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ohwereusingourmadeupnames · 4 years

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Shining Just Like Diamonds Do

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark (Starker) Rating: General (G) Word Count: 5k Notes: This gem started after I saw this post here. The idea of Peter being the person who hid an engagement ring in plain sight was too hard to pass up. Thanks to @goindownshipping & @starkerscoop for the final push in the right direction. Warnings: There aren’t any - this madness is pure fluffy goodness. Summary:

Peter buys an engagement ring on a whim - he’s ready for the next step, but lacks a plan. Instead of wasting brain bytes worrying about it, Peter makes a challenge out of it instead. The ‘how many ways can I hide a ring in plain sight’ game becomes a thing.

Or - Tony is oblivious and Peter takes advantage of it to be the cutest sneak out there.

Check out more of my writing here and read this story on AO3 here

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They met at a conference.

Peter loved getting to shed his professor title and get into the nitty gritty of engineering and the technological advances being made. In another life, he took a different route and didn’t end up in a classroom – but in this life, Peter got to escape from it to play with all of the cool tech in the name of continuing education.

That year, however, Peter was tasked as a keynote speaker for the nanobyte technology research he started to work on when Wakanda opened up its borders a few years prior. Being in direct contact with the brilliant Princess Shuri gave him lots of insight and many tangible examples of the technology – her brother’s Black Panther suit design amongst them. He loved his research and felt more than prepared to present upon it. Especially at such a big wig conference like the International Conference on Mechanical and Aerospace Engineering – all of the monumental names in the industry would be there.

It wasn’t often that Peter got to leave New York during the school year, so he relished the train ride into Boston without pulling his work laptop out once during the journey. He practiced his talk so many times that he’d been doing it in his sleep for the past few nights. Any more rehearsal seemed like overkill. Relaxing into the 1st class seat he splurged for instead, Peter took a long sip of the complimentary red wine. The welcome banquet started right around the time his train got in – so the harder stuff would need to wait.

When he got to the hotel, Peter made a quick pit-stop in his room to drop off his bag and change out of the suit trousers he started the day in. He bought a brand-new pair of black slacks for the occasion and planned to wear them to their fullest. Splashing some water on his face and undoing the first couple of buttons of his shirt, Peter slung his badge around his neck and headed down to the meeting room the banquet was in.

His sensitivity to crowds never seemed to dull over the years – as a 29-year-old, Peter should’ve been able to control the way too much stimulus affected him. That was not a success he could claim, however. It took several minutes to blend into the crowd and by the time he calmed down enough to fit into it, the line for the bar wasn’t even worth standing in.

He looked around to see if any of his fellow academics were in attendance and was stopped by a soft touch to his elbow. “Dr. Parker, it’s nice to see you here.” Natasha Romanov, the beautiful red head with a mouth like poison and wit so sharp, stood before him, a soft smile on her face. Peter shot her a swift look of gratitude, his own smile shaping his lips.

“We were research partners for 3 years, Nat – you can call me Peter,” he replied easily, his hand finding hers for a brisk shake. They did great work together during their time at Columbia – she specialized in Aeronautical and him in Mechanical – they were the perfect team when GE Aviation came knocking with an idea of how to minimize fuel costs down to the creation of the plane – parts and pieces included. The journey to his doctoral degree was a fun one, the many hours of work made tolerable by the woman in front of him.

“You’re right. The title never does get old, though – the blood, sweat, and tears to get it were pretty memorable, too.” Natasha smirked at him, her blood-red lips enhancing the look. “I saw your name on the itinerary – nanobyte technology, right?”

Not a single bit surprised by her knowledge, Peter nodded excitedly. “Correct. They even gave me the prime-time spot tomorrow night.” He grinned widely, his eyes lighting up at the look of excitement that crossed her face.

“You’re on your way up, Peter. I’m actually glad I caught you, there’s someone I’d like for you to meet,” Natasha said, her eyes moving past his face and over his shoulder. Trying not to look too stupid doing it, Peter turned slightly, his eyes settling on the beautiful brain that was Tony Stark. He turned back around and suddenly berated his choice of no tie – what kind of professional came to a dinner without a tie? The mini freak out ate up his time to make up an excuse, Nat was already calling the man over.

Slipping his hands into his pockets, Peter kept his eyes down until he felt Nat’s elbow press against his arm. “Tony, I want you to meet a former colleague of mine, Peter Parker. Peter, this is Tony Stark,” Natasha announced, her eyes burning into his.

Peter took a quick breath in, his hand slipping out between them in what he hoped was a casual manner. “Tony, it’s great to meet you,” Peter decided on, his eyes finally focusing on the other man. As expected, the tech guru was dressed in a fine 3-piece suit – the shirt and waistcoat both black to enhance the darkness of the ensemble. His pale skin balanced everything out – the well-kept facial hair adding a new and admittedly sexy element to the whole thing. It wasn’t enough to be incredibly intelligent, Tony Stark got to own the obnoxiously sexy title, too.

Tony grabbed his hand and gave it a firm shake – the callouses on his fingers way more developed than Peter expected them to be. He knew that Tony was the brain behind everything that Stark Industries created – Peter wasn’t aware that carried over to creation, too. It made sense, though – what sort of brain didn’t want to have their hands all over the thing stuck in their head? They locked eyes and something just clicked. Whatever it was, Peter couldn’t keep his mind off of it from that second on.

“Nice to meet you, Peter Parker. I saw your name in the keynote spot tomorrow night. I can’t wait to hear more about the nanobyte tech. I’ve been trying to get face time with King T’chala for years – he’s been surprisingly fussy,” Tony said in reply, his mouth moving gracefully through some of the petulant words coming out of his mouth.

It took everything in him to stop the spread of an amused smile – the only evidence of his true feelings reflected in the glow of his eyes. The similar look in Tony’s made him want to laugh even more. “He’s particular, that’s all. I flew out there last summer and met with Princess Shuri, the king’s sister – she’s smarter than you and I put together.”

As if those were the magic words, Peter and Tony spent most of the next couple of hours talking about Wakanda and it’s many attributes, the nanobytes and the technological advancements they could make, and most importantly – how much they were looking forward to playing with the new tech at the booths the next day. Peter was surprised by how nerdy Tony truly was, the man completely enraptured by the topic of particle physics and the latest coding programs being taught to the up and coming engineers of the future.

When the end of the function was upon them, Peter didn’t think twice about accepting the offer of a drink at the bar in the hotel. He felt a certain way and didn’t want it to end – whatever it actually was. A few of the others had the same idea and soon, there were many groups scattered around the bar – the conversation going like there was never a break in it to transfer venues.

A warm hand on his knee when they sat down behind the bar had Peter looking up, a shy smile overtaking his face. Tony looked at him for a moment, then returned the look – the darkness in his eyes highlighted by the low light they were sitting in. “What’s your poison?” Tony asked, his hand staying exactly where it was, the long fingers now cupping his patella.

“I’ll have a whiskey neat,” Peter answered immediately, his own hand landing on top of Tony’s. It wasn’t normal, the freedom he was giving himself in that moment. At the same time, it felt good to be a little reckless – he genuinely liked the things he was learning and wanted to at least see where getting to know Tony went. The fact that the older man turned his hand over and let their fingers slide together sent a tingle down his spine – the warmth of it sitting in his lower back, starting the pool of heat there with a jolt.

Shooting him a smile, Tony flagged down the bar tender and order their drinks – the efficiency in which he did it more than impressive. Tony pulled his credit card out to start the tab, the sharpness of the look sent in Peter’s direction enough for him to put his hand down and stop the reach for his own wallet.

“Tell me more about you, Pete – there’s got to be stuff outside the nanobytes,” Tony said, breaking the comfortable silence they found themselves in.

“There is a lot of stuff outside of nanobytes. I have a beautiful golden retriever named Marla – she’s an agility dog, so we spend a lot of time at the training complex. I’m a New York native, so I spend a lot of time heading to the little hidden gems I’ve found over the years – food spots and little record stores. My most hidden talent, though – is caricature.” Peter paused then, his eyes turning to take in Tony’s reaction.

It was well worth it, too – Tony’s eyes bulged, his cheeks crinkled at the corners – his smile wide. “Caricature? There’s got to be a story behind that,” Tony muttered through a laugh, the free hand that was fiddling with the rim of his glass coming up to swipe at the rogue laugh-tear threatening to spill from his eyes.

“I spent every summer of my undergraduate college years working at Coney Island. The research assistant job I had on campus didn’t pay enough to make rent – so I rode out to the island on the days I didn’t work in the lab to draw families and couples in the silliest fashion I could.” Peter smiled at the memory, his chest warm from the recollection and the alcohol settling in his system. “What about you? Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist – that’s quite the resume.”

A swift feeling of satisfaction rolled over him when the skin of Tony’s cheeks and neck colored, the pale skin there taking on a reddish hue – the blush absolutely divine. “And exaggerated. I’m a pretty big nerd that gets to tinker for a living. The playboy lifestyle went out the window a long time ago,” Tony replied, his eyes moving down to the lock of their hands still resting lightly against Peter’s leg. “I would’ve taken you to bed by now if it hadn’t.”

Though Peter didn’t comment on Tony’s admission, the fact remained between them for the rest of the night. He couldn’t deny that the very thought passed across his own mind a time or two throughout the conversation, and when they headed back to their rooms, Peter gave Tony the go ahead. Yet, he wasn’t surprised by the fact that Tony didn’t take it – his denial seemed to be more about the principal of it than anything else.

Not wanting to leave himself hanging, Peter let his hands linger on Tony’s sides when the older man pulled him in for a hug. Peter dug his fingers into Tony’s trim flanks, the grip just enough to keep Tony exactly where he was. Leaning in, Peter was not disappointed when Tony took the remaining space and met him in the briefest of kisses. The remnants of expensive whiskey and something that could only be classified as Tony sat on his lip, the taste a constant reminder of what a little more time and effort possibly held for him.

----

4 years later, Peter still liked to remember the hurried blow job Tony gave him five minutes after his speech the next night, the obscenity of 2 highly sought-after professionals locked in a bathroom stall together making the moment even more powerful. Tony wasn’t subtle in the way he practically dragged Peter with him towards the men’s room, his eyes were completely overtaken by dark pupils, a sharp look of lust there for anyone to see. Tony muttered endlessly about Peter’s brain and sucked him down with a skill that he still couldn’t describe.

The last night of the conference was spent in the confines of Tony’s room and the next day in the back of the private car that Tony ushered him into without asking about the train tickets that Peter willingly let go to waste. Happy, who took his bag with a knowing look and a stiff nod, turned up the music and made no noise for the rest of the drive from Boston back into the city.

It was easy to get lost in Tony after that. He appreciated Peter’s work and genuinely wanted to help in whatever way he could. Peter tested that theory out and prompted Tony to come and talk with all 5 sections of his coding class – he not only showed up but put on an amazing presentation for the kids that were already looking up at him with dreamy eyes. By the end of the 5th one, Peter was pretty over the moon, too. Tony’s comment about Peter’s brain made a lot of sense after seeing his lover in action – there was something about a handsome man with expertise that really got him going.

In the same way their brains were compatible, their interests lined up, too. Tony was adamant that they take a weekly trip to Coney Island when it was possible and joined Peter for his random walks around the city – the new food places all of the sudden taking on a different look after introducing his favorite person to them. Peter found himself making room for Tony in his life without much of a thought – there wasn’t any reason not to. Since the day they met, they were inseparable.

Which quickly became apparent when Tony asked him to move in before they were together a whole year. Peter was flipping his famous candied bacon with a pair of tongs when Tony saddled up next to him, a peculiar look on his face. “Why don’t you move in? I like having you here, you look good exactly where you are – you’re always over. I can get a key made right now,” Tony babbled, his affinity for speaking while all the words were ripe on his tongue a thing Peter loved the most about him.

