#it's just so abrupt like the very first line of lunch is an IMMEDIATE tone shift and it's so funny

[leejeann]

been watching album reactions to the new billie eilish album and watching people go through the emotional whiplash going from skinny to lunch is hilarious

sidenote, gay billie eilish music definitely wasn't on my 2024 bingo card lmao

[shoichee]

omg cngrts on 100!!!! <3 u deserve it!!!! hii how are you??? ahaha hows genshin going for you?? also for ur milstone event, can i request kise ryota with prompt 19 or 20, i cant decide between the two, so ill leaave it to you!! <3 i hope youre doing well 💖💖💖💖

dhfiuseyghieaugh tysm ily reeeeee <33 been playing genshin nonstop to keep my sanity from my uni papers SEND HELP

Kise x Reader

19. “I think I’m in love with you, and that scares the crap out of me”

Word Count: 2851

prompt list here

Note: we need more manga Kise, i repeat, we need more asshole Kise

»»—————　☼　—————««

How could this happen? How could he, the veteran of receiving female attention, be so careless?

He only saw you as an intrigue. A challenge. Perhaps a friend at the very most.

How did this happen?

Kise slightly grits his teeth before he quickly exhales, bringing his hand to rub out the tension in his neck. His mood had not gone unnoticed by his fans around him.

Ah, shit.

“Ryōta!” one called out, her tone dripped in saccharine. “What’s wrong?”

“Have you been pushing yourself lately?” another one chimes in.

“I can come with you to the infirmary… surely you’d have trouble!—”

“Move—I asked first!”

“H-hey! Quit being so snappy—!”

“Stop.”

He instinctively sends a glare at the mob out of irritation but then stops himself to quickly etch a sweet smile of his own for them. No matter how much he hears these words of concern, he hears nothing but empty wind. Hanging around girls was supposed to be a fun pastime. A challenge. Nowadays, his mind doesn’t bother to register any of their names, their faces. All their voices that come out of their mouth have become constantly replayed recaps; their chatters have become equivalent to those of flocking pigeons. “Don’t worry, everyone! Basketball practice has just been tough, is all. You’re all so kind to worry for my health, though! Thank you!”

Squeals rang throughout the courtyard as they hung onto his every word. Predictable.

As he firmly separates himself away from the group and leaves off with a cheerful facade, he quickly turns around to make a break with a brisk walk. Where to, exactly? He doesn’t know, but anywhere that didn’t have people around would be godsend.

His mind always returns back to you. You, who he thought would be the cure to his social life, just as Aomine and Kuroko were to his life of sports. You, who respected his personal space. You, whom he had meaningful conversations with during breaks sometimes. You, who he felt like he can drop his facades around recently and just entirely be himself.

As cruel as it was, he once challenged himself to make you fall for him. A sick, twisted game that would cure his boredom and give him something to look forward to other than practice. Something to keep him on his toes throughout the beginning of high school. You, who wasn’t honestly that special, other than the fact you treated him differently, unlike other people. Hell, even the adults are wrapped around his finger. What’s not making you fall head over heels for him? His curiosity continues to grow exponentially the more he spends time with you; never once did it get satiated.

Was it his ego that you bruised up? Was it his competitiveness kicking in at the thought of experiencing a type of “defeat?” Was it the unsaid uncertainty in his heart that is currently panicking of the thought of entering a whole new territory with new emotions and thoughts?

There is nothing special about you. You were only a challenge. There is nothing special about you. Once he figures you out, your game, you would just be like everyone els—

“Ow!”

“Ah, sorry! My bad, my bad! Are you alright? I’ve been a tad dizzy lately, here let me help you, oh…” As he rambles in a slight fluster, he immediately jumps back into his chivalrous side, immediately clasping a hand to help them up. Expecting to see another faceless individual, his eyes widened when his mind registered a pair of eyes staring inquisitively at him. Your eyes.

“Are you the same Ryōta I know?” you stifle a laugh. “Since when were you so quick to ever help me out without complaining my ear off?” When they say his first name, it has always sounded off, sickening even. He still could not comprehend why he, despite hating the sound of his first name rolling off of people’s tongues, insisted on you using his first name. Strangely, whenever you call him out so sincerely, he couldn’t help but always jerk back in genuine surprise at how… nice it felt.

He only let you use his first name to force a sense of closeness. This was only to accelerate the forming of a bond between the two of you. Nothing more, nothing less. Nothing more than a challenge. Nothing more than an asset to accomplish it.

But every time he has had these thoughts lately, his heart spiked with painful palpitations.

How did this happen?

His swirling thoughts halt when he feels your hand against his forehead. “You said you were dizzy earlier, right?” you said worriedly. “You don’t seem sick… have you been eating properly?”

You were tippy-toeing to try to reach his height, one hand grasping his shoulder for support while the other was feeling his temperature. And oh, you were so close.

This was a game you were playing, too, right? You must’ve known this entanglement was all just a challenge and you wanted to play along for the fun of it, right? But these thoughts quickly cease as you separate yourself from him to give him the usual physical distance.

What sort of game were you playing? Tug-of-war? Cat-and-mouse chase? Two can play at that game.

“Hey…” he looms over your figure, leaning closer to your face. “Maybe you’re the one making me dizzy, after all?” His sharp eyes search for any subtle signs you give off: your facial expressions, body language, your reactions.

“What?” Your eyes widen at his abrupt advance, worried eyes quickly turning into one of confusion as you scan Kise’s face for any other subtle signs of his own.

There was no way you could have good intentions. There was no way you could have genuine concern for him. There was no way you would be hanging around with him, unless you had some ulterior motives of your own.

After all, he chose to get to know you for the most selfish reason. How could he ever bring himself to tell you that this precarious friendship you two shared was built on the premise of deceit on his end?

“Sorry,” he chuckles. “Just wanted to see your reaction.” And with that, he ruffles your hair playfully before he continues to walk to his intended destination of the school infirmary.

“You’re definitely sick!” you call out, rushing to catch up to him. “You’re acting really strange!...” Your voice—he wishes he could tune it out just as easily as the rest, but you were right… he was acting strange. He couldn’t believe he can distinguish your features from amidst a sea of people. Your voice amidst a clutter of noises. Your warmth amidst all the sunlight, clothing, and body heat he’s ever felt. The same warmth encapsulating his own hand.

What sort of game were you playing?

“Here! Follow me,” you said, tugging his hand forward as you take the initiative to lead him. “If you’re sick, you shouldn’t be walking around alone. What if you collapse?”

What sort of game were you playing?... Was having the most scrunched-up brows and worried eyes part of the rules? He tightens his lips into a thin line at the sensation of his heartbeats again.

As you tug along his hand and lead him down the hallway, his mind drifts to the moments you two have shared for the past few weeks. When you bumped into him and succinctly apologized before excusing yourself… when he approached you constantly every chance he got during breaks to figure you out… when he saw you efficiently defending yourself against his dedicated fans… when you first approached him after he exited the lockers to congratulate him on a home game win before you turned to Kasamatsu to talk of club affairs with the council… when he first heard you actively cheering his name on the stands… when you inopportunely saw him weeping about Kaijo’s loss at the Winter Cup and successfully comforted him…

With each progression in his thoughts, his hand suddenly feels warmer against yours, his heart rate thumping faster, his eyes growing more out of focus as he gazes at your back, and then your intertwined hands. Maybe he really is sick.

“Are you alright?” you asked, turning to face him as you both keep walking. “We’re just about here.”

He says nothing as he keeps his face straight ahead. He doesn't trust himself to keep it together after that slipup with his fans; messing up in front of you would be certainly disastrous.

“Is there anyone here?” you softly called out, tentatively sliding the doors open. There was no one, but they were probably on a lunch break before coming back soon. He hears you sigh before you tug him in completely into the room. “Sit here, and I’ll look for some ice packs, at least… I don’t know if that would work, though…”

As you let go of his hand to try to rummage through the drawers, his hand instinctively holds you tighter.

Shit.

“Ryōta?...” you said. “Do you wanna lay down instead, I’ll look for something for you to—”

“... (y/n)-cchi, stay here.”

Shit. Kasamatsu was right: he needs to learn how to shut his godamn mouth.

“Ryōta,” you shyly mumble. “That was the first time you addressed me with -cchi at the end. Don’t you only use it with your old teammates?”

Shit… shit, shit, shit.

He can’t slip up, and he’s fucking up three times in a row? He’s losing his edge. There’s no way he’ll lose now… not when he’s come so far.

“... Do you know what you’re doing?” he exhales, dropping your hand to run his hands through his locks. “You’re driving me insane…”

“Me?”

“What games are you playing here, I swear to god—there’s no reason for you to care this much for me like this—”

“I do have a reason,” you replied, averting your eyes to feign looking for those ice packs. There you go again, acting coy… that’s what he chants to himself anyways.

“Wha?~ You’re keeping secrets from your friend, already?” he coos, trying to gain back the momentum. Yes, that’s right…you are only considered a friend. “It’s kind of cruel to bring it up but then decide to not divulge them, y’know?”

“It doesn’t take much human decency to worry and care for another,” you smile. “Even more so for a friend.”

You finally turn away to continue hunting for anything useful in the cabinets, while Kise silently watches you from his chair. Silence settles between the two of you.

“Y’know… I’ve been thinking,” you start, handing him a glass of water, a wet towel, and ice packs. “I don’t want for us… to be friends anymore.”

It took his entire self control to not jump from his chair to grab you and interrogate you into oblivion. But why? Did you realize his true intentions? Did you hate his guts after all? Did you accomplish your own objectives and deem this friendship no longer useful?

Why does he even care about any of this?

“You’re… joking, right?”

He really expected for you to burst into laughter and call it a prank or tease him about his unfiltered reaction at your words, but your eyes have now become determined and very serious.

You weren’t joking.

“Ryōta, I’ll just get this out of the way first things first, but I know that you only see me as some type of trophy to go after… for a while now.”

How did this happen?

“It’s just the way you look at me sometimes seems off,” you said. “It’s not obvious to others, but we’ve spent almost every day with each other for a while, so I’ve kinda noticed… Honestly, that only solidified my initial impressions of you being a complete asshole.”

Why does his heart feel like it’s going to shatter?

“But…” you continued. “Recently, you were just… different. You were still stupid, sure. But you’ve laughed so much more and supported me when I needed it most. I’ve never laughed this hard until I met you—you make me wheeze out the ugliest laughs, as I’m ashamed to admit. But I want to be able to support you too… like, it feels that this whole thing you’re trying to put up when you meet with other people… it must be exhausting, right? I know you first acted that way with me. I can understand and kind of relate to that, so you can always talk to me alone if you need an ear.”

“Why are you telling me that you don’t want to be friends anymore?” Kise flatly asks. “You’re clearly correct about everything about me. You could’ve just left a long while ago. Did you have to pretend to care, too? Go ahead, aren’t you going to gossip about this to everyone?”

“What? No! I’m not done talking yet, idiot! I wasn’t pretending anything! Can you just stop projecting yourself onto me and listen up? Even though you’re such an asshole sometimes, er—all the time, the time we spent together has grown to be genuine, and I know you felt it too!... so well, I know you’ve heard these words so many times from other people, but…

I like you. That’s why I don’t want to be just your friend anymore. But I know you don’t reciprocate these back, so I just wanna tell you to get it off my chest… that’s all.”

He is absolutely stunned.

You’ve confessed to him, didn’t you? He got what he wanted. He won his little challenge. But why doesn’t he feel the adrenaline, the excitement, of it all like he normally would? His heart beated painfully erratically like how his team suffered a bittersweet loss at the games. Especially when you turned away to leave after you gauged his silence as rejection.

“(y/n)-cchi! W-wait!” He fumbles to grab for the warmth of your hand again. “You just confessed, right? Don’t you have to hear what I say?”

You simply shrug in response, but nonetheless, you turned back around to face him and await his response.

What you didn’t expect though was for him to pull you into a tight embrace and put his head on your shoulder. He pours his innermost thoughts and his emotions out, your shoulder slightly muffling his words, but you still understand everything he had spilled. He finally apologizes for everything he’s done, reassuring you that you don’t have to forgive him, though you kept telling him that it wasn’t that big of a deal. He finally breaks away from you and hangs his head low and exhales. He finally lifts his head to make eye contact with you. His eyes burn with intensity and the usual confidence he bears, although you note the tinge of nervousness behind his pupils.

How did this happen? How did he ever grow so attached to you? And since when did he grow mature enough to concede his defeat?

“I think I’m in love with you…” His words trail off, and his confidence disintegrates away when he realizes that he is no longer the receiving end of a confession.

… and that scares… the crap out of me.”

“You think you’re in love with me?” You stare at him incredulously. Kise squirms uncomfortably under your scrutiny. He’ll admit it, it was the lamest reply anyone could’ve given. You honestly deserved better.

His thoughts were interrupted when you suddenly guffawed and slapped your hands to your mouth to try to stifle your hysteria.

“Hey! I spilled my entire heart to you, don’t just laugh… damnit, hey! It’s not that funny!...” he protests, but after unsuccessfully trying to get you to stop snickering, he sulks back into his chair and huffs with the reddest face.

“Ah… A+ for honesty, at least,” you breathed out. “I thought you were gonna be eloquent about this, since you’re used to this sorta stuff and all…”

“Shut it.”

Kise buries his head into his hands, but you gently pry them off in an attempt to see his embarrassed state.

“Were you really actually sick, though?~”

“Shut uuuup, alreadyyy.”

“I inherited this personality from you, y’know.”

Huh, it seems that you really do know how to be coy, after all.

“Can you two please see yourselves out? The infirmary is not a place to hold your secret rendezvous, especially with this inappropriate behavior.”

“(y/n)-cchi, run!”

“I’m trying, I’m trying!”

In a hurry, Kise grabs hold of your hand and makes a break out the door, dragging you behind with the school nurse trailing far behind. Even if he suffered a loss once again, he still won the complete monopoly of you and your genuine care and warmth for him.

Was it really a loss, though? He doesn’t think much of it now that his head feels clear when he shares these moments with you.

He supposes he misjudged you when you were truly special after all. Déjà vu just hits him like a truck when he fondly thinks about his ex-mentor Kuroko, and how similar you are to him.

[lefaystrent]

Can we get more of the Nursing Home AU please?

Part 1, Part 2

Virgil doesn’t always stay the newguy.

There’s a new new guy on theblock.

“You can call me Dee,” the man sayswhen Virgil meets the new physical therapist.

There are tattoos covering the lefthalf of his face, green scales running from his jaw to his hairline.

He’s also got heterochromia, theleft eye a glacial-blue and the right brown.

And he’s wearing a bowler hat andyellow gloves. Not as part of his uniform attire, but like as a life choice.

Virgil had never met an animebad-guy character in real life.

Virgil gives him a guarded waveinstead of shaking the hand he offers.

Dee retracts the hand after amoment, not showing the slightest bit of offense.

“Isn’t this great?” Patton saysfrom beside them, having brought them together to be introduced. “Meeting newpeople is fun!”

Virgil stares at him like he’sgrown another head.

How long had it taken Patton towarm up to Virgil?

Weeks? A couple months?

And now he was immediately chummywith this new guy who threw up more red flags than Virgil’s little prison stintever could?

Virgil gives the universe hismiddle finger.

The truth is Patton had beenalarmed when he first saw Dee.

But Dee is the smoothesttalker, able to charm anyone who gives him a fraction of a second.

“Society can be rather condemnatoryof those who dare to embrace individuality, don’t you think?” he had askedPatton upon first meeting.

“Oh yeah, absolutely,” Pattonnodded along, completely enamored.

After all, Patton had judged Virgilright off the bat without getting to know him, hadn’t he?

He didn’t want to make the samemistake twice.

“He seems nifty, yeah?” Patton asksVirgil for his opinion.

Virgil shrugs noncommittally. “Iguess.”

He inwardly grumbles to himselfthat the tattoos are actually really cool.

It’s so not fair. Who does this guythink he is? All that trying so hard to stand out will surely come to bite himin the end.

Virgil feels a little validatedwhen it does bite him.

Or rather Remus bites him.

“There’s a snake in our midst!”Remus hollers in faux-concern before cackling.

“You bit me! You actuallybit me!” Dee growls.

“That’ll be twenty bucks!” Remusholds his hand out expectantly.

Virgil has never been more proud ofthe crazy old coot than in this moment.

Logan tells Virgil his thoughts onthe new physical therapist later.

“He’s clearly well-read, cunning,and charming.”

“Sooo, you like him then?”

“I never said that. If nothingelse, I would not be opposed to challenging him to a game of chess. Which wouldsubsequently end in soul-crushing defeat for him, of course.”

“Logan buddy, have I ever told youhow much I appreciate you?”

Okay, so Logan might admittedly bea little salty that his ex-husband is enamored with the new physical therapist.

Roman is hit with Dee’s charm and‘cool’ aesthetic, and he can’t get over it.

“He looks like a Disney villain!”Roman raves.

Virgil silently agrees.

“And he’s just so smooth. Hepulls the look off so well, and he’s so smart! Why, if I was thirty yearsyounger . . .”

Virgil does not agree with this. Infact, Virgil very much disagrees with this and would like to stop talking aboutthis now.

Suffice it to say, there’s a lot ofhits and misses amongst the staff and old folk when it comes to the newphysical therapist. Lots of them fall for his charms. Others say he’s tryingtoo hard or the more religious elderly scoff in disdain at his looks and say,“He needs to go to church.”

As time goes by, Virgil finds outthat Dee is none of these things.

Okay, yeah, Dee is kinda trying toohard.

But more than anything, Dee’s justa huge dork.

Virgil catches him one day practicinglines in a mirror while he thinks no one else is around.

“Why yes, Patton. My hat really isname brand,” he says to his reflection in a silky tone. He frowns, adjustshis posture and tries again with a slightly different tone.

Virgil backs out of the room beforehe can be seen.

He walks away quickly, wonderingwhat he just witnessed.

Virgil never brings it up toanyone. He doesn’t know how to put what he saw into words anyway.

On a later day, Virgil is chillingin the break room getting his mac and cheese on.

Breaking news, the universe still hatesVirgil because Dee walks in to take his break as well.

Virgil pointedly ignores him.

Dee pointedly grabs his food fromthe fridge and sits down right in front of Virgil.

There are other seats in the room.

“Love the new eyeshadow, Virgil.Totally doesn’t make you look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

“This . . . is literally the sameeyeshadow I wear every day.”

“Really? Guess I’ve never noticed.”

Virgil grips his plastic forktighter and imagines Patton appearing beside him to say, “Stabbing people inthe eye is wrong, Virgil. Even if they are rude meanie butts.”

Instead, Virgil stabs viciouslyinto his bowl of cheesy noodles.

“Cool gloves, Dee,” he‘compliments’ back. “Where’d you get them? Your grandmother’s kitchen?”

Dee eyes his gloves. “. . . yesss.”

It’s not so much of a conversationas it is a series of thinly-veiled insults.

They end their break with no realwinner.

“I so enjoyed our lunch together,”Dee says afterwards. “We should definitely do this again sometime.”

Virgil still can’t tell whetherhe’s being serious or sarcastic.

So he points a finger at him.

“You’re on,” Virgil declares. Hewalks down the hall backwards, pointing between his eyes and Dee in theuniversal gesture to show he’s got his eye on him.

Whenever Virgil doesn’t spend hisbreaks with Patton, Dee appears.

They verbally spar each time.

It becomes a thing.

And Virgil’s . . . kinda havingfun, to be honest.

He still doesn’t trust that snakeface though!

They don’t always trade barbsthough. Sometimes they just sit in silence, too tired to do anything but eat andstare at their phones.

Virgil looks up one day and seeswhat Dee’s looking at.

“Is that Steven Universe?” Virgilasks.

Dee slams down his phone hardenough to shake the table. He’s sitting ramrod straight in his seat, wide-eyedgaze pointed at Virgil.

Virgil stares back with equallywide eyes. “Dude, I think you just cracked your phone.”

“Totally didn’t crack anything,”Dee says completely unconvincingly.

He gives in and sneaks a peak athis phone screen. Virgil can’t see it from where he sits, but he can see theway Dee winces.

“Just the screen protector, I’msure . . .”

“Uh . . . you should probablycheck?”

“Marvelous idea,” Dee agrees andproceeds to sit there staring down at his phone.

“Okaaay.” Virgil decides to duckout. He tosses his trash away and sweeps out the room.

For some unfathomable reason, helingers outside the door, just out of sight.

He peeks in after a minute.

Yes Dee is still sitting therelooking sadly at his phone.

“My phone . . .” Dee murmurs sadlyto himself.

Okay, that’s just low, universe.You can’t make the smarmy charmy dickbag look all sad and junk.

Alright, so Dee isn’t that muchof a dickbag as Virgil originally thought.

Still doesn’t help that Virgil haslike zero comforting skills. He hurries away to find Patton in hisoffice.

“Uh, you should like, dip into yourcookie stash and give Dee one or something,” Virgil suggests.

“What do you mean?” Patton asks, startledat Virgil’s abrupt appearance and even more random request.

“He’s in the breakroom and he’s sad.”

Patton rises up from his seat witha purpose and a bag of cookies suddenly in hand. “Say no more.”

 _______________________________________________________________

General Tag List: @spectralheartt @a-pastel-pan @notalwaysthevillian @rose-gold-roman @ijustrealizedhowdumbmynamewas @katie-the-noble-fangirl @yourroyalydramaticanxiousness @aroundofapplesauce @merlybird500 @beach-fan @jemthebookworm @whats-going-on-kiddos @randomsandersides @gamerfreddie @unring-this-bell @analogicallythinking @lilygold23 @levy-the-b00kw0rm @tacochippy @accio-hufflepuff-power1 @just-another-rainbowblog @georganabanana @grey-says-heck @crookedlyoptimisticdestiny @thesynysterunknown @idont-know-what-im-doing @idioticsky @fadingglowcloud @whizzie72 @theinvisiblespoon @greyyy523 @opaque-puppet @just-fic-me-up @wowimsogoddamnoriginal @sos-fandoms @loganeatsbooks @trust-is-overrated @theitalianalchemist @im-crunchie @mourning--star @4amanxiety @hogwarts-my-love @enby-phoenix @justanotherpurplebutterfly @internet-or-sleep @absolutesandersidestrash @seaspider10 @nonasficcollection @satanblessi @an-absolute-failure @analogical-mess @noisyeggpizzapatrol @hamilsandersfam @cefinitely-rolo @thgjclw @knight-shives @no-no-no-no-6 @savingshae @rabbitsartcorner @buddypallady @midnight-tragedyy @007ardra @fandomloverangel @dorkoverse @moodytrash06 @mirrorz-n-starz @idunnosong @lcrnbw @ollyollyoxinfree @cuter-on-the-inside

Nursing Home List: @thirteenashmctrash @figurative-falsehood @oddball-wqri @comicsimpson @hit-or-mish

[mishinsisa]

A traveler's learning - A princess' wish

(AlMei fic)

Summary.- Alphonse Elric decides to start his own life and materialize his projects: traveling east and study alkahestry. He takes two friends in order to help them recover their original forms and, along the way, gets to know the seventeenth princess of Xing better. During Alphonse's learning process and while Mei takes on projects in support of her clan, they get to understand each other and their bond strengthens.

