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suntrastar · 4 years ago

Text

abstract: chapter 1

chapter 2!!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader

Summary: Wait- Bucky Barnes attends your art class? And you didn’t even recognize him?

Word count: 7k (i am insane i know this!! you can also find this fic on ao3 !!)

Author’s note: hello! attempting to upload a fic on here for the first time ever! do i understand this website’s format. perhaps not. but am i going to try? perhaps yes! anyways hope you all like it :) likes and reblogs are very much appreciated!!! umm idk how this works if you wanna follow me you can?? do follows exist on tumblr dot com i think they do. hope they do. love you all. this is a long chapter buckle up (BUCKle up lmao i am not funny)!! enjoy ;o

“Hey, can you come look at this?”

You teach three classes a week- Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. The latter two are enjoyable in their own right, but Mondays are definitely your favorite. Instead of teaching kids, who are funny and creative but so messy, and so loud, you get to teach adults. People your own age or usually older, putting you in a position of authority, valuing your opinion, wanting you to come look at things.

It’s a delightful power trip.

You turn away from the window to see who’s speaking.

It’s Steve.

Of course it’s Steve, your star student, staring at you with a worn, weary intensity, wiping a paintbrush on a paper towel. He’s already pushed his sheet of paper across the table, bumpy with water and watercolor paint, cream-colored edges starting to curl. He leans away from it, reclining in a seat that’s adult-sized but dwarfed by his frame, looking so forlorn, like the paper just abandoned him, moved to the opposite side of the table by itself.

You stifle a laugh.

“Sure,” you say, and make your way over to his table.

Steve fidgets in his seat as you look at his painting. You try to keep your jaw in check.

It drops anyway.

As always, it’s beautiful. He’s painted a sky, swirling with purples and pinks, and careful clouds, flickering in and out between layers of paint, elegant and pale yellow-orange. And the sun- it’s off-center, and you’re sure it was unintentional, but that adds to the effect, because it’s hot red, and dazzling, and slowly seeping into the still-wet sky. Tendrils of red like real sunbeams, pushing through the clouds like a real sunset.

You don’t know why Steve even takes this class. Half the time, you feel like he should be the one teaching.

“It’s gorgeous,” you say eventually, once your words come back to you. “I love how you painted the sun- the red, oh my god. You’re seriously a natural.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, and you push the paper back towards him. He looks down at it, still tense, brow furrowed, and you almost laugh again, until he looks back up at you. “I wanted to know what you thought about it.”

Power trip.

“I love it,” you say, giving him a reassuring smile, which he hesitantly returns. You might be laying it on a little thick, but Steve still looks distressed, and you genuinely like the guy enough to try to help him.

When he walked in with his friend for the first class, you were floored. People like Steve don’t attend classes like this- classes like this are attended by regular people. Not people that walk like dancers, all grace and light steps, not people that are extraordinarily jacked, with jutting shoulders and rippling muscles, not people that have a weirdly authoritarian air around them, like a politician, but less shrewd.

Still, you welcomed them and made awkward small-talk and tried not to stare at their arms and hoped you came across as a somewhat decent person. It’s your first time teaching adults, you explained, and Steve gave you a smile so sincere and reassured you that you would do great, boosting your confidence to the point where you actually did.

Steve is lovely. He’s passionate about art and has a good eye, a better eye than you, really, and he always tries so hard with whatever he does, and he’s funny in a dorky way, and completely unaware of it. He always wears a baseball hat and tucks his shirts into his pants and called you ma’am once, and looked so surprised when you burst out laughing and told him to call you by your first name. With him, two classes have flown by, and now, during the third, he’s warmed up to you enough to talk to you like a friend.

The friend he brings with him, though?

A total douchebag.

The night to Steve’s day, the rain to his sunshine. It’s obvious that Steve brings him along as some sort of moral support, to make himself look less out of place, which is fine, except the guy always treats you like you’ve perpetually offended him.

And maybe you have, maybe one time you did something that’s worthy of his eternal dislike, but you wouldn’t know what it is, because he’s never brought it up, because he barely fucking talks.

You don’t think he’s a naturally quiet guy. He definitely looks like he has a lot to say, but no matter what, he only ever talks in single-syllable bursts, quiet enough that half the time you miss what he’s saying.

He doesn’t ignore you, either- he listens to everything you say and lets his judgement flicker over his face- which is way worse. A glare is a slight misstep, a shake of his head means that you’ve just said something that he finds stupid, a scowl is a catastrophe.

You don’t even know his name. He’s never introduced himself, and always writes his name in a shaky, illegible scrawl on the sign-in sheet, and by now you don’t care enough to look it up.

Still, you’re nice to him, polite. It’s okay if he doesn’t like you. You don’t need to be liked- being noticed is enough.

You shift away from Steve to his friend, sitting next to him at the table. He’s staring at you in a way that you can only describe as violent, and you flinch, and then plaster your smile back on.

“How’s it going?” You ask, expecting no response, stealing a glance at his paper. He’s painted the entire sheet a watered-down blue, and you want to congratulate him, for actually participating this time, but you don’t say anything. “The watercolors working out for you?”

Your heart goes out to the poor paintbrush in his hand. It’s barely been used, is steadily dripping water, and is being throttled in his gloved grip. He always wears one glove- it’s weird, but you’re not going to pry.

He catches you looking and a whole myriad of emotion plays over his face; irritation and shame, a creased brow and a scowl. You have the feeling that you’ve taken a massive overstep, even though you haven’t said anything else, even though you’re not looking at his hand anymore, just at him.

His hair hangs over his eyes, glossy and carelessly wavy, which you would find pretty, maybe, if he wasn’t looking at you the way he is. Like you’ve just done something terrible.

“Sure,” he says, and that’s it.

Even when you turn away, he’s glaring.

You hate it, so you pretend it’s not happening.

Steve gives you a sympathetic glance before you head back. You wave it off.

“Shonna,” you call, to the fiftysomething woman hunched over her painting a few tables down, “how’re the flowers looking?”

***

Thirty minutes before your fourth Monday class starts, you arrive at the studio to find Rina washing paintbrushes in the sink.

“Hey,” you call.

She turns to you and gives you a surprised grin. “Oh, hey! You’re here early- come help with these brushes.”

You set your bag on the counter by the wall and join her at the sink. You’ve known Rina for ages- ever since you were roommates in college. The class before yours is taught before, some advanced painting thing that she is extremely overqualified to teach.

She’s kind of famous. And kind of self-absorbed, and a little bit pretentious, but maybe that’s just what happens when you’re as successful in your field as she is. No matter what it is, you can’t complain- she’s the one that helped get you this job in the first place.

“A couple of people in my class like to get here early, so I just try to arrive before them,” you say. She passes you a clean paintbrush. You reach around her and tear off a paper towel from the dispenser. “Did you dye your hair? It looks so pretty.”

“Yes!” She shakes her head, letting her hair sway. Last time you met her, she had dyed it pink. Now it’s mahogany red, straight and sleek and falling just past her shoulders. She looks a little unreal. “How’s your class going? Are the people okay?”

“Yeah, most of them are pretty nice.”

She passes you another paintbrush to dry. You consider bringing up Steve’s friend, but decide against it.

“That’s good- and you’re welcome, by the way. But okay, listen. Do you remember that one guy I told you about a while back, Dustin? So yesterday I was just sitting at home, and then he texted me…”

With the formalities out of the way, she launches into a story about someone you definitely don’t remember. Still, you humor her, listen to what she has to say, chime in at the right parts and say “really?” and “no way!” too many times. The minutes tick by.

When all of the brushes are washed and dried, you take them, since you’re going to be the one using them next, and start setting up for the class. Rina walks away and grabs her stuff from the counter. She lingers by the doorway, door already propped open, aimlessly scrolling through something on her phone, hesitant to leave for a reason you don’t know. Maybe she has more to say- if that’s even, like, possible.

You set the brushes in a container at the center table, and head over to the shelves on the far wall to pull out more supplies. Unfortunately, today’s class is revolving around watercolor again. It’s drudgery, such a boring medium- dull, unsaturated, painstaking when it comes to detail. You bring out a stack of paper, the least-depressing palettes, and then mason jars for holding water.

You’re setting the last jar on the table when Rina shrieks.

It startles you, making your hand slip.

The jar wobbles over the edge of the table and then falls, shattering into cloudy glass pieces at your feet.

“Shit,” you curse, and look over at her. “Rina, what the hell?”

Standing across from her in the doorway, having arrived early for class as usual, are Steve and his friends, two shades more flustered than usual. Rina is gawking at them.

Okay, they’re attractive, but not that attractive.

Not shriek-worthy attractive.

You sigh loudly and carefully step over the glass, making your way over to them. “Hi, Steve,” you say, and he jolts, like a scared cat. He’s blushing, stepping back into the hallway, hands awkwardly dangling at his sides. His friend is staring at Rina like he’s about to murder her, and you’re staring at him like you’re about to ask him to pass you the broom behind the door.

Because you are.

“Sorry about… that. There’s a broom behind the door, could you pass it to me?”

He opens his mouth to say something, and you are desperate to hear him, even if he’s only going to utter a simple yes, but Rina buts in.

“You did not just ask the Winter Soldier to pass you a broom.”

Who?

“Girl, what?”

All three of you turn to her, cornering back into the wall. She looks even more unreal, eyes blown wide, red creeping up her neck, giving her hair a run for its money, still gawking. You resist the urge to reach out and pull her chin back up, to close her mouth.

She alternates between looking at Steve and at…

“That’s the Winter Soldier,” she says slowly, like she’s trying to convince herself, or you, and then steps closer to Steve, who instinctively takes a step back. He’s fully in the hallway, now. “And you’re Captain America.”

Steve’s jaw clenches. He stays silent, and you feel bad for him, that’s all you can feel, really- you are confused beyond reason, halfway convinced that Rina is losing her shit, still awaiting the broom, still awaiting Steve’s friend’s words, racking your brain for any image of Captain America or the Winter Soldier that you might have- and coming up completely empty.

You don’t watch the news, like, ever.

Little details float back to you. Steve’s dressing sense, his manners, his muscles…

The baseball caps that both of them are always wearing...

His friend’s glove…

Oh, fuck.

“Are you?” You ask dumbly. The question is meant for both of them, but you only look at one of them while speaking. A glare meets you back- a slight misstep.

You can’t even see your feet, in this situation. You’re walking blind.

Steve crosses his arms and looks at you sternly. He doesn’t look angry, but as close as he can get. “Yes,” he says, completely guarded and unfriendly and not lovely at all. “I thought you knew that.”

You are so stupid- how did you not know that?

“I didn’t,” you say, and you don’t sound convincing at all. Not much fazes you, but you are absolutely, positively fazed right now, and starting to spiral out. “I had no idea- I thought you guys could have been, like, bodyguards, or something, not actual Avengers, oh my god. I’m so sorry, shit, thank you for your service?”

You’re going to end it all- this is so embarrassing.

Steve’s mouth twitches. Rina is scarlet-faced. The Winter Soldier, god, looks so tense, like he might shatter, too, into silent, grumpy pieces all over the floor.

“You’re welcome,” Steve says, and marginally relaxes. He stays in the hallway, the Winter Soldier by the door- you should have paid more attention in your tenth grade history class, what is the guy’s name?

Rina peels herself off the wall, and you start to get nervous. There’s a painful silence, with lots of staring, where you’re still trying to coax a few rational thoughts out of your brain, and only coming up with one- Rina needs to leave.

You try to tell her that with your eyes, with a pointed look, but you’re not great at this whole communication-through-expressions thing, so she doesn’t get the hint, or does and just ignores it.

“So, let me get this straight,” she says, tearing the silence like a plastic seal, voice starting to rise, from wonder to excitement, from painless curiosity to danger, “there’s two Avengers taking your class? And you didn’t even recognize them?”

“Nope,” you say, looking away, at a stain on the wall, at the distant glass shards still unswept away on the floor.

“That’s…”

She trails off before she has the chance to call you stupid, because the Winter Soldier gives her a pointed look of his own. Low brows and dark eyelashes, blazing blue eyes- she has no choice but to listen. Your staring was irritating, but his is intimidating.

She scampers away, mumbling something you can’t catch and brushing against Steve as she leaves.

This whole thing is so unprofessional, but at least you can breathe again-

“Here,” the Winter Soldier says, and a broom handle comes into your view.

Just one word, but you’ll take it with open arms. You take the broom from him, give an unreturned, unfamiliarly sheepish smile and head back to the broken glass on the floor.

The broken glass is swept up and tossed in the trash. You avoid looking at the doorway, focusing on other useless tasks instead. Rearranging the supplies on the table, fiddling with the window blinds, chatting with the rest of the class attendees as they start to file in.

Then the class starts and you’re swept back into your demonstration, talking and teaching and showing off different techniques that can be done with different types of brushes. You only look in their direction once, right after showing off some technique you barely remember from art school with a fan brush- they sit at their table near the back, Steve paying attention as usual, his friend silently reacting, as usual.

So they decided to stay- that’s good. Great, even.

Until the next part of the class starts, when everyone gets to work on their own paintings, when you have to stop talking.

You mill around the room, searching for a conversation to join in on or a comment to make, but find none. Then you take a sheet of paper and hopelessly try to draw- search for a distraction and a spark up of an idea, something, anything, and come up completely empty. It’s just...

How famous are they? Like, A-list celebrity famous? Are they offended that you didn’t recognize them- should you start treating them differently? You don’t keep up with this stuff. You have an impossibly long list of other things to worry about- you don’t have the time to worry about this stuff. The Avengers aren’t something you think about ever, because why should you?

If you opened any newspaper or magazine you would find something about them- a charity gala they attended, some recent threat they neutralized, the latest gossip surrounding their personal lives. But those lives are so far detached from your own that you’ve never bothered to look.

You simply don’t care. You’re not a native New Yorker- it’s not like these people are your hometown heroes, that you grew up idolizing them. They save the world time and time again and society is forever indebted to them and all of that, but what are you supposed to do about it?

And most importantly, what is the Winter Soldier’s fucking name?

Enough of this chaos goes on in your mind to make your head hurt. Fuck it, you decide- you’ll face it. You straighten your shoulders as you stand, trying your best to look purposeful as you walk to their table, like you have reason to go over there. Yeah, they’re strong. Genetically enhanced and all of that, and they’re important: they’re Avengers.

But they’re taking your class.

You slide into the chair across from the Soldier without taking the time to gauge their reactions.

“Do other people here know?” You ask.

Steve startles, eyes widening, and then considers the question while swirling his brush in green paint. He’s working on a landscape today, you think. “Shonna might,” he says, not rudely. “But nobody else.”

So maybe not that famous. Or maybe the people here are just like you and don’t care.

But it still doesn’t make sense. “Then why did you think that I knew?”

“Because you talk a lot,” Steve says, like it’s the most obvious thing ever.

“Well, yeah, that’s part of the job-”

Steve cuts you off, and fuck, you hate getting interrupted. But he’s smiling, and you can’t bring yourself to get upset over it. “You talk a lot to us.”

Us?

More like to him.

You take it in stride, don’t let your confidence slip. You’ve purposely angled your head away, and you know the Winter Soldier is staring at you- you can feel it on your cheek, on your shoulder, on every nerve in your face. You don’t look back at him. This revelation hasn’t made him any less unpleasant.

“Yeah,” you say, like it’s just as obvious, “because you’re a nice guy, Steve.”

Steve raises his eyebrows so high that they disappear under the brim of his hat. You smile at him as nicely as you can, sugar-sweet, until he can’t take anymore and drops his gaze back to his painting. You turn back to the nameless man across from you.

Winter Soldier.

“Hi,” you say, only to him, and prop your elbows up on the table, resting your face in your hands. “I love the little pattern you have going on with your painting.”

It’s random splotches of black paint- calling it a pattern is an exaggeration. But you carry on.

“This is probably a bad time to ask, and it’s kind of a dumb question, but, like, what’s your name?”

He just barely raises an eyebrow, allowing for a fraction of surprise, before schooling his expression back into his usual mix of anger and boredom, a casual glare and slight frown. For a moment, you wonder what he looks like when he’s happy.

“You don’t know his name?” Steve is in disbelief, and then he winces, and you think he’s been kicked under the table. Abruptly, you laugh.

It rings out. A few people turn and stare, but you brush it all off with another smile.

He’s still staring. You don’t mind it.

The paintbrush in his hand is suddenly unsteady.

“My name is Bucky,” he says, slowly and loudly enough for you to make out the sound of his voice, for the first time ever.

He is definitely bothered by you asking, his mouth drawn tight, and you can’t even take the time to appreciate how cutesy his name is compared to his demeanor, because oh hell. It’s going to be difficult to keep up this whole dislike thing, if his voice sounds like this, low and rough and gritty like sandpaper, pleasantly grating over you and your skin…

You have to consciously remind yourself to keep on smiling.

“Nice to meet you, Bucky.”

Things should feel different, but they don’t. Nobody really reacts- everything resumes as normal. Steve focuses on his panting, adding delicate brushstrokes to the branches of a tree. You linger for a moment, and then get up from the table and flutter off to someone else.

For every class, you wear this kitschy apron, paint-stained, with strings tied in a hasty bow against your back that Bucky always aches to even out. Someone tells you something, and you respond eagerly, fully phased out of the past incident.

He stares until he realizes he’s staring, and then drops his eyes back down to his paper.

Steve wanted to attend this class for a number of reasons- he was bored and wanted something to occupy his time, he wanted to revisit an old hobby, he wanted to learn from you- some hip, emerging artist he’s a fan of, whose work he’s been following for a while now, who is seriously talented, although you have yet to prove it. He wanted to go do something separated from the events of his regular life.

So much wanting. Bucky wants to know why you’re so indifferent.

He doesn’t know if it’s a good thing that you didn’t know his name, or that you didn’t flinch or gasp or accuse him of something, or pointedly look at his left arm. Should he be thankful? Steve is clearly thankful, already loosening up, freed of any lasting tension.

Bucky just feels wary. You’re unsettling.

You come back over to their table one more time. The sleeves of your shirt are pushed up, and there’s a smear of something dark on your forearm, ink or paint. On one wrist you’re wearing a bracelet made of braided leather. On the other you wear a bulky digital watch.

Practical.

“Everything okay?” You ask, as if something not okay could potentially have happened, in your forty-five minute absence.

Steve fixes you with a friendly smile. Bucky can’t ever bring himself to do the same.

“Yep,” Steve says, and you nod your head, clearly relieved.

“Great!” You glance at him for a spare second, and turn away again.

Everyone he knows is so guarded, walls built high and doors barred shut. Except for you, if Bucky can say that he knows you, the perky art instructor, Steve’s favorite artist. You’re confident and flippant, and that should be a bad pairing, but somehow you can carry yourself within it just fine. Always purposeful in the space you occupy, not reacting to the knowledge of his and Steve’s major, momentous identities.

Bucky wonders, idly, as he blots water over what you so generously called a pattern, why you didn’t.

It’s not like he wants you to acknowledge it, wants you to call him a war criminal or a Rusisan spy. He just wants you to-

He doesn’t know.

The class goes on. An older couple sitting a few tables away have caught your attention, chattering on and on about their personal lives.They have a pet cat that their landlord doesn’t know about, and when they retire they want to move to the seaside in Italy, and in May their son is going to graduate high school.

“High school?” You gasp, loud for no reason. “I hated high school.”

Before the class ends, you take your position at the front of the studio, and talk some more. He knows it’s part of your job, but you are excessive.

There’s an art exhibition going on at some museum, and one of the featured artists is an acquaintance of yours, and on Saturday the admission fee is discounted, and if anybody is interested, you have a stack of flyers on the center table. And you hope that everyone has a good week.

You look at Bucky while finishing up your little monologue, giving a half-smile that’s for the whole class, but seemingly only directed at him. He blinks slowly, and when he opens his eyes again, you’re looking somewhere else.

***

“Morning, pal, you ready to go?”

Steve gives him a hopeful smile as he peels an orange.

Bucky’s hair is still wet from his shower, dripping water onto his shirt. It’s early, too early to go anywhere. He doesn’t even know why he’s awake- usually after his wake-of-dawn runs, he falls back asleep, or lies down and just stares at his ceiling, thinking, until he grows restless enough to get up and do something. But today, the restlessness came much sooner, so he got up much sooner, and it might already be a mistake.

He takes a seat at the kitchen island, next to Sam, trying to think of something that Steve might have had planned for today, and coming up completely empty. “Go where?”

Steve looks hurt, for a brief second. “The exhibition at the museum, remember?”

Oh.

That.

“I’m not going to that,” Bucky says, harshly enough for it to be dropped.

Steve does not drop it. “Hey, come on. Just look at it.”

From his back pocket, Steve pulls out a flyer, one of the flyers you had out on Monday, folded up in a neat square- when did Steve pick one of those up? He holds it out, and Bucky, wishing he was asleep again, takes it.

He unfolds it, and the words are written in tiny letters, and the few photos on the paper are in color but too grainy to make out, and it gives him a slight headache, but he pretends to look it over. Sam leans into him to see it, loudly crunching cereal in Bucky’s ear.

“Looks cool, Rogers,” Sam says, and Steve grins, and now Bucky is the bad guy in the situation, for not wanting to go, even though Sam isn’t going either.

Bucky passes the flyer back without reading a single word.

“I’m not going,” he says, again.

But Steve is relentless. He sets the orange peels aside and gives him a look, and Bucky can already feel his resolve starting to crumble, and it’s kind of pathetic, really. Does he not understand that Bucky is already doing as much as he can?

“Why not?”

He picks the easiest answer.

“I don’t want to.”

Steve’s brow furrows as he splits the orange into two, giving half to Bucky. Sam slurps the milk from his cereal bowl.

They’re all blissfully silent.

“Come on, Bucky,” Steve says suddenly, almost begging. “I really want to see it.”

“I don’t-” He falters, he’s losing the battle. “How many people are there gonna be?”

Steve lights up. Bucky tries to stay indignant, tries to keep his face twisted in dislike, but it’s difficult with Steve. He’s always so full of optimism, has so much of it that it spills out through the seams, rubs off onto whoever’s closest.

“Not that many,” Steve says, like a promise, shaking his head. “That’s why we should go now.”

“Will she be there?”

Sam perks up.

Steve frowns. “No? Or wait, maybe. It’s a public place- I don’t know. She could be.”

It’s miles off from the answer he wants, but again, for Steve, he’ll take it. Bucky ignores Sam leaning across the counter like an idiot and asking “who’s she?” and eats his orange slices in silence.

***

Huge, bulbous heads, and beady little eyes. The limbs are long and wavy and contorted in the weirdest positions, seas of arms and legs and joints, women twisted over each other in gnarled embraces, a man with his arms twirling over and over again around his own torso. And the colors- a complete eclectic mess of everything- blue, red, yellow, green, purple. Everything.

You walk through the museum floor one, two, three times. The paintings on display are unsettling and ugly, and you’re on the verge of tears.

They’re gorgeous. Pain thrown on a canvas, told through canvas. It’s overwhelming- you’re overwhelmed, and you can’t do anything else about it. The museum just opened and there’s barely any people around- you can wallow in your sadness as much as you want to, for now.

Or maybe you’ll wallow in your frustration, instead.

This… you want to create like this.

But you don’t have it.

It being an impossible, nearly unattainable type of pain, or misery or anger or any other emotion so strong and visceral that you could translate it into something like this, something that evokes something else from other people. From an audience.

You might have had something like that once, but that’s all too far behind you now. Forgettable. What you need right now is an idea, a spark of inspiration, a single coherent thought. A confirmation that you aren’t completely lost.

