too if she wanted to make rent. It didn’t help that her bed was barely held together and the mattress was, at a conservative estimate, at least twenty years old. The apartment had provided furniture, but it was clearly the same furniture it had provided its first tenant when the building opened decades ago, and everything seemed to have a patina of grime on it that Jennifer, at least, had never been able to get rid of.

The center of the apartment’s single room was dominated by a table which seemed to function as a place to eat as well as a place to keep an old analog computer setup, from a time when a computer meant a separate box connected to various peripherals. Jennifer activated the monitor just long enough to scan the news (which was mostly concerned with the anniversary of the agricultural scandal four years ago) before shutting it back off and making her way to the kitchen area to rummage through mostly empty cabinets in an effort to find something she could call breakfast. That turned out to be a half bag of chips and a cup of coffee which, at least, was relatively warm.

A quick shower later and she was out the door, headed for the diner to serve coffee and fried foods to the other people unfortunate enough to be awake at five in the morning. The diner, which was in the midst of its third redesign (it had started as a 1990s retro coffee shop, shifted to a sci-fi inspired Diner of the Future look, and was now deep in what passed for ‘modern’ design, meaning that it was a lot of stainless steel surfaces and natural lighting), was predictably empty, as the early morning rush didn’t really start until six. Jennifer was okay with this, of course, because it gave her an hour or so to actually finish waking up.

There was, of course, the usual crap from the manager, who had put quite a lot of his life into the upkeep of this place and would be damned if he saw it lack for anything. He also had a thoroughly annoying habit of ending most sentences with a “hmmm?” as if everything he said was a rhetorical question. “Jennifer, I noticed your tables’ condiment caddies have gotten a little disorganized, hmmm?” “Jennifer, table four seems like they want to speak to you, hmmm?”

Jennifer, for her part, ignored it and occasionally flipped him off when he wasn’t looking. It gave her a modicum of satisfaction, and her fellow employee, a young dark-haired woman named Clarissa, seemed to think it was hilarious. Like most service industry jobs, small acts of rebellion were often necessary in order to maintain sanity during a torrent of requests from customers convince they were right in all things (because they’d been told so by the sign on the wall that promised they were), even when they most definitely were not. Jennifer liked some of the regulars just fine, but it was the people passing through that tended to give her the most trouble – people who weren’t interested in taking time to realize their server was a human, and maybe worthy of the minimum amount of respect humans should get. Or worse, the ones who didn’t realize (or care to realize) the difference between being polite and being flirtatious. Unfortunately, customer service frowned on the practice of breaking fingers.

It was, in short, another perfectly boring day – the sort of workday that feels just slightly too long than it should, where the body is convinced it’s worked for twelve hours about four hours in. Jennifer finally took her lunch break, which meant (for her) walking down the street to a different café that at least had an outdoor patio where she could sit in relative silence and begin mustering the necessary strength of will to go through another four hours of waiting tables. That was, at any rate, her plan until she was rudely interrupted by someone sitting down directly across from her. Jennifer was not easily startled, and merely looked up with a raised eyebrow.

“Normally,” she said mildly, “People ask before they sit down at a table that is clearly occupied. It’s considered polite.”

The intruder, an old man wearing a suit and an amused expression, did not appear to feel any particular chagrin for his rudeness. “You’re a difficult woman to find, Miss Stock. Were you aware of that?”

Jennifer snorted. “You know my name, so I’m sure even a cursory search on the net would make me shockingly easy to locate.”

“Ah yes, but knowing your name – that’s the real trick, isn’t it? You have so many of them.”

“I have two, assigned at birth by my parents, just like everyone else.”

This got a laugh from the old man. “Ah yes, of course. The esteemed Mr. and Mrs. Stock, who nobody seems to remember, even though they’ve got quite the comprehensive history – houses, birth certificates, parents of their own, even – going all the way back to their ancestors from the 1900s. A most notable family if they existed, which I think we’re both well-aware of that they didn’t.”

“That’ll come as a surprise to them,” Jennifer said evenly. “Dad will probably take it pretty hard.”

“You’re committed to the bit, I’ll give you that.” The old man said, still smiling in a way Jennifer was beginning to find infuriating. “But no matter – I’m not here to debate whether or not your name is really Jennifer Stock, or if it’s Theresa Cunningham, or maybe Elise Karter, or whatever other name you’ve used in the last three years. I, certainly, am not paid to care who you claim to be. I was paid for a very simple task, which, if you’ll permit me just a moment, I shall complete now.”

It would have taken a very observant eye to see Jennifer’s body tense slightly, preparing to spring into action. The old man possessed, as it turned out, a very observant eye. He raised his hands gently. “Now now, there’s no need for that. I was paid to deliver a message, and, if you’ll permit me to reach very slowly and deliberately into my jacket here, I shall slide it across the table to you – face down, of course. After that, you never see me again, nobody in this café gets dragged into any kind of collateral damage situation, and you remain a simple waitress in a small town. Does that sound agreeable to you?”

The slight tension in Jennifer’s posture relaxed, and she shrugged. “Well, I have no idea who you think I am, but if there’s no dissuading you, feel free to pass on whatever message you think it is I’m supposed to get. Make it fast though – my lunch break’s almost over.”

With, as promised, a slow and deliberate motion, the old man reached into his pocket and withdrew a small piece of paper which he placed on the table and slid over to Jennifer. Then, with an equally slow and deliberate motion, he stood from the table and nodded in parting. “There, that was rather easy, don’t you think? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I too have other business matters that I must see to today. Goodbye, Miss Stock.”

Jennifer, for her part, nodded back and watched the old man slowly make his way down the street. When he was out of sight, she looked down at the message with an expression that was half-curious, half-annoyed. With a huff, she stuck the note in her pocket without reading it, paid for her lunch, and headed back to the diner for the rest of her shift. If she seemed to be a little more terse than usual, her boss didn’t notice. After the shift was finally over and Jennifer headed for her car, Clarissa waved her down to ask for a ride, and Jennifer, unable to think of a reason not to, acquiesced.

“Hey,” Clarissa said, with all the subtlety of the young, “You seemed kind of pissed after lunch today. Something happen?”

Jennifer sighed. “I ran into some old man who claimed we knew each other. The whole thing was awkward and uncomfortable.”

“Sounds like it. Who did he think you were?”

“No idea. He just kept trying to make conversation and I just wanted to be left alone. He got the hint eventually, but it kind of ruined my lunch break, you know?” Jennifer sighed. “Guess I should count myself lucky he didn’t get violent or anything.”

Clarissa took this all in and nodded agreement. As Jennifer pulled over in front of Clarissa’s building, she suddenly seemed to remember something. “Hey, some of my friends and I were planning a get-together later this week. You wanna come along?”

It was difficult to tell, Jennifer thought, whether Clarissa was just being polite, or if she genuinely was making some kind of overture of friendship, and both possibilities filled her with a low sort of anxiety. Either way, a little socialization would probably do her some good. Jennifer grinned. “Yeah, I think I do!”

