#id particularly like to say thank you to boom who's always right there for me no matter what's happening or how insane im being

[shurisneakers]

shut in [4]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: cursing, threats

Word count: 3.7k

A/N: greetings everyone!! how are we all doing? i have nothing to say here tbh so anyway stan sam wilson being a lil shit whenever possible. 

i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!! also if you want to be on the taglist, it’s mentioned at the bottom of the chapter.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

“I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Alright, thank you.”

You hung up the call, trudging back to the house, discarding the battery along the way.

The air had a chill to it and there was an occasional breeze that went past, rustling leaves providing an eerily comforting background score. The temperature tended to rise as the day went on but nights were especially cold due to the abundance of trees. 

Even though the stress of the situation you were in constantly consumed all your waking thoughts, you still found the time to appreciate how beautiful your surroundings were. 

The last few days were barely memorable. Sam and you tended to stay out of each other's way unless your meal time coincided or you watched the local news together. The schedule had worked out favourably.

He wasn’t very hard to live with.

Most of the time.

His commentary and small jokes were never-ending but were not as unwelcome as you initially thought. It brought some much needed light into your otherwise dreary day. When it came to figuring out how to do laundry due to your now extended stay or whose turn it was to do it, things got a bit messy but were resolved quickly.

He used to disappear often for hours on end. You never concerned yourself with going after him to find out where he went, figuring that unless he was hatching a plot that led to your demise, he was entitled to his own privacy. He’d return a while later, calmer than when he left.

It was fine. Nothing to write home about. Neither of you were dead yet.

“What are you doing on the bed?” You were reconsidering your last thought when you walked into the bedroom to resume your self-interrupted sleep, only to find him face down on the sheets. ���It’s my day today.”

“Just give me some time. I’ll be out of here soon enough.” His voice was muffled as he spoke into the sheets.

“You can take all the time you need tomorrow when it’s your turn.” You swatted at his legs, earning a grunt of chagrin from him.

“Go eat some soup and maybe you’ll calm down,” he fired back, unmoving.

“Today’s not soup day. Which you would know if you paid attention to our schedule. That we made. Together. The same schedule which says it’s my turn today.”

He groaned, shoving his face deeper into the pillow. “My back’s killing me. Just give me a few.”

“Why, what’d you do?” you asked curiously, letting go of his leg.

“Combat training. Took a few beatings, fucked up my spine.”

“Does it hurt a lot?”

“It comes and goes.” Sam finally rolled onto his back, giving you a view of his face. His bone structure was amazing, even from quite possibly the ugliest angle you could have over him. “You should’ve seen the other guy.”

You just stared at him as he linked his arms behind his neck, elevating his head to look at you. He had a small stubble that was starting to grow longer. You wondered if he would shave it. He looked good regardless.

“How’s your beloved?”

“Huh?”

“The person you keep sneaking around to talk to on the phone. I’m not your dad, y’know. You can talk to them inside the house, ‘m not gonna ground you,” he quipped, a small, teasing smile on his face.

“He’s not my lover. Just... an acquaintance.” You felt the awkwardness starting to set in after you trailed off. “Anyway since you’re awake, we need to talk.”

“‘Bout what?”

“What happened that day. We’ve been avoiding it but we need to figure out what went wrong. Or at least a clue.”

“Okay,” Sam agreed, wincing as he sat up straight. “How do you want to do it?”

“Just talk me through how you got put on this mission and what exactly happened that day, I guess.” You took a place on the bed, leaning backward on your hand for support.

He nodded, delaying for a second to collect his thoughts before beginning.

“So basically-”

The sun was particularly relentless that day.  

The ringing bell above the door of his favourite coffee shop was a welcoming sound. The barista smiled at him in greeting, asking if he wanted his usual to go.

His park bench was empty as it always was. Sam liked to think of it as a small gift from the universe; the fact that it was perpetually unoccupied.

He liked to sit there and watch people’s day go by. His iced coffee-

“I don’t really require that much detail.”

“Patience. I’m getting there.”

It was arguably one of the most peaceful days he had had in awhile, and he was hoping to keep the streak going. Nothing seemed like it would phase him, not even the phone ringing, drawing his attention away from the scene in front of him. Caller ID didn’t trace who it was.

“Hello?”

“Wilson.”

Sam gripped the cup so hard he thought it might spill over onto his jeans.

“I told you not to call me, Ransone.”

“But honey we had such a good time last night,” he faux cooed, “You know I have needs-”

“I’m not getting involved in your stupid organisation, Vincent. I told you I’m done,” Sam broke in, not wanting to waste time listening to his stupid dramatics.

“Listen here, Wilson.” The swift change in his tone was looming, threatening. “You’re done when I say you’re done-”

“Wanna bet?” Sam took a sip of his coffee. “I thought we made it clear in Detroit that we’re done. Honey.”

He added the last part out of pure spite just to get a rise out of him. Much to his glee it seemed to work as Ransone let out a deep exhale before continuing.

“That was before we found out there’s a mole in my gang. I want you to kill him.”

“This is way below my pay grade. Have one of your interns do it. Your shitty murder warehouse hasn’t seen much action in a while.”

“This is Pierce we’re talking about. If he’s working for another organisation, his ass is going to be so guarded, these kids couldn’t wouldn’t even get past the gate. Besides, you know my murder warehouse is for special guests only-”

“Man, it must suck real hard to be you right now,” Sam didn’t wait for him to complete his sentence. He finished the last bit of the drink he had left, gathering his things before standing up. “Find someone else. I’m out.”

“You might want to reconsider that. We found him.”

He stopped in his tracks.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sam said steadily, grip on the phone tightening.

“I think you do, though. Had us fooled for a while there, thinking he’s dead. A little more research, some cash into the right pockets and boom! There he is, clear as day.”

Sam felt a chill go up his spine.

“He doesn’t know we know. We’re just keeping an eye on him for now.”

“If you even fucking think of touching him-” his fists were balled up, struggling to keep his anger from rising.

“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t.” Ransone laughed. “I’ll just have one of my interns do it.”

“Don’t fuck with me, Ransone. It’s not somethi-”

“Do this hit and I’ll leave him alone,” Ransone interjected. “You’ve worked so hard to pull him from our radar, Sammy. It would be a shame if it all went to waste.”

Sam’s jaw clenched. Suddenly the day didn’t seem as bright as it was a few minutes ago.

“I’ll text you the details. You tend to leave me on read so I thought I’d make it more fun. Do you want the confetti with the message or the lasers-”

Sam just hung up the call, feet firmly rooted in his spot. He had no idea what he was going to do.

The notification of a new text alerted him. Pierce’s address along with the exact timeline of when he’d be home.

It was across the country. If he botched the mission on purpose, Ransone wouldn't be able to find him for a few days at least, much less reach him. He could go on the run-

‘Do it or he dies.’

His train of thought was interrupted by a picture that made his blood boil.

Especially when it exploded with the stupid confetti effect.

“Okay, basically he threatened you with something to go do the hit.” You didn’t ask him what exactly he was threatening him with and Sam didn’t really elaborate.

“Yeah. Didn’t leave me with much of a choice. He’s batshit fuckin’ crazy anyway, I knew he’d do whatever he felt like.”

“So you ended up going.”

Pierce didn’t seem to get many visitors. Not that anyone could be blamed, this guy was one of the biggest pieces of shit Sam had had the misfortune of meeting.

Over the two days he had staked out in front of the mansion to find out if this guy had as much security as Ransone had boasted of, Sam had come to the conclusive truth that no, he very much did not. He had a standard home security system which was lacklustre compared to the rest of the house.

Maybe he just assumed that being a senior member of the mob would garner some fear to his name. Dumbass.

He found the tall shrubbery surrounding the property to be out of the line of sight of the camera, and climbing it wasn't very hard. He landed softly on the manicured lawn, adjusting his gloves and checking his surroundings before pulling his gun that was secured in the waistband of his pants.

He removed the safety, keeping it close to him as he stalked through the front yard.

The red car parked at the side earned an eye roll from him. If he had one, there was no doubt there’d be more. He just had to find a basement or garage.

Walking around the house, he kept close to the wall, searching for any opening to the basement.

It didn’t take long before he found a set of stairs to the exterior entrance of the basement. He checked to see if anyone was around before making his way down them. The lock was unsurprisingly easy to pick.

The basement was mostly dark save for a few strategic lights placed to highlight the magnificence of his several race cars. The man was moved slower than the second coming of Jesus. The cars just seemed like an overcompensation.

The switchboard was not difficult to find. He pulled open the cover, glancing at the switches before turning all of them off, plunging the whole basement into darkness. If his security system was as outdated as Pierce was, it would have turned off along with the rest of the house.

“Oh, that’s why the cameras weren't working when I showed up.” Bits that seemed amiss were beginning to place itself together the more his story progressed. “I assume you entered the house through the window on the side?”

“Sure did.”

Your guess was right. He’s the reason why it was ajar by the time you arrived.

As soon as he entered he had his gun raised. Scanning the room as he went past, his senses were dialed up to eleven. If he was really under the protection of Serpentine, they were doing a terrible job. He had gotten in completely unscathed.

As he made his way deeper into the house, the sound of some movie playing became louder. But he had cut off the power supply to the house.

His eyebrows pulled together tightly into a frown, he made his way down the hall towards the sound. No one was in the dining or living room he canvassed.

Finally, Pierce’s silhouette became clearer. He appeared to just be sitting there idly while a smaller screen played in front of him. It wasn’t a TV, just an iPad.

If Pierce was asleep it would just make the job easier. Gun raised, Sam made his way into the room silently.

Pierce was still. Sam raised the gun, taking a step closer.

A floorboard creaked.

He immediately cringed, shoulders tensed as he came to an immediate stop. It seemed like forever as he waited for Pierce to wake up, to brandish a gun and try and defend himself.

He didn’t.

Taking a step to the side, Sam moved diagonally. Each one was slow. Ready for any sudden movements from his end.

He finally stopped in front of Pierce.

A bullet hole in his forehead. Eyes open. Chest still.

He was dead.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Sam breathed out, lowering his gun. Pierce’s glassy eyes stared blankly ahead. He didn’t look like had been dead for too long.

A soft thud in another room made his head snap up. It was in the same direction from where he came.

He silently moved backwards to the corner of the room, hoping that the darkness was enough of a disguise as he saw someone stalking down the hallway.

“And that’s when you come in. Thought you were comin’ back to make sure he was dead.”

“I had just got there. Saw that everything was off, and just assumed it was a power outage.”

“What about you? How’d you end up there?” Sam had his legs crossed, leaning forward to listen to you.

“Ransone told me that there was a spy who was sending information out for nearly two years. Needed him gone and he wasn’t sure if his other agent would show up-” you mentioned to him- “I guess that’s you. Told me I had an opening at 8pm. When I got there, the CCTV was off. Found the window open so I just used that.”

You were replaying your memory, step by step to remember what exactly you had seen. 

“Heard the movie playing, found no one when I went down the hall. I saw the car keys on the island, which came in handy later. Entered the room, pushed his head with the gun and he just slumped over like a damn rag doll. That’s when you made your grand entrance.”

“Got one chance to make an impression. Had to make sure I looked cool, emergin’ from the shadows and whatnot.”

“It doesn’t make sense though.”

“Ouch. Thought it was pretty legit, actu-”

“No, no-” you waved him off. “Not your entrance. The henchmen thing.”

He paused, mulling over what you said. “If he was working for Serpentine, he would have been more careful. Why did they show up after he’s dead?”

“I don’t think they work for Serpentine. If Pierce was giving them information, they wouldn’t kill him.” You had good reason to be confident about that. You thought you did, from previous assessments.

“Unless they were scared that he’d switch again,” Sam suggested. You looked up from your fidgeting fingers to him. “Didn’t want any of their secrets going back to Ransone. They got to him before we did.”

“Why’d they shoot at us then? If they killed him and left, why’d they wait for us to show up? Why did they try to kill us?”

“I think we’re ignoring the important thing here,” he paused. You looked at him expectantly, prodding him on. “How did they know we were coming? They should have killed him and disappeared but they expected us.”

You tilted your head. “Are you saying-”

“There might be more.”

“Pierce might not have been the only one,” you finished. “There are more spies.”

“Tipped ‘em off. Told them we were going to be there.”

“And killing us was just to poke Ransone with a stick,” you murmured, eyes downcast, fidgeting with your fingers again. “But that just seems random. It doesn’t make sense.”

“None of this makes sense, sweetheart.” Sam scoffed, leaning back again.

“We’re missing something. There’s something wrong.” You looked at him. “If it’s just a random attack, why did they release our face to the whole fuckin’ country? Why are they specifically targeting us?”

“Finishing what they started. Covering all their tracks from that day. If we’re not dead, we’re a liability.”

“What if it’s not Serpentine at all? What if it’s another gang?”

“Serpentine has the most motive.”

“We don’t know that.”

He looked at you incredulously. “I think there’s substantial evidence to suggest they fuckin’ hate us. Besides, they’d want me dead specifically.”

“Why?” you inquired, eyes narrowing.

He opened his mouth like he was going to explain but closed it a second later, leaving you guessing.

“Fine, but it doesn’t mean they’re the only ones who do.” You made a point to ask him later or at least conduct your own research into it. 

“Okay,” he said, shifting to lean on his elbows, “who else could it be? If Pierce was working for Serpentine and Ransone found out, sends someone to kill him, it’s essentially an attack on one of their own members. I’d say that's a pretty good motive.”

“I don’t know. Hydra doesn’t like us either. There’s Ten Rings too. But Serpentine just doesn’t work out.”

“How are you sure?” he asked. “You a spy for them too?”

You rolled your eyes at him as he raised his eyebrow. “It doesn’t make sense. What if we’re missing something? Did we go through everything?”

“I just went through my entire story down to the most irrelevant details. Twice. Nothing’s missing on my end.” He pushed himself off the bed, taking a long stretch before looking back at you.

“I think we should do it again. Just to make sure.” You rotated your torso to look at him. “We can figure it out-”

“You’re going to lose your mind if you keep at this any longer for today. Take a break.”

“I can’t take this lightly. Everyone’s out there looking for us and there is no one we can trust-”

“And going through our stories for the third time today is going to solve that how?” He had his hands crossed over his chest like a stern parent.

“I’m sorry but our faces are probably plastered in every damn police precinct in the country,” you snapped, “And I think that us remembering something some stupid detail might actually help rather than, I don’t know, taking naps and eating sandwiches. So no, I’m not going to drop it. Because I actually want to get out of here.”