The grin that overtook his face hurt a little, the muscles in his cheeks not ready for the intensity of it. “I could get behind that.” Peter spoke nonchalantly, but his hands were shaking, the move obvious in the quake of the tongs in his hands. It would be the perfect time to admit that he was thinking the same thing – he craved the coziness of Tony’s penthouse when he wasn’t around, the man’s presence engrained in every inch of the place.

Peter spent most of his adult years on his own with very little interest in accumulating things, so the transition into the penthouse was pretty seamless – it took them 2 trips across the city to get all of his stuff and another few hours to get it all adjusted into the nooks and crannies that seemed to be there waiting for Peter. Christening every square inch of the place was the best part – Tony took great joy in introducing him to all the different surfaces that Peter looked absolutely divine bent over and pressed against.

Happiness that flowed so easily between them made the rest of that 1st year together fly by. As did their 2nd, 3rd, and 4th years together – May always told him not to blink; and now he understood why. Without really knowing it, or giving time his permission to do so, life with Tony sped by. There was so much contentment and ease in their relationship that dates didn’t seem to matter – being with Tony every day felt like something to celebrate. The thought might be cheesy, but the genuine nature of it reigned supreme – Peter didn’t mind the fluff when it came with a Tony attached.

Which is why Peter didn’t feel a single bit odd wandering into a a jewelry store after a rare afternoon without his other half. Despite loving Peter for everything he was, Tony still didn’t like to spend an abundance of time with May and sent him on his own to the bi-weekly lunches his aunt still insisted upon. Though telling Tony was out of the question, Peter cherished the separation – it was nice to have a reason to miss his partner in crime. Shaking his head of the thought, Peter sucked in a deep breath when he was immediately tracked down by one of the workers in the store – his presence a possible commission for whoever got to him first.

Like all things with Tony, Peter didn’t struggle to find the perfect ring for his boyfriend. In the years of knowing him, Peter knew that Tony wore lots of black to contrast his pale complexion. The rich darkness of the tungsten of the simple band would look so good against the creamy white porcelain of Tony’s skin. Despite the dagger of a price, Peter instinctually knew it was the marker Tony deserved – the ring a simplistic, yet complex beauty; not unlike the man himself.

And though he found the perfect ring, Peter never actually meant to slap down the black credit card he carried in his pocket for impulse purchases such as that very one. His eyes bulged with reluctant acceptance at the price, long fingers wrapped delicately around the bag the woman behind the counter slipped the box into, and when he walked into the street, Peter smiled to himself – he didn’t walk into that building with a plan, and still didn’t have one; but, he was one step closer to having Tony Stark as a permanent fixture in his life for all the years to come.

Peter assumed an idea of how to propose to Tony would just pop into his head. When it didn’t in the 20-minute walk back to the office, Peter felt a little miffed. Most things were so simple, especially where Tony was concerned. Yet, a suitable idea didn’t come to him, no matter how hard he thought and willed it into existence. Tony deserved absolute perfection – Peter knew that from the second they met. Striving for anything less in this situation just wouldn’t do.

In an attempt to jumpstart his brain, Peter started carrying the ring box in his pocket. If pre-planning didn’t work, maybe spontaneity would. Trying to force himself into a bubble never worked before – why he ever thought it could for something so important seemed a little silly. Peter worked the best when he was relaxed and stress-free. Proposing felt stressful enough, tacking on a precise plan of attack only added to it.

For the first few days of his plan, Peter worried that Tony might catch on. Not every pair of pants let the box rest peacefully against his leg – the very first day he decided to start carrying it with him, Tony tried to feel him up in the elevator and almost palmed the velvet box instead of his rapidly stiffening erection. A swift move of his hips into Tony’s was the only thing that saved him.

As the days went by, Peter found it easier to keep the secret and quietly delighted at the fact that Tony genuinely didn’t have a clue. The damn thing was right under his nose most of the time – so much so that Peter found himself wanting to test fate even further. If Tony really wasn’t paying attention, Peter wondered how many times he could set the ring out in front of the man without him noticing. Blinking, Peter pulled in a deep breath and let the rightness of that plan settle over him. He wanted creativity and perfection – a little game seemed like the perfect way to achieve both of those things.

His first attempt at it was very minimal. They were sitting in the kitchen preparing dinner together – the whole scene insanely domestic. A rush of want crept up into Peter’s chest and sat there, taunting him to pull the ring box out. He stuffed his hand into his pocket as quietly as he could, the top of the box making the slightest bit of sound when he pulled it open. Looking up, he smiled to himself; Tony was completely occupied, carried away by the oldies rock on the radio and the sizzling warmth on the stove. In the picture, Tony’s hips were swaying, the movement tangible in the blur of his figure.

From there, Peter got a little friskier about it. He took one when they were sitting together on the couch, his back against Tony’s chest, the man’s hair spread out on Peter’s shoulder as they watched TV. The next was in bed later that night, the ring between their bodies while Tony snored obliviously. Peter saved each of the new snaps into their own folder and spent several minutes after taking each one cooing over the cuteness of Tony’s naivety. There weren’t many moments when Tony didn’t know exactly what was going on. Peter allowed himself to revel on the few he crafted.

There were several more encounters of oblivious Tony over the next couple of weeks. Peter planned a picnic and let the box sit in the collection of goodies on the blanket for what seemed like hours before picking it up and storing it in his pocket again. He pulled it out when they were sitting in the drive-thru line at McDonald’s and shared a laugh with the young girl behind the window when Tony went about his business, despite the open box showcasing a shiny black ring right by his face. Peter shot her a wink, the girl’s smile in the photo one of the best mementos of the experience yet.

Just as Peter figured, the perfect opportunity came during one of their many treks out to Coney Island. In the span of the last week, Peter put the actual ring in Tony’s hand while he was sleeping, left the box open on his lab table, and let it sit in Tony’s briefcase all the way from their office into the house. The idea of getting away with his ploy made that finale that much more important. He played with fire enough – it was finally time to make Tony his.

Getting out of Happy’s car, Peter pulled them towards the teacups – Tony’s favorite ride on the island, despite the dizziness it brought them both for the rest of their trip. He wanted Tony disoriented – it was an important part of Peter’s plan finally coming to fruition. Since they were a little earlier than usual, the lines weren’t long, so they were able to ride the cups twice before the idea of waiting became a thing.

Antsy now, Peter pushed through the spin in his head and led Tony over towards his old station. Despite the fact that more than 10 years passed since his job there, artist alley was in the same place – the easels there the same ones he spent hot summer days behind. His eyes met MJ, who made a guest appearance in her old spot for the occasion. Tony knew enough about her to know about their connection, but not enough to put all of the pieces together.

Peter took his seat first, his part of the picture already complete – the rough draft of it sitting on his art counter at home, the design one he sent to MJ that very morning. He sketched himself kneeling on one knee in the mirror twice before it was exactly how he wanted it.

She went through the motions, however – Tony’s nosiness needed to be assuaged while he stood there, waiting impatiently for his turn. Wiggling his eyebrows, Peter relaxed into the chair and let the anticipation build – the ending of his game was quickly spiraling towards them.

It took another 20 minutes for MJ to finish up whatever she drew of Peter and the two of them to switch chairs – Tony’s excited smile making it super difficult not to just drop down on one knee right then and there. Instead, he watched with a huge smile as MJ went about finishing the actual picture she’d be presenting at the end of their little modeling session. Peter crouched down and let his eyes move with the brush of her hand – the sight of the art becoming exactly what he pictured exhilarating, better than the game of chase the last few weeks provided.

With the last flick of her wrist, MJ finished their portrait, her eyes narrowing into the smoothest wink – her immense coolness still a thing after so many years. Grinning in her direction, Peter got up, his heart slamming against his chest. The distraction of MJ’s “do you want to see it?” proved to be enough for Peter to get into position on one knee – Tony’s attention was on the end result completely, his ability to focus so singularly such a gift in that moment.

The soft inhale of air was the only sign Peter got before Tony was looking in his direction, whiskey-smooth eyes glued to him. “Pete?” Tony whispered, his head tilting ever so slightly. The expression never ceased to drive Peter crazy, Tony’s cuteness pulling a soft smile across his own lips.

“I bought this thing weeks ago. When I saw the jeweler on my way home from lunch with May and couldn’t stop myself. It didn’t have any intention of actually getting anything – but here we are. I spent way too many brain bytes wondering how the hell I’d pull off this insane proposal – you’re the personification of all things good and perfect, our first step towards forever needed to be exactly that,” Peter stopped a second, his fingers readjusting the box in his hand. “I finally figured out that there would never be a perfect way, because the perfection is you and the promise of forever, not the proposal or even the question itself.”

As he spoke, Tony moved a little closer to him, his face split into the biggest grin Peter recalled ever seeing. Reaching out, Peter grabbed his hand, their fingers tangling together. “There’s not a better person in this world to spend the rest of my days with. Your brain is marvelous and gives way to the biggest heart I’ve had the pleasure of knowing. Time with you flashes by like the recollection of beautiful memories. It’s exquisite, really – the consuming way love resides in us. There’s no forever without you. Not when my heart beats for you and my thoughts exist in hopes of melding with yours.” Peter looked up; his eyes wet with unshed tears. “Marry me, Tony.”

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Hours later, Peter spent the entire drive back into the city with his hand covering Tony’s possessively, the coolness of the ring on his finger the best reminder of what just happened. After Tony mumbled a soft ‘yes’, he pulled Peter onto his feet, strong arms wrapping around his neck to pull him into a hard kiss. A soft throat clearing pulled them away from each other a few moments later, MJ’s smiling face meeting them when reality came crashing back. “You two are so sickeningly cute. Congrats, guys,” MJ said, the smile on her face a smooth juxtaposition to her sassy words. Peter shot her a wink, his hands already moving to pull Tony close again.

Between getting the ring on Tony’s finger and making sure their caricature made it off the island with them, Peter got lost in the next couple of hours. They wandered around for a little while before Tony’s demanding hands and tantalizing ideas whispered against Peter’s ear were a little too much. Peter led them back to the Bentley before the idea of the dirty boardwalk underneath them became a good one.

In their fumbling to get to the car, Peter started to describe the whole proposal process to Tony – the whole thing a desperate attempt to distract himself from the boiling attraction that always threatened to consume him. He talked about all of the different places he hid the ring, all the obvious times he let the damn thing rest right under Tony’s nose – each description of the past month’s events making it easier to lean into his fiancé’s warmth without the sizzle of arousal consuming him.

Settling into the back seat of the car, Peter took out his phone, the file of photos opening easily after weeks of navigating to that very spot time and time again. Going through them with Tony made each one feel a bit more special, the other’s reaction and surprise bringing the memory to the forefront, crystalizing its beauty with a whole new coat of affection.

“I can’t believe I didn’t notice. The ring is sitting in the palm of my hand in this one,” Tony remarked, his eyes flashing with amusement as he made the picture bigger, his fingers toggling on the screen. “Oblivious was never a word I’d use to describe myself.” He turned then, his hand finding Peter’s cheek. “Until now. Thank you for this, Pete. The whole thing – it’s gorgeous.”

Their lips met in a soft kiss – the genuine nature of Tony’s words alive in his warmth and attention. Tony’s singular focus on Peter felt like a rainstorm – intense and all consuming, rowdy in the eye of it. The subtle press and pull went on the rest of the drive, Tony’s lips only leaving Peter’s when oxygen became a necessity – they shared breaths when they could and separated mere inches when they couldn’t.

Both knew they didn’t need to rush – that seconds and minutes were no longer a factor.

Forever was an awfully long time.

#starker #ironspider #bobbie writes #shining just like diamonds do

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rosesforshego · 4 years

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𝓘𝓯 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓒𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓜𝔂 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓭, 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 8: ᴍɪᴅᴅᴀʏ ꜱɴᴀᴄᴋ

August 29th, 6:30 am.

Drew paced through the vacant halls of Middleton High with a thin piece of stick paper between his fingertips. Awaiting his coworker’s arrival, he occupied his mind with what he had planned for the day ahead—experiments, meetings, and slowly working his way through the lab reports stacked upon his desk at home. But what he anticipated the most was not for the surface of his desk to bask in the light of day once more, it was for his lunch period.