Clarissa seemed delighted. “It’s a date! I’ll text you the details as soon as I’ve got ‘em, okay?” She bounded out of the car and headed into her building before Jennifer had the chance to change her mind. Jennifer spent the few minutes it took to drive to her own house torn between feeling pleased with herself for being social and wondering if she’d made a mistake. She only remembered the note in her pocket when it fell out as she was changing out of her work clothes, and it brought a decisive end to much of any thinking about future parties.

The note, as it turned out, was handwritten in a small, difficult-to-parse script, perhaps as a way of displaying its authenticity. Certainly, Jennifer thought wryly, it would offend a forger to write so sloppily. The note consisted of two sentences. The first read, “You could have told me.” The second, “She’s still looking for you.” At the bottom of the note were two letters which served as the signature: M.M.

“Well.” Jennifer said, to nobody in particular. Then, after a moment, “Fuck.”

Part Two

Prologue

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wishingforatypewriter · 7 years ago

Text

Passion Food

Summary: Hisako and Akira have fun with aphrodisiacs.

"So it's settled." Erina adjusted her reading glasses before scribbling her signature on the twenty ninth page of the document in front of her. In today's meeting they were going through the lucrative tasks titans of the gastronomical wanted to put before the Elite Ten Council—for a hefty price of course. "Aldini and Mito-san will fly to Milan this weekend to advise Chef Batali on his new restaurant's menu. All expenses will be covered by the chef, of course."

Everyone knew that Tōtsuki consultations didn't come cheap. "Hmm," Ikumi said. "What should I pack? Aldini, is it cold in Italy this time of year?"

"Not too bad, I think," he said. "I'd still bring a jacket though."

"Yeah, makes sense."

"I wonder if it's a charter plane or a commercial flight?"

"Definitely charter," Ikumi decided, "It's chef Batali we're talking about. But what snacks should we bring?"

"Next order of business," Erina all but growled. These meetings lasted twice as long as they did back when she was tenth seat because everyone on the council was so chummy now. Her grandfather said nothing like this has happened since Chef Saiba was a student at Tōtsuki. She shook her head vigorously. Now was not the time to think about Saiba-san.

"A renowned se..se...what?" Erina looked up, her face flushed. "That can't be right, right? A s...se...seeeeeeee."

Curious, Alice snatched the paper away from her flustered cousin. It had to be something good to make Erina drop her professionalism.

"A world renowned sexologist wants us to develop a gourmet dish using natural aphrodisiacs to recommend to her clients. Hmm."

Alice looked around the room. Tadokoro was about as red as Erina; they'd both be useless at something like this. Yukihira and Ryo, though both geniuses in their way, had neither the sensitivity, nor the background in herb cultivation to excel at such a task. Maybe the underclassman? No...Alice wouldn't be a cruel senpai. "Alright!" she sung. "I'm going to give this one to Hishoko and...Hayama-kun!"

"You don't have the authority," the pink haired chef began.

"Oh, but I do," the Nakiri replied. "In the event that the second seat is unable to perform her duties as head of the task distribution committee, the fourth seat is in charge. You have the medical know how. You're most qualified for it."

"Yukihira!" Hisako tried, appealing to the first seat's veto power.

Souma scratched the back of his head. Truthfully he hadn't been paying that much attention. "I mean, she has a point, Arato."

"Better get to work," the Nakiri sang. "You too Hayama-kun. As part of my faction, I expect you to excel."

"When did I become part of something like that?"

"First year. When you assisted with my booth on Main Street."

"For the last time, it was the Shiomi Seminar's booth!"’

"No back talk!" Alice slammed her hand against the table. "Now, shoo, the both of you."

Once they were gone, she turned towards her fellow council members. "So who wants to make a bet?"

"I'm listening," Ikumi said.

"¥70,000 says they make out by Monday."

"You're being cautious," Ikumi observed. Her wagers usually went into the hundred thousands. "But I'll match it," she then glanced towards the second seat, who still seemed to be in shock, and lowered her voice. "Arato-san is just like Erina-sama when it comes to that stuff."

Alice shook her head. "That's an act for Erina's sake."

"We'll see."

Just then, the Nakiri in question seemed to come back to life. "Anyway, where were we?"

Alice smirked. "Just sign your name here, Erina."

On Saturday morning, a black car arrived in front of the Shiomi seminar. "I can't believe I'm already sending you off," Jun wailed as he put the spices he would need into small plastic containers. "I mean, she seems to be a nice girl but-"

"It's only Elite Ten business. I'm not even particularly fond of her. Don't be so dramatic, Jun," he chided.

"It's professor Shiomi!" she insisted.

"Just remember to water the plants while I'm gone. Don't forget what happened last time."

She sighed. "Yes, Hayama-kun. Good luck!"

"Thanks." Then, not wanting to keep the driver waiting any longer, he got into car and was chauffeured to the Arato mansion, which was about a half hour's drive from Tōtsuki's campus center.

It was a traditional estate with a small pond and multiple gardens behind the main house. The property was larger by far than the on-campus Nakiri mansion. Two maids awaited Hayama in front of the main house.

"You must be Hayama-san," one, a dark haired woman, said. "I'll bring your belongings to one of the guest rooms."

"It's alright, you don't have to-"

"Please," she insisted. "There are many rooms in the Arato estate, and you might not find your way back."

"Okay..." Somewhat reluctantly, he handed his duffel bag over and the woman disappeared into the manor.

"Hisako-sama is out in the herb garden," the second one explained. "I can lead you there now, unless you'd like some tea first."

"No, that's fine," he replied, feeling a lot like he'd just entered a world class hotel. "We should probably get straight to work."

After a ten minute walk through the compound, they reached the herb garden. Hayama was greeted with the sight of Erina's secretary strolling barefoot with feather light steps through the different plots. With a woven straw basket in hand, she'd bend down every minute or so and add something to her collection.

"Oh, Hayama-kun." She finally spotted him and gave a little wave. "I'm almost done here. Just give me a minute." She pulled a root of some sort out of the ground and then made her way over to her classmate.

"Hisako-sama." The maid gave a little bow. "Is there anything more that you require?"

"Has someone delivered Erina-sama's weekend schedule to the Nakiri mansion?"

"First thing this morning, Hisako-sama."

"Perfect. Thank you, Hana. That's all I required. Please spend the rest of the day as you wish."

After the young maid took her leave, Hisako realized that her classmate was staring at her incredulously. "What?" she asked.

"You're a princess," he deadpanned. Almost everyone at Tōtsuki has some wealth but this...to think that someone who grew up with all this could trail behind Nakiri the way she did.

"Don't say that," she laughed and started walking to the kitchen. "They just act like that because I'm not home often."

When they reached the kitchen, Hisako placed her basket on the counter alongside other ingredients she'd set out. "Cinnamon, nutmeg, guarana, and is that...maca root?" He quickly figured out her herb and spice blend, but feigned some uncertainty for her sake.

"Your powers are truly frightening, Hayama-kun," she joked.

"So you're making a dessert then," he predicted.

"I thought that would be the best choice for the task at hand," she explained as she began to chop up a large block of semi-sweet dark chocolate.

"It's going to be a molten chocolate cake topped with raspberries and powdered sugar. You have a different idea in mind, though?"

"A curry."