You didn’t mean to sound so angry with him. He had told you everything twice already and patiently answered questions that you had. You didn’t think he was lying. You had no way of knowing but you hoped that some sort of allegiance was being formed between you both.

There was silence for a minute, leaving enough time for the guilt to creep in when he didn’t fire back. It’s what you expected.

“I’m not asking you to drop it. I’m saying take a break,” he said calmly. “You’re thinkin’ enough for the both of us anyway.”

You let out a small exhale, forcing the edge to retreat from your voice.

“I’ll be back in a while.” With that he turned around and left the room. A few minutes later you heard the backdoor open and shut.

Great.

You massaged your throbbing temples, eyes closed. He was right. Your mind wasn’t clear and you had been at this for hours. You wouldn’t be able to think critically.

Or at all.

You dropped back on the bed, grabbing a pillow and pressing it to your face. The coolness of the fabric felt nice.

You just let out a sigh, turning to your side to hopefully get some sleep.

_____

You woke up what seemed like hours later to a dark room.

It took your eyes a while to adjust stepping out into the hallway illuminated by the light in the kitchen.

“Hey,” Sam’s voice rang out. “Made you a sandwich.”

You rubbed your eyes groggily, looking where he was pointing. Sure enough, there was a sandwich on the table. He sat at the seat adjacent to it.

“Thank you.” You contemplated sitting next to him for dinner. It would be a first.

In the end you just grabbed your plate, giving him a half smile before making your way to the couch. You settled on sitting on the floor instead, leaning your back against the foot of the sofa.

The TV was already halfway through playing Megamind so you just let it continue, mindlessly chewing on the bread. As far as peanut butter sandwiches go, it wasn’t all that bad.

“Wilson,” you called out sheepishly, eyes not leaving the movie. “I’m sorry for snapping at you. It wasn’t right.”

“It’s okay.”

How he let go of it so easily was beyond you. The sandwich was surprising too, but you took it, not wanting to change his mind. He couldn’t have poisoned it. You had checked his stuff.

You sat in silence for the rest of the movie. Your mind kept slipping in and out of thought but it was a comfortable atmosphere you found yourself in.

After the credits started rolling, you went to leave your plate in the sink. Sam brushed past you, grabbing the blanket at the foot of the couch, launching himself onto the cushions.

“What are you doing?” you asked, puzzled as he snuggled in.

“Going to sleep?” He tilted his head to look at you.

“Use the bed.”

“It’s your turn today.”

“Your back’s fucked up. I’ll take the couch.”

He didn’t budge.

“Go on.” You mentioned to the room with a shrug of your shoulder.

“You’re not going to let me argue, are you?”

You pressed your lips into a straight line to hide a smile, shaking your head lightly.

“Well, okay.” He let out a small noise as he got up. “Guess I’m sleeping business class tonight.”

Sam walked past you, careful not to bump into you. You swapped places with him, making your way to the couch, readjusting the blanket that was haphazardly left there.  

“Y/N.” You peered at him from the corner of your eye, only to fully turn when you caught his gaze. “I appreciate it.”

You just nodded, tossing the blanket over yourself as he switched off the light.

Next part

[themusicplayedherlife]

To Love is the Greatest Gift

1. The Return

pairing: obi wan kenobi x f!reader (past!din djarn x f!reader) characters: f!reader, anakin amidala-skywalker, padmé amidala-skywalker, mentiones of din djarin, obi wan kenobi, others word count: 2.6k+ warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of rent: the musical (death, second chances) uh... I think that’s it? summary: au!it’s never been the right timing for you and obi wan kenobi; maybe this time will be different. a/n: i started working on this story so long ago it’s ridiculous, but I suddenly had a surge of motivation to continue this story after some tragic family news. this was also very much inspired by @martlands and their amazing obi wan stories, made me want to write my own and here it is

all || next

“You broke up?”

One would think that the immediate reaction to someone asking if you broke up with your significant other would be to cry or begin to ask them what could have possibly gone wrong. But that’s not the reaction you give. 

The reaction you give is just a shrug and a strong pop, as you spoon more gelato onto the little spoon his twins love collecting. “Yep.”

“After only three weeks of dating?” Anakin doesn’t know why he’s surprised, but he is. This is probably the shortest living relationship you’ve ever had. “Why?”

“Why not?” you answer easily, nonchalantly and you know it frustrates him. “It wasn’t working out, so we decided to call it quits.”

Not even a month ago, you had been genuinely excited about finally getting out there and meeting someone new, and even more excited when you were telling him all about this person you met while out with some old friends. You had said, word for word, “he might be the perfect contender!”

Where did all that excitement go?

You sigh, finally looking up at him and away from your white chocolate gelato that's just to die for. “Ani, it’s fine. It just didn’t work out. It happens.”

He grimaces. “What happened between you and Din—“

You bristle at the mention of your ex, narrowing your eyes and his widen in defense. You know what Anakin and Padmé think of him and it’s not entirely pleasant (particularly from Anakin’s part). It’s completely unfair. Din is lovely, sure a little socially awkward, but lovely nonetheless. “Has nothing to do with why Gar and I ended things.”

“But—“

“Nothing,” you reiterate with a bit more force and he sighs, lifting his hands in defeat while holding his own cup of gelato.

“Okay. Okay, I’m sorry.” And then, like a light switching, he turns playful. “Was it his name that turned you off—Gar?”

You resist the urge to groan and roll your eyes. “Oh maker, you are annoying!”

You huff as you make the trek back to the trolley that’ll take you both up to the observatory. The rest of your conversation is forgotten as he navigates it towards continuing to tease you and the latest exhibit you had helped set up.

The Coruscant Observatory is one of the most popular attractions in the city aside from the Exotic Animal Sanctuary (where most zoologist work to help rehabilitate wild animals before reintroducing them back into the wild, only housing the ones that have been assessed to not be able to function in the wild on their own—which are unfortunately many).

Your place of work is known for its large, ground telescope; its monthly constellation exhibits; the multiple planetarium theater rooms that house lectures, activities, star projections, etc.; and its Astronomer Q&A program where visitors can ask astronomers questions and even get a tour of the space station.

However, most of your days are spent in your office, planning for the next exhibit or actually executing them with your team; meanwhile, Anakin spends them in tech, sometimes maintaining the telescope, other times helping with IT issues, but mostly making sure the theater rooms worked perfectly for their 4D immersion.

(You like to joke that out of the two of you, he has it easiest; sometimes he’ll run by your office to get to another part of the building while you’re doing something and you’ll yell out, “slacker” and he’ll respond with, “you just work too much”.)

“Are Padmé and the twins stopping by today?”

“Not today, maybe tomorrow,” he says as you both step out of the trolley along with a few tourists. “I think today they decided to stay for some school thing.”

“Shouldn’t you know what that school thing is?” you chide him out of jest.

He scowls, there’s hardly any heat in it and it makes you grin. “It’s a music performance that the CN Theater is putting on.”

“Ah, and we all know how much musicals bores you.”

“I just don’t understand them,” he murmurs defensively as you climb the few steps leading to the entrance. The two of you smiling and greeting Rex at his security post and bypassing the ticket gate with your IDs.

“You mean you don’t have any taste,” you tease.

“It’s weird! I mean, most of them are all about tragedies and betrayals. What happened to the good ol’ romance and happy endings?”

“Not all of them are tragedies, Casanova.”

The main rotunda lobby is full of people milling about, looking at maps or the foucault pendulum in the middle of the room. Low chatter fills the room, shoes clicking and clacking against the marble flooring.

“Name one.”

Spotting the trash can and recycle bin, Anakin holds his hand out for your disposable cup and spoon and throws them away in their proper bin.

“Rent.” There are probably better examples, but you had been listening to the original cast album the night before and have all the songs still stuck in your head.

“Don’t two characters die?”

“Angel and Mimi.” You nod. “But Mimi is brought back to life by Angel, and is given a second chance at life.”

“She may have been brought back to life, but that doesn’t take away from the fact she died.”

“I’m not arguing with you on that, I’m just saying the ending was hopeful—not necessarily a happy ending, but it left you thinking—maybe things can get better.”

“And that’s not what I’m looking for. I’m looking for—“

“What you and Padmé have?” you ask him as you both reach the door of your office.

He pauses, mouth opening and closing before finally rubbing the back of his head sheepishly and saying, “Yeah.”

You smile, genuine and happy for your childhood friend. Who would’ve thought that years ago when you introduced them, they’d be here years later—married and with twins. You and Anakin sure as hell didn’t. For most of your childhood, you both believed you’d live out your life on Tatooine, hang with the same friends you’ve known since your pre-kinder days and eventually get married to each other—much to the dismay of your parents—because of benefits or whatever, until your parents decided they wanted to send you off to a private school in one of the major cities, derailing your and Anakin’s plan (for the better, if you’re being honest).

“You’re still coming over for dinner, right?”

“Yeah,” you answer, unlocking your office door with your key. “I have a meeting that might go over the expected time, but I should be able to make it on time.”

“Just let us know,” he says, rapping his knuckles against the door frame. “But you better be there! We have some planning to do!”

You roll your eyes and wave him away, promising he and his family will definitely see you at five. With a hearty chuckle he salutes you and leaves the door slightly ajar, just like you usually do. It’s your “you can come in to ask me questions, but knock first, please” visual telling.

With a soft exhale, you drop yourself into your creaking office chair, eyes landing on the first picture on your right—a younger you, only 18, fresh out of your uniform smiling wildly with a large bouquet of flowers that you can still distinctly remember the smell of.

“I am in love!” Padmé exclaimed, squealing in absolute delight at the flowers put in your hand.

Blue eyes crinkled with amusement, staring down at you. “Are you?” His voice was low, teasing and almost smug. He had obviously heard the gasp that escaped your lips when he presented you the colorful bouquet created with your favorite flowers that his father grew in their little garden.

“Irrevocably,” you answered, not able to hide your smile as you gently held it against your chest and smiled up at him. “They’re beautiful, Obi. Thank you.”

Obi Wan’s arm is wrapped around your shoulder, caught in the action of a booming laughter. He was always laughing in pictures. There isn’t a single picture you have of him that he isn't smiling.

Your finger gently trails over his smiling face. Maker, you miss him.

Is he still traveling? Or has he finally settled down again? Will he show up and spring some unexpected news on you again? Stars, you hope not. Shit didn’t go as planned last time and it probably wouldn’t again.

Your hand falls limply and you swivel in your seat, looking out the large glass window overlooking the majority of the city and sigh softly—an exhale of wary hope and sadness.

A bird soars by your window, it’s wings flapping effortlessly, diving before flying higher and away.

He’s not coming back. You know this. Coruscant just isn’t the same anymore. Not when he feels this city has taken everything from him.

One more year visiting Gui Gon without him.

The meeting runs longer than it usually would, just like you had expected. Checking the time, you let out a curse and quickly throw your belongings into your car.

Without wasting time, as soon as you switch on your engine, you place your phone on the dock and say, “Hey C-3PO, call Padmé.”

“Calling Padmé,” your phone’s AI answers through the speakers of your car.

“Are you outside?” Is how she greets you. There are loud noises in the background, children squabbling about something or another, and Anakin’s weary voice trying to rally them. 

You snort, pulling out of the undergroundparking lot. “Not yet, barely got out of my meeting and am on my way.”

“Please hurry, the twins really want to see you and are dying from hunger,” she says, amusement in her voice and not at all trying to hurry you. “They might start eating Anakin soon.”

“Hey, don’t bite that!” He yells from a distance.

“Hurry, please!” you hear over the phone—Luke. “I miss you,” he says, closer now. Which you immediately reply saying you miss him too, almost cutting off the next voice.

“And I’m hungry!” Leia’s voice follows his, practically yelling into the phone.

You laugh fondly, just imagining the childish glee on their faces at your scandalized gasps and your exaggerated “me too” answers.

“Leia, no yelling,” Padmé scolds her, gentle and kind. “Softer, please.”

“Sorry,” she says. “I’m hungry,” she repeats, softer, almost a whisper.

“Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be there,” you promise. “If not, you have my permission to start eating your dad.”

Leia and Luke break into a fit of laughter, yelling something away from the phone to Anakin, who once again lets out a loud, “Hey!”

Padmé chuckles, moving away from the voices of the children tackling their father and their play fighting. “Take your time, we’re not in any hurry to start eating. The kids had a hearty lunch and a snack after school.”

“What about you and Anakin?”

“We’re fine, don’t worry. Just get here safely and we’ll see you soon.”

You end the call with one last reassurance from her and let out a loud sigh when your car comes to a stop behind a long line of glaring red lights—traffic. You hate traffic.

You might be surrounded by blinding lights and different models of vehicles, but it leaves you alone with your thoughts, the low hum of your engine and music from your stereo drowned out by the chattering in your head. 

It’s never just one thing that you think about. It can go from one thing to another, to all of them trying to climb over eachother and be the most present: your friends; your family; the dog next door; Din and Baby; cinnamon apple cookies; the beach house in Naboo; sneaking out of the prep dormitories at 2am with Padmé keeping an eye out and Obi Wan holding his arms out for you; rose gardens and peach tea; freckles on blushing skin; drunken singing in a small living room; 21st birthdays crying in a bathroom stall; that stupid movie quote about choosing life; death; but sometimes (most occurring) it’s Obi Wan that weaves into every thought.

He’s a constant plague in your mind, has been since the first time he left Coruscant in search of himself. 

Sometimes they’re pleasant thoughts, memories kept in a nostalgic trunk that you occasionally like to sift through. Other times, they’re not so pleasant; those are the ones you constantly struggle with, try to push into the recesses of your mind and keep them under lock and key. But for some stupid, strange reason, your mind only ever remembers the bad, even when there are better things to dwell on.

“I just—I just don’t understand why you have to leave—Obi. Obi!” you practically yelled, watching him move around his room, grabbing and throwing things he pulled out into his duffel bag. “Listen to me!” 

He didn’t stop, not until you reached for his duffel bag and plucked it out from his hands. He stared at you, his duffel bag carelessly thrown to the floor with his clothes spilling out. 

Your breathing was labored, a sick feeling swimming in your stomach, words stuck in your throat now that he wasn’t hiding his beautiful blue eyes from you—his devastatingly heartbroken eyes. “I have to,” he finally said, breaking the silence. “I need to leave. This house—this city, it's suffocating me. I can’t—I can’t stay here anymore.”

“Obi… Obi, please.” You can’t leave me. You can’t! Please! Please, Obi.

“I need to do this for me, darling. I’m sorry.”

You should’ve fought harder that night, should’ve convinced him to stay, but instead you helped him pack again with tears obstructing your view and sobs escaping your lips. Maybe if you had, you wouldn’t have lost him.