*This is the first thing I write about FMA since I got into the fandom recently. English is not my first language and I hadn't written any fiction in English, so please, if you see any mistakes, do not hesitate to let me know so I can correct them.*

First chapter length: 3,825 words

Total length: 13,780 words

Genre: Friendship / Family / Romance (at the very end)

Links to AO3 and Fanfiction

Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist

1

 Determination

 He had to reconsider his plans of departing soon to the East on the advice of his family and acquaintances: his brother and surrogate grandmother were worried about him exposing to such a strenuous journey through the desert. The chances of survival and successful completion for healthy people were already low, let alone for a boy whose body had suffered years of starvation and consequently severe health issues. The princess, his friend, despite showing excitement for his intended visit to her country and a willingness to work with him, stated that he would have to study the language beforehand, at least to a basic level. A vast majority of Xingese did not speak Amestrian at all, and traditional teachers were not patient nor gentle with foreigners.

 There was no chance to see friends off. Due to the critical condition their bodies were in, all the brothers got was a brief and restricted visit by the far eastern group. An interchange of addresses—attempting to ignore the fact that they might not see nor contact each other again—, words of gratitude and encouragement, and that was it. The Elrics and the people who fought that day would spend a while under close medical care.

 Alphonse’s process was, by far, the longest and most difficult of all. He learned when the Armstrongs, the Colonel, the Lieutenant, the chimeras, and everybody involved was discharged. Even his father, who, once healthy, showed intentions to stay with his sons. However, Hohenheim understood, from Edward’s attitude, that his continuous presence with them would not be wise nor comfortable.

 It was Edward the one who never left Alphonse’s side. Even when he himself was severely injured, he insisted on being with his younger brother to make sure of his progress. It was not only his guilt of the failed transmutation and bringing his young body to that pitiful state, but also the uncertainty of his survival given that severe emaciation.

 Bedridden, stuck to a liquid diet, barely able to turn over and subject to multiple injections a day, not only the youngest Elric was restrained in a body he and his brother had been searching for years. He was also prey to baffling nightmares, hallucinations, abrupt losses of consciousness, and difficulty in remembering things that happened during the journeys with his brother. During these lapses, Edward would sit on the edge of the bed and hold his hand in an attempt to make Alphonse feel safe and supported. Even being such a reckless youngster, the older brother knew when to cheer the younger one, and when it was best to stay quiet and hold him.

 It was the memory of those endless months of convalescence that made Edward worry about his brother’s decision to go to the east as soon as possible. He understood his urge to travel and live as many experiences as he could, since the former state alchemist had already decided to study in the West. However, communications between Amestris and the East were still limited, and the connection projects were still drafts. Führer Grumman and the Crown Prince, on behalf of the Emperor of Xing due to his frail state, had just opened a trade route through Aerugo and the south sea. It was the beginning of a promise to a profitable exchange between Amestris and the eastern country.

Determined to prepare himself for his journey, Alphonse took into account Mei’s words and chose to start learning Xingese. In East City, the closest urban area to his hometown, he found little linguistic and instructional material that could help him. He didn’t feel like going all the way to Central, so he had some books delivered to the Rockbell house by some renowned bookstores.

 Once the brothers felt ready, Alphonse would be the first one to depart. Deep down, he trusted his absence would give his older brother the space and courage to acknowledge his feelings and talk about them with the girl they grew up with.

 ~

 ―You sure you don’t wanna wait for an eastern railway line to be ready? I’ve heard it’s in the Führer’s agenda.―Pinako told him with a concerned tone.

 Alphonse smiled reassuringly.

 ―We don’t know if that will start tomorrow, next month or next year. What if they start building it in ten years? I’m not going to wait that long.

 ―You just make sure to call home whenever you get the chance, okay?―his brother said, smiling―There’s got to be a phone in each station. So let us know about all of your layovers, huh?

 ―Ed, he’s going to spend too much money on phone calls.―Winry talked back and then immediately addressed to Alphonse―You just call us once a day so we get to know you’re okay. Don’t forget to write as soon as you get to Xing, understand?

 The first announcement of the train to Aerugo echoed in the station.

 Pinako wished him the best of luck and reminded him that he could get back home whenever he wanted to.

 Winry took a package wrapped in cloth out of a basket and gave it to him.

 ―When you get hungry during the trip…

 The boy gasped out of joy when he noticed the smell of apple pie.

 ―You didn’t have to! Thanks a bunch!

 ―I can’t believe you will cross the sea! I want you to tell me what is it like!

 He smiled at her and nodded.

 Then, his brother came closer to him.

 ―You just take care, okay? Don’t get in trouble.

 ―You’re not coming with me, so most likely I won’t get into bigger trouble than the ones you got me in.

 Edward scoffed.

 They bumped fists. Then, they bumped elbows and patted each other’s shoulder as Alphonse turned around to walk towards the platform.

 The Rockbells and the older brother waved him goodbye when they spotted him in his seat. He waved back at them, smiling. Soon after the train started moving, Winry and Pinako got tired and lowered their arms. Edward, however, not only waved even harder, but ran along the platform so as not to lose sight of Alphonse, until the train outran him and went away.

 ~

 He met with Jerso and Zampano at the South City station. From there, they headed together to the southernmost city of Amestris connected by train and took a tram to the checkpoint. The Amestrian police and soldiers checked their passports and jackets, acting somehow lenient after noticing the Elric surname in the documents. In the Aerugonian side, however, they got thoroughly searched and questioned. Their ID photos were constantly checked to confirm if they were the persons they claimed to be; they even had to take their shoes off and open their luggage. The process, which seemed endless for the young alchemist and former militaries, ended up with the confiscation of personal items such as straight razors, nail clippers, a lighter and a hip flask. Alphonse’s medication was almost confiscated, too, but he showed his prescription and bargained speaking a mixture of Amestrian and very broken Aerugonian.

 The first train they took, in a noisy and narrow station, was full of people with work attires and uniforms; people carrying heavy packaged goods, cases full of documents, lunch boxes. Some of them avoided interaction by reading the newspaper; some others simply slept with the newspaper on their face to block the light. The boy, however tired, kept looking out the window, curious to find out if the countryside in Aerugo would look different from the countryside in which he grew up.

 Hours later in the train, the former militaries couldn’t help but chuckle about Alphonse’s look. He fell asleep with his face leaning next to the window. His jaw was wide open, part of his hair was upright and entangled, and his left leg was extended to the front, almost in the personal space of his companions. Zampano tapped the tip of the boy’s foot with his own foot in a subtle attempt to wake him up when he noticed a middle-aged woman selling snacks, approaching. Not that the food or service were that good at the train, but he and his friend were hungry, and they supposed the young one would need something to eat.

 ―Hey… hey, Al…

 A sharp move of the train made his head bump into the wall and woke him up.

 ―You okay, buddy? You want something?―Zampano asked him in an amused tone.

 Alphonse yawned covering his mouth, unable to talk immediately, while Jerso took some money out of his pocket and bought snacks for the three of them.

 ―I can’t believe it’s already afternoon. Did we pass by any landmarks?―The boy asked.

 ―I woke up an hour ago.―Jerso answered, shrugging and chewing.

 ―I’ve been sleeping and waking up every now and then. Only sheep, cows and plantations out that window. You didn’t miss anything.

 Alphonse smiled. Deep down, he disagreed with Zampano’s answer: he was in a whole new place for him and was willing to see the slightest detail of it, specially since he was just passing through that country and didn’t know if he would be there again.

 At night, the train stopped in what seemed to be a textile town. Given the hour and their tiredness, all they did was look for an inn to have dinner and rest.

 Alphonse went to an old phone, one of the only three that were near the front desk area. He took some coins and dialed long distance.

 ―Rockbell Automail.

 ―Granny, it’s me.

 ―Al, thank goodness. Where are you now?

 The young Elric attempted to ask the name of the town with his limited language skills, but he didn’t understand the answer he got, no matter how many times the clerk repeated.

 ―I… I’m still north of Aerugo. I just had dinner. How’s my brother and Winry?

 ―He’s upstairs, reading.

 ―Hey!―A distant voice and quick steps were heard through the phone.

 ―Here he comes. Hold on.

 ―Yo! How’s everything going?

 ―It’s all right. I’ve been sitting all day long.

 ―You in Aerugo? Is it hot? You’re gonna get all tanned and all. Careful with the ladies.―Edward teased his brother, trying to conceal the fact that he already missed him.

 ―It’s humid, yeah.―The young one smiled―So, when are you going to talk to Winry?

 ―Uh…

 Edward seemed to be about to give an explanation, but he remained silent. Alphonse was not surprised.

 ―Listen, I gotta go now. I need to sleep. We’re taking the next train first thing in the morning. Take care.

 The next morning they woke up a little later than agreed and barely had time to get prepared. They ran to the station and, panting, abruptly stopped behind the platform line. Less than a minute later, the train doors opened. It was still dark, but the next train would depart three hours later, and Alphonse was not willing to delay his itinerary.

 Luckily, there were very few people in that train given the hour and route. The train car they were in was practically empty; it was just the three of them, so the Amestrians were free to be at ease. After a light breakfast and a nap to recover the lost sleep, they played cards. The game finished gradually with the hours of the morning and they ended up chatting and laughing, telling stories and their plans on the East.

 They spent the whole day crossing Aerugo and, as they headed south, Alphonse wrote in a travelogue details of what he saw. Not only did he enjoy rural and natural landscapes, but as the train went through big cities and the capital, he was delighted by the architecture, urban transportation, and the people’s disposition. Aerugonians seemed to be much more open and talkative than Amestrians: most houses decorated with flowering plants and painted in bright colors, unlike in his country.

 After spending the night in a city 400 miles away from the coast and boarding a last train the next morning, the three Amestrians arrived in an important port where they had some time to spare before their ship’s departure. They had a taste of Aerugonian seafood and bought medicine and personal care items, since their razors were taken in the north border and they didn’t want to look unkempt on arrival in Xing.

 Once on board the ship and upon leaving his stuff in the cabin, Alphonse rushed to the top deck and, amazed, walked to the railing and stood there. The wind in his hair and clothes, eyes narrowed by the daylight and mouth wide open, he stared delighted the vastness before him, sky and sea, which he thought of as two realms only separated by the line where the shades of blue diverged.

 During the early afternoon, once in open sea, Zampano and Jerso chatted and enjoyed the sunlight while the boy, feet away from them, looked down the hull and noticed a large school of flying fish, fluttering. Alphonse leaned over the railing to take a better look of them and the deep waters he was navigating. Later on, in the distance, he spotted dolphins. Pelicans and seagulls flew above the ship and, following their path with his eyes, he turned around and looked back at the point from which it sailed, now vanished in the horizon. A tear crossed his cheekbone. That innocence and sense of wonder reminded his travel companions of their own children, moving them.

 ~

 The Xingese harbor where they set foot in land for the first time in days was a bustle of vessels, rickshaws and loud talk that, in addition to their seasickness, left the three Amestrians dazed and indisposed to walk long distances. The midday light worsened their discomfort, and Alphonse had to call to mind his self-taught language lessons and look for a way to get to the train station. Needless to say that three considerably tall, unusual-looking, tired foreigners would be easy prey to cunning drivers.

 They got on the cab that charged them the less among the other options presented to them as a swarm. Still, in front of the station, the driver charged them more than agreed, claiming the routes he had to take in order to get them fast and the weight of three big men and their suitcases. Alphonse’s shortness of vocabulary and Jerso and Zampano’s total ignorance of the language led to an unintelligible quarrel in overlapped Amestrian and Xingese. The altercation drew the attention of bystanders and ended up with the foreigners paying reluctantly the final demanded amount. Jerso was about to spit his chimeric saliva to the driver but was stopped by Alphonse.

 ~

 The route to the capital of Xing took them through places that not only enthralled the already curious alchemist, but also delighted the grown men with him. The stunning look of lightning in the distance in the southern area near the desert, they had never seen that kind of thunderstorms. Numerous rice terraces extending in sequences that seemed infinite; rivers reflecting surrounding peaks covered in green; a thick emerald forest where the silence seemed sacred; hills that seemed painted with watercolors in various shades of yellow, red and green; plantation fields; busy towns. Bluish, gray mountains imposing as they approached the capital city.

 Never in his life had the boy seen so many people concentrated in one place. When Alphonse and his travel companions arrived at the main station they were easily stepped on and bumped into by the passers-by, not without a curious peek. Not every day did they see people with those Amestrians’ physical traits and clothing. Besides, they looked unkempt, since they hadn’t had the chance to shave since their last morning in the Aerugonian ship.

 The place was so big they got easily lost amid the swarm of people and the overwhelming amount of hallways, waiting areas and sigs they didn’t understand. They decided it would be better to go first to the restrooms, which were in an upper floor. The young one remembered reading once in his books that performing personal care activities in public, such as combing or shaving, was seen as very bad taste in Xing, so they went very quickly.

 Once done, walking down the wide stairs along with many other users, Alphonse felt weak due to a drop in his blood pressure. The changes in altitude and the eating habits he had been leading during such a long trip affected his health, and he fainted. People near him stepped aside, most of them continuing on their way. Zampano and Jerso ran to their friend, turning him over to see if he was awake or injured.

 —Al! Hey, Al!—Jerso shouted, gently slapping the boy’s face.

 Alphonse’s head had hit the edge of a stair, causing him a laceration on his forehead and a black eye. Zampano held him and softly shook him.

 —He’s passed out, go get help.—He told Jerso.

 —They won’t understand a word, lemme just…

 —Go get help! We don’t know if he still has any condition.

 —I don’t know how to! I better go get water to splash his face and wash that blood.

 Three security guards came running, alerted by one witness of Alphonse’s fall down the stairs. Their first impression was that of an innocent looking youngster waking up disoriented and bleeding, surrounded by two threatening-looking men with untidy stubble, one of then shaking him on the floor and patting his coat, the other one carrying his suitcase. Yelling, one of the guards asked something none of the Amestrians understood. He and the second guard proceeded to detain Jerso and Zampano, while the third guard helped Alphonse stand up and walk.

 ~

 —Sir, are you here against your will?—The sheriff asked slowly and clear so that the young Amestrian could understand.—Were you kidnapped? Kidnap?

 —Again, I was not abducted. I came here because I want.

 His accent was strong, but he talked clear and was confident of his language use in that situation. Alphonse tried to explain time after time that he was in Xing willingly and that those two men were his friends, but none of the officers seemed to believe. The wound on his forehead had been washed and covered and he had been offered an ice pack for his eye. His companions were held in a cell.

 The sheriff opened the boy’s passport. He frowned a little, glanced at the Amestrian, and skimmed the document again. That surname may have been distant news once, but he was not sure.

 —Do you want to go back home? Call anyone?

 —Yes. I want to call the Seventeenth Royal Princess of Xing, Mei.

 The sheriff and the officers in the room looked at each other in incredulity. Some of them grinned and sneered. They talked mockingly among them at fast pace and the sheriff tried to impose order.

 —Sonny, home? You don’t want to go home? Or do you need a lawyer?

 Alphonse felt like the man was treating him like a stupid.

 —Sir, I know my rights. I can resort to the help I need. And the help I choose is Her Highness, Princess Mei.

 Silence in the room, skeptic faces.

 —I met her, the Crown Prince Ling Yao and his bodyguards Lan Fan and the late Fu in Amestris. I’m Alphonse Elric, and I came here to study Alkahestry, science she masters.

 One of the officers talked in a condescending tone and the sheriff mumbled, frustrated. He took the phone and dialed. Once he got an answer, he adopted a formal tone and, among the particulars, he mentioned the name Alphonse Elric, mispronouncing it. Minutes of silence. The conversation seemed to resume briefly, and the man hung up. His countenance seemed uncomfortable and wary. He had a secretary bring the Amestrian a cup of tea and offered him a forced smile. The officers in the room were in expectation. Minutes later, the sheriff called again.

 —I am sorry for keeping you waiting, Mr. Elric.—The man in charge of the situation addressed the young Amestrian after hanging up—I contacted the relevant palace office and they talked to one of the Princess’ assistants. She will be here in about two hours. In the meantime, the nurse will take care of you.

 Alphonse smiled and sighed with relief.

 —What about my friends?

 —That’s for the Princess to decide.

 —They are hungry and tired by now.

 The sheriff acted as if he hadn’t heard that and handed Alphonse his passport back, then called the nurse and asked her to take the young man with her.

 ~

 The distant fuss in the building woke him up from his shallow slumber. The bed was narrow and hard, but he was so tired and unwell that he surrendered to the cherished rest by the nurse’s command. She saw him awake and made a gesture, indicating that he should get out of bed. The door was opened. The nurse bowed down and, with a glance, warned that he ought to do the same.

 He saw her: a shining maiden, ravishing, small in build, taller than the last time they talked, her little panda on her shoulder. Dressed in a light blue cheongsam, her hair tied in two buns with braids, she seemed to personify the morning sky. The princess stared at him, first in disbelief; then, after asking him and the nurse to stop bowing and scrutinizing his face, she recognized him and gasped.

 —Sir Alphonse!—She took four steps forward in a reflex of greeting him like in the old days, but remembered the presence of her palace assistants and the officers and stopped suddenly, bowing slightly—I mean, Mr. Elric! Are you all right?

 —I am! Don’t worry, it was just a fall!

 —I have to apologize for being so late. I was addressing issues when we received your call. After that, I had to get everything prepared for you and your friends. Where are they?

 —Arrested, I’m afraid.

 —Oh! Let’s hurry, then. I’ll explain later, but I wanted to make sure you’re well received and comfortable, specially after this unfortunate misunderstanding.

 An officer released Zampano and Jerso. When they were greeted by Mei, the man forced them to a bow, and escorted them out when she headed to the exit.

  —It feels weird. Such a tiny girl we met in Amestris, now a fancy princess.

 —Yes, man, she’s royal family and all, remember?

 The former militaries mumbled astonished once out of the police station, away from the group. Alphonse joined them then.

 —Don’t be surprised. She’s in her country, she must follow a protocol. All we can do is adapt ourselves.

 —Gentlemen!—The princess called them loudly, waving to draw their attention.

 She invited them to get on the limousine with her. Once their luggage was in place and they got on the back seats, Mei asked the chauffeur to drive to the place where the Amestrians would stay.

[potterandpromises]

Plague Times: Chapter 1

Lucy downs a shot of vodka, her ration. It’s the amount she allows herself as a sleep aid, no more and only when needed. A rule she created years ago, within weeks of Rufus’ death. Anything else must be consumed in a social setting. Or at least with other people— meaning Flynn, mostly. But he’s not here, because she left him.

One mouth, almost exactly. Perhaps current events lead the dates to be emphasized. December 6th though January 4th they lived together in his new and decrepit ex-safe house, sold to him for one dollar by the United States Government after the war’s supposed end. That decision, as Lucy understands it, was half laziness, half embarrassment. An excellent outcome, and she barely had to threaten anybody.

[Read the rest on AO3]

[readerinsertdepot]

Wonderful: Chapter 2

Pairing: Iwaizumi Hajime x fem!reader

Summary: An American in Paris au except there is  minimal singing and dancing and no one is actually American nor is  anyone really French.

Hajime sells some art and makes a new friend.

Chapter 1

Rating: T (for now)

Tags: Love triangles, cheating, mutual pining... sort of. Eventual smut?

Word Count: 2.5K

Colorful canvases filled the sidewalk as Hajime marched up the hill of Montmartre. Fellow artists worked tirelessly on their creations while others hung their pieces hoping to attract a potential buyer. The farther he trudged, the more painters he encountered exhibiting their work. After some walking, he found his usual spot, proud of himself that this time he only had to backtrack once to find it. “Good morning, Madoka!” he called out to the woman set up across the street. She raised her head up from her work and returned his greeting with a cheerful smile.

Madoka was a bold, older woman that Hajime had taken notice of after the first few times he set up on that street when he had moved to Paris. They then began exchanging pleasantries and she had taken to giving him unwanted critiques, leading Hajime to believe she had a cold and harsh personality, but over time, he learned she saw great potential in him and wanted to see him succeed. She had sort of taken him under her wing, offering him advice and occasionally even treating him to lunch. He always did his best to return her kindness.

Hajime got to work hanging his paintings on the grey, brick wall that lined the sidewalk. His pieces tended to be focused on scenery, buildings especially -- he had fallen in love with the architecture. Plus, it was one of the few things that would not move when he was painting. He stepped back from the wall and placed his hands on his hips, pondering the layout of his pieces.

“I can understand disregarding perspective to achieve an effect, but I believe--”

Hajime sighed and looked over his shoulder. A young girl, not much younger than himself, stood behind him. “Why don’t you be good and move on? You’re not going to buy anything. You’re just blocking out the sunlight.”

“I just wanted to discuss your work,” she huffed.

He turned around to face the girl, “I don’t want you to discuss my work. I’m not interested in your opinion of it. If you say something nice it won’t make me feel any better and if you don’t it’ll bother me. Thanks. Have a good day.”

The girl huffed, her face turning scarlet and hands balling into tight fists before fleeing the scene. After watching her stomp off down the street, Hajime turned back to rearrange a few of his works. Unbeknownst to them, another woman had been observing the interaction. The artist’s brash honesty had made her curious. She made her way across the street and stopped just behind him.

“Do you mind if I look?” She let out a giggle, “Or will you chew my head off too?”

Hajime hung his head for a moment before turning to see who his new critic was. This one was young too, though a bit older. Dressed a lot more elegantly and she carried an air of casual sophistication. “Go ahead. You’re ok.” He leaned his back against the wall, giving her space to freely observe his art.

She gave him a wide grin and immediately stepped up to view the paintings. Hajime watched as her eyes enthusiastically consumed every line and brushstroke of his work. She took her time at each one, meticulously contemplating their composition. “She’s one of those third-year girls that drive me crazy,” Hajime commented after some time.

“Third-year girls?” she asked, not bothering to look up from his work. A hint of playful curiosity in her voice.

“Yeah, you know, those college girls that come abroad to lap up a little culture. They’re a pain,” he lazily spat out.

“Why? They’re harmless enough?”

“They’re intrusive and dull. They’re always making profound observations they’ve overheard.”

“You don’t like criticism?” she asked, turning her head to Hajime, waiting on his answer.

Hajime shrugged his shoulders, “Of course it’s helpful, but it doesn’t really mean anything coming from someone that doesn’t know what they’re talking about.”

She nodded in understanding and continued to make her way down the line of paintings. “I’m guessing business isn’t very good?” she teased, noticing he had a fair amount of work on display.