You wander back to a painting in a far corner, all alone in a small alcove. A red woman, with her head nestled in green grass and legs wrapping around the sun, quite literally head over heels for it. Her mouth is wide open, gaping, calling, wailing, maybe. She has a hooked nose and a mole on one of her arms, and her white dress has fallen down to pool on the grass, and her legs are lithe and unshaven, prickly like the grass, just like the yellow spikes of the sun, drawn almost comically.

How do you even- how do you even come up with things like this?

By living an interesting life, probably. Through not being boring.

You stay there for a while. Long enough that more people start to file in, pretentious art students wearing all black, eccentric people with awesome haircuts, tourists. They peer over your shoulders, awkwardly, waiting for you to move. When you don’t, they leave you to be, giving you a rude look or two that you pay no mind to. There’s space on either side of you, if they’re so desperate to see. Sidling up right against you is kind of weird, but you’ll excuse it, for this painting.

Eventually, you realize that you should probably get going.

You’ve been standing so long that your legs are starting to ache, and there’s countless other Saturday errands you have to run- doing your laundry, buying groceries, calling up your mom- boring Saturday things to do.

You leave the red woman, regrettably. The fabric of your sleeve comes back dry when you wipe your eyes, even though you feel fully washed away, feel like you’re floating as you drift over to the elevator.

The doors slide open and a few people file out, and then it’s empty, thankfully. You step inside, press the button for the ground floor, wait for the doors to fully close-

“Wait,” a voice calls.

You’re not rude- you press the button to hold open the door.

When it fully opens, Steve steps inside, followed by Bucky.

You’re still out of it. You don’t even realize who they are, not until the doors have slid shut and the floor jolts as the elevator starts its descent and they’ve been staring at you for a solid five seconds.

“Oh, hi,” you say, after too much silence. You need to get yourself together. “You guys came!”

Put a little pep in your step! And more joy in your voice- nobody wants to listen to someone so drained.

Steve shrugs. “I wanted to see it.”

Bucky just smolders, clearly saying with his silence, “I didn’t.”

“Did you like it?”

Steve considers your question. The elevator stops at another floor and the doors slide open, but there’s nobody waiting to step inside. You wait for Steve to gather his words together, sure that he’s trying to come up with a nice way to voice whatever he’s thinking, which is definitely not nice. There’s no way that he liked the art, not one chance.

“It was… intriguing,” he says, at last. Neither of them are wearing hats today, because the museum doesn’t allow it. Even in this artificial light, his hair shines, golden-blond. “Did you like it?”

“Yes,” you say, without wasting a second. “The one of the red woman- it’s probably the best thing I’ve seen all year.”

“It’s only January,” Bucky grumbles.

His voice shocks you, sends an ice-cold jolt up your spine that you definitely dislike.

Steve turns to him, peering over your shoulder, surprised and disappointed. The two of them have a silent conversation with their eyes and you stand in the midst of it, waiting for the goosebumps to settle back down, waiting for the chill to go away.

It’s difficult- he clearly doesn’t like you, either- and even if he has his own troubling little backstory, which you don’t care enough about to google, it’s not justified.

But…

It almost makes his aggression... amusing.

“It is January,” you say politely, dismissing him. “Great observation.”

The elevator reaches the ground floor and the doors side open. You exit in step with Steve, with Bucky right on your heels.

You all stand around in the museum lobby, a wide hallway down from the giftshop and a small cafe.

“Are you headed out?” Steve asks. He puts his hands in his pockets, feet planted wide.

Bucky crosses his arms. He’s wearing all black. If it were anyone else, you would make a joke- he could almost pass off as a pretentious art student, if the outlines of his body weren’t so visible through his clothes, all taut muscle and sharp angles. His hair curls over his shoulders, prettier than anything you’ve seen on any girl.

These guys are Avengers, you think, and proceed to push the thought away.

They look so… un-Avenger-y.

“Um.” You press a hand against your forehead, trying to formulate a response. Chores suddenly seem miles away, the last thing you should be doing. You have all of Sunday to complete them, anyway.

“I was going to get something to eat from the cafe first,” you say, nodding over in its direction. “You guys wanna join me?”

You don't know why you look at Bucky when you say it

“Sure!” Steve says, all cheery, still standing alongside you. He smiles and his teeth are pearly white.

Of course his teeth are pearly white. Dentists everywhere are probably cowering, clutching their little metal instruments for dear life.

Then he hesitates, and turns to Bucky. “If you have nothing else to do, I mean.”

Bucky pauses. You and Steve both stare him down.

“They have these raspberry-almond muffins that are to die for,” you say, like it’ll convince him.

He rolls his eyes. Bored and still gorgeous- if only.

“I’m free,” he says, and you don’t know why he looks at you when he says it.

You pay the bored teenager working the cash register with cash. He gives you your change, and when he turns away to prepare your order, you shove half of the bills and all of your coins into the tip jar.

Bucky sits at the farthest table with Steve. His knees can barely fit underneath it, and the tabletop is sticky, and he’s now willingly spending more time here, and with no disguise there is no way that he isn’t going to be recognized by someone, and he doesn’t know why he hasn’t fully booked it yet.

Because…

He doesn’t know.

Maybe because you’re not asking for anything from him, aren’t minding that he’s sullen or unapproachable or anything else- his presence seems to be enough for you, which is bothersome, and at the same time, mildly exciting.

“Are you having fun?” Steve asks, while you smile at the teenager handing you plates of muffins, little glasses of some milky-espresso-coffee drink.

“What do you think?” Bucky asks, while you start your journey back to the table, and Steve opens his mouth to respond, already bothered, and Bucky’s already guilty, but then Steve hops up to help you carry everything back.

You sit down laughing. Steve is laughing, too. The corners of your eyes crease and he can see all of your teeth, and you look at him for a split second, and then turn away before he can get a read on your expression.

He sits in silence, while you and Steve trade jokes and stories and easy banter, talking about art and local politics and all types of things he can’t bring himself to care about, things that Steve is relishing in. You’re witty, apparently, or at least quick enough to get a few quick laughs out of Steve, and Bucky would never say it, he’s barely thinking it, but he appreciates you for it.

And the muffin isn’t quite to die for, but it’s okay.

During a lull in the conversation, you break your attention away from Steve and turn back to Bucky. You look concerned, almost, still smiling but without showing all of your teeth, leaning towards him like you’re about to tell him a secret.

“I never apologized for before,” you say, and Bucky immediately sits up on edge.

Even Steve goes wary, eyes narrowing.

You suddenly give a long, weary sigh, and press a hand against the back of your neck, like whatever you’re about to say is going to be so tedious. “For my friend flipping out when she saw you guys- she’s literally crazy, she’s always doing too much- but on her behalf, I’m sorry.”

The silence following afterwards is deafening.

“It’s okay,” Steve says, after a long moment, while you’re still looking at Bucky- your eyes make his skin itch, and he doesn’t say anything else. “She’s not the worst that we’ve gotten.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything.

“Okay, great,” you say, and you slump back in your seat, looking away, back to your half-eaten muffin. You pick off an almond from the top and eat it. “Glad we got that out of the way. I just thought it would be weird if I didn’t say anything.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, so polite, even though you’ve done nothing to deserve his thanks. “Have you known her for a long time?”

“Yes, oh my god,” you say, and readjust yourself in your chair again, accidentally bumping your knee against Bucky’s, but not apologizing for it. He glances underneath the table, at your entire bare knee, visible through a rip in your jeans. “Rina- her name is Rina- was my college roommate for a while.”

“You went to college?” Steve asks.

“I have an art degree,” you say dryly, “which was… an okay decision, I guess. Sometimes I think I should have just dropped out and done, like, stand-up or something.”

You clearly don’t want to discuss it, leaving the last part as some sort of rhetorical joke. Steve takes the hint and nods, already closing the chapter, and you take a sip from your little glass, finally silent. The foam on the top of the drink sticks to your mouth until you lick it off. Bucky replies to it anyway.

“Why stand-up?”

You turn to him so fast that he almost misses you faltering, and give him a dazzling smile. He thinks of your bare knee under the table, and tries not to sweat. “Because I’m funny, Bucky.”

He doesn’t like how his name sounds when you say it. “Tell me a joke.”

“Oh, okay,” you say, and clasp your hands together. Steve is watching, rapt at attention. “Let me think real quick- oh, I have one. Which beverage has a black belt in karate?”

Bucky waits.

You wait, expecting something from him.

It’s Steve that has to say, “I don’t know, which beverage?”

“Fruit punch,” you say, exaggerating the last part, and Bucky just keeps on waiting.

Steve cracks a small smile.

“Let me tell you another,” you say. “What type of phone does a piece of fruit carry?”

Steve takes a few wild guesses. He’s enjoying this, and you are too, both of you feeding off of each other. “A phone-fruit. A fruit-phone. A frone?”

You shake your head. “A blackberry.”

Bucky doesn’t tell you that he has no idea what you’re talking about.

“Tough crowd,” you say, when he doesn’t react. “Don’t worry, I have more. Where do you go on red and stop on green?”

“Where?’ Steve asks, waiting, leaning forward in anticipation.

“When you’re eating a watermelon!”

It is not funny, it’s painfully unfunny, and maybe that’s why you and Steve burst out laughing. Bucky steals a glance at your watch, since he doesn’t wear one of his own. It’s nearing noon- how has so much time passed? Why is he still even here when he doesn’t even like you?

“Why are all of them about fruit?”

You look at him like his question is the dumbest thing you’ve ever heard. “What food is the best listener?”

Bucky just sits. All the foam in his little espresso thing has dissolved, having been left untouched. He doesn’t like the taste of coffee- too bitter, and caffeine doesn’t work on him, anyway. Maybe he should drink it, because you paid for it, and because you didn’t make a comment about old-fashioned manners or chivalry when Steve offered to at first, just shrugged and got in line.

He knows that you won’t care.

The drink sits on its own, glass beading with condensation.

“Corn is the best listener,” you say, without waiting for Steve to throw his questions or guesses at you, without waiting for Bucky to spit out another sentence. “Because it’s all ears.”

“That wasn’t funny,” he says, and glares at the spot beside your head.

You nod sympathetically, and he thinks again of the rips in your jeans. “I know. But it was about a vegetable.”

Oh.

You stare at him straight-faced, crossing your arms over your chest. Steve does the same, and then he realizes- the two of you are a bunch of kids, punks, juveniles- mocking his stature, pretending to be serious, somehow not offending him.

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky says. “You’re…”

He can’t even help it. He looks back at you and his face works on its own. He gives a single, dry chuckle, but he’s smiling, and dragging his hand over his face, scrubbing it off just as fast, but you still see it, and smile back and gently nudge his knee again underneath the table, and then turn back away again, and he’s still staring at your hair while you take big bite out of your to-die-for raspberry-almond muffin, already back in conversation with Steve.

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jayshq · 5 years ago

Photo

So, if you look at my followers I actually have 1,183, but that’s because this hasn’t always been Poe. I started this blog way back on Nov. 8, 2014 as Dean Winchester. It has gone through AT LEAST ten characters since then. So, a lot of these followers are dead accounts or abandoned accounts. However, when I started up Poe on here I made note that I had 1,083 followers. So, this is for the 100 of you that came here for my baby.

So, let’s get the follow forever out of the way. Let me start off by saying I’m going to forget people, I’m human. Also, I don't do very big follow forevers whenever I do them because I firmly believe in only having people who have had a very strong impact on me or Poe should be present on the list. That said, if you’re not on this list you are still very loved.

special mention of @bondforce for making this happen, thanks for being my 100th follower, lol.

REYS:

@dawnsabered : so, despite us not having any threads you’re first on this list because you re-sparked my love of the sequels and made me want to hop into this fandom again. Rping with you on Steve made me just adore the fandom more and more and made me want to bring back Poe. I’m eternally grateful to you for that. I have found such an amazing and welcoming home in this community and I wouldn’t have it without you, I love you loads, thanks a bunch.

@jedirisen : okay, so we met pretty early in and thank god we did. i adore your Rey, but more than anything you’ve been such an incredible friend. You’re always down to plot and create and just talk. You put up with my constant recommendations and are just one of the sweetest humans I’ve ever met. I’m super pumped that we found each other and I hope we have many great years of friendship ahead of us.

@fxrcefound : you’re a babe, you know that? Like, just such a good bean! Thank you for putting up with all my bullshit and being so fucking welcoming. I showed up in the fandom and within the first week we had multiple threads. I adore you, as does my Ben. Love’s his princess wife so much, tbh. But, no honestly I’m so glad I’ve found a friend in you. A gem, truly.

@scavenger-warrior : Ahhhh! Hi, I love you. So, first of all let me just say that our beautiful time leap verse (that all of our followers are currently being deprived of bc discord is so much better lol) is one of my all time favourite verses I’ve EVER done. It makes me so immensely happy and Ben is just in love.

@choosenskywalker : I’m TRASH! I’m so excited for the verses we have started, I’m just awful at replying. But, I really am so excited and I adore your writing, you’re very talented. You’re also super sweet and have the patience of a god. Thank you for being lovely, and I swear I’ll get better because I’m so excited to see where these things go.

@aequusjedi & @killingpast : you guys get a joint one because i love our poly babies despite me being a lazy bitch and not writing much with them yet. Nah, can I just say how excited I was when you joined our group Cas. I’m so excited to see how this develops and watch our babies fall in love. Aside from that though, both of you have been just lovely people OOC. I’m so lucky to have such wonderful partners like yourselves.

BENS:

@sithroyal : hey there! We also met in my early days here, and you’ve been such a joy to write with, no matter what character it’s on. You’re portrayal is one of pure perfection. I love writing with you and any reply always makes me so excited. On top of that you’ve been so kind and inviting and it really meant a lot since I was HELLA INTIMIDATED by you when I first got here.

@endheir : LOOK EVERYONE, IT’S J.J. ABRAMS EVIL TWIN, come to fix all the shit J.J. broke. No, seriously I am so impressed and will never not be intimidated by how amazing you and your writing is! THIS IS THE BEN SOLO WE DESERVED! But, you’re such a peach and so nice and I adore plotting with you. Thanks for being the bomb dot com.

@dyadalone : WE ARE CRACK ROYALTY, thank you very much. No, really though I love when we (and our friends) get up to our shenanigans. But, aside from that Poe is also just IN LOVE! And, I adore you OOC. Such a kind and loving person, you da best! I am so happy we found each other through this hellsite and can’t wait to see what nonsense our future brings.

@brokendyad : HELLO I LOVE YOU! You’re such a solid friend and such a talented writer. I’m so happy we get to have so much fun writing and plotting. You’re an absolute dear and I’ll never get over how lucky I am to have such amazing friends. Thanks for being great and I hope we stay close forever.

@lghtpulled : okay, so i can’t explain my infinite love for you. I can’t. All my characters over here being obsessed over your Ben. I’ve told you how much I adore your Ben, but I can’t say it enough. Also, our high school verse GIVES ME LIFE! But, nah you’re just so talented and SO KIND! I’m so glad that despite being SO FUCKING INTIMIDATED by you we managed to form this amazing friendship. I’m keeping you.

THE FAM:

@kesdameronn : SCARF DAD! No, lol I love that Poe’s dad is around. We haven’t done much yet but we have all the time in the world for the Dameron bros to get up to shit together. Also, Zep you are such a kind and cute soul and I just love ya!

@lieutenantxbey : Mama Dameron, how could we not love? Poe loves his mama so much and lowkey wants to be just like her. I love seeing Shara on the dash. And the few times we’ve spoken you’ve been just a ray of light, so keep being awesome.

@legacybeyne : this little shit! No, I’m kidding, Poe loves his cousin. Like wants to throw him out an airlock sometimes, but loves him. I adore this character so much and I’m so happy Poe has more family around. Also, OOC you seem like a super cool person, so definitely don’t stop that.

LUKE:

@jedishope : SHANE! I don’t know if I could tell you how much I actually adore you? Like, I don’t think I could. And, I low-key don’t want to because it would deffo scare you off, lol. But, no you’re just an absolute ray of sunshine and such a beautiful person. A person only has to talk to you for a second to see how just full or love and kindness you are. You bring so much joy to my dash and I’m forever thankful for it! Not to mention your Luke is hands down the best Luke I’ve ever seen. Absolutely perfect! I was so scared to approach you at first because you were just so fucking talented and obviously still are! I love your Luke with my whole heart and so does Poe.

HUX:

@muddledbloodlines : I am so excited for the verse we’ve created for our lonely babies and can’t wait to see where it goes. You have such an interesting take on this character and I love it! I’m so excited to get to know you better and really explore this. I’m honestly just in love with your writing and imagination.

OCS:

@congeriemgriseo : so it won’t tag you, which is RUDE! But, anyway: I adore Any. Such an incredibly well thought out and beautiful OC. I’m quite picky when it comes to OCs, despite having one of my own. But, I was enraptured from the moment I read her bio, and you have not disappointed! She’s such a beautiful little chaos machine and I love her.

@orderengineer : okay, so I actually usually despise OCs that are really kind. Because as much as Mary Sue characters are fine to write, I personally can’t write opposite them. However, that’s not what Syla is! She’s so much more complex than that and I adore her. Both Ben and Orion find her insanely interesting and think she’s super fucking talented. I love this character you've created. It’s also just insane to see my characters name on the dash lol. You’re also such a sweetheart OOC and it always makes my day.

@petitehux : so for anyone who doesn’t know? I LOVE Kat. Like, I am obsessed, I have 100s of photos of her saved on my phone. I am just in love. Her and Dove Cameron are my two ultimate celebrity crushes. Which was the original reason I decided to check out your blog, and I’m so fucking happy I did. Ryann is so fucking cool and I think she brings such an interesting dynamic to the whole trilogy story. I can’t wait for myself to stop being lazy and get some bomb shit going with this incredible OC.

I’M A STALKER (also we need to rp!):

@hopedyad : I love seeing you on my dash and I adore keeping up with your posts. You’re a super talented writer and I hope in the future I stop being a shy bean and we can actually do cool things lol. You seem super sweet and like you’ve got a wicked sense of humor OOC too.

@tornbetweenthestorm : So, I LOVE FN! It’s so great to see such an interesting OC. I adore the work and thought you’ve put into this character and his struggles. Anytime I stop to read one of your replies to a partner I’m just overcome by your brilliance. I’m so happy I stumbled across your blog (thank you tumblr recs) and have been lucky enough to be mutuals with you.

@iamthecrder : well hello there. So, yeah I think your Hux is super cool and right on the money. It’s so interesting to see a different version of him and I honestly think you’re so incredibly talented! Keep being awesome, my good dude.

OTHER:

@mangohub : Monroe. My love, what can I say? You’ve followed me from my original Alec all the way to here. Despite not being a Star Wars fan you still follow me on multiple of your blogs. I will always love you. I will also never stop being astounded by your talent and world building capabilities. In case there was any confusion, YOU ARE MY FAVOURITE PERSON ON TUMBLR. Also, you are the most talented person I’ve ever followed. I will never stop being so happy to see you, no matter the blog, on my dash. On top of being the most talented writer I know, you also happen to be the sweetest human on the planet. You have so much love in your heart and you pour into your friends like it’s going out of style. I’m so so lucky to have you and I love you, okay?

Obviously I don't talk to you lads enough, but a special shoutout to @poewingsdameron, @lightskipped, , @flyjacket, @sprklit & @vuuelo for playing this amazing bean alongside me.

Okay, now onto the giveaway. So, friendly reminder that I make all my own stuff, so if you want examples of my work just check out across my blogs. That being said, when it comes to graphics, icons, etc I’m not very talented with creating stuff myself, so I use other peoples free templates, borders, psds and so on. I think I’m decently talented at putting them together, though. Also, having me do it just saves you a stupid amount of time lol.

Simply enter by liking AND/OR reblogging, the winners will be chosen using a random number generator. I will contact each of you via IM (or discord if we have each other) to discuss getting to work on the prizes. The only real rule is DO NOT SPAM YOUR FOLLOWERS. I’m not gonna put a limit on how many times you can reblog, but be fucking courteous to your followers, okay? This giveaway ends on APRIL 10th at NOON GMT-6.

1st PLACE: 200 icons of the character of your choosing, a promo & a dash icon.

2nd PLACE: 100 icons of the character of your choosing & a dash icon.

3rd PLACE: 100 icons of the character of your choosing.

#☆☆☆ 𝓱𝓸𝓹𝓮 𝓲𝓼 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓾𝓷 | save #☆☆☆ 𝓳𝓸𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮 | promo #100 followers #follow forever #(i love you all a lot okay?)#(and im so thankful for everyone who's joined me on this ride)#(this is long af)#(i dont believe in just tagging people and not telling them why they rock so...)

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mcrollintherealworld · 4 years ago

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Gotcha by Mari

An very happy anniversary is coming up soon!

Fanfiction.net has fixed the glitch from earlier in the week and the story is now available on their site:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13736072/1/

Sammy & Ilna - love you both to the moon and back. Thank you for being you.

REALMcRollers and Readers - Thank you all, always.

Gotcha

DJ and Michael were comparing Halloween stories with their friends before class when their classmate April entered wearing a huge smile, followed by her parents. Several second graders echoed their hellos before the questions began.

“You got cupcakes?”

“Are those for us?”

“It’s not your birthday, your birthday is the same week as mine.”

“Are we havin’ a party, Ms. Lane?”

April’s parents greeted the children and as Joni Lane stepped closer with an offer to help, they smiled brightly. “Hope we’re not late, Caleb is teething,” Mr. Milton said with a nod to the sleeping baby in his wife's arms. “We got a little behind.”

“Not late at all,” Joni directed the smiling man with the box of cupcakes into the classroom. “April,” she addressed the seven year old who was wearing an orange shirt and matching print shorts. “Would you like to tell our friends why we’re celebrating today?”

April nodded and raised her shoulders and clapped in excitement. “Today’s my gotcha day!”

DJ and Michael exchanged a look. April didn’t say anything about bringing in a treat and when his best friend elbowed him playfully and whispered, “Esther and Kamekona’s cupcakes, yum,” DJ smiled broadly.

“What’s a gotcha day?” A classmate named Yuko asked.

“Today’s the day I came to live with my family!” April explained.

“Oh!” DJ grinned. “Like your official day? I’m official, too.”

“Let’s take our seats, friends, and we can hear why we’re getting this lovely treat to share from April and her family.” Joni said as the second graders scrambled to their desks.

“Actually,” April’s mom explained once everyone was seated. “Today is the anniversary of the day April came to live with us.” She bent to kiss her daughter’s cheek.

“I got officially adopted in July when I was four,” she held up as many fingers. “But in our family we celebrate both days for everybody,” she glanced at her father. “Right, Daddy?”

“Exactly right, honey.” He looked at her classmates. “April’s sister and brothers came to us at different times, but they all became…” he smiled at DJ, “official on the very same day. So we celebrate their adoptions on July 7th and each of their gotcha days, too.”

Kim Milton rocked her sleeping baby as she spoke. “Everyone was adopted the same day, well, except, Caleb, here. He wasn’t born yet. But he’s going to be officially ours right around Christmas.”

“That’s awesome!” DJ couldn’t contain his enthusiasm. “Happy gotcha day, April!” He knew his classmate and her siblings were also adopted, they’d talked about it during recess more than once after her baby brother joined her family, but he didn’t know the day you joined your family was called a gotcha day.

“Thanks, DJ!” Her happy expression lit the room, and as the children offered their congratulations and the class came to order, he wondered if Joan and Uncle Aaron knew about gotcha days. He couldn’t wait to ask them.

///

Hopping into the car when both parents came for pickup that day, DJ greeted them with “We had cupcakes, April brought them. Well, her dad carried them cause there was a lot, and we all already went to her birthday party so we didn’t know why…” he took a breath and grinned at Catherine, who’d pivoted in the passenger’s seat to see his face. “And it was her gotcha day. I didn’t ever hear of one, so I thought it was her official day anniversary, but nope.” He shook his head. “It’s the day she came to live with her Mommy and Daddy and brothers and sister.”