No, your breath stutters as you lean back into your car seat, there was nothing you could’ve done. Either times. He had made up his mind long before that night.

A car honks their horn to your left and you jump, eyes focusing once more on the red lights of the car in front of you. You wipe at your face harshly and straighten your spine. 

That was years ago, little one. Shake it off. 

Sighing softly, you look up at the street name and make a turn onto the Skywalker residence street, your shoulders relaxing when their two story home comes into view.  

Shake it off.

Parking isn't easy to find in their neighborhood, not when it’s so close to the observatory and some of the most visited parks in the area, but you manage to find one just two cars away from their house. 

Gathering your things, you lock the door behind you and quickly make your way down the sidewalk, phone in your hand and typing out a message that you’re here.

It’s while you’re hitting send that you don’t notice the body in front of you, staring up at the house with an almost wary expression on his face, or how his eyes widen when they see you. It’s not until you collide into his body, soft with a fleece cardigan, that you notice him. Embarrassment begins to boil in your blood as you quickly apologize to him, berating yourself for not being more aware of your surroundings.

“Kriff, I’m so sorry—“ you start, but the apology catches in your throat when you look up.

“Hello, there.” Blue eyes, so soft and kind, like the ones you once used to dream of stare back at you—so unlike the pair of eyes you saw years ago. “It’s been a long time, darling.”

You can’t shake him off.

next

[oikawaplssteponme]

PREVIOUSLY • MASTERLIST

pairing: (prince) Sawamura Daichi x (princess) fem! reader

warnings: none

word count: 1.6k words

synopsis: A childhood lover, a perfect picture, a thoughtful risk, a dashing spark, a resurfaced fling, a beautiful mystery, and an unlikely charmer. With so many flowers in the garden, which do you pick?

a/n: hello loves! i hope you all are doing well :)) reminder that the taglist is still open, just send an ask or leave a comment to be added <3 id love to hear your thoughts and please reblog!! tags have been weird lately so id really appreciate the reblogs :) !

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ: ☾

Nervous

“Good morning Your Grace! Rise and shine!” Anita came bursting into your room. She opened up your bedroom curtains, revealing the burning sunshine. You grabbed one of your pillows and buried your head under it.

“Oh gosh what time is it…” you groaned.

“Time to start getting ready. I’ll have your breakfast brought in momentarily.” Anita left your room just as quickly as she entered it. You removed the pillow from your head and sat up.

“Oh good you’re up.” Your mother, the queen, entered your room, followed by Anita and your breakfast tray.

“Thank you.”

“Eat up sweetheart. You’ll need your energy for today!” said your mother.

“Why must the ball be so late today?” You asked, “and why have you woken me up so early…”

“It’s the Midnight Ball Y/N! It’s tradition whenever the kingdom of Karasuno comes to visit,” she explained. You nodded.

The Prince of Karasuno would be next on your agenda. You had heard nothing but nice things about him. He was known to be responsible, kind, level headed, everything a future king would need to be.

“Your gown for tonight is getting finished up at the tailor’s. I’ll be picking it up in about an hour or so,” explained Anita.

“I’ll join you,” you said as you took a sip from your tea. Your mother shook her head.

“You have much to prepare for here, darling. Anita can take care of it herself.”

“I’ll only be gone for an hour or two. I promise I’ll be back in time,” you insisted.

“Very well… I’ll make sure your ride is prepared.” Your mother patted the top of your head before leaving your room. You looked at Anita, sighing.

“I suppose this is how things will be for a while. A ball every week, a new dress to try on, and someone new to see.”

“You’ll certainly never be bored, Your Highness. I’ll set out your garments for this morning’s trip and meet you outside.” Anita flashed you a bright smile before heading over to your closet, picking out a simple, light pink dress. She laid it on the chair of your vanity before leaving.

You finished your breakfast and got yourself ready then went to meet Anita outside.

“Ready to go, Your Majesty?” she asked. You smiled.

“Anita you know you can call me Y/N, and yes.”

The ride into town was smooth. It was an exceptionally beautiful day, birds chirping, the sun shining. You waved to whoever you saw as people eagerly noticed your arrival.

You arrived at the tailors right on time. It was a dainty shop, filled with endless piles of fabric and designs to fuel anyone's imagination.

“Good morning Your Royal Highness! Here to pick up your gown for tonight’s ball?” asked Mari, the shop owner.

“The Princess is also in need of one final fitting before we can take the gown back to the castle with us,” explained Anita. Mari nodded.

“Yes yes of course! Right this way my darling!”

She led you and Anita to where the mannequin stood, wearing the dress.

“Wow…”

It was an extravagant gown, black as the midnight sky. The sunlight peeking in from the windows bounced off of the small crystals, making it sparkle. It lastly had a matching cape, since the ball would take place at night.

“Mari you never disappoint, it is truly gorgeous,” you said.

“Oh thank you Princess. Here, let's get you laced up.”

The dress fit you perfectly as expected. It’s sweetheart neckline and floral detail looked stunning on you. Mari packaged up your dress as you waited with Anita.

“We actually have one last stop before we can head back,” she explained.

“Where?” you asked. Anita smiled.

“It seems that your prince has a gift for you.”

You and Anita walked along the streets of town until reaching the flower shop. You breathed in the scents of gardenias and lilies.

“Pick up for Y/N L/N,” explained Anita to the front desk attendant. They scurried off to the back cooler and brought out the biggest arrangement of flowers you had ever seen.

“Oh wow…”

It was a mix of orange and black roses, with a small card peaking out.

‘Until tonight Princess… -D.S.’

“D.S.?” you questioned. Anita chuckled.

“It’s from Prince Sawamura Daichi, Your Majesty.”

“He certainly knows how to make a girl smile,” you whispered.

“He’s perfect…” gushed Anita. You chuckled.

“We’ll see about that…”

~

As the day drew on, you found yourself back at home. You were finally getting ready for the ball, that started in just a few hours. You showered and wrapped yourself up in your silk robe. You walked into your room, where Anita was laying out your dress.

“Anita what do you know about Sawamura Daichi?” you asked. She chuckled nervously.

“Well I don’t know too much...but I know that he is a great leader with a kind heart. He puts others before himself and is devoted to helping others. Anyone would be lucky to have a heart like his.”

“It seems like you know more than you think,” you teased. Anita shook her head.

“Oh my apologies. Here, let's get you laced up.”

Anita cinched you up into your gown. She did your makeup and clipped on your cape.

“Stunning as always,” she smiled.

“Thank you. Shall we go?”

The garden was marvelously decorated with lights and lanterns. There was a grand fountain in the middle of it all, the floor a checkered pattern . The full moon shined above you, making the moonlight bounce off of your gown. You greeted people as they approached you, keeping one eye out for the Prince.

“Excuse me, You Grace?”

You turned around to see a man smiling at you with grey hair.

“Yes?”

“Princess Y/N L/N, I am pleased to introduce you to the marvelous, chivalrous, most handsome-”

“That’s enough Sugawara…”

“Oh right...Prince Sawamura Daichi, Your Majesty.” He moved out of the way, allowing the prince to step forward.

“My apologies, he tends to get carried away,” smiled Daichi. You chuckled.

“I actually liked your introduction,” you teased.

“I’m glad. Would you care to dance?” Sawamura pointed to the dance floor. You nodded.

“I would love to.”

You took his hand and he guided you to the floor, He bowed before you, then placed his hand onto your waist and held up your other hand.

“Thank you for the flowers,” you said. Daichi smiled.

“I’m glad they found you well. I wasn’t sure which flowers were your favorite so I decided to play it safe with roses.”

“I do love roses.”

“Do you have a favorite flower?”

“Not particularly. I love the assortment bouquets, that way I get a little of everything,” you explained.

“I see.”

Daichi spun you around the floor, keeping you close to you. His eyes almost as dark as the midnight sky, you could’ve fallen into them. As your hand rested on his bicep, you could tell just how strong he was. His strong build but gentle smile warmed your heart.

You watched as what looked to be a sweat droplet glided down the side of his forehead. You chuckled.

“Are you nervous?” you asked. Sawamura tilted his head.

“Nervous? What makes you say that?”

“It looks like you’re sweating.”

Daichi patted his forehead with the back of his hand. He smiled.

“That’s not sweat princess, that’s rain.”

The two of you looked up at the sky, seeing the clouds rolling over you. You closed your eyes, starting to feel the soft water trickle down upon you.

“Everyone inside!” shouted the king. People began to rush over to the doors, hiding under the walkway.

“Y/N, darling, you’re gonna get sick!” insisted your mother. As you soon became drenched by the rain, you looked to Daichi, who held onto your hand.

“I have a dance to finish,” you smiled. Daichi grinned, placing his hand back onto your waist and once again, guided you along the dance floor.

It was just the two of you, dazzling under the stormy moonlight. As lightning struck and thunder boomed, you kept your eyes on Sawamura. How he made you laugh, calling you reckless for proposing this idea. Even as the floor became even more slippery, you and Daichi didn’t stop. Soon, the orchestra came back, playing for you. Drums sounding along with the sound of thunder, causing goosebumps on your skin.

The two of you caught your breath, panting as water droplets dripped down your lips. You wrapped your arms around his neck, keeping you balanced. Without realizing it, yours and Sawamura’s foreheads were pressed against each other. Daichi locked eyes with you, placing his hand under your chin.

“I think it’s safe to say that you took my breath away.”

~

The two of you went inside the palace a short time later. Anita brought you both towels to dry yourselves off.

You now sat with the prince on the grand staircase. The two of you talked about all kinds of things. He told you about Karasuno, you told him about what there was to do around your kingdom. He listened happily to every word you had to say.

“You’ll have to show me around soon, I didn’t get to explore much today,” he said. You nodded.

“I would love to do that.”

“Excuse me, Your Highness, we must be going.”

You looked over to the man who entered with the prince earlier. You sighed, almost wishing he didn't have to leave.

“Very well, just one moment please.”

Daichi stood up from the steps. He helped you up as well.

“It was such a pleasure meeting you Y/N. I wish we didn’t have to part so soon,” he smiled.

“As do I. I hope you have safe travels, and the next time you’re here I will happily show you around.” Daichi smiled.

“I would love that.”

He carefully took your hand, kissing the top of it. He took his soaked suit jack and draped it over his shoulder before joining Sugawara. You sighed.

“He really is perfect.”

•

[ taglist OPEN : @lealofsblog @iwaisa @bakugousmymassa @evivn1 @tetsoleil @bokutory @vangoghmusings @moonlightaangel @misszenin @marajillana @asahisimpnation @sopesmin @alaina-rose13 @shotoful @koutarousangel @shoutamajiki @definitelynottrin @sullen-angel24 @thatprettybunny ]

[thought-i-to-myself]

Since you're absolutely brilliant, Id love to hear your opinion and break down on the ending bickering scene and the development of Ann "This is my life now, piss off good sir" Walker because what an icon. I can only hope this little cute skirmish brings on many sweet and funny moments between the two. 💞

YES I THINK IT SHALL.  Ann Walker was on fire this episode, except for that moment when it was her drawing of Anne that was actually on fire which was devastatingly tragic.  BUT YES.  We have known all along that Ann had some fight in her so it was absolutely thrilling and inspiring to see her stand up for herself, by herself.  Let’s recap:

In 1 x 02, Anne finds out that some members of Ann’s idiotic tribe are totally taking advantage of the fact that she is $$$ loaded, and she helps her compose a strongly-worded letter as a means of defending her and her cash.  And Coach Anne says that she’d be willing to come back next time and dictate another, but like all great coaches, she hopes instead that Ann will be able to do it herself in the future.  Teach a woman to fish, and all that …

In 1 x 05, we see some sparks of Ann’s fight, particularly when it comes to Ainsworth.  First, Anne again helps her write a letter telling that wretch off (lesbians love writing letters, if you didn’t know) and then Reverend Assworth has the nerve to come right the fuck over anyway.  Ann sticks to her guns and tells James (“Yes, thank you James!”) to send him on his merry way, and to remind him that she JUST SENT HIM A FLIPPING LETTER TELLING HIM TO BACK OFF.  But I think it’s important to note that Anne is in the room here, she’s literally in Ann’s corner so to speak.  [Also is it just me or does anyone else say “Yes, thank you James!” in Ann’s perfect voice every time you see James on screen? Just me? Ok whatevs.]  Secondly, there’s a part later in this episode where Ann has sent word that she’s not feeling well and instructed everyone to leave her alone, and ELIZA this time comes right the fuck over anyway.  What is it with these people?  And Ann has a great little scene (that I know I still need to gif for @nikkupsticks, sorry friend) where she says she didn’t hear the doorbell ring and Yes-thank-you-James tells her that Eliza came around back.  Ann groans (the hbo caption actually says “[groans]”) and tells Miss Parkhill snarkily that “she sneaks in,” and that people show up anyway even when you ask them not to.  Then she tells Miss Parkhill that she might head back upstairs, and though this is kind of a throwaway line, to me it’s signaling that Ann does have that fight-or-flight instinct within her somewhere, it’s just buried under layers of civility.  But she’s well on her way to reaching her breaking point.

In 1 x 06, Ann tells Anne that when she’s with her, she feels like she could take on the world and boom, it’s like by saying it outloud like that Ann has totally jinxed herself because OF COURSE now she’s gonna have to learn how to take on the world without Anne first before she gets to be with Anne.  And throughout episodes 5 and 6 we see several moments where Ann is so sure of her feelings for Anne when they’re together in the bedroom or behind closed doors but then 180s in the light of day, faced with her family and the jeering eyes of society.  And the difference in all those instances is Anne: when Ann has Anne as backup, as her coach, her teammate, she is willing and able to fight for what she wants. That is, until Ann - sweet cinnamon roll Ann who has been sort of cast aside and dragged around by her family her whole life - has to go to Scotland to be with big sis and big sis’s disgusting human of a husband because family always knows what’s best (???) and birthing children solves all a person’s problems (???).

UGGHHH that brings me to the heartbreaking scene in 1 x 08 where Ann is so sad and downtrodden - she doesn’t know yet that Anne’s written, that Anne still cares for her -  that she’s basically resigned herself to think maybe she should go be with whatever poor schmuck Capt. Sutherland wants.  I mean this is the product of years of abusive behavior by her family which has led Ann to believe that she’s worthless.  And with no signs of life from Anne, Ann’s spark is all-but-extinguished until big sis ELIZABETH swoops in because big sisters are fucking awesome and girl knows that it’s SISTERS BEFORE MISTERS and CHICKS BEFORE DICKS and that friendships between women are literally the most important thing in the world full stop.  So Ann Walker hears that Anne hasn’t let go yet and the flame is reignited and whatever idea Ann had tried to convince herself of that being with joe schmoe might actually be bearable is struck down by Elizabeth’s lightning rod words that you should do what who makes you happy and if that’s a coal pit-sinking brunette in a greatcoat and a tophat with a killer smile and eyes that make you go weak at the knees then go for it little sis because gal pals like that don’t come along every day!!!  Is that not what she said? Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s what she said.