Lunch was the time of day where Drew felt the tension in his shoulders melt into the air of his classroom. Savoring each bite of the sandwich he made the night prior, he could indulge in the wonders of his life that often kept the gears within his mind turning. This was the time in the school day where he truly felt peace and, though his bundle of nerves ate away at him, he felt it was time to share that peace with another.

When Drew learned that Sheila shared the same lunch period as him, he was ecstatic. Finally, a colleague that he enjoyed conversing with had the same time off as him. It was a blessing for the lonesome Drew Lipsky. All he had to do was ask her to join him and he’d be golden.

But, therein lies the problem: Drew, himself, was too chicken to ask. Instead, he fell back upon what was familiar—passing notes. . . like school children. The note between his fingers slipped further into the crevices, descending to his palm. There was the off chance that she’d reject his offer, but it was less painful for her to simply not appear than to say no straight to his pleading eyes.

He continued his journey through the windy corridors of the school, noting the excellent work he and his colleagues had done to liven up the blank walls. Colorful posters hung with pride as the teachers wished a good school year upon the students who passed the signs. It was the least they could do to comfort the in-coming freshmen.

The cluster of posters dwindled as the wall quickly approached a large set of lockers. He drew closer to the metal that would horribly clank as each door slammed shut for the day. Oh, how he despised that sound—it would ring in his ears for minutes after the clamor subsided. He never liked to be out in the halls with the students for that reason, and that reason alone. Otherwise, he didn’t mind the crowd. He easily slipped past groups of students—some of which stopped to engage in a friendly conversation with their chemistry teacher—as he made his way to his distant destination. He enjoyed the aura of familiarity the chaotic hall brought. Maybe it was the years of experience with Middleton High that made the sea of students bring a smile to his face.

He gazed at the lockers, each bleeding into the last as they sat with conformity—the only aspect about them changing was the number displayed by each lock. Quietly, his eyes trailed to locker 134. He smiled.

This locker, in particular, belonged to his niece, who he loved dearly.

Only a few days into the school year and Kim Possible had adjusted to the life of a high schooler with ease. She effortlessly was asked to join the cheer squad, she had already started to indulge in other extra-curricular activities, and she was on a one-way track to academic stardom—all while saving the world from ravenous villains who, in Drew’s opinion, should have no reason to be so involved in his niece’s life.

As sad as it was for Drew to see the light of his life mature with such intensity, he was proud of her—of the woman she was becoming.

A few lockers down the hall stood Ron’s. As Drew approached it, his elated smile settled into a faint frown. Ron, too, attempted to make the adjustment to the new lifestyle, but it seemed as if the world was out to get him. Picked on, teased, pushed through the crowd, Ron was thrown around the halls of Middleton High like a ragdoll. He was even banned from entering D Hall by a group of delinquent students who have been hunting him since preschool.

Drew shook his head at the thought. When will the pettiness end?

The burdens Ron brought with him were hard to shake from his shoulders, no matter how hard he tried.

Drew quietly brushed his fingertips against the cool metal. Within the half-hour, this particular locker would signify its life with a piercing squeak that Drew could audibly hear within his mind. Ron would haphazardly stuff his unnecessary belongings into the metal walls, along with Rufus, who loved to use Ron’s locker as his personal home, then go about his business as if he didn’t have a care in the world—ignorant to the atrocities that plagued his social life at the hands of students who thought of him as lesser.

But Drew knew.

Drew knew the deep hardships Ron faced and he understood why Ron decided to place his best-foot-forward. It stopped him from indulging in the pain.

Drew wished he was like Ron Stoppable.

A short, faint sigh escaped his parted lips as he reluctantly removed his fingers from Ron’s locker. Drew, despite himself, hoped that this day would be different—less demeaning—for both of them. But Drew knew that he could scream his soul’s most urgent wishes and the world would respond by spitting in his face.

He shook his head to rid the thought. No. He must battle his pessimistic, cynical mind—swallow the horrid thoughts before they consumed the little seedlings of hope he had left. It was all he had, and he was not going to let the world strip him, or Ron, of that luxury.

Drew continued his journey through the corridors, collecting crumpled papers and gum wrappers, filling empty garbage bins with discarded litter—the reports that should have been brought home to mothers and fathers. Along his route, he closed a few lockers that were left neglected after the shrill bell sounded off at two-thirty the day prior.

“How could they be so careless?” he muttered through gritted teeth.

The belongings, that were nearly left out in the open, begged to be stolen. But, really, what of the few contents that were left within the confines of the four walls held value? Drew knew how much those damn chemistry textbooks cost, but the students didn’t care.

He let an incoherent grumble rumble in his throat, slipping past his neutral demeanor.

All he held was a simple wish: for the week to be over.

“Two more days, Drew,” he whispered, hoping that the sound of his voice would give him the support he craved, “just two more days.”

His fingers fidgeted, sliding the note between them as he conducted his second lap through the halls. As his watch ticked dangerously close to six forty-five, Drew hovered by the grand entrance to the school in anticipation for the arrival of the woman he sought after. All he wanted was to pass the short message to her; a little meet me in my room for lunch, nothing more. He figured that their shared lunch period would be ample time to discover more about each other over some delectable, homemade sandwiches, stuffed with deli-meats—if that’s what she liked to eat.

A faint hum rumbled within his chest. Sure, she accepted his peace offering of half a ham and cheese sandwich a few days prior, but he couldn’t help but let his mind wander, conjuring the many possibilities as to what made her taste buds sing. Peanut butter and jelly? Nah, too bland. Sheila seemed to be the adventurous type—peanut butter and jelly must bore her.

Frozen dinner? Soup? Leftovers? The options that Drew naturally found himself drawn to were too ordinary for such an extraordinary woman. Though, as his mind spun with various unimportant answers to his silent question, Drew understood next-to-nothing about her personal life—a life full of rich experiences that were encased in a thick, mysterious aura that remained impenetrable by Drew’s defenses.

He pondered for a moment. Maybe he could take advantage of her vulnerability while she ate. . . whatever it was she ate for lunch. With her guard down, there would be the opportunity for his pervasive questions to slip past that aura—

“Drew?”

His head snapped in the direction of his name, carried through the silence by a sweet, supple voice.

“Sheila?”

She chuckled, her mahogany glove covered her lips to muffle its intensity, “You look lost.”

“Oh, erm—” what the hell was he supposed to say? Sorry, just speculating about your eating habits? He bit his lip. He had to lie. He could not tell her the truth. That would be embarrassing.

“I arrived early for a meeting—”

Bullshit. He nearly winced at the booming voice within his head.

“—and had some time to spare. So, I decided to take a little stroll.”

“Mmmm,” Sheila hummed, crossing his field of vision to rest upon the wall beside him, “enjoying the scenery?”

“Not particularly,” he admitted, “you would not believe the amount of garbage I’ve collected today.”

Sheila raised an eyebrow, her teeth chewing on the corners of her uncovered bottom lip, scraping dead skin, “Since when did you join the janitorial staff?”

“Give them a break,” he responded, a little quicker than Sheila had expected, “they’re overworked.”

“Aren’t we all?”

Drew’s first reaction was to verbally agree with her statement—maybe dive into a long conversation about how exhausted this week from Hell had made him, but, before he could open his mouth, his attention quietly fixated on the shimmering green of Sheila’s eyes. Once full of a youthful spark, her irises faded into a dull and diluted emerald, shadowed by the semi-dark circles that appeared under her eyelids. Upon closer inspection, Drew’s gaze followed her protruding, strong cheekbones that led to folds that rested beside the corners of her frowning mouth.

Concerned, Drew felt his thoughts resurge in a chaotic tizzy. Was she sleeping? Eating? Stressed? Day four into her new job and she started to look a little worse for wear.

His worry seized control of his heart, causing each beat to strike a nasty, piercing pain into his ribs.

Drew opened his mouth. He desperately wanted to ask if there was anything he could do to ease the distraught nerves that consumed her, but he quickly closed it before the words managed to emerge from his throat. As fascinated, nearly infatuated, as he was with the woman who stood before him, he knew next-to-nothing about her. The last thing he wanted to do was to scare her away with his obsessive compassion.

Instead, he brought the note in his hand into the shared space between them.

“Speaking of, I have to get ready for class,” he said, reluctantly—his eyes downcast onto the yellow paper in his hand, “But I wanted to pass this along.”

He gently placed the note, covered in crude penmanship, on top of the books she held within her arms.

“A note—?”

“See you later.”

Without uttering another word, Drew Lipsky’s slender legs quickly carried him through the hall. He turned the corner and vanished before a dumbstruck Sheila could respond—a pleasantly unexpected note within her possession.

♥♡♥

12:20 pm.

Sheila found herself in quite the compromising position. One hand braced against the vending machine, the other forcefully inside the metal retrieval box, she looked like a crook that she had thwarted ten years prior. Though looking back on the situation, the man just needed a bite to eat—it was rather unfair for her and her brothers to throw that poor man in prison. She snickered under her breath as her arm snaked its way towards the goods that laid beneath the glass, desperately clawing at foiled bags to reach the Doritos, that she paid for. They were stuck on the top shelf.

A bite to eat. She remembered the sickly feeling in the pit of her stomach as she watched the man behind bars. Henry told her it was for the good of the city—men like him commit one, simple crime, then become addicted to the life of a criminal. She believed him.

If only he could see her now.

Her starved mind (and stomach), as idiotic as it was, truly believed for a brief moment that she could reach the top shelf from the depths of the machine. She peered up at the goods displayed before her as she stretched her arm to uncomfortable lengths, not even coming close to the Doritos that clung to its metal coil for dear life.

Sheila started to believe that her brilliant plan was never going to work.

Regardless, she continued to rake her hand through whatever snacks she could grasp to bring herself closer to the prize that was rudely taken from her. She was a good citizen—refused to steal food that she didn’t pay for—so she neglected the package of fruit snacks that tauntingly brushed against her exposed arm.

A good citizen with her hand stuck in a vending machine.

A good citizen, my ass.

If she wasn’t in the Middleton High teachers’ lounge, with the possibility to be surrounded by her coworkers within mere seconds, she would’ve let the few tears of frustration slip from the pools in her eyes.

“Sheila?”

She winced.

Great. He always had to barge in when she was most vulnerable, didn’t he?

“Uhh,” Drew stuttered, forcibly grabbing whatever words swam in his mind as fast as he could to stop the silence from growing between them, “bad timing?”

She reluctantly turned to face him, her hand still deep within the machine, “Y’think?”

The crack in her voice alerted him, but he didn’t mention it out of respect for her dignity. Instead, he moved closer, closing the large gap between them as Sheila’s eyes grew wide with terror.

She tried to open her mouth, but her jaw refused to relinquish its control. So, she screamed within her mind—her perceived voice sending shockwaves of pain as it pierced her thoughts, ordering Drew to stay away, to turn around, to leave her so she could wallow in her defeat. Unfortunately, Drew, as intelligent as he was, could not read minds. He could barely pick up on obvious social cues. Sheila’s pleas were left unheard as he descended to her eye-level—her gaze caught within the deadly web of his piercing, wandering eyes, laced with confusion towards her criminal-like position. She dared not utter a word and turned back to the sight of her gloved fingers grasping at the coils of the machine, climbing the rungs until she ran out of arm.

She had escaped him. . . but not for long.

“What are you doing?”

Elbow deep in her new lover, Sheila pointed her free hand towards the bag that clung onto its tight, metal coil, “Trying to reach those chips.”

A brief chuckle escaped his lips and hovered in the still air between them. It would be rude of him to say he found amusement in the awfully compromising scene before him, so he didn’t, but that damned chuckle only deepened Sheila’s frown. How dare he make a mockery of her predicament.

“And your genius plan was to grab them from all the way down here?”