"Why am I not surprised?" she laughed. "But will that really...um...you know?" Hisako bit her lip, looking down.

"Will it make them want to have sex?" The spice expert smirked at her. To think she'd doubt him. "I'll let you be the judge then, Arato."

Under his amused stare, her face and neck flushed. Still, she forced herself to look him in the eye. "In that case, Hayama-kun, you should taste mine as well."

"The limit is two hours." Hisako resumed her cooking. She mixed the batter and poured it into molds, and dissolved the ground maca root and guarana in spiced rum to make a decoction. Then, as she started to temper the chocolate filling—a skill she picked up during the second year of high school—it hit her. The overpowering, irresistible fragrance that always accompanied Hayama's cooking gripped at Hisako like a physical thing, heating her from the inside out.

The seventh seat shook her head and took off her cardigan, leaving her in only a floral sun dress. She had to stay focused! Still, that spicy, umami packed aroma whispered to her, tortured her. In a moment of weakness, after she'd slid her cake into the preheated oven, Hisako turned to look at Hayama on his side of the kitchen. Surely her own dish must be having a similar effect on her opponent. But alas, the spice king appeared completely focused on his own cooking.

Hisako rolled her eyes, less than pleased. But the day was still young, and she would make him yield to her world of cooking once and for all. Over an hour later, when she'd taken the cake out to let it cool, Hayama approached her with his dish.

"Tell me how it measures up."

With one look at those smug green eyes, Hisako knew she was in trouble. But with her head held high, she ate a spoonful of the curry. Almost immediately she broke into a sweat. The heat was tantalizing, heightening her senses. The rich umami of the goat meat burst forth in her mouth. The potatoes, with their hint of sweetness caressed her palate in just the right way. It entire dish was like an attentive lover whose every move was for the sake of her pleasure.

Despite he best effort, she released a deep moan. Her knees nearly buckled.

"I didn't know Nakiri's secretary could make sounds like that."

"Y-you shut up!" She squeaked, all the while waiting for her heart rate to slow. After regaining her composure, as much as she could anyway, she topped her own creating with powdered sugar and two raspberries. "Here."

He tasted it and seemed to have no reaction for a while. Hisako braced herself, expecting to hear that she was useless or limited. But instead he leaned down, looked at her and said, "I was wrong. Arato Hisako, your world of cooking is boundless."

Those words that she'd been hungry for since the day he defeated her in the autumn elections flipped a switch in Hisako, and it might have been the curry, or the look in his gorgeous eyes, but before she knew left from right she was kissing him—long, and hard, and breathless. Then Hayama's lips were on her neck, and she threw her head back, releasing another moan.

Suddenly, a wild shriek sounded from one of the gardens where an onlooker gazed at the pair through binoculars. Then the two came to their senses.

"What was that?" the spice prodigy asked.

"My stalker, probably," she sighed. Hisako smoothed her hands over her rumpled dress. "Okay. We are both way too good at this. It’s dangerous."

"True," he admitted. And then a pause charged with uncertainty passed over them. "So do you want to try again?"

"Sure, sure. Maybe this time we can improve the fragrance if we-" but then his lips were on hers again. "The smell would be stronger...if we switch...the rum you used with...bourbon whiskey," he told her between kisses.

"Yes," Hisako gave a contented sigh. "Why didn't I...think of that before?" Why hadn't she thought of any of this before? Why hadn't she been kissing and caressing him since the day they met?

When the effects of the food wore off, they perfected their recipes and presented them to the client, who said it reminded her of her first love affair.

On Monday morning after Sadatsuka Nao had filled the Elite Ten's suggestion box with hate letters addressed to Hayama, Alice waved her outstretched hand at Ikumi. "I told you I had a sure way of knowing. Now pay up, Mito-san."

Author's Notes: So, I posted this on fanfiction.net a year ago, but I thought it was applicable. Happy Hisako day, everyone!

#shokugeki no soma #akisako #arato hisako #hayama akira #hayama x hisako

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honeybearloco · 8 years ago

Text

“...A Bit Longer.”

Requested by an anon. PSA: I love Woo.

The fact he woke you up to do this, amazed you. He wasn’t the most affectionate person in the world, but you know he cared and loved you just as much as you loved him.

You met Woo a dance competition. You of course weren’t competing. You weren’t a dancer but you loved watch dancers. You love street dancing. All types of it. But your all time favorite was Krumping. There was just something that made you happy when you looked on.

You just loved to go to dance competitions. You only knew so little about dance. You felt as if looking on would help you understand a bit more.

This competition had been around for quite a long time. It was your first time seeing this one. The location seemed a bit sketchy, but it was a street dance competition. There was nothing else you could expect.

One crew stepped forward. They were wearing nothing but shades of red. They were competing for the second time in this competition. You watched them the first time, but they lost to the Woo Fam, which made you interested in them.

To your surprise, the Woo Fam was there competing to maintain their title. A very tall, muscular man in some black jeans and a black wife beater stepped up to the leader of the red dance group. Now he was in the streetlight. You could clearly see his arms. He was tatted up.

There was a significant height difference. Looking at him made your knees weak. He wasn’t cute. He wasn’t hot. He was sexy. Probably one of the sexiest men you had ever seen around these parts. He looked older, mid thirties maybe.

“You sure you want a repeat of last year, junior?” The man asked.

His voice was deep. It sent chills down your spine.

“That’s not gonna happen this year. We’re gonna win.”

“I feel the fear in your voice. Good luck, junior.”

He ruffled the smaller boy’s head.

“Stop calling me junior, Woo!”

You didn’t notice that you were staring at him. The man looked over to see you. The two of you made eye contact for a couple of seconds. He winked at you. Your heart fluttered.

The competition went on. After the competition everyone predicted the ending. The Woo Fam won of course. You felt a little bad for the other crew. You got your things together. You were about to leave. You were a bit upset because Woo didn’t dance. You were expecting to see him hit a little move but he didn’t do anything.

You began to head out, but a hand grabbed yours. You turned around to see him.

“Were you really about to leave?” He asked.

You were at a lost for words.

He chuckled at your face.

“You’re cute when you’re at a lost for words.”

“I’m not cute!” You spoke up.

“Feisty. You look a bit upset. You okay?”

“Well, I am a bit upset. I wanted to see you dance but you were in the background.” You answered.

He smirked at you. He pulled you closer to him.

“How about I take you somewhere you can watch me dance in private? And maybe I could dance for you, or maybe on you.” He flirted, his voice deepening. You blushed a bit.

“Because I would go somewhere with a complete stranger because he’s sexy.”

“You think I’m sexy?”

“I’ll answer that once you tell me your name.” You replied.

“Woo. Kim Young Woo.” He put his hand out for you to shake.

“Y/N L/N.” You shook his hand.

The two of you got closer since that night. He found himself slowly falling for you. He couldn’t leave you with any of the male members of Woo Fam. He didn’t trust them. He admitted his feelings on accident. You went clubbing with them. You drank a lot that night.

He drove you home. And when he thought you were knocked out, he admitted his feelings. You heard every word. At first you thought he was kidding but you soon learned his feelings were true. You returned his feelings and he asked you out on a date.