So you know what comes next, Anon: it’s “I’ll deal with it,” and “bye bitch, thanks for having me, see ya never!” and “everything that has to do with me is my choice.“  And yeah, ok, so she’s got Eliza and Eliza’s hubby there and Elizabeth is secretly on her team too, but she’s standing up for herself because she’s finally reached her breaking point and come to the conclusion that letting other people decide for her is not working, civility be damned.  Remember how joyfully Ann talked about “my sister, Elizabeth!!” in episode 2? Go back and watch it, she says it like that 3 times in the span of 10 minutes.  And now here we are, however many months later it is, and Ann is staring into the face of her older sister Elizabeth who is revealing that she’s actually miserable and intimating that husbands and babies aren’t always all they’re cracked up to be.  So I think that for Ann, she sees in her sister’s eyes what her world will look like if she goes down that path and that fight-or-flight kicks in.  And then there’s Anne.  And there’s that feeling, that deep, indescribable thing in her bones that Ann feels when she’s with Anne. That thing that turns her into Ann “I’d love to paint you” Walker and Ann “I’ve been in love with you since the first time I saw you” Walker and Ann “it’d be like a marriage”/“like a wedding?”/“is it not the same as a proposal?” Walker.  And that thing wins out.  Because that thing is real, and Anne’s real, and because “often a good friendship [with a woman] is better than a marriage [to a man].”  And if a good friendship with a woman is better than a marriage to a man, then what could be better than secretly marrying that good friend who is a woman and living as secret wives gal pals for the rest of your days.  Not a damn thing, that’s what.

The wifely witty bickering at the end of the episode is just icing on the (wedding) cake.  These two have gone through the gauntlet of emotions, both together and apart this season, but this idea that they’d make a lasting commitment to each other and solidify it with some sort of symbolic gesture has been lingering between them for months at this point.  But now there are no more words.  No more yes’s or no’s. No more “I can’t.”  No more “you came so close.” Exchanging rings in the carriage, sealing it with kisses, taking communion together, That Finger Graze, smiling on the way out of the church - all of it was wordless.  They didn’t have to say anything.  They knew how serious it was for each of them. They understood the gravity of it all, the weight of what they were doing, what it meant, and what it cost. And so by the time they got back to the alleyway, they had taken the sacrament together and were wearing rings on their fingers, and there were no more questions about what they were to each other or what they’d be in the future.  It was done.

So the last scene, the playful back and forth - that’s totally what marriage is, isn’t it?  It’s a comfort thing. Anne can joke with Ann about her being morethan a pretty face because she knows she’s not going anywhere.  Ann can stomp all over Anne’s plans, or boss her around (please god yessss) and order her to put away her pocketwatch because she knows Anne won’t leave her. And those all just words anyway, you know?  And now, our Ann(e)s, our beautiful, remarkable, perfect Ann(e)s are married. And that is so much bigger than words.

This show is fucking perfect.  

[despairko]

Radio Waves: A KomaHina AU

Description: Hajime Hinata is a nighttime radio announcer for a station that broadcasts poetry, but his life is stuck in a rut and he dreads coming to his job every night. That is, until a mysterious anonymous poet catches his attention with an unnamed submission and turns his entire life upside down. Chapter: 1/5 Word Count: 4,777 Archive Warnings/Rating: No archive warnings; suitable for all audiences

Read it on AO3

“Thank you to all the listeners who tuned in again tonight, may we stumble across each other again. Goodnight.”

The faded red broadcasting light blinked off, and Hinata let out a relieved sigh. The first order of business was to toss the clunky black headphones on the table. The second, he decided, was to leave as fast as possible. Still, he couldn’t help but to take a moment to throw his head back and slump down in his chair, burying his face in his hands and rubbing at his eyes. They burned a bit already from the hours spent awake, staring at the station-provided laptop screen, and he could feel the blood pulsing behind them, thudding fists on the walls of his vessels. He let his hands fall, stared at the white spotted ceiling and the dancing dots that colored his eyes, then shoved himself out of the seat with a start, using what seemed like all of his energy just to get himself to his feet.

His heart dropped as the door swung open. In walked his producer, a small, rounded man with cropped, greying brown hair and glasses that slide down his nose when he talks too vigorously, which he makes a habit of (much to Hinata’s dismay).

“Another successful show, Hinata!” He slapped his arm with an overwhelming amount of force, causing Hinata to stumble forward and bump into the table, shaking it. Without seeming to notice, he continued. “You always manage to read things just right. You really have a knack for radio!”

I don’t have a “knack”, I have 8 years of experience, Hinata thought to himself. His voice came out a low mutter. “Thanks.”

Without looking at the loud, imposing figure in front of him, he made a beeline to his bag, shoving in the laptop and beginning to dig for his keys. Beyond all hope, he prayed for his producer to leave it at that, say his goodbyes, and disappear into the next day like he was planning on doing, but his boisterous booming continued.

“You know, Hinata, we really ought to advertise this show more. I think we could pull in a lot more listeners. We could do a press tour, maybe a couple TV spots, hell, maybe even a billboard! Think about it,” he dropped his voice, conspiring excitedly. “Your voice, lording over everyone on the route into town in every town.”

“People don’t like poetry that much,” he murmured.

“But they could!” The producer slapped him on the back, still too hard and Hinata had to catch himself to keep from falling over.

He pulled himself upright, having fished his keys from his backpack and thrown it over his shoulder. “I don’t really want to do all of that. I don’t really want my face ‘lording over everyone on the route into town in every town.’” He shrugged. “I’m perfectly happy with how the show is going right now.”

As he said that, he knew it wasn’t entirely true. He hadn’t been happy in this god forsaken job in well over a year. If you do anything long enough it turns into sleepwalking.

The producer’s face stiffened slightly, the smile falling into a straight line. The creases on his forehead deepened, as did his tone as he said “My boy, you really ought to consider the future of this show. There are things you need to pay attention to.” His smile returned, but more cautiously. “Just give me the word, though, and I’ll get you everything you need!”

“Thank you, sir,” Hinata bowed slightly. “But I already have everything I need.”

Before the producer could wander into a minefield and step on another topic, Hinata rushed to the door and pushed his way out into the mostly deserted hallway. The corridor was lined with dirt, topped with fluorescents, and filled with the disgusting and visceral experience of both. The smell was subtle but somehow overwhelming, earthy and slightly sweat stained. He made his way to the fingerprint pocked glass doors at the front of the studio and pressed his way into the fading night. Slight hints of sunrise were already showing themselves over the rooves of the scattered cars in the parking lot.

Stumbling through the grey light, Hinata pulled himself into his car, jammed the keys roughly into the ignition, heard the old rust bucket sputter to life, and, with another tired sigh, drove off into the last clinging moments of the night.

The hike up to the apartment was marked by four infinitely steep sets of metal stairs, weaving back and forth across the hollowed space; a few lights buzzed along the walls, their posses of moths swimming around them dutifully. Hinata pushed through the fire door and rounded the corner, shuffling down the hallway to his front door. Unlocking it, he lets himself in.

He dragged himself over to his bed, swayed, then fell onto it with a soft thud. The springs sputtered. He slid his backpack off of his shoulders and dropped it over the edge onto the floor next to him, heard the thud of the laptop. Crawling further onto the mattress, he tossed the blankets over his body, and closed his eyes tightly, letting his head sink into the pillow. Thoughts swarmed his head, a low and indistinguishable hum with very few recognizable features. The most familiar of these was the one screaming how tired he is.

Still, his body refused to calm. He turned onto his side, then the other side, flopping onto his stomach then rolling onto his back, shifting his arms and legs in a dance with exhaustion that left him somehow more awake. Each turn somehow becomes more uncomfortable that the last.

Eventually he sat up and clicked on the lamp on his bedside table. The blackout curtains were doing their job, but a cool glow around its edge told him that the day was coming and coming fast. Frustration welled, hot in his chest. Checking the time, he saw it has been only about an hour, though that hour was poised as if swimming upstream and failing against the current, slipping slowly but steadily down the river anyway.

The beauties of the graveyard broadcast slot.

He leaned over the edge of the bed and pulled the station laptop from the bag, tossing it onto his lap. Shifting his body back, he leans against the wall behind the bed. A familiar screen greeted him when he swung open the lid. The viewer submissions page.

The station insisted that the best way to build a base of loyal listeners was to have most of the show devoted to their writing. Hinata, who had been seventeen when his job on the show started, had not considered how miserable of a task this would become. He supposed he’d been somewhat naïve in letting the producer convince him to become a co-host, and then a host, but it was money and he was at least decent at his job. He didn’t have a particularly special voice, but he was able to bullshit his way through most of the analysis, a skill he learned well in high school, and the audience (what little of it there was) seemed to buy it with blood. And those same listeners submitted poem after poem for Hinata to slog through. He very rarely saw even one that piqued his interest, especially after eight years.

He started at the top and scrolled through each poem, skimming most and skipping some entirely. Words blurred together; ideas spat at him indiscriminately.

He stopped. Leaned closer. Read.

All the stars in all the skies, their sparkling teeth, their glaring eyes,

stare down on all the little ants, point magnifiers, watch them dance.

Aloft the mountain, stare in glee as gods cast down magnanimity—

I await my turn in line, cast in either role I’d be fine.

- A.I.

His eyes hovered over the words. It was… good? Not great, not by any stretch of the imagination. But it was simplistic, lyrical almost. The last stanza is weak, sure, the rhyming is too simple and the word choice too direct, but there was something about it that made him pause. Something. Something. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he marked it as “Read on Air,” and continued scrolling.

Hinata woke up with his laptop still open, the screen black. It had died while he slept. He was able to get about seven hours of sleep after his late-night leisure reading, and he had a few hours until his next broadcast started. Struggling against the tangle of blankets, he rose from bed and put the laptop on his nightstand, plugging it in to the nearest outlet to charge.

While making breakfast, he found his mind wandering back to that poem. His listeners tended to be wannabes—they tried too hard, picked words and images that made no sense. They likened love to a spatula or pain to a straw basket. Hinata spent too much time with his nose in a dictionary because his listeners spent too much of theirs in a thesaurus. It wasn’t a great poem, it was somewhat enjoyable at best, and the author—A.I.—certainly wasn’t publisher-ready material, so why was it sticking to him?

He pondered this over his coffee, taking slow sips and watching his cereal slowly dissolve. His phone buzzed, snapping his mind back to the moment. He looked at the caller ID. Producer.

“Hello,” he started, his voice sticking slightly with the still lingering grogginess. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Hello.”

“Hinata! I need you to come in a bit earlier starting in about two weeks. We have to discuss some things with the station manager, but he’s out of town on business until then.”

“Mmhmm,” he said, not registering the request fully. If he allowed himself to get frustrated about it now, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to say anything but a polite “fuck you” to this man, who just so happened to be his boss. Not a good look. So instead, he sighed and let his producer continue.

“Also, you need to select some more poems for tonight. We’re about six short.”

“I already went through all the submissions, I can just—”

“Pick six more. The listeners love it.” A lot more than the other shit you read. Okay, well fuck them.

“Alright. I’ll find some.”

“You can look at some of the submissions from the past couple days and pick from there, too, if you’re really pressed about it. We need to fill the air space.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t forget, two weeks. An hour early.”

“Okay.”

“You’ll get overtime pay.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t forget.”

“Alright, I won’t.”

“Okay, then, see you tonight for another great show!”

“See you then. Bye.”

The producer hung up, letting Hinata drop his phone to the table with a clatter.

“Now,” Hinata said, his voice my full and warm than usual. He let the character of the radio announcer take his place as he zoned out, sure to soon find himself wandering in an unfamiliar field of his mind, naming flowers he’d never seen before. He smiled, a red light blinking in the corner of the room. He remembered that his producer had told him as soon as he’d walked in the door that they would now be running a YouTube channel for his show. “To get a bigger audience.” Of fucking course, it was. The red glare let him know that people were watching, or at least they would be watching in about twelve hours’ time. He smiled because he had to.

“It’s time for everyone’s favorite portion of the show, user submissions. These daring people have graciously shared their writing with us, and I have personally chosen their works to be featured. As always, I’ll be reading the poem and giving my thoughts on it, then accepting calls from listeners who want to say their piece.” Hinata tried not to look at the camera, its glassy eye unblinking, so he instead turned to his laptop, the first poem open and ready for reading. “The first piece is called ‘Eye of the Storm’, by Ari Fukawa. Say, that name sounds familiar, I wonder if our author is in any way related to novelist Toko Fukawa? Maybe it’s a pen name. But, if the two are related, writing seems to run in the family. Without further ado…”

Hinata’s voice carried on without him, a skill grown from the labor of thousands of hours. He dropped to a whisper when the words felt small, and grew infinitely larger when they rose, like waves rocking to a steady lyrical tempo. He could understand why people enjoyed his reading, but he could always hear a hollowness in his own voice when a poem’s voice didn’t harmonize.

He finished his reading, letting the silence linger a moment. “Don’t hesitate too long,” his former co-host, Mori, had said smugly. “Don’t want them to think you died from how horrible it was.” Somehow, he had hated this show more than Hinata, and was gone within a year or his arrival. People initially held a lot of animosity towards Hinata, because he had dared to replace the show’s creator. The last thing he needed was an ego inflation, but when someone sent a lock of their hair to him and, in the same breath, threatened to bomb the station all he did was laugh and say, “That’s show business, baby!” It didn’t take long for the audience to forget him. Hinata’s youthful voice and sense of humor won them over without much resistance and, thankfully, no bombs. That’s show business, baby.

He sighed, easing the silence out. “Wow, what a piece. There were a lot of really unique details I noticed that the author used very well. Speaking of the author, let’s read the their submission notes.”