The lids of his eyes laid heavily across his irises as he looked down at her form. He held his position steady over her—a sense of authority as if he had the high ground in a situation that he should not be a part of in the first place. Sheila squirmed, uncomfortable under his gaze—one that displayed a hint of playful jest that, somehow, brought ease to Sheila’s mind, despite her seemingly criminal actions.

A smile broke through his thin lips and Sheila couldn’t help but reciprocate. She shook her head, the curls of her hair brushed against her shoulders as her eyes rolled away from his and to her elbow that was jammed in the metal. Drew’s trailing eyes followed her lips as she turned away. There was something charming about her. A charm that kept him awake at night—his thoughts plagued with her smile.

“Shaking it didn’t work,” she admitted, hoping that Drew would understand her justification for this particular predicament.

“Clearly.”

She huffed. In her sporadic attempt to continue her moronic plan, she was left ill-prepared for his comeback.

Drew receded from Sheila’s personal space and lifted his frame off the floor. With a grunt, he stretched, cracking his spine to alleviate the tension built between his bones. Sheila eyed him, curiously, as she watched his face morph from its euphoric twists into a clam, calculated state. He stepped around her, careful to leave her untouched, and placed himself beside the machine. He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, quick to retrieve a few bucks before Sheila could protest.

To his dismay, she caught onto his plan, “Oh, no, you don’t have to—”

“Why do you want these, anyway?” he asked, disallowing her protest to continue. His greatest weapon against her was to fill the conversation with his curiosity.

He slipped a few dollars into the machine, “You know how bad these are for you, right?”

“I’m hungry.”

The coil turned, dropping the chips onto Sheila’s arm. She winced as the sharp edge of the bag collided with her skin. It stung but made no mark with its departure. She carefully dislodged her throbbing arm from its position and grabbed the bag that rested within the retrieval.

Horrified, Drew’s mind spun with the possible outlook on her impoverished life that she, unknowingly, admitted to.

Was this all she had?

“Please don’t tell me that this is your lunch.”

“No,” she stated as she pulled herself off of the floor.

Drew nearly sighed in relief. Sometimes, he didn’t mind when his mind was wrong if it meant that Sheila was nourished.

After all, maybe she just needed an extra something to go with her—

“It’s my midday snack.”

Drew furrowed his brows. His mind is never wrong. He should’ve known.

“So, lunch.”

“No, lunch is a meal.”

Drew would’ve laughed if he wasn’t so concerned for her well-being. He shook his head, maintaining a small smile to ease Sheila’s nerves, which did nothing to settle his own.

Sheila left the vicinity of the vending machine to grab her bag that perched on a nearby chair. Carefully, the strap wrapped around her shoulder, ready to depart from the teachers’ lounge and embark on the short journey to Drew’s classroom. She wasn’t going to ignore his pleasant invitation.

With a silent understanding, Drew dropped the subject and opened the door, motioning for Sheila to follow. She did, obediently—ready to leave the machine and its wicked ways behind, never wanting to be seen with her arm inside of it again.

Drew was the first to break the still silence that fell upon them.

“Do you think the school’s going to reimburse me for the two dollars I spend on those chips?”

Sheila rolled her eyes. Her hand collided with the side of his arm in a playful slap that caused Drew to recoil beneath her touch. His smile widened; a faint laugh encouraged her playful nature as she settled into the comfort of his aura—the tip of her shoulder brushing against his arm.

“No, but they better reimburse me! I need those two bucks back.”

#dr drakken #drakken #drew lipsky #shego #miss go #sheila goodwin #drakgo #kim possible #kp fanfiction #drakgo fanfiction #if you could read my mind love #iycrmml #iycrmml update

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jacobsvoice · 3 years

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Israel in Memory

As a 15-year-old I made my peace with the reality that I would not follow my cousin Hank Greenberg to baseball stardom. I chose the next-best alternative: I would become a sportswriter. But by the time I graduated from college I had relinquished that ambition for law school, imagining that I would eventually argue cases before the Supreme Court. Dulled by courses on torts, contracts, and civil procedure, I quickly realized my mistake. But I needed to remain a student to elude the military draft. Inspired years earlier by Bruce Catton’s Civil War trilogy, I decided to become a historian. So, I learned how to remember the past.

Perhaps in retribution, I eventually turned my scholarly attention to the legal profession. When Unequal Justice, my history of its contribution to the separation of law from justice, received front-page praise in The New York Times Sunday Book Review, I felt vindicated — and liberated. Leaving law and lawyers behind, I was free to pursue a different path.

That path emerged after a chance encounter with a friend who recommended a recent trip to Israel for disaffected Jewish academics sponsored by the American Jewish Committee. I knew that I was qualified; so did the Committee. It became the transformative experience of my life. Fascinated by Israel, which touched who I was as a Jew as nothing else had done, I applied for, and received, a Fulbright professorship at Tel Aviv University. But I knew enough from the wondrous excitement of my earlier visit to make my home in Jerusalem.

It was a year of discovery, not only in Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, and the Judaean desert, but in myself. In December, after a day-long bus ride with my family on a Hanukkah group trip to Sinai, we finally reached our destination. As we searched in the dark for our baggage, the yeshiva students among us unfolded a table, unpacked their menorah, and called everyone to participate in the lighting of the first candle. As they led us in singing Maoz Tzur, I felt that a spark had been ignited, not only in the hanukkiah but in me.

Retracing the journey of the ancient Israelites from Egypt to the promised land, we returned to Jerusalem on the eighth day. I suggested that we go to the Western Wall to see if there might be a celebration. The plaza was packed with many hundreds — perhaps thousands — of Jews whose joyous anticipation was palpable. Suddenly eight large oil vats placed high on the Kotel ignited with a loud “whoosh.” Everyone sang Maoz Tzur together. It was a transformative moment: I realized that I was a Jew and that Jewish history was my history.

Israel became the focus of my attention, passion, research, and writing. In the 45 years since there have been many returns, another year in Jerusalem, and the powerful impact of visits to Hebron that prompted my history of its millennia-old Jewish community.

Along the way there were discoveries of a different kind. Meandering through the Old City I found a small shop that sold intriguing Jewish antiquities — millennia-old coins, juglets, and Canaanite fertility figurines with bulging eyes and breasts. Mahmoud, the owner, became my teacher, identifying what fascinated me and, as our friendship deepened, guiding me to ancient sites that I never could have discovered on my own.

Down the street was Ibrahim, who left me alone to explore his antiquities collection while he played chess with a friend. Over time, he took me on my first visit inside Machpelah in Hebron, burial site of the Jewish patriarchs and matriarchs; and to biblical Shechem (now Nablus), where Abraham built an offering to God and the first capitol of the ancient Kingdom of Israel was located.

I often found unexpected kindness. In the Jewish Quarter of Jerusalem, on a steaming hot day when my canteen had run dry, a kind shop owner recounted Abraham’s generous hospitality to a stranger as he refilled it. In Hebron, David Wilder, the English-language spokesman for the Jewish community who had left New Jersey for the promised land, became my guide and mentor for my history of Hebron Jews.

I can never repay Israel, and Israelis, for liberating my Jewish self and returning me to my people. They bestowed cherished memories that will remain with me always.

Algemeiner ( January 19, 2121)

Jerold S. Auerbach is the author, among other books, of Hebron Jews: Memory and Conflict in the Land of Israel; Jewish State, Pariah Nation: Israel and the Dilemmas of Legitimacy; and Print to Fit: The New York Times, Zionism and Israel: 1896-2016.

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foolishlovebugbaby · 5 years

Text

moonlight melodies | part 1

princess!reader x scholar!chan

Summary: dancing, unfortunately, was not apart of the list of things you’re good at. luckily for you, chan’s adamant on changing that.

Word count: 9.8k

a/n: so just imagine chan’s a brunette and that this didn’t take me a century and a half to write. enjoy :))

“And five, six, seven, eight- a one, two, three- no! Step with the left foot! To your left your highness!- Maestro if you would please cut the music.” Your dance teacher stood at the far end of the ballroom, ears a blazing red as he frustratedly rubbed his temples. You could only mimic his level of frustration- God, did you have to have two left feet? You had passed through all your levels of etiquette training and learning how to formally address your subjects, courters, and members of the monarchy with perfect diction and fluency, but gracefully learning how to perform the waltz in a ball gown too poofy for its own good would be your royal demise.

So you stood in the center of the dance floor, face contorted in a mixture of frustration and humiliation at your dance capabilities (or lack thereof) while your practice partner bit down harshly on his lip to mask the profanities wanting to come out as a result of the blistering pain shooting from his feet that your heeled ones mercilessly stomped on.

“Your highness,” The instructor breathed out through tight lips, closing his eyes momentarily. “The masquerade ball is but a fortnight away, and we have yet to progress onto the promenade chassé! You’ve barely grasped the basics- I have no clue how on earth you’ll be able to dance the Viennese Waltz come the gala.” He rubs his cheeks frustratedly, and you snort at his vexation.

“Chill out, Minho, will you? I’ll be the one making a royal fool out of myself, so you’re safe.” You chuck off your practice heels to the side and stretch your toes in content. “These galas have always been a royal pain in the ass, so I don’t see why this is any different.” You huff, annoyed at the grandeur of it all.

Sure, being a princess required you to attend every gala, ball, party, whatever, as a way to make your presence known, but it had a way of turning mundane awfully quick. Like, by the second one, you were already over it. Dressing up and chowing down on all the hors d'oeuvres were the only highlights to any event that you went to.

“Madam, it is not just any other sissy gathering,” Minho said, standing straighter and looking quite offended. “It is a ball thrown in your honor. You’ve come of age to be courted, and all the finest young men in the kingdom and beyond will be attending in hopes to get a chance to dance with the Princess of the South.” He says that last part in a posh tone, and you can’t help but gag. He picks up the heels and dusts them off, walking over to hand them to you.

“Forgive me for being a smidge bit repulsed by the idea of having to find my one true love in a sea of stuck-up, unseasoned boys in order to be deemed worthy enough to rule my kingdom.” You say exasperatedly, head hot at the mere thought of it all. Since you were the sole heir to the crown (and you so happened to house a vagina instead of the preferred penile organ) people expected that you be married before ascending to the throne- which, to be frank, was a load of cow manure.

“Even you can agree that having a grand ball for men to seduce their way to the crown is getting pretty old.” You said, in a matter-of-fact tone. Minho sighed.

“What I believe is irrelevant, your highness. But tradition is tradition.” He kneels down, lifting up your leg to put on a heel.

“Traditions are meant to be broken.” You mutter, pouting incredulously.

“Perhaps. I’m not asking that you not break tradition, my lady.” He slips on the other heel as well. “Just that you try and look graceful while doing so.”

“Well if you put it that way...” You make a face, feeling bashful at yourself for being so indignant.

So maybe appearing at these dull parties were apart of the duties of being a royal, and, as luck would have it, meant that you had to learn how to waltz through the evening. But you supposed dancing with kiss-ups was a lot better than engaging in meaningless conversations with them.

When Chan became an Academic Scholar for the palace, he didn’t think becoming best-friends with the Count’s son was apart of his education plan. But alas, fate works in mysterious ways.

“Remind me again as to why we need to be present in the palace of the South two weeks before the gala.” He draws out, exhausted from what seemed to feel like an eternal horse ride to your kingdom. He had learnt two things on his journey; the first being that horse back is possibly the worst mode of transportation, and the second being that Princes’ are possibly the worst company on impossibly long journeys. Well, at least, the one he was riding with is.

From the Prince’s incessant whining to his numerous periodic ‘potty and tea’ breaks, Chan could’ve sworn he had died and gone to hell, and was living out his eternal suffering as a punishment for god-knows-what. But, then again, the sunny-side up to his grievances was that he could at least voice them out loud without fear of a public execution.

“We are going for the formalities, laddy. As well as for the diplomacy. Father says I need to be the face of the North in order to maintain active peace between our kingdoms, but if you ask me I call a load of horse dung on it.” The prince scowls. “It’s so blatantly obvious that he just wants me to lock it down with the Princess before the ball in hopes to gain an advantage over her other suitors.”