“You’d be correct,” he laughed dryly. The casualness of her tone of voice was an interesting contrast against her refined appearance. His eyes traveled the length of the white silk gloves she wore, down to the hem of her black fitted skirt, which rested just below her knee. The large, black cat eye sunglasses that sat on top of her ash blonde matched it perfectly.

“You know…” she began, rousing Hajime from his observation, “I like these two.”

“Thanks. So do I,” he quipped.

She whirled around on her heels to face Hajime while reaching for her pocketbook, “I want to buy them!”

The painter blinked a few times trying to process exactly what she had said. Typically, his days of attempting to sell anything were all busts. He had all but given up on making money off his paintings and made this journey everyday out of habit more than anything. He was unprepared. “Well, uh, I… I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” she laughed in disbelief.

“I never thought I’d come to the point where that would be an issue. Um…” he scratched his head, racking his brain for something reasonable only to come up short, “offer me something.”

The blonde placed a finger on her lips, thinking hard on a good deal. “Fifteen thousand francs! For each,” she offered. “Would that be satisfactory?

Hajime thought his heart was going to stop right there. “Yes…” He cleared his throat trying to rid his voice of any shock. “That would be.” That was enough money to take care of him for about a month and he was going to make it all off two of his own paintings. Doubt began to cloud his mind. “Are you sure you want to spend that much?”

“Oh, what do you care?” she remarked, waving him off with her free hand.

“Isn’t that almost,” he quickly did the calculation in his head while lifting the pieces off the brick wall, “fifty dollars each?”

She ignored his worried queries as she dug through her pocketbook for the cash.  She paused, a frown finding its way onto her features, “Oh goodness, I don’t have enough on me.”

Hajime’s shoulders sagged immediately at the news. “Well, you can come back tomorrow. I bet you they’ll still be here,” he said as he began to place the artwork back up.

“I have a better idea!” Hajime jumped at the blonde’s sudden outburst, “Come with me to the hotel I’m staying at? I can pay you there.”

Hajime cocked an eyebrow at the forwardness of her suggestion, “Fine… Is it far?”

“Would you care if it were?” She quickly turned back, leaning over into the street to wave her driver over. “By the way,” she turned back for a moment, displaying a cheeky grin,

“what’s your name?”

“Hajime Iwaizumi,” he answered, preparing his artwork for her to take, “What’s yours?”

“Alisa Haiba,” she responded while opening her car door and hopping in.

When Hajime turned around to hand off the paintings, his eyes grew wide and his breath hitched. He did his best to keep his mouth shut but he had not expected to see her sporting a Delage Cabriolet. “Is… uh… is this yours?” he finally managed to ask.

Alisa flashed him another cheeky smile as she patted the bright orange seat next to her, coaxing him into the luxurious vehicle.

“Maybe I should have charged you more,” he mumbled under his breath before joining her.

….. ….. ….. ….. …..

The trip to the hotel was a quick one. Thankfully leaving no room for awkward silence between the two as they rode down the streets of Paris. The driver had dropped them off directly in front of the main entrance before leaving to find a space to park. Hajime silently marveled at the vaulted ceilings and glittering arches of the lobby while closely following behind Alisa. Other hotel guests breezed by them wearing sharp suits and stylish gowns while some lounged around on the plush sofas. Hajime felt severely underdressed in his dingy white shirt and khaki dress pants. He held the paintings up a little closer to his chest.

After riding the elevator up six stories and walking down a hall, they arrived at her door. She removed one long glove so that she could retrieve her key from her pocketbook. Once unlocked, she stepped in and removed her second glove. She made an abrupt stop in the entryway and turned to Hajime. “I’ll be right back. Make yourself at home,” she said while moving past him to shut the door and then disappeared down the short hall to their left.

“Thanks,” Hajime called after her. He stepped forward into the main room and slowly spun around. He let out an impressed whistle after taking in his surroundings. Four of his studios could fit in this room easily. Beige Rococo style furniture decorated the space and was lit by golden sconces and one small chandelier. He moved over to one of the many large windows to a peek outside. Of course she would have a gorgeous view of the city, especially considering how high up the room was.

Alisa appeared out from the hallway and walked straight over to where Hajime was standing. “Here it is!” she announced cheerfully, lifting his hand so she could place the stack of bills in it. She allowed her hand to linger on his for a moment and tilted her head towards the couch, looking up at him through her eyelashes. “Would you like some sherry?” she asked.

Hajime kept his eyes on the ground. Worried that his expression would reveal the slight nervousness that threatened to take over him. He was beginning to think that this was going a little further than he would have liked, but he was already here. “Alright,” he answered, moving to place the paintings down by the coffee table. Alisa smiled and went to plop down on the couch. She leaned forward to grab a glass from the table so that she could fill it for her guest. Hajime focused on a beautiful white and gold partition that was used to cover a corner of the room. “So,” he began, as he made his way closer to the couch, “how did you happen to find yourself in such an extravagant lifestyle? Your husband? Or your father?”

The blonde let out a small laugh, “My father.”

“What does he do?”

“Oil.” She handed off the full glass up to Hajime.

“I should have known.”

“Suntan oil.”

“Really?” he asked in disbelief, “I had no idea there was so much in that racket.”

Alisa stood up from the couch and moved over to pick up her new art. “No one likes a sunburn,” she answered, examining each piece in her hands. Her eyes moved up to the wall. “Now,” she began, slowly spinning in place, “where should I hang these?”

Hajime took a drink from his glass before setting it down on the table. He studied each wall carefully before gingerly taking one of the paintings from her hands. “I got a place. Good light,” he moved over to the wall opposite of the large windows and placed it next to a huge gold mirror, “Not too much sun.” He turned his head to gauge her reaction.

“Oh, that’s terrific!” She looked back down to the remaining painting in her hand. A smile creeping back on her face. “These really are something,” she said, sitting back down on the couch. “You know, I’ve seen hundreds of paintings by young artists and none of them have impressed like these.”

“Well, I’m glad,” Hajime placed his hand on the top of the couch so that he could lean over and study the art Alisa was so captivated by, “makes it easier to give up.”

Alisa tilted her head to the side, unsure if she heard the painter correctly. “Give up?” she asked.

Hajime shrugged, “It’s kind of hard for an artist to sell. A writer or composer can always buy a copy of what they create but for an artist, it’s the original that counts. Once that’s gone it’s out of his life.”

Alisa frowned at the painter’s cynical view and looked back down to the artwork in her hands. “I never thought about it that way.”

A loud ring from the telephone drew Alisa’s attention away. She hopped off the couch and made her way over to answer. “Oh, hello Levochka. Um, no, don’t come up. Actually, would you mind waiting for me in the dining room? I’ll be right down.” The phone made a soft click when it met the receiver. She turned back to face Hajime, placing both hands on the table behind her so she could lean back a bit.

Hajime took one last drink before setting the empty glass back down on the table. “Uh, sorry. I didn’t mean to stay so long,” he said as he pulled at this tucked shirt, ensuring that it was properly adjusted.

“Oh, don’t apologize. I wanted you to,” she reassured. “I wish we had more time to talk.”

The painter gave a weary smile. “Well, good-bye. Thank you.” He gave an awkward bow, unsure of how to end a social interaction with someone of her status. He rolled his eyes at his foolishness, careful to not let Alisa see, and made for the exit.

Alisa pushed off the table so that she could see him off. “By the way,” she called after him, “what are you doing tonight?”

Hajime stopped in his tracks and turned to look at her over his shoulder. “Why?”

“I’m throwing a small party here tonight and there’ll be an extra girl. Why don’t you swing by?”

“I don’t know,” his eyes narrowed, suspicious of what kind of game the rich blonde was playing with him.

“Why not?” She smiled. “Do you have a date?”

A faint blush dusted his cheeks, but he kept a cool expression. “No.” It had been a few months since he had anyone like that in his life.

“Then come by. I’m sure you’ll find some company here.”

Hajime took a moment to think of an answer. Something in his gut was telling him it was a bad idea. There was a mischievous glint in her eyes, and he knew she was up to something. Unfortunately, he was unable to come up with a polite way to decline her invitation. “Ok,” he answered hesitantly.

“Terrific!” Alisa clapped her hands with delight before plopping back down on the couch, “Nothing formal. Be here at eight. Oh, and my car can take you home, he has nothing to do.”

Hajime continued towards the door. Just as he was about to leave, he turned back to Alisa, “Thank you… for everything.”

A/N: In my first draft, Alisa was Saeko and I was really uncomfortable writing this lol.

I’m excited to post the next chapter because that’s when the fun starts :3c

Any comments are appreciated! Thanks for reading!

[go4blood]

you’re the one that i want - a.i.

I’m finally continuing the broadway series after 2653578 years! I’ve been having writers block, sorry about the lack of posts! This is based around Grease, y/n is Sandy, Ashton is Danny. Basically y/n is new to showbiz and Ashton shows her the ropes, friends to lovers trope, you know how we do.

2.5k words

You paced around your small apartment anxiously: it was callback day. Callback day was the most stressful time for anyone in the theatre world. Today was the day you find out if you made the cut to be apart of Grease or if you didn’t do good enough to make the director even bat an eye. You did a lot of theatre back when you lived in Chicago, but New York was different. More competitive. Thousands watching rather than a few hundred. Tourists traveling and spending hundreds on a good seat rather than some regular Chicagoans buying a ticket for twenty dollars. New York was showbiz central.

You took pride in your acting. Back in Chicago, you had countless roles you loved playing: Sally Bowles in Cabaret, Elphaba in Wicked, Zoe in Dear Evan Hansen, and more. But Chicago is way less competitive than the big apple. You knew the theatre world back home, but you didn’t know it here at all.

Your phone rang and you scrambled to pick it up and answer. You contain yourself and say a simple hello. A man's voice is on the other line. You’ve been offered another audition to further your audition process for the part of Sandy. You gladly say yes and end the conversation. You were relieved that you had another audition, but it was still terrifying. You could screw it up and lose your chance. Grease is a classic, and it has to be perfect. Callbacks were the next morning, so you went to bed early and waited for what was to come.

—

You arrived with an open mind. Around ten other girls were there. 10 girls who want to be Sandy. 10 girls who want this role just as much as you. Maybe more than you. If you were lucky you’d get a chorus member at this rate.

A tall man with light brown hair and hazel eyes walks around, greeting the girls. He has a kind smile paired with a silk red shirt and tight black pants, iced coffee in hand. You see him start to walk towards you and you’re slightly confused.

“Hey, how are you? I’m apart of the cast and could possibly end up being your Danny, and we’ll be performing some scenes together for your 2nd audition. I wanted to introduce myself, I’m Ashton.” He holds his hand out and you take it, shaking it and smiling.

“I’m y/n, it’s nice to meet you. Is this your first broadway show?”

He ponders for a moment, “This is my 5th, actually. I did stuff back in Sydney though before I came to New York. You?”

You begin to feel embarrassed. You have absolutely no broadway experience whatsoever. “This is my first broadway show… in Chicago I did stuff though. But nothing here in New York yet.”

“Well you got a callback for the lead so I think you’re in good shape, y/n.” He smiled warmly.

He was different from other actors you’ve met. Many were arrogant and were only there to do their part and leave. He cheered you on despite never meeting you. It was a pleasant surprise.

“Perhaps I am, Ashton.” He smiled and walked to a seat, and you did the same. The director handed out excerpts and began calling names. You watched some of the girls perform scenes and they were all quite impressive. You were very unsure of yourself. You kept growing more and more nervous and you didn’t know if you’d compare to everyone else.

“Y/n! Scene 11, the drive in scene.”

You stand up from your seat and take a deep breath, walking up to the stage.

Ashton cleared his throat, looking at the script then into your eyes, “Hey, you’re not with another guy, are you?”

“No, why?” Your eyes glance down at the script and back into his eyes.

Ashton acts nervous and nonchalant, “No reason… I uh wanted to ask you to take my ring.” He holds out his hand as if there’s a ring there and pretends to put it on your finger. The scene continues, and before you even have a chance to read the stage direction he kisses you. Your cheeks burn and you continue the scene, finishing it out. Ashton smiles at you and goes back to his seat as you do your singing portion of the audition to the song Hopelessly Devoted To You. You go back to your seat, wondering if what you did would be enough.

The last few girls perform and everyone is dismissed. As you put your jacket on, Ashton walks towards you with a soft smile.

“You did really good, I told you it’d be fine. You wanna maybe get lunch? There’s this place down the street you need to try if you’re gonna be a true New Yorker!”

“Sure, why not?” You walk with him to the small restaurant, talking as if you have known him your whole life.

—

“Your favorite movie is Kill Bill? I never would’ve guessed that…” Ashton was sat across from you at the sandwich shop, asking you a series of ‘get to know me’ questions.

“Uma Thurman is my girl crush,” You smirk, “what’s your favorite show?”

“Definitely Brooklyn 9-9. It isn’t deep or anything and it’s just a comedy, but it’s my happy place, what about you?”

“I love Gossip Girl… I know it’s such a girly show but I really like it.” You blush out of embarrassment, but he breaks out into a grin.

“I love Gossip Girl! I watched it with my sister all the time back home. It’s a great show.”

Surprised is an understatement. You never knew a guy could be such a softie. You smile out of relief and drink your tea as He rapid fires questions to you for the next hour.

—

You got the call the next morning. You were officially Sandy. In celebration, he’s hanging out at your apartment and he brought cheap boxed wine.

“What if I’m not cut out for broadway, Ash? What if everyone walks all over me? I don’t know anything about showbiz here in New York.” All you had in your mind was doubt.

“I’m not gonna sugarcoat it. People will be jealous. People will talk about you behind your back. Critics will rip you to shreds. But all that matters is your performance. That dumb, bald critic isn’t the one getting that paycheck and that standing ovation. It’s you. You have to give your all every night. But it’s always worth it. I’ll be with you every step of the way for this show. I’ll guide you. I’ll be like the guy in Pretty Woman! Guiding you through life…”

“Oh Ashton, I’m so lucky you’re my friend. I never thought I’d meet anyone here honestly. You really are the Edward Lewis to my Vivian Ward.” He laughs and clinks his glass with yours.

“First rehearsal is gonna be splendid, darling.”

—

The first rehearsal began at 7:30 am sharp. The first priority was choreography of “Summer Nights”. You met the girls playing Frenchy and Rizzo, and they were very welcoming. Now whoever was playing Jan, however, was a bit snarky. She didn’t even give you a simple hello. You decided to think nothing of it and just go on with rehearsal.

The tech crew brought out some makeshift temporary bleachers for the choreography and everyone got to work. The T Birds and Ashton went to the other side of the stage where the women were all to the other side. You held your music in hand and began your first note while also mirroring the choreographers directions. All was going well until you accidentally stepped on Jan’s foot, causing her to glare at you and yell, “Watch it!”.

You were taken aback. Everyone stopped suddenly and the pianist came to an abrupt halt.

“I’m so sorry-“ you started to say, but was interrupted immediately.

“Maybe you should know what you’re doing if you’re going to be the lead, or were you not aware that you should actually have some experience?”

You mumble barely loud enough for anyone to hear, “I won’t do it again…”

Rehearsal continued, and the room was tense for the remainder of the choreography portion.

“Alright everyone take 5!” The director's voice loudly remarked. Before you knew it, Ashton was walking towards you. His hair was a bit of a mess and his sleeves were rolled up.

“So how was your first choreography session, Sandy?” He grinned, taking a long drink from his water bottle.

You weren’t sure if you should tell him you actually were on the brink of tears. It was way too early to already have complaints, but you were sure that that one girl already hated you and you didn’t even know why.

“It was great, amazing.” You forced a smile and he broke out into a grin. You just couldn’t tell him you were already upset.

“I knew you’d be amazing! I told you it wouldn’t be so bad. We’re doing a run through of the song with everyone next. I’ll get to see you rock it.” He smiled and walked back towards the guys. You sighed, walking back to the group of girls. This would be a long 3 months of rehearsal.

—

You opened the door to your studio apartment and collapsed on the bed, burying your face in your pillow. Then the tears came. You couldn’t believe how upset you were. You didn’t think it would bother you as much as it did, but you felt like you already blew the role of your dreams. You decided to call Ashton, hoping he could lift your spirits.

“Hey y/n, what’s up?” He had his usual cheery tone of voice and you already felt better.

“I know I said rehearsal was great, but the girl playing Jan was really terrible and hurt my feelings really bad and maybe she’s right maybe I don’t have what it takes, Ash. What if she’s right?” At that point you were crying even more. You didn’t expect to cry even more, but it was happening.

“Woah woah woah. The real Sandy Olsson would never take anyone else’s shit. Y/n, you’re one of the most talented people I’ve ever met. You’ve forced me to come over now. I’m gonna make you feel better. Leave the door unlocked and just be expecting me.” He hung up before you could even argue. But you were glad you didn’t have a chance to argue.

—

About an hour passed and your door opened. Ashton walked in, closing the door behind him. He had 2 pints of Ben and Jerry’s and two 4 packs of Smirnoff in his arms. He kicked the door closed gently and sat at the foot of your bed.

“There’s my favorite broadway sensation.” You mumble from under your covers, grinning when you lock eyes.

“Here I am!” He smiled, handing you a pint of ice cream and a plastic spoon, “I also have alcohol.”

You smile, opening the ice cream and wrapping your arms around him, “Thank you for coming here… I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

“Well I was planning world domination but I’ll get back to that.”

You laugh mad shake your head, “Well… let’s watch Gossip Girl and get drunk then, shall we?”

“We shall.”

—

“She’s just jealous that you’re the lead! Did you see her callback performance for Sandy? It was so half assed! You definitely were the best.” Ashton was on his third drink and there was no hiding it. He was slurring all of his words and laughing at every little thing. You found it adorable.

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.” A blush crept across your cheeks and you looked down at your cup.

With his hand, he pushed your head up from your chin, “I’m not blind, i know a good actress when I see one, silly. Also, it’s cute when you blush,” He smirked when you blushed even more, “I mean if you want we can practice scenes together outside of rehearsal. We could now! I have my script in my bag…”

Before you could even begin to say no, he was already reading out one of his lines.

“I really like you, Sandy.”

You sigh and grab your script, opening to the right page and sitting across from him on your bed, “Danny, take it easy! What are you trying to do?” You glance down at the book, seeing what his next line is and look back up.

“Can I try something out?”

“Um, that’s not your line Ash-“

His hand comes up to your cheek and before you know it, his lips are on yours. Taken aback, your eyes widen, but then slowly close. You wrap your arms around his neck and twirl the hair at the nape of his neck around your finger and his hands grip your waist. He pulls away and you catch your breath. He smiles at you, “But you enjoyed it, didn’t you?”

“Shut up.”

“That’s a yes I take it.”

You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol talking, but you were sure that you were falling. Hard.

—

“You’re the one that I want, you are the one I want, ooo ooo ooo honey…”

Everyone had gotten down the choreography to this scene, so everyone was just doing a run through without instruction. Before rehearsal even started, you talked to Ashton as usual. He didn’t even mention the night before. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was for the best. Some friendships need to stay friendships. And that was fine, but a part of you didn’t want that to be true. But what could you do? You never mentioned it again. You decided it was for the best.

-

Countless deli lunches together passed, dozens of coffee runs continued, about 100 more rehearsals occurred, months passed and the day came. Opening night. It was a full house.

You were in your dressing room, finishing up your makeup. A knock took you out of your trance, and you told them to come in.

Ashton came through the door, “Opening night! Are you ready?” He sat on the couch in the dressing room, wearing a tight white shirt and leather jacket, hair slicked back. He looked so good that it physically hurt.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” You weakly smile, “ya know I heard Rizzo has a thing for you.”

“Too bad she’s not my type… I’m into girls named Sandy.”

“Haha very funny, Ash, I mean like in real life.”

“Yeah so do I. A wise man once said, ‘you’re the one that I want, you are the one I want, ooo ooo ooo honey.” You laugh, and look into his eyes.

He’s not drunk right now. He’s sober. He is in your dressing room, telling you he is into you.

“Break a leg, Sandy.” And then he kisses you. And this time you know it isn’t the alcohol talking.

Summer loving. Happened so fast.

[blancheludis]

A/N: @iron-man-bingo , square: Superfamily, Spider-Man ID Reveal

Fandom: Marvel, MCU, Avengers Words: 3.728 Characters: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Peter Parker Tags: Super Family, Iron Dad, Fluff, Identity Reveal

Summary: t is merely by coincidence that Steve and Tony find out that their son is Spider-Man. Once the initial yelling is over, they might even admit they are proud of him. 

---

“We need to go home.”

Steve, who was just about to take a sip of his terribly complicated coffee, pauses and looks at Tony, confused. Their coffee dates are sacred and not to be interrupted by anything. Tony’s office has learned to not – under any circumstances – call him when he is out for lunch with Steve, and even Pepper keeps any emergencies for afterwards. One hour every Wednesday is their time, and they do not let it be ruined by anything.

Now, however Tony is staring at the screen hanging over the counter at the café they have chosen, unmoved and face grim. When Steve turns around to look at it, he almost expects another alien invasion or something of an equal attitude that would require their immediate attention, although the Avengers alarm should have gone off already in that case. What he sees does not help with his confusion at all.

The footage is from Central Park, where a reporter is talking in the foreground. Behind her, Spider-Man is visible, swinging merrily. There is no fight, not even a sign of any trouble brewing. Yet, Tony keeps staring as if they are witnessing the beginning of the apocalypse.

“That’s Spider-Man,” Steve says slowly, wondering what essential point he is missing. “It does not look like he’s in trouble. And he wasn’t exactly keen on our help the last time we tried.”

Steve has to admit that had stung a little. Spider-Man is young and, as far as they know, out there all alone. He might not be taking on any of the more dangerous villains haunting New York, but things can turn bad very quickly. It is always good to have some allies. Yet, the friendly neighbourhood hero had basically fled as soon as they attempted to speak to him, yelling something along the lines of not needing them. It might just be all right, but Steve cannot help that he is a worrier.

“Look at what he’s carrying,” Tony says through clenched teeth.

Steve does as he is bid. True enough, Spider-Man is carrying something, but it is just – “A bag. Tony,” Steve frowns, contemplating for a brief moment to sniff at the coffee in case someone is trying to poison them, “What’s gotten into you?”

“And what,” Tony says with rising tension, “is on the bag?”

The footage is not the best, but Steve has good eyesight, so he squints at the screen. Two colourful dots adorn the dark cloth. “Some kind of – oh,” Steve exclaims in realization. “These are an Iron Man and a Captain America badge.” He knows them because Peter has them too. Frowning, he inclines his head at Tony. “It looks pretty similar to –”

“Peter’s bag.” Tony nods as if this is what he has been trying to say all this time “Exactly.”

When Tony does not look any more satisfied at Steve having solved the riddle but is still uncharacteristically tense for their lunch break, Steve wonders what he is still missing.