“That’s wonderful, what a great idea.” Catherine beamed at her son.

“Yeah, and ‘cept for her baby brother, they all got the same official day. He wasn’t born then but he’s getting official near Christmas, isn’t that cool?’

“That’s very cool, buddy,” Steve caught his eyes in the mirror and couldn’t hold back a smile of his own. “Ya know…” he had a silent conversation with Catherine who grinned in response.

“What, Daddy?”

“Well, we were going to keep it a surprise, but … what do you think of a gotcha day celebration?”

“Really? With cupcakes?”

“Really. With anything you’d like. We were thinking about a barbecue with our family and ohana, but you should celebrate with your friends at school, too.”

“April’s cupcakes were from Esther and Kamekona’s …” he bit his lip. “They were really good, but do you think Kaityln would make those blue velvet ones she invented for my class?”

“We can ask her, and I bet she'd be very happy to,” Catherine said.

“Do you think Joan and Uncle Aaron know about gotcha days?” He asked.

“I don’t know if they call it that, but I know Aunt Mary, Uncle Aaron and Aunt Deb have a special dinner with Joanie every year.”

“Can we call them later and tell them?” DJ was bouncing in his seat. “Oh, and guess what?” he laughed.

“What, honey?”

“Ms. Lane said some people celebrate gotcha days for their pets. Maybe we can get Cammie a marrow bone on her day, and something for our kitty next Halloween?”

Her heart warming at how their son was always thinking of others, Catherine readily agreed. “I think that’s a very good idea.”

“I can’t wait to tell Grandma, Grandpa, and Grandma Ang,” his eyes were lit with excitement.

Catherine reached to squeeze Steve’s bicep as they shared a smile.

///

Entering the beach house after picking up Angie, the family greeted Cammie and made their way to the kitchen after going upstairs to get their newest addition. As recommended by the folks at the shelter, for the first few days in her new home the kitty would be confined to “Grace’s room” during the days when Steve and Catherine were at work, DJ was at school, and Angie was with Grandma and Grandpa. As soon as she felt completely comfortable she’d have the run of the house.

As his sister sat across from him, kitty in her lap, enjoying their snack of fruit and yogurt, Cammie lying nearby hoping for something to be dropped, DJ told her about his day and she responded with a toddler-detailed story of her hike with their grandparents. He then explained about his friend bringing in a treat to celebrate her gotcha day and how Mommy and Daddy said they already planned to do something special for his own day next month.

Turning happy brown eyes on his parents, the little boy who became more and more confident every day since being surrounded by unconditional love puzzled, “I’m not sure Angie remembers too much about my gotcha day, she was pretty little. Right Angie?”

“Gotcha cu’cakes! Yay fo’ you, DJ!” The three year old clapped.

“She may not remember every detail but I know there’s one thing she remembers for sure,” Catherine kissed each child’s head. “That right from the start she loved her big brother as much as we did.”

“That’s okay, if she doesn’t remember everything.” He looked at the bubbly little girl. “We got lots of pictures for when you’re older.” He beamed. “And I’ll remember everything forever.” He smiled at their parents. “I can tell Angie how she made me feel happier right away ‘cause she was super friendly and nice, just like she always is.”

Once again Catheirne and Steve were touched by the closeness of their children. Closeness they couldn’t be happier about. And when DJ hugged Angie and she quickly wrapped an arm around him to return the embrace, Catherine wiped a sudden tear as Steve clasped her hand.

#End. Thanks for reading!

Find all our stories (in chronological order!) on our website: marirealmcroll dot wixsite dot com backslash real-mcroll

Or in the McRoll in the REAL World community here on fanfiction dot net Find us on Tumblr: mcrollintherealworld dot tumblr dot com

You can join our mailing list by emailing us realmcroll at yahoo dot com with: Add me, please! in the subject line. Or just drop us a line to say hi! We love hearing from our readers.

And find me on Twitter asking your opinions on all things McRoll in the REAL World! at Mari21763 and add #REALMcRoller

#h50mcroll #fic #mari

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ladyhistorypod · 4 years ago

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Episode 4: Let’s Ms. Behave

Sources:

Charlotte Corday

The British Museum

Brooklyn Museum

Find A Grave

History Channel

UCL Art Museum

Encyclopedia Womannica (Podcast)

The Blonding of Charlotte Corday

Giulia Tofana

Wut. (Podcast)

History Collection

Historical Post

Medium

Mike Dash

Virginia Hill

The Mob Museum

Encyclopedia of Chicago

Alabama

Further reading/watching: The Damned Don’t Cry (1950 film), Bugsy's Baby: The Secret Life of Mob Queen Virginia Hill (eye roll from Alana), Virginia Hill (1974 film)

Click below for a full transcript of the episode!

Lexi: A brief warning about the following episode of Lady History: this episode contains sensitive topics, such as suicide and murder. If you or someone you know needs help, please contact the National Suicide Prevention Hotline. To learn more, visit suicidepreventionhotline.org

Alana: I think my therapist is listening to our podcast.

Haley: Wait what really?

Alana: Yeah. Because I was looking at like our dem– like our listenership and it said a bunch of people in Arlington and I don't know that many people in Arlington. I know like my mom's... my parents’ like family friend from… my dad like went to high school with them and then they introduced my parents and we call her my Arlington mom and so I was like oh maybe it's her but that's too many people to just be her and I think my therapist lives in Arlington and I told her about this so shout out Dr. Sterman.

Haley: I would love–

Alana: If you’re listening.

Haley: –Your next session she's like ‘by the way I don't listen to your podcast’ even though... and just like out herself from… not super listening but also listening we just had…

Alana: I might bring it up. I'm seeing her on Tuesday, virtually obviously, but I’m seeing her on Tuesday.

Haley: ‘Just wondering, do you listen to my podcast?’

Alana: Well I'm going to talk about how like ‘oh I started my podcast and it's doing this this and this for my mental health’ and then be like… just see if she says she’s listening.

Haley: I feel like she wouldn’t though. I feel like she wouldn’t just to…

Alana: I don’t know if she would.

Lexi: Does that cross the like professional boundary?

Haley: Yeah…

Alana: Is that a HIPAA violation?

Lexi: Is it though? It’s only a podcast

Haley: Well none of us are in the medical field.

Lexi: No. We are not.

Alana: Let us know.

Haley: So we can’t have a definitive answer. But I can see someone–

Lexi: Hey if you're in the medical field or are a certified therapist please email us at [email protected] and let us know if listening to your patient’s podcast violates HIPAA.

(Alana laughing)

Lexi: Thank you. You can also email other stuff there. Don't, don't– you don't have to be a doctor to email us.

Alana: No. I also I have a– because you can do asks on Tumblr, and I have our ask page for the Tumblr– Lady History pod dot tumblr dot com– I have… you can suggest a lady.

Lexi: Please, suggest ladies.

Haley: I would love that.

Lexi: Please suggest ladies to us at Lady History pod dot tumblr dot com.

Alana: You can also DM us, and as previously mentioned if you DM the Instagram that's Lexi and if you DM the Twitter that's me and they're both at LadyHistoryPod. We're gonna plug that again at the end so it's just a constant cycle.

Haley: No one can slide into my DMs. I'll just use one of… if you want to slide into my DMs, use like, the Twitter and just be like this is for Sprinklebear McPuss-n-Boots and they’ll know it’s for me.

Lexi: Okay if you DM or email any of the accounts, if you need the message to go to Haley, please use that name only. Any messages directed to Haley will not be given to her.

Alana: We’ll be like ‘who’s Haley?’

Lexi: So go back–

Haley: I don’t even know what I said. I forgot.

Lexi: No, so go back–

Alana: Sprinklebear McPuss-n-Boots and I will never forget it.

Lexi: Just go back, listen to that however many times you need to to get it in your brain, and then use that when you address Haley in any of your communication to our general inbox.

Alana: Hang on, my light went away because I have to go change Haley’s contact info in my phone.

(Lexi and Alana laughing)

Haley: I really hate if like I am interviewed for a job and they’re like… ‘so… Twinklebear McPuss-n-Boots…

(Lexi laughing)

Alana: It was Sprinklebear

Lexi: You didn’t even get it right. She can’t even–

Alana: Sprinkle… Sprinklebear…

(Lexi laughing)

Haley: I used to have a crush on Puss-n-Boots when Shrek first came out.

[INTRO MUSIC]

Alana: Hello and welcome to Lady History, the good, the bad, and the ugly ladies you missed in history class. I’m the next best thing to being in the same room as Lexi. Lexi, what's the name of your favorite plant?

Lexi: My favorite plant is probably a pothos. Just really cute, a cute plant, a good plant, grows well, grows well in my climate, has not failed me, has not died, so that is why I love the pothos.

Alana: And also in the virtual studio is Haley. Haley, how’s the weather?

Haley: It's quite gloomy. I am in San Francisco so we're still dealing with the wildfires. But I think it's just Karl the fog today.

Alana: Karl the fog?

Haley: Yeah the San Francisco like fog that just like looms over this bay area is called Karl. He even has a Twitter, a whole kids’ picture book. Karl the fog.

Alana: That's giving me An Absolutely Remarkable Thing by Hank Green vibes.

Haley: And also, oh, the SF MOMA… the new building of it is Karl the fog. It doesn't– it looks kind of like a… like an old time steam iron, like on an ironing board. But it's like meant to be Karl the fog. Or like blend in. Karl just mushes his way through San Francisco.

Alana: Oh my god that's incredible.

Haley: Yes.

Alana: And I'm Alana and I theme my canvas tote bags based on event.

Lexi Nice. Solid.

Alana: Thank you.

Haley: So can I tickle your tastebuds with a fun fact?

Lexi: Oh… oh, tickle away.

Alana (whispering): Tickle your tastebuds…

Speaker 1: This is either going to be like the best thing I've ever created because like– let me just give you a side note: I thought of this joke while taking shower and was cracking up for ten minutes.

(Alana laughing)

Haley: It's either– it's probably gonna flop. But, with this fun fact– it’s kind of setting the mood for our crime theme and it's about the guillotine and the family of the guillotine, Dr. Joseph– I think his name’s like Ignace? It looks like Ignatio, but it’s like Ignace Guillotin– was so horrified that like their family member invented such like a horrible thing, and if you don't know what the guillotine is, it is basically a big sharp knife that comes down from a pulley, will slice your head off, used in many executions– that they appeal to the French government to change the name and the French government just took it to a step higher and was like no we won't change the name but we will make it one of like the official ways of executing people. more s– to the point that the last execution was like in the 1970s. And this is like across Europe and at least for France it was in 1977. So this is where it gets to my cringy joke because I've used this before. If you want a sick burn while your parents are talking about their childhood and they grew up in like the 60s, 70s, you can just go ‘Pft, the land and time of the guillotine. Such heathens.’ And I like this more than the… the burn that goes like ‘when the dinosaurs roamed’ because dinos just like didn't live when humans lived and it always made me so mad where it’s like I learned that the dinosaurs were born millions of years ago but we have this like iconic just… execution machine that was used for so so long and no one realizes that this was just used until the 70s as a humane way of execution, which like I won't even get into that whole argument. There's so much of a rabbit hole of whether the like guillotine was humane or not. But it's just– it's almost funnier because like it did happen this was an ironic like ‘oh you’re so old you’re like a dinosaur’ this is like ‘you were born when the guillotine was used!’

Alana: Because that's like a burn but it's also true.

Lexi: Yeah. That's the worst kind of burn, I– I mean the best kind of burn because it hurts the worst.

Haley: I once said it to my dad because he was like talking about something when he was like younger and I was like the guillotine just looked at me and was like ‘excuse me?’ I was like ‘you lived during the time of the guillotine, heathen.’ And he was like ‘well…”

Alana: It's true!

Haley: Because he was like ‘no that's like the Middle Ages’ and I was like ‘let me school you on some facts. And that actually is a great segue into my first gal.

Alana: Alright, let's go Haley.

Haley: Uh, so my gal, like Artemisia, we have another one with her own movie. It's an unfortunate movie because I couldn't find it anywhere, but who am I talking about… Charlotte Corday. And other names include… side note, I don’t speak French, I speak Spanish. Please don’t come after me, with my horrible horrible French pronunciations, I had my boyfriend, who speaks some French, pronounce them to me… probably didn't remember anything that he said to me. Her other names are Corday d’Armont, Marie-Anne Charlotte, and now her like more modern name is Charlotte Corday the Assassin. So I love Charlotte as a topic, because other podcasts, like crime, history, women's studies, have covered her to an extent. Like I– you'll see in the show notes I like I've even used her– thanks, Encyclopedia Womannica. But on the other hand, not many people know about her. And they don't even know like her influence with the French Revolution because I've been in like many discussions about like history of crime or what like– the world history that we had to take, and I asked like about her and my even like my history teachers like ‘I don't know who that is’ and everyone just gave me that blank face and it's like wait a minute, this is weird, why isn't this covered. So of course, I'm going to cover it. And let's crack this case wide open before we do a deep dive and go over just like some historical background and some of the people be talking about because I don't want you guys to be lost in this whole mumbo jumbo. So Charlotte was a Girondin sympathizer– again, my French is not good– she came from a family of impoverished aristocrats from a little town outside of Paris, France. And as a noble family she was given the opportunity to go to a formal education, but really this formal education came because her mother and one of her sisters died. And her father was just so grief-stricken and also just couldn't handle the now need to raise two daughters, so he sent them to a Roman Catholic convent so they could get a formal education. During this formal education of hers, she learned about French politics, history of France, and was able to mold her own theories and just ideas about the world around her. Thus, she became a French moderate Republican party member during 1791 and 1793 and this is during the French Revolution.

Alana: I'm guessing that moderate Republican back then doesn't mean the same thing that moderate Republican means now.

Haley: No, not at all. I'll explain more. So that's– this is exactly why I wanted to do our whole kind of let's see the players let's name some names and let's go over some history because just looking at her based on just the woman it's very hard to understand why she's one, seen as a hero; two, seen as a murderous assassin which both are correct in a way.

Lexi: I mean, goals. No I’m just kidding. I’m not condoning murder.

Haley: No so that's basically where she's at in the scope of where she grew up and what role she’ll play in the French Revolution, or what side she was on. And she's also mainly known for murdering Jordian Jean-Paul Marat, and he was on the other side he was Jordian so she was very opposed to his ideals. So again like Alana said is this kind of like what our U. S. politics is like? No, this isn't the Republican Party. However we have two extreme sides and people on one extreme, people on another extreme. That is very much similar. And he was an outspoken leader of the French Revolution to the point where he was the founder of a popular journal, deputy of Paris to the convention, opposed legislation that would hurt the other side, empower him and to Charlotte and other Girondan followers. So now that we cover the big picture ideas and we know the players and we know how extreme both these sides are, let's do our deep dive. She was committed to fighting the Girondist side of the revolution, posing the radical Jacobin faction. So this was right before the Reign of Terror, and why I mention this is because all her actions were to stop a civil war; and the Reign of Terror was a part of the French Revolution that kind of like started the first French Republic and culminated in a series of massacres and like many many public executions. So this is what she tried to stop from happening in French society. However, her whole story and what role she played in the revolution actually caused the Reign of Terror. So that's why for me as– in high school was like why aren't we talking about her and now we're gonna talk about her now. So, we come to the point where our victim Marat was continuing his train of like bloodshed, and was responsible for utter catastrophe, and putting a lot of lives in danger of like the French– like the French people were just terrified of him, to an extent. And that’s why Charlotte just hated him. He was seen as definitely one of the leaders of this one extreme side that had to be taken out. So that's exactly what she kind of planned to do. And she was not in Paris, she was still in another city outside of Paris, France. So, Charlotte stabbed him while he was taking a bath; and that's really the punch line of like her whole story. If you do like a quick Google search you'll get a lot of stuff for her and even in some textbooks that I tried to look at it was just like Charlotte Corday assassin… stabbed Marat in the heart. Really, she stabbed him in a planned assassin while he was taking a bath. I'm gonna just go through the accounts of this whole story because they're not really pieced together in one area and I'm going to piece them together now so you can understand why he was like in a bathtub, why she stabbed him, and so on. Because this just sounds so strange and it's really strange to see this as your history. So the planned assassin started because she wanted, like I said, to stop from a civil war happening in France, and she truly believed that to do this you have to kill one of the leaders; and also to an extent make the other side seem strong in that way. Like if you kill one of the leaders, you prove that the other side is just as strong or stronger. So she originally planned to kill him at a Bastille Day parade to make a huge show of it and this was on July 14th 1793. Unfortunately, or fortunately for her plans in a sense the event was just like it either didn't happen or it became apparent that Marat was not going to be at that public event. So she quickly had to say okay what else can I do, how can… what will be the next step to kill him. On July 13th, so the day before this event was supposed to happen, she was able to get a meet and greet with him or just gain access to him by saying and promising to betray her political side and give some insider secrets– like name names, basically become a traitor. And Marat was like cool you're definitely high up in the Girondin side of it, let you like, come into our area, we’ll hold– like we’ll basically keep you hostage, in a sense, like that's the feel I got… like Marat was also like come to our side because if anything happens you'll be on our turf; and she did. She was like cool, great. You don't know I'm gonna kill you, you think I'm gonna come and like give you all my secrets and then you'll protect me in a way. So Marat was having this meeting in the bathtub, but this was a very normal occurrence for him because he had a terrible skin disease or infection that he would just be in the bath all the time, like the water soothed him. So he was just very vulnerable, but that was his normal state– like nothing was wrong with him taking a meeting in the tub… so like she could be alone with him. It would be more weird if they were just walking around in the streets together. And instead of having this whole conversation that Charlotte said she would, she took this knife out of her bodice that she was just like hiding there and stabbed him in the chest.

Haley: He died almost immediately; and she actually waited for the police to come. She did not run away– she waited and confessed, essentially. She was proud of what she did, she wanted this assassination like the public assassin– assassination to still have some sort of effect on the public to show that her side did it to the other side, she is responsible for ma–Marat, and she did it as this political leader, in a sense. So at the trial, she allegedly proclaimed ‘I killed one man to save a hundred thousand’ and she kept reiterating that this was in fact a planned assassination, this wasn't out of passion. She took some thought, even wrote down like accounts and like had this whole… I saw like some people called it a journal or like statement– different written statements basically on her thoughts of an upcoming civil war and what she thought she was doing to help prevent that. She was also able, before the trial she was able to write down like write a letter and write her thoughts, feelings, concerns to her father. So her father was still alive and was able to get this kinda like last testimony of hers. And of course during this trial because she did essentially plead guilty… she was ordered to be executed via guillotine just four days after the murder; so July 17th 1793. And another quote from a lawyer from all this whole trial came from I think this was a man named Vergniaud, but I couldn't find this quote as in from like a reputable source as yes this was him, so could have been just another lawyer and not this guy. However, someone as a witness to this whole trial on this whole ordeal said ‘She is leading us to our death, but she is showing us how to die’ and it was because he, as a lawyer, saw this whole thing, saw her whole plan, and knew okay this is going to become a massive shit show. Like this won't end well. She is not preventing a civil war; she actually just started a whole other battle. However, she is showing us how to die with dignity, and showing how to like own up to the actions and just just die. Essentially die because a lot of people through the Reign of Terror did die. So you thought I'd be done– and I know this is gonna be my longest but this is such a great great story– because now we get into her overall death legacy, and we do know a lot of things, unlike Amelia Earhart where we just don't know what happened to her after death. A lot of this we still have artifacts and evidence of. She overall became this French savior, like the savior of French society in her circle. Months after her death, there are just so many portraits of her in different scenarios; short hair, long hair– like I needed to go back and make sure these were the same Charlotte Corday and if there could have been multiple Charlotte's just to make sure that these images looked so vastly different. And it was because people wanted to show that she was just this holy woman and ladies now weren't the ones who are supposed to be stuck in the kitchen with raising the kids. They had the power to do something in life and in society, but they also had a spin on it, so like– like I said, she was seen as a savior, this holy woman, goddess… like they even used her Christian name so Marie-Anne Charlotte, which she– to my knowledge, and to my research didn't necessarily go by that name. But there are definitely images of that name and her with very fair skin, white, brunette hair, looking very womanly and accentuating her womanly features. So that really pissed off the other side. Like all Marat’s supporters, they were absolutely flabbergasted that she was getting such a reputation. They thought this can't be happening; she just murdered one of our political leaders, and she was executed for it, why is everyone trying to kind of put this holy cap on her. And yes, that worked to an extent, like their outcry, because like yes she did murder someone. But it didn't help enough, and there were women in French society who did try to distance themselves from her and just for ideas of what women should be like. But, Charlotte did such a good job at like the legend of her as a woman, even before she died, that it didn't matter. Like I read an article about whether she had blonde hair or chestnut brown hair from a 2004 academic article; like this is still being discussed. And she had a part of her reputation– like she knew that whether it started a civil war or not she needed to form her own reputation. And there's even accounts that she witnessed the paintings and drawings of her that would be published and printed post-execution, and she gave comments. She was like no no no no, make me look more like a schoolgirl; or like make me more with curly hair. I don't really know the specifics but it was documented that she would give kind of suggestions on how she would look like. So while she did it, she tried so hard to like make herself look like this holy woman, and yes it did work. Marat, when he died, one of his very close friends, Jacques-Louis David painted the classic portrait or classic image, not portrait The Death of Marat, which is capturing the scene of his death and that is still considered like a classic image and the classic picture from– especially from the French Revolution. So I don't– I don't want to go as far as saying either Charlotte's portrayed as this holy one or this heinous, murderous, like scoundrel because both of them have lasted to this point in history that no one can make up their mind whether this was like a good thing that happened or a bad thing that happened. And I don’t even– I don’t even want to put out like in the universe whether we should have the discussion; if we should say like yes or no. I just wanna give you the facts and let you kind of like decide but that is Charlotte Corday.

Lexi: She is very interesting.

Alana: Yeah that's real cool. That's fun. That was a good transition for… from the guillotine to…

Lexi: Yes, good choice.

Alana: Charlotte Corday. I’m glad we let you go first.

Lexi: Alana hit us. Hit us with it. Don't hit us please don't hit me.

Alana: I won’t hit you. Okay so I will be talking about Giulia Tofana. Um.. Ooooh Haley's face, I'm so excited. I feel like– I hope I do this justice. Oh no. She is Giulia but it’s spelled G-I-U because she's Italian. Okay. So. I like to give credit as we've seen in the past like where I have first found out about my stories. And so I first found out about Ms. Tofana– I should I should call her Giulia not Ms. Tofana because there’s another Tofana, her mother’s name is also Tofana. I heard about this for the first time on Wut. W-U-T which is another great edutainment podcast by women. I'm gonna promo them without needing a sponsorship or a collab because women supporting women. So if you like us, go check them out. That was fun. They're not specifically women's history they're just kind of fun facts in general so not as niche as us but still pretty cool. And then I heard about that podcast from my friend Jesse on Twitter… I think we're friends I don't know I think we're friends… so shout out to Jesse. So Giulia Tofana, G-I-U because she's Italian, lived in the seventeenth century. Exact dates are kind of weird because she was a woman and not highborn. Best guess she was born in Palermo in Sicily. Her mother was executed for poisoning her father, possibly because he was abusive. This is a thing– like a running theme that we’ll see it later. Also later, Giulia's husband died mysteriously, probably also poisoned, probably also abusive. So she moved to Rome at some point in the 1630s-ish, probably, as a widow with her daughter to sell cosmetics and be apothecaries and poison people. Dun dun dun…

Alana: So women in the seventeenth century have so many options. They can be sex workers, they can be essentially auctioned off to almost always abuse of older men and then later if their husbands died become respected widows. Those are your options. So many! So many options! What– how are you going to pick, so many things.