Chan furrows his eyebrows, “Are my ears deceiving me? Does the Prince Hwang Hyunjin detest the prospect of wooing a lady?” He mocks, and Hyunjin sneers at him.

“Keep running your mouth like that Chan and I’ll make sure the people have the juiciest tomatoes in the kingdom to chuck at you.” He says pointedly, “But if you must know, I’ve already met the Princess- a less than pleasant experience. She was always so... aggressive whenever we played hide and seek-”

“Wait, so you’re telling me you’ve completely discarded the possibility of romancing the only Princess in this bloody kingdom because of her attitude whilst playing hide and go seek when you were toddlers?” He says, astounded at the stupidity of his friend. One of the knights once said it always seemed like the Prince had a stick up his royal behind, but Chan could confirm that it was, in fact, excalibur up in there.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. You know what I mean. So far, as a result of all the collective impressions she has made, she definitely is not my type.” He puts emphasis on the word ‘not’ and Chan scoffs at him. “But perhaps my opinion will change come the masquerade ball.” Hyunjin raises an eyebrow to himself and momentarily thinks it over. “Hm, perhaps not as she did pin me as a joke during pin the tail on the jester.”

Chan could only roll his eyes. While he could understand astronomy and classical literature and the fundamental workings of the telescope, Aristocracy was a concept he would need 4 lifetimes and a half in order to grasp.

The rest of the last leg of their journey went just the same, with Hyunjin and him exchanging sarcastic banter while the entourage of the Prince tailed not too far back. Moments of silence were a rare occurrence, but Chan figures it was better than nothing at all.

“Gates up ahead!” A knight yells from behind as the metal monstrosities came into view. Sure, war and sieges were a quiet yet possible danger, but really? To have borders built that outlandish with that much security?

The foundations were made of thick slabs of rock stacked up on top of each other, chiseled to have some sort of semblance to a cuboid, and stretched out on either side to what seemed like the edge of the world. On its sides were two flagpoles bearing the royal family crest up high and mighty. The wooden grid gate was a dark mahogany reinforced with steel, adding to the overall undaunted demeanour the structure exuded. The tops were adorned with metal spikes with more miniature flags of the royal family crest peaking through the breaks, a gentle juxtaposition to the otherwise severe facade.

It was definitely a lot more intimidating and fortified that what the North had, and the entire entourage could only gulp in anticipation. While many had visited the kingdom before, Chan was a first-timer, and his dazed expression certainly gave it away. He always heard stories about the South and how it was known to be the more liberated state in comparison with the two, and how his nature professors raved about how lush the kingdom was.

The guards at the top of the watchtowers stared intently down at them, and soon enough even more come bursting through the side gates, ready for inspection. A knight from behind emerged and presented papers with the Northern royal insignia, and the two guards exchanged mutual greetings.

“Open the gates!” A southern guard shouted up to the men in the watchtowers, and slowly, the inside of the kingdom came into view.

Brick houses and quaint village shops lined the cobblestone streets, with children running up and down tirelessly playing under the spring sun. The air smelled heavenly- the scent of freshly baked Sunday buns coming from the village bakery. On the side, the morning market bustled with townspeople negotiating prices with sellers to get a better deal on the vibrant fresh produce. The villagers yelled out brightly, a mix of greetings and laughter and heated negotiations, and Chan’s never seen somewhere so alive before.

Chan’s in awe at the picture-perfect scene in front of him, and they haven’t even rode into the main square yet.

If you were to be nit-picky about the most dreadful stage in preparing for an event, it wouldn’t be the entrance practices, or the dance training. It wasn’t even the horrid memorising of the monstrous guest list, though that certainly was a close second. Oh no, it was the absolutely abominable dress fittings that you swore took a lifetime and a half to finish. It was a mystery as to why it took that long, really, because you’d gladly walk out in anything- even a nightgown.

Which is the exact reason as to why your seamstress was unbelievably burdened by your lack of active input.

“Would your highness prefer satin or silk?” The seamstress seethes with tight lips, more so out of frustration and anger, and you look at her sheepishly through the reflection on the mirror.

You stood on a raised platform situated directly in front of an obnoxiously big mirror with a corset cutting off your circulation and a large crinoline fastened onto your waist to see how different silhouettes would look on your figure. Not the prettiest sight, admittedly, as you held semblance to a skeleton rather than a lady.

“Uhm, silk?” You say diffidently. In your defence, you had never been taught Fabrics 101 and so you supposed that you didn’t exactly qualify to have an opinion on what fabrics or cuts or colours a debutante princess should wear.

She closed her eyes for a moment and let out a breath through her gritted teeth, and you swore you could see smoke steaming from her ears.

“Silk it is.” She said curtly and you nod along.

She hung her measuring tape around her neck and stalked over to the side of the room, where a large wooden trunk sits collecting dust. With much effort and a stream of mumbled profanities, she dragged it over to you and opened it with a click.

“Does your highness have any preferences on a structure of mask?” You peered down at the box, viewing all the old and used masks stacked haphazardly on top of one another. Some with elaborate feathering attached, others with an assortment of austentatious jewels from rubies to jade lining the frame. Some were vividly emerald with a delicate satin sheen while others were a somber matte black. How could you possibly choose, you thought to yourself, when a myriad of masterpieces sat before you?

“Surprise me?” You quipped, unsure of yourself, knowing for certain you wouldn’t mind the final product as you knew the craftsmen were masters at their art. “Just make sure it’s not too… wild I suppose.” You added and the seamstress nodded, slightly pleased that you gave a single specification in your 5-hour session. An improvement from the last indeed.

She began to hold up numerous plain full-face masks up to your head, each a different size from the last, in order to find a suitable size that complimented your features well.

You were giddy in place at the thought of the process coming near to an end, wanting nothing more than to go back into your library and read another Jules Verne novel, when, “Master Minho had instructed me to send you back to the ballroom for more rehearsals, my lady. And he requests that you remain in your fittings.”

You wanted to curse, but there wasn’t a word that had been conjured up as of yet to fully encapsulate the amount of apprehension that bubbled inside you. So you groaned excessively, slumping where you stood.

“But I was so excited to get these contraptions off! Please please please at least take the crinoline off? I feel like a Leonardo Da Vinci project in the making.” You whined and made puppy dog eyes at her, and she looked at you with pity.

You could practically see the amount of protest and conflict that went on in her head through her expressions, because dealing with a displeased Minho was a terror and a half, but how could one resist the puppy dog eyes of the palace treasure?

Clearly, not the seamstress. “Okay, but you better do exceptionally well at practice today.” She huffed and began unclasping the abomination around your waist, as well as loosened up the damned corset which you were very much grateful for.

“You’re the best!” You yelped, and she looks at you with a hint of a smile on her features but masked it with a roll of her eyes. “You still need to wear a practice mask on.” She commented, but you were just happy you didn’t have to wear a cage around your legs. She handed you a black satin mask that only covered half of your face, and sent you off.

You always loved walking through the palace hallways. It felt like they were endless, going on and on until they reached the other side of the world. If you tried hard enough, you could get lost in them. But that sort of bliss would remain utterly untouchable, however, as Minho came into your line of view with his hands on his hips and an impatient scowl on his features.

“You’re late.” He said monotonously, and you’d be scared if it weren’t for the fact that he looked like a kitten. A very hostile one, but a kitten nonetheless.

“By, like, a minute.” You brushed his accusatory glare off and saunter into the ballroom.

“Just for that I’m making you wear your event heels.” His head was held up high, and you wondered if you could indulge in exercising authoritarianism just for this moment.

“Sometimes I wonder whether I’m even royalty anymore.”

“Not with those dance skills you’re not.” “Minho!”

As a scholar, Chan had the privilege to travel far and wide, experiencing and immersing himself into an array of different cultures, cuisines and religions, only to come back and record his stories of his wondrous adventures and teach all that he had learnt. His favorite part, however, was being able to hear copious amounts of unique dialects and tongues and how the people of the world conversed.

He’s a language nerd, to keep it frank.

Which is why, after 6 excruciating hours of dress fittings, Chan could spew every single profanity known to mankind in all the 7 languages he knew without being called out for being a foul mouth.

Even then, none could encompass the amount of maliceness he held for dress fittings.

Mumbling a string of incoherent obscenities under his breath, he kicked the rocks beneath him and he walked along the palace grounds, hands shoved in his pockets.

“God, I can’t even count on both hands how many times I’ve been poked by those damned sewing needles... “ He sneers and kicks at the ground beneath him, disorienting a few pebbles. “At least the tailor called me fit.” Silver linings were for hopeless optimists, and so, naturally, they were for Chan.

As he entered the palace’s garden walkway, he could hear faint humming in the distance. If he were any more distracted, he would have missed it- but he didn't. He was certain he could hear an obscure melody floating through the air- pitchy? Yes. But a melody nonetheless, and Chan was not about to judge the person when he could not put a face to the music.

Cautiously, he followed the string of faint notes through the garden’s meticulous and intricate landscape, being careful not to take a mis-step and ruin the delicate conglomerate of ornate flora and fauna. It didn’t help that it was the dead of night- the sky a misty navy blue with the pale crescent moon being the only source of light illuminating the fields. But, Chan being Chan, continued his peculiar late-night quest to find the out-of-tune songstress.

And find her he did.

He reached the center of the garden- a large, octagonal marble platform with large, renaissance limestone pillars on each point and an extravagant two-tiered fountain smack dab in the middle of it all. But it wasn’t the luxurious marble or the fountain with vines and flowers of all different kinds lining its base that had caught his attention- it was the barefoot maiden in a white tunic and burgundy midi-skirt dancing as if she had two left feet, to the tune of her own voice that did. Her back was facing him, so she had yet to acknowledge his presence, but he was fine with just watching.

She stumbled clumsily, every beat horrendously off while her toes betrayed her as she attempted to recall the music. Was that Johann Strauss? He couldn’t be sure, for her humming could be mistaken for the monotonous hum of a metalloid contraption. It amused him, really, how talentless one could be when it came to a simple one-two-step. He couldn’t help but lean on a pillar and watch her from afar, silently chuckling to himself when he heard her slew of profanities each time you messed up. He liked her determination, he concluded, and her efforts to improve despite all her errors.

There was a brief moment in time where she twirled around and Chan got a fleeting glimpse of her face- only, it wasn’t her face. It was partially covered in a mask, the black satin glimmering in the moonlight, and chan’s hand instinctively went to his back pocket where he had shoved his own as he hurried out the fitting room a couple of moments ago. He decided that if she was disguised, he would be too- for the sake of the enticing mystery, of course.

“You’re terribly off beat.” She gasped, startled, whipping around to look at him and he could only chuckle at her appalled expression, lips agape and eyes wide. “Excuse me?” Her tone was defensive, accusatory, confused and terrified all at once.

Remarkable.

“You move after each count, when you should be moving with the count.” He explained, standing straighter and slowly made his way towards her. She raised a shaky hand up.

“Don’t come any closer,” Her tone was timid, but there was an edge to her voice. “Who are you?” She questioned, looking straight into Chan’s masked eyes. Her gaze was strong and curious behind her mask, and he stared back with the same intensity.

“Who are you?” He questioned back teasingly, and she scoffed. She crossed her arms, “I asked first.” She said pointedly.

He bit back a smile, enjoying the teasing a little too much for his own good.

“Okay,” He looked around in contemplation, “I’ll give you a hint. I’m not from here.” He shoved his hands inside his pockets casually. “Your turn.”

“I am from here.” She replied back, annoyed. “You must have come from the North, correct?”

“Perhaps.” He shrugged, slightly taken aback by her sudden assumption.

“Well, I’m not offbeat.” She huffed and a pout made its way onto her lips. Chan couldn’t help but chuckle at her denial. “How long have you been standing there anyway?” She asks, and he suddenly felt bashful at the realisation of how creepy he must come off after observing her like that. He thanked the Gods that his mask covered his crimson cheeks.