“’I wanted to submit this poem because my life has always felt like it has existed at the eye of a storm. Around me, everything is spinning out of control, and all I do is keep moving, taking in the chaos as I go. But at the same time, since I’m surrounded by chaos I can’t exist without it, and it’s hard to reach people when I’m surrounded by such a violent aura. I hope that I can hear your thoughts on this, since I’m such a fan of your show. Much love, Ari Fukawa.’ Well, thank you Ari, that is very sweet of you to say.” For a moment, his voice becomes more boyish and playful. Then, he sinks back into his smooth cadence. “And I think that your poem expressed this feeling very well. The motif of the storm…” his words even out, business as usual. Chaos, huh. It’s a good idea, strong, but way too well tread to be original, especially with how cheesy the whole thing is. It’s hard to take a poet seriously when they describe an infinite state of unrest with the phrase “kind of crazy, never lazy, a world of ideas foggy and hazy.” It’s juvenile. But the words out of his mouth, instead, are words of humble thanks. Thanks for sharing your thoughts, your writing, your creativity. Thank you for listening, thank you for submitting. Thank you for spewing your bullshit. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Poem after poem, the same empty thank you. Caller after caller with prewritten responses in order to sound smart, so many people calling in “anonymously” to compliment work that is “definitely not theirs” and call the author the next Homer or some fucking reach. It’s exhausting. But the smile stays on his face. For the camera. For the listeners. Mostly for the paycheck.

And his heart skips when he sees the next poem. An unnamed, anonymous submission from someone going by the initials A.I. He’d been looking forward to this. His breath caught for a moment, and he had to force it out. His mind stalled, unable to conjure the words to introduce the poem. In that moment, he realized he didn’t want to share it, he wanted it all to himself. But the silence was creeping up on him. Don’t hesitate too long, the voice echoed in his head. Fractions of a second were precious on the air.

“Our last piece is an unnamed submission from someone who signed their work ‘A.I.’” His heart wasn’t beating particularly fast, but he noticed every pulsing thud in every part of his body. Calm down. It’s not even that good. Just read it. “Thank you, A.I. You know, AI refers to artificial intelligence, which almost makes me laugh.” He forced out a light chuckle, trying to trick his body into relaxing. “Because the thing I noticed most about this poem was how human and honest it felt. But that’s for later. Let’s start by reading it.”

He stared at the words on the screen, letting his eyes dance between them. Suddenly, the letters became incomprehensible shapes, but still his lips moved knowingly. In a moment of unreality, he was sure he was losing his mind. It’s average at best! Relax. He didn’t.

When his tongue finally stumbled across the familiar final syllables, he pulled himself back to reality. He felt the redness grow in his cheeks, trying to stuff it down. Damn it, he scolded himself silently. I never mess up my readings. “Well, listeners, I think that for such a short poem it’s clear that the author has a lot to say about the nature of tragedy and loneliness.” His voice waivered. Get it together. “The structure is clean, and the imagery is strong, wouldn’t you say? The idea of distant, watching eyes—” he glances at the camera, then pulls his eyes back, shaking his head. “—creates a powerful image of an uncaring deity. Waiting to see you fail. You are next in a long line of disappointments. You are nothing to them.” Anger. Where is the anger coming from?

Breathe. Calm down.

What are you doing?

Calm down. Fuck.

He lowers his voice, trying to cool the rising temperature of his words. “It’s a… a strong… image… if somewhat weakly said.”

What am I saying? I’m not supposed to actually criticize the listener submissions. The producer had warned him not to be harsh on the listener pieces after one incident where the author had complained to the station manager and put the producer on probation for “failing to properly monitor content.” Not to mention that actual criticism keeps people from submitting again.

He could feel himself getting flustered and began imagining the worst. His breathing shortened, and the panic started to contort his face. He struggled against the growing tightness in his chest and swallowed, trying to clear the way for something else to say. Be nice. Say the nice things. Don’t mess this up.

“The, uh, the,” he cleared his throat again, and his voice evened out slightly. “The word choice manages to be both accessible in terms of level of understanding and complex in terms of how it’s used within the structure, though this falters a bit at the end.”

What. The. Fuck.

The little semblance of control he had begun to feel suddenly slipped loose; whatever rope that was tied to his harness had snapped. He was falling.

Stop talking, go to the phones. His experience took over, and he was able to cut in on his own mind. “Overall, it’s a great piece, thank you A.I. Let’s see what the other listeners have to say about it!” Click. A phone call, someone talking. Their voice is distant, muted, somewhere underwater. Or is he underwater? He slapped his hands to his face, feeling his hot cheeks. He closed his eyes to keep them from being open too wide, looking like a deer in headlights. He was aware of the camera, but he couldn’t lift his head out of his hands, afraid it would roll right off his shoulders. He almost wished it would. As the caller began to slow in their explanation, Hinata began interjecting more “uh huhs” and “mmhmms” to convince them that he was still listening.

He’s started to talk again, but he didn’t know what he was saying. Calls continued to roll in, and he picked them up, let them ramble, let them feel important, meanwhile he sat trying to zip up whatever dead thing he just awoke. He turned off the mic for a moment, just breathing, or at least trying to. By the time all his callers had worn themselves out, he had mostly regained his composure. Never before in all his miserable years at the station had he ever wanted to leave faster. By the time the producer had walked the two-door gap to the room and pushed open the door, Hinata had already sprinted out of the studio and burst into the cold dawn air.

Unsurprisingly, he got a call on the way home. He reluctantly picked up.

“Hinata!” the familiar voice boomed from other side, enthusiasm poorly masking a hint of anger. “Where did you go? I wanted to talk to you about your show tonight.”

“Ah, s-sorry, I was feeling kind of sick, so I wanted to get home.”

His voice lifted a little bit, though a hint of darkened doubt still hung over them both. “Oh, alright! Well, I don’t want you to make yourself sick, but that… last poem.” There was a pause. Silence was so rare with the producer. Being in radio, he was not a fan of dead air.

“Sorry.”

More silence. Flatly: “Whatever that was, never again.”

“Understood.”

“Good.”

The lights whirred by outside Hinata’s car. A few raindrops threw themselves on his windshield. He thought he could feel the steady rotation of the earth. He was hurtling.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Hinata. Get some rest.”

“Thank you, sir.” The phone line clicked. Dead.

Hinata looked down at the phone in his hand, watching the screen go black again as “call ended” faded away. He took a deep breath and tossed his phone into the passenger seat, looking up in time to see a red light.

He slammed on the brakes, his tires squealing and jerking against the asphalt, as yet another surprise greeted him. A garbage truck, much larger than his beat-up compact car, blew through the intersection.

It took him until he was lightheaded to realize he hadn’t been breathing. He felt the sweat slowly trekking down his cheeks. He forced himself to blink, consciously reminded himself to close his mouth, swallow, breathe. In the silence, he realized he hadn’t remembered to turn on the radio when he got in the car.

At some point while Hinata was asleep, the producer had uploaded the video of the show highlights to the brand-new YouTube channel, though parts of clips were conspicuously missing or dubbed over, specifically the last five or so minutes when he had lost his cool. Instead, there was audio of the conversation over unused footage from earlier in the broadcast. It was surprisingly well matched, especially since the mic frequently covered his lips. You almost wouldn’t notice it.

But of course, Hinata knew. And there was something else that he knew that no one else did.

The sound of his voice. His own voice. It sounded so different than the rest of the show so, to him, it stuck out like a rusty nail, though he doubted anyone else could tell. When he was reading the last poem, his radio voice had faltered. It was still smooth, light, expressive and interested, but it wasn’t Radio Hajime, it was him.

He sat in bed and closed his eyes, listened to that part of the broadcast over and over, trying to figure out what happened. It was a simple poem. Written well enough, but nothing special.

And why did he lose his fucking mind and start criticizing it? Nerves? He hadn’t been nervous on air in years, at the very least not since high school. But nothing like this had ever happened before.

A.I. Are those your initials? He turned the letters over in his head. Who are you?

A few more days passed with no incident, and no more poems from the mysterious author. Things returned to normal. The hours passed more and more slowly until they once again felt like a slog. The producer seemed more than happy to forget what had happened, and the station didn’t receive any complaints. Hinata, however, couldn’t help but feel like he’d scared A.I. off. It ached a little to think he’d lost a listener because of whatever was wrong with him that day. He pretended to be content thinking he’d eaten spoiled sushi that had temporarily made him lose his mind. What else could it have been?

That made it all the more jarring when, Friday morning, he woke up to another submission by the mysterious A.I.

He hesitated.

What if he hated it? Then he could probably move on and be done. But it would hurt. As stupid as it seemed, it would feel like a betrayal.

But what if he liked it? Or even loved it? Then it could happen again. And he couldn’t afford that.

He skipped the poem and continued reading the other submissions. He deleted some, selected others, set others aside for another day if he got desperate, until it was just A.I. and him, alone, staring back at each other on an otherwise blank webpage. He closed the laptop and set it aside.

The radio show went off without a hitch, but Hinata couldn’t get the poem out of his mind. Again.

He had to know. He had the weekend to himself, since a different (more popular) broadcast aired in his time slot on the weekends, so he could just read it and decide over the next couple days.

When he got home, he resolved himself to sleep, but once again found himself unable to stop the whirling in his head. This is ridiculous, he told himself. I should just read it and get it over with.

He yanked the laptop out of him bag, and it dawned on him just how much free rent this had been taking up in his head for almost a week, and he still couldn’t quite understand why. He propped the computer up in his lap and opened the lid. The submissions page was already open, as usual, and a few more had come in, so he had to scroll past them in order to get to the one he couldn’t get out of his mind.

This one, unlike the previous submission, was titled. The Lotto. A little cliché. He chuckled to himself. Maybe he had overestimated A.I. After all, he wasn’t a master. It was possible that the way he’d written was simply a fluke. As his eyes scanned the lines, he realized that he was wrong.

An oaken spine holds aloft my head, beneath the hourglass I’m led by hand to face his sunken form, embraces cold, misted breath warm. I skin the tree and peel its flesh, carve numbers in the space it left submit my lotto to the brook, for Earth to steal, a whimsied crook. He spends my riches, has them mugged saunters streets—dismal, drugged; skin caked in deluded mud and tree his oceans wander back to me. Roused anew by needled rain, coerced to carve my hopes again, return them to the current drift to give willingly a reluctant gift.

Fuck. He sighed to himself. It’s… it’s better.

He could still go through and pick it apart line by line, find things wrong, poke holes in its weaknesses. It would have been stronger with a more consistent meter, even though the syllables largely match-up between stanzas. The rhymes are relatively simple, as is the structure.

But what he couldn’t do was get his heart to slow down, or get his body to move, or pry his eyes away.

Until they drifted to the author’s notes.

Hinata,

Thank you for reading my previous poem on air and thank you for your honesty as well. Your opinion means the world to me.

With love,

A.I.

His fingers tingled as they hovered over the keys. What would he write if he could describe this feeling? A gentle acid, diluted within his own sweat, warm and swelling. The overwhelming physics of dancing atoms charged and drifting. The pin pricks of static, radio static doodling shapes in his brain. It was all bullshit. None of it made sense.

He marked it as “Read on Air,” rolled over, and drifted off to sleep.

[1358456]

Review Response, June 9-15, 2019

Once again, I wasn’t at home yesterday so this got delayed, and once again that 1 day delay doesn’t change anything whatsoever.

... And whatever the hell happened to the horizontal line breaks?! Now I’m just manually making those lines with - like a sucker...

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Destiny #006

1) Oh shit I finished the chapter so quickly it felt like it only lasted a couple minutes (though I know it’s a lot longer, I just got too eager). In any case, I was super excited to see White in this chap! I can’t wait to have her and Black interact, I absolutely love the way you write them (just like with Ruby and Sapphire kek). Speaking of Ruby and Sapphire: the jealousy from Sapphire’s side was on point! And I cannot wait for Sapphire’s reaction to Ruby’s answer. Btw nice sort of cliff hanger on that one. And tbh I have no idea what Ruby would say. I feel like he might say no because of Sapphire and the whole mega stone or keystone thing whatchamacallit, but again I’m not sure. Also, no? Blue answer your calls from Red? He’s worrying about you, love. All you need to do is answer and boom! On your way to happiness! Well. Sort of. I guess. Baby steps. But anyways, Dia’s (and Pearl’s no kidding) was adorable. And it made my little shipper heart happy, so kudos to you for that. And also I think it was great how you wrote Platinum as still polite yet attached; regal even when literally lying unconscious a couple minutes prior. It was so like her, and it still amazes me how on point you write these characters. Though admittedly Blue is not how she is in the manga (but that’s sort of the whole point, so like that’s what’s ideal). And so although you stay true to their personalities, it’s also great that you kept in mind how things would affect certain people and changes they way they behave in accordance to that. So kudos to you for that too. Also, definitely NOT going to be happy meeting Peter again in this story. I know it’s going to happen, but I can only hope that the guy spying on Blue (whom I assume is Peter) will not do anything to her, and if so isn’t revealed as Peter. Simply because I just don’t want to put up with his douchebaggery. Oof my reviews are long, but I get so caught up in it that I can’t help myself. Thank you again.

I do like writing with Black and White. But unfortunately, they are just 2 of MANY Dex Holders, so they won’t be getting as much focus as you’d like, especially since they’re particularly high on my Preference List. Damn. That said, when there’s one, there’s always the other with these two. Inseparable!

Indeed. All Blue has to do is answer Red’s call and everything becomes just fine. Another parallel to Legacy, if you will. In Destiny, Blue ignored the calls out of her fears and thus sh*t happens. In Legacy, Blue answered the call, and thus she was able to attain true happiness! But Destiny is the “mid-point” between SA and Legacy. The “mid-point” of the pairing shift. Blue’s progression towards Red has to be a gradual one.

Oh, Platinum. She must always retain her elegance, even if she had just gotten absolutely stomped a minute prior. That’s what makes her... her, you know?

Blue’s character traits of melancholy and depression (when alone) is mostly canon, but her steps towards rampancy is a... personality extrapolation given the canon. If she was to be pushed a certain way, how would she react? That kind of thing.

I’m loving your long reviews! But I do notice that it’s been a month since you started Destiny, and this is chapter 6. Out of 43. ... Hmm...

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Wings #001

1) Hello, hello! Right from the start, this story was surprising to see since I remembered that you said that you didn't like these sorts of high school AU things. I've only seen bits and pieces of this story being mentioned, but I didn't expect this sort of thing! The start was amusing; I found it funny how Y was paying attention to the way she looked, but by the end, I understand y now, and I feel sorry for the poor chap that ruined her reputation already.

Hey, you started on Wings! Yay!

Yep, I absolutely detest high school AU stories. But only because they’re all mostly the same thematically. Wings aims to avoid every single one of those common themes.

1) Self insert: I am not putting in “myself” with a disguise of the main character in a high school AU to “relive” high school but with my desired outcomes. No. Y in Wings is nothing like me. In fact, I’m basing Y’s aggression based on a web comic series I’ve seen years ago. And my high school “outcomes” were mostly identical to my desires anyways, so... meh.