The two of you have been together for eight months. It had been a while since the two of you have been on a date. You were busier than ever with your job. You were a photographer. Everyday you were working. Even on the weekends. It got stressful but it didn’t take away your love for photographer.

Tonight was a night you were going to be able to sleep well. You got all your work done so you could sleep a bit easier. You got ready for bed which didn’t take long. You finally turned off all the lights and jumped in bed. You cuddled with your pillow and fell into a deep sleep.

As you were sleeping peacefully, there was a knock at the door. Young Woo was at your doorstep. After a while, you didn’t answer. He knocked again. Once again, no answer. He sighed before pulling out his phone and dialing your number.

You didn’t even answer your phone. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the key to your apartment that you gave him a while ago.

He unlocked the front door and walked in. He closed the door behind him quietly. He quickly walked to your bedroom. He looked in your bed to see you sound asleep. In his eyes you were as beautiful as ever. He made his way over and shook you lightly.

“Jagi. Wake up.”

You groaned and shifted. He shook you again. This time you opened your eyes. You were met by a figure in the dark. You screamed and quickly punched the figure.

“JAGI!”

“Woo?” You turned on the lamp and saw Young Woo holding the left side of his jaw. You gasped.

“Woo, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it was you. I thought it was a robber. Are you okay?”

“I think I lost a tooth. Damn, where did you learn to punch so fucking hard?!” He hissed.

“I don’t know. Come here, let me see.”

He sat next to you and you looked at his jaw. You softly touched it and he winced. You put a soft kiss upon his jaw.

“I deserve more than that one kiss on my jaw.”

“It’s not my fault. You should have turned on the lamp before waking me up. Maybe that would have stopped me from punching you in the face. I said I was sorry.”

“I had the perfect little date planned out for us.”

“Date?” You tilted your head to side.

“Yeah date. I know you miss our dates. I miss them too. I thought maybe we could go on a little date right now.”

“What is this? A love story?”

“Can’t I treasure my queen?” He asked before planting a soft kiss on your lips. His lips slowly made their way down to your neck. You knew what he was trying to do, but you were always a sucker for it.

“Fine! Okay! Okay! Just let me get change into something.”

“Dress casual.” He added.

In about an hour or so, you were done. You dressed in ripped blue jeans, a plain white t shirt, and black tennis shoes. You two of you were off.

You hopped into his car and buckled your seatbelt.

“Where to at 1 in the morning?”

“Nowhere. We’re just cruisin’ for a-”

“Woo, on my life if you say for a bruisin’, I will hurt you!”

He only smiled and pulled out of your driveway. The two of you went on a night drive in town. You passed by both places you knew and didn’t know. It was fascinating to see Seoul like this. It was as if you had never seen it before.

There were little children and adults alike performing on the streets. You wondered why the children were still awake at this time of night. There were happy couples holding hands and walking. There were even some couples arguing aloud.

Overall it was a good night to be out. You usually would be asleep. This is what you were missing.

Young Woo looked over to see your face, gazing in awe. He thought you were adorable.

“See what you’re missing, love?” He questioned.

“Yes. And I wish I didn’t have to miss it. It’s really beautiful. The lights, the fun, the performers, hell even the music that I hear blasting through the windows. But I’m always working. Thank you for taking me out.”

“No problem. But there is one place I wanna show you before I take you back home.”

He drove to a little fast food restaurant.

“This is where you wanted to take me?”

“No. I’m just really hungry. Stay in here. I’ll be right back.”

He got out of the car and made his way inside. You waited for about ten minutes. He walked back outside and got into the car.

“Got us some burgers. You hungry, love?”

“A little bit. Can we just go to that place you were talking about earlier?”

“Patience, love. We are heading there now.”

After a twenty minute ride, you looked up from your phone and looked out the window. There were no bright lights, there were only two to three lampposts spreader out. There was no pavement in sight. The road was all dirty.

“Where are we?” You asked.

He didn’t answer, he continued to drive. Finally the car came to a stop and Woo turned off the car. He got out of the car, as did you. He sat on the hood of the car.

“You are too damn big to be sitting on the hood like that.” You said jokingly.

“Whatever. Grab the food.”

You opened the door and grabbed the paper bag and handed it to Woo before closing the door again. You sat next to him.

He grabbed his burger first. He took a bite.

“So we came all the damn well to eat?”

He swallowed before answering you.

“No, just grab your burger and look out there.” He said pointing in front of the two of you.

You did as he said. You grabbed a burger and took a bite. As you took a bite you looked out at the way he pointed.

You were amazed not only by the many stars in the sky, but also the way Seoul looked from the outside. It was as if you could see the whole city, shining bright. The nightlife wasn’t so bad. Matter of fact it was more beautiful at night due to the lights. You gasped at the sight.

“You knew you’d do that? Now you see why I brought you out here?” He asked.

“It’s beautiful but I still don’t know why you brung me here.”

“I brought you here because the last couple of weeks or even months, you’ve been stressed out of your mind with everything. You have no time for yourself. Think about the last time you had thirty minutes to yourself and you weren’t worrying or stressing about some client. You even take that stress out on me and yell at me, but I let you because I know you still love me no matter what.”

You were tearing up hearing him say that. He continued.

“I know how you are with work. And I know you’ll always want to work to make a living. But slow down a bit. I’m here to support you. You don’t have to work to make all that money. Baby I’m right here.”

You pulled him in for a passionate kiss. He pulled away. You put your head on his shoulder and looked out into the night sky.

“Wanna go home?”

“Let’s just stay here a bit longer.”

“You barely took a bite for your burger. Eat!”

You smiled at him. You took another bite of your burger as did he.

#monster woo scenarios #monster woo imagine #monster woo reaction #monster woo requests #khh scenarios #khh imagines #khh reactions #khh requests #khiphop scenarios #khiphop imagine #khiphop reactions #khiphop request #khh #Khiphop #monster woo #woo fam

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insomniac-arrest · 7 years ago

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A Place for Things

words: 2k

summary: A woman goes to her mom’s funeral

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So, mom is dead. That’s not what you say funerals, that’s not what you say when you show up in a dress you bought at Macy’s the other day with your girlfriend’s credit card.

Mom isn’t supposed to be dead either, but you’re at least supposed to say something nice when she is. I forgot my eulogy in the car anyway, it didn’t start like that.

She was an angel, a light, a caregiver, nice words stuffed into an open gaping maw and you want to summon them so badly it feels like a throat burn. I wished I could pluck them out of some sort of word jar, loaded with just the right phrases- I would make a killing selling those.

An image burns a hole in my forehead.

My mom had jars, jars on jars on jars, she put fruits in them and jam and sewing supplies and ‘good things that happened to me’ this year slips of paper. It was the first thing people joked about when they tried to remember her.

You’re supposed to joke and say something meaningful, I can’t just stop thinking: she’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead.

I don’t even know what that means.

I brought a granola bar in my bag, I never liked granola and maybe that’s why I bought it, I have my student's old tests shoved in my dashboard and my car keys down the front of my shirt. I have on two gold rings.