He cleared his throat and swallowed down his embarrassment. “Long enough to know that you are offbeat.” He retorted, and she scoffed again at his reply, rolling her eyes.

“I didn’t know that you were a dance prodigy.” She mumbled under her breath, offended and humiliated at the thought of a random stranger watching her stumble over herself. Her gaze shifted from his eyes to the flower vines, and she couldn’t help but curse at the Gods for making her so talentless.

“I’m not, but I know enough to get by.” He took another step closer to her, until they stood at arms length, and stretched out a hand. “I could teach you.” He didn’t know why he offered, but the urge to help her learn the waltz was compelling. At least, that’s what he told himself as he nervously peered into her masked moonlit orbs. And anyway, what was a scholar supposed to do in the dead of night? Sleep? Unheard of.

Her eyes went wide at the suggestion, “I don’t even know you- h-how do I know you’re not going to kill me?” She stammered and took a step back. He recoiled his hand.

“I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. But I understand your hesitation.” He began to slowly back away, knowing that when he reached his room he would be staring at a tomato in the mirror. “My offer still stands.” With that, he turned and walked off.

She didn’t know why her breath hitched in her throat and why her mouth felt dry and scratchy as her mind debated on whether or not to accept his offer. She always thought she was logical and smart, but as she yelled “Wait!” she couldn’t help but feel reckless and everything but.

“I-I accept.” She stammered, her heart hammering in her chest.

He turned around shocked, “What?” He heard her loud and clear, but the mere likelihood of her accepting a strange masked man’s offer to teach a dance class was, statistically speaking, zero to none and went against all the maps of logic and reasoning that the universe laid out. But I digress.

“I said I’ll accept your offer.” Her voice was timid yet confident, an air of intrigue and uncertainty swimming around her. “But just know that if I’m found hurt, the castle would have your head.” Of course there was a catch, and Chan did not know what to make of that statement. Was she an important person? Was she bluffing? So many questions, not enough dancing.

He walked towards her for the second time that night. “You can trust me,” He held out his hand, his eyes trained on her own curious ones that peered up at him.

She took a breath and gently laid her hand in his. “Okay. This is me trusting you.”

Mornings are always difficult.

You always found it hard to get out of your thick comforters and ‘seize the day’, as they say. You would rather seize your dreams by the neck and hold onto the fleeting adventures in your brain. You could be a traveler, a dragon and a knight all within the span of your six-hour slumber rather than a princess in a castle too big with walls too high.

That night you had dreamt you were in the palace gazebo with a masked man so handsomely illuminated by the moon that you thought your mind had conjured it up as a result of your lackluster experience when it came to men.

Only, it wasn’t a dream. He was doubtlessly there, as solid as the ground you stood on- you’d know that because your felt the firmness of his shoulder against your palm and the calluses on his fingertips against your own. And it was everything but lackluster.

You sat up from your bed, the haze of last night’s endeavours fresh and vivid as though they were playing right before your half-lidded eyes, and you couldn’t help but groan at yourself.

“Reckless and stupid…” You mumbled, rubbing your temples vigorously while trying to suppress the growing grin forming on your lips. Spoiler alert: you failed to do so even as your teeth clamped down on them. You let out a dreamy sigh and crashed back down onto your pillows.

You closed your eyes, recollecting the moonlight of yesterday as it played back in flashes.

“Okay. This is me trusting you.” The Gods upstairs must be frowning down at you and your carelessness, you thought to yourself as you held onto the strange man’s hand. But screw the Gods- if Jules Verne had taught you anything, it’s that you need to be reckless in order to find an adventure.

A smile graces his plump lips and you can’t help but admire the cute indentations on the sides of his cheeks, taking note of the faint red tint seeping from under his mask. His hands, you realised, are much more bigger than yours- they engulfed yours in a stomach-turning warmth and felt sturdy against your shaky ones.

“Well then, shall we begin?” He says, his voice deep and thick with an accent you had never heard before. You nod and gulp, slightly in awe at the whole ordeal and impossibly nervous. You grew increasingly aware of how clammy your hands must have felt and how hard your heart was pounding in your chest- you might just go into cardiac arrest, you thought, but that was a risk you clearly were willing to take.

He held your hand firmly in his and proceeded to place your other one onto his shoulder. “May I?” He asks cautiously, his free hand ghosting over your side and you nod, feeling another round of heat spreading through your cheeks and neck. His warm palm rests on the small of your back, and you can’t help but have your mind go into a frenzy at the feeling. You felt utterly thrilled and stupendously stupid all at the same time.

“I’m assuming you know the basic movements and foot placements, correct?” He asks again and you snort. “Of course, I’m not that bad.” You defend and he smiles. “That is for me to decide, m’lady.” You scoff and squeeze at his shoulder, not being able to control the bashful smile making its way onto your lips.

He hums the song you attempted just moments ago, and the air fills with his melodic voice. He had the voice of an angel, you thought to yourself as he bobbed his head to fall into the proper count.

“And one, two, three-” He takes a step back, then to the left, and another to the right and you realised how much of a narc your feet were as you continuously missed each beat and stomped on his foot. Your eyes are trained to the floor where your feet are, and you thank the Gods that you are barefoot- had you been in anything else, he would have entered a different world of pain.

You shoot your gaze back up at his contorted face and you could not help but wince. “So maybe I am that bad.” You quip, and he only chuckles. “Yes- but don’t worry. You just need to relax, loosen up. Don’t be so nervous.” He says calmly, and your mind teeters at the thought of him knowing how fast your heart rate was going. “Just follow my lead.” His gaze never trains off of you, and he begins humming the same tune. Only, you could not just relax and loosen up given the situation you were in, and so your eyes immediately darted to the floor below you in hopes you would not mess up.

He stops his humming. “Eyes on me,” His voice is soft and gentle as he brings his hand up to your jaw to lift your gaze to his. You gulp and bite down on your bottom lip out of sheer restlessness. “You need to trust yourself- here you are trusting a complete stranger and yet you can’t even count on yourself to go with the music.” He says teasingly, and a displeased pout forms on your lips. “Easier said than done.” You mumble.

“You’ve got this,” He says with an encouraging smile, and you puff out your cheeks. “I hope you’re right for the sake of your feet.” He laughs.

His humms fill the air again, and it took all your mental capacity to keep your eyes steady on his. You blamed it on your second nature to look down at the floor whenever you danced- it certainly was not due to the fact that his soft brown eyes remained constantly on yours. Definitely not because his features- at least, the ones visible- were incredibly distracting in the moonlight. Oh no, none of those. At all.

He moves steady and slow, allowing you to pace yourself throughout the steps which you were incredibly grateful for- something foreign to you thanks to the trauma of Minho’s fast-paced counts. His body is sturdy and confident, guiding you through each stride with such ease and elegance. And before you knew it, you were both moving in sync- your legs naturally following and mirroring his own movements each time. Albeit shaky and far from elegant, it was definitely a level-up from the previous endeavour.

He smiles at you and you can’t help but beam back, “See? You’re doing it,” He says mid-hum and resumes right from where he left off, a proud grin on his face. Just like your movements, your lips mirror his elated ones and you continued to move through the platform for a few more paces until he finished the last note.

You were slightly out of breath- partly because of moving that briskly for the first time and also because the man before you managed to take your breath away simply with his gaze- and, involuntarily, you let out a quiet squeal. “I can’t believe I just did that,” You say in shock at yourself, a sense of pride filling your chest.

He only laughs at your epiphany as he held onto you, “I told you~” He sings, and you pinch his bicep playfully for his teasing. “I totally could have navigated through it by myself.” You say sarcastically, and he snorts at your comment. “You’re welcome.” He says pointedly.

“Thank you, I really mean it.” He smiles at your gratefulness, “Don’t mention it.”

You both stood towards the edge of the pavilion, your hand still in his and on his shoulder whilst his arm encircled your waist. Both of your chests rose and fell in sync, and for a moment you’re both silent- eyes still trained on each other while the crickets sang in the background. Of course, with all things exciting, the Gods decided that awkwardness was a must.

He steps back and clears his throat, his arm letting go of your waist and his hand falling back to his side, after realising just how close your bodies were to each other. You almost shiver at the loss of contact, feeling cold in the absence of his warmth. You scratch the back of your neck and wobble back and forth on your heels, feeling the air become dense with awkward tension.

“S-so uhm, you’ve definitely improved a lot since, well, since the last time I saw you- which really wasn’t that long ago so I’d say that’s a win.” He rambles, his gaze darting towards all eight corners of the gazebo, trying to look everywhere but at you. Which was fine, since you were doing the exact same thing.

“Y-yeah- still got a long way to go before the ball.” You say sheepishly, leaning back on a pillar to your left and twiddling with your thumbs.

“You’re going to be at the ball?” He questions, with a cute tilt to his head and you nod. “Will you?” You’re slightly hopeful- what are the chances of ever meeting this strange, alluring man again? “Maybe.” You can see him wink behind his mask and you roll your eyes.

“I could teach you again, if you want.” He suggests from beside you, and you hear his breath hitch. Your mind goes wild- what does one even say to that? Yes? No? Absolutely? Absolutely not? “I don’t want to waste your time with this though,” You settle on the courteous thing to say, even though your heart yelled at you to be selfish and seize the opportunity before it went away forever.

“It wouldn’t be a waste of my time- I could teach you at night, the same time as now.” He insists, and there’s a war going on in your head to accept. “And anyway, you’re still terribly ungraceful.” He smirks playfully, and you roll your eyes at his incredulousness.

“Well, if you insist.” You retort, and he grins. You could feel butterflies flare in your stomach, the buzz of the situation at hand making you feel absolutely wondrous. The masked stranger was charming and enthralling, and if you didn’t know any better you would have thought he was an apparition-a trick of the moonlight. Maybe you didn’t know any better, but that's besides the point.

“Well, I’ve got to go now.” You say wistfully, wanting to stay longer but knowing that the palace would be turned inside-out if you weren’t back in your chambers before midnight. His expression falls, much like yours, but his eyes are hopeful. “Tomorrow, same time?” He asks, and you bite back a smile.

“I’ll be here.” You drag your feet along the marble slowly, still facing him as you back away, before sending a final smile and turning around to walk off, your heart doing back flips in your chest. You don’t even make four strides when his warm hand wraps around your wrist.

“May I please know your name?” He breathes out, and you’re at a loss for words. For the first time in your life, someone was not bowing to you every time you made eye contact. For the first time in your life, someone could tease you and make playfully snide remarks without hesitation and fear. For the first time in your life, someone was unapologetically straightforward with you. And for the first time in your life, you were able to detach from your identity as a princess and remain completely you.

“Try again next time,” You say playfully after contemplating.

He sighs with a smile, and you head back to the palace, a skip in your step and the feeling of his hand still wrapped around your wrist.

You have a stupid smile on your face at the breakfast table, much to your parents confusion and delight. “What’s got you so elated, dear?” Your mother questions with her brows furrowed, chewing on her omelete.

“Oh nothing, just a book I read.” You lie on the spot and feel your face heat up, turning your gaze back down onto your plate of breakfast pastries. “Must be some book.” Your father says, and you let out a knowing chuckle.

“Sweetheart, some troops and dignitaries of the North have come for the ball, and so has the Prince, so I’d suggest you make yourself well acquainted with them during their stay at the palace.” Your mom quips and you sit up straighter. “Hyunjin is here?” There’s a displeased tone to your voice, and it’s clear that your mom doesn’t appreciate it.

“Yes, and I expect you to make nice, just like old times.” She says pointedly and you puff out your cheeks. You see, it’s not that you didn’t like the Prince, but you didn’t exactly like him either- he always seemed rather... displeased by your antics and so you never really moved past royal formalities.

“How are your dance lessons going, dear?” Your father asks you in his booming voice, and you have to laugh.

“How do you think they’re going?” You retort and he makes a face at you. “I do hope you’ve at least improved from the last time we saw you dance,” You parents exchange looks, “It’s high time that the Princess is able to dance through the evening without ripping the ends of her gown.” You roll your eyes at that and groan.