2) Unpopular girl main character: My understanding of the main characters in “those high school AUs” is that the girls are always like timid and unpopular and gets bullied by the “pretty and popular” mean girls until the main character eventually triumphs once the “popular guy” falls in love and... blech. ... What do you think will happen in Wings if the “pretty and popular” mean girls were to bully Y? Yeah. Wings is nothing like those types of stories.

3) Romance: Y doesn’t give a f*ck about love in Wings. Some “cute popular” boy makes a move on her, she gives him the finger and then walks away. The end.

4) “(Name) is a normal girl attending high school and-”: ... Y is not normal. Yes, she wants a normal high school life, but literally right off the bat, I smashed that wish because Wings cannot be remotely similar to any of “those high school AUs”.

And on and on.

I’m glad you thought it was amusing! Wings is intended to be purely for fun. Especially later on as more shenanigans happens.

... But I’m curious that you’re leaving a GUEST review, instead of the signed one, currently with the ID of... er... ... keyboard mashing. Hmm...

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Wings #002

1) It's nice to see the Kalos group coming together! I still haven't finished reading the XY arc of the manga, but it's nice to see Y and Shauna's interactions. I like how you gave a brief insight to Shauna's life in her middle school years; getting bullied sucks, and it must have been hard for her if she prefers to be friends with someone who is viewed negatively and lowers her own reputation down, rather than increasing the chances of getting bullied again. Maybe I'm just overthinking this, but it's still nice! And for X...dang, I feel sorry for him...salt and pepper in his eyes and mouth? That was extreme. Overall, a pretty great chapter! It was amusing from the way X and Shauna unintentionally contributed to lowering Y's reputation in her classroom, and to watch Y beat up intimidating students was funny to imagine.

Yep. Y and Shauna will be one of those “BFFs”, but... not really like those. I have to retain Shauna’s canon personality, which is a bit... sarcastic? So she’ll have a more “cool” friendship with Y instead of those “omg hug” types or whatever. F*ck those.

Hmm... Shauna having a bad middle school experience is not really intentional, but it does make sense, if you think about it like that. But it could also be that Shauna just finds hanging out with Y to be amusing.

X getting salt and pepper poured into his face is LOOSELY based on what I went through in high school, where some prick randomly poured a packet’s worth of salt on my head (getting all that damn salt out of my hair took absolutely forever), and so I took revenge by emptying at least 30 packets of salt and pepper into a sheet of paper and then pouring all that into his hair the next day. So... poor me, poor that kid, and poor X. Hehe.

Oh, there will be more instances of Shauna inadvertently worsening Y’s reputation, with real and fake stories. But Y won’t really mind since it’ll already be too late. There’s no turning back with her reputation now.

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Wings #003

1) Like a bolt from the blue, it's time for a (ratherlatethanintended) review! I really missed the way you write and how you describe everything in detail. Really helps me visualize everything! I know that's the point of writing, but your writing style is effective since I tend to zone out whenever I read something too long. Plus, the way you have each chapter structured keeps things interesting. My interest in piqued with each passing chapter! I'm thoroughly enjoying this story so far.

Okay onto the chapter itself! I like how Grace is supportive of Y's choices even when her daughter's being really violent in school, though perhaps it's because Grace was a delinquent herself when she was younger? Maybe?

And the way X behaves and reacts whenever Y is around is both amusing and sad. Very traumatic for him I'm sure. I do hope that his and Y's relationship as friends improve as chapters go by.

Faitsu and Crystal finally appears so I'm happy about that! I hope more familiar faces appear soon! Speaking of which, I felt like the teacher at the end of chapter 1 could turn out to be someone we know, but I don't know if that's just me. (It's not at all possible due to your preferences, but I keep thinking it's Green, even though he's in the void of nonexistence.)

Getting decked in the face by a soccer ball...hah. What a way to meet your future teammate! ...assuming she ends up joining the soccer club that is.

Overall, a great chapter! I like how lively everyone is, even the nameless students!

Ehehe... thank you! I’m glad you’re enjoying this deviation of a story of mine. After all, I’d never make another high school AU, ever, and this is the only one, so... it’s quite the deviant.

My thoughts on Grace is that she’s kind of a cool mother. ... Though I think that’s more... er... non XY arc. Hmm... Well, like mother like daughter... right?? Hehehe...

Oh, X and Y will be GOOD friends as time passes! Can’t have Y stressing out the poor boy, now can I? He will certainly prove to be a good supportive friend, though... not physically supporting (later on).

Faitsu and Crystal (and Black, technically) have appeared! More and more familiar faces will appear and be mentioned as time passes, of course. In fact, most everyone will be in Wings. Red, Blue, Gold, Crystal, Diamond, Pearl, Platinum, Black, White, Faitsu, X, Y, Sun, and Moon! ... Even Sword and Shield, if Wings lasts long enough. ... So... no, Green is not in Wings, since he has been banished into the void for eternity.

Yep. Decked in the face. And bloodshed. Real hard to get by ONE day without bloodshed, eh? Hehehe.

I look forward to seeing your review for the 4th chapter!

[cartoonfangirl1218]

Winner’s Curse: Ch 1

Note: Thanks as usual to @edream93

“BRIIIIIIIIING!”

The teaming mob of students raced out of class, eager to soak in the precious few hours of free time and relaxation they had before mandatory curfew.

Ever since the events at Cotillion, Auradon Prep had been taking extra measures to keep the students safe and prevent another villain invasion.

Those extra measures included students having to be ID whenever entering the premises. Several assemblies of FG lecturing that “If you see something suspicious, report it.”

In Jordan’s opinion, all of these measures were incredible stupid and weren’t going to stop a villain from invading.

It was like they didn’t know villains operated on their own rules. A VK would probably get a fake card or just sneak in when the guard was on a break.

Please, she had been sneaking in and out when the guard was off duty so she wouldn’t have to attend chemistry class since freshman year and no one had ever caught her.

So not only were these extra precautions asinine, but they were sucking the fun out of everything. They had curfew at 10 pm!

“No sense. They have no sense. When several villains have magic, all magic must be banned. When two villains invade Auradon, we have to get punished.” Jordan mumbled to herself as she shoved her books into her sling-on.

She was seriously considering the pros and cons of getting detention if she was caught levitating her schoolbooks instead of using a sling-bag when an obnoxiously loud voice bellowed next to her.

“That’s exactly what I’VE been saying! Thank you for agreeing with me, Jordan!”

Jordan’s head snapped up and collided with the head of the voice.

Prince Chad Charming, the greatest jerk in the land. At least in her opinion. Or in the opinion of half of the female population who had been strung along by him. She hadn’t been one of the many who fallen under his sway, she just disliked him on principle.

“Excuse me?” Jordan hissed, rubbing her head.

“It’s not fair that we get punished because the VKs live here now. We are law-abiding citizens, the VKs should be the ones being under watch. Not us. Father and I have been trying to get FG to get rid of these stupid rules and focus on the Vk problem.” Chad said, holding out his hand for a fist-pump.

Jordan glared at his offending hand that sparkled with not one-but two golden rings that had the Charming Family crest etched into a sapphire jewel.

“There isn’t a VK problem. There’s a common sense problem among-” Jordan began to say when Chad interrupted with a derisive snort.

“No VK problem? Dude, ever since Ben invited those delinquents we’ve had attack after attack. Maleficent at Coronation. Ursula’s spawn at Cotillion. We never had problems before they came around. And now Ben’s dating Maleficent’s daughter. This whole country is going into ruins.” Chad gesticulated widely, spreading his arms in a grand show that reminded Jordan of videos she had seen of Judge Frollo preaching.

“Cotillion happened six months ago, no one died. You weren’t even there. You were with Audrey at the spa or-”

“I saw the pictures.” Chad put a finger on her lips to silence her, “No one got hurt, but a lot of expensive clothes were ruined because of all the splashing. And that’s another thing about the Vks. Everyone has gotten dirtier, and less respectful of ermine.” Jordan slapped Chad’s finger away from her mouth.

Though she was aware of Chad’s deep VK prejudice, she had thought he would have toned it down since his step-cousin had come over from the Isle. Then again, he probably thought the Dizzy coming to Auradon was a huge inconvenience on his life. Like his laundry WAS taking twice as long or something because of her mere presence.

Jordan finished shoving her books into her bag and looked up to see that Chad was still looking at her expectantly. As if she had any opinion to add on people’s respect towards ermine.

She might as well annoy him, it gave her pleasure to think of the offended face Chad always made whenever she, or anyone, disagreed with him.

“I don’t know about people getting dirtier, but their hairstyles sure have gotten better since Dizzy came. You really should go visit her. Maybe get rid of your perm.” Chad’s boyish grin dropped completely and his eyes went into little slits as he tried to think up of a witty comeback.

“I’ll have you know my perm was done by-”

Jordan rolled her eyes. Getting in trouble be damned, she was out of there, “I’m done. Bye!”

She snapped her fingers and immediately transported herself and her bags to outside the gym and startled Lonnie who was just exiting the doorway of the locker room.

The Asian girl immediately went into a defensive stance then relaxed when she saw it was her.

“Is Aziz here?” Jordan asked.

“Yeah, I think he’s just washing up. How are you?” Lonnie questioned, casually leaning against the wall.

Jordan bit her lip. Ah small talk, her arch-nemesis.

She was horrible at small talk with people that she barely interacted with. It either devolved into polite questions about the other person’s day or awkward silences.

There was no solid topic that they had in common to talk about. Sure, there was school but that was school. Bore-ing! And while she can go the fashion route she knew Lonnie and hers taste were nothing alike. Lonnie preferred comfy athletic clothes and she went for glamor and form-fitting.

This is why she preferred to talk to people within the confines of her show. Straight into an interview, question and answer. Boom. Boom. She liked things to the point and small talk was so...meandering.

“Um I- I’m fine?” Jordan replied, looking down to rifle through the books in her bags. Hoping that Lonnie would get the hint that she clearly was too busy to talk.

“Really? You don’t seem so sure about that.” Lonnie said playfully, clearly not going to let the conversation stall.

“Uh huh.” Jordan mumbled, looking very very slowly at the items in her bag which was not a easy task since she had only three books in there and a bunch of gossip magazines.

“You know I really liked your latest show. You know, the one where you interviewed Jay about the events at Cotillion. It was too bad Ben and Mal couldn’t comment because of “public relations” but Jay’s was very interesting. Especially those little stories he told about when he knew Uma on the Isle. Mal and hers’ rivalry was so dramatic. I had no idea that-”

“Did I hear my name?” Jay came out from the doorway followed by Carlos and Aziz and Jordan almost sighed in relief that the former thief saved her from continuing this dreaded small talk.

“Yes. Jordan and I were just talking about your interview and the stories you told about Uma.” Lonnie replied and Jordan felt a tiny bit guilty that Lonnie gave her credit for talking rather than monosyllabic answers.

“Ugh Uma.” Carlos shuddered.

Jay laughed, punching him in the arm,“Dude, she’s not that terrifying. She’s Shrimpy, remember?”

“Yeah, but that was before we found out she could turn into a sea monster.” Carlos crossed his arms.

Aziz sauntered over to Jordan’s right side, and jokingly nudged her shoulder. He smiled brightly with the white teeth that was so similar to Aladdin, Jordan was surprised not more people mistakenly call him Prince Ali.

“This is what we get for skipping big events. We miss Maleficent’s attack, we miss Uma’s attack-”

“I think I prefer seeing babies than villains invading Auradon.” Jordan smiled, grateful that Aziz finally came.

Now Aziz was someone she could talk to. He was her brother, her best friend and she swore that if she was going to have to love one boy in the whole world for the rest of her life, it would be Aziz. No matter how annoying he could be with his pranks, and gross humor, and plain getting on her nerves. He had her back just as she had his.

It was not a fairytale romance, far from it. Like with Aladdin and Jasmine’s sex life... getting on with Aziz? Ewww!

The joke people tell about how she and Aziz were the modern day Aladdin and Genie and she had to admit, they were right. She’d totally spend the entireity of his life by his side as his sidekick and voice of reason.

“Babies being born?” Carlos cocked his head. “My eldest sister gave birth just the day before Cotillion. And before that, we had to go home for the baby shower and miss Ben’s Coronation.” Carlos still looked confused since he wasn’t fully debriefed on the Agrabah royal family tree as Jay had been after coming to Auradon.

Aladdin and Jasmine had two daughters born before the Great Uniting, Zahrat Alquemar was the eldest at 23 and Cassima was the second oldest at 20. Jordan had been born a year after Cassima, during the Great Uniting.

Following Cassima 4 years later had been Aziz who was born after the Great Uniting and thus used to all the luxuries of olive groves next to Agrabah via the Wall of China divided the two countries and being educated at Auradon Prep for most of his life.

So there they were, Zahrat, Cassima, Aziz, the heirs to Agrabah and the shining jewels of the kingdom.

Surprise, surprise 9 years later, there were too more jewels to the royal crown. Jasmine had twins, Amal and Noor.

The twins were obviously an accidental pregnancy considering the large gap, though no one would say that out loud in conservative Auradon. Besides Aziz, and his sisters didn’t particularly like to muse on the implication that Aladdin and Jasmine still had an active sex life. It was just gross.

Now Zahrat had given birth to her first son, Fahran. The birth would would have been on the Auradon World Wide News, but since Uma’s thwarted invasion of Cotillion happened, it was a mere footnote that no one knew about.

Unlike the rest of the Auradon population, Jay had gotten the news a day later even though he had never met the family face to face. Aladdin had told her and Aziz to get Jay to come since it would have been a good opportunity for Jay to meet the whole royal family, but they hadn’t found him in time since he had apparently been on the Isle of the Lost. So they sent this news via email.

Aladdin and Jasmine had been trying very hard to include Jay into the family. They had never been for the Isle and since Ben’s proclamation, they had been doing their best to contact Jay. Aladdin, especially. He had a deep urge to talk to Jay about his life on the Isle and the conditions there that were so similar to his life as a street rat. He always said that if it weren’t for Jasmine, he would be as bad as Jay so he didn’t judge the boy as harshly as so many royals did think of Vks.

So far they had not met, and Aladdin was starting to suspect that Jay didn’t want to meet him or be in Agrabah. Jordan was suspicious about that too. Though Jay always seemed interested when she and Aziz talked about it there and made non commital agreements that he should really visit. It never seemed to pan out...

“I have two older sisters, and a younger brother and sister.” Aziz explained to the white haired teen, “That’s why I don’t take any royal classes since my sisters are going to have the throne before I do.”