“So what?” he asks. “It’s not like this is Peter’s bag. Spider-Man is a fan, that’s all.”

Which makes his reluctance to work with them or at least let them help out at times a little strange, but that could be simple shyness in the face of actually meeting them.

“I’m saying that it is a pretty strange coincidence that the young superhero with the familiar speech pattern and the strict four-to-eight patrol time is carrying our son’s bag around.”

Now it is Steve’s turn to stare. He wonders what Tony means with the familiar speech pattern but now that he is thinking about it, Spider-Man – on the one occasion they talked – sounded familiar. That he is apparently working on a schedule is not that strange either. Not everybody has the dubious luxury of being a hero full-time.

All of that, of course, would only be relevant if Steve would even consider that Tony’s words have a ring of truth to it. Peter is not Spider-Man. He is fifteen and their son. He knows better.

“He’s not Peter,” Steve says, surprised at the uncertainty in his own voice. “We would’ve noticed. Or he would have told us.”

Peter would not keep such a secret from them, surely. Considering their side jobs, they would understand better than any other parent in the city. When Tony’s face does not change and he just waits for Steve to cave, Steve adds, “Our son does not stick to things.”

“Well,” Tony declares and drowns the rest of his coffee in one go, “let’s go home and find out.”

He does not yet get up, though, but keeps staring at Steve, probably waiting for an argument that will allow him to calm down, something that will prove the ridiculousness of his sudden fear.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Steve thinks – but does not come up with anything. “We can’t just storm home and confront him with wild accusations,” he finally says after taking a deep breath. “We have to talk about this.”

Tony nods, knuckles turning white where he clenches his empty mug. “With Peter.”

This whole situation is going to resolve into a misunderstanding made by Tony after another all-nighter or two. There is no way their son is Spider-Man, and they will find out exactly that when they get home.

Still, Steve glances back up at the screen, which has long since changed to some commercial, and then at Tony. Doubt is pooling in his stomach.

Peter has changed – of course, he has, every child changes when it hits puberty, but Peter has gained muscles more than height and his appetite has tripled. In a household like theirs, with one supersoldier to feed and a steady flood of guests coming through, that has not been that obvious, but of course they would notice that Peter could suddenly eat two pizzas in one going and still ask for dessert. He had also begun to withdraw more, which might not be that unusual for a teenager too, but he is not moody, has not stopped talking to them. He is just making himself rare.

“If this is true,” Steve says, wondering how he can ever consider it, “you know it’s our fault.”

Tony’s eyes on him are heavy when he nods, jaw clenched and knuckles growing whiter. When Steve reaches out to pry Tony’s fingers off his mug, Tony clings to his hands for a minute.

“Only one way to find out,” Tony decides. “Take your coffee. We’re going home.”

What Steve has expected to find as they come home is an empty penthouse or perhaps Peter and Ned building another Lego monstrosity in their living room. It is silent when they get out of the elevator, but when Tony asks JARVIS where Peter is, the AI hesitates.

JARVIS never does that, he is programmed not to, especially when it comes to such a simple question. Steve and Tony share a look.

“The young Master is in his room, sir,” JARVIS finally answers. His tone is calm enough, but that does not keep Tony from marching down the hall.

Not bothering to knock, Tony pushes into Peter’s room, only to come to an abrupt stop in the doorway. He is pale and his hands are clenched again, but before Steve can ask, he reaches the room too and freezes.

There is Peter, their fifteen-year-old son, looking like he has just been caught stealing cookies directly out of the jar. His chest is bare, revealing some faint bruises that Steve’s eyes are immediately zeroing in on. Below that, pooling around his hips, is a red and blue suit that looks painfully familiar, considering they have just seen it on a news feed. Completing the picture is Peter’s bag sitting innocently at his feet, the two badges glinting traitorously up at them.

For a moment, none of them moves, much less says anything. The opportunity for Peter to pass this off as a coincidence – this could just be some very formfitting pyjamas – passes unused.

Instead, Peter swallows audibly, and says, “Hey, Dads.”

That breaks Tony out of his stillness. With a dangerously calm expression, he steps into the room, focused on nothing but Peter.

“And here I was hoping for a this isn’t what it looks like greeting,” he says, ignoring the fact that they would not have believed it.

Steve, on the other hand, is glad that Peter has not tried to lie – of course, they do not actually know anything yet. This could still be something easily explained away. At least until Peter opens his mouth again.

“Would you have believed me?”

That is as good as an admission of guilt. Steve closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them again, Peter is still standing before them in half of the Spider-Man suit.

No,” Tony snaps, taking another step forward until it looks like they are facing off. “But I have a heart condition, and finding out that my teenage son is running around New York in spandex fighting crime even though he should know better, and then hearing that he doesn’t feel even slightly guilty about it, doesn’t help.”

Tony delivers all of that in a breathless staccato. For once, his hands are very still, hanging by his side like he is not sure whether to clench them or to gesticulate.

Even before Peter speaks, Steve knows he should not have. There is a defiance on his face that Steve knows all too well from Tony, but that has never helped to solve a conflict.

“It’s more like swinging.” Peter sticks out his chin a little, looking from Tony to Steve and back.

“What?” Tony asks, dangerously low.

Steve thinks he should probably step in, but he is busy pushing down the urge to groan. This is escalating quickly. The only good thing about Peter’s forwardness is that it keeps their concentration on his words, not on the far more damning fact of him being Spider-Man in the first place.

“I’m not running,” Peter says slowly, “I’m swinging.”

Later, someone should reward him for his courage. Steve knows it is not going to be either him or Tony.

“You are so grounded until –” Tony begins, voice growing into a growl, but Steve cuts him off.

“How long?” he asks, feeling unnaturally calm. The panic and the fear will come later, he knows, but one of them has to hold onto his objectiveness for the time being.

“I was just getting to that,” Tony snaps, looking over his shoulder to glare at Steve.

Stepping forward, Steve shakes his head. “No, I mean Peter. How long?”

Peter looks much less certain in the face of Steve’s calm. “About a year,” he replies and pauses as if he expects the shouting to finally begin. Tony does bluster, but Steve gestures for Peter to continue. “It was an accident during a school trip to the Roxxon lab. I –” He shrugs, looking far younger than his fifteen years. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

That hits Steve hard. He thought they were the kind of family that could talk about everything. How afraid Peter must have been, coming home after an accident – whatever that means – and not feeling safe enough to talk about it.

“So you decided not to tell us at all,” Steve says. Mostly to himself he adds, “Great, I see where you got your common sense from.”

Immediately, Tony whirls around to him. “Don’t put this on me.”

That was not Steve’s intention at all, but the thoughts are racing through his mind and he can hardly imagine how much worse it must be for Tony, who is used to thinking in numbers and likely has already made a mental list of all the sightings, enemies and recorded wounds Spider-Man has gathered since he first appeared, all put in relation to the miniscule changes they did not notice happening with their own son. Or which they did notice and wrote off as normal.

“You were flying around as Iron Man too without telling anyone,” Steve argues. He does not put any heat into his voice, because he is not actually interested in arguing with Tony. It is better if he draws Tony’s anger for now, though, to give Peter some breathing space. They do need to talk about this, but not while everybody is agitated.

“Yes, but I wasn’t a teenager,” Tony emphasizes that as if it physically hurts him, “and I didn’t have parents who are the living examples that this life is dangerous.”

“But you did it with a heart condition, as you like to remind us.” They have had this argument before, several times, and it will soon burn out.

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees Peter beginning to move slowly towards the door. He does not think Peter is going to run away, so he lets him go.

“That is completely diff-” Tony cuts himself off when he realizes what is going on. “And where do you think you’re going?” He glares at the both of them, clearly knowing what Steve has been doing.

“Erm,” Peter splutters, looking at Steve for help, who simply shrugs. He is angry too, and disappointed. “Shower?”

To both their surprise, Tony nods. “Good idea. You’re reeking.” Then, with a sharpness that cuts, he adds, “Leave the suit.”

Time comes to a standstill as Peter first pales, wide-eyed and looking like he is going to start shaking any moment now, and then squares his shoulders. “I’m not going to do that.”

In the safety of his mind, Steve can admit that he is impressed. Few people stand before a livid Tony Stark and tell him no. Even fewer people can get away with it, of course.

“That wasn’t a request,” Tony snaps and holds out his hand as if he expects to receive the suit right now.

“If you take it away,” Peter says with deceptive calm, “I’ll be going out without it.”

And Steve, despite it being completely inappropriate, is proud of Peter. More so than with going out in the first place to help people, this answer proves that he definitely is Tony and his son. If someone dared to take Ton’s suits away, he would built something better and make them pay for it. If someone took Steve’s shield, he would not let that keep him from doing the right thing.

At his side, Tony’s tense form crumbles a bit, and Steve knows that he is thinking the same thing, even though he is not going to give in that easily.

“Not if you’re not ever going to leave your room again.”

Despite himself, Steve has to grin at Tony’s grumbling tone. There is still fury there, but also grudging respect.

“You can’t –”

“Peter,” Steve says firmly, interrupting before Tony’s mood sours again. “You’re fifteen. We need to talk about this.”

“What’s there to talk about?” Peter snaps and sounds more than ever like a teenager. “I have abilities. If you can do what I can but you don’t and then bad things happen, that’s on me.” That sounds practiced enough to betray that Peter actually has thought about telling them, has readied arguments for himself, and then has still not found the courage to actually talk to them. “That’s why you go out, right? Because you can and because it’s the right thing to do.”

Steve shares an uncomfortable look with Tony. Of course, they go out because it is right. They are the Avengers because the world was in danger and they were there to step up. Worse, Steve wanted to help before he had the ability to do so.

“Tony’s right,” Steve says calmly, “you’re still young. And we’re not going out on our own. We always have backup.” That is not working. Steve sees Peter’s frustration and therefore is willingness to argue increase further. With a silent sigh, he changes course. “What if you didn’t come home one night because you weren’t prepared enough?”

“I’m –” Peter protests immediately, but Steve cuts him off, needing to make his point first.

“Then because of an accident. Those happen, abilities have nothing to do with that.” He does not actually want to argue about Peter’s abilities, especially since he does not know much about them yet. “We might never know what happened to you or find out about you being Spider-Man only when they find your body.”

At this, Peter winces slightly, although his shoulders never lose their tension.

“You’re our son,” Steve intones with some pleading. “If something happens to you, that’s on us. And we’d never forgive ourselves if we lost you.”

Next to him, Tony nods firmly. For a long moment, Peter simply looks at them, face open and yet unreadable. Then, thankfully, he slumps, eyes dropping to the ground.

“I didn’t know how to tell you.”

That is another thing they have to talk about because Peter should not be too scared or nervous to come to them with anything. Before Steve can say anything, Tony sets them several steps back again, as he does.

“How about ‘hey dad, pops, I can stick to things now. What are we going to do about that?’”

Tony’s entire body is still thrumming with tension, but Steve does not dare to reach out and put an arm around his husband’s shoulders. He fears that would look too much like they are uniting against Peter. That is the last thing that is going to help.

“It’s not yours to do anything about,” Peter snaps, although he sounds much less agitated than just a few minutes ago. “These are my abilities. My responsibility.”

Just barely, Steve can keep himself from turning towards Tony. That sounds suspiciously like his husband reasoning why it has to be him going after the last of his weapons. They have a lot of good traits to pass on to their son. It would have been nice if their stubbornness would not have been one of them.

“And you’re ours,” Tony says, sounding like he does not expect another argument to come after this.

“You’re a good kid, Peter,” Steve hurriedly adds before those two can begin to lash out at each other. “We’re not saying you should stop being Spider-Man forever –”

“We aren’t?” Tony throws in, looking up at Steve incredulous.

“But talk to us,” Steve continues, ignoring Tony’s argument. “Don’t do this alone.”

Truth be told, Steve would prefer to keep Peter under close watch from now on, to make sure he is protected to the best of their ability when he is going out. Because he will be going out, there is no doubt about that. The best day can do, is offer Peter their help and sneak in some extra measures without appearing too overbearing. The parent in Steve, however, struggles to accept that.

After an eternity, Peter nods tersely, looking like he knows this is not yet over by far.

Taking a step forward, Tony holds out his hand. “Now, give me the suit.”

“No,” Peter all but yells and Steve silently echoes the word inside his head. This is still not the right way to go about this.

Then, though, Steve notices that Tony is drumming some pattern on his leg with his fingers instead of holding them still at his side. That is a good sign. It means that Tony is thinking the way he does about projects.

“Peter,” Steve says sternly, trusting Tony to do the right thing. “Do what your Dad says. He needs to have a look at the suit to see how he can make it safer for you.”

To his surprise, Tony does not even twitch. “Yes,” he says. Much quieter, he adds, “After I’ve locked it up and waited until you’re at least thirty to give it back.”

Peter obviously sees the same signs Steve does, because he looks uncertain but not like he is going to continue the fight.

“Dad,” he says slowly, half-pleading, half-warningly.

“Suit, then shower,” Tony orders. “Steve will cook us dinner and then we’ll talk.”

That means that Tony will go directly to the workshop and busy himself there for the next hours until it is dinnertime. Tony is prone to hiding himself away when he is upset, but Steve is going to let it slide this time. It will give all of them enough space to calm down. Perhaps it will give him the opportunity to catch Peter alone before dinner, just to reassure him that this is not something that will drive them apart.

With slow motions, Peter gets out of the suit and, even more reluctantly, hands it over to Tony, almost as if he is giving a part of his soul away. Steve can imagine how it feels, and does not think he would have given anyone his shield like this, not even if there are claiming to have only good intentions.

Pressing the fabric close to his chest, Tony whirls around and heads for the door. Before he leaves the room, though, he turns around again.

“Don’t ever do something like that to us again,” he says sternly, but then the scowl on his face softens. “But we’re proud of you.”

Not waiting for an answer, Tony disappears down the hallway, leaving Steve and Peter to look at each other in silence, unmoving until they hear the doors of the elevator close.

“Are you?” bursts over Peter’s lips, so quickly that it seems he is afraid he will not dare to ask it at all if he waits. “Is he?”

Feeling the conflicted feelings in his chest unknot, Steve steps forward and puts a hand on Peter’s arm. “Of course we are,” he says as firmly as he managed with how his throat constricts. “You know your dad. If at all possible, he’d keep you safely at home until you’re eighty and too old to pose much of a danger to yourself, special abilities or not.”

If at all possible, Steve would do the same. He also remembers how he himself was at that age, or every age really, always looking for the good fight.

“I know several eighty-year-olds who would protest that statement,” Peter says dryly. For the first time since they came into his room, he does not look one look word from jumping out the window and swinging away. “Remember old Stan from the comic book store?”

“You know what I mean,” Steve replies, but he is smiling. “We love you. Come to dinner when you’re ready.”

Steve has not yet managed to turn around, when Peter says, “Love you too.”

That, at least, is something they can always count on.

[teuvoterafinen]

Not the Same - Part 1

Author’s Note: Alright, guys. I’ve never written hockey stuff before, but I’ve been wanting to for a while. This is going to be a multi-part, probably slow burn piece and I’m still not sure who I want the love interest to be, but Auston is definitely going to be the best friend. It’s also completely self indulgent, so tolerate me. Inspired by my crushed dreams of William playing Center next season and the possibility of Elias Lindholm getting traded in the near future.

If you want me to write anything, just shoot me an ask!

Word Count: 2212

Warnings: I curse like a sailor, drinking, references to lady balls???

April was never meant to be this cold, you thought, fumbling for your keys outside of your basement apartment. It was the only thing you could afford, having moved up to Toronto on just more than a whim. Four months ago, you were a college student in Raleigh, North Carolina and now it was 3am and you had just gotten back from your second bartending job, completely exhausted from your nearly sixteen-hour day. The key stuck in the lock and your fingers were quickly going numb, but the door eventually swung open. 

It was a decent space for what you were paying for it, just a kitchen, bathroom and an open living area. Most of your books were still in boxes against the wall and a wooden futon was serving as a bed and a couch, much to the dismay of your back. It had been hours, apart from the car ride, since you had sat down, so within seconds, both of your Dr. Martens were off and you’d laid yourself out, face down against the blanket. You probably would have fallen asleep in your work clothes if it weren’t for the abrupt chorus of a Swedish rap song screaming from your phone. You groaned as you flopped over to silence it, contemplating whether answering was a good idea, knowing exactly who it was.

On the forth ring, you decided that he would probably end up calling back if you didn’t answer.

“What the fuck, Lindy? It’s nearly four in the morning.” You garbled out the teasingly angry statement at your favorite Swede, who you’d become close friends with while you lived in Raleigh. Elias Lindholm had kept in touch with you after you’d moved to Toronto when very few of your other friends had reached out. It was less lonely now, but sometimes you still needed the familiar voice.

“Y/N, I need your help. I told a friend of mine that I had a friend, who lives in Toronto that needs a new place and I was drunk and I didn’t ask you first, but he’s looking for a roomie, so what do you think?”

“Woah, slow down. How?”

“Alcohol and golf? And Instagram?”

“Okay, yeah, makes sense,” you shrugged, knowing that that was pretty much all he’d been doing for the past week. It was really a shame that the Canes didn’t get to the playoffs this year, but you were jealous of how much free time your friend had. What you wouldn’t give to be playing golf and going to concerts. Work was always first now that you had to support yourself.

“Just hear me out, the house is apparently really nice and you wouldn’t have to deal with him or his other roommates too often. They just want someone else to be at the house so they can get a dog.” He really did know how to get you to listen. Having a backyard for a potential dog was always at the top of your list of domestic goals. Unfortunately, it was unlikely that you would be able to afford that without roommates.

“Alright, I’ll check it out. Who is it anyway?” you questioned. Suddenly you were skeptical of who he was about to set you up with. You got along well with most of the Canes, but they were generally pretty mellow. As much as you loved being social, wild parties weren’t exactly your scene and some of Elias’s friends were more than a little wild.

There was a pause on the other side of the phone and you heard him shout in Swedish, presumably to one of his teammates. He was speaking too fast for you to even think about keeping up, so you drifted back onto your pillow, letting him finish. “Tell the boys I say hi,” you mentioned after a brief pause. “And tell Victor he still owes me a hundred dollars. I could use the money about now.” They were on speaker at this point and you could tell it was Rask in the background. He’d had the nerve to bet you couldn’t make one save against him. You obviously weren’t going to let that slide and you managed a perfect glove save on the first shot.

“Rasky says he’ll pay your first month’s rent if you can put up with Willy for that long,” Lindy laughed, but his statement had caused you to jolt up.

“No, there is no fucking way. I’m not living with William Nylander.” There was a bit of motion on the other end, and some muffled cursing. You had met him a couple times. Last time he spilled his beer on you while incredibly drunk at a party, looked down at your then see through shirt and said “Boobs!” before turning and walking away. You laughed about it later with the guys, but Willy was not someone that you desired to spend an extended amount of time with.

“Y/N, hey,” Rask slurred, having taken the phone from the other man. “I told him you wouldn’t do it. I knew you didn’t have the balls.” You sighed, attempting to keep your cool, you tried hard not to give him the rise that he expected out of you.

“I think you have the lady balls!” Shouted an incredibly intoxicated Jeff Skinner and the rest of the group erupted into hysterical giggles. After a good minute, they seemed to calm down and Elias managed to get the phone back.

“I’m sorry, I already gave him your number,” Elias admitted. You were more than a little pissed, but it wasn’t like he was actually going to call. “I also gave him your address and told him that you didn’t work tomorrow, so he should stop by. He seemed really excited to meet you again.” There was definitely a hint of remorse in his voice, but the fact that your only day to sleep in might have been hijacked…You couldn’t help but be angry.

“It’s my one day off,” you practically whined, “I don’t want to have to deal with goldilocks. Does he even remember last time? Or did you just tell him that we met before?”

“I might have had to remind him.”

“I sent him that video of you in a bikini catching a beer and shotgunning it out of your goalie glove,” Victor added.

“I can’t fucking believe you two.”

An unfamiliar ring tone broke you from what seemed like a brief nap and you rejected the call immediately. Nothing was going to get you out of bed before at least midafternoon; the only obvious reaction was to roll over and go back to sleep. Fifteen minutes later the phone rang again. Looking at your phone, this time you were conscious enough to check the time: 2 o’clock in the afternoon. You groaned and answered the probable telemarketer, the events of last night far from your mind.

“Hi, is this Y/N?” A man questioned, shaking you from sleep.

“Yeah, who is this,” your voice cracked.

“It’s William, Elias Lindholm’s friend. I’m sorry, did I wake you up?” Your early morning conversation was slowly coming back to you and as reluctant as you were to talk to the Leaf this soon after waking up, you found it very difficult to be rude most of the time.

Clearing your voice quickly away from your phone, you responded with fake alertness, “No, I was actually just about to make lunch. What’s up?”

“Really? That’s perfect. We were just in the neighborhood and were wondering if we could stop by.” You scrambled to your feet at the realization that you might soon be having company, rushing to grab a change of clothes and a ball cap from the dresser. There was a pair of black ripped jeans on the dresser that you always thought looked good on you. Check. Finding a clean shirt was more of a challenge. 

“Uh, sure, I don’t see why not,” you mumbled trying to pull the fly on your pants while holding the phone to your ear. There you were, pulling on skinny jeans while on the phone, trying to make it sound like you weren’t hopping around on one leg in attempt to get the waistband over your too big ass. It crossed your mind briefly how the wealthy athlete just happening to be in your neighborhood of all places was a bit of a stretch. “I’m not super prepared for company. . . Are you guys close by?” There were a couple long seconds of silence on the other end of the line before he responded again.

“Well, we’re actually already at your place. We’ve kind of been driving around the block waiting for you to pick up.” Of course. The Toronto Maple Leafs were on your doorstep and you couldn’t find a shirt. You quickly grabbed an old band tee from the top of your laundry basket that you didn’t think you wore to work, shamefully did a sniff test and pulled it over your head.

The fact that the blonde’s statement didn’t actually come as a surprise was a testament to the amount of time you had spent around professional hockey players. None of them seemed to know the concept of making plans, they all just assumed they could show up to your apartment, eat your leftovers and watch shitty shows on your Netflix account. You would always forgive them when they asked if you’d make dinner, like a bunch of huge, rowdy kids coming in from a game of road hockey. Laughing lightly, you pulled your well-worn Blue Jays hat on over your mess of bed head and went to the kitchen to start on the lunch that you had lied about.

“Sorry…You can park on the side of the road right in front of the apartment. I’m down the stairs.”

“Awesome! We’ll be down in a minute,” he chimed before hanging up. He honestly didn’t seem so bad, now that you’d spoken to him while you were both sober. Maybe living with him would have more pluses than minuses. And Victor would pay the bill for the first month. You wouldn’t have to deal with your ceiling leaking during storms and the constant smell of old cigarette smoke that had soaked in to the cheap carpeting. You might even be able to start saving for a car. Not that you didn’t love your ‘98 Camry to bits, but she was coming up on a much-deserved retirement.