Lexi: The amount of choices is staggering.

Alana: Paralyzed by choice, really. My sources call these women ‘aspiring windows’ as if they are gold diggers and not battered women with no escape. I love– I love that like my running theme is criticizing my sources. That's my thing. Giulia crafted essentially her own poison. Created her own poison, or what by all accounts… she was the one who came up with this. Between like her and her mother and her daughter they came up with this poison called aqua tofana, named after her. It's a combination of arsenic and belladonna and lead, which are things that are already in cosmetics at the time but not quite lethal, still have problems, but not lethal unless they're ingested. And so having these things on a vanity looks totally normal. And so Giulia, as someone who experienced abuse, who had watched her mother get executed for defending herself, essentially… I am not condoning murder, and I know it's never good to say something at the beginning of a sentence like ‘I'm not condoning murder’ and then doing ‘but’... I feel like… there are no options.

Lexi: Self defense.

Alana: Self defense.

Lexi: And it seems very clear– again, we don't know the whole situation but it seems very clear that she was in a bad situation.

Alana: A bad situation. Yeah

Lexi: We are not the judge, jury, or the executioner so we can't say.

Alana: So she, having probably been abused and having watched her mother probably been abused and watched her mother get executed for essentially defending herself… she's going to help these other women get out of their marriages in such a way that it can't be traced. Because this poisoning with this mixture of belladonna and arsenic and lead, it takes really long for someone to die. Really long is like two to three days, but it also looks like natural causes or another illness which always happened in the 1600s. People got sick and died and that was just normal. And it gave these men time to get their affairs in order and to confess their sins and in a very Catholic area at a very Catholic time you like automatically got into heaven as long as you confessed your sins. So since these people had time to confess their sins, our murderess wouldn't have to feel so guilty that she was condemning her husband to hell even though he was probably hurting her. It only takes four to six drops to kill someone, depending on their size and all of that other stuff. And another side fact, side fun fact: Mozart, who nobody knows how Mozart died, Mozart wholeheartedly believed that he was poisoned with aqua tofana, but nobody knows. I feel so good that Haley is just nodding fervently. I feel like I'm doing a good job. Thank you for that.

Haley: I've awkwardly read so much on arsenic poisoning. Just so much so, but yes you are correct. There are probably just so many people who died of arsenic poison in the 1600s because autopsies weren’t like what we have today where you can do a toxicology, so so many people would seem like they were getting ill, because a lot of the times it just looks like a common cold or flu-like symptoms, they just weren't feeling good. But then they would die so now people do toxicology because it's a thirty year old man with no pre-existing conditions. But when you're talking about it in the 1600s it's like ‘oh they got sick we don't have modern medicine to help out.’

Alana: Nobody knows what's happening, essentially. It's like ‘oh no another person got sick.’ So Giulia Tofana sold this with her daughter and some employees at this family business, essentially, which is a weird way to think about it– that the family business is murder. They operated like this for about fifty years, for decades. And… at least the estimated number is something like six hundred plus people died because she sold their wives poison. But she got caught, and legend has it– and there are so many foggy details but this seems way too specific so I think like somebody exaggerated but, one of her clients who had bought the aqua tofana to poison her husband had poisoned a bowl of soup but decided, ‘no, I can’t. I can’t kill someone’ and dramatically knocked it out of his hand. And that's where I am thinking this… somebody exaggerated. Somebody made this up because that's way too specific. But she stopped her husband from eating the soup and confessed her crimes and turned in Giulia Tofana and her daughter and their three employees at the business. And all of them were executed. Under torture, of course, it's the seventeenth century, she turned on a bunch of her clients as well. So a bunch of her clients were also executed. Some of them were not executed, because they claimed that they didn't know that it was poison and it was just ‘oh no, I spilled some of my lotion in my husband’s soup… Oops. Oopsie poopsies I’m only like fourteen I don't know any better.’ I made myself laugh with that one I’m sorry. But those people were spared. So there is something to… was Giulia a hero, was she a murderess, could both of those things be true…

Lexi: Was she an anti-hero?

Alana: She's kind of an anti-hero. I think that's what we’re going for.

Haley: I like that, I like anti-hero.

Alana: I think– I also think like–

Lexi: Like a Robin Hood, but murder.

Alana: Batman, but murder. Does Batman kill people?

Lexi: Robin Hood stole things, he didn't kill anyone. This is like the Robin Hood of murdering people.

Alana: Sure.

Lexi: It's like murder the rich, give to the wife?

Alana: Vigilante!

Lexi: I don't know. Vigilante murder, yeah.

Haley: So far we’re on the track of like ‘our criminals are good, question mark?’

(Alana laughing)

Lexi: Mine was definitely a criminal, but we'll get in that.

Alana: Well, I am done. So, Lexi let’s get into that.

Lexi: What a segue! Okay. So my lady, though definitely also had a lot of background trauma as it seems that a lot of these ladies had definitely did crime. So we'll just jump in. Have you guys ever heard of the queen of the mob?

Haley: Yes. I'm so excited that you're doing this one.

Alana: Maybe. You'll have to tell me her name.

Lexi: Okay.

Haley: This is truly like my favorite episodes so far, and I like hate when people like get really into criminals like some people, like for Jeffrey Dahmer, people love him, think he's like the most beautiful man, same with Ted Bundy, and that's not where my head is at.

Lexi: That’s creepy.

Haley: I have a true fascination with the history of crime, death, medicine, and how our society perceives it now. When I say I love these people or I love these stories that is not where I'm going.

Lexi: You're not doing the whole crime fandom crush thing.

Haley: No.

Alana: I have seen people get like Ted Bundy, Jeffrey Dahmer's signatures tattooed on themselves.

Lexi: That’s creepy.

Haley: Yeah

Lexi: And I don't condone that.

Alana: No we don't like that.

Lexi: But you can be interested in crime especially because as someone who has taken courses in the forensic realm… and who likes bones, and likes that kind of thing, I think you can be interested in the human phenomenon.

Alana: As academics.

Haley: That’s where we’re at for me.

Alana: Not as fanatics.

Lexi: Yes, yes.

Haley: I was listening to like you guys speak and kind of like going back in my head like oh, I seem like such a psycho when I’m like ‘I love Charlotte’ like she is just a fascinating human.

(Alana laughing)

Lexi: Well now we’ve clarified which is good.

Haley: She assassinated someone. And assassinations aren’t swell.

Lexi: But like when you think about like what is interesting on TV, or like what is interesting in our fiction, it's because humans have a general interest. So–

Haley: I wanna write a whole paper on that. Just truly that whole concept.

Lexi: So the queen of the mob, Virginia Hill. You can learn about her at the Mob Museum, people are really really fascinated with her and her story is really interesting. And she was born on August 26, 1916 in a place called Lipscomb, Alabama. I might have said that wrong, you know general– general reminder I say things wrong sometimes. She was born on her father's horse farm. Her father was abusive and he actually beat her and her siblings when they were children and one day she got really fed up with him attacking her and her little siblings so she hit him with a hot skillet in self defense. At the age of fourteen, Virginia married a man named George and three years later the couple moved to Chicago. When they got there she dumped him because you realize the world is a lot bigger than her hometown in Alabama, and so seventeen year old Virginia wanted to start her life anew. At the time, the 1933 Chicago Century of Progress Exposition, which is a World's Fair style event, and it was conceived to bring hope in the wake of the Great Depression that was happening. So Virginia took a job dancing, like as a shimmy dancer, so she had a really unique–

Alana: What– what does shimmy dancer mean? Like a go-go dancer? Like a str– like what?

Lexi: I think you dance shimmy like you shake back and forth and you wear tassels, I believe.

Alana: Dream job.

Lexi: But someone feel free to correct me.

Haley: Yeah, I was thinking one of those 1920s cigarette girls.

Lexi: Yeah that could probably be it because this is a similar era.

Haley: Like they would have like the thing that went over them holding a plate platter like tray that they would just like walk around, dance around, and you can buy stuff from them.

Lexi: Yeah. It could possibly be akin to that. When the fair ended, Virginia became a waitress at one of Al Capone's old haunts the San Carlo Italian Village, which is a restaurant not a town. I had to Google that. Though Capone was at that time in prison, he went to prison in 1931, the community of criminals that he had built was still thriving, and it was– it was in this role as a waitress serving tables of America’s mobsters that Virginia met the man who would change her life. His name was Joe Epstein. He was an accountant and bookkeeper for Capone's crime family, and he took a liking to Virginia’s style, and that doesn't mean like her physical attractiveness… she had a certain style of a way that she talked to the mobsters, and she seemed to really have like a no-nonsense kind of ability to deal with the mobsters, which is really unique in a girl so young. So he felt he could trust her, and he took her on as a money launderer for his racketeering. She laundered the money by placing large bets on horses in Chicago's racetracks. She later moved into betting scams which is basically when she learned how from Joe to collect bets on fixed boxing matches. So the matches will be predetermined, but she would encourage people to bet the losing side. Virginia didn't just launder money. Joe taught her how to dress and act like a rich woman, and used her to cross state lines with stolen furs, jewels, and other items, because of course no one would suspect a nice, rich lady of stealing things and crossing state lines with them. The craziest part is that this all happened before Virginia even turned twenty. So by the age of twenty she was wearing really wealthy clothes, working really wealthy circles, and basically was a part of the mob. Over time, Hill became a trusted cash carrier, money launderer, and information gatherer for Joe and the rest of Capone's crew. She had many rich boyfriends and often used these relationships to benefit her mob family. In one instance she dated an oil tycoon named Major Riddle. No, you cannot make up this name, and yes, I wrote in my script to pause for insane laughter but no one is laughing. I think his name is hilarious.

Haley: I think that’s the best name ever.

Alana: We're on meat. We're on mute. Lexi that's why we're not laughing you didn't... they won’t be able to see the face that I made.

Lexi: Yeah. That's true. I forgot. Well anyway she dated this oil tycoon Mr. Riddle and she convinced him to give her money for investments that were like completely fake and she took that money back to her boy Joe. And Hill used her womanly charm, and by that I mean she seduced men. And through these methods she was able to obtain valuable information for her mob bros. Joe encourage Virginia to move out east to build connections between Chicago and New York crime syndicates. In New York, she laundered money and met many more men including a Mexican night club dancer named excuse my pronunciation, if this is wrong, Miguelito Valdez. At some point Virginia marriedValdez to help him maintain his residence in the United States. And then Virginia, at the same time as this marriage, had an on and off affair with Benjamin “Bugsy” Siegel who is a really famous leader in organized crime.The pair is well known to have real chemistry so this wasn't just considered to be a case of her seducing someone. They think that she genuinely liked him And unfortunately at the time Bugsy was married to another woman. In 1940, he was sent to jail on a murder charge. While Bugsy was in jail, Virginia tricked Valdez into signing divorce papers. And it was all very “90 day fiance” of her if you ask me. It is unclear if it was through her marriage or not but at some point Virginia had become very fluent in Spanish. She used her newfound language skills to begin trafficking drugs particularly heroin from Mexico to Chicago. In the 1940s, she attempted to start a career acting in Hollywood while transferring cash from New York to Chicago to LA. Meanwhile, Bugsy was setting up his new crime life in Las Vegas which he believed was the new up and coming resort destination for Americans and in hindsight he was probably right. He wanted Virginia to join him and she did but mainly only to spy on his activities and report back to her other mob leaders like Joe. Unfortunately, Bugsy’s biggest dreams were dashed when his resort project the “Flamingo” failed. He had drowned too much money into elabore improvements to the resort and lost cash when lucky winners struck it big in his casino. In a desperate attempt to save the business, he closed the casino and reopened the Flamingo as a hotel only, which sadly was unsuccessful, because we all know how Vegas went. Hill received orders to leave Las Vegas, so she did. 12 days later, someone shot Bugsy dead in their home. In 1950, Virginia went to a ski resort in Idaho, which I didn’t know you could ski in Idaho, but apparently you can. And she fell in love with an instructor named Hans Hauser. Again, very “90 Day Fiance” of her. Though she was still laundering money and Hauser was not a criminal, he still wanted to marry her. The couple eloped and had a son named Peter. Later that year, Virginia was subpoenaed to appear in a trial on organized crime which would be shown on National TV. She arrived like a star, dressed from head to toe in expensive clothing and jewelry. As a witness, she served her crime family well, evading details and giving vague, basic answers to in depth questions. She used creative lies to explain away all the cash she had laundered, explaining how she had bet money on horses to win her initial cash. She also insisted that most of her wealth came from gifts of suitors, or as we would probably call them today her sugar daddies. Now quick side note- this kinda gives me vibes of the musical Chicago and that song about the main character’s testimony, where she basically used her charm and virtue as a woman to get out of murder. “Well I can’t help it sir, I am just so beautiful men flock to me and give me free things.” On the stand, Virinigia denied that her male friends and lovers were racketeers. When the investigators caught her in her lies, she simply denied knowledge of the nature of their work. “But I never knew anything about their business” she would say. She denied her ability to have any financial knowledge, you know, because she was a lady, and ladies don’t do money things.

Alana: Ladies don’t money.

Lexi: Ladies never money.

Alana: Women be shopping but women don’t be money.

Haley: I love the comparison, like this whole story cuz this is so much like Charlotte. Both of these ladies are trying to be like, “Oh women do this, this is how women look, look how beautiful we are.

Lexi: That’s the vibe. That’s the vibe she was going for. The investigators were still suspicious, it did not work. Because, you know, it was about to be the sixties I mean it was the fifties but was about to be the sixties and so women were going to be liberated. As Virginia left the trial, she cursed out the press and she punched a reporter in the face. Then as she got her car she told reporters she hoped an atomic bomb would be dropped on them, which I think is a timely thing to say. This was right after World War II. That- That’s a big insult. That’s really mean. Virginia and Hans then realized that they needed to leave America so they moved to Europe. The IRS was still on Virginia's tail and she knew she could not return to the States ever again. She met up with her old boyfriends and colleagues while they were in Europe and it was clear she still received money from her life's consistent characters like Joe. In the nineteen sixties Virginia and her family settled in Austria and her mental health rapidly declined.

Viriginia had suffered with her mental health through most of her adult life, getting hooked on sleeping pills and almost dying from a sleeping pill overdose on at least one occasion. Her life was turbulent, her trauma was intense, and she survived at least three separate suicide attempts. On cold, winter’s day, March 24th, 1966, in Austria, Virginia took her own life. Pedestrians taking a walk along the water found her body, laying in the snow, along with a note stating the reason for her death, “I am tired of life”. Her husband Hans also took his own life, passing in 1974. Their son Peter, who would go on to become an American soldier and veterean of the Vietnam War, died in a car accident 20 years later. The family is buried together, in Salzburg, Austria. To this day, some crime enthusiasts believe Virginia may have been murdered, force fed pills as a method to hide a murder as suicide of someone with a history of mental illness. Though her apparent struggles with her mental health throughout her life really suggest this theory is unlikely. I think Virginia can teach us a lot, for starters I think the importance of mental health help is something her legacy can teach us. Virginia had a horrible childhood and instead of getting help she needed, she was married off and eventually she was convinced to do crime. She spent a lot of her life struggling, and it's possible some for mental health issues stem from that early trauma. I think Virginia can teach us a lot, for starters I think the importance of mental health help is something her legacy can teach us. Virginia had a horrible childhood, and instead of getting the help she needed, she was married off. She spent a lot of her life struggling, and it is possible some of her mental health issues stemmed from that early trauma. I think Virginia also teaches us that it took more than men to make the Mobs of early and mid century America function. Virginia was often called the mistress of the mob, but that’s not fair- she wasn’t a mistress of the mob, she was a member of the mob. Women, both those whose stories are recorded and those whose stories were forgotten, played central roles in organized crime. So maybe next time you think about famous figures like Al Capone, think of the women like Virginia Hill who supported the crimes too. And that’s why we cover the good, the bad, and the ugly of women’s history, because there are so many stories that go untold.

Alana: That was so beautiful.

Haley: That was mind blowing.

Lexi: Thank you! I am gonna leave in you guys calling it beautiful too!

Alana: That was incredible.

Lexi: I really thought about that really hard.

Alana: Holy shit!

Haley: I truly love that like all our stories had a moral like that the ending for Alana was also just like you have to face that you're a killer that's a no no and like Lexi here with mental health and then me being like it's not all black and white you’re both bad people!

Alana: Nuance and context is like my mantra these days.

Lexi: That’s academics.

Haley: Yes.

Alana: Nuance and context as academics.

Lexi As people who studied at a university. Oh my.

Alana: I have a bachelor's degree.

Lexi: Mhmm. Is this podcast just proof to your parents that you got a bachelor's degree?

Alana: No, they paid for it.

Lexi: They know.

Alana: They know.

Lexi: They suffered.

(Alana laughing)

Lexi: You can find this podcast on Twitter and Instagram at LadyHistoryPod. Our show notes and a transcript of this episode will be on lady history pod dot tumblr dot com. If you like the show, leave us a review or tell your friends, and if you don’t like the show, keep it to yourself.

Alana: Our logo is by Alexia Ibarra you can find her on Instagram and Twitter at LexiBDraws. Our theme music is by me, Garageband, and Amelia Earhart. Lexi is doing the editing. You will not see us, and we will not see you, but you will hear us, next time on Lady History.

[OUTRO MUSIC]

Haley: Next week on Lady History: we're going to be in the kitchen cooking up some great stories about famous women chefs and cooks alike.

Alana: WHERE WE BELONG.

Lexi: In the kitchen.

Alana: /s.

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scientifthicc · 6 years ago

Text

You’re Gonna Catch a Cold

hello all! this is my valentine’s day exchange gift for the wonderful @shadowsofrainbows ily!! hello, i’m your valentine skdjskj. i really hope you enjoy the gift because i’m not sure if its any good or not so i’m sorry if it sucks. i really enjoyed writing it and its a tyrus fanfic so i hope you like it :)) by the way, im sorry this is posting so late, tungler dot com was being a butt and i couldn’t post it until now :(( sorry to keep you waiting so long hhh

also!! a big thank you and shout out to @swingsetboys for organizing this valentine’s day gift exchange!! these gift exchanges are so fun to do and without you we wouldn’t have them so thank you ilyy! and thanks for being so kind and helpful when tumblr’s a pain in the ass skdjsk

Cyrus tapped his foot impatiently as he anxiously waited for TJ to answer the call.

TJ’s voice comes from the phone, but it’s not him, it’s his voicemail. “It’s TJ. If you’re hearing this it’s probably because I don’t feel like answering the phone right now. Leave a message, if you want.” A beep comes from the phone, signaling the start of the voicemail.

Cyrus took a breath before starting to not sound as worried as he really was. “Hey TJ, it’s Cyrus. Again. Nobody’s heard from you in a couple days so please please please answer me as soon as you can.” Pressing the red End button, he turned to his friends with a downcast face. Cyrus had been stressing out since Tuesday when TJ didn’t show up to school and didn’t answer what had come to be many texts and calls. None of the teachers TJ had seemed to know what was happening either, sending him into a whirlwind of thoughts. Is TJ okay? Is he hurt? Is he dying? No, he’s not dying. But what if he is dying?? Now it was Saturday, and the GHC was standing outside the Spoon, waiting to go in as Cyrus called TJ for the millionth time.

“No answer,” he said with a frown.

“Cyrus. Relax. He’s probably fine,” Buffy said, putting her hands on Cyrus’s shoulders and drawing out the word “relax”. She spun him around and ushered him into the Spoon.

“Yeah,” Andi scoffed, as they found a booth and sat down. “You’re probably just going through a TJ-withdraw.” Andi and Buffy chuckled while Cyrus scowled.

“Right,” he said, looking over the menu and pretending to ignore Andi’s comment. “He’s probably fine.” He paused to take his order when the waitress came over before continuing. “That doesn’t guarantee he’s okay. What if he needs our help?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “If you want to know so bad, why don’t you stop by his house and find out?”

“You’re right,” Cyrus said determinedly, putting both palms on the table and standing up.

“Wait- now? Your food hasn’t even arrived yet” Buffy said, but Cyrus was already out of his seat.

“Update us!!” Andi yelled as Cyrus was walking out the door, earning a thumbs up from him as he left to signal that he had heard them.

Andi and Buffy exchanged a knowing look, and Buffy rolled her eyes once again. “He left his coat,” Buffy giggled.

On his way there, the sound of Cyrus’s feet crunching in the snow was the only sound that could be heard, and he couldn’t help but think about what could have happened to TJ. Was he grounded? Cyrus doubted that. He wouldn’t be surprised if his parents took away his phone if he was in trouble, but it doesn’t make sense that they would keep him from coming to school. Did TJ get into trouble at school? He didn’t want to think of that as a possibility. He knew TJ was better than that. Did his family go on vacation? No way. TJ definitely would have told him beforehand.

Eventually, Cyrus ended up on TJ’s front porch that afternoon, pacing in front of the door as he waited, shivering, since he accidentally left his coat with Buffy and Andi in his rush to leave the Spoon. He let out a frosty breath, looking down at his feet as he stopped in front of the door, hands in his pockets, and waited.

“Hey,” said a congested-sounding voice, making Cyrus jump as he broke out of his thoughts.

Looking up, Cyrus went to respond but stopped short at the sight in front of him, barely preventing himself from choking on the frigid air around him. Standing there in front of him, in the doorway, was TJ Kippen himself, but different. He clearly looked sick, and he was wearing gray sweatpants Cyrus had never seen on him before, but it got worse; he had no hair gel, making her hair a fluffy dirty-blonde mess, and was wearing glasses. Cyrus couldn’t help but be a teensy bit upset by the fact that TJ had never told him that he actually wore contacts. A little forewarning would’ve been nice — he was having trouble handling the sight in front him at that moment. It took him a while before Cyrus realized he was staring at him like an idiot.

“Uh- TJ! You’re okay!” Cyrus finally exclaimed before cringing, realizing TJ wasn’t exactly okay, considering he was sick and wishing he had kept his mouth shut. “I mean— you’re not dead, at least.” He facepalmed. “I— nevermind. Hi TJ.”

TJ started laughing before devolving into a coughing fit. Growing concerned, Cyrus let himself inside and shut the door to keep TJ out of the cold. “Are you okay?”

“I’m good. I’m a little sick. Just a little, though,” he answered with a heavily congested voice before sneezing multiple times.

They walked into the kitchen, where Cyrus immediately felt warm. The entire house gave off a welcoming, lived-in, and cozy feel, especially the kitchen with the warm beige walls, different variety of mugs in one of the see-through cabinets, and the pictures on the fridge that displayed upcoming events, drawings TJ made when he was about 7 or 8 maybe, and souvenir magnets. When he saw the old drawings, Cyrus smiled, admiring how cute they were, before turning back to TJ as they both sat down at the kitchen table. “Did your parents take away your phone or something?”

“I mean, technically.”

Cyrus gestured for TJ to continue.

“Well.” TJ paused to cough. “My parents are the — sniff — type of parents who don’t let you — sneeze — use your phone when you get sick, because they think using it will be bad for you and delay you from getting better,” he explained before grabbing a tissue from one of the boxes that were currently everywhere in the house and blowing his nose. “So, when I got sick and had to stay home, I couldn’t really let you know, which sucked.” He coughed a couple times.

Cyrus frowned. “That sucks.” TJ nodded his head in agreement. “ I was so stressed. I was worried you died or something. I must have called you at least 15 times.” Cyrus couldn’t help but cringe at how desperate he must’ve sounded, but TJ would’ve eventually seen the calls and texts when he got his phone back anyways, so he had nothing to lose.

TJ grinned and opened his mouth to say something, but before he could say anything, he started to cough. He was shivering a little as well, despite the fact that it was currently warm in the house.