Jordan nodded her head sagely, carefully watching Aziz’s face for any signs of overt nonchalantness or sounding too casual about the information. She knew that even though Aziz had no desire to become Sultan, he still agonized over the fact that he had no idea what to do with his life and that he had no real career paths like other royal students who had their lives planned out to the last detail.

Right now, he didn’t seem too bothered as he stated the fact but Jordan could swear that his smile was a bit too forced around the edges.

“Anyway..” Jordan decided to step in with the little small talk ability she had before the conversation veered into uncomfortable territory, “What are you guys going to do this afternoon?”

“We’re just going to the field and practice some tourney.” Jay answered, slapping Lonnie on the shoulder, “We’re going to bulk her up so she can be the first girl on the tourney team and Captain of the R.O.A.R. team.” Aziz gave Jordan a look with one sardonically raised eyebrow that telepathically conveyed his thought. “You see what I’m seeing?” Jordan observed at the couple. Ahem..the two friends.

Jay had his arm casually slung across Lonnie’s shoulder in a way that totally could have been a platonic friend move, but the fact that the two had been spending a lot of time together doing one on one training sessions followed by eating out made the general public suspect there was something more underneath. And seeing Lonnie’s ear to ear smile and Jay’s playful winks as she brushed his long hair off her shoulder- Jordan suspected all the rumors were true. Or the rumors were going to become true if neither had made a move yet.

Jordan made a small half-smile in response, “Oh yes! They are so into each other.”

“I have a date with Jane at the courtyard a 3:30.” Carlos said, oblivious to the silent conversations around him.

“Uh Carlos? It’s 3:40 now. Training went a little overtime.” Lonnie said showing him her watch. The younger teen turned so pale that his freckles disappeared. It reminded Jordan of the starving dogs she had seen on the streets of Agrabah. Small, panicky with waves of fear radiating off of him.

Almost tipping over himself with his torso moving faster than his body, Carlos turned and ran off, crashing into strolling students in is desperation to not be late to his very important date.

“Wow. I didn’t expect him to get so..” Aziz trailed off, unsure of how to describe the skittishness that the boy possessed and the fear that radiated off of him when he realized he made a simple mistake.

Jay’s face was sober as he stared at the walkway Carlos had run off on. “Yeah, he gets like that. living with his mom makes him...sensitive to getting people mad.”

The Auradonians nodded their heads knowledgeably, as if they knew what Jay was talking about yet aware that there was so much that they didn’t know about Carlos and Jay’s former life on the Isle and the pain that occurred there.

After a moment of silence Lonnie tried to change the subject. “What are you two going to do before curfew?”

“I was thinking we could go out clubbing?” Jordan answered looking at Aziz for confirmation.

“Sure! I wanna have dinner at Little Agrabah before heading out though.” Aziz said enthusiastically.

“Clubbing? But-but all the clubs are for adults only.” Lonnie stammered.

“I am 22, a legal adult. In human years at least. And since I’m going to a human club, I give them that age.” Jordan said proudly.

“They can’t actually believe you, right? You look 17.” Jay scoffed.

“They do. It’s easy for me to change make my facial features look more mature, you know, having phenomenal cosmic powers and all. But then some adult would rat me out for the underagedness and the magic use. So I just go as my mom, and then security lets Aziz in too because I’m the “parental supervision.”

Jay and Lonnie stared at her disbelievingly in silence.

Well silence and a small not very quiet whisper from Jay to Lonnie, “She has a mom?”

“You don’t get to see it often because of the Magic Ban, but she can change into anyone she wants.” Aziz smirked and Jordan smugly flipped her ponytail.

“Not anyone.” Jordan clarified, “All the men I turn into look too feminine to be convincing. But females, no problem. One time Audrey bailed on a presentation Doug and Aziz were doing about-what minerals? I went as Audrey, no one knew the difference. FG didn’t even know the difference and she’s a magic user.”

“To be fair, you did a great show of freaking out when Doug got dirt on your dress just like the real Audrey would have done,” Aziz pointed out.  

Jay closed his mouth abruptly and challenged her, “Prove it.”

“Fine, I’ll do someone you know.” Jordan waved her hands over herself and a puff of pink sparkles sprang from her fingertips. She felt her face and bones shift, and ripple as she became more petite, more muscular and her pink streaks fade away to pure black.

Lonnie gasped at Jordan’s new look as her identical twin. She had even changed her flashy clothes to a R.O.A.R. uniform.

“Believe me now?” Jordan/Lonnie crossed her arms.

Jay did a slow-clap and wolf-whistled, further confirming Jordan’s suspicions that the former VK had a crush on the warrior’s daughter.

Satisfied by their reaction Jordan transformed into her mother. A simple task since she had done it so many times over the years and the fact that she and her mother looked very alike. Just a few facial tweaks like a button nose, and higher cheekbones, voila, she was a new woman.

To make the transformation complete she changed into her mother’s full genie form. Wispy bottom half, pointed ears, green skin and infamous golden wrist cuffs.

Technically her parents were no longer allowed to appear that way because of the Magic Ban; they had to adjust to looking and living like a human like all the other immortal creatures and fae. But her parents tended to take things like rules more as “suggestions.”

Assessing her new form as a perfect replica as well as perfectly sexy in her gauzy white high-low skirt and matching crop top, she hooked arms with Aziz, “Ready to go?”  

“Have fun, clubbing then.” Lonnie waved.

“Oh we will!” Jordan chirped using an overly-enthusiastic tone which was her parents’ default mode.

Just as Jordan, Aziz, Lonnie and Jay were about to turn away from each other, they heard a voice filled with sarcastic amusement, “I know people say we look like sisters, but this is a bit too on the nose.”

The four turned around and Jordan almost did a double-take.

She didn’t know what shocked her more. The fact that her mom was here at Auradon Prep!

Or the fact that her mom was in her human form.

Her mom NEVER came to AP since her parents’ presence at the Academy tended to put FG in a tizzy due to their constant disregard for her rules.

To add to the shock was that her mother’s choice of mortal clothes was exactly the same as Jordan’s clubbing outfit.

A gauzy pink high-low skirt, and matching pink lace crop top that would have been perfect for the hot weather of Agrabah yet in Auradon Prep, it only served as a chance for the entire student body to see her mom’s chest in danger of popping out if she happened to bounce.

Not that it would ever come to fruition. One of the great magical perks was that clothes never fell off of you or flew up at embarrassing moments. Much to the disappointment of most male populations when her mom was concerned.

Jordan managed to close her mouth and inhale deeply. It was weird to see her as a mortal. Discounting the impossible hourglass figure, her mom looked pretty normal. Olive skin tone, amber eyes. Even the green streaks in her hair, the only hint to her true skin color, seemed more like she was following the latest trend of “edgy Vk-like” style that  had come over the teen population.

Before Jordan could get any words out her mom swept her up into a big hug, then stepped back to look at her, “It’s like looking in a mirror! Oh, Desiree, you’ve been holding out on me. I didn’t know you could do this. Wait till I tell your dad, he’ll be so happy!”

Jordan bit back the instinctive snarky response she thought of in her head as she listened to her mother’s squeals of delight. “I’ve been shapeshifting into you for years. Maybe if our parent-child bonding time lasted more than a few days at a club, you would have seen me use my powers much sooner.”

All she managed to get out was, “Please don’t call me Desiree in public. I’ve told you a thousand times, call me Jordan.”

“Sorry, I forgot. Jordan? If you had to choose a human name, that one is kinda boring but that’s just me. Anyway, this is just wonderful!” Her mom said before moving on to hug Aziz, “It’s been forever, little man!”

“It’s been six months,” Aziz mumbled with his face pressed firmly into her shoulder.

“Six months only? That’s can’t be right. Then again my sense of time has never been that good. One time I was released by that Frenchman I told you about, the whole time I had thought it was the year 700 B.C. The next time I got released, I got my hands on a calendar and it turned out that was 700 B.C. I was with the Frenchmen during 500 B.C.” Once her little monologue finished, her mom seemed to have caught onto the presence of the two other teens. Who currently did not seem to know what to make of the talkative locomotion that had arrived.

Her mother gasped, and her jaw literally dropped to touch the ground before snapping back up like a window shade and enthusiastically shook his hand.

“Is this Jay iban Jafar!? Are you sure? I mean...I never met the guy, I’ve just seen his pictures but how did this cutie come from that man? I mean, Jay’s hot! Is he Mozonroth’s son? It seems more likely he’s Mozonroth’s son. Yes, I hate the man and he’s pure evil but I have to admit his hotness. I know the guy covered his whole body with robes, but I imagined he had a Adonis physique underneath. Just something about him screamed “sexy” in a I-don’t-know- whether- to-kill-you-or- ravish-you sort of way. I told you, he sounded like he flirted with everyone. But maybe that’s because of his low voi-”

“MOM!” Jordan groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose while Jay rubbed his arm from the vigorous up-and-down motions.

Yet another reason why FG didn’t like her parents to come to Auradon Prep. They had zero filter or tact of any kind. If it popped into their heads, they said it. Like this embarrassing aside about the hotness levels of Jay, Jafar and Mozenrath.

“Hey, I’ve been around for 2,000 years,  I know when a guy is hot when I see one.” Her mom shot back with an eye-roll at Jordan’s mouthed “Please shut up now.”

With the attention briefly not directed at him, Jay regained his standard confident smirk, “Thank you, Mrs-”

“Eden.” Her mom answered with a wink that Jay instinctively returned.

“Eden,” Jay purred and Aziz choked back a laugh at the older boy’s obvious posturing, “I’ve been called hot by many people but not so many as gorgeous as yourself.”

Her mom smirked back at him, “That was a cute line. But you have long ways to go if you think only that will have girls melting at your feet. I’ve heard better.”

Jay took her brush-off in stride, probably because he was concerned with using his willpower to not let his eyes linger too long on Eden’s breasts. Well, long enough for anyone to notice.

Eden finally turned to Lonnie, “And I don’t think we have met?” Lonnie seemed to be surprised by Eden’s change of attention towards her, but recovered quickly, “I’m Lonnie, daughter of Fa Mulan and-” “General Shang.” Eden finished, “Nice to meet you too. I’ve seen you do those R.O.A.R. competitions on tv, you’re so fierce.”

“Thanks.” Lonnie blushed modestly.

“So Eden,  is Genie with you? Why are you here?” Aziz asked and Jordan nodded mutely next to him. “Genie’s here. He’s giving the security guard our ID as if someone else can pretend they’re genies with phenomenal cosmic power. I was supposed to go the FG’s office, but I got lost. This no magic thing is so hard.” Eden complained.

“How do you not know how to get around without magic?” Lonnie asked disbelievingly. Sure, Auradon Prep had extensive grounds, but it was tiny compared to other castles like the Charmings. “I usually just transport myself to where I want to go.” Eden admitted, “I don’t walk or use maps. That’s for mortals. I’m genie, made out of magic, and they want me NOT to use it? It’s ridiculous.”

“I know! Is that why you’re here to complain to FG again? Because she’s not going to change her mind and change the rules. Just like she wasn’t going to use dad’s idea to implement a water park for Ariel’s birthday.” Jordan pointed out.

“I know that, sweetheart. As for why your father and I are here. . . Uh don’t worry. It doesn’t have anything to do with you.” Eden looked to Jordan and Jordan immediately thought of another comment she wished to say.

“Wouldn’t imagine it. Nothing you ever do has concern for me.”

“Then what is it about?” Aziz asked.

Like a lightbulb, Eden’s enthusiasm immediately dimmed and shifted uneasily, “It’s a..meeting about things. Private magical things. Nothing to do with the school. It was nice seeing you. Can you direct me to FG’s office?” Eden answered vaguely.

At the word “magical” and “nothing to do with school,” Jordan’s attention was riveted and her mind swirled with all the possibilities of what her mom could mean.

“Is it about the Magic Ban? Are you trying to get it overturned again? Please let me come! I want to help. It will be like parent-child bonding time only we’re not partying. It’ll be better than partying, we will have our freedom back.”

Eden stared at her like a deer in the headlights at Jordan’s request. “This is an adult matter. For creatures who have experience and complete mastery of their powers. It would be much too dangerous if you get involved. Again, it has nothing to do with you.” Jordan snorted, letting some of the snark that she swallowed back come out in full force.

“Don’t be a hypocrite and start acting like a concerned mom for my well-being. Besides, I do have mastery of my powers. You said so, yourself, you knew everything you needed to know after you granted your first three wishes. I’ve granted at least more than 50. Take me along.” Eden’s deer in the headlights look faded into one of confusion and anger at Jordan’s statement. “How dare you call me a hypocrite! I care about your well-being. . . And will you change to your regular form? I feel ridiculous scolding myself.” Eden retorted.

Jordan easily obliged, continuing her argument all the while, “No, you don’t! You said, “I grew up without parents and I turned out great. We’re genies, we don’t die, we don’t get injured. You don’t need me around.” Remember? That’s why you and dad gave the parenting rights to Aladdin and Jasmine.”

Eden looked helplessly at her, “Please don’t tell me you took that personally! We still hang out, I love you-”

“Of course I took it personally! You had me, you got bored parenting and then dumped me.” Jordan cut her off.

Eden cringed at her daughter’s harsh interpretation of the facts, “. . .Genies are meant to grant wishes, we’re not meant to be parents. Besides-” “Exactly!” Jordan hissed, “So you don’t get to use the parent excuse that you are concerned for my well-being. Just tell me what this magical meeting is about. I’m magical, it concerns me.”

Eden refused to look at her and snapped her fingers, “I don’t need to listen to this. We’ll chat later when you’re in a better mood.”

One green poof and she was gone.

The space where her mother had been was replaced by Aziz’s, Lonnie’s, and Jay’s, respectively concerned, pitying and curious gazes.

Jordan gulped back the lump of fury and resentment that had built up in her throat and forced a smile, “Fine, she doesn’t want tell me. Doesn’t matter. Who wants to sneak into that magical, private meeting with me?”

Lonnie ignored her question, “Are you okay? I didn’t know that your parents-”

“It’s fine. We’ve been arguing over this since I was seven. There’s really no solution besides the arrangement we have.” Jordan shrugged, taking a deep inhale to keep down the inappropriate sarcastic laughter inside.

It was not a big deal.

Yes, she loved Jasmine and Aladdin and how she had become ingrained into their family dynamics. Her childhood had been filled with so many adventures and vacations with them. 

They treated her as if she was as mortal as them. Zahrat and Cassima acted as her wise, older sisters who were always there for a makeover or advice. Aziz was her partner in crime. And she personally adored Amal and Noor and would kill anyone who tried to harm them.