I show up with a toothache from some wisdom tooth removal that happened fifteen years ago, the soles of my heels are basically shredded but I wouldn’t sit down now if they paid me. My mom would have liked that, not in a direct way, but in a way that no one would have stopped her from nodding in my direction.

I have on two gold rings, I didn’t mean to put on two but some things slip your mind when you're jamming objects onto your persons the morning of a funeral. I had already driven two and half hours and walked another twenty minutes because I couldn’t find free parking and maybe I wanted to walk.

She’d call it ‘waist saving’ and maybe put it in a jar.

Cousin Ben looks at me first, he takes my hand, the right one with the two gold rings on it and gives me the most tightly crisp smile I’ve ever seen. My own teeth show up like a snarl.

“Helen,” he greets and then bows his head, “We were just talking about you.” I tilt my head, I have places to be- like anywhere but here. “All good things I hope.” I laugh like the sound might get stuck in my throat.

“I won’t spoil it then.” He laughs too and the temptation to be a musical villain is there. I want to turn, I want to be angry at a lot of people at that moment.

My cousin Ben brought his best tie from a New Jersey suit shop he found, it’s blue because it’s sad and he likes sad things. He brought three cents in his pocket, he likes to rub them together when he’s nervous and count the number of times he’s rubbed them.

He’s trying to make it less, I know that. My cousin Ben brought mouthwash and breath mint, he doesn’t kiss people, he doesn’t like the feel, but he became very self-aware of his mouth when he was a kid and still had a dead tooth.

He liked to be aware of things, though this wasn’t something he would brag about at any farm to table restaurant he visited. He just rubs his coins together in his pocket.

He knows my mom is dead in the way that she sent him canned peaches when he was six, they said it was a bad birthday present, but that’s how he remembered her because no one else was going to give him canned peaches for his birthday.

He also has a faux-crocodile wallet, an iphone 7 shoved in his back pocket, and a short eulogy just in case one of us faints on the spot and he has to take over. My other cousin Jenny would like that. She loved things like that.

I wave and try to converse through my teeth, his smile made me have to smile. I wish I was walking again, ‘waist saving’ as my mom would say.

I go in once another guest grabs his attention, I don’t know her, she’s not in the family and I can tell she might like kissing in the way he doesn’t.

I walk the other direction and the utter cool of the house overwhelms me as I enter. I briefly close my eyes.

I brought one black purse with one long black sash across my shoulder and a tiny wallet that fit inside that. It was also black.

I want to go stuff cheese in my face, someone said there was cheese on the group chat: ‘Nancy’s Funeral.’ I had done enough walking.

My aunt Flora is standing in the dim green hallway of the entranceway, she catches my eye, she has green eyes too. She opens her mouth, her lips moving without any words coming out.

She had been to many more funerals than I had, maybe she wanted to say ‘sorry for your loss,’ but it was both of our loss, the words die there.

I offer her a nod, “how are you doing Aunt Flora?” More silent words come out, she purses her thin lips and tries again, “better than Nancy I suppose.” She laughs a throaty guttural sound and I join in, it’s a sitcom sound. You’re supposed to make a few jokes at funerals, like you’re making it meaningful.

My aunt Flora brought one padded purse with extra handkerchiefs, not for anyone else, she knows she’s prone to crying and they are a stern warning to herself not to.

She brought one accessory, red lipstick that smears her teeth every so slightly and the hope that maybe someone will hint at her about it. No one does. She brought a lumpy black dress and two terribly comfortable looking shoes, she knows about shoes and would talk to you about them if you asked. No one did.

In the purse was fifty-five dollars in cash because she’s trying to save up as much physical money as possible to carry around, she doesn’t trust banks, but she’s not very good at it.

I offer her my hand, “to us then,” I almost toast, “slightly better than the grave.” She laughs this time too, the type of wheeze that meant her handkerchiefs were trying to threaten her. I turn around without ceremony.

Me and my brother always said one of those jars had tears in it, that was the story and my mom was making a deal with a great witch down the street. That’s why she sometimes took us by the ear and kicked us out of the house for a few hours.

Before dad came home, it was never long, not long enough to be a thing, later in life times like those that felt like I knew her, she locked us out for a few hours and I almost understood her.

Everything else was a mystery, a hole, and if it wasn’t a hole then it certainly was now.

That’s also what I thought of when I looked at my aunt Flora. We toast to the wind and trade condolences before I duck my head and scurry off.

There was cheese, or maybe another walk.

I have to see my brother next, I know I do because sometimes the world is never predictable but it ends up that way anyway. I see him in the cheese room inside the church reception hall inside the sweaty damp heat of the Atlanta spring.

He’s talking to his wife, who I like, and she’s not talking at all. I can see why.

My brother is moving faster than the winds could catch and maybe he remembered being locked out of the house for a couple hours too.

My brother brought tea, not on purpose, but because his daughter bought him some as a condolences present and they were the type of family to buy each other presents. He accidentally tore one of the bags when opening it and stuffed it in his pocket to hide the fact.

He brought his reading glasses but he was trying not to show that he needed them.

He brought a suit jacket he got after a promotion last year and a pair of pants that were a slightly darker hue but he hoped no one noticed (no one did but cousin Jenny. She found it in poor taste).

He had on an undershirt that was a little too small, my mom would say he should do more ‘waist saver’ walks. She’d say it with a smile.

His wife brought Advil in her purse, sticks of gum, four of the family credit cards, a water bottle for her daughter who was in the other room, a lozenge, a nail clipper, a book about Helen Keller, and headphones- taken from her daughter. Then some granola bars, she for one actually likes granola bars.

I want to eat another hole through my shoes, a gaping ones the matches the one in my heels, they were from Nordstrom Rack and also black. But my brother was talking.

“She never really could let go of those keychains we made her every year, I bet she still has them in a box somewhere! Or probably a jar,” polite laughter, “I think she never found a glass container she didn’t like. I would have cut her off and switched her to cardboard if it wasn’t at least a little charming.” Polite laughter, “I wish she knew when to stop. She never knew when to stop. With some things! A follow through-er, my mom was a follow through-er, haha, she would hate if I called her that.” Polite laughter.

Interjected words across words leave my brothers mouth. I narrow my eyes and I decide not to head right out to the cheese portion of my afternoon, Family Friend Tamara was standing there and I could tell she wanted to ask me advice about her son.

I keep my eyes on my brother, he jumped from one place to another.

“She taught me my words with those damn recipe books, and then those stupid Monkey Phonics, God, I should have told her I hated those. But then she’d make me help can peaches! I think I still hate peaches.”

Friend Tamara brought baby wipes for her hands, Mom’s old college roommate brought expired raffle tickets, my brother’s daughter brought tea and her meds. The woman talking to cousin Ben that I didn’t know brought breath mints too, Cousin Jenny brought her entire set of keys and Cat’s the musical discography.

Someone brought flowers, everyone brought flowers. I brought two gold rings, a pair of pantyhose I forgot to put on in the car, a tiny wallet, I walk across the room.

I barely get his attention, “Mom’s dead.” I put my hand on my brother’s shoulder, it’s the first thing I say. Maybe that’s why my brother always got let back into the house first.