The clamor of muffled voices could be heard all the way in your kitchen through the thin front door and suddenly you were a bit nervous. You were already walking over when they knocked, unlocking the deadbolt and the main lock before pausing for a second. Nylander was one thing, but it hadn’t crossed your mind who else might be on the other side of the door. I look like a slob. I should have washed my face again, there’s probably make up under my eyes. Do I even understand the concept of looking cute anymore??? Biting the bullet, you swung the door wide to reveal Willy, Kasperi Kapanen, and, the nail in your coffin, Auston Matthews. You thanked your lucky stars that they hadn’t shown up to your door in suits, your neighbors were bound to talk about three of Toronto’s golden boys showing up on your doorstep, let alone wearing designer brands.

“Hey, Willy,” you smiled, forcing yourself to push back the sudden panic that had taken you by surprise. The three made their way through the doorway and you awkwardly reached out your hand to introduce yourself to the two that you had yet to meet. Kapanen accepted it graciously, Matthews was standing further back, closing the door behind them. “I’m Y/N…” It wasn’t exactly easy to say how you knew William, so you just avoided that part. “I’m sorry about the mess, I wasn’t really expecting to do anything today.” The blond had already gone over to sit on your futon/bed and was about to put his feet up on the coffee table when you cast a look in his direction that had a clear message attached.

“I’m Kappy,” the Finnish man introduced himself, laughing at your silent reprimand of his friend.

“Auston.” The American nodded from a distance and didn’t reach out to shake your hand. He instead took the time to look at you like everything about you confused him. The rumors of his ‘too cool’ attitude were all too true it seemed. Tall and handsome in his ripped skinny jeans that did nothing to hide his impressive physique. He leaned against the door like he owned the place, like his shitty band shirt was somehow cooler than your shitty band shirt. He oozed competitiveness and you felt yourself drowning in it. You didn’t know what game you were playing, but you couldn’t let him win. The room was tense as you sweated through your internal monologue, interrupted only by a sly smirk slipping onto Auston’s face as he reached up to pull the Jays hat off his head.

“So did you guys call each other to plan your outfits? I would say I feel left out, but I don’t think I could twin that perfectly if I tried.”

[mari-matsu]

Shelter Chapter 1

        “S-stand,” Nagisa’s less than commanding voice stuttered in the room and you nimbly got up to your feet. Handling the gun in your hands with little effort, you observed as the others similarly shot up from their seats with their own weapon aimed at the teacher. 

        “Attention,” A curt silence enveloped the room and you took the time to analyze each and everyone’s serious expression that was etched on their faces. Calmly, you rolled your eyes to the direction of the teacher. His elated grin hadn't faltered at the sight of all the artillery.

        “Bow!” At the word, a barrage of pink bullets rained down on him. Little pellets of Anti-Teacher bounced harmlessly off the board as he dodged in a speed that was classified as Mach 20, a speed no human will ever be able to reach. But for this teacher, it was a breeze, easily creating three afterimages that had left all of you speechless on his first day here. Because, after all, he wasn't even human.

        You and your new class had the great privilege to be taught by a super being, an incredibly fast, amazingly powerful, and highly intelligent... octopus. That's right. A bright yellow, depending on his mood, octopus with slithering tentacles and an actually friendly grin. He was introduced by the Government Military Defense as a criminal capable of destroying the Earth. The evidence: This teacher was responsible for the damage made to the moon, which was now a permanent crescent.

        A few months prior to this day, all of the inhabitants of Earth witnessed an explosion that sent chills down everyone's spines. The moon had shattered. Pieces of the satellite had rained down on the lakes, oceans, and land, and there was a moment of pure panic, fear, and curiosity. What just happened? No one knew the answer and people wondered for weeks as to what occurred. Why did the moon break like that? What was the cause of it? Was it a natural occurrence... or was it an effect of something man made?

        The answer came to a select group of people. On the day you came back to school to start a new grade, you and your classmates were met with a surprise. The Military had dropped by to give everyone in your class an assignment: To assassinate your new teacher.  To be quite honest, your classmates were surprised to hear that news but the shock deepened when the Military introduced the target. It was immediately a mind boggling first day, because how on Earth were junior high students supposed to kill something like that? Everyone was so perplexed at the idea, but was easily compelled by the reward money that came with the success of the octopus' death. So your classmates got use to the odd setting, and quickly became accustomed to a gun and a knife.

        An assassination attempt was always done daily.

        “Good morning,” Your non-human teacher called out, his wide smile never leaving his face, “I’ll be taking attendance now, so please, fire all you like.” The teacher you’ve come to known then began roll call as your classmates answered, reloaded, and animatedly fired at the man.

        You, in the back, waited patiently for your name to be called as your finger rested lightly on the trigger. The specially designed AK-47 was leaning on your shoulder, and a stack of Anti-Teacher ammo sat unused behind your desk, collecting dust since you first received it. You were just waiting as others unloaded multiple clips on your teacher, waiting without participating a bit in this deadly activity.

        “(Y/N)-san?” At the mention of your name, you melodiously announced your presence. Your teacher's blurry image seemed to incline closer as he waved a shaking tentacle to his ear, a motion for you to speak louder. “I’m sorry, could you say that again? Like I said before, I can’t hear anything with all this gunfire.” You raised your tone and responded with yet another chipper sound and the grin reappeared on his circular face. He continued down the line as others grunted in response and frustration, and before you knew it, every name was called.  “Alright then! Everyone’s on time, I see. Excellent that makes me very happy.” He said just as the guns stopped firing. As if to clarify how happy he was, his bright yellow face shifted to a scarlet one.

        Blinking rather evenly at the color shift, you watched your classmates catch their breath, exhausted. “He’s too fast,” You heard one of your classmate and friend, Rio Nakamura, complain. Her long blonde hair swayed to the side as she slumped in her seat, defeated.

        Isogai, the male class representative and another friend, then noted, “So even the whole class at once can’t bring him down?” His golden eyes were always kind; however, today it was slightly dim as he heaved a sigh. "It feels like we're getting nowhere again." He commented but he wore a gentle smile.

        “Too bad, huh, not one of your bullets hit me today either.” The teacher emphasized and he then went on explaining about the little things that counted in assassination. This was the norm. A lecture in English, History, as well as the art of assassination. These were lessons that only your class was privileged to have, and you actively took in every word. It is, after all, something you must study on. “In addition to those, (Y/N)-san,” You automatically hummed at the abrupt call and you raised an inquiring eyebrow. As if he was offended, the teacher whined, “You didn’t even bother shooting me! You answered to the roll call, but you didn’t even use your gun! Are you not motivated enough to kill me?”

        Your irises observed this alien-like creature you’ve recently formed a student and teacher relationship with and you smiled apologetically, quite aware of how he was pouting. With a small wave of your gun you said, “Sensei, I don’t particularly want to try to harm you. You didn’t do anything to anger me so I got no reason to.”

        Your classmates heaved a semi-amused and semi-knowing breath while they sat back in their seats. You’ve been through this conversation with your teacher time and time again, so they’re not at all miffed about your answer. But the octopus still appeared to be thoroughly bothered as he continued to pout and squish his tentacles together, similar to how a shy girl would with her fingers.

        “Not even the reward is going to persuade you?” Nagisa asked with his reserved nature, although, he himself knew the answer to that already, having heard it before. 

        “Nope,” You replied back to your best friend for years while popping the p. Not even the thought of ten billion yen being yours persuaded you to attack. Even though your teacher was one weird guy, you just didn’t have it in you to attack someone who did nothing wrong to you. Yes he did blow up the moon, and yes he was threatening Earth, but above all that he has done nothing but treat you as a student. So you will treat him as a teacher with respect and courtesy. Making use of the gun in your hands doesn’t come to you as courteous, so you refrain from it.

        The yellow teacher huffed in mild disbelief at your response before waving a tentacle to your direction. “One day, you will succumb to the reward and help your classmates in killing me.” You merely nodded to appease his apparently hurt pride before taking a seat, your desk at the back beside an empty one, as you set the gun to its rightful spot on the side.

        You then smiled pleasantly at particularly nothing while waiting for the math lecture to start. If you haven't guessed it already, you didn’t want to join this assassination job. You were here for one reason only, and that’s to shelter the people you care about. Nothing else matters, not even the fact you were in the End Class, the lowest ranking class in your school. Or that the government had put a bunch of teens to assassinate this top secret being.

        None of them mattered to you. You just wanted to protect.

        “(Y/N)-chan, you want to have lunch with us?” Shooting straight up, your once dazed eyes perked up and you amiably shot out of your seat. With the brightest smile you can ever make, you nodded happily to Kayano's question before grabbing your own lunch. 

        “Of course!” You cheered momentarily before zipping straight for your green-haired friend who only smiled as she spread out her own meal. The octopus teacher had already bid farewell as he quickly used his speed to get some mapo tofu. So the rest of your fellow classmates were spread around in their own groups, talking. You were previously just staring off into space, lost at a random thought before the prospect of food had you jumping in joy. It was no surprise to Kayano that you were so ecstatic for this. Food was something you put at the top of your priorities, second of course to protecting others.

        “Wow, I didn’t know (Y/N) loved food a lot.” Hiroto Maehara commented, eyeing the group of girls you were in as you all huddled on one side laughing and chatting pleasantly. Tomohito Sugino hummed in agreement as he munched on some bread. The two were classmates you recently got acquainted with so they barely knew you, but you already counted them as people you care about. Nagisa was close with them, so you took it upon yourself to become their friends, which you didn’t regret. Maehara and Sugino were both super kind to you.

        “I didn’t really peg her to eat so much. Just look at her,” Sugino remarked from a seat as you wolfed down a sandwich. “Where does she put all that food?” He laughed, the question rhetorically said as Maehara, who leaned on a desk, smiled along.

        “Don’t you know? She puts them in her breasts!” Okajima, who was once busy off to the side watching said group of girls, popped in between the two of them with a rather perverted smile. He just couldn’t help himself if there was a mentioning of girls. Both Maehara and Sugino knew that characteristic of his, but they still paused in their chewing to give him a pointed look. Unlike the class pervert, they weren’t … well, a pervert. “What? The two of you were thinking it.” He noted and was only greeted by a shake of their heads.

        “Only you,” The two chimed and Okajima huffed in defense. “Well, it doesn’t matter where she puts it, (Y/N)’s really pretty no matter what.” Maehara said through a mouthful of food and Okajima’s eyes lit up, already excited and prepared to list all your great physical qualities.

        But Sugino said something before the other could surprisingly open his mouth, “Do you really think so?” His expression scrunched to a pondering one as he tilted his head to the side, gazing at you with wondering eyes. You had qualities that were very attractive to the male, but Sugino couldn't find the bravery to agree.

        Maehara seemed to have an abundance of that courage as he went on with, “Yeah, she’s seriously cute. Plus she’s super smart.”  He bit into his lunch. “I wouldn’t mind dating her if she wasn’t my friend.” Sugino coughed at the sudden statement and Okajima nodded, completely agreeing with the playboy. “What?” Maehara questioned when Sugino shot him a befuddled look, quite taken aback at the honesty.

        “Nothing,” Sugino then munched on his bread a little more before he blinked, suddenly reminded of a thought. “Do you guys know why (Y/N) is here in the first place? If she’s super smart, how’d she land herself here?” A silent and thoughtful atmosphere enveloped the three as they thought about the question. Why are you in E-class, the lowest out of the whole school?

        At such a perfect moment, Nagisa came strolling by and immediately the three of them flagged him down. Surprised, the bluenette flashed them an inquiring look while his upper arm was gripped. “Sorry for that,” Okajima apologized, and he darted his eyes to you for a quick look before saying, "We want to know, Nagisa. How come (Y/N) is here in E-class?"

           "We figured you'll know the answer since you and (Y/N) are close. Childhood friends, right?" Maehara explained further, and Nagisa confirmed the relationship between you and him with a nod. The brunet then gestured for him to spill the beans. "So what's the deal with her being here?"

        "If it's not too much to ask," Sugino added politely.  

        At that, Nagisa peeked a glance over his shoulder to you. He's sincerely surprised that they weren't knowledgeable of why you were transferred to this class. Everyone in A though D classes were still talking about it this morning even though the event transpired months ago. Thinking back to the moment where things changed for you, Nagisa sighed before mumbling out, “(Y/N)-chan’s here because she defended Kayano and I from rude students before the principal intervened. She said that we’ll remain friends even if others had shunned us. In the end she got demoted after being falsely accused of attacking another student…”

        Okajima and Sugino gaped in disbelief while a low whistle sounded from Maehara. They couldn’t quite believe that you, who smiled at practically anything, could be capable of doing something that was considered taboo in their school. It came to the three as quite a shocker.

        “Maehara, here’s your drink.” Yuma Isogai saddled up to the growing group with his ever kind smile. But it faltered a bit when he glanced at everyone’s awestruck faces. Turning to the only one who wasn’t shocked, he asked Nagisa, “What happened?” Nagisa relayed the information to him and the male only nodded, already aware of what you done. However, he did say, “That was pretty cruel. She technically didn’t do anything wrong yet she was put down here. It must’ve been heartbreaking for her since she was a top student...”

        Nagisa nodded absentmindedly, although a bit glumly. “Actually (Y/N)-chan was fine with it. She didn’t care so long as she was with me and Kayano…” Nagisa wouldn’t say it out loud, but he was actually guilty that you sacrificed yourself to defend them. If he had just left school fast enough, then you wouldn’t be down in E-class with him. Even if you yourself had told him that it wasn’t a problem to you, the male still felt that responsibility.

        At his words, four pairs of irises latched on you again. You were just peacefully laughing about a story Hinano, the bubbly orange-haired girl, had in regards to bug catching. You were smiling, and exuding such a delighted aura that it was hard for the four to connect that side to a more serious one, one who wouldn’t hesitate to fight anyone who dares insult those you loved. 

        “Aw, shoot.” You hissed as the carton of strawberry milk you were chugging down opened up at the bottom. A splash of pink coated the lower parts of your shirt and you hastily stood up out of instinct. Grimacing, you narrowed eyes at the carton before crumpling it in your hands. “Well there goes a good drink.”

        Kayano and the other girls hopped to their feet in alarm before handing you a bunch of tissues, in which you politely declined, although you were grateful for their kindness. “Are you sure?” Rio questioned as she eyed the stain clearly there. You smiled softly at her and the others.

        “I'm good. I got something I can change into, but thanks for the help anyways. Let me just clean this up” At your words, you shuffled to mop up the milk while your friends assisted you in your clean up. After the deed was done, you grabbed your school bag and then promptly exited the classroom with a small wave. The girls waved back before resuming lunch again, talking to pass the time until you come back.

        The five males still grouped together watched the exchange. Nagisa was staring worriedly at the door as if debating on whether or not to follow you and offer any assistance. The others amusingly smiled, finding you to be quite a nice character. Okajima... grinned without shame as he lecherously said, "(Y/N)-chan's changing... Maybe I should go and-."

        "Not a chance." The immediate response that came from Nagisa, Maehara, Sugino, and Isogai prompted a small laughter as Okajima frowned, his fantasies ruined. "Well anyways, did you guys know that there's a sale going on at-?"

        “Oi, Nagisa.” The trio of misfits, Muramatsu, Yoshida, and Terasaka, approached the group with mischievous smirks, effectively cutting off Isogai. The one who spoke, Terasaka, jabbed a thumb behind him as his smirk turned into something more sinister. “Come with us. It’s time to put our assassination plan into action.” The actions and words of Terasaka caused an unsettling feeling to take over the friendly group and they worriedly glanced towards Nagisa. 

        Said male pursed his lips before ultimately sighing. "I'll be back." He assured before leaving the classroom with the trio. 

        “That’s better.” You breathed out while lifting the bottom of your pristine and totally fresh shirt. The soiled one was tucked away in your bag after you so carefully dabbed at the stain with a handful of tissues. It really was good thing that you carried around an extra shirt. You never really did before this year, but then again you never had to climb and descend a mountain during the school day. In addition, you never had to avoid the higher class' attempts to ridicule you. Luckily, you were more than capable in handling a hike and a couple of troublemakers. 

        Smiling at your clean state, you shouldered your bag, glanced at the mirror to fix the collar of your shirt, before skipping out to the hallway. You’ve been gone for long time and that surely meant lunch was over, but you didn’t particularly mind since you finished your food anyway. Oh but then again, that also meant that fifth period had started.

        You wiped the smile off your face as your skip turned into a rather brisk walk at the sudden notion. You were late for class. Hurrying to the end of the hallway, you didn’t waste any time as you flung the door wide open, an apology ready to be said. “Sorry I was late, I got-.”

        A flash cut you off short and your eyes widened at the dust sifting through the air. You wondered vaguely if someone had set off a bomb, but you quickly processed the fact that Nagisa conducted an assassination attempt. A seemingly failed one however, for the yellow octopoid, your teacher, had grasped his wrist before Nagisa managed to actually nail the Anti-Teacher blade on him. It caught you by a huge surprise to see Nagisa, someone who was very quiet, initiate an assassination attempt by himself, and you couldn't help but feel on edge at the uncharacteristic way he was behaving.

        “Didn’t I tell you to be more inventive?” The teacher chastised, yet you heard him in the distance as your heart suddenly pounded against your rib cage. It was out of the blue but something was deeply nagging at you, tugging at your mind, and telling you to do something. But what?

        You saw quite clearly how the teacher pulled out a handkerchief, and while you watched his movements, the world slowed down around you. You then realized that the tug in your mind was a warning that there’s danger. It grew heavy with every passing second and your heartbeat thudded in your ears. You can hear your blood rushing as adrenaline quickly flowed through every vein and before you could even process what you’ve done, you had discarded your bag haphazardly to the side. You knew deep down that your best friend was in danger. “NAGISA,” You shouted impulsively when you saw the teacher slowly place the handkerchief on the Anti-Teacher blade.

        Your legs had reacted automatically at the sight, and you were shortening the distance between you, your best friend, and your teacher. Time still seemed to go on forever as you wedged between them and grabbed on to Nagisa tightly. You can just quickly catch his stunned expression before your eyes zeroed in at the grenade that dangled from his neck.

        This, your brain warned you, was a threat to Nagisa. Your irises constricted at the dangerous weapon and you quickly moved. Latching on to the necklace that held the grenade, you hastily gave it a pull and detached it from your friend. You then pushed Nagisa out of harm’s way, and grasped the bomb tightly to your stomach, hoping to shield it from everyone.

        You expected your teacher to do something about the situation, but from the looks of it he was definitely caught off guard by Nagisa's grenade trick. And you knew that because you can see the underlying nervousness. He was surprised. Surprised by what Nagisa did, and what you're doing now. Well, that's okay, because you got this... hopefully. Flashing your teacher a reassuring smile, you quickly whispered something to him.

        Then everything sped up at once. A burst of light accompanied with a loud explosion was witnessed at the front of the classroom. Pink Anti-Teacher pellets spilled on the floor after zipping in every direction and the students cried out, startle, while something charred fell in a deadly heap before them. It was silent for a while as the class took in what just occurred before them. 

        “We did it! Ten billion yen! Cha-ching!” The three misfits cheered all of a sudden as they danced their way to the front, seemingly uncaring of what just happened. In fact, Terasaka had even shouted out, “Serves you right!”

        Isogai whirled on them quickly and had shouted out the delinquent’s name in anger as Maehara growled out, “What have you done!” The three only grinned in an easy-going manner as they approached the burned mass.

        “Hey, what did you give Nagisa-?!”

        "(Y/N)…chan?” Kayano was immediately cut off as the boy in question stuttered with fear evident in his voice. “(Y/N)-chan…” Everyone gazed with held breaths at Nagisa, who was halfway down the row of desks, as he gradually, as if he couldn’t believe it, made his way to the front. Realization seemed to seep in like a chill as he continued to blankly walk. Slowly, everyone shifted their own expressions of horror to where you once stood.

        “Wait, (Y/N)-chan was…” Kayano’s sentence didn’t end as her voice failed her. A look of complete dismay was on her face and she quickly darted accusatory eyes on the misfits. “You…” She had started but her throat tightened and she couldn’t hold back a choked sob.

        “What? But she couldn’t have… She wasn’t even in the room when…” Terasaka stumbled over his words as nary a single dash of guilt was on his face. Only confusion was present as he pondered at the change in suicide bombers. “Well it doesn’t matter, we got the money now!” Then he bent down to peer at the blackened figure when his eyes caught something else. “Hold on…” His eyes dilated at the sudden sight of you wrapped in some kind of weird membrane and he stumbled backward out of shock.

        Nagisa collapsed on his knees the moment he caught sight of you, and he released a shaky breath. You weren’t even hurt, not a single burn was on your skin and it made the young bluenette slump back in relief. Thank goodness you were alright, was the only thing that Nagisa could think of.

        “The membrane is attached to the corpse…but…” Terasaka mumbled out and he was definitely so confused. How did you remain unscathed?

        “As it happens,” The voice of your teacher filled the room and the students glanced around with bewildered expressions, “I shed my skin about once a month. I protected (Y/N)-chan, who just so happened to intervene, by covering her with my old skin.” Upon his words, you gingerly sat up, now conscious, and the skin around you broke apart. Flippantly, you looked around with a bemused expression before you got your bearings. Immediately, you scrambled over to Nagisa to see if he was alright, ignoring or rather putting aside everything else. Even the tensed atmosphere and the sudden burst of wind did nothing to stop you from fussing over your friend.

        “Nagisa, are you alright? Did you get hurt? The bomb, did it hurt anyone else?” Your eyes skimmed over his physique and found with great relief that there was not even a single scratch on his uniform. Sighing similarly like the bluenette, you slouched and pulled on a grateful smile. “Thank goodness.” You have never been so happy. You honestly didn’t know if you would make it in time.

        A pair of blue orbs met yours and you leaned back a smidge to see the owner, although you already know who it belongs to since you’ve been seeing that color since you were a kid. Nagisa peered at you with a mix of worry, disbelief, and joy as he said, “There you go again, worrying about everyone else. (Y/N)-chan you took the brunt of the force, you should be worrying about yourself."

        Laughing lightly you replied with, “You have no right to say that, Mr. I’ll-blow-myself-up. Besides, I’m not even hurt.” Smiling small at that, you glanced back at the crumbling membrane and then to the teacher that was pure black and currently seething. You pursed your lips as you connected two and two. “At least if I didn’t make it in time, he would’ve done something for you.” You silently whispered as your attention was drawn to the quivering trio and to the octopus that seemed to have a limitless ability to scaring everybody.

        “What’s wrong with using an annoying method to kill an annoying guy?!” Terasaka pointed out and suddenly the death like mood that settled over the classroom changed to a suspiciously normal one, as the black drained from the teacher’s face and a scarlet replaced it.