Cyrus frowned again. “Where’s the blankets?” TJ vaguely gestured to a door under the stairs — while still coughing into his arm — that seemed to be a small closet. He fetched a pink blanket, with Dora, Diego, Backpack, and Boots with huge lettering that told you it was Dora the Explorer blanket — in case you weren’t sure before — and threw it on TJ before moving to the cabinets to hunt around for a tea kettle, a mug, and a tea bag. Once he finally found what he needed, he started preparing tea for TJ. The tea kettle was already filled with water and heating up on the stove before TJ finally spoke up.

“Uh, Cyrus?” TJ questioned, finally removing the blanket from over his head where it had been thrown on him. “What are you doing?”

“I’m making you tea and taking care of you, duh,” Cyrus responded, now setting a pot on the stove and searching through the cabinets for ramen soup (every house had to have ramen, he thought) while he waited for the tea to be made. Cyrus, still facing the cabinets, kept going before TJ could say anything. “I don’t see anyone else around, so I’m gonna be the one to do it.” He was clearly in full-parent mode by now, and there was no going back. Putting the ramen packet he finally found down and turning to face TJ, he asked, “By the way, where are your parents?”

TJ rested his head on his arm. ”They’re gone for the weekend for a wedding. They didn’t want to leave me in the ’state I was in’, but they’d RSVP’d months before,” he answered, complete with air quotes, sniffs, and sneezes.

“Oh. Uh, okay,” he said, turning around to continue making the soup and to hide his blush. They were gonna be alone for God knows how long and Cyrus didn’t know how to feel about it. Cyrus and TJ sat in comfortable silence for a couple minutes while Cyrus made the soup. He may not know shit about cooking, but he had learned to at least make soup for when his parents were out and there was nothing else to eat, so it had become a staple food for him. Cyrus assumed it was comfortable silence, at least; it was entirely possible that TJ could have fallen asleep and Cyrus wouldn’t have been surprised. In reality, though, although Cyrus was unaware, TJ couldn’t help but stare at Cyrus and appreciate what he was doing for TJ. He felt undeserving to have someone as lucky as Cyrus care for him, even though it wasn’t like he would ever tell him how he felt.

Eventually handing TJ the tea that had finally finished being made (“With honey and lemon to help your cold, of course,” Cyrus had told him), he broke the silence by asking how he had managed to get by at all so far in the state he was in.

“I haven’t,” TJ answered after a couple seconds of thought. “I was dying earlier. But I’m dying a little less now.”

“Thank God I’m here, I guess,” Cyrus said with a smile. Time stood still for a second as TJ and Cyrus simply stared at each other for a couple seconds, a blush creeping up on both of their faces, not that oblivious TJ noticed Cyrus’s blush, or vice versa. The awkward silence was clearly cutting through the room, though, so Cyrus cleared his throat before it could get worse, turning to check on the soup to find that it was ready.

Handing TJ the soup, Cyrus told him, “Okay, well, go to your room and lay down. I’ll be up in a couple minutes with something else and I’m gonna pick a movie for us to watch.”

TJ rolled his eyes. “I’m not that sick, Underdog,” he informs him before hacking and coughing once again. No matter how many times TJ says it, Cyrus’s heart skips a beat when TJ calls him “Underdog”, and he knew it always would.

“Go upstairs, TJ,” Cyrus said with half-seriousness.

Begrudgingly, TJ stood, soup in hand and Dora-themed blanket wrapped around him and held together with the other. “You’re being such a mom,” TJ grumbled under his breath, but loud enough to still be heard by Cyrus (which he totally did on purpose).

“What was that?” Cyrus called with raised eyebrows.

TJ flashed a cocky grin at him. “Nothing!” he answered with a cheeky (but stuffy) voice before sludging upstairs to obey Cyrus.

Cyrus’s eyes followed TJ with a goofy grin as he trudged up the stairs. Never would Cyrus understand how TJ managed to be so charming, even when he was sick.

Once TJ was upstairs, he pulled out his phone and opened his notes to find the smoothie recipe he kept around for when somebody got sick. It was a random thing to keep on your phone, but in Cyrus’s defense, you never know when you need to make an emergency smoothie and it obviously it came in handy.

The smoothie turned out to be a greenish-brown color, giving Cyrus some serious doubts on how good the smoothie actually was — not to mention how it would taste — but Cyrus grabbed some straws and headed upstairs anyways. Walking through the hallway on his way to TJ’s room, he spotted lots of family pictures throughout the years, baby pictures of TJ, and school pictures, as well as baseball pictures, of TJ. Cyrus couldn’t help but gush over how adorable TJ was in all the pictures, and couldn’t resist from taking a few pictures from his phone of the multiple photos on wall for blackmail and future birthday posts.

Finally finding TJ’s room and walking into it, he found that TJ had already chosen and started some kind of action movie without Cyrus, and was laying down in bed. TJ sat up when Cyrus entered the room, though.

Cyrus pouted. “You already started without me?” he said with mock-sadness and betrayal in his voice. TJ just shrugged. “I forgive you. I know the sickness is getting to your head.” Cyrus handing him the smoothie and straws. “I made a smoothie. It’s not poison, I promise. I think.”

TJ laughed and took the smoothie. “Thanks, Underdog. You really didn’t have to do all of this for me. I don’t deserve it,” TJ said with a soft smile that made Cyrus want to kiss him on the spot, but when hearing that TJ thought he didn’t “deserve it”, he couldn’t help but go off on a tangent.

“But I did have to! And I wanted to, too. You most definitely deserved it and I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving you here by yourself when you were sick and if I wasn’t here then there would’ve been no one here to take of you and who knows what would’ve happened if I didn’t do anything about it and I didn’t have had any contact with you because you don’t have your phone so I wouldn’t have been able to check up on you to see how you’re doing and you’re already sick so you need to feel comfortable and have company and get better and what if you got worse and—”

“Cyrus! Cy- Underdog! Listen to me Cyrus. It’s okay,” TJ said, cutting him off and trying to calm him down. “Look at me. I’m fine. Okay, I’m not fine, but I’m not dying and I’m not going to die. You really don’t have to go full parent mode on me. I’ll be okay,” he said with a soft smile. “Now,” he said, once Cyrus has realized he had gotten too worked up and had calmed down a little. “Come sit down and watch this stupid movie with me.” TJ grinned and patted the bed.

Cyrus let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Sorry. When I really care about someone I get super caring and protecting, I guess,” he answered, smiling sheepishly. Cyrus was beginning to feel embarrassed about his tiny outburst, but knowing TJ wasn’t judging him, he was able to relax.

TJ blushed at the thought the Cyrus cared about him so much. “It’s okay. I honestly really appreciate it, Cy.” Without thinking, Tj decided to be bold. “It’s pretty cute, to be honest,” TJ said, before taking a sip of the smoothie handed him. But before Cyrus could choke about what TJ just said (and before TJ could freak out about what had come out of his mouth before he could think about it), TJ coughed and made a fake gagging noise. “Ugh! This is disgusting. What’s in it?” he asked with a disgusted tone, gesturing to the smoothie in his hand.

“Well, there’s spinach, orange juice, basil, beets, carrots… all of which is supposed to help you heal more quickly!” Cyrus said, realizing how gross the combination sounded when he said it out loud.

TJ fake gagged again, making a “blech” noise and pretending to stick a finger near his mouth at the thought of the mixture. “It’s horrible. Taste it with me?” he suggested with a smirk, offering Cyrus a straw.

Cyrus accepted the straw, acting like he was extending his hand at a royal ball. “Gladly,” he responded with mock formality, taking a seat next to TJ on his bed and sticking his straw into the smoothie.

“On the count of three?” TJ asked, to which Cyrus nodded. “No chickening out!” he announced it advance.

“I won’t!” Cyrus promised.

TJ took a deep breath. “Okay. One…” Cyrus took a deep breath and braced himself as much as he could. “Two....” TJ grimaced, not prepared to take another sip. “And…. three!” Cyrus quickly took and swallowed a decent sip to keep his promise, but TJ only pretended to take a sip.

Immediately, Cyrus turned away and gagged. “Why do I even try to do anything related to cooking?” Cyrus rasped, disgusted, while TJ laughed his head off. Hearing his laughter, Cyrus whipped head back towards TJ. “You didn’t drink it?” he yelped. TJ shook his head no. “The betrayal!” he gasped, putting a hand over his heart. Then, he scowled. “Okay, this time we both have to try it. No fake outs, TJ, and I mean it.” Cyrus attempted to say this in a threatening voice, which wasn’t very successful, although TJ agreed anyways.

“On my count this time,” Cyrus stated. Just before the countdown, Cyrus heard his phone go off multiple times next to him, most definitely texts from Buffy and Andi asking him to update them. They can be patient for a couple hours, he thought to himself, fumbling around for his phone without moving from his position, and shutting it off so they wouldn’t distract him. I might do something daring in a couple seconds, and now is not the time “One…” They both leaned into the horrid smoothie. “Two…” Cyrus’s eyes flickered up to meet TJ’s, causing them both to realize how close they were. “Three,” Cyrus announced in a breathless voice, and a second later, instead of lips meeting their straws, Cyrus leaned in before he could second-guess himself, TJ’s lips meeting Cyrus’s as he leaned in that the same time to close the distance as well.

It was as if they had both planned it, as if they were on the same wavelength. The kiss was a short but meaningful one, saying so many things neither of them had dared to say before and confirming their feelings towards each other. It felt like two pieces of puzzle fitting together, the perfect match.

They broke apart after a few seconds, foreheads touching and their eyes gleaming, saying things that neither of them seemed to be capable of saying with their own mouths. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of just staring at each and blushing, both started to giggle.

“If you don’t be careful Cyrus, you’re gonna catch a cold,” TJ said, smiling so wide he could hardly contain it.

Cyrus grinned. “Too bad,” he shrugged, leaning in to close the gap once more.

Four Days Later

“I told you that you were gonna get sick!” TJ chuckled.

Cyrus blew his nose and pouted. “Yeah, but I hoped that my immune system would prove you otherwise!” Cyrus sighed. “Clearly, it let me down,” he said, barely able to finish his sentence before sneezing. “Why can’t I see you right now?” he said with a frown, wanting to reach through the screen to see TJ in real life.

“Hm. Bless you, by the way,” TJ pretended to think for a second. “Maybe it’s because I had to come to school and you’re bedridden with a cold?” He suggested, smirking.

“Oh,” Cyrus said with a downcast face. “I guess that’s true.” Cyrus went to continue the conversation, but when Cyrus opened his mouth the speak again, he heard the bell signaling the final warning to get to class go off.

“As much as I hate to say it, I gotta get to class, Underdog,” TJ announced sadly, causing Cyrus to pout once again and make him want to stubbornly insist that TJ stay, but he accepted defeat instead, deciding to sleep in to make the school day go by as quickly as possible. “See you after school, boyfriend!” TJ exclaimed with the biggest, goofiest grin on his face, blowing him a kiss through the screen.

Cyrus pretended to catch it and put it on his heart, an equally big and goofy grin on his face. “You too, boyfriend. It’s my turn to choose the movie, by the way. Bring soup!”

#andi mack #tyrus #cyrus goodman #tj kippen #buffy driscoll #andi mack fanfic #andi mack fanfiction #tyrus fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #valentine's day gift exchange #andi mack gift exchange #//#i hope this finally posts hhhhhhhh

262 notes · View notes

timeunraveled · 5 years ago

Text

SLAMS IN hello hello! the name’s jay, it’s SUPER nice to meet you! for those who know me from koi’s last run, i’m SO EXCITED to write with koi again, and for those who don’t know me, HI HELLO HOWDY! i hope we can get along!

i decided to try out being a multimuse, so forgive me if i make mistakes. i currently have nagito komaeda and amami rantaro from danganronpa and aoko nakamori from magic kaito as muses! you can see my old writing samples on my old KNY blogs, which are here ( komaeda / amami / minho )! i’ll be posting starter calls for all my muses soon enough!

just hit me up if you ever wanna plot! you can find me on twitter here, or you can dm me right here on tumblr dot com. people tell me i’m pretty alright to get along with, maybe you can test the validity of that claim. YEAH!

#kny ooc #( ooc. )#HELLOOO!!!!#i say test the validity of that claim as if i have ever been more threatening than a small puppy.#please talk to me i love to write #i'm looking forward to writing many relationships!!!!

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gotmattitude · 6 years ago

Text

we’re gone but we don’t know where

WHO: Santana Lopez ( @trickstersantana ) and Matt Rutherford, with NPCs Julio Lopez, Someone.

WHAT: Running errands in New York City, doing some sponsor/sponsee bonding? Sort of?

WHEN: Sep 22nd

WHERE: A building in a dark alley.

WARNINGS: Mention of needles/injections, stabbing, manipulation, death, murder implied?

Santana walked, or almost run, alongside Matt through the city, too happy of her fake sense of freedom. She was too used to being trapped in NYADA. "C'mon, Hoodoo guy, we are almost there." She said with a big smile. She talked with her 'sib' Oliver to know where to met with them and her fake parental figure. She should be wary, she should warn Matt even more of how awful he was. But still, she was happy to see him and talk with him again. A happiness that would end quickly, she knew it very well. "This is the place." She said pointing to a seemly abandoned building on a dark alley. The kind of place where super hero parents die. "Alright, fair warning. My 'dad' is a fucking ass. Like, the worst, the less he know of you, the best. Oh God, thank you so much for this Matt I will always value your sacrifice, I'm sorry you always have to met the worst... the worst of my kind when you are with me." She would love to tell him she could introduce him to a nice trickster someday, but she didn't knew anyone she liked. Her 'mom' only, but she didn't want to see Santana. "Ready?"

Matt's internal gears were turning as Santana bounded through the streets of NYC. It was really about time that he used his privilege for something other than snarking Bloodlines on the internet, he thought, just as Santana urged him on. "I'm walking, I'm walking," he said, a little distracted, but speeding up to keep up with her. The building seemed sketchy, at least at first glance, but he'd slept in worse places before. He'd just keep his hands in his pockets; one on his phone, the other on his wallet. "Alright, sure. Is this your hangout spot, or?"

He wondered what was up with Santana's 'family,' what they'd done, but didn't ask. Some people got shitty families. Some of them were shitty enough to add scare quotes to the word. He nodded along, until she started apologizing to him. "Hey, c'mon. Tamamo--Tamamo wasn't your fault. Your 'dad' is also probably not your fault. Besides, I know one badass trickster already, the bar was too fuckin' high," he joked. "And you know, you don't represent your entire race, and all that shit." Giving a last tentative glance towards the place, he nodded. "Don't let him know too much, he's an ass. I got it. I'm ready when you are."

Santana nodded at the question, but she wasn't that sure. It might be a trap too. She knew it wasn't her fault, completelly, at least on the Japan part, still, she felt like she was dragging Matt into danger. But she wasn't sorry enough sorry to stop it. She smiles a little at the compliment. "Lucky for them, or they would be super screwed" She joked back. When she was about to open the door, someone opened it from the inside.

Someone who looks very shady opens the door. They are a white teen, pretty shorty, with black hair and a red hoodie. Even without meeting them before, you could sense the annoying teen energy surrounding them. "Hermanita!! You finally arrived!!" They shout in a very bad spanish pronunciation, quickly hugging Santana to her exasperation. "Hay! Who are you? Who are you? A new friend? What's your name?" They ask very fast, looking at Matt, ending the hug with Santana and going to hug the other guy if no one stopped the energetic kid.

Matt chuckled at her joke, adding something like 'whatcha gonna do about it' before the door swung open, and someone... interesting came out of the other side. He tried not to be annoyed, but Aether, he'd barely been a teenager, and sometimes he was really grateful for that, including right then. An eyebrow raised, he was selfishly glad for a moment that this kid was Santana's "something"--although probably not her "dad"-- and not his.

Until the kid started heading towards him. Frozen in place, he let them hug him, patting them awkwardly on the back as the only vague form of reciprocation. "I'm Matt," he said when the hug was released, and he could comfortably breathe again, in his own bubble of personal space. "I'm Santana's friend. What's your name?" It was polite to ask, but now he was also very curious. Where had this kid come from?

Santana groans and complains when the kid shows they're still existing. "Oh my God, I'm no family or 'family' or yours. I'm nothing yours. Don't bother Matt you brat" She fear Matt was already saying too much information, but hoped it won't scalate. She went upstairs hoping the others will follow. She enters a room that looked like it was abandoned for years until a little kid found it to turn it into their secret operation base. She entered the living room, completelly covered with a blanket fort, lots of toys and anime figures on the floor and snacks and sweets around. She rolled her eyes when she noticed her 'dad' was sitting on the couch. Inside the blanket fort. "God fucking dammit Cabrón. Really? Your idea of safe place to meet is where the brat lives, right?" She could notice how unconfortable was to be in a room with two other tricksters, but she know Matt was the only one there that had to suffer 3 distrust auras.

Someone smiles and moves nerviously and happy. "Do you have a tumblr, Santana's friend? Guess my name!" They said, and fake cries with Santana's complains while she goes upstairs "You're so meaaaaan, you both use me as a messenger and... hey don't ignore me!!" They say as the walk upstairs too.

The man in the sunglasses smiles at seeing Santana appear, getting up from the couch, but still not being able to stand up fully for the blankets. "That's how you say hi to your old 'dad'?" He says, sound fakelly offended. "If you assume the horse kid lives here." He shrugs. "But let's get to the point, I know you aren't visiting just because you miss me."

Matt stiffens up when this kid asks for his tumblr. Were they going to hack him? Spam him? Dig up his every secret and expose them to the world?? He smiles, tight and uncomfortable, and thinks for a long second. "I'll guess your name if you guess my tumblr URL. And no checking Santana's blog for clues." He's setting himself up for failure, he can feel it. But there was no such thing as being too careful, not in this city, not this year, not anytime.

When they go upstairs, underneath all the alertness, something twists in his chest. Santana had once told him their pasts weren't so different, and he knows many LN experience homelessness, but the childishness of the blanket forts, of the candy and the toys makes sympathy shine through. When Santana makes that comment though, he finds himself looking around. Is there someone here? Is this a setup??

Matt looks to Santana for guidance on how to react to this man. Her "dad". He gives a noncommittal nod when he speaks to her, but doesn't greet him out loud. Yet. Shit. Now he's also wondering why Santana wanted to come here when she thought so badly of her "family". Maybe she found out about Brownstone. Maybe this was a way to quietly say "fuck you" for being another sponsor with blood on his hands. Or maybe she is a really good actress and she hates shadow magic more than she let on. His eyes dart back and forward between all three tricksters, and he has to push himself to settle down. What the fuck, chill, he thinks.

Someone looks defeated. What a masterful way to ruin their machinations. "Uuuhhhhhhhhh.... mattfriendofsantana dot tumblr dot com!" They try to guess while they go upstairs, and sits next to the man on the sunglasses. "I don't live here! This is my super secret operation base!!" They said with pride.

Santana rolls her eyes. But she did miss him, sometimes she wasn't interacting with him. Everytime they met again it was full of regret. "You said things you knew things. About enchantments. So c'mon be a decent fake dad a help your fave fake daugther, you bastard."

The man in the sunglasses points at the kid like saying. 'See?' and waves at the other man that went with Santana. "Hello, sorry my daugther was raised to forget to introduce people. You can call me Julio, who are you?" He asks, and talks a little softer to Santana, in spanish. "¿Cuánto confías en él? Y no digas que no te fias de nadie, eso ya lo se, Niebla. But yeah sure, if you are a decent fake daugther and give me the information I asked you about months ago."

Matt probably shouldn't feel as satisfied as he does to have outsmarted a child. But he does, and a smile tugs on his lips as they guess the wrong username. "Wrong. I'll tell you what letter it starts with if you tell me what letter your name starts with." Matt suggests, and even though he's probably a bit too cocky at the moment, the end of the sentence turns into a question. "Operation base for what?" he asks before he can stop himself. Do teenagers tend to have these sort of things? Is this normal? It takes him a second to brush off the confusion, but when he does, the initial suspicion lingers. Is this an ambush??

And Santana's asking about enchantments, and he would have thought there wasn't much left inside him to be twisted up, but there is. Aether, he hopes someone is able to help her. Brownstone was months ago, and she is still dealing with this shit?He tries to stand next to Santana and look intimidating with arms crossed, but his eyes keep darting from person to person to 'secret operation base', giving away his uneasiness.

Matt nods at Santana's 'dad', and something about the way he spoke strikes a nerve. "Eh, politeness is fuckin' overrated. I'm Matt, it's... interesting to meet you, Julio." His attention drifts when the conversation turnsinto Spanish, once again glancing around the room. He has been here for... what? Two minutes? Two hours? And he's thoroughly confused. Thoroughly. He catches the tail end of her 'dad''s sentence, and an eyebrow rises of its own accord as he glances sideways at Santana. What the fuck was going on here?

Someone is too hooked up with this. "O!" Then pouts exageratelly "I told you is super secret! But it's for super secret meetings, like this one!" They reveal anyway. "Stop talking in spanish I want to know what you guys say!!"

Santana was annoyed, but she throws him a notebook she was carrying in ther bag (who was there the whole time). "En una escala de 0 a 10, siendo un 0 'no le diría ni mi nombre', y 10 lo que me fio de la prediccion del tiempo, un 7. Now. What do you know?" Santana can see Matt also dislikes her 'dad' from minute one like every living on Earth. "We don't respect politeness in this fucking house." She says proud.

The man in the sunglasses smirks. "Interesting. That's pretty generous. In the 'family' we have a saying about Santana's friends. They are either naive fools she's trying to use, or people without any morals whatsoever, which one are you?" He tries to catch the notebook in the air, but he fails, and he has to crouch to get it. "Eso es un número muy alto para ti, Niebla, te fias demasiado del hombre del tiempo." He says without opening it. "I actually don't know that much about enchantments and you suspected it, so this notebook is full of lies, right? But to not get stuck in the accusations of lying like always, let's jump to the deals. I'll have to do my research and if I get something, you tell me something. Now, what's the enchantment about. I can't help much without data, you know that."

Matt starts going through all the names with O he knows in his head. As it turns out, they're not that many. Octavius. Octavia. Octopus. Fuck. A deal's a deal, though, so he begrudgingly offers his URL initial as well. "G." What kind of super secret meetings do teenagers even have? Is this the first one to be hosted here? He also wants to know what Santana and her "dad" are saying, but he refuses to agree with this kid right now. Maybe there will be time for that later.

Discreetly, he tries to gauge what they're saying. He hears numbers. Maybe it's a secret code. The little phrase about politeness shakes him out of it, but before he can react, Julio is talking to him. Eyes narrowed, he laughs a little, and crosses his arms over his chest. This is a test of some kind, he can tell. But he's not going to fall for it. "Bit of both. I'm a naïve dumbass with shit for a moral compass." The notebook falls straight to the ground, and he bites back a laugh, trying to not get visibly frustrated when he speaks Spanish again. Is he talking about me?? It's alright though, soon enough his eyes bounce back between the two like he's watching a ping pong match. "What do you know about Enchantments? Forcing people to do shit they don't want to do?" Matt asks, arms still crossed and keeping his gaze straight.

Someone checks their phone when they heard the first clue and opens Santana's tumblr page to find a blog she rebloged starting with G. They will scroll down until They Find Matt.

Santana is already nervous just looking at Matt and her 'dad' talk, but she knew showing she cares too much about Matt won't end well and her fake father would be ven more of a dick. She doubts before giving an answer. She crosses her arms. Ah, fuck it. "Ah, you know." She shrugs. "Self-deprecating magic bullshit. To be ashamed of myself, that I'm alone, or no one will miss me, that other people think I'm just an animal and all that super fake shit that is totally not real and I don't believe for a moment." She tries to say non challant like its her grocery list. "Alright maybe I believe that but it's magic's fault!"