“That happened only twice, father, and if you ask me, those gowns needed some edge to them.” It was your parents’ turn to roll their eyes at you. It was no secret that you, the Princess, resembled a dismembered horse whenever you danced- even if it were a secret, it clearly was not a very well-kept one. Which was fine, since the subject of your blundering dance capabilities only saw the light of day whenever an event as grand as a ball became the talk of the town. But jokes get old, and so do the labels that deemed you nothing more than an ungraceful royal, so your determination to prove anyone and everyone wrong grew more and more each day.

Your masked dance instructor certainly increased your will tenfold.

After breakfast, your parents wasted no time in shooing you off to the dance hall, saying something along the lines of “a full stomach means bountiful results of labour.” much to your dismay.

Time is money, and that certainly was the mantra that Minho exuded as he wasted no time in directing you through all the warm-ups and floor routines with your dance partner. You took a deep breath and imagined that you were back at the gazebo, in the arms of someone you didn’t fully know.

Trust yourself.

Do you trust me?

You’re doing well, just remember to count each beat in your head.

I told you you could do it.

Eyes on me.

It felt like you were floating as the maestro played each melody, your eyes dazed as your mind played back each step on repeat. Unbeknownst to you, you had successfully ran through the routine without stepping on your partner and staying on count- for the most part.

“Well, my lady, I am pleasantly surprised at this drastic improvement,” Minho’s eyes are wide and sparkly and full of shock at the fact that you stayed on beat for the majority of the dance, and you can’t help but chuckle at his dramatic bewilderment. “What in heaven’s name has gotten into you?” He questions genuinely, and your mouth goes wide in disbelief.

“Don’t sound too shocked, it’s not like this is the first time I’ve stayed on count.” He makes a face. “Okay, so maybe it is.” You mumble curtly and proceed to fold your arms over your chest like an offended child- which you were, but that’s besides the point.

“Does this improvement call for a celebratory, well-earned 2-day break?” You ask, half jokingly and half absolutely serious, and clasp your hands together hopefully. His face goes back to blank and he straightens up.

“Absolutely not- you’re still astonishingly shabby and lumbering, your posture is horrendous and-”

“Okay I get it, a simple ‘no’ would have been sufficient, thank you very much.” You sneer, and he smiles sarcastically back at you.

“You’re welcome.”

Minutes, seconds, hours, days, months, years- you didn’t know just how long practice took until you stepped out of the ballroom, feet covered in blisters and an ache in your back, to a haze of purple and orange in the sky, the sun just about to touch the horizon. You’re exhausted and drained, and, if it were up to you, you’d have ran away right there and then but you couldn’t, because the sores on your feet laughed at your futile attempts to even walk.

Okay, that was a tad dramatic. You could walk, but you figured playing it up a little would somehow garner the attention of your very powerful parents to do something about Satan’s Incarnate, Minho, and get you a few practice-free days.

But of course, your parents were not in the throne room, or the dining area, or even in their chambers- the reason being an impromptu visit to the eastern provinces for diplomatic purposes as you later came to find out. You could almost hear the Gods snickering at your turmoil.

So you dragged your sore feet to the palace library, ready to delve into another chapter of another book that peaked your interest even though your mind would betray you and saunter back to your masked instructor gleaming in the moonlight.

He was all you thought about, even as you vividly imagined strangling Minho, he remained in the back of your mind. If you tried hard enough, you can almost feel him again- firm arms and everything. Your heart raced at the thought of meeting for the second time tonight.

A loud thump echoed through the library, and you freeze in place, a hand outstretched towards a bookshelf, your heart startled from the sudden noise. “Who’s there?” You question loudly.

“Sorry!” A muffled and strangled voice yells from the other side, and your head darts in all directions to get a glimpse.

You clamber down from the step-stool you had been on and investigate, peeking your head through every aisle and row from the piles of encyclopedias to the endless collections of literature. But, in an aisle labelled Astronomy, a pale, curly-haired stranger sits disheveled with a thick volume of books strewn on the floor, pages exposed haphazardly and face-down. You raise your eyebrows, and he smiles sheepishly at you.

“The collection fell as I was trying to get it out.” He explains, cheeks tinted rouge while he bent down to pick them up. You bend down as well, gathering as many as you can and flattening out the bent pages.

“Thank you for your help,” He says gratefully, and you smile at him. “No problem.” You’ve come to the conclusion that you absolutely have no recollection of who this is, and what his name is or where he’s from, but there’s a strange sense of familiarity that wrecks your brain. The way he talks sounds so familiar, but you can’t quite put a finger on it. He’s clad in a white dress shirt and a burgundy vest over top, with black slacks to match, and you notice the insignia on the left side of his breast pocket. A Northerner.

You notice as well that he’s handsome- thick dark hair that curled at the tips with rosy skin and eyes that looked as though they were dipped in honey- but nevermind that.

“May I please know your name?” He asks and you’re snapped out of your analytical trance. You say your name, and he looks as though he’s seen a ghost.

“Y-your highness- forgive me, I did not know it was you,” He’s kneeling on one knee and his head is bowed, and you feel bashful at the sudden formality. Princess. Right.

You curtsy and nod your head, “It’s okay, my apologies for not introducing myself. May I know your name?”

He’s about to speak when, “Channie boy! Where are you? The palace has got so many great-” You can immediately imagine a face to match the voice, and your suspicions are confirmed the moment his tall figure saunters into the aisle.

“Ah, Princess y/n. Delighted to see you again.” He cuts himself off and stride over to you, bending to bow and taking your hand to place a chaste kiss on the back of it. He does this because he knows how squeamish it makes you feel, and your distress entertains him too much.

“The pleasure’s all mine, Prince Hyunjin.” You curtsy and fold your hands over each other behind your back, shooting lasers with your eyes at the boy in front of you. “Chan, I see you’ve met Her Royal Highness.” Hyunjin says that last part pointedly and sarcastically, and you feel like shoving him into a pit of snakes.

“Indeed I have.” The stranger, Chan, says curtly with a tight smile, obviously noticing the blunt tension between the two of you.

“Well, Princess, unfortunately my scholar and I have some business to attend to,” Hyunjin and Chan are exchanging a conversation with their eyes and you find it amusing how strange it would look out of context. “So we shall bid you farewell for now. Hope you have a good night.” You exchange bows again and soon enough the two men were off, their seemingly hyper conversation being drowned out by the enormity of the library.

So he’s a scholar, you repeat in your head and smile in amusement. Since when did the prince hang out with scholars?

There’s nothing more nerve-wracking to Chan than having to wait. But in retrospect, he did come a little too early than what was expected, his excitement and nervousness not allowing him to sit still until he found himself in the grandeur of the palace gazebo.

Could you blame the guy? His mystery woman was all he thought about, even as Hyunjin dragged him around the palace to look at god knows what, and he could not help but hope to see her in the palace by coincidence even if he did not fully know what she looked like. Consequently, he ended up looking like a fool on a wild goose chase, with Hyunjin interrogating him about why he looked like he was after hidden treasure more than he would have liked.

So he walked around a few times, then another few times, with each time eliciting a sigh from his lips and a puff of his cheeks, until the golden hues were long gone and were replaced by a dark night sky looming above him. He was wearing the same mask again, even though he felt as if he looked absolutely stupid in it, and made sure he practiced the routine a few times so that the information he parted wasn’t complete and utter horse dung.

Thanks to the fact that the palace clock tower was easily seen from his vantage point, it felt as though the clock hands were mocking him, saying ‘ha! It’s been two hours, get a grip!’. Any rational person would have left after thirty minutes- an hour, at most, but rational was not apart of Chan’s dictionary.

Maybe she’s not coming tonight, he thinks to himself, and he can feel the heat stain his cheeks for being so hopeful.

“I’m sorry- have you been waiting long?” She’s panting and there’s a sheen of sweat slick on her forehead, but she’s here. He jumps slightly, startled by her sudden and unexpected appearance, and scratches the nape of his neck.

He smiles sheepishly, “Not at all, just got here a few minutes ago.” Yeah, if one hundred and thirty eight minutes were considered as ‘a few’. She smiles at him with her half-covered features, and he thinks the wait was worth it.

“Shall we begin?” He nods, finding her straight-forwardness cute, and takes her hand in his.

“Will I ever know your name?”

They’re sitting side by side on the steps of the gazebo, and Chan’s slightly out of breath from all that dancing. It had been a good couple of hours since they had started the night, the dark starry sky freckled with stars blanketing their horizon, and neither of them had any plans to head back to the palace.

“That depends,” She chuckles from beside him, “Will I ever know yours?” She says playfully and turns to look at him, her masked eyes gleaming with the slightest crescent-moon curve to them. He’s dying to know what she looks like, but he guesses time will only tell.

“Alright then. What’s your relationship with the royal family? I’m assuming you’d have to either work under them or be apart of them to live in the palace.” He doesn’t notice her gulp out of nervousness.

“You could say I know them, sure.” She says half-heartedly.

He contemplates her response, “Do you know the princess?” Though brief, his run-in with the Princess was one he had yet to live down, with the embarrassment of questioning who she was a complete blunder on his part. It was so obvious she was goddamn royalty, what with her stately attire and astonishingly regal features- were all royals exceptionally good-looking? Was the good-genes pool reserved for the throne? Chan’s certainly met a fair amount of underwhelming-looking aristocrats during his time, but the Princess of the South was definitely not classified as such.

He doesn’t know that her heart beats a million miles a second at his question.

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.” She says playfully in attempt to mask the irony. “Why? Do you know the Prince?” She challenges. “What if you are the Prince?” She says exaggeratedly and he can only laugh.

“Ding-dong your answer is wrong,” She laughs. “I could never last being a royal.” He says and she tilts her head to the side.

“And why is that?”

“Well, I just don’t think being at the receiving end of a life of servitude is my sorta thing. And, between you and me,” He leans over playfully, “It seems like all royals do is demand this and demand that, since they’re born into a life that requires them to not work for anything.” It’s not that he hates royalty with every fibre of his being- and he isn’t one to complain, since he has basically been interwoven into that lifestyle after joining the Scholar’s court. But seeing life from the perspective of someone who has had to work for everything and of one who has had to work for nothing unsettles him- the unfairness of it all leaving an unpleasant taste in his mouth.

“I think you’re mistaken,” She replies with conviction, and he turns his gaze onto her. “They never really asked for that life, and, sure, being born into something makes you ignorant but to assume that all of them are the same is ignorant as well. Maybe some are waiting for their turn to make an actual difference, and maybe some are doing their best behind closed doors because everything they do and say is recorded by everyone around them.” She rambles, staring at the ground with her fist clenched on the marbe below it and Chan stares in awe. “I mean, that’s just my take. Just a guess.” She follows up quickly, the tips of her ears turning red.

He’s floored by her response, mostly because he’s been surrounded by people with the same ideology (save for the royals themselves, of course) that it’s refreshing to hear something different. His curiosity towards her only skyrockets.

“I’ve… never thought of it that way.” He says slightly dazed as he stares at his outstretched, boot-clad feet.

“Well, you learn something new everyday.” She says, bringing her knees up to her chest and resting her cheek on them, facing him and flashing a small smile. It makes his heart skip a beat, but he shrugs it off as the pollen grains triggering his allergies.

They stay in comfortable silence for a few minutes, his eyes never leaving hers and letting the autumn air breeze by them, until the clocktower rumbles, signalling that midnight has fallen. She breaks their gaze and looks up, “I’ve got to go.” She sounds unwilling to, and Chan almost tells her to stay. Almost.

“Will I see you again tomorrow night?” He stands up along with her, his voice hopeful, and her eyes answer for her before her voice does. “Yes.”

“Well then,” He takes a step back and grabs her hand in his, “This is goodnight.” He bows like a gentleman and leaves kiss on her knuckles, his heart soaring at the feeling of her soft skin against his lips. He looks up to see her biting her shy smile away and a grin makes its way onto his face. “Goodnight to you too.” She squeaks out and looks him in the eye one last time before scuttering off into the garden, her silhouette shrouded by the trees.