        “Annoying? Hardly. Your idea itself was a very good one. Especially you, Nagisa-kun,” The octopus praised as he placed a comforting tentacle on said bluenette’s head and began to rub his hair affectionately. “The way you carried yourself so naturally on your approach, gets full marks from me. You did an excellent job at getting past my defenses. However!” He abruptly faced the trio who started at the attention. “None of you looked out for Nagisa-kun, not even Nagisa-kun himself. And yet, we have (Y/N)-chan do so for everybody here.”

        Upon his words, eyes are planted on you and you unconsciously began to raise a brow in a what-are-you-looking-at manner, until you stopped yourself. Instead of that, a small yet dazzling smile settled on your lips. You heard him say it; you were able to protect everybody. This had induced your lips to quirk upwards as you succeeded in shielding not just Nagisa, but everybody from danger.

        “Oi,” You called out, hands casually intertwined behind your head as your gaze drilled in the back of three familiar students. Upon your call, those three glanced over their shoulders and minutely tensed under the intensity of your stare. It was obvious that you wanted to break something, or even more drastic, kill someone. “If I remember correctly, all three of you were responsible for that bomb trick during fifth period.” You said lowly as your position unraveled until you were standing with a hand clenched beside you. “You know, I really hated what you did.”

        “What do you want, (Y/N)?” Terasaka grumbled out in an attempt to intimidate you but it clearly didn’t work as you stood your ground. In fact, it made you ten times more menacing as you cast your eyes to their growing guarded faces. You couldn’t believe that they were acting dumb about this.

        “If you’re going to chew us out, don’t bother! That alien already yelled at us, remember!” Muramatsu had shouted but you weren’t looking for another lecture. Abruptly, you closed the space between your victims and delivered a clean punch to the jaw of the blond. His body twisted from the impact and he’s sent flying down the dirt path. Terasaka and Yoshida’s own jaws clenched at how their friend was so easily thrown off his feet.

        Whirling on you, Yoshida tightened his fist and then yelled, “Hey, you can’t ju-!” You quickly cut him off with a roundhouse kick to the side. The male tumbled over a few feet away and, while he’s clutching his side painfully, he coughed out violently from the force. Anyone can tell that his whole torso was in pain.

        Terasaka whipped to you, who only glared and shook from all the fury bottled up inside. He couldn’t believe what he just saw, but then again he knew what you were capable of. He had known exactly what you did last year, and he knew what’s going to happen to him next. Swallowing down his thoughts, Terasaka took a step back in an attempt to run, but your hand lashed out and grabbed his collar. Effortlessly, you lifted your arm and glowered dangerously at him.

        “You’re most likely the mastermind of that dumbass plan, right? Well listen to me carefully. You may have been given the scare of your lifetime today, but you’ve signed for your death the moment you decided that Nagisa would carry out your deed. He’s a precious friend to me and you are so lucky that he was unharmed. Otherwise, I would’ve snapped your neck in a second. Then again, what’s to stop me if I do it now?” Your gaze was murderous.

        Terasaka felt a cold creep up his spine, causing his body to pale considerably. You were pulling so tightly to his collar that his shirt was starting to choke him, and he thrashed around fiercely to escape but it was pointless. You weren't planning on letting him go anytime soon. The chill that he felt was then labeled with fear and his struggles became even wilder.

        A dark chuckle reached his ears as he squirmed, and the male paused to watch you with a dumbfounded expression. You were laughing, amused, at his actions. He only saw that sight of you before his face met the ground painfully and swiftly. A warm trickle could be felt on his upper lip and the male knew his nose was broken.

        “Nagisa begged me not to injure any of you before class ended. Be glad that he was at least thinking of you or else I would've hurt you more.” Then you gave him one last kick to the side before swiveling on your shoes, ready to walk down the mountain. Your hands were still shaking while you followed the dirt path, and your eyes have yet to revert to your calm ones. You were too hopped up on adrenaline. When you had said that your only reason for being here was to protect, you weren’t being half-hearted about it. You were serious and willing to kill to protect.

Fact about (Y/N):

1. She’ll stop at nothing for those she loves.

[dammit-stark]

The July 17th Paradigm

This is a Spencer x Reader requested by anon. It was supposed to be angsty, but it doesn’t really get that way until the end (it’s been awhile since I’ve written angst, sorry if it sucks, oops).

Spencer is convinced you’re cheating on him even though you aren’t. He makes it obvious that something is bothering him, and people notice.

JJ noticed first, that Spencer was acting odd toward you. She had watched, from her office above the bull pen, as you walked warmly over to your boyfriend, lingering between cubicles and desks.

“Hey, babe,” You smiled, “Wanna get lunch?”

Even from so far away, with nothing to go on but her faulty lip reading skills, JJ could tell that the way Spencer uncharacteristically darted away, replying with some incohesive excuse, was absolutely no good.

You stood in the bull pen and frowned after Spencer, who immediately buried himself in work that didn’t matter as much as he claimed. JJ watched with sympathetic curiosity as you slunk, resigned, into the break room to lunch on slightly-stale donuts and lukewarm coffee.

Emily noticed next, the body language and surprising resentment between you and Spencer was achingly obvious.

She decided it best to hang back while you said goodbye to him, a private conversation that seemed to need to be followed by another.

“You staying?” You asked, kicking casually at the ground and pulling at the strap of your purse.

Spencer hummed in response, pointedly distracted by scribbles of paperwork.

“What time do you think you’ll be home tonight?”

“Dunno, late probably.”

Spencer didn’t even notice you frown as you said, “Again?”

He nodded noncommittally, “Yep, have fun with Emily, y/n.”

“Goodbye, Spencer,” You sighed, leaning in to press a kiss to your boyfriend’s cheek, something you had done a thousand times before.

But Spencer pushed away at the last second, looking up at you with a tight-lipped smile and avoiding the physical contact at all cost, “Bye.”

You hesitated, nodded softly, then decided it best to just to leave, to let your boyfriend stew with his thoughts and his big, big brain in the barren bullpen. In front of the elevators, you let out a long sigh that Emily just couldn’t ignore.

“What is going on with the two of you?” She asked, mildly agape, “You two are usually so nauseatingly cute together that I feel like I have to go to a dentist, and now you’re being all… distant and weird. What happened to you two?”

You stared resolutely at the closing metal elevator doors, very much in need of that drink the two of you were supposed to be heading out for, “I honestly don’t know, Em. I don’t know.”

Emily stayed quiet, watching as the doors opened out into the parking garage, “Yeah, we need drinks,” She decided aloud, “Lots and lots of drinks.”

You couldn’t find it in yourself to disagree, even as your mind roamed over every second of interaction between you and Spencer and came up completely empty without any sources of sudden contention.

Rossi and Spencer had been put in charge of interviewing the many, many witnesses at the crime scene. There had been a party on the beach which thus resulted in the third dead rich kid in the county within the past week. Not your typical body count, hence the BAU.

“Alright, kid,” Rossi said, “How are we gonna do this? I interview the ladies, and you interview the guys?”

Spencer nodded absently, and snorted mildly, then said under his breath, just low enough for Rossi to barely hear, “We should have y/n interview the guys. She’d be great at that." 

"What?” The older man frowned. He couldn’t have heard that right, could he?

“Nothing, never mind.” Spencer said, and walked off, leaving Rossi alone on the pier to stare contemplatively after Spencer who walked purposely in the direction opposite of you.

He had noticed it, just like the others. An out-of-place mistrust had seemed to root itself in Spencer, a remiss feeling that fit Spencer like a badly tailored tux, and it was so odd, he felt obligated (Rossi always felt obligated, but especially in this case, okay) to stare after the young genius.

Rossi found himself struck with uninterrupted curiosity as he watched you crouch unpleasantly over the freshest body, a frown on your face, and even if he knew it wasn’t any of his business, Rossi wondered what you possibly could have done to cause Spencer, your so-in-love-with-you-that-it’s-nauseating boyfriend, to avoid you at all costs.

“Hey, Spence!” You called to him as his long legs took him in the opposite direction, “Come look at this!”

Spencer kept walking. Even Rossi, the Man With Too Many Failed Marriages, could tell that something was most definitely wrong in paradise, but he had no idea what.

Garcia darkly coined it the July 17th Paradigm (July 17th had been when the earliest of Spencer’s ‘symptoms’ had been noticed by anyone), as if you and Spencer’s relationship problems were some ghost story that campers whispered under their breaths around campfires for centuries past.

Everybody at work watched had noticed (they were profilers, what else would you expect) as Spencer danced around you and stared grimly in your direction when you weren’t looking. It was truly odd.

The worst part for you, though, was that Spencer didn’t even try to hide the contention all that much, would just burst right out with it right in front of your friends and coworkers. And frankly? It was kinda embarrassing.

From deep in one of Penelope’s swivel chairs, you groaned, flicking a paper clip aimlessly at a bright purple pen across her desk, “Pen?” You asked her, utterly miserable, “Does Spencer ever talk to you?”

She froze minutely, then shrugged shyly, “I don’t know. Our boy genius has bee a little distant to everybody lately.”

You sat up in the chair, “Towards you, too?”

“Well, not as much as he has been towards you, but… yeah.”

“Why? What did I do?”

Garcia frowned, patting you sympathetically on the back, “Oh, honey, don’t worry about it. Sometimes Spencer gets like this. It’ll probably pass.”

“You think?”

Penelope flashed a reassuring smile, more lipstick and teeth than anything else, “We can hope, hun.”

You didn’t like any of her answers. You wanted your Spencer back, and you sunk back into the seat with a resigned sigh, “Ugh, but- why?”

“I don’t know, y/n. Nobody knows what that boy is thinking.”

It lasted just about a week before you decided that yeah, you needed to know what Spencer was thinking. You hated the distance, the late hours, the embarrassment.

Hotch watched from the doorway of his office, piping hot coffee in hand, as you hit your breaking point and finally cornered Spencer. At first, Hotch has to strain to hear the words (he’s a quiet guy who takes pride in not getting overly-involved in his coworker’s love lives, but at this point, the July 17th Paradigm is famous around the office, so really, he reasons to himself, how can he not listen, just this once).

“Spencer, what the hell was that?” You hiss, fed up and cheeks ablaze.

Spencer looks like he’s rolling his eyes, but he doesn’t really do that, so the expression that flashes across his face is the closest thing to it, a step short of something near-pretentious that sets your veins on fire and piques Hotch’s interest, “I’m just trying to refill my coffee, y/n. What’s your problem?”

You scoff, admittedly and quite obviously bitter, “My problem? My problem? Spencer, my problem is that for a month you have been sidestepping me, avoiding me. We live together for Pete’s sake, and it’s like you’re some kind of stranger. That’s my problem.”

Spencer just glares, expression settled intensely, and that’s how Hotch knows this must be serious for him. “Can I get my coffee now?” He asks quietly, and that is just about the point where you explode, volume raising steadily so the entire office can hear. Penelope steps into the bullpen and moves to stand beside Emily and watch quietly in the abrupt shadows.

Insults and admissions are viciously spat back and forth like some cruel tennis match in which the bright yellow ball has been replace with pent up anger and hostility and mistrust. It’s an awful sight, an uneven match in which the spectators themselves somehow feel like they’re losing, too. 

“You don’t have to pretend, y/n,” Spencer hollers, throwing his hands dramatically up in the air, “I know I’m way out of your league.”

You scoff bitterly, as if amused, fingers twitching and fists rolling. 

“You could do so much better.” The words tumble virulently out of his mouth like heavy, riverside stones, “And yet you’re stuck with me anyway.”

You roll your eyes, stamp your foot a little against the rough carpet.

“I’m not surprised you’re cheating on me.” Spencer says, so matter-of-fact, so sure of it as he uses that tone he gets when he recites something he’d read verbatim. Only he didn’t. For once in his life, Spencer Reid was so wrong, and it absolutely infuriated you.

“Excuse me?!” You screeched, and honestly you wouldn’t be surprised if you were on fire, every square inch of your body was ensconced in that glow of rage that somehow accompanied odd, out-of-body betrayals, “Is that what all this was about? You assumed, that just because you’re not the biggest fan of yourself, that that automatically meant I was cheating on you?”

Spencer’s eyes hardened, and you could feel the entire room take a collective breath, sharp and observant like the damn eavesdroppers they were. You knew everybody was there, listening, and you only laughed louder, more shrill, because of it.

“Spencer, who the hell do you think I am?” The rage was burning hot through your voice, “I am not some whore. I chose to be with you because of your heart and your kindness, but I maybe I was wrong about you if this is what you think of me.”

Spencer tried to argue, because that is what he does, argues and refutes and offers valid rebuttals, but the words sink impotently on his tongue against his lead-lined lips and his lips are pulled into a frown as you talk over him.

“Just don’t, Spencer,” You glare, feeling hurt and torn and beyond betrayed, “Goodbye.”

Spencer and Hotch and Penelope and all the rest of the room watched as you tore open the glass doors and left, red and blotchy and angry.

An unsure eeriness settled over the bullpen. Everything felt sticky, like a swamp after a hurricane, with Spencer at its rattling epicenter. Not a sound was made, silence reigned above all with its guttural cries of horror and embarrassment. 

Hotch retreated into his office. Penelope and Emily snuck to Garcia’s Tech Cave. Agents silently slipped back to their desks. Slowly, the humidity of the room rose to the ceiling, and typical work-day volume was completely restored. The world resumed. The July 17th Paradigm was (more or less) solved.

But Spencer just stood, a few steps away from his desk, empty coffee mug in hand, entirely dazed. Your words sunk in, slowly, like an indestructible rock falling through lava or like a plane stranded and fiery among ocean waves. More than ever, Spencer felt completely and utterly alone. A blue-green chill trickled down his spine, like rain in a crooked gutter the day after a storm, and Spencer wasn’t sure what to do as the weird uncertain feeling pooled in his fingertips.

Spencer realized, awfully, that he had lost you. Just like that.

And even worse, he realized that you had lost him long before.  Oh, God.

[kimamanitranslatesnovels]

Armoured Girl Monette c7

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Chapter 7: Witches are Fickle

“Well then, about Prince Alexis’ curse of bad luck and Percival’s curse of behaving eccentrically when he’s tired…”

“Shall we talk about your cursed drawing ability and the monsters you create as well, Lady Monette?”

“Cute kitty-cats!” Monette cries, “How rude!”

Percival snorts in a combative way. Alexis sighs in exasperation at the two of them… then from that slight movement, his chair breaks into pieces and he collapses to the floor.

It’s shortly past noon.

After sleeping soundly, Alexis and Percival helped themselves to her food for lunch. It’s shortly after Monette started gazing at her remaining food supplies in dissatisfaction.

Apparently statistically, the curse doesn’t seem to kick in as much in the afternoon, so she thought to talk about it now when they had a chance… and then this happens.

Monette can’t help but say, “Please sit on the floor.”

She holds out a cushion to Alexis.

“Lady Monette, there’s a limit to how rude you can be. Asking the prince to sit on the floor…”

“It’s fine, Percival. If I sit on a chair, it breaks, so I might as well just sit on the floor –“ Alexis’ voice cuts off as he makes to sit on the floor.

Needless to say, on trying to sit down, he fell into the basement for a second time, making a big racket. A loud, echoing crashing sound. Wood flakes fly up.

“Y–your Highness! Are you alright!?”

“Yeah, I’m fi– good morning, Robertson and your friend! I’m begging you, please don’t come this wa-!”

Alexis screams. At the sound, Percival hurriedly heads down to the basement.

Monette follows after Percival, all while urging the spiders, “Bite him, Robertson, Robertson’s fashionable friend!”

They go for a fresh start after the day’s first incident.

Monette can’t stand having any more holes in the floor, so she sets up a basic table in the wine cellar in the basement. For now, she’ll ignore Percival staring at the wine in interest, murmuring “This is…” and “Even wine from that period…”

“I shall give you a bottle for every chair you repair,” she says half-jokingly, but Percival just nods in response, looking rather serious.

Putting aside the wine, it’s time to talk about the curse again.

On placing an open book on the table, Alexis and Percival peer down at it, wondering what it contains. But they both just look confused immediately after glancing down.

After all, the book laid out on the table is not written in an alphabet they can read. No, they may not even be able to recognize the writing as letters. Even Alexis, who has learned several countries’ languages as a prince, is at a loss at the uneven lines of writing that look as though a worm might have wriggled them out.

“Monette, what country is this writing from?”

“This is witches’ script. Only witches can understand it and use it. It’s a special form of writing that only those from a witch’s bloodline can use.”

“You can read it?”

“It would be more accurate to say that I became able to read it,” Monette explains as she flips through the spellbook.

Witches’ script, only known in witches’ households. Normally, it would’ve been passed down from parent to child, but unfortunately, the House of Idira threw away their knowledge of the script long ago. If Monette showed the writing to any of her living relatives, they’d probably just end up saying, “What are these dirty lines?”

That’s the kind of spellbook it is. It had been stored away in the attic of their mansion.

When she moved to this old castle, she brought all the books like that she could find. Holing herself away in this empty castle, she learned how to read it one letter at a time, thus becoming able to use spells.

“Does this book have anything on curses?”

“There’s a few that might be relevant… nope, stop right there. You look like you’re thinking that it’s me after all. Prince Alexis too, please don’t lower your head,” Monette scolds, “Don’t treat me like the culprit.”

It would be an understatement to say that it makes Monette feel bad to be treated as the culprit after cooperating so much as well as providing meals and a place to sleep. After pointing this out to the two of them, their expressions change in an instant. They even bring the conversation back to the spellbook.

From the abrupt change in topic, Monette can’t help but say, “Don’t make me a participant in your farce,” and glare at them from in her helmet.

“If a witch’s spellbook has curses, then I was cursed by a witch after all. Just who did it…?”

“I’m not able to determine which witch exactly. While the House of Idira discarded their heritage as witches, there’s still many witch households remaining in the world. Either you did something to make one of those witches resent you, or someone requested one of them to curse you…” Monette goes silent.

Alexis is softly laughing as he listens to her talk. But his brow is furrowed, and his narrowed deep brown eyes are pained. Still, he’s forcing a smile onto his face.

“That’s true,” he responds, so thinly it almost sounds like a sigh. His voice is slightly hoarse – he looks indescribably pained.

Unable to bear it, Monette scratches her head. Her iron-covered finger makes a grinding noise against her helmet.

It looks like Percival’s expression is pained as well. He looks towards Alexis and almost says something… but shuts his mouth, looking irritated. He probably can’t think of anything to comfort Alexis.

Percival twists his expression, looking pained again at his cowardice. Monette lets out a small sigh in the midst of the heavy atmosphere.

Though, her sigh is absorbed by her thick helmet and isn’t heard by the other two.

But the fact of the matter is Alexis is cursed, and they do not know who the culprit is.

There’s a number of modern witch households in the world, and it’s almost impossible for a self-taught novice witch like Monette to investigate the spells they have.

Above all, the way Alexis’ bad luck shows itself bothers her.

He gets ill and becomes injured, but never dies or deals with lasting injuries or sicknesses. He gets into dangerous situations like being chased by wolves, but every time, he’s saved in the nick of time. He often breaks chairs or tables and such, but he only ever gets minor injuries.

It’s much too weak for a witch’s curse.

“Curses are the same as charms, they weaken if the one who cast it is far away or is sleeping. A talented witch may be cursing you from afar, or a weak witch may be cursing you close by, or perhaps a witch is suppressing the power of the curse to avoid suspicion, or it’s simply a toned-back curse…”

“You can’t investigate the curse with that cup last night like how you verified the curse was real?” asks Percival.

Monette shakes her head, indicating that it’s impossible. It must make a surreal sight to see a helmet turn from left to right with a grind, but Alexis and Percival don’t have the time to spare to notice that.

The two of them listen to Monette with strange expressions on their face, looking straight at her. Deep brown eyes and emerald eyes. Though they aren’t glaring at her, their gazes are piercing. Monette finds it hard to breathe – she flips through the spellbook to avert her gaze and additionally direct their gazes towards the table.

Her iron helmet hides her expression and her sighs… but she can’t wipe the bead of sweat that drips down her cheek. When she automatically lifts a hand to do so, a clank sounds out when the iron gauntlet and helmet meet.

How terribly inconvenient.

“While I cannot investigate the curse, I believe a witch in a neighboring country may be able to. Unlike myself in the House of Idira, she was born into a long, continuous lineage of witches. I shouldn’t be able to even hold a candle to her skill in magic and curses.”

Monette spreads out a map next to the spellbook, then taps an iron-covered finger at the approximate location of the witch.

It’s right on the border between the countries. It would probably take about half a month to get there and back with a carriage. You would have to leave the forest bordering the countries, then continue on into the valley… it would be tough at times, but it’s not impossible to traverse.

Learning that there was a lead unexpectedly close by, Alexis and Percival’s expressions very slightly soften.

“However,” Monette says in warning as she reads the spellbook, “Witches are fickle. No matter who you may be, no matter what you may want, if it doesn’t suit them, they will not cooperate with you. They may not even reveal themselves in front of you.”

“Is that the way it is? Even if it’s a royal command?”

“Though human, witches have apparently always lived on a different plane of existence than others. And so, even if you’re royalty, everything depends on their mood. Depending on how you treat them, they may even go hostile. Supposedly no matter the country, people have struggled with dealing with these moody witches.”

“I see. So even if we go to meet her, we won’t know if she’ll even meet us, let alone cooperate with us…”

For some reason, Alexis and Percival exchange glances.

Ignoring them, Monette flips through the spellbook.

“Though that doesn’t appear to be the case between witches,” she murmurs.

… The words slip out accidentally.

← Previous | Index | Next →

[magnusbane-lightwood]

It's me again :D 1. How seriously amazing is your header? I'm so very in love with it, I've been staring at your tumblr page for 5 minutes :DDD 2. I've started to read your number prompts and they are all so cute

And for the anon who asked: Can I have 17 written?Hi sweetie!

First of all: THANK YOU SO MUCH! Seriously, I tend to go back to this message and just get this incredibly goofy smile on my face. You’re seriously so damn sweet, thank you so much for, well for liking the things I write basically. It seriously means the world.

Second of all: This one got really long and since my day fucked up entirely and I won’t have time to write the last 1000 words right now, I thought I’d post it in chapters (hopefully I’ll be able to post chapter two tomorrow - since it’s almost finished - so you won’t have to wait long at all, please forgive me!)

Anyway, here’s chapter one! I hope it was at least somewhat along the lines of what you wanted (It takes place in the shadow-world still, but in this story Magnus and Alec didn’t meet because of Clary…):

You can read it on AO3 HERE if you’d like to!

17. “Looks like we’ll be trapped for a while…”

Isabelle frowned when she walked into the dark loft. Magnus and her had decided to meet up for lunch two hours prior and when the warlock hadn’t shown up, Isabelle had assumed he’d gotten caught up in work and forgotten about the time again. So she’d gone to his apartment to find him, but seeing the empty space had her instantly worried. It wasn’t all that unusual for Magnus to forget about the time whenever he was caught up in some spell, but he was a gentleman and if he would be out of his apartment for work and risked being late, then he’d always make sure to tell whoever he was meeting up with as much.