The man in the sunglasses laughs at Matt's answer. "This guy is fun, Mist. I hope you aren't planning to stab him." He says way too casually. "Enchantments is manipulation for inepts who don't know how to convince people without magic." He listens to Santana, quiet for a while. "Oh, you finished? Really? That's it? God damnit Mist, you believed all those things already. What a redundant and useless spell."

Matt sighs when the kid takes out their phone. This is going to go great.

[CW: needles]

His eyes narrow at the stabbing comment. What. The. Fuck. Was that an inside joke??? Did Santana regularly stab her friends, or enough so that her "dad" asks about it. "Don't worry, I stab myself enough with needles regularly. I can handle myself." Could he though??? He's trying real hard to look completely different than how he felt, which was threatened and confused as fuck, and he doesn't know if it's working.

Focused on what Santana is saying, his guard drops for a moment. Aether, how had it been so long since Brownstone, and he had no idea this was going on? He never means to pry, to force people to talk about things they don't want to, and he's been so ridiculously focused on his own bullshit that he just didn't know the enchantment went this deep. What a fucking dick. But this isn't the place to voice that. He turns back to Santana's "dad" and crosses his arms tighter against his chest again, and ignored the pang that comes with this comment that these things weren't new. "Do you know how to help her or not?"

Santana super fake laughs and then acts super offended "Excuse me? I had never, NEVER stabbed anyone with a real knife." She might had try a lot of times, though. 'How much do you know about it, you bastard?' She was getting even more nervous and unconfortable. "Don't listen to him, Matt, he thinks he is soooo funny" She rolls her eyes, and controls herself from saying 'I would never do that to you' because it would be too much of a lie. Who knows what the future hold, right? She gets even more angry to his fake father reaction. "I guess!!! But you don't have to be a dick about it!" She answers without thinking. "Ughhhh, c'mon! You are just saying that because...because you don't know shit about getting rid of it and you just want to...aggh!!" She is too annoyed and embarrased to say a proper argument.

The man in the sunglasses keeps his confident smile on. "Is that because you take drugs or the...the sugar thing...thing" He says, snapping his fingers, like he doesn't remember the name but it's so close to get it and that would help. He groans frustrated to his bad memory. "Mist, you throw a knife to my face, don't act all hight and mighty like you are above stabbing." He says as casually as fake dad could talk to his fake daughter about something as not washing the dishes. He calmly stares at Santana while she gets progresivelly more annoyed. "I told you it's like manipulation. Just manipulate yourself back goddamnit. Where is your manipulative liar pride? You are terrible at it, but also you believe a lot of crap, so it could work."

Matt is really doing his best to not freak out about the whole 'does Santana plan to stab me' thing, and he knows he's being irrational--oh. The aura. Times three, probably. He tries to push it down, and quirks a smile at Julio. "Testosterone," he says simply. Still... there have been knives thrown before, it seems, but he'll ask her about this afterwards. Aether, this experience has been fun already. He laughs awkwardly before he clears his throat and laughs again, still falsely, but more sarcastically. "Hilarious," he comments.

Matt knows everyone has their insecurities, but today has really been a wake-up call, and he's growing steadily more annoyed at Julio, and worried about Santana, until he offers them a solution. Manipulate yourself back? Admittedly, that seemed like the wrong approach to take about getting herself to believe she wasn't an animal, or alone. But maybe Leah could help with that. "She's a fucking great manipulative liar," he defends her, and the words come tumbling out of him before he can stop them. "Is there anything else you know?" Matt asks.

Santana shrugs, still very annoyed and angry at everything. "But you dodged it! Geez old man, get over it. You deserved it. And stop asking Matt questions!" She frows even more at the useless advice. "That's bullshit. It's like an illusion. I could make a deal everyday so you had a noisy fly flying in front of your face forever. You can try to ignore it, even if you know it's not real, but it's still there." She doesn't know how to feel about Matt's defense. "Yeah!"

The man in the sunglasses snaps his fingers when Matt's says testosterone. "Insulin! Oh, it's not that." He says first proud and then dissapointed. The kid stops staring at their phone to complain. "Daaaad, I explain it to you!" and the man makes shushs sounds so they shut up. "Mist that's hurtful, I'm hurt. And someday, someone won't dodge your knives, and they would be no one to stop you. " Beats. "That sounded too optimist." He laughs at Matt saying Santana is any good at manipulation. "If she was, you wouldn't know. But you know because she is not subtle at all. I love you, Mist, but you are terrible." He raises his eyebrows to Santana's explanation. "You should have started by that! Then you know how to deal with illusions, I already teach you half of what I know!"

Someone whose name starts with O grins. "Found it~! Oh! You're a doppel!! I have some theories about doppels."

Matt, without thinking it over, blurts out: "or she might stop throwing knives at people." There are many ways to stab someone. In their back. Looking right at them. Having someone else throw the knife. With a hidden contraption. Still, he cringes at his own completely useless addition and gives Julio a look like he just owned him. Which he knows he didn't. What the fuck is he even trying to do here. Maybe he should just let Santana talk. "That's not necessarily true," he says, immediately contradicting his decision to let Santana do the talking. "You can realize after you've been manipulated how much they fucked you over." He shrugs.

He narrows his eyes at Santana's example about the fly, and he thinks about it for a moment. "But maybe he can convince you to stop making the deal." Get to the root of the problem. He ignores Julio's comments about illusions. Santana's at least half the reason he's even attempted to work on his illusion magic. Blaine's like 15%. The rest is just he really likes learning.

Looking at the kid, he lifts his chin. "What did you explain to him?" Matt asks, just as Julio shushes them. A sigh leaves him before he can stop it when they find him online and immediately put their foot in their mouth. "Theories? About doppels?" An eyebrow is high in his forehead, and his arms remain crossed against his chest.

Santana is actually a little happy Matt is there and not only full of regret. "Yeah! Thanks, Matt" She stops to look at him. "Wait, what do you mean?" Hey, nice, actually they are discussing solutions and brainstorming. Who had though, talking things with people actually helped? "In this case, stop doing the deal would MAYBE had been getting rid of that bastard's magic. But SOMEONE" Marley. "Didn't want to testify for it.Yes I'm talking about you know how." She says Marley with her mouth in case Matt doesn't get it, but with no sound. "It's Marley I'm blaming Marley. And the entire judicial system but mostly Marley."

The man in the sunglasses continues his theory. "You know what to do agaisnt an illusion, Santana. Look out for the truth." His phone sounds, he checks it, an shush the kid again, "Don't waste time, we have to go now, Mist. I'll ask around to make your work easier, and you give the fucking information, alright?"

Someone whose name starts with O knows they don't have much time. Their theories won't be stopped. "Everyone thinks doppels come from witches but WHAT IF" They say, very exagerately and dramatic. "Doppels are actually the tricksters who get to become human."

Gears are turning in Matt's head, and he points at Santana as he processes the information. "No--I don't mean Fuchs's magic," he says, as his attention remains on trying to hypothetically solve the enchantment problem. "Although I have no fucking clue why Marley wouldn't get her ass to court to testify," he says offhandedly, only sounding mildly annoyed. "I'm saying we get to the source of the problem. The source of your beliefs. And work from there." Shrugging, he speaks towards the ground for a moment. "Maybe we don't get rid of the deal at first. Maybe some days the fly is quiet. Maybe some days it just lays there. Maybe it buzzes without being able to see it. But we take steps."

Look out for the truth. Manipulate yourself back. Santana says Julio doesn't know enchantments, but Matt's starting to think he knows enough, at least, for them to make some progress. "Leaving so soon?" he asks, like he was really enjoying their company.

Matt is straight-up rendered speechless when O-kid shares their theory, at least for a series of seconds that stretch long. If tricksters became human, would they have memories? Would they arise as doppels do? "Where would we get the memories of our past lives, then?" He asks, trying to one-up some kid, like an adult is supposed to do. "I'm pretty sure doppels are just doppels. Tricksters who become human are humans who used to be tricksters?" The first sentence is pretty confident, but the second sounds just about as unsure as he feels right now.

Santana groans "Because her problems are more important than everyone's else." But she rather focus on solutions now. "Ugh, Matt, the source is the entire world and systematic racism. This is not a thing we can change from the source. We are looking for realistic, magical solutions here" She listens to how Matt follows her fly metaphor. She doesn't agree, she just wants to kill the bug forever. Her fake dad was going to leave, anyway. "Alright, alright, I'll give you your shit info, but you better do something because I'm just going to give you as muchinformation as you give me. You have to go? Oh my God, please, tell me is not because there is some dangerous person coming here trying to kill you out of revenge for some fucked up thing you did to them." She stops for a moment. "It's Darling?" She is so annoyed at the kid. "If there wasn't like, proofs or evidence of doppels coming from witches, yeah, suuuure." Santana rolls her eyes to Matt outright lying to the kid. You don't even think you are human, Matt, don't say tricksters are now

Someone whose name starts with O doesn't want to leave yet. "From the life as a trickster, of course! But doppels comes from someone else." The kid laughs at Matt question. "Hahahaha you have no idea, don't you?"

The man in the sunglasses text someone, then throws the phone to the ground and breaks it. "You know it." He says with a smile and he could talk in spanish, but it would be easier to talk on a way only Santana would get. "But no, do you remember Clown and Mirror? Medieval fair, 2014. This is like that time before Nails tried to throw a goat to Doorframe combined with that time Darling and Tibula were betting our lifes on a game of jenga at the aquarium."

Santana hears that totally understanding the gravity of the situation and grabs Matt's arm. "Matt we have to go."

Matt scoffs. "A lot of shit is product of systemic oppression, and it doesn't mean you can't work on it. " He's pretty proud of his idea and his metaphors, alright? Besides, life already seems pretty bleak without adding 'no way to combat self-loathing thoughts instilled on you by systemic racism'. He's not about to add an extra layer of bleakness on purpose. "Maybe there's no magic solution. At least not without using more enchantments."

"I'm almost sure that's not true," he tells the kid. "There's some pretty witchy memories in there. But it's not like that shit's gonna stop you from making up theories like that in your head. So whatever." Jesus, he's like the teenager here now. But he's annoyed. Sure, he has no idea, but do they have to point it out like that??

He goes to continue to argue--he's not even sure about what, but that seems to be what he's doing today--when it seems like things start moving real fast, real suddenly. His head jerks one way, and then the other, and his heart drums in his chest when tension seems to rise out of nowhere and Santana grabs his arm. "Wh--what? Sure. Sure, let's go." Glancing back towards Julio and the kid, he waves half-heartedly. "Nice... to meet you?"

Santana frows. There is has to be a magic solution. Bitch don't say that bullshit but instead she just makes complaining noises about it. She waves goodbye "Die a painful dead." Santana says, with a friendly tone. "I love you too!" his 'dad' answers. Oliver just says bye very enthusiastically.

She brings Matt outside, almost dragging him by the arm until they are out the flat. And then until they are far away from the flat. "Oh man, uuuuuughhhhhhhhhhhhhhh I fucking hate him so much!" She complains, angry. "Sorry I dragged you into this. But..." She calms herself a bit. "But it really helped me. I think."

Matt waves goodbye to everyone in a confused daze as he's pulled away, partly by his own feet and partly by Santana. He's so confused by the circumstances, but he doesn't say anything while Santana complains. He just pats her on the arm while glancing over the direction they'd come from.

His muscles relax when Santana says it had helped her. "Did it? You seemed sort of skeptical about it." His teeth worries his lip for a moment. "I told you before that I would help you with this, and I haven't been doing great at that, but whatever you think of for this shit, I'm in."

#para: all #para: trickstersantana #trickstersantana: all #para: 033 #para: we're gone but we don't know where

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f1chronicle · 3 years ago

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Hello and welcome to F1 News Today with Tillie! Let’s take a look at what’s making news in the world of Formula 1 today… 1) Lando Norris Looks To Put Russian Disappointment In Rearview Mirror 2) Fernando Alonso Returns To Happy Hunting Ground In Turkey 3) Alfa Romeo Hoping For Turkish Delight 4) Pierre Gasly Set To Make up For Lost Russian Opportunities We’re powered by the F1 Chronicle, make sure you visit f1chronicle.com for more news, and subscribe to the F1 Chronicle YouTube channel so you never miss an episode of F1 News Today. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Visit the Grid Talk store ► https://ift.tt/3ljWC2A Subscribe ► https://www.youtube.com/c/Formula1GridTalk Follow ► Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/F1ChronicleOfficial/ Twitter – https://twitter.com/F1Chronicle Tumblr – https://f1chronicle.tumblr.com/ Artwork ► Avatar by Chereverie Twitter: @mewdokas Tumblr: chereverie Instagram: chereverie.art ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Transcription ► Hello and welcome to F1 News Today with Tillie! Right, let’s take a look at what’s making news in the world of Formula 1 today… I know I’ve spoken a lot about Lando lately, but well, it’s my podcast and I’ll cry if I want to… After two weeks to stew on his Russian disappointment, Lando Norris is set to put that weekend in his rearview mirror and use it as motivation as the F1 paddock heads to Turkey this weekend. Speaking before the weekend, Norris said… “I’m looking forward to getting back to the track after a disappointing end to the last grand prix! “Since then I’ve been spending a lot of time in the simulator, learning from the experience in Russia, and I’m ready to go again... “The Turkish circuit is a real driver’s track and I’m glad we’re heading back there again after an exciting race last year! “The fans out there are really passionate too, so it’ll be great to see them all again! “As always, we’ll be working hard to keep up the fight in both Championships... “We know how important every race between now and the end of the season is, so we’ll be pushing hard to score as many points as possible!" That’s my boy, we believe in you Lando! Fernando Alonso could be forgiven for getting all nostalgic this weekend as he returns to Turkey, the scene of his famous 2006 battle with 7-Time World Champion Michael Schumacher... Although Schumacher’s Ferrari teammate Felipe Massa took the win, all eyes were on the battle for second, as Alonso just managed to hold off Schumacher in a pivotal moment in their battle for the 2006 World Championship! Speaking about his return to Turkey, Alonso said… “I have some nice memories of the Turkish Grand Prix! “It’s a circuit with a good mix of high-speed corners and overtaking opportunities... “Turn 8 is a unique challenge and I look forward to tackling this corner in a modern-day Formula 1 car! “I had a fun battle with Michael Schumacher there in 2006! “He was right behind my gearbox exiting the final corner on the last lap... “That was just one of a number of on track battles we had that season... “We’ve had some good races this year and importantly we’ve been consistent! “We need to keep up this consistency and score more points for the team to finish the season on a high! After scoring points in Russia. Alfa Romeo are hoping for a Turkish Delight this weekend! Yes, I went there, deal with it… Ahead of the weekend team boss Frédéric Vasseur said… “Scoring points in Russia was a big confidence boost, finally bringing home a reward for all the hard work of the team! “We were able to make the most of the circumstances in the closing laps of the race... ‘The conditions were difficult, but we achieved a good result! ‘Now we have to keep up this level of performance, ready to make the most of the chances we may get! ‘Last year we did really well in qualifying in Istanbul, that will be a basis on which to build as we return to Turkey aiming to have another positive race...” Can they bring home the chocolates? Boom tish, oh yeah baby, I’ll be here all week… That’s it for today, I’ll be back tomorrow with more news ahead of the Turkish Grand Prix... We’re powered by the F1 Chronicle! Make sure you visit f1chronicle dot com for more news... and subscribe to the F1 Chronicle YouTube channel so you never miss an episode of F1 News Today! See you tomorrow for the next update! #F1NewsToday #F1News #Formula1Podcast by Formula 1 Grid Talk

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brokeandjetlagged · 7 years ago

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“So What Can’t I Do?” Mingyu/Reader

I’m Finally back to writing guys!!! please enjoy this fic, i worked pretty hard on it and i love how a lot of it turned out :-)

rated: T

(I also cross-posted it on ao3, but it’s mine, thru and thru)

Even if we’re not together, just like always / Our smile flowers bloom / I’ll be the spring to your smile. Studying abroad is hard enough without Joshua being a smart ass, Jeonghan being a dick, and Mingyu being...Mingyu.

Hello, hello! This is my first fic to post here. i studied abroad in s. korea and received a mingyu request on tumblr right before i left, so once I got back i wrote this as soon as i could. i hope you enjoy it!

"Josh," you force past your chattering teeth. "You failed to mention that Korea was a fucking icebox ."

Joshua screws his mouth into a frown, shooting a look at you. He'd be more intimidating if he weren't bundled up to his ears, a wool scarf wound so tight around his throat, he might as well be wearing a neck brace.

"I haven't been to Korea during the winter since I was, like, six," he says bitterly.

"And here I thought you'd be my expert guide." You shake your head. "That exchange students' chatroom should do more thorough background checks."

Joshua rolls his eyes, scuffs his boot on the lip of the curb while you wait for the crosswalk to change. "Maybe they should screen out the dumbasses that can't be bothered to download a weather app, too."

"Ouch," you clutch at your chest in mock hurt. You barely feel it through the coat, jacket, and two sweaters you're wearing. "I looked at the weather. Doesn't mean I'm any more prepared for being dumped in a frozen wasteland ."

Joshua raises his eyebrows, almost daring you to look around the street you're crossing (at the Samsung store and the GS25, and then the three cafes, four restaurants, and then another GS25). "Wasteland. Right."

"Where's this place again?" You drop the whiney tint to your words. You'd left the comfort of your room almost an hour ago, and as much as you'd liked the change of scenery from Sinchon to Daehak, you're itching to get into an enclosed space. Preferably heated, and most definitely serving coffee.

Joshua fishes his phone out of his coat pocket, swiping into his maps with fumbling fingers. "It's coming up right around the corner," he says, his eyes crinkling adorably.

"You must be excited," you say, trying to keep the knowing grin buried into the fabric of your scarf. Excited is a bit of an understatement. Joshua hasn't stopped mentioning getting together with his childhood friends that are also studying in Seoul since the very first roulette style chat that had introduced you to each other on Study Korea! dot com almost a year ago.

"I still can't believe Jeonghan stayed in Korea," Joshua gushes, adding a bounce to his step that he probably isn't even aware of. "He got accepted into UCLA, for Christ's sake. I didn't get accepted into UCLA."

You shove his shoulder, careful to not send him careening into a pile of trash that hasn’t yet been picked up from the night before. (The streets here are much nicer in this part of Seoul, south of the river. But still, the cramped streets surrounding universities are...well, universal, and there’s trash and the sidewalk is full of cracks and crowded with people. You adore it.)

"Are you jealous or in love?" you say teasingly.

"Shut up," Joshua says around his laugh. His head jerks up to read the Hangul on the signs above you. It takes a half a second longer than him, but you make out the name of the cafe easily enough and let out a little happy squeal.

Joshua holds the door for you, and you eagerly stomp up the stairs to make it to the main level. It's crowded with students at this time of day, and you falter without Joshua immediately at your side. You haven’t been here long, and it's hard to fight off the newness of everything when you're not with someone you know. A sense that this isn't home, that it's different, creeps along your body.

"There they are," comes Joshua's voice from beside you, shaky and nervous all of a sudden. It's just as hard for him, you have to remind yourself. Joshua is Korean, sure, but he hasn’t lived here in years . The city isn’t like a second skin he can slip on over his current one. And now he's stuck somewhere in between Korean and American. The worry is etched clear onto his face.

You smile and put your hand on Joshua's, hoping to add any kind of comfort you can.

"You're right," Joshua says, even though you didn't actually say anything. He's eyeing a table in the back like he can obliterate it with his gaze alone. "It'll be fine."

"That's my boy." Joshua smiles again at you before tugging at his scarf and starting to stride towards the table. You settle in behind him, content with just watching for now, with letting him take this plunge first.

There are a few girls, and more than a few boys all crowded into the long booth. They're talking excitedly, books and plates and cups scattered across the table. And even though the rapid-fire Korean intimidates you (you can't keep up with a stream like that, not even in your wildest dreams), you’ve given yourself enough pep talks that the discomfort doesn’t make you want to bolt for the exit. One boy especially perking up when he catches sight of Joshua and you approaching.

" Jisoo ," he screeches, and he's shoving two or three people out of the way so he can stand. He's has to be Jeonghan, the long hair swept back into a ponytail, the dimples and the sharp jaw. ( "He's so graceful," Josh's voice had crackled over Skype. "Even when we were kids, no one could look anywhere other than Jeonghan.")

Joshua pulls him into a hug, much to the amusement of their audience, and they thump each other on the back the way that guys do, before Jeonghan turns, his arm still around Josh's shoulders. "This is Jisoo, or Josh. We went to the same elementary school before he moved to the states. Our very own Cali Boy~"

"Shut up," Joshua says, shaking off Jeonghan's arm, a light dusting of red high on his cheeks.

The whole group starts to shift over, Jeonghan pulling Joshua down into an empty space. You swallow dryly, your throat clicking as you stand there, not sure if you should do more to announce your presence, or count this as an 'L' and slink away to order a coffee and pretend you don't exist. (A plant is right in front of that table by the bathroom. Zero visibility. Perfect.)

"Oh, hey," Joshua stands up again, tugging at your hand so that you step into the table's orbit. Everyone quiets as they look at you. A hunk of cake falls out of one guy's mouth but he doesn't seem to notice. "This is my friend. We're both on exchange at the same university."

It's funny. You can hear the bustle of the cafe around you, but like it's through a thick sheet of plastic, muffled and distant. It's almost like no one blinks; then this one guy perks up, his eyes sparkly with mirth as he says in loud, stilted English, "Hello! Nice to meet you!" (It prompts a bit of shoving from the girls sitting on either side of him.)

You flinch away from the loud words, hating the hot embarrassment that floods your throat, closes it. You know the guy doesn’t mean to be anything but welcoming, but it’s still a little jarring. During orientation, English had been a saving grace, something to cling to as the ropes for getting around were explained, but it feels isolating now. The division it creates between you and the others as clear and distinct as the way the Han splits Seoul right in half.

"She speaks Korean," Joshua reprimands the other boy softly. You almost want to deny him. Your Korean always seems to fall flat with natives. He turns to you now, still speaking Korean, but a little slower than he might normally. "Come on, sit down."

You nod shakily, and settle down next to Joshua, thankful that you aren't boxed in on all sides. The conversation picks up again, slowly, and the girls at the table are super nice, speaking to you one at a time so that you don't get too overwhelmed. (Nayoung and Yebin and Seulgi. Seulgi is the nicest, you think; she speaks with the most slowness, the most understanding. “ I have a girlfriend from Canada, her Korean was shit when she first got here.” )

The boys aren't all that bad either, after all. "This is Jihoon." He points to a shorter boy next to Seulgi, and then there's Soonyoung and Seokmin, the loud boy from earlier. They all go to a private performing arts college down the road. ("Idol wannabes," Joshua whispers under his breath; you swallow the snort that bubbles up your throat.) The others, Seungcheol and Mingyu, go to Seoul National with Jeonghan. Mingyu still has cake crumbs dusting his lips.

"I'm getting a coffee," you say, just loudly enough for Joshua and Jeonghan to hear.

"That's a good idea," Jeonghan mutters, and he straightens up, waving at Mingyu. He fishes a credit card from his back pocket and flicks it down the table to him. "Hey, maknae! Go get hyung another americano."

"You've already had, like, four," Seungcheol laughs, but he's already moving to let Mingyu pass by him.

"Want me to come?" Joshua asks, his voice low. You shake your head, taking the opportunity to unwrap yourself from your two outer layers of clothes.

“I'll be okay, keep catching up with your long lost sweetheart." You get up to dodge the swat Joshua aims at your shoulder, Mingyu pausing when you nearly knock into him.

"Sorry," you say, rushed, in English. "Wasn't paying attention," you add quietly, switching back to Korean.