He turns to me and the words die in his mouth, maybe he would make another joke. I shake my head and we both feel the gaping open words a little wholer than they were.

I wish we both started to cry, but he stops talking. I don’t show him my eulogy because I left it in the car.

I finish what I’m saying, something, something, and we move to take our seats for the ceremony, the priest brings a napkin in his pocket. My mom lies, lovely, gone, someone left a jar- I wish they hadn’t.

I forgot my eulogy in the car, I make a joke about it on the way up.

#original story #death/#funerals #writing #original piece #I wrote something that wasn't a romance

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greaterthannine-blog · 6 years ago

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Sai Bu Shan: Another China Story

Roots 07/02/2018

BEHOLD, MY GOOD PEOPLE! The second of my two abnormally long and wordy “Roots” posts! Isn’t this thrilling? (Yes, yes it is. Agree with me). Here in Sai Bu Shan: Another China Story I discuss my time spent in my Tom 譚 village in Toisan. This post is long, though not as lengthy and drawling as the last one (Sui Bo Huey: A China Story), yet that’s because I only visited my Tom village once, rather than twice like I did for Sui Bo Huey. Which, I might add, is a good thing. Because it means my visit to Sai Bu Shan was more than satisfactory and didn’t warrant a revisit. Overall: Snazzy.

Anywhosen, in addition to couple images I managed to shoot myself during this visit (Thank they universe they let me shoot my own photographs!), I also included images shot by our leader Al, which I have again crafted to look like film photographs (because differentiation is key). And while not as lengthy as my last Roots post, there’s still a decent amount of verbiage on this page, so if you actually read my wordy brain vomit, and somewhat begrudgingly enjoy reading it, you might (just might) like this post. Anyway, I have nothing else to add in this little intro-bit, so please continue to the paragraphs directly to the right of this page.

你們謝謝 & Merci

Isabella | Abe | 許綺芳 | Huie Yee-Fong | Xǔ Qǐ-Fāng

●

My Tom/Tan [譚] Village ______________________________________ ___________________________________________________________

YOU WOULD THINK THAT because I am much closer with this side of my Chinese family, that I would know much more information about our heritage, but I didn’t and don’t. In Sui Bo Huey: A China Story I discussed my ancestral village on my maternal grandfather’s side of the family for which we have the paper name Chin (which is actually my legal middle name) but the real surname of Huie/Xu. On my maternal grandmother’s side of the family, we hold the paper name Low, but with a real surname of Tom (Cantonese)/Tan (Mandarin). Now I’ve mentioned the term “paper name” twice; I will explain that later.

Refocus! Despite how I see my Low/Tom family two to three times a year, village and family information was much sparser, so I went to China with very low expectations. Through research I had several photographs of distant family members visiting the village; I had images of the village gate, and entryway to our ancestral home. However, while I knew that the house where my ancestors lived still existed, I didn’t know the address or of anyone who remembered it’s exact whereabouts. I also knew that the entire Tom family immigrated to the United States, so there wouldn’t be any relatives there to greet me like many of my fellow Rooters had. That being said, this visit to Sai Bu Shan was a shocking but pleasant surprise.

●

第六七: 台山

Day Seven: Toisan [Taishan]

07/02/2018

PORTRAIT PHOTOS: Al Cheng

PHOTOGRAPHY, PORTRAIT POST-PROCESSING & COMMENTARY:

Isabella Xu

FIRST OFF, I MAY OR MAY NOT have lied to you. Contrary to every title heading on this page, I’ve lied to you in that this story does not quite begin on July 2nd, 2018. Rather the beginning of my Sai Bu Shan story begins three days prior, during our first day in Toisan. Assembled in the bus that morning, we began driving to another rooter’s village. Only around five minutes from the hotel, alongside the road, we passed by an elementary school completely encompassed by walls. Running along this wall and adjacent to the road was a sidewalk. As we slowly puttered by, at the end of the wall and the correspondingly ending sidewalk, there was an old woman squatting and peeling fruit from an enormous blue basket. Directly left of where the sidewalk ended, and set twenty feet back was a tall structure of some sort, but with my gaze so intently set on the woman peeling fruit, I only noticed her immediate vicinity with detail. Still watching her, Sifu continues forth and the bus turns a corner, and the structure, the sidewalk, and the woman peeling fruit disappear. I turn to face forward in my seat and the image I just observed dissipates from my mind.

Three days later, the morning of my rooting, I hopped onto the bus with the lowest of low expectations for my Tom village that day. As mentioned in the beginning of this post, my knowledge of this family line was so limited (and still is limited) that I envisioned this visit to be exceptionally brief and wholly uneventful. My prediction: We’d step off the bus, waddle around for a bit, point at the greater community and exclaim, “Hooray, that’s my village!” shoot a few photographs (because I was finally allowed and given ample time to photograph my own goddamn village) then we’d clamber back on the bus then leave. Well, that prediction was wrong.

As I sat beside Al on the bus, trundling along Toisan city roads, I peered out the window watching passersby and Toisan residents milling about their day. It was a sleepy Monday morning; kids were walking to school, business owners were opening shop, elder folks were chatting in gossip circles, and everything in between. I was so engrossed with examining peoples’ behavior that I was struck when we suddenly came to a halt, the bus doors beeped and squeaked, gaping open to a grey sky.

While everyone streamed off the bus, heavily surprised by our brief five-minute bus journey, I looked out the window again to see where we were, and my brain realized our location. Through the window pane my line of sight instantly laid upon the same wall and sidewalk where the old woman peeling fruit perched just three days prior. That scene with the old woman wasn’t even notably striking (that sounds insensitive lol), but despite that, I instantaneously recognized the area. I turned my gaze to the left and saw that the structure I hazily remembered was actually a village gate, and better yet, I identified it as the village gate in photographs I found in my research. Excited about the trivial connection I made, I turned to Al and exclaimed, “I saw this place the other day! There was an old woman peeling fruit right there, and I remember watching her as we drove by when going to Jeremy’s village! I can’t believe I didn’t recognize it then!” to which I received a grumble equivalent to a, “Oh, neat.” But reveling in my irrelevant realization, I slid off my seat, camera slung around my neck and head over to begin my insignificant rooting.

After jumping off the bus, we assembled to take a group photo with the Sai Bu Shan village gate, and almost immediately afterwards the grey heavens released the floodgates and a downpour ensues. We took shelter underneath the huge awning of a convenience/knick knack store at the front of the village to wait out the rain; hopefully. Al took the documents I had and along with our young whippersnapper government official Ray, began talking with village representatives and residents to see if they could uncover anything that might be useful in our rooting. They sat at a table during these discussions, and I padded around awkwardly until Al waved me over and said,

“You need to be a part of this. There are some important things happening.”

“But I don’t even know what they’re saying.”

“Well, still. You must be here. It’s your rooting.”

He made an excellently fair point, so I sat beside him as phone calls and discussions continued. This whole time, Ray was on the phone, chatting with who knows who, when his face lit up like a full moon. He said something to Al, then hands to phone over. Al and whomever was on the phone have an animated talk, and after it ended he looked apprehensive yet thrilled at the same time; he now knew something I didn’t and didn’t seem inclined to tell me. He then said we must wait for the rain to stop, so I stood to take a few photographs under the cover of the storefront awning.