She’d met the High Warlock of Brooklyn at a downworlder party she’d gone to for her previous boyfriend, Meliorn, a few months back and their mutual interests in both fashion and science (as Magnus had explained - mixing potions wasn’t all that different from what she was doing in her lab) had the two of them instantly clicking. Despite the night having ended with a breakup for her, after she found Meliorn in bed with two vampires, she’d still considered it a success after Magnus had invited her over to his loft for drinks to “celebrate her getting rid of the trash”, as he’d called it. Although they both knew that the Seelie had never made any promises of exclusivity to the Shadowhunter, Isabelle had still found herself appreciating the supportive sentiment. They’d been best friends ever since.

Which was why she knew something most definitely wasn’t right with the picture before her.

Picking up her phone from her pocket, Isabelle dialed Magnus’ number and waited for the dial-tone, praying to the Angel that he’d pick up - Only to have the call cut off almost immediately. Her heart beating slightly in panic, she started looking around the loft for any indication to where her friend might be. After looking through the entire apartment without any results, she picked up a shirt to try tracking him. The light flared around her hands and an image of Magnus flashed before her eyes. He was in what looked to be a cage, shouting something she couldn’t hear. She tried to focus on getting a location, but before she could get so much as a hint, something slammed into the vision and it blinked out. With a curse, she stuffed the shirt into her bag and ran towards the institute.

She needed a stronger tracking.

***

“Alec, I need your help!”

Alec looked up from where he’d been planning out next week’s patrol-schedule and raised his eyebrows in question to his sister’s abrupt entrance.

“I thought you were having lunch with your friend?” he said, straightening up and looking his sister over. “What’s wrong?”

“I was, but something is wrong. He didn’t show up and he wasn’t at his apartment. I tried tracking him, but I got cut off by something. I need you and Jace to use your parabatai bond to track him”, Izzy explained and Alec knew better than to question his sister’s instincts. So he simply pushed off the table and started walking towards the training-room, where he knew Jace would be - especially since Raj had walked by earlier with a put-upon sigh that told the oldest Lightwood-sibling that his brother had roped the poor guy into training with him again.

“Sorry to interrupt guys”, he announced their presence when they walked in and almost smiled at the sight of Raj throwing Jace down on his back and pinning him with a knife to his throat before they both looked up at them.

“That”, Jace panted, his eyes on Raj’s smug face, “Does not count. Alec distracted me!”

The other man just huffed a laugh, helped him to his feet with a roll of his eyes and turned to Alec with a rise of his eyebrows.

“What’s up?” Jace voiced Raj’s unvoiced question.

“Izzy needs our help to track her friend, she thinks he might be in trouble”, Alec explained and Jace nodded as he started to remove his training-gloves and walked towards them.

“I could use a small break anyway, you want us to go out with you to find him too?” he said and Alec shook his head.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll go with Izzy to check it out, call you if we need backup. You should probably go make sure Clary’s doing okay with her rune-studies anyway, leave Raj alone for once?” He gave Jace a pointed look and Raj mouthed a ‘thank you’ to him from where he was packing away the knives they’d been using.

“I have some work I need to get done anyway. You can try to beat me some other time, Blondie”, he said as he walked past them out of the room, patting Jace on the shoulder. Alec shook his head at Jace’s frown as he watched his retreating form.

“Still beating you, huh?” Alec asked and Jace returned his eyes to his parabatai with an exasperated look that made the corner Alec’s mouth lift, amused.

“I don’t know how he does it, the man is a freaking ninja! I figure out how to block one move and he’s already on to the next. It’s insane!” he answered and Alec just shrugged at him in a ‘what can you do’-manner.

“As much as I enjoy this little fanboy-moment of yours, Jace, we need to hurry up. Magnus is in trouble and I need to get to him”, Izzy spoke up, thrusting the shirt she’d brought towards them and Alec went into mission-mode as he grabbed the shirt along with Jace’s hand and started focusing on tracking the warlock.

The familiar feeling of Jace’s energy surged through him as the light swirled around their joined hands and a blurry picture opened up in his mind. He could make out the siluett of a man sitting cross-legged in a leaf-filled cell, light coming from somewhere above him. Magnus, Alec assumed as there didn’t seem to be anyone else around. He redirected his focus from the image to get a feel of where this cell was when a force slammed into him and both him and Jace grabbed the other tighter as they fought it to stay on the track. A symbol on the side of the cell caught Alec’s eye and as Jace gave his hand a small tug, he knew his parabatai had seen it to. Breathing out slowly, he felt Jace’s energy leave and slowly opened his eyes as he let go of the other’s hand.

“He’s in the Seelie-realm, in a cell of some kind. Doesn’t seem hurt though, but you’re right - we should hurry to get him out”, he answered his sister’s questioning look before walking away to get changed.

***

Magnus Bane was bored out of his freaking mind. Bored and irritated. He’d been stuck in this cage for hours, unable to do anything but wait for someone to notice his absence and come save him. He really hoped Isabelle hadn’t left him a message to cancel their lunch, because unless she noticed that he was gone no one would come for him in the next 24 hours. The prospect of sitting in this muddy room, with his magic drained enough to keep him from breaking out, for an entire day had him letting out another groan and letting his head fall back against the wall.

“If someone could send me a knight in shining armor to save me, that’d be great”, he grumbled towards the man-sized hole in the roof where the light was being let in. It was too high up for him to reach and possibly escape from and Magnus wasn’t too keen on risking a broken ankle in trying either, so he simply stared longingly at it and wished for a grand rescue of some kind.

***

“We should split up, we’ll cover more ground that way”, Alec suggested and with a confirming nod from his sister he broke away to search for her friend. He wished he could say that it was a surprise to hear that the Seelies had thrown the High Warlock of Brooklyn into a cage for some reason, but considering that during Alec’s last meeting with the Seelie Queen, she’d been just about ready to do the same to him for not wanting to sleep with her, he really and truly wasn’t. Honestly, what was a surprise to him was how the rest of the faerie-folk were still accepting her as their leader. If Valentine and his people were what gave the Shadowhunters a bad reputation, then people like the Seelie Queen most definitely was what gave downworlders theirs. He’d discussed the matter of damaging downworlder-leaders with Luke and Raphael a few days prior, and the two of them had suggested they’d bring in the High Warlock to their monthly meetings, since he apparently had the most sway over the downworld as a whole.

Alec had never met Magnus Bane, but from what he’d heard about the man he seemed like a good person with a rather wild reputation. The latter was just from what he’d been told by his parents though. Izzy had protested wildly as they’d argued that her new best friend was, in their father’s words: ‘Somewhat of a lothario who is nowhere near fitting for a young shadowhunter woman to be socializing with’, and Alec couldn’t blame her. Especially since his father, who followed Valentine blindly for years, most certainly wasn’t in any position to judge anyone else. Alec sometimes thought back to how he’d viewed downworlders only two years earlier, before befriending Luke and Raphael after Clary had stumbled into their lives and turned it upside down, and felt ashamed of his past self. He hadn’t known better at that time, of course, but that didn’t change the fact that he’d thought of himself as above so many people when he’d had no right to.

Stepping over a few fallen branches, Alec surveyed the area around him, trying to see if anything looked even the slightest familiar to what he’d seen in his tracking-vision. It was no use though, they’d been forced to leave the vision too soon and hadn’t had a chance to see anything above ground from where the warlock was held. Alec heaved a frustrated sigh and continued moving forward at a swift speed.

He didn’t even make it another two yards before something sounded behind him and Alec whirled around, bow drawn and at the ready, only to be immediately blinded by a flash of light so bright he had to shield his eyes. In the shock he took a step backwards, and where he was certain there had been solid ground just a second before, were now nothing but air. With a surprised scream, Alec fell through the gaping hole in the ground.

***

Magnus looked up with a frown at the bright flash above him, just a second before something - or rather someone- fell through the hole in the roof of his cell with a scream and landed right in the middle of the little room. The man looked up towards the hole with a frown, obviously cursing its existence, before rubbing slightly at where he’d landed on his hip, grimacing slightly.

“I’m not at my full power because of the stupid wards on this place, but I’m pretty sure I could heal that for you if you want?”, Magnus spoke, rising and walking towards the man, surveying him calmly as he did so.

He seemed to finally notice that he hadn’t fallen into an empty cell and snapped his eyes up towards Magnus’ voice. The warlock felt his breath catch as the light from the roof-opening hit them, making them appear almost golden, but gathered himself quickly and reached out his hand with a gesture towards the man’s hip.

“So? You want some help with that, then?” he prompted, with a rise of his brows. That appeared to be enough to shake him out of where he’d been outright staring blatantly at Magnus - obviously still surprised that there was someone else in this stupid cell, not that Magnus could blame him all that much for that - and he started rummaging through his pockets until he finally drew a stele from one of them.

Ah, a shadowhunter then, Magnus thought and finally noticed the rune running up the man’s neck as he bent over to activate his Iratze.

“Or you can do that, I guess” he mumbled and dropped his hand before returning to sit against the wall. When the man had finished healing his hip, he returned his gaze to Magnus, cocking his head slightly to the side, and the warlock was once again struck how gorgeous this man truly was. In the shadows, his eyes appeared almost green and Magnus reached his hand out again:

“Well, if we’re going to be stuck down here together, I feel like we should at the very least know each other’s name. I’m..”

The man rose slightly from his seat to grab Magnus’ hand this time as he interrupted.

“Magnus Bane, yeah I know. I’m actually…” he started, before looking around, a frown etched on his face once again.

“Uhm… Well, I’m here to… To rescue you, actually. I came with my sister, she was worried when you didn’t show up for lunch and…” he looked at Magnus again and, to the warlock’s delight, seemed to forget what he was talking about the second their eyes met. Magnus raised his eyebrows in question at the statement and hummed in acknowledgement before he spoke:

“As much as I appreciate the whole ‘handsome knight in a not-so-very-white and shining armor coming to my rescue’, they usually tend to avoid falling into the cage with the princess. Well, prince in this case”, he teased and smiled as a blush rose on the other’s cheeks.

“Yeah, that’s… That wasn’t exactly part of the plan”, the man admitted and Magnus squeezed his hand where he was still holding on to it, dragging him slightly towards him to lean against the wall instead of sitting in the middle of the room. The shadowhunter followed without complaint and Magnus smiled to himself at that.

“Well, since it looks like we’ll be trapped here for a while why don’t you…” he started and then the man’s words from earlier registered with him and he looked up at him with a huge smile blooming freely on his lips.

“Wait, did you say sister? Isabelle sent you? She’s here?” he asked, more than excited about the prospect of the man not being all alone on this rescue-mission.

“Yeah, we split up and she went the other way. I… I’m not entirely sure when she’ll be here though”, the man confirmed and then muttered something about hoping she was smarter than him and didn’t accidentally fall in here with them too. Magnus cocked his head as he regarded this new information. Isabelle had told him she had three brothers and looking at the man before him he registered the physical attributes his friend had used to describe them all with. He hummed slightly to himself before saying:

“Tall, dark hair, gorgeous hazel-eyes and a preference for the bow… You must be Alexander then?” he purred and the blush on the man’s cheeks deepened furiously.

“Alec”, the man - Alec Lightwood apparently - corrected him with a nod.

***A/N: I hope you like it thus far and I’ll try to hurry up and get chapter two up for you by tomorrow! Also: I’m writing some other fluffy malec-things that were supposed to be posted during the day, but since my day just got completely fucked up they might have to wait until the weekend… ugh, life! Sorry!If you have any prompt you’d like to send me (or simply share your thoughts on some matter), my ask-box is always open! If you’d like to give me one of the number-prompts, then you can find the different numbers HERE!

[tact-and-impulse]

Eating Together, Drinking Alone Chapter 26

Has anyone noticed that Tae’s and Hiko’s perspectives have the same word count? :D

Chapter 26: Yakizakana

It was early April, when Hiko finished the kintsugi commission. The fallen nobles had the tendency to cling to their heirlooms and high-handed ways, but his customer was a decent man, who hadn’t complained when the project had to be delayed for an extra three days. Assembling the broken shards of the vase had been tedious, but as always, the praise made the work worth it. After arriving at the customer’s home, he revealed the repaired pottery. The melted gold connected the ceramic pieces, like a gleaming network of veins.

“Ah, thank you very much, Ni’itsu-san. The craftsmanship is amazing.” The customer bowed his head. He was a young man, who must have been a child when the shogunate dissolved. “We’re very grateful, I’ll get your payment right away. Dear, can you serve Ni’itsu-san the tea?”

As if on cue, the customer’s wife entered with a tea tray and a smile. While she poured three cups of green tea, there was an interruption. A startled cry sounded, before the door slid back. A little boy held a baby by the armpits, while a harried nurse hovered over them.

“I’m very sorry, but they’re too fast for me. Madam-”

“Kousuke, let your sister down.” The customer’s wife urged.

The boy declared. “Hazuki-chan wanted to be picked up.”

“Yes, but look, she isn’t happy.” Indeed, the baby was thrashing, face turning red with frustration.

“Oh.” He set his sister on the floor, and the nurse immediately scooped her up, before ushering them away. The customer’s wife understandably pardoned herself, and the man himself was sheepish.

“We deeply apologize for the interruption.”

“It’s fine.” He and Natsuko had once been like that, after all. He suspected that the brats were responsible for the initial damage to the vase. But from how they had free rein over the household, it was obvious that they were cherished. He drank from his teacup, letting the hot liquid slide down his throat.

“Then, here’s what we owe you.” It was a fair sum, and Hiko accepted it.

The Kyoto streets were uncomfortably warm when he walked out. People were milling about, on their way to lunch. He noticed the Shirobeko was full and raucous, so he headed down a side street. A stall was grilling dried fish, and he purchased his meal there. He assumed the wait would be uneventful, but he realized there was someone staring at him. It was a woman, not surprising, yet there was an oddly familiar air about her…

She walked over to him, with a slight smile on her elegant features. Her hair was threaded with gray, but her gaze was sharp as she looked up at him. “It’s been many years, but you look exactly the same, Sei-san. Do you remember me?”

He suddenly recalled that smile, on a powdered face in dim candlelight. “Momose?”

The former geiko was pleased. “Ah, so you do! How have you been?”

“Well enough.” The memories were vague now, but for a short time after Master’s death, he had enjoyed her company. She was carefree and clever and a pleasant distraction from the villages’ demands. It was fun, for a while. Then, after a year, he left in search of Natsuko and she retired to marry a wealthy guest. He had not seen her again, until now. “And you? I heard you had left Kyoto.”

“I did, but I’m here to visit my mother-in-law. She’s feeling a little unwell and when she’s sick, she’s needy. But at the end of the day, I’m returning home. I have a husband and two young daughters waiting for me.” Her tone was lighthearted and expectant.

“You sound content.”

“Indeed, I have nothing to complain about, other than finicky in-laws.” She gave a delicate laugh. “Have you settled down?”

“No.”

���Hmm? Then shall I direct you to a colleague or two?”

“There isn’t need for that either.”

“Oh, I see.” Whatever she concluded, she kept it to herself. “But I’m glad that we’ve met again. I remember that our parting was abrupt.”

“It couldn’t be helped at the time.” He gruffly said. “You took the path that was best for you, and I chose mine. Moving forward is an inevitable part of life.”

“Yes, that’s true. We had good memories, but I would not change anything. I have a good life with my husband, and you must feel the same about her.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“You didn’t deny that there is someone.” She was teasing now. “Is she a good woman? What’s she like?”

He paused, bringing a certain pink flower and a tender expression to mind. “Out of all the things in nature, the morning glory would suit her the most. Resilient and climbing upwards, without faltering, without losing its vivid brilliance or appeal.”

“You did have a way with words. Any woman would swoon over such poetic flattery.” Momose sighed. Then, she was called for her ordered fish and she excused herself. “I have to go, but it was nice to see you again. Goodbye.”

“Take care of yourself, and goodbye.” He inclined his head, and she did the same. She walked out of sight, and his eyes didn’t follow her.

The yakizakana was soft and salty, but he didn’t have the time to savor it. He had to buy supplies again, and the day was already half over. Unfortunately, most of the merchants had remembered when Sekihara accompanied him during the last time, and he could tell by their faces, that they thought he had scared her off.

Even when he entered Torikai’s shop, she pointedly looked at his side.

“Sekihara’s not here, she went back to Tokyo.”

The old woman’s shoulders sagged with disappointment, as she turned to an open page in her notebook. She lifted her pencil and wrote down a sentence. I thought you would have made her stay.

“She has her business to take care of. And that’s enough gossip. I’m here to buy paper too.” He needed more, to correspond with customers. Torikai guessed as much, and after the transaction, she wrote another message for him.

There is a merchant from Tokyo, who has heard of your pottery. He is willing to distribute your pottery there. He would like to meet with you, if that is possible.

Well…he couldn’t help from being interested.

***

Through letters, he arranged to meet the merchant in Tokyo. It was easier that way, since he didn’t want to risk the merchant finding out where he lived. That had happened with a particularly nosy merchant, who he had to intimidate into forgetting. No, meeting in the new capital would be perfectly fine.

Also, he could stop by his idiot apprentice’s house, just so he could see who the brat took after. The brat’s hair indicated the idiot, but if the eyes were the same, it could be the tanuki girl as well. And if there was time, he could make another stop at the Akabeko. He hadn’t written to Sekihara since her visit, although she had sent a letter informing him that she was regaining her full-time staff. He had imagined her excited voice, but he preferred to hear her in person. At the rate he was walking, he would be in the city by tomorrow.

Hiko paused to frown at the narrow mountain road. To one side, there was an unforgiving cliff, studded with rocks. To the other side, there was empty air and the treetops shielding the land below. He had enough sense to not take the cart, mailing some samples to the merchant instead. But the road curved ahead, and he couldn’t see beyond that. Out of habit, one of his hands drifted to the hilt of his katana.

It ended up being for good reason. His grip tightened as he walked forward; there was a faint sense of bloodlust, and the sound of hurried steps. Hiko was about to draw his blade, when a fine dust billowed in front of him. More bloodlust was now above him. He snapped his head up towards the cliff. As three people sprinted away, he glimpsed a familiar face.

It was the crow boy.

Hiko tensed, but he was a second too slow. The rocks tumbled down from the cliff, and he threw his energy into retreating out of the way. But he then realized it wasn’t enough. A spark caught his eye, as it worked down a short rope to one of the rocks. A fuse, and as if they had all decided to show themselves, another half dozen materialized in Hiko’s line of sight. The crow boy was trying to blow him up with his own style of pottery. He was going to beat the shit out of the bastard, but he’d have to be alive for that first.

It was a gamble to slice the ceramic bombs, if he didn’t know how many there really were, and it was a long way down. In that case…

He took a running start.

The air exploded.

[feelingsdusk-writes]

Runes and all kinds of things

Chapter 8

Stiles is seriously considering important life choices right now.

He has sneaked into the Argent’s backyard mostly unnoticed (mostly because it seems that every neighborhood has the nosy neighbour that notices everyone and everything at any given time of the day, and that old lady hadn't lifted her eyes from Stiles for even a second) and is now contemplating the wall that has what he knows to be Allison’s window. A wall that might as well be the Yosemite Dawn Wall in terms of climbing difficulty as far as Stiles is concerned.

But he has a mighty mission and he can't let this measly obstacle stop him. He won't fail, it's just a wall, he rallies himself as he starts to hum Mission Impossible's theme. So if he grabs the… and then pushes and uses it as a lever...

Stiles braces himself and approaches the wall. He reaches to place his hands on its surface and stops abruptly, looking at the white plastic bag in his hands contemplatively. He unloops his belt until he can push the bag through its handles to rest over his butt and then he fastens it again. He heaves himself upwards.

A third into the climb, he starts to doubt the wisdom of his idea, and by the halfway point, he’s regretting his life choices completely. Nevertheless, he perseveres. Finally, he hauls himself through the window with a grunt and nearly faceplants as he trips over a box.

“Honey, I’m home,” he lets out in a rather pitiful mixture of a singsong and a wheeze, bent over his knees.

His side aches quite a bit and it's pulsing with the rhythm of his heart, so maybe it wasn’t such a great idea. But he's done it, which means he's a badass ninja too, just like Allison, and he could totally be one of those action heroes and... fucking hell, he can't stop wheezing. He takes a deep breath. Beautiful oxygen, come to papa.

(Yeah, still a BAMF.)

(Totally.)

“Stiles?” Allison’s voice comes from her bathroom. “Thank God, I couldn’t take it anymore. Bring my baby here!”

With his breath mostly back under control, Stiles starts singing raunchily, butt wiggling included, as he unfastens his belt again and approaches the bathroom. “I’ll give you what you want, what you really, really, want. I wanna hey, I wanna-” A strained sound comes from his left and he freezes, turning to look. “Ah. Hello, Mr. Argent,” he chirps cheerfully, his still undone belt in his hand. It emits a clink when he lets go of it to wave at the man.

There’s a moment of complete silence in the bathroom followed shortly by a snort and muffled laughter.

“The Midol and the tampons, please!” Allison calls out mirthfully and Stiles shrugs, dismissing the shocked man with a gun (literally) to grab the bag and pass it through a crack of the bathroom's door. “You bought a new box? I left some in the bathroom drawer.”

“Super Plus, right?” Stiles asks as he passes the belt through the loops and refastens it. "I was already on my way when you called so it was more convenient to stop to buy some instead of turning around."

“You bought tampons,” Chris states incredulously.

“Mr. Argent,” Stiles chides him in a disapproving tone, “being ashamed of buying tampons is awfully immature, you know. Menstruation is a natural part of life.” He turns to Allison when she exits the bathroom. “Which reminds me. How’s the Midol working for you?”

“Mostly fine, why?” she answers, trying to not show how funny she finds it that her father has been shocked into speechlessness.

“There was a huge line to pay so I researched a bit,” he states eagerly, wiggling in place.

“Now I’m afraid,” she deadpans.

“Prepare to marvel at my magic hands!” He tackles her, making her lie on her bed, and digs his fingers in before she can react.

“Oh. My. God,” she moans a few minutes later, face buried in the comforter after he made her turn when he finished with her stomach. Her father’s brain still hasn’t rebooted and he keeps opening his mouth as if to say something and closing it immediately after. His gun, which he had brandished when he had heard the awful racket Stiles was making while climbing, hangs limp at his side. “I’m never letting you leave this house.”

Lydia chooses that very moment to call.

—

“Are you serious? Somehow this wasn’t exactly what I was expecting when you said you had something that would cheer us up,” Allison says, her voice dry as the desert, and looks at him incredulously. Stiles nods eagerly, bouncing in place like an excited two year old. “Okay, then, but if I end traumatized by this experience you’re going to owe me so bad.” She sighs resigned as she braces herself.