She loved them as her family. Yet she still wished, that if she could transplant Aladdin and Jasmine’s parenting skills, their dependability, their actual interest in her academic and social life, their ability to talk about the deep subjects, to her parents... well she would be willing to have only consider them to be her cousins.

Instead she had her imperfect, flighty, oblivious parents.

Her imperfect parents who got bored when parenting was no longer about baby clothes and homemade videos.

She resented how whenever she brought up their choice  they would either ignore the uncomfortable conversation or tried to distract her with fun day activities.

And yes, she did resent the explanation that they did give. They preferred absolute freedom before family responsibility.

It was not something she liked to think about often, Nor did she particularly like the current situation of two non-family strangers witnessing her family affairs.

But that was done now. She supposed she might as well follow her bio parent’s steps and pretend it was no big deal.

“It’s fine.” Jordan repeated before clapping her hands together, “Now it’s clear that we’ll have to sneak into this meeting through the old-fashioned way. The air ducts.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Aziz sidled up to her and whispered in her ear, “If you want to talk later, my door’s open.”

“I know, but that’s not the point now.” Jordan whispered back, and turned her attention towards Lonnie and Jay and raised an eyebrow, “Are you going to join or not?”

[fandomflail]

title: Recognition (5/8)

rating: M

summary: Soulmate trope AU. Set in a world where humans and elves coexist.

a/n: If you’re still reading, let me know.

Past Chapters: (1)  (2)  (3)  (4) or AO3

CHAPTER 5

They’d fucked (made love, Killian had corrected her in that annoying way of his) three more times that first night, with one impressive session lasting a good hour as they’d edged each other into orgasms she’d probably never be able to recreate.

Then she’d all but kicked him out, telling him she needed time.

* * *

Henry watched her as if she was a particularly difficult game level he couldn’t figure out. He had surprised her by the complete lack of questions and curiosity about what had happened after he returned from the Jefferson’s house that weekend.

Emma wanted to ask what it was exactly, that Jefferson had told her son, but was too much of a coward to actually do so. Especially because she’d then have to explain things she didn’t want to.

Instead, she endured three mornings of him looking at her funny before he left for school, his eyes alternating between his breakfast and his cell, the newest communicator money could buy. She didn’t often spoil Henry, but when she did… well.

Still, he was beginning to grate on her nerves, the way he kept looking at her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention. So much so, that on the fourth day since she had shut the door in Killian’s face, Emma snapped.

“Okay, what is going on with you?”

“Nothing is going on with me,” Henry answered, without even raising his head to look at her.

“Hey, I am talking to you.”

“Nothing.is.going.on,” he enunciated slowly and clearly, looking her straight in the eye. His irritation belied his words, and she bit down her own irritation.

“You still talking to that Violet girl, is that what’s going on here?” she goaded.

“No. I don’t even like her.”

“Uhuh.”

“I don’t! And you’re one to talk!”

Ah, there it is, she thought smugly.

“Oh? What’s that mean kid?”

He glared at her in such a familiar way that her chest ached at how much of her mannerisms he’d picked up in two short years.

“Nothing.”

“Henry, come on,” she tried.

He slammed his spoon on the table, pushing his chair back as he stood abruptly. Emma was alarmed at the sudden glistening in his eyes, as his face twisted in anger.

“You just going to keep ignoring the fact that you have a soulmate?!”

“Seriously, kid, no offense but—

“I’m going to grow old, and you’re going to watch me die, and you’re GOING TO BE ALONE AND SAD,” he yelled, and then, to her utmost and complete horror, broke down sobbing at the breakfast table.

She gaped, before she rushed to his side. Emma hugged him tightly to her chest as she rocked him as if he was a toddler.

“Oh Henry,” she said, tears springing forth to her eyes as his cries didn’t abate.

“I know you told me you had a hard life and I remember when you adopted me you said you needed to learn to love,” he said between sobs, “but you really didn’t need to learn it mum, you always knew. Why won’t you be happy?”

“Henry, I am happy,” she said earnestly, wiping her tears in his hair.

“But you’re elvish, and I’m not, and I don’t want you to be alone. Why can’t you be happy with Killian? He really wants to try.”

Still reeling from the words I’ll grow old and you’ll watch me die, it took her a few moments to realize what he’d said.

“How do you know what he wants?”

Her suspicions, (and Henry’s guilt) became apparent when his crying choked, coming to a silent end even as he remained tightly within her arms.

“Henry?”

“Isn’t it obvious that it’s something a soulmate would want?” he said as an attempt of explanation. She wasn’t buying it.

“Has he contacted you?” she asked incredulously, wanting to track down Killian just so she could kill him for overstepping.

Just then, the communicator he’d left on the table vibrated.

Oh, you’ve got to be joking, she thought.

“Henry Swan! Is that him right now? Is that who you’ve been messaging?”

Pulling away and hastily wiping his tears, “He sent only one, at first, and told me you wouldn’t appreciate him talking to me about five times before he finally caved.”

“He’s right.”

If some part of her was surprised at Henry’s loyalty in defending Killian, she didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, she glared at her son.

With a sigh, he pulled his communicator, and scrolled. And scrolled. And scrolled quite a bit more, before landing to what she assumed was the first ever message.

“Here,” he said, thrusting it to her face.

Mae g'ovannen, young Mr. Swan. This is Killian, the elf prince who spoke to your mother at the ball. You have a very loyal friend by the name of Gracie. She wanted to know, on your behalf, (actually it was more of a warning, to be sure) whether the kingdom would call your mother away to learn the elvish way, thus separating you. I am happy to inform you that your life, the two of you, will go on absolutely uninterrupted. However, should you ever find yourself in an emergency, you may reach me personally anytime. Humbly yours, Killian Aearinön.

Her eyes drifted below to the other messages, but Henry snatched the device before she could see more than the next message of him asking Killian if he really was her soulmate.

To be sure, Killian’s message was masterfully done. Perfectly diplomatic, bordering on polite concern, but strategic in bypassing her objection in exchanging any details.

“This is not cool, Henry.”

“If I had Recognized, would you want me to run away from my chance at happiness?”

“I’d want you to do whatever makes you happy.”

“And does ignoring this make you happy?” he challenged.

“Things are never that simple. You don’t just Recognize, and boom, happy ending! The world, love doesn’t work that way, okay. He’s the prince, he’s 300 years old, there is so, so much more going on than just hormones or whatever Recognition is.”

“Ah, so you’re scared,” he taunted.

Emma watched him, marveling on some plane, how he adopted her techniques and turned them on her. He was smart, but he was also a teenager, who still saw things in shades of black and white, rather than the shades of grey that made the world.

“You’re going to be late to school.”

He opened his mouth, probably to argue, so she cut him off.

“School. You’re going to be late for it, and this topic is off the table. School, now.”

He gaped at her, shut his mouth, eyes storming as he said, “Fine! Fine, I don’t know why I bothered.”

Emma sighed loudly as he grabbed his things and left, slamming the door shut behind him. Maybe she could have handled it better, but maybe Henry was also blossoming into a teenager with mood swings so she’d probably not win either way.

Great.

* * *

“You’ve been really weird,” Ashley, her soft-spoken co-worker told her during lunch.

Emma did her best not to roll her eyes as she bit into a slice of pizza. “How so?”

“I don’t know. Something’s different. Did you lighten your hair or something? Get a Glitter injection?”

“Do I seriously look like one of those wanna-be’s who think looking elvish is a fashion trend?”

“Well no, otherwise you’d start with surgery on your ears. Oh my gosh, that was not meant as an insult!”

Thank heavens for rounded ears, the true invisibility cloak of elvish heritage, she thought sardonically.

“I don’t know what’s weird, except I started this new detox,” she lied. As predicted, Ashley, the self-proclaimed connoisseur of all things healthy, practically lit up in excitement.

“No wonder your skin is radiant, you’re finally eating vegetables!” and then proceeded to launch into the benefits of every vegetable known to both elf and humankind.

* * *

There was no longer the itching, need to rip her skin off and roll around in sandpaper. In fact, she was still coasting from the high of Killian’s administrations, how he’d taken time to learn her body and likes in the one night they’d spent together.

She couldn’t deny the ache in her chest though, the one that told her in the short time of talking and fucking, she’d revealed more of herself than to anyone, and instead of pity or judgement, he’d simply reciprocated with tales of his own life, tales of neglect despite being an elven prince, the deception and political intrigue that had cost him centuries of his life.

It was easy to ignore; what wasn’t, was Henry’s baleful stares and increased frequency of messaging when he thought she wasn’t paying attention. She debated against saying anything to him, knowing it would only make him rebel more. She wondered if Henry was just looking for a male figure to talk to; he wasn’t particularly close to Jefferson, and he didn’t have much friends besides Gracie. Killian was an odd choice - she wasn’t even sure if he’d met him, but Emma knew why he chose to build a relationship with him.

It’s what made her do it, as much as her stomach turned to ash as she did. She moved as stealthily as she could while Henry took his infamously long showers (and did her damnedest not to think about that).

She was in his communicator within 2 minutes, and pulled the ID, valiantly avoiding reading the messages. This was bad enough as it was. This, this she could sort-of explain away.

Reading his messages? That was not something Henry would forgive easily. She copied the ID, and took care to place his communicator the way she found it.

In her own room, she bit her lip as she contemplated how to go about it.

Who the fuck do you think you are, talking to my son behind my back? she typed, then deleted before she could hit send.

WHO gave you the right to think you could just talk to Henry?

She deleted that too.

What exactly, do you think you’re doing talking to a boy you’ve never even met?

That, Emma mused, was threatening enough, without outright attacking him, and taking into account Henry’s own tenacity at getting answers when he wanted them.

With a deep breath, she sent it.

She expected an answer immediately, and was disappointed when she received none. It seemed, unlike Henry and herself, Killian wasn’t glued to his communicator.  

His answer came after dinner. Henry had retreated to his room to finish his school work (or message Gracie or Violet, or maybe both, who knew, these days).

I was wondering when you’d get around to chewing me out.

And not the good kind, a second message followed almost immediately.

For a 300 year old elf, his inability to tamper his brassy language was appalling. She rolled her eyes.

You didn’t answer the question, she replied.

Who says I haven’t met Henry? was his answer, which made her hackles raise immediately.

She enabled talk.

He picked up on the first ring.

“You sought him out?” she said, containing her yell, but it was a close thing.

“Mae g'ovannen to you too, Swan,” surprising her by the use of her surname, “yes, I’ve been doing fine if a little bereft, thank you so much for inquiring.”

“You went behind my back and saw my son?!” she hissed.

“I’m not one to tittle-tattle, but for the sake of clarity, it was your boy and his friend who sought me. And before you get mad at him, they were accompanied by an adult.”

“Let me guess,” she said dryly, “Jefferson.”

“The one and same. The lovely Gracie needed to use the library for her work,” he explained, in a tone that told Emma he believed them as much as she did, “and she seemed to know that I was to be there meeting the Head of the B.E.A.S.T. That is the Bureau of Elvish Awareness and Species Theory.”

Emma snorted, “That’s a rather unfortunate name.”

“Ah, never let it be said that the elves of old didn’t have a sense of humor.”

“Fine. So why are you continuing to talk to my son?”

“Well,” and here he faltered slightly, giving Emma the distinct impression that he was finding the combination of words least likely to offend her, “that is, I think, a great question, Swan. Such a good question a mother could ask her son for some quality bonding time.”

“Cut the crap.”

“You may think I’m joking, but I really am quite serious about you asking him. The boy is lonely.”

“He’s got—“

“You, and Gracie, yes” he interrupted her, “but there are things he wants to talk to that he can’t with the two of you, and he was under the impression that he would be seeing more of me—“

“I hope you corrected him about that! He doesn’t need more people in his life disappointing him.”

“I… okay, I’m going to not ask about that backstory right now, and I did tell him that well, whatever becomes of us, this, it’s up to you as much as it’s up to me.”

“This isn’t becoming anything.”

Killian’s sigh was loud. “Really?”

That one word was infused with so much sarcasm that Emma rolled her eyes.

“Emma,” Killian said, when she remained silent, “I told you, I’m willing to wait. I’m willing to be patient. I cannot possibly understand what you must be going through - but I want to help. If you wish to seek your parents, there are ways. I have resources. If you simply want to learn about what being an elf means to you, I want to help. You don’t have to do this alone, Emma.”

His tone was so earnest and sincere that it almost brought tears to her eyes. She was grateful she hadn't enabled the hologram function, not sure what she’d do if she had to see him say that with those wide eyes and gentle look.

“Thank you,” she said, voice coming out in a choked whisper.

“It is customary for Noble Elves to invite elvish children to tea, to honor them and make sure they grow knowing who they are and their history. Children rearing is a community effort here. My point is, I was about to extend an invitation to Gracie for next weekend. Considering you’ve missed out on this tradition, and considering Henry would be loathe to miss out, perhaps you could join us.”

“Next week?” she repeated.

“Saturday, Noble Embassy of Alamané, 1600.”

“I’ll think about.”

“I’ll tell Gracie to be discreet about it while you do.”

“Thank you, Killian.”

* * *

On Isilya, the first day of the week, he sent her the official invite. It was beautiful; made from dried leaf and twine, written in aurum ink in flowing script inviting them to tea.

Not that she could be sure exactly, what it said, considering it was written in completely in Elvish. It started with Êl síla erin lû e-govaned vîn, which she knew meant a star shines upon our hour of meeting, but that was far as she got. She had sent him back a message that simply said ??????????????? and he had translated it for her.

What had truly caught her attention, however, was the signature. It was signed by Killian, and she would deny it to her grave that upon seeing his graceful signature, she had lifted the invite to her nose to breathe in a possibility of his scent.

The day after, Aldúya, he sent her a message about dress codes (that he didn’t actually care about, but protocols). That sparked a long conversation about clothes and fashion in general, surprising her by how they both seemed partial to mushroom-leather jackets.

The next day, and the one after, there just seemed to be something that needed to be said to one another. Something to talk about. Some observation that needed to be shared. If Emma was being honest with herself, she would’ve admitted that it felt good sharing things from her day and life with him. If she was being honest, she would’ve admitted that she looked forward to his messages and holograms, often feeling a twinge of disappointment when it was someone else.

If she was being honest, she’d have admitted that the idea of seeing him again made her aflutter with anticipation and nerves. Luckily for her, she didn’t have to admit anything to anyone, much less herself. Besides, she had Henry’s nervous energy to focus on.

“Do I need to shave?” Henry asked her, staring seriously at his jaw in the mirror.

Emma squashed her laughter, though she couldn’t stop her lips from twitching. “Oh Henry, no, not yet, kid.”

Oh gods, puberty was fast approaching.

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