After ten minutes or so, Al flagged me down again. I walked over to the table and noticed that there was a new face at the table. On Al’s left was a reserved-looking, small old man wearing a thin-striped polo. His hands were clasped together and resting on the table as Al rifled through my documents to show him. I had no idea who this man was, but apparently he was a village historian of sorts and was knowledgeable of the village heritage. I was told that when Al spoke on the phone with him, the man was exceptionally excited by our visit, and came from fifteen minutes away just to meet us. From what I could see, he didn’t look thrilled at all, but suppose the fact he showed up so soon was testament to his excitement.

Anyways, Al handed the man copies of my handwritten ancestral Tom family tree. He explained to the man that my last family member to reside in the village was my mother’s mother’s mother’s father, my great great grandfather Kun Foo 泮盛. The man (I feel bad that I keep calling this guy “the man” but I never learned his name) examined the tree and pointed to Kun Foo’s name on the page. The man explained that he knew this family name, and told us that ages ago, Sai Bu Shan was home to my ancestral line, but in the past few decades the original families which inhabited the area had relocated when the village was absorbed by Toisan city. But furthermore, not only did he tell us that he knew the Tom 譚 name and detailed village information, he claimed something quite shocking. He said he descended from the same family line. He claimed to be the grandson of Kun Foo’s brother. We were from the same family line.

Yes. Outrageous. I know. I was there.

That being said, while this man seemed quite credible, there was still overhanging skepticism of his truthfulness, but to prove his claims he took us to my ancestral home, where he believed the family alter was still intact (and he just, ya know, knows these things). Because my family no longer has ties to the village, and the community was reclaimed by Toisan city, he said the home was divided into two residences and was being rented to families. He told us we would visit both. Winding through the village alleys, with water from the recent deluge streaming from rooftops, our posse arrived at the door of what the man says is the section of the house that holds the altar. Fortunately, the inhabitants of the house graciously permit us to look around, and all twenty of us file through the entryway, past the kitchen and toilet, and into the altar room, and placed high above the floor, on the raised platform common within these houses was the altar, with a vibrantly orange paper family tree shining down.

The man toddled over to a wooden ladder at the base of the altar, and climbed up to examine it while Al and I held the ladder steady. The man read the document, pointed at some characters and beckoned Al to take a peek himself, and lo and behold the characters 泮盛 for Kun Foo were painted there. The man was telling the truth.

After performing the bai san ceremony (I knew what to do this time; failure redeemed!) and having a quiet moment to myself (which in retrospect was kind of bizarre; here I am, standing in some stranger’s home, thanking my ancestors for their hard work), I rejoined the group outside. The man led us to the other side of the building so we could look inside the other half. It was at this point that the man dropped another bomb: I was the first person in my family to return to China and visit this second half of the house. Other family members (whom I actually knew of and had received family/village info from) had visited the altar side of the home, but I was the first of my family to enter the place where Kun Foo was actually born.

+++

Well, how about those for some bucket list items?

Visit ancestral village when you had almost no helpful information: Check.

Visit long lost ancestral altar: Check.

Visit site of my great great grandfather’s birth: Check.

Believe you have no surviving relatives in China, but meet a small old man who just happens to be just that: Check.

China is full of surprises.

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(1) Sitting around a table examining documents with Al, the man, Long Lǎoshī, and two village representatives ↑↑

(2) Group photo in the altar side of my Tom ancestral home 譚. Top row from left: village representative, the man, Al, Carol, me, Derek, Jeremy, Diann, another village representative, Robyn. Bottom row from left: Nick, Kona, Candace, Amanda, and Ray (our young-whippersnapper PRC official)

↑↑

(1) Having a quiet moment after my bai san ceremony, completely unaware Al was photographing me.

(2) A posed photograph inside the altar side of my ancestral home.

#China #China 2018 #Travel China #Southern China #Guangdong #Toisan #Taishan #Sai Bu Shan #Roots #Roots 2018 #Friends of Roots

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succeedly · 7 years ago

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Literature Performance Odyssey with Drama and Student Leadership

Marynn Dause on episode 318 of the 10-Minute Teacher Podcast

From the Cool Cat Teacher Blog by Vicki Davis

Follow @coolcatteacher on Twitter

They only had a 2 ½ weeks to teach the entire Odyssey. So, teacher Marynn Dause met with her students. They decided to follow the pattern of Homer and become storytelling bards themselves with powerful results. Marynn shares this innovative approach to teaching the Odyssey invented by her students along with their advice for using this method in your classroom.

Listen Now

Listen to the show on iTunes or Stitcher

Stream by clicking here.

***

Enhanced Transcript

Marynn Dause: Literature Performance Odyssey

Link to show: www.coolcatteacher.com/e318 Date: May 23, 2018

Vicki: Today we’re talking with someone I made friends with on Twitter, Marynn Dause.

She is a ninth-grade literature teacher.

Marynn, you are doing something fascinating with teaching The Odyssey.

Tell us what you’re doing.

Marynn: Yes, hello, and hello to everyone listening.

My students and I were sort of stuck with two and a half weeks to tackle twenty-four books (or chapters) of The Odyssey by Homer.

We had 2 ½ weeks to cover 24 chapters

We have a very collaborative classroom, I let the students lead their learning as much as possible.

So, during our Monday morning meeting, I just said, “You know what, guys? We don’t have a lot of time. There are a lot of chapters, and frankly, I have never taught this in a way that has worked for all or my kids. I need your help.”

We brainstormed, and what we ended up coming up with was the kids said, “How did people originally interact with this text?” Because that’s something that I want to emphasize is the original intent of the author and how they wanted their audience to receive it. I explained about Homer as being a poet, a bard, an oral storyteller.

The kids said, “How did people originally interact with this text?”

They said, “Well, why don’t we do that? Can’t we just tell the story the way that HE would have?”

So I took their idea and did some research and ran with it, and what we ended up doing is we parcelled the story out and the kids took charge of learning the chapters, and reciting and performing them for their classmates exactly the way that Homer would have two and a half thousand years ago.

Vicki: Wow, so they memorized it? Or they just filmed it? Or how does this work?

Marynn: Different groups chose different strategies, and it really ended up depending on the strengths of the teams themselves. I gave them a wide variety of options. When we were planning the whole thing, I had the kids brainstorm different ways of storytelling and they came up with thirty-seven different ways to tell a story.

Vicki: (laughs)

Marynn: Yeah! (laughs)

We talked about different tools, and we worked on, “Okay, how are we going to do this?” But most of them ended up deciding that they preferred actually doing spoken stories.

Most of them preferred actually doing spoken stories

We had skits. We had popsicle stick puppets. We had miming. We had the type of thing where people hit a scene, they freeze, and the narrator steps forward and narrates what’s going on, and then they do that a couple of times.

So lots of different live performance options that the kids ended up preferring as they went along.

Vicki: Now did you film these? Did you capture these on film for the kids who weren’t there? How did that work?