"It's fine," he says, giving a small gesture for you to go ahead. The wait for the counter is short, but it feels longer with the added stress of Mingyu hanging by your shoulder. You see him try to open his mouth a few times--obviously a talkative person--but he never seems to force the words out.

One quiet vanilla latte , please later, Mingyu leans against the counter, his fingers hooked into his belt loops. It’s more trouble than it’s worth to wrestle back to the table and then repeat the process when the buzzer goes off, so you wait with him.

“Do you like Korea?” He says after a moment. He says it so fast that you could probably ignore that he spoke at all, write it off as the whir of the coffee machines or the bustle of the staff in front of you.

“Uh, yeah,” you say. This part is the easiest. Small talk is where you live. “It’s a lot different than what I’m used to.”

Mingyu smiles softly at that. “Different is good?”

“Different is good.” You lick your lips, hesitating a bit before saying, “If you don’t try new things, you don’t grow, right?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu says. “I don’t know that I’d fly halfway across the globe to grow a little, though.”

“I’m brave, I guess,” you say. The laugh that you color the words with is hopefully more self-assured than it sounds in your ears. Brave isn’t exactly what you would call it.

Mingyu’s eyes crinkle with his smile. “Way brave,” he asserts. “I went to the States when I was fourteen for vacation. I was only there for a week and couldn’t stand it.”

“Where’d you go?” The barista slides a few iced drinks forward, and the buzzer goes off in your hand.

“San Jose,” Mingyu says, grabbing his load off the counter.

“San Jose sucks.” You’ve never been to San Jose.

Mingyu nods deeply, like this is the most right thing you could possibly say in this situation.

“Seoul is way better.” He takes a sip of vanilla latte as you make your way back to the table. “Or--have you been outside of Seoul yet?”

“Haven’t had a lot of time with classes starting up, but I want to.”

The table has gotten much quieter as you make your approach, most everyone having gotten back to studying. Mingyu waves off Seungcheol’s attempt to stand up and let him in. Seungcheol’s expression quirks a bit, but he just passes on Jeonghan’s drink and grabs his textbook back. Mingyu settles into the booth across from you.

“You should go to Anyang. It’s right outside of Seoul, but you get a totally different feel,” he says earnestly.

“Yeah and that feeling is being slowly crushed by boredom,” Jihoon says from a few spots down. Seokmin snickers.

“Anyang is not boring,” Mingyu pouts. “It’s my hometown.”

“All the more reason to never visit,” Jeonghan says. He looks like he’ll tack on another insult, but then his eyes narrow at Mingyu and the straw he’s got his lips pursed around. “Did you use my card to buy your own drink again ?”

Mingyu freezes, kind of like a cartoon, and then glances at you and smiles. “It was nice to meet you,” he says pleasantly as he jumps up and starts throwing notebooks into his backpack.

Jeonghan screeches something about refusing to fund a caffeine habit that is not his own as he tries to climb over Joshua and get to Mingyu. But Mingyu is already gone, hustling through the maze of tables towards the doors, and you laugh along with everyone else as Jeonghan continues to glare daggers at the spot Mingyu hastily vacated.

“He was nice,” you say.

“He’s a monster ,” Jeonghan seethes.

“I’m sure,” Seulgi assures Jeonghan, but she shoots you a wink. And any lingering discomfort melts away from your chest. You’ll be just fine.

{*}{*}{*}

“You’re screwed,” Joshua deadpans from across the room.

“I don’t remember asking you,” you say from facedown on the bed. You can’t see him, but you’re eighty percent sure that Josh hasn’t looked up from his stupid graphic novel during this crisis of yours.

“You didn’t have to. It’s in my nature to make obvious comments,” Joshua quips. “If you can’t handle going out for coffee with the girls, I’m not sure how you’re going to function socially here.”

You wish beds here were softer, so you could imagine sinking deep into a literal pit of despair. You groan into the cheap quilt.

“You make a good point,” Joshua goes on, as if you’d actually said something. “They could just be inviting you out to make fun of you or embarrass you in public. But they’re too nice for that.” He pauses. “Also, you’re not the star of a B-rate Korean drama so I wouldn’t worry if I were you.”

You turn your head to glare at him through the curtain of your hair. “You’re right. If this were a B-rate Korean drama, I’d have a useless nerdy friend who was just there to be an annoying shit.”

Joshua puts a hand to his chest. “You’re words would wound me if I knew you weren’t going through a challenging character-arc.”

“Shut the fuck up.” But you drag yourself up and start looking for your bag and a fresh pair of socks. “Don’t you have somewhere to be tonight?”

Joshua looks around your little single room, his eyebrows raised. “Only spending time with my dearest friend in the whole world--” the sentimental timber of his voice breaks around a yawn. “Yeah, but Jeonghan hasn’t texted me back about where we’re meeting. So, here I will remain.”

“No,” you say, wrapping a scarf around your neck. “I’m leaving, and so are you.”

Joshua clutches his book to his chest, his eyes big. “Come on, my roommate sucks . Don’t make me go back there. I won’t even look in your underwear drawer for that long.”

He yelps when you yank him up by his collar. “ Out. ”

“Fine,” he mutters as you both slip your shoes on in the cramped entryway before the hall. “I’m telling the guys what a bitch you are. Maybe then they’ll stop asking me to set you up with literally all of them.”

“Ha ha.”

“I’m serious,” Joshua pouts as you lock the door behind you. “It’s annoying. I shouldn’t have befriended a girl before coming here.” He looks off into the distance. “Mistake number one.”

“Mistake number one,” you say, smacking him on the shoulder. “Was befriending a smart, sexy, irresistible girl. Get it straight. We’ve talked about this one.”

Joshua’s eyes go unfocused again. “Kill me,” he whispers to the hallway’s wood paneling.

“Have fun with your awesome roommate,” you say brightly as you get close to the elevator. Joshua’s dorm is on the opposite end of the floor, and he waves his hand over his head as he continues on his way.

“You’re horrible and I hate you,” he responds in the same bright tone. And he trudges onward to maybe catch his roommate talking to the super rare anime statuette he has, or making love to a sock. Weirdly enough, those are the only two off-beat things he does, but he does them--according to Joshua--literally all the time.

“Alright,” you say to yourself, stepping onto the elevator. “Let’s do this thing.”

{*}{*}{*}

Joshua finally gets a text back a few minutes later. And he nearly throws himself into his coat and shoes without so much as a backwards glance at his roommate.

Seungcheol and Jeonghan meet him at a weird red sculpture in the middle of his neighborhood fifteen minutes later, and Joshua thanks whatever gods are listening for the break in arctic temperatures when his teeth don’t chatter around his greeting. There isn’t three minutes between the high-fives and Jeonghan leading them into a seedy looking restaurant, Seungcheol shaking Josh’s shoulders and singing under his breath.

“You haven’t had makoli yet, Jisoo?” Jeonghan asks while he flips through the menu.

“Only in L.A.,” Josh admits.

“Nothing beats the stuff in the homeland though,” Seungcheol says, winking. He gives off a similar vibe to overconfident jocks back home, the kind who’s so sure that everyone will fall at their feet. But Seungcheol knocks his arm against Joshua’s in the booth good-naturedly and Joshua decides that he’s probably a step or two above those types that would shove him against the lockers in gym.

They get two bottles of liquor to start and a simmering pot of soup to warm them up.

“So, Jisoo,” Jeonghan says, pouring out everyone’s first cup. “Been up to visit your grandma?”

He nods. “Yeah, I went last weekend. Took my friend with me.”

“I still go to her samgyupsal place all the time during breaks,” Jeonghan says, his tongue sticking out when he pokes at a floating blob of fish in the stew. “No on in Seoul can get the side dishes right like she can.” He glares at the little plates of radish on the table.

“That friend,” Seungcheol pipes up, swirling his cup. “Just a friend?”

“She’s too much of a pain in my ass for anything romantic to be going on,” Joshua says, sighing internally as he feels the conversation heading toward a familiar direction.

“Fair enough,” Seungcheol laughs, raising his cup. They all clink together and take long pulls. “One of our friends might be thinking of asking her out.”

“ Just one?” Joshua laughs. Jeonghan motions for Joshua to pour him another cup, which he does. “Everyone’s been hounding about her for a while.”

Seungcheol waves away the notion. “Everyone’s just being assholes because they can all tell Mingyu has a crush on her.”

“Mingyu…” Joshua racks his head for a moment. Ah, Mingyu. Tall, dark, almost enviably handsome. Joshua hasn’t spoken a lot with him, but he had just assumed it was because he got all shy and demure around the foreigners in the group and...oh. Maybe he’s just shy and demure around girls he wants. “Really?”

“I know,” Jeonghan says, making a face as he swallows the remains of his cup. “He’s never had sense about girls.”

Joshua feels heat gather in his cheeks. Okay, maybe she can be annoying sometimes, and maybe he’s said some crass things about her while he was drunk, but no one else can talk about his friend like that--

Seungcheol seems to sense Joshua’s displeasure before he can figure out how to voice it, he throws a balled up tissue at Jeonghan. “Why’d you have to phrase it like that?” He turns to Joshua, his eyes apologetic. “Jeonghan’s counted as an asshole too, remember. He just means...it’s hard. Mingyu is like a puppy.” Mingyu’s towering physique flashes through Joshua’s mind’s eye and he frowns. “He gets attached real easy.”

That’s more material to frown about, but Joshua figures unless Mingyu actually does something about his little crush, he shouldn’t have to worry about it too much.

“I hope you’re not attached to your livers,” Joshua says, eager to change the subject. “America taught me how to drink pretty well.”

“Oh,” Jeonghan crows, a glint in his eye. “Our Korean pride is on the line.” He juts his jaw over to Seungcheol, smiling. “Let’s do this.”

{*}{*}{*}

“I can’t do this,” you say to Yebin. She can’t be more than a high school student, but she seems close with Nayoung and is thus able to tag along and make your life miserable.

Yebin throws back another soju shot like it’s water. “Come on. You’ve barely had two bottles.”

“You’re a,” the Korean word fails you with this much alcohol in your system. “Monster,” you finally say in English.

“Aw,” Seulgi coos. She’s not much better off than you. “Yebin. You broke her.”

“No,” you plant your hands on the table, not so much to stand up, but to feel grounded to something. The world tilts for a moment. “Pretty sure the soju did that.”

“It’s cute,” Nayoung says, leaning against you. “She’s so cute.”

“You’re cute too,” you drawl. Her hair is soft and silky against your throat.

“Come on guys,” Seulgi says, swatting at you. “We aren��t in Hongdae right now.”

You blink stupidly a few times. “Lesbians,” you say, somewhat delayed.

“Right,” Yebin says, cracking up against Seulgi’s side. “Can’t give all these nice boys the wrong impression.”

“Who says it’s wrong?” You wink, throwing your arm around Nayoung. She shrieks with laughter and pushes you away, both of you teetering dangerously on your stools before righting yourselves.

“I already have a girlfriend,” Nayoung tips her head back importantly, she’s slurring and barely heard over the loud rush of other customers laughing and drinking.

Seulgi rolls her eyes. “You flirting endlessly with Sooyoung does not make her your girlfriend.”

“She’s so protective,” Nayoung drunkenly whispers into your ear. “She’s got nothing on Joohyun. That girl is like a tiger. But don’t worry.” She narrows her eyes at Seulgi over the table. “Sooyoung will be mine.”

There are a few ways you envisioned this initial coffee date would play out. And ending up going to karaoke and drinking well past…well. You try to check the time on your phone but the numbers are swimming too much. It’s not an unwelcome derailment of your plans, by far.

“You guys are fun,” you say out loud. “Fun girls. I was worried. That...I don’t know. I’m glad you guys are my friends. Are we friends?”

There must be something very kicked-puppy about your look at the moment, because all three of them crowd in, laughing and pinching you to make you giggle and squirm. “Of course you’re our friend,” Seulgi says. She pours everyone another shot. “Silly girl.”

{*}{*}{*}

One drunken episode with Nayoung and the others starts to become a weekly occurrence. Well, maybe not the getting shitfaced part. Sometimes you really do just go to cafes and gab about boys or whatever girl Nayoung or Yebin are chasing at the moment. Sometimes Seokmin or Jihoon will tag along.

This time though, Mingyu comes in tow with Seulgi, which is a little surprising. You haven’t seen Mingyu outside of the big group meetings before. Some part of your brain had kind of just assumed that he was attached at the hip to Seungcheol or Wonwoo, another one of Jeonghan’s many friends. But it’s nice to see him again. You remember how kind he had seemed the first time you met him.

“Hi! How’ve you been?” He says brightly. He was already smiling when he walked up, but it seems to it get...bigger? Like he doesn’t have a big enough face for the smile he wants to give. You could probably count all of his teeth is you had the time to do it.

After you place your coffee order, Seulgi fiddles with her bag instead of participating in the small talk that Mingyu starts up, which is unusual, but nothing that raises any red flags. The stories that Mingyu is telling take up too much of your focus for you to be concerned with much else, anyway. Mingyu seems to be the type of person that can spin anything into a happy, funny occurrence. He saw his ancient Biochem professor in the mall yesterday, and currently has at least nine theories as what he was buying (his top guess: lingerie for his mistress).

“But not, like, sexy lingerie, you know?” Mingyu says. The word ‘lingerie’ looks weird coming out of his mouth as he smiles around his straw. He has one slightly longer canine, and it flashes when he smiles. Which, is to say, constantly. “I don’t think Professor Oh would know sexy if it bit him in the ass.”

You blink at him, a little weirded out that a strange warmth of affection is spreading through your abdomen. Is it normal to be endeared to someone when your first full-length conversation is about the kind of underwear his old teachers prefer?

“He doesn’t deserve to have a mistress if he can’t even buy her nice things,” you say.

“That’s what I’m saying ,” Mingyu says, leaning back in his chair like you’ve solved a murder.

“Oh no ,” Seulgi’s voice cuts into the air like a chainsaw, loud and unexpected, making you jump a little. Seulgi doesn’t notice though, looking at her phone with a crease between her eyebrows. “My lab partner’s computer got a bug. I have to go meet him to get notes for our project.”

“Oh,” Mingyu’s whole body deflates a little, like it’s his problem to bear. “I’m sorry. Will your project be okay?” Seulgi makes a noise in the back of her throat instead of answering.

You shift in your seat, thinking dismally that your coffee has only just come. “Do you want me to come with--”

“ No. ” Seulgi stops shifting her bag onto her shoulder. “No. It’s near my house anyways. You should stay with--um, yeah. Just stay. No big deal.”

“...Okay.” You give her an odd look, but take a sip of your coffee and decide to let it go this time. She’s been acting strange since you got here. She must be really stressed about this project.

“So.” Mingyu fiddles with his straw wrapper for a second, Seulgi’s departure like a needle scratch to a record. He grapples to find another rhythm to latch onto. “Have you seen any Korean movies?”

“Nothing recent,” you say. “Subtitles take a while to come out.”

“Oh,” Mingyu nods deeply, like the motion does something to make the information solidify in his head. “Well, there’s this art house that does that with Korean films really fast. A lot of foreign English teachers live in my neighborhood.”

“In Anyang?” You say, a smile playing at the corner of your mouth with the way he brightens.

“You remembered,” he pretends to gush, fanning himself. “I’m touched. But no, near Sindorim. I have a one room. My grandma left me a lot of money for my university fees.”

You nod. Nearly everyone else you know from around Seoul lives with their parents. “Cool.”

“So, we should go.” Mingyu says, leaning forward a little. “It’d be so cool. And next time we can go to an American movie with Korean subtitles!”

“You should print us out a schedule.”

“I know you’re kidding, but I totally would.” Mingyu stands up abruptly. “Let’s go.”

“What-- Now? ” You reel back in your seat for a bit, giving him a look, up and down.

“Yeah?” He throws his coat, drawing eyes from a few girls (he’s wearing pants that cling to his legs, and they’re whispering behind their hands and shooting curious looks at you). “Do you not want to? We totally don’t have to.” And Mingyu’s expression wipes clear of all enthusiasm, his eyes going big and round and questioning as he sits down again. The contrast is a little jarring, but you realize he’s just listening for a yes or no before he proceeds, not rushing to convince you of something you don’t want to do. (It figures you’d have to travel the globe before you came across a boy that was genuine.)

“You really want to?” you say hesitantly. “With me?”

“Yeah!” Mingyu says, his legs bouncing. “I mean, it’s Saturday. Unless you have something else you have to do later.”

“No,” you trail off. You’re just surprised that Mingyu doesn’t have anything planned for later. He’s the kind of handsome-cute-happy combination that reminds you of people back home that were always swimming in dates. But, if he’s offering… “Let’s go, then.”

{*}{*}{*}

Mingyu is weird. He’s weird in that sort of too-good-to-be-true way. You catch yourself watching him out of the corner of your eye for most of the night to see if he’ll slip up, like maybe pull out a pack of cigarettes or kick a dog.

He doesn’t though. But you realize throughout the night that Mingyu isn’t perfect, either. He chews his popcorn with his mouth open (obnoxious), he has this...laugh (annoying), and he admits that he prefers pizza cold (blasphemous).

The next time the two of you hang out, at a cafe before Seungcheol and Joshua get out of class for the day, you find out that he has a retainer, but refuses to wear it (lazy). You learn a week later that once he wore the same football jersey to practice for a week straight (gross). He once told a girl he was moving to Guatemala when he was twelve, rather than outright reject her confession.

“What did you do when she realized you hadn’t moved?”

“She never found out,” Mingyu says, looking both ashamed and like he’s trying to hold back a laugh. “I hid in closets whenever I saw her coming until we graduated middle school.”

“You kept up a lie for two years because you were scared of a girl?”

“She tried to kiss me when she confessed!” Mingyu defends himself. “My first kiss. No way was I gonna waste it on Min Jinhee.”

“That predator,” you say sullenly, fighting to keep a straight face as Mingyu whines, shaking his shoulders. “Who did you actually waste your first kiss on?”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Mingyu,” you say softly. He peeks up through his lashes, still pouting, still making your stomach twist and burn in a way that shouldn’t be enjoyable. “Do you even know where Guatemala is on a map?”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it !”

{*}{*}{*}

Someone to the left of you in Korean class fucks up the verb exception for the fourth time when your phone vibrates against your thigh. You’ll be bored for a while, because Teacher Choi gets a certain kind of long winded when something just isn’t sticking, so you open up your messenger app as discreetly as possible.

Pepsi Cola: soonyoung is having a showcase tmrw night wanna go?

You: we have to go all the way across the river? ㅜㅜ

Pepsi Cola: unless you kno another way to get there

You: ur paying for the taxi if we miss the last trains

Pepsi Cola: our friends are drunk heathens of course we’re going to miss the last train

Pepsi Cola: we’re splitting it and that’s final.

You: fine

“Perhaps,” Professor Choi’s voice is suddenly very loud and very directed at you. You peek up sheepishly. “If you have time to talk to your friends, you’ve mastered all the indirect speech exceptions.”

“Well…” you crack your best, butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth smile. “You said mastered. But I didn’t say that.”

Professor Choi laughs at that, but still assigns you extra worksheets at the end of class.

{*}{*}{*}

Jeonghan said that the idol wannabe squad went to a performing arts college, but he didn’t mention it was a K-Arts rival school. The auditorium that you walk into Thursday night probably cost the same as the new football stadium at your home campus. There are high, traditionally vaulted ceilings, but sleek silver patterns cutting along the walls and traveling the length of the floor. The chairs look just as modern but are actually a deep grey velvet. You nearly sink through one as you settle in between Joshua and Mingyu.

“Excited?” Mingyu whispers. It’s almost hard to hear him, one hushed whisper among a thousand other hushed-whispering voices.

“Of course. I love,” you glance down at the pamphlet Seokmin had thrust into your hands, “traditional fusion dancing.” You frown, the Konglish title blocky as is falls off your tongue. “What the fuck is this?”

“Death,” Jeonghan says forebodingly. His penchant for dramatics is really quite something: he’s climbed almost into Joshua’s lap to get close enough to but into your conversation, his face serene while Josh is blushing up a storm and trying unsuccessfully to wiggle him off.

“Death,” you repeat blandly.

“Twenty-five dance majors mixing traditional Korean elements with...literally anything. Jazz, hip-hop, salsa. I heard Soonyoung even say that one girl is planning to fuse pansori with a Line Dance.”

You feel yourself wince at that, and you turn back to Mingyu. “This sounds like it could go very, very badly.”

The worry you feel doesn’t seem to register to him. Mingyu’s lips spread into a simple grin. “But dancing is fun! And Soonyoung is a genius. His will be the best.” He states it as a fact.

“You’re a good friend,” you mutter as the house lights start to dim. Mingyu hums, and you ignore how you can nearly feel the vibration of it from him sitting so close.

“No,” he shakes his head, but even in the scarce lighting, you can see the white flash of his smile. “I really just have amazing friends.”

What did we do to get a friend like Kim Mingyu , you wonder, shaking your head as lights go up on stage, and the show begins. What do I have to do to keep him?

{*}{*}{*}

So, it wasn’t necessarily death (although you could have really gone without seeing that line dance performance). Soonyoung’s performance was, as promised, the best. Or, the most interesting in a series of really weird, ‘creative’ sequences.

“It was a metaphor for how traditional Korean life has a tendency to weave into modern life,” Soonyoung is explaining, animatedly and a little more drunkenly than normal. The group was quick to move to the second round after a celebratory barbecue outing, and now the somaek is flowing and everyone is laughing. Soonyoung is practically glowing under the praise from everyone, and you feel a pang for doubting him for even a second.

“He’s so good.” Josh is bright red and leaning on you heavily. “Like, did you see how he moved ? Like with his feet?”

“Yeah,” you say, patting his head absently. Seulgi looks at the pair of you and giggles before going back to flirting with Seungcheol. “His feet are so cool.”

“The coolest ,” Joshua insists. He sways away from you, and blinks up earnestly. “Like, do you know what I would give to move like that? I’d give up my firstborn.”

His dedication is admirable, but Joshua is so uncoordinated that his firstborn would probably only get him the ability to walk down a particularly banged-up sidewalk completely intact.

“You ready to go home?” you ask. You don’t necessarily want to head out, not when this Chinese guy that came with Jihoon and Soonyoung is chugging soju straight from the bottle like it’s nothing over in the corner. The end result is something you’d rather witness firsthand than hear through text. But if Josh The Lightweight needs to be tucked in, it is your duty.

“Yeah,” Joshua says, and he opens his arms, like a child waiting to be picked up by their parents. “Hold me.”

“Um,” you lean back a little, hoping that someone will swoop in out of nowhere and just--

“I’ll get him,” someone says from the side. And you turn, expecting to see Jeonghan at the ready, but it surprises you when Seungcheol, who’s been flirting with literally all of the girls in the group tonight, starts wrapping one of Joshua’s arms around the breadth of his shoulders, and hoists him out of his seat.

“Are you sure?” You halfway stand, a protective flare rising as you see Joshua cuddling into Seungcheol’s side. Seungcheol doesn’t seem to mind, but he’s a relative stranger, and Joshua...Joshua has been alright, so far in Korea. But he’s drunk and might cling too hard or say something off , and you don’t want him to ruin anything he’s set himself up with here. He doesn’t deserve that.

“Of course. I live like, four blocks from here. I’ll send him back to the dorms once he’s functioning,” Seungcheol says with a wink.

Your gut is still unsettled, but you nod slowly. “Tell him to text me when he wakes up.”

Seungcheol gives you a little salute, and starts maneuvering Joshua towards the exit.

You try to shake away the unease and turn back into the main conversation that happening on the other side of the table. It seems like it’s just a drinking game that’s dissolved into a screaming match.

Mingyu is next to you, so you lean a little closer to him, and it makes him flinch and then laugh as he turns his head. His eyes are bright as he laughs. “Oh it’s you!”