They are in the worst part of town, in front of the dingiest store she’s ever seen. Even the sign, which is in an appalling mix of lemon yellow, neon green and black dotted orange, looks only a sneeze away from falling, and that’s being generous. She isn’t very impressed by the name either… especially since she can’t read it entirely because most letters are either completely missing or partially faded in the aforementioned sign.

“And if it’s good? What if this experience changes your world as you know it?” Stiles counters mischievously as they enter. She eyes her surroundings with even more skepticism and raises an eyebrow at him. At first glance everything looks so incredibly dirty that she almost recoils. At second glance, she finds that it’s just that the furniture is so old and stained that it makes it look as if it hasn’t been cleaned since the store was opened, back when the dinosaurs roamed the Earth. “You’ll be eternally grateful to me for giving you the peace of mind of knowing there’s something good in this world that’s worth fighting for,” he ends dramatically, fist in the air.

“I’ll be eternally grateful to you if I don’t expend the last day of vacation with diarrhea,” she deadpans and Stiles rolls his eyes, laughing.

That the extremely little cafe is empty doesn’t inspire much trust either.

“ANA BANANAS!” he exclaims at the top of his lungs as they approach the counter, startling her.

An even older than the furniture woman appears, leaving the backroom. She’s stick thin, has her white hair in a perfect 60’s hairdo and the thickest glasses she’s ever seen rest in front of her eyes, making them ant small. She’s also stone deaf and, according to Stiles, he’s been coaxing recipes out of her ever since he was a little kid, first with shameless cuteness and later on with equally shameless emotional manipulation that she has always been completely aware of.

She’s also the grumpy cat personified and Allison would swear that she hears better than she lets on, but that she enjoys watching people make a fool out of themselves way too much to correct the assumption. Whatever Stiles asks for, she mishears and then proceeds to give him a completely different thing, and he isn’t even fazed, obviously expecting it. In the middle of it, he tries to manipulate, flirt, compliment and coax a recipe out of her in equal amounts. More than the purchasing of baked goods, it looks like the mix of a cutthroat bargaining battle and the negotiation of a peace treaty. It’s so hilarious to watch that it’s making this trip absolutely worth it just on its own. At some point she even shoves a cinnamon cookie into his mouth in the middle of a phrase and he just munches delightedly with a full mouthed Is this a new recipe? The touch of cayenne is genius! before continuing with what he was saying as if nothing happened.

They leave Bananas (the actual name of the cafe slash bakery) with an armful of baked goods, two coffees that smell heavenly (even though, apparently, she doesn’t sell coffee, just tea, because coffee is a disgusting sludge not fit for human consumption) and two new recipes for a cookbook she didn’t even know Stiles had. He passes her an oatmeal, banana and raisin bar that, according to Stiles, the woman apparently had sneakily put in the bag when she was making a dry remark about him being shot and being too thin. Allison hadn’t even noticed because she was too busy cackling after the woman had slapped his hand with a hot pink spatula. Twice.

After taking a bite, Allison stops mid-step and stares at it incredulously. She looks back to the store and internally mourns her lack of financial resources at the moment, which make it impossible to buy like a few thousand bars and spend the rest of her natural life feeding on them. Stiles cackles and passes her the bag to keep. She doesn’t even give a token protest and actually eyes the rest of the bags covetously. She knows there are chocolate treasures in there and they will be hers.

“Let me try that and I’ll give you something really good,” she bargains and Stiles laughs at how that sounds.

Later, when they are in her room and she gives him a paper bag in exchange for the white chocolate and pecan cookies, he starts geeking so bad at the contents that she chokes on a mouthful laughing. He’s reclined on her bed, on his side, purely because the act has proved to be the source of an endless amount of entertainment in the form of her dad trying to be inconspicuous in his check-ups and failing horribly at it.

The mood takes an abrupt turn to the morose when she sighs and lets herself fall to lay beside him. He echoes her, laying the books in front of him, and starts tracing the cover absently with his fingers.

Lydia’s so adamant about seeing her today that she has to cancel her plans with Stiles and can’t give him her gift. She asks Allison to pick her up because she doesn’t have her car and throughout the whole lunch and subsequent afternoon, she is in one of her bitchy moods and seems to be making an impressive attempt to bankrupt her parents through retail therapy. However, let it never be said that Allison is a bad friend, so she soldiers through it. She gets that Lydia is most likely depressed about Jackson leaving after what they went through. Allison's waiting and trying to coax her into talking to her.

When she finally speaks it’s absolutely not what she expected to hear.

“Say what?“

“I took the last of my exams two weeks ago.” Lydia drops the bomb and Allison gapes. Lydia looks uncharacteristically uncomfortable but her eyes never leave Allison's. “I didn’t go to those lengths for Jackson to be stupid thousands and thousands of miles from here and get himself killed. I got confirmation from Oxford and Cambridge.” Allison is speechless at this point. “I’ve chosen Oxford and I’ve already shipped my things. I leave tomorrow,“ she finishes primly and then passes the brunette all the things she’s bought, as if to soften the blow.

And after that, to round out the day even more, on the way back after leaving Lydia at home, a terrified deer crashes into the windshield of her car, leaving it totaled.

Super.

“I’ll give you a ride to Lydia’s later if you want,“ Stiles offers breaking the silence, gaze still fixed on the cover where he is drumming his fingers.

“What for?” she returns, pursing her lips. “I already said my goodbyes yesterday.”

He hums and doesn’t pursue the topic. An hour later, when she changes her mind, he gets her in time to catch Lydia before she leaves. He waits leaning on the driver’s door, face carefully blank and closed off, as they tearfully say goodbye again. He doesn’t react when Lydia approaches him and awkwardly says thanks before getting into her mother’s car.

They spend the rest of the afternoon aggressively playing Black Ops at Stiles’ home and binge eating sweets until they’re almost sick. They don’t feel better by the time Chris comes to pick Allison up.

—

Stiles waits in front of the school for Allison to show up, leaning on his jeep. He offered to pick her up, but she declined, saying her father was driving her to school today. Against his own better judgment, he’s been subconsciously looking for Scott too, but so far he hasn’t showed up, nor has Isaac for that matter. Suspiciously enough, five minutes later Scott appears on his bike at the same time as Chris’ SUV rolls into the parking lot. He glares at Stiles when Allison makes a beeline for him and ignores Scott altogether. Stiles follows her example and brushes him off too, and he can feel the glare trying to burn holes into his back.

By the time fifth period rolls around, rumors are running rampant. They are so ridiculous that he’s been in a perpetual half-giggly, half-incredulous state since the second period ended. By now, Allison has rolled her eyes so many times that it’s a miracle she hasn’t strained something. She also has had that glint in her eyes that he has learned to recognize as her plotting for mischief tell since the funny and full of endless entertainment affair that was lunch.

Stiles wouldn't have thought it possible but the rumors double in amount in the five minutes leading to English class because Scott leaves. Especially since he rushes out with another glare at Stiles and a longing look at Allison, whom doesn't even notice because she's too busy sharing an almond bar with Stiles.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Blake, but I never turn off my phone,” Stiles tells her seriously when she tells them to do exactly that.

He always keeps his phone on because of his father and he’s not going to change that for an English class. Normally he would keep it on and not say anything, but it won't work in this case.

“You will have to if you want to take this class, though,” she answers sweetly but sharply at the same time.

Before he can argue his case, something slams into the window leaving a bloody imprint. A bad feeling creeps over him and he can feel his tattoos start to move across his skin with unrest. Ms. Blake approaches the window cautiously and Stiles does exactly the opposite, for some reason remembering Allison’s deer incident. Without thinking he reaches for her and finds her doing the same. They share a wary look as they spy the black dots quickly approaching. They pull each other towards the exit as the rest of the class approaches the windows curiously, but they never make it. Birds dive and slam into the windows and then into the students when they break through in a shower of crystal. Students scream and bat at the birds. Stiles pulls on Allison, Allison pulls on Stiles, and they make it to the teacher's desk and crawl under it for cover.

“Stiles? Stiles!” A voice finally penetrates his mind, when all the birds lie dead all over the classroom. At Allison’s wild eyed look, he recalls the ash back, praying no one noticed it. Some teachers rush in, having heard the commotion. “Stiles!”

He eyes his phone, breathing harsh and heart pounding wildly. He still has Allison under his arm, his hand covering her head protectively and her hands are fisting her own jacket, which she had used to cover them both, in a white knuckled grip. He distantly remembers hearing the phone ringing but doesn’t recollect taking the call at all.

“Peter?”

"Stiles..."

A moment later, there’s a ringing in his ears and he can’t breathe. Allison presses a bag into his hand and he tries to control his panic attack. And no. No, no, no. No, he doesn’t have time for this now, he has to get to the hospital. His father is hurt.

The moment he has himself more or less under control, he gets up to head to his jeep. Ms. Blake stops them and when he tries to explain that he has to get to the hospital now, she says she can’t let them drive in shock, that that’s an accident waiting to happen. He ignores her and tries to leave anyway. Allison follows him, both of their bags in her hands. When the woman actually steals his car keys from his hands, right there in the parking lot, Stiles is ready to commit murder. He snarls at her and she recoils aghast. Coach Finstock, of all people, steps in, taking the keys from her hand before she can even register his presence.

“Bilinski! Get in the car,” he bellows signaling to his own car before turning to Allison. “You too, but just because I know you’ll follow and I don’t want to deal with the problem of explaining to your father why they have to unstick you from the asphalt with a spatula.”

Stiles has never been more grateful to that asshole of a man as he is now. Finstock gets them to the hospital in record time and harasses the nurse until she gives them the information they need. Stiles almost sags with the relief he feels when he learns of his dad’s condition. Allison's arm is firmly hooked around his own and normally Stiles would recoil at the contact in a situation like this, but it feels wonderfully grounding.

They reach the waiting room and Peter is there, silently snarling at Derek, Isaac, Scott and Melissa. When Stiles spies the blood on the man’s clothes, it’s as if time stops and then, when it restarts, everything goes in slow motion.

“Thanks, Coach, I can take it from here,” he says, hearing his own voice as if it’s coming from underwater.

“You sure, Bilinski?”

“Yeah, I’m not alone. Thanks for driving me here.”

The man finally leaves after a moment of hesitation. He tosses the teen the keys to his jeep as he turns and Allison is the one to catch them when Stiles misses them. He accepts them from her with a thanks and pockets them. Stiles waits until he can’t see Finstock anymore before finally talking, his voice so cold that it burns.

“What. The. Hell. Happened.”

Derek frowns, Melissa and Isaac honest to god flinch and Scott recoils. None of them make to speak. Peter starts to explain but Derek interrupts with some bullshit about humans and danger. Allison bristles in fury and after checking there’s no one else in the waiting room, she tasers him into kingdom come. Peter looks reluctantly impressed. Everything descends into chaos and Stiles finally reaches his limit. He roars.

He gets his explanation.

The alpha pack are definitely a threat. They have Erica and Boyd and they nearly got Isaac, who escaped thanks to some mystery woman. In the middle of their escape they crossed his father, who was on duty investigating some calls about disturbances. He helped them get to the hospital. That was very early this morning.

Apparently, wounds made by alphas take time to heal, and that’s why Isaac got admitted. He asked to call for Derek, who didn’t answer his phone because he has lost it (Peter's face doesn't even twitch) and hasn’t bothered replacing it yet. Isaac also asked for Scott, but Melissa didn’t want to distract him and it took a while before she relented. This gave the alpha pack enough time to infiltrate the hospital to try to abduct Isaac and the mystery woman again, whom, by the way, has disappeared and not been seen ever since. His father caught them in the act and the only reason he wasn’t killed was because Derek and Peter appeared to save the day. Scott arrived in time to catch the tail end of it and prevent a second alpha from taking a drugged up Isaac with the help of Derek, while Peter gave his father first aid until the nurses and doctors rushed in.

When the explanation is done, Stiles has a moment in which his body and mind want to act in a million different ways. He wants to ragecryscreamhurtkill. His breath gets caught for a second before he deflates, suddenly exhausted. He sags in the chair beside Peter and Allison copies him, taking his hand.

Dad has only a flesh wound and a concussion, the only reason there’s so much blood is because they grazed his scalp, he has to remind himself before he panics one more time. The urge to do something drastic assaults him again with vengeance. Heart in his throat, he settles for squeezing Peter’s knee and Allison’s hand, and kicking everybody else out via implacably cutting barbs. Peter looks fascinated by his abrasive invective and Allison’s lips twitch despite the situation.

“Thanks for calling me,” he chokes out, settling a cold stare on Melissa as she leaves, which makes her flinch, “and for helping my father. That’s three, I suppose.”

“You get a discount just this once for being such a loyal customer. And because that cinnamon muffin was fantastic.” A strangled half-laugh, half-sob escapes Stiles. “Ah, before I forget, hang your phone up, sweetheart.”

“What?” he asks confused, his voice a little tremulous.

“Your phone. You never hung up.”

He fishes out the phone from his back pocket and, sure enough, the call is still active at thirty-four minutes, forty seconds and counting. He bites his lip, feeling ridiculously grateful about what Peter not ending the call implies, and hangs up.

He squeezes the man's knee again, takes a deep breath and waits for the permission to go to see his father.

(He's alive and just a little banged up, he reminds himself again.)

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[shesjustthinking]

Bus Boy

Okay, So here's the thing,

there's this guy at my school who catches the same bus as me to and from school. I started catching this bus about three years ago (in grade 9) and we didn't really talk that much, just kinda smiled at each other if we accidently made eye contact. One of my friends was really close to bus boy and another had a crush on him because their star signs were compatible. At the time I had the biggest crush on another guy who caught the same bus as us. And they were both friends. So when the guy I had a crush on caught the bus I would talk to him and by association the bus boy. Over the holidays I talked less to the guy I had a crush on and he got a girlfriend at the beginning of grade 10. I didn't really get over him that year. Meanwhile, I keep catching the bus once a week all through grade 10. Bus boy and I start waving at each other when he gets off the bus. (I discover later that he didn't like me at first, because I lived further away from school than him, lol). During grade 10, we'd converse over our mutual hate for another school that caught the same bus as us - pretty much just rolling our eyes at each other. Mostly it would just be small talk for a couple of minutes while we put our headphones in. Sometimes we'd chat for a bit during lunch as we had heaps of mutual friends.

Then in grade 11, I started catching the bus every morning and afternoon. In the morning we didn't talk whatsoever, we would just squint our eyes at each other in greeting. We shared two classes, Study and Biology, sometimes we'd talk for a little bit about that. Then one afternoon he started talking to me about a video he saw on instagram about robotic and glass eyes. We talked the whole bus ride home, I said goodbye to him instead of waving and he squinted his eyes at me in response. This continues on, we chat all afternoon. The guy I used to like sometimes catches the bus with us, we didn't pay him too much attention. I didn't really realise that I wasn't upset over him anymore. In the morning, bus boy gets off a stop before me with some of his friends I don't really talk too - while its quicker to school, it's a longer walking distance. I prefer waiting until the end of the line at the next stop as it's a shorter walk. One morning he didn't get off with his friends. Instead he got off at my stop and we walked into school together. This continues on all year and slowly but surely we become friends and I start looking for him at his bus stop in the morning rather than the guy I had a crush on in grade 9.

Skip forward a bit further into the year and I go out with two of my friends to lunch.

One of them asks, "What about bus boy? You guys are really close."

I skirt around it, "He's a really good friend."

Unsatisfied the other tells me, "He definitely likes you."

I respond, "that's nice of him" while stirring around my hot chocolate. (Wow go me, totally subtle, very cool about it *face palms*). Up until this point I hadn't really thought about him whatsoever in that way. He was a friend who I'd somehow conveniently slipped into my circle and set up camp. No romance whatsoever at this point. I just knew that I enjoyed talking to him. My friends let it go and I forget about it. Quite literally, I forgot this happened for a bit.

I invited my friends over for a thing at Easter. We ate cupcakes and played Mario cart. He rode his bike to my house and I hugged him goodbye on my front lawn.

Skip forward a little bit more, after we'd finished our last exam in term 3 our whole group decided to go for lunch. We went to get fish and chips. My friend had been telling me about these milkshakes across the road from the fish and chip shop, so naturally I wanted to try one. Bus guy, my milkshake friend, two of my other friends and me head over to the milkshake place. I got my milkshake with little hesitation, bus boy didn't he doesn't really like ice cream. My friends were being indecisive about if they wanted a milkshake or not. Bus boy told me that he needed to be getting home. I told my friends that we we're leaving to catch the bus home because neither me or bus boy wanted to catch the bus by ourselves if we didn't have to. One of my friends winked at me, one of them was annoyed we were leaving so early, the other said something along the lines of "You're leaving together? We'll that's nothing new."

Me and bus boy go home, he gets off at his stop I get off at mine. I remember what they said about him liking me and over analyse everything on the way home and then forget about it again.

That year I make him chocolate cupcakes for his birthday per his request. I was sick on his birthday and couldn't bring get them to him on his actual birthday. I gave them to him the next week and he was very thankful and bashful about it.

Fast forward to my birthday. I invite both my friends from high school and primary school. My two friends from primary school came over earlier to help set up and ask me about my friends who were coming over. I listed them all off and gave a bit of description. I got to bus boy and said, "We catch the bus to school together. He's my best friend." My friends got excited and started teasing me about it. When my friends from high school got to my house, my primary school friends asked them about bus boy. They collectively teased me about him. He arrived and shoved a box of chocolates in my face and said happy birthday. It was pretty funny. I'm fairly certain I went beet red.

We then had our semi-formal toward the end of the year. We spent most of the night chatting to each other.

At the end of the year, our group organised a picnic. I bought him a gift for Christmas and he got embarrassed that he didn't get me anything.

Fast forward to Grade 12. Year 12 started out crazy busy. He started working on Monday and Friday afternoons. My time got chewed up driving to school in the morning to try and get all my hours for my learners license. I began missing out on lunches attending meetings for leadership stuff. We didn't get to speak as much. About halfway through term everyone began talking about our upcoming formal, discussing dates and such ( and by upcoming, I mean four months away).

I went on a camping trip not long after this. My friends started talking about dates.

One of them said to one of the other girls there, "Well you have to come with me to formal because no ones going to ask me." And immediately I thought why am I not being included in this? Who's going to ask me? I must of made my confusion pretty obvious because that she said to me, "You're going to get snatched up by someone..." Again I thought who on earth is she talking about.

And then she says, "Bus boy".

While my brain is quietly exploding inside my head I respond timidly, "That's cute but I don't think he would ask me." Having known him pretty well, I continued "He hates asking people at the shops where stuff is, he's not going to ask me."

One of the other girls asked me, "If he asks you though will you say yes?"

Without thinking about it, I say, "Of course I would. I'll probably spend most of it talking to him anyway."  And then they spent the rest of the weekend teasing me about it.

I began to overthink every interaction I'd had with him, to figure out if he'd ask me and if I really want him too. I came to the conclusion that I would say yes if he asked me but continued to wonder if I should ask him first. I went back to school and everything was relatively normal. Me and bus boy didn't talk about formal. My friends continued to tease me about it. But I realised that something was up when the guy I used to have a crush on in grade 9 asked me, "Has bus boy asked you to formal yet?" 

I was positively confused, we barely talked anymore but he was asking me about this? I responded, "No he hasn't said anything. This is bus boy he's not going to. Have you mentioned it to him?" 

He then told me, "I've talked to him about it. I said that he should ask you. But (the girl who used to like him based on their star sign compatibility) was thinking about asking him too. Bus boy said he'd say no."

My friend who used to have a crush on him, asked me later at lunch, "I was going to ask bus boy to formal as friends but I think he'd be better off going with you..." 

Picking  up on her suggestive tone I asked, "You think as more than friends?"  

She responds "Well yeah, you talk to him a lot more than I do." I'm was confused by all off this sudden talk about bus boy that I went home and tell my mum. We had a bit of a laugh about it and she said, "I think he'll ask you."

In the middle of this, my primary school friend posted a snapchat about formal dates, and I responded saying that I can't wait to meet up and tell her about my tragic situation. We organised to meet up the week later with our other friend.

The next Tuesday, me and my friend got called away from lunch to do house captain things. When we got back to lunch, I ha only just sat back down, my friend hadn't even sat down yet before bus boy walked over to me and said "Will you go to formal with me as friends?" It kind of just spewed out of his mouth all of a sudden.

And I was SHOCKED. I didn't think he was going to ask me, and I had just sat down and it was so abrupt, and my face just went bright red and my heart just left the building and I just said "aww okay". He turned and walked away as soon as I'd said anything and I watched him walk towards his friends who began to tease him. I turned back towards my friends and said "we'll that happened" and they laughed at me and cooed.

One of them asked "Is that a yes?"

I just blushed deeper and said "yeah that's a yes". All of them were looking at me, and I was just so shocked.

Another one of my friends said something similar to, "I knew it. I knew he was going to ask you. I've been rooting for this since like grade 10." And I wasn't really thinking anything in my head. I was just trying to figure out if it had all really happened. When lunch ended he stormed off to his locker. My friend walking next to me said, "That was so cute. I'm so happy for you guys. You'll have to like match his tie to your dress and get a corsage and it's just so cute." I just laughed at her, to overwhelmed to respond properly.

That afternoon we caught the bus together and avoided talking about formal altogether. I smiled really big at him when I saw him and one of his friends who sometimes catches the bus (not the guy I had a crush on) tried to take a photo of us and put hearts around it. Bus boy got pretty embarrassed - it was pretty cute.

I told my mum Friday afternoon and she started teasing me about it too. (Some mother she is. I've never seen her resemble a teenage girls quite so much).

On that Friday, I told that whole story again to my primary school friends and they cooed at me and asked me if I liked him. I told them, "I don't want to get my hopes up in case it goes wrong. I'm going to feel it out first and then decide whether I should do something about it or not."

After all of that, me and bus boy still haven't talked about it very much. It feels as if we both know there's an elephant in the corner and we're not addressing it - just staring at each other more intensely than usual. We have started to talk more outside of school but that's about it. I want to talk to him about it but I feel like there's no way I can do it without saying that I'm infatuated with him. I want to talk about it in person but with no one else around to overhear. We're both very personal and pretty shy. I wouldn't want to make him uncomfortable. Every time I've come up with the dialogue and the scenario to start talking about it, I've lost the courage or we get torn away from each other by work or school or friends.

I'm over telling myself that I don't like him or that I can't be excited over the fact that he might be interested in me. I miss him when I'm not talking to him, I enjoy his company and it makes me feel pretty fantastic when I make him laugh so unexpectedly. Sometimes I wonder if he still gets off at that last stop in the morning and walks by himself into school or if he gets off with his friends.

I really like him, I'm fairly certain he likes me too but I just don't know how to tell him without fucking everything up. He's just the best.

This has been an emotional word vomit. I hope I don't regret this.

xx