Marynn: Yes, I did somewhat. We have to be a little bit careful about our photography rights and recording and that kind of thing with the students, but any time that we knew somebody was going to be gone, we would record it and send it just to that person.

Or, I mean we actually do have the books themselves. Sometimes the kids would say, “Don’t worry about it, Ms. Dause, I’m just going to read the chapter.”

One thing that I was really pleased by was that, as we went through this process of taking the story chapter by chapter, the kids began to feel more confident in their reading ability, and so they were not intimidated by the text anymore.

The kids began to feel more confident in their reading ability

They would say, “Oh, I’ve already done my chapters with my group. I can handle this one. It won’t be a big deal.”

Vicki: Wow. So did you cover it all in time? Were you able to get through, or did you get stuck? Sometimes teachers are afraid of projects because they’re like, “Oh, we just won’t get it done! They’ll spend the whole time playing!”

Marynn: I know what you mean.

We actually did, and it was one of those things where having the limited amount of time sort of lit a fire under us, you know what I mean? It’s like, “Okay, well… we have to get this done one way or the other. It is a curriculum requirement.”

“If we fail, and we’re right back to where we started, where we have less time to read the full things, so, go, go!” And the kids would cheer each other on.

What we did is we took two and a half days at the beginning — I teach on a four-by-four system, my classes are ninety minutes long — about two and a half days at the front end for the kids to read their chapters, annotate it like crazy, and a lot of them either wrote skits or sort of did bullet-point plans on a piece of paper, and then they would put together costumes.

Each table would perform one chapter, and we would do feedback from the group. I included a question and answer session after each performance so the audience could make sure they understood what had happened, and they got bonus points for asking questions. Answering questions was actually one of the requirements for the performers.

Answering questions was a requirement for the performers

Then we would take a day after each round and prep for the next one, and anything they couldn’t fit in in class, that was their only homework.

I usually assign three or four really quality-thinking assignments each week, but I said, “Look, guys, this is going to be a lot of work, so as long as you’re working on this, I’m not going to give you anything extra because I want all of your attention for my class focused on this effort.”

Vicki: Marynn, before we started recording, you showed me that you have a lot of observations from your students that they had — things they wanted to share.

Tell us the things the students want everybody to hear and know about this method of approaching The Odyssey.

Marynn: Absolutely.

I did tell them, “I can’t find anybody else who’s done this before, so you are learning for all the schools in America, you might be, so who knows.”

A couple of major points. I asked them for highs, lows, and for advice that they would give other schools.

I asked them for highs, lows, and advice that they would give

Vicki: Awesome.

Marynn: Their highs, summarized, were that:

this is very creative and interesting

it’s engaged and made the text come alive

I felt that I could move and understand it

it was interactive and fun, lots of stars around fun

It improved my comprehension,

I learned a lot out of my comfort zone

I remember the whole story

One little guy said, “Usually, when I read, there’s so much going on, I can barely keep up with the story. Forget the characters, it’s not going to happen. But now, when we’re talking about the characters, you can say, ‘Yeah, you’re Achaea remember? And I can remember, and that helps me comprehend.”

Some of their lows were, “It’s time consuming!” (laughs)

Vicki: (laughs) Yeah, they had to work, right? (laughs)

Welcome to teaching, right? But it’s great that they’re doing it.

Marynn: Several of the kids said, “It was a lot more work than I expected.”

I did think it was interesting that they pointed out, “This is really fun and most of us prefer to do live acting, but that didn’t fit everybody’s style.”

It really does depend on your learning style. You need to know performing techniques. I messed that up. I didn’t show them stage drama techniques until the second and third round, because I didn’t predict how much they would need to know.

They wanted to get that learning about the skills at the front end.

The other thing they noted is that, “If the performance is unclear, if the group has a tough chapter with a lot of details and a lot of characters, it can get a little muddy. It can be hard to understand.”

So they said, You really have to emphasize the Q&A structure.”

And we also, in the middle, we started having the groups to read a summary of their annotations before they performed. That way, we knew what we were looking for before they went on stage.

Vicki: But they recommend this for other classrooms?

Their advice column was actually the long one

Marynn: Absolutely, and their advice column was actually the longest one.

Vicki: So what’s their advice?

Marynn: I’m going to try to pick the most pertinent moments.

They said practice. Do not procrastinate. For the love of all that is good, make sure that you practice!

A lot of the kids said just do it. Just break out of your comfort zone.

Understand that everybody in the room is going to be doing the same thing, and the sillier you look, the more we enjoy it. So just GO.

They did actually recommend — several of them set up Google Remind accounts, like remind.com, and they used Remind instead of a group chat. So they would all be on a Remind group together so they could communicate when they were at home. That way, they didn’t need to know each other’s numbers, but they could still talk.

Vicki: Yeah. Wow.

Marynn:Yeah, I thought that was good.

Other than that, they said definitely work on your group collaboration at the front end. Like have a really clear conversation about who is going to be in charge of what, and how you are going to make sure it happens, first?

Vicki: (agrees)

Marynn: Several of them, I actually led some conflict resolution workshops because they found out the hard way that they didn’t know how to do conflict resolution.

Vicki: Yeah. And that’s so great about having teams and working in this way, because you’re teaching much more than your topic, and you’ve got done on time! We do want to say that!

Marynn: Yeah.

Vicki: So, Marynn, the thing I think I would like to most point out to our teachers, besides the fact that this is a fantastic teaching method…

But I like what you’ve modeled for us by going to your students and saying, “Students, what do you want to say to people about this method of teaching?”

Actually, we’ve had 301 episodes as of the day we’re recording this, and I’m sitting here thinking, “You know, we need to all do a better job of getting feedback from students and letting the students speak, and then we could be the voice for them.”

I think that you’ve really modeled something powerful that we all need to be doing a better job of when we’re talking about teaching strategies. Because I really like their recommendations and, you know, when kids say it’s time-consuming, or a lot of work, I hate to say that I don’t mind that, but the point is you don’t really give homework.

They’re really doing most of this work in class, so their goof-off time goes away. A lot of kids want a little bit of goof-off time and they’re just not getting it, and we’re okay with that.

So remarkable educators, I think this is a fascinating way to teach. It’s a teaching oddysey in itself, and we’ve just learned so much.

So thank you! And tell your kids thanks!

Marynn: Oh, I certainly will.

Transcribed by Kymberli Mulford [email protected]

Bio as submitted

I’m Marynn HS Dause, M.A.Ed, NBCT, and non-traditional innovator extraordinaire. My secondary ELA classroom in King George, Virginia is more laboratory than lecture hall, and my passion is helping teachers and students progress with excellence and purpose. I’m enthusiastic about the possibilities of edtech for better learning, excited about pedagogy, and always up for a new adventure. I’d be happy to collaborate with you on Twitter!

Blog: http://mdause.wixsite.com/thedauseclause

Twitter: @DauseClause

Disclosure of Material Connection: This is a “sponsored podcast episode.” The company who sponsored it compensated me via cash payment, gift, or something else of value to include a reference to their product. Regardless, I only recommend products or services I believe will be good for my readers and are from companies I can recommend. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.” This company has no impact on the editorial content of the show.

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