“It’s me,” you stick out your tongue at him. “What’s going on?” The flow of Korean is too fast and too loud, crashing against your ears like cymbals.

Mingyu’s eyes go dull as he focuses on what everyone is saying for a moment. “Seokmin is accusing Jihoon of cheating at bangchib and I’m pretty sure Nayoung just said that Eubin is crying in the ladies.”

“Got it.” You take another swig of your evil mixture of beer. “Are you drunk?”

Mingyu tilts his head a bit. “Yeah. Not too bad though. Watch this,” and he carefully crosses his eyes and taps his nose. “See?”

“You’re the picture of sobriety.”

“I know!” Mingyu says. “But I think all they’re going to do is get like, royally fucked up at this point. Do you wanna see if anyone wants to go to an arcade or something?”

As it turns out, Wonwoo and his girlfriend are just as desperate to leave the swelling throng of your friends. You leave a crumbled fifty-thousand won note in Soonyoung’s bag, just in case they need it.

“I feel so bad for the owner,” Wonwoo snorts, looking back without much pity at all. “They’re going to be a nightmare to kick out.”

“We should have stayed,” his girlfriend chides. “Remember that time you--”

“Nope.” Wonwoo immediately flushes a dark red, looking straight ahead like he can will the arcade closer with his mind. “We don’t talk about that.”

She rolls her eyes, turning to you and switching to English. “Before we started dating, he recorded a drunk public confession in the street and got hit by a car.”

Wonwoo makes a twisted, almost animal-like sound of agony. “Stop. Please.”

“A car? ” You repeat, just to be sure what she said wasn’t distorted by the groans of indignation that are coming from Wonwoo’s direction.

“Tapped, more like,” she amends. “But yeah, basically. Like, when you see the video, he lets out the cutest little yelp and then he’s hitting the pavement like a rock. I was hooked.”

Wonwoo has given up whining, and is determinedly looking forward, no emotion at all on his face.

His girlfriend leans over and nudges you. “Do you want to know what he was doing for the confession?”

“More than anything,” you whisper, thinking that this is the most embarrassed you’ve ever seen Wonwoo. Maybe the most you’ve embarrassed you’ve seen a boy, period.

“He danced to--”

“No,” Wonwoo interjects, pulling her forward, by the arm. “No more English for you. Not allowed.”

His girlfriend laughs, but complies, letting him drag her forward a few steps so she can pet at his head, managing to be both apologetic and teasing. Wonwoo’s ears are still red, but he seems to get over it quickly, and leans into her touch easily.

“They’re good together,” you say, glancing over at Mingyu. He startles, like he hadn’t been paying attention to the entire exchange.

“Oh, them? They’re the best.”

“I don’t want to be rude but...how’d they meet?”

Mingyu smiles softly, warmth in his eyes that seems like it’d be perfect to fight off the remaining early April chill. “No, it’s okay. They get that a lot, being...you know. She did a summer internship here, and Wonwoo was taking summer classes to catch up because of his service. And, well, they can tell it better than I can.” He shifts, tugging at his scarf. “But, long story short they didn’t let it end once she went back to the States. She came back to teach English, just to see if it could work.” He seems to falter on what to say next; he shrugs lamely. “So far it has.”

“That’s so sweet,” you say, eyes dropping to the way Wonwoo has snaked an arm around her waist.

“Yeah, gives the rest of us hope.”

You nudge him playfully in the side. “What? That you can all bag a foreign girl?”

Mingyu laughs, bright and loud enough that Wonwoo turns back to scowl at him. “No. No, just that we can find something that strong. One day.”

Strong enough to last years. Strong enough to cross oceans. A pull that you can’t ignore. It sounds like something out of a cheesy romance movie or one of those outlandish YA books.

You nod at Mingyu. There’s a certain kind of idealism in thinking that way, one that you’re not sure you could ever pull off. But, looking at them, and looking back to Mingyu--at his cold-flushed cheeks and the way that he’ll start humming every idol group song that plays from store speakers--you can see the appeal. \

{*}{*}{*}

The next afternoon, Joshua looks like a zombie suffering from PTSD, his eyes hollow and shoulders twitching every time a worker brushes past your table at a little cafe down the street from the dorms.

“How was your night?” You say tentatively. Joshua hungover is usually funny to tease, like poking a grumpy teddy bear with a stick. But he looks...almost traumatized. The slow, cold feeling from when you handed him over to Seungcheol comes back, and suddenly you can’t eat the bread in front of you. “Did something happen?”

“Hm?” Joshua blinks, and seems to realize how weird he’s being. He shakes some of the discomfort off his features, which is a relief. “Oh, uh. Just some heavy stuff.”

“Did Seungcheol sit on you or something?”

Joshua startles, color coming back to his face in way of his blooming cheeks. “What? No. Just, I don’t know. I think I might have drank absinthe or something last night.”

“It was that bad?” You say in sympathy. Something about Korean liquor is--in a word-- disgusting when it comes to hangovers.

“...I,” Joshua pauses, and then seems guilty that he’s holding back. You brace yourself, because usually Joshua will spill anything. Anytime. You grip the mug of your steaming so hard you think it might break off in your hand. “I think I hallucinated that Seungcheol tried to kiss me,” Joshua whispers, his brows joined together in genuine confusion. Some part of your brain melts.

“ Seungcheol ,” you repeat, little more than a whoosh of air. Your fingers relax, more out of shock than anything. “Super-straight Seungcheol.” There’s no opened, question-like element to that sentence. (This is the same Seungcheol that once smacked Soonyoung rather than play the Pepero game with him?)

“Yeah, thanks for the alliteration,” Joshua says miserably. “Now I’ll never forget his orientation.”

And the way he hangs his head the slightest bit is heartbreaking. “Josh,” you say softly, leaning forward to grab his hand. He squeezes back weakly. “Do you like him?”

Joshua bristles, but doesn’t let go of your hand. “I don’t know. I thought...I thought Jeonghan might be,” he stares at the ceiling for a second. Your heart shudders when the light catches the tears sitting on the surface, pulls painfully. “But he’s not. And now...I don’t know if I could handle it if I let myself like Seungcheol and he turns out to be the same.”

“Okay,” you nod, fighting to keep your lip from trembling. Joshua has never once complained about being gay in Korea. And it’s not the easiest thing. Other exchange students are more open about it, will flaunt it without abandon because Korea is temporary for them. They can have fun on Homo Hill and then go back to wherever they came from after six months. Joshua has family here. Friends. A chance to work here after college. And it’s shitty, but who he loves and who knows about it can really fuck everything up. “If you want to talk about it more, I’m here.”

“I know.” He smiles softly. “But I’m...I’m really hungover to be honest. I’d rather not add another headache to the mix.”

“Fair enough. You tried to get me to carry you out of the restaurant last night.”

“I know my white knights when I see them.” Joshua sighs, and he still looks dead, but maybe now it’s more of a mopey, cute-vampire dead rather than a recently-unearthed-corpse dead. “So how was your night?”

“Went to the arcade with Mingyu and Wonwoo and company.”

“His girlfriend is cool,” Joshua says neutrally. You don’t think that you’ve ever seen them talking, but it’s Americans looking out for Americans. She’s not cringey and she knows Korean. She’s cool.

“Yeah. She won Wonwoo a Goblin plushie.”

“Did you win anything for Mingyu?” Joshua says over the lip of his coffee. His words are careful, and purposeful in the way that they only are when he’s trying really hard not to make fun of you.

“Yeah, I gave him a Wartortle and a handjob in the alley.”

Joshua literally spews his latte, his eyes bulging. Other customers look at him in disgust. (You make a note to change his contact name to ‘nilla Latte. ) “Are you serious? ”

“No,” you shrug, an immense feeling of satisfaction radiating from your stomach at his narrowed glare.

“I hate it when you do that,” he mutters, and his airway must not have cleared all the way, so he goes into another little coughing fit.

“Mingyu probably wouldn’t mind.” You grin at him, and he pushes away from the table, still gagging and motioning towards the bathroom.

Something hot settles in your stomach at the thought though. Of Mingyu. Of doing something like to him. He’d been nice, and maybe a little flirty last night. He gripped your shoulders as you worked a claw machine, teasing and squeezing at you in an effort to screw you up. (It hadn’t worked. You really did win him that Wartortle.) And you shared some soondae at a food cart when the whole group was sober and watching for the trains to start up again.

“Ah,” Mingyu said, holding a huge slice of sausage, speared through with a toothpick. “Eat it.”

“I can feed myself,” you said. But logic like that doesn’t really work with Korean guys. Mingyu knows you can, but he wanted to do it for you anyway, and his soft-eyed look and pouting lip made it nearly impossible to ignore him. There goes sixty years of feminist progress you thought as you tugged the piece off with your teeth. The soondae is good. Hearty and salty, and Mingyu even slipped a piece of liver onto the toothpick.

The smile that didn’t leave his face for the rest of the night (morning?) was worth it.

So, yeah. Imagining holding Mingyu, touching him like that, of pushing him into a wall , is kind of hot. He’d probably bite his lip to stay quiet, but if he couldn’t his noises could probably be loud, excited, deep. He’d shake, every bit of him would vibrate if you touched him that way. His big hands wouldn’t know what to do, and they might dig into the wall, or dig into your arms. And his eyes would be the worst--if he opened them, maybe he’s an eyes-squeezed-shut kind of guy--all big and pleading and thankful in the best way possible. He’d--

“Stop drooling,” Joshua’s voice cut through the air, making you blink up at him. He looks better now, but his face is still a little red from coughing. “We’re in public. You animal.”

“You don’t even know--”

“You know,” he interrupts, sitting down and pulling up a video on his phone (which means that he’s about to stop talking about this. He’s going to get the last word.) “In our group of genius friends, you guys are probably the dumbest.”

{*}{*}{*}

Mingyu confesses on one of the first days in spring where the weather is nice enough for you to forego a jacket for the first time in two months. Joshua says that in two weeks, the cherry blossoms will start to fall, and the group will take a trip to Yoido to go to a festival and take pictures. Mingyu should have waited until then, if he wanted to be dramatic. And it seems that that’s what he’s going for. He’s got a sack of take-out from a famously delicious (and cheap) kimbap place, and Wartortle’s head is poking out of the top of the bag, too.

Well, it certainly seems like a confession. You’re not too sure. But Mingyu doesn’t do subtlely all that well.

“Are you busy?”

“No,” you say, fingers twisting into your sweater. “You texted me. We made plans.”

Mingyu ducks his head, and for a guy who says he’s going to be a doctor one day, he’s kind of dumb. (Why does Joshua have to be right about everything?) “Yeah I just...sorry. I’m not good at this.”

“This?” you prompt, and it’s kind of mean, to tease when he’s struggling. But the warm, happy, calm feeling you get around Mingyu is intensifying about a hundred times over right now. You feel like you’re about to slide right out of your skin with nerves, or excitement, or both. (Tease him or kiss him?)

“Um, I like you.” Mingyu says. “Like, um. Like a lot. And I tried not to, honestly. I know you’re....you’re not here, uh permanently. But I--I talked to Wonwoo-hyung. He said I’d be stupid to let that stop us from being happy.”

You pause. The cherry blossoms are weeks from falling, a week from budding. But in your head, it might as well be snowing blossoms in this park two streets from your dorm. A street half a world away from home. With a boy that makes it feel like home anyway.

“Are you?” you ask him. Mingyu’s smile is soft and questioning. “Are you happy? When you’re with me?”

Mingyu nods, his mouth morphing into that grin that seems too big and too small for his face all at once. “I’m the happiest,” he insists. He started out this whole thing a good ten feet from you, but now he’s right in front of you. You look around, and noticed that you moved too, the tree you’d been leaning against when he arrived a good distance away. It’s inevitable. A pull.

“Good,” you whisper, and the smile you give him doesn’t compare to his own, but you’re trying. You’ll try. “Me too.”

{*}{*}{*}

[Five months later]

Joshua looks like he’s trying not to cry as he goes around, picking up the last bits of his stuff. He and you have been sharing this tiny one-room since Seokmin went on a trip to Europe with his parents. It’s cramped, and the neighbors give you weird looks (which is understandable, a boy and a girl living together with no bands around their fingers) but it let you stay here for a few more months after school let out.

Joshua leaves tomorrow morning, and your plane is a few hours after that. And then it’s over, you suppose. There won’t be any more racist club owners or waiters sneering at your pronunciation. No more odd looks on the subway in the provincial neighborhoods. No more drunk creeps lumbering over to “practice English” with you. No more midnight rushes to grab the last train, or days spent lazily studying or chatting in cafes. No more street food or pounding music in dance clubs. No more Seulgi or Yebin or Soonyoung or Joshua or Mingyu.

Something feels empty near your chest. And you’d say it was your heart, but you can feel it thumping in your ears.

“You’ll visit me, in California right?” Joshua says. Everyone said goodbye at dinner tonight. But you’re not sure how to feel about it. Everyone knows that Joshua is coming back (he killed the internship he got at the end of the semester), and everyone is assuming you’re coming back too. Joshua and you came together, you’re leaving together, you’ll return together. Right?

“I’m not sure,” you told Joshua, throat clogged with tears, about two weeks ago. His internship had just offered him a position in their Daegu office after he graduated. “What if I only get job offers back home? What if...what if this is it?”

“Then it’s it,” Joshua said, not unkindly. He patted your hair, smoothed it away from your forehead. “But it’s something that happened to you. No one can take it away from you. And these losers won’t quit being your friend just because you’re 10,000 kilometers away.”

What about Mingyu, you’d wanted to ask. How can I just leave him? But you didn’t. Joshua was still sorting out the whole Seungcheol situation. He had the time though. They could try again, maybe, when he came back.

“I’m already seeing if my mom wouldn’t be totally pissed if I blew off work for the first week of Winter Break to come to LA,” you assure Joshua.

Joshua gasps. “Your work ethic is atrocious.”

“Say the kid that showed up hungover twice to his super important internship.”

“All of the interns did, at least once,” he defends.

“On the first week?”

“Like I said,” he turns quickly to resume his efforts to close his last suitcase. His winter coat is catching on the zipper. “When is Mingyu stopping by?”

You cock your head to the side. “How did you--”

“Young lovers,” Joshua croons. “No way he’d going to let you leave without cornering you one last time, demanding that you wait for him, that he’ll do the same.”

“You’ve been watching dramas with Seungkwan again.”

Joshua shrugs. “What can I say? The kid has impeccable taste.”

You’re saved from rolling your eyes too hard when there’s a knock on your door. Joshua raises his eyebrows, as if to say see? I know everything and you make yourself feel marginally better by throwing a pillow at him.

Mingyu’s smiling, but just barely, when you open the door. It doesn’t look good on him, like when the sun is weak and watery in the winter.

You invite him in, and Joshua is kind enough to clamp him on the shoulder and then say he’s going to go meet Jeonghan at the bar down the street.

Mingyu settles into the couch, and you sit next to him. Normally, you’d have no problem sitting heavily into his lap, sparking a playful fight, wrestling and tickling and kissing until you're curled into his side like a kitten, your head tucked under his chin. It doesn’t feel right to do that now, though. The air is too serious, a little too morbid.

“Are you all packed?” Mingyu says emptily. He’s looking that suitcases and duffle bags littering the ground like they’re bombs just waiting to explode in his face. You wait for a second, just to see if one of them started ticking.

“Yeah.” You nod, your head feeling empty. “Are you...are you okay?”

Mingyu snorts, soft and weak. “Not really. But, I can’t really do anything about it.” You nod again, just to do something other than sit there.

“I,” you say, and you have to clear your throat so that the words come easier. “I’m going to miss you.”

Mingyu closes his eyes tight, and you hate it. He’s never looked like this, like he’s in actual pain. “Are you going to come back?”

“If I can,” you start, but Mingyu does something he hardly ever does and puts his hand on your knee to make you stop talking.

“No,” he shakes his head, and open his eyes to look at you. “You’re either going to find a way to come back...or you won’t. 'If’ won’t work for me. I can’t--I can’t love you this much and not have a guarantee. I need,” he blinks quickly a few times. “I can’t let you do this to me.”

“Mingyu…” You say, not on a sigh, not like you’re about to let him down, but in wonder. In awe. Mingyu...Mingyu’s never said he loves you. You can tell, sometimes, when he fixes you breakfast and will draw patterns into your skin and will refill your subway card for you. But he’s never said it. “Mingyu you love me?”

“Duh,” he laughs, wiping his eyes with the end of his long t-shirt. He’s purposefully not looking at you, but you can see the blush of his dark skin. “Of course I love you.”

“But...you want to break up?”

“What?” Mingyu looks like you punched him. “No. I don’t want to break up. But, honey I will. I can’t be here, waiting like a smuck if you say we can make it work and then you don’t come back. I won’t stop waiting. I’m like that. And then I won’t recover.” His eyes are pleading. “You can’t do that to me. It’s not fair.”

It’s not fair...because he loves you. He loves you too much, he loves you so much he’s willing to end it here, because it’ll break him if you say you’ll come back and you don’t.

Something solidifies in your gut. There are a million ways that this could go wrong. You could file the wrong paperwork for a visa or not get the credentials in time or not find a job period . But those scenarios pale in comparison to never finding your way back to this boy.

“How did you know?” you’d asked Wonwoo’s girlfriend, a few months ago. Wonwoo and Mingyu were off playing darts in an American-themed bar. “How’d you know you’d uproot your whole life for a boy?”

She’d smiled into her glass, but ruefully, like she’s remembering a few things she’d rather not.

“You’d probably think it’s a little silly. I left...not everything. But close to everything. For him. And don’t get me wrong, I know how old-fashioned it seems. My friends back home, my parents, they didn't understand. They thought I could find a perfectly good guy in the states. But it’s hard for him, too. His dad and brother like me, but his mom doesn’t. She’s still trying to get him to go on blind dates with nice Korean girls.”

“So--”

“How? That’s what you asked, right? How did I know? I’ll tell you the truth.” She gulps down the rest of her beer, her eyes on the back of Wonwoo’s head. “I never knew. I still don’t know. We could go up in flames the second I think about going back home, or his mom becomes too convincing for him to ignore. All I know is that the happiest I’ve ever been, is when I’m with him. And I didn’t want to give that up.”

You’d thought she was kind of selfish, back then. But you understand it, now. Or you’ve come to understand it, over the last few months.

Mingyu is the brightest thing in your life, and he’s said in good faith that your his. Maybe it is old-fashioned, or too idealistic, or certifiably insane.

“I love you too.”

Mingyu’s breath rushes out of him in a great sigh, and he seems to literally sink into the couch. “That’s...that’s good.”

“Good?” you giggle, still recovering from the great mental debate you’d just finished up after literally months of push and pull.

“Do you know how stressed I’ve been over the last few weeks?”

“You?” you shove him. “I’m about to go back to a country I’m not even sure is my home anymore. I just decided to move half-way across the world for you.”

“Yeah,” Mingyu says. “But you’re like the strongest person I know. You could’ve handled anything.” You could’ve handled leaving me, and starting over , is left unsaid in the air around you. But you won’t. You decided, just now. And there isn’t a sticky, cloying feeling of guilt or regret after you made the decision. Just Mingyu sitting there in a pile of happy-relieved-ness is enough for you to probably never regret loving him, and promising this.

Promising forever.

Or, at least, the foreseeable future. (You’re still not the hopeless romantic that either Seulgi or Joshua wish you were.)

Mingyu spends a an hour or so just talking about normal things, nuzzling your neck. You let him inside you one last time before this long separation (and if Joshua gives you shit for fucking on the couch, you can always threaten to tell Seokmin about the huge lube stain you found and had to clean yourself). It’s nice, and slow, and Mingyu says he loves you a lot through it, which is nice and kind of makes it even more special. But you try not to attach much meaning behind it than that. It won’t be the last time.

When he gasps after you clench around him on purpose, it won’t be the last.

You’ll have plenty of times to memorize the way he bites his lip when he tries to go harder, or faster.

He’s always liked it when you get on top, and your hips will know bruises from his fingertips again and again (and again).

“I love you,” you say, just to remind him, when he finally has to head to the door before Joshua gets back. It doesn’t hurt, or feel like you’re trying to say good-bye in a roundabout way. You just love him.

“I love you too,” he says giddily. He has work tomorrow, and couldn’t get the hours rearranged to take you to the airport. That hurt, when he told you, but it doesn’t now. Not after tonight. “Have a safe flight.”

“Okay,” you suck on your teeth, and debate kissing him for a second before losing to yourself and kissing him, on the cheek this time. It’s his favorite. (Well, second favorite, but you’re not trying to be vulgar right now.) “See you soon, Mingyu.”

He has to press his lips together to avoid smiling, and he fails, like he usually does. (There’s another thing to never have to remember, to always look forward to seeing: that smile.)

“See you soon.”

{*}{*}{*}

Joshua leaves first. He sprang for a Korean Air ticket on his way back, and you try not to cry when you hug him. You already told him everything that happened with Mingyu, and he’s not crying. He’s ecstatic. He can’t wait until nine months are up and he’s boarding another plane.

“I love you,” you say, only slightly muffled by his shirt. “It’ll be different, going back. After all this.”

“Yeah,” Joshua nods, pulling back and bopping you on the nose. “But some things won’t change. I promise.”

He gets called to board and you make your way back over to your gate. There are still a few hours until you leave, but you power off your phone after sending a few last messages. You buy a thick book from a newsstand and make it about a hundred pages in by the time you stop to hand over your ticket and settle into your seat.

The plane ride coming to Korea felt like it lasted years , but you sleep through half of it, and watch a few American and Korean movies for the last half, and then you’re back.

You’re back, and the air is the same, but different, and you’re mom is beaming, but her hair is different.

You connect to the airport wifi when you power your phone back on, and there are already a flood of notifications. Instagram pictures from Seulgi and Yebin and Seokmin, all posting food and screenshots of club facebook accounts and tagging you in the comments. “For when you get back!!! More to follow.” Kakao is full, with everyone wishing you a good year, and to hurry back. Wonwoo sends a few pictures of sad puppies, along with the text “he already misses you -_-”

Mingyu has about fourteen message notifications next to his name.

11:46 pm I love you!!!! Wear your seatbelt xoxo

12:54 am If you watch Get Out on the plane, don’t spoil the ending

12:55 am I mean it.

3:34 am Wonwoo took me out for chicken. I think he think’s i’m depressed…

3:40 am Don’t ever tell him i’m acting sad so that he’ll buy me food

6:15 am I started sniffling and he bought me bingsoo this is the greatest

6:16 am I miss you~

Your mom tries to play cool, but she’s stroking your hair like she hasn’t seen you in decades as you wait for the parking lot trolley to take you to the car. “Who’s that?”

“Ah, someone,” you say. “I’ll tell you later.”

She nods, and your phone buzzes again in your hand, like Mingyu knows you’re there.

10:10 am Wonwoo says Oh My Girl are flops. Is he deaf or stupid: discuss

Joshua was right (Sadly. Inevitably), you think as you try to stop the smile forming and start typing back a response.

Some things won’t change.

the end

uh, wow. i miss korea lol. all those things that reader misses happened to me too (and i definitely don't miss drunk creeps asking me to 'practice' with them at 3am). I actually based wonwoo's girlfriend completely on me, lol, except i never had the pleasure of finding a boo to wait for me until i get back to korea for my teaching gig. i just love wonwoo very much. and writing this fic made me love mingyu a lot too. fun fact: josh's chat name changes with each beverage he spews. also: i'm planning on expanding this fic into a series and giving josh and seungcheol their own story, and maybe doing some background drabbles for wonwoo/oc so look out for that come at me here, because I love talking to you guys and getting your feedback thank you for reading!!

#seventeen fanfiction #mingyu #mingyu fanfiction #mingyu/reader #seventeen fanfic #mingyu fanfic

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