He already misses being close to her.

You’ve come to the conclusion that only a specific stranger in a mask can make the butterflies in your stomach act as though they’re on acid, which is completely fine with you.

“Good evening Princess, fancy seeing you here.” Hyunjin greets dryly, his straight posture making him look as wound tight as ever, and you quirk an eyebrow at him.

“I sort of live here, Prince Hyunjin.”

It amazes you how you had managed to run into him out of all people within the enormous palace, but you figured that it was punishment for all the immature pranks you had pulled on him when you were younger. In your defense, scaring him was the only pleasure you took, not the crying and screaming part.

“I know that.” He retorts just as dry. “Why are you lugging such a big record player around? And why the mask?” His head tilts perplexedly at the machine twice your size cradled in your arms, and you gulp- how were you going to explain your way out of this one?

“My dance instructor is making me practice in my chambers?” It comes out more like a question and you thank the gods you have a mask to cover the sheer audacity on your face. His face contorts even more in confusion, as if it were even possible. “But your chambers are that way?” He points directly behind you. God dammit Hyunjin, can’t you just let a girl live?

You clear your throat, “Well, I meant my other chambers.” You don’t have a second room, but you’re relying on his gullibility to save whatever dignity you have left. “Anyways, can’t chit chat, I must get back to practicing my dance moves.” You excuse yourself quickly and start making a beeline around him.

“But it’s late-”

“Have a good night!” You’re desperate at this point- you were already running late thanks to having to find and carry your father’s record player around your obscenely large palace, you didn’t need a nosy Hyunjin interrogating your motives to add on to your tardiness.

“Oh, Princess! Before you go, have you happened to see Chan around by any chance?” Hyunjin yells from behind you, but your foot is already halfway through the exit.

“Nope!”

“Wow.” He says, his eyes glinting with amusement and shock behind his mask. You stand there panting, slightly sweaty and extremely eager to show him how the contraption works. But the moment you settle it down, he’s already tinkering with it.

“I’m guessing you’ve brought this to aid in our lack of music?” He smiles up at you humorously and you grin sheepishly.

“Figured you’d appreciate a break from having to hum all the time.” You mumble and fiddle with your thumbs. It was a gesture that you had been conjuring up ever since you noticed how fatigued he would get trying to hum and dance simultaneously, and you figured you needed an arm workout anyway.

“I don’t mind the humming,” He stands up and takes your hand in his. “But thank you anyway.” His smile is perfect, and you thank the heavens it’s not covered by the mask.

“So, shall we begin?” You nod and he places a hand on his shoulder and his hand around your waist and flips a switch on the player with the tip of his boot.

“One, two, three…” The music fills the air softly, a mix of static and melodies while he guides you around the courtyard. You’re still not yet used to holding his gaze- mostly because he makes your heart do things it shouldn’t, but you blame it on your lack of habit.

Each step is just as smooth as the previous and there’s no denying the massive improvements you’ve made. “You’re doing excellent,” He compliments in-between counts and you grin. “I have a great teacher.”

He spins you out and you twirl back into him, your back pressed against his chest and you can feel his breath ghost over your neck. It sends shivers down your spine, and you’re praying he doesn’t see the hairs standing up at the back of your neck.

The moment is gone as quick as it came, however, and you’re back to facing him. You notice the red tint on the tips of his ears and something inside you becomes giddy at the thought of making him blush.

But of course, the gods hate you, so they decide to mess with your record player. “What’s happening?” The tunes become slower and slurred, the periods of static becoming prolonged, and what once was a harmonious symphony has now become nothing but noise.

You both stop in place momentarily, your gaze drifting towards the turn-table across the courtyard as you curse it out for ruining the mood. Out of all the times it could’ve picked to malfunction, it chooses now to act up? Blasphemy.

A finger is placed on your chin and brings your gaze back to his. “Well the music is, technically, still playing and you know what they say- The show must go on.” There’s a smile on his face and you look at him, puzzled.

“But the music’s off beat?”

“The music is never wrong- we’re simply too fast.” He says wittily. You’re still confused, but he takes extra slow steps and your mind puts two-and-two together.

After being so accustomed to moving as fast and as accurate to the beat as possible, the slow counts are ones you can barely get used to- heck, you can barely count in the midst of the skewed melodies and scrambled music. But you keep your eyes on him and he brings your body closer to his until you’re flush against his chest, and suddenly the music doesn’t even matter any more. You’re moving aimlessly with him with every slow step that passes you by, and the music melts into the background until it becomes lost with the crickets and trees. His gaze is soft and gentle with a comforting firmness, just like his grip, and you’re so entranced with the stranger before you that you don’t even hear the clock strike twelve.

There’s a myriad of synonyms that are along the lines of ‘perfect’, but you’d have to spend a lifetime trying to find the one that perfectly encapsulates this moment.

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simpstyle · 4 years

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“You Teach Us So We Can Teach Them" - The Working Girl Teachers

What would we do without our teachers? Not only are they the educators of the world; they are also our first friends, first teachers & many of times one of the most stable relationships you will ever have. Especially now, we need to not only recognize the healthcare workers & doctors but also the teachers who are trying to normalize this situation for our youth.

In honor of National Teacher Appreciation Day, we want to honor these women

Niasia Spand

Grade: 1st Grade / First Year Teacher Coach

Why do you love your job?

Being an educator today is so rewarding; we’re constantly shaping young minds and molding their little bodies into great people of good character. I am dedicated, passionate and consistent when it comes to all of the children that enter my class. I make sure to treat each scholar fairly while meeting each scholar where they are academically. Because all of my scholars are different, I have to be invested in different ways to develop and build genuine relationships with them. I take pride in the work and the community I serve each day.

I also love my career not only for the lessons I teach my students but also the lessons they teach me. I educate my scholars about life lessons using the current curriculum. My scholars teach me by the way they interpret these lessons. My goal as an educator is to make sure to teach my scholars that learning never stops. I want them to know that there is always someone who is going to know more than you and someone who may have been through something worse than you. I want them to know this is not a reason to stop.

“I didn't grow up having role models, I grew up having people I didn't want to be like and seeing situations I'd never want to be in.” -Unknown

Precious Wright-Kingsley

Grade: KINDERGARTEN

Why do you love your job?

I love my job more importantly kindergarten because I love being a child's first access to education. Seeing how my students developed from August 2019 - until now is the MOST amazing feeling in the world. Some of my students came to school not being able to write their first names or count to ten and now they are writing actual sentences and skip counting by 2's,5's, and 10's.

During this remote learning process, I try extremely hard to make my ZOOM sessions just as magical as being in the classroom. We still do our basic school work but I make sure to also have our FUN Fridays and dance parties whenever work is completed at 100%. I love teaching because I want to make kids love school. There's no better way to make a child love school than making their first experience there one to remember.

Nadine Herard

Grade: Assistant Principal

Why do you love your job?

I’ve taught both in public and private elementary schools and my experience is all the same. While I have taught all elementary subjects, I truly enjoy early childhood education. A child’s early years lays the foundation for their future. They are extremely inquisitive and eager to learn while developing the cognitive skills necessary to move on to primary school. This passion is what led me to homeschool my three children. I love collaborating with teachers and parents while creating a school culture that is conducive to the needs of all students! It’s super important to me to have dedicated resources supporting our staff and my children, especially during this time!

‘ The greatest sign of success for a teacher is to be able to say, ‘the children are now working as if I did not exist’. -Maria Montessori

Teishana smith

Grade: 1st Grade

Why do you love your job?

"Be the change you want to see in the world" - Mahatma Gandhi

I walk into work everyday with this quote in my mind. I love teaching because I love the opportunity to be a positive influence on the young mind. It’s gratifying to see kids get excited about their minds being expanded. My absolute favorite part of teaching is the relationships I've built with my students. I had amazing teachers when I was growing up and my goal is to duplicate this experience for others. I want to be the teacher that students know they can always come to about anything regardless how old they get.

Brianna Dumpson

Grade: KINDERGARTEN

Why do you love your job?

I love my job as a teacher because I have the opportunity to inspire the youth and teach them new skills that will carry with them throughout their education journey. My job is to teach students new content and provide them a joy about learning. Being a teacher gives me the opportunity to shape students into becoming great leaders and community helpers; not only are we growing them in academics we are shaping them to become great human beings in the world. I love to take on the challenge of being a role model for my students.

Fatima Toure

Grade: 6th Grade Math

Why do you love your job?

I love being a teacher because it’s the most rewarding job there is. We get the opportunity to shape the future of our society. It’s never a dull day at school because kids are full of personality. As a teacher, even though I’m teaching them, they’re also teaching me. They teach me how to be compassionate, have patience, become more creative and let my hair down. Teaching black and brown kids has been such a privilege. Even through there are hard times, early mornings and late nights, I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

"I do not know the word 'quit.' Either I never did, or I have abolished it." - Susan Butcher

Simone Nicholson

Grade: Pre-K 4

Why do you love your job?

“If you would have told me in college, that I would end up being a teacher, I would have laughed”

What began as a job in college just to get by, later turned into my passion. I currently teach 15 beautiful Pre-K students in the city of Newark, New Jersey and I couldn’t be happier. I love to teach because I have been blessed with the responsibility of helping mold and shape the minds and hearts of my amazing 4-5 year olds. I am lucky enough to watch each child blossom academically, socially and emotionally. I love to teach because I am able to cultivate a space that is not only safe but also loving and inviting to my students everyday. I’ve turned my classroom into my student’s “home away from home”. Although we are living in unprecedented times and the classroom has now turned into the living room, giving my students some type normalcy through my virtual teaching is extremely important to me. Teaching is no easy task, but it is a task that I am grateful for. I’ve found my purpose, and can’t wait to see where teaching will take me on my life journey.

Constance Boakye

College & Counselor Coach at Mott Hall Bronx High School

Why do you love your job?

Working with students was never in my plans, especially not in this space. I always wanted to make a change in my community, but I assumed it would be when I'm old and rich. Four years ago, I had a life-changing opportunity to work with students both in the classroom teaching, as well as on the Dean team. I was able to use words to push my students to teach them about blackness, self-confidence, searching/chasing their purpose, and more. I fell in love when I realize that I had the opportunity to push the thinking of those around me, both adults and students and to fight and dismantle our injustice institutional racist system that has continued to set our underprivileged communities back. I love my job because I love my students, seeing them happy is the most fulfilling experience.

BRIANNA COOK

Grade: 3rd Grade

Why do you love your job?

I love my job because it’s unpredictable; but I knew that when I signed up. I’m always ready for what the day might throw at me. Teaching not only allows me to provide my students with the knowledge they need to exceed but they teach me as well. In so many senses, I am able to see the world from their point of view. I find myself almost always looking back in time to when I was their age & asking myself: “what would I have done?” or “would I have done that?” and in those moments, I give them grace. I absolutely love how relatable I can be with them and surprise them with the little things. They value the little things; something many of us take for granted as adults. Overall, I love my job because it keeps me on my toes! Good days are memories & bad days are opportunities to learn from my mistakes. It’s an undervalued careers at times, but allows you to be unforgettable in children’s lives.

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jrmkuzuri · 4 years

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Jonathan Joestar (hero) ANALYSIS

ALL RANKINGS WILL HAVE A 5 POINT SYSTEM ( THERE MAY BE SOME SPOILERS, SO SPOILER WARNING!) I WILL LINK ALL OF MY REFERENCES/ SOURCES . ALL RANKINGS (1) BACKSTORY (2) PERSONALITY (3) ABILITIES (4) APPEARANCE (5) MOTIVATION (6) CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT

(1) BACKSTORY:

The son of George Joestar I, Jonathan is an honest, kind and positive man whose life is fraught with tragedy after meeting his adopted older brother, Dio Brando. In his battle against Dio, Jonathan becomes a Ripple user under the tutelage of the master Will Anthonio Zeppeli. 4/5

(2)PERSONALITY

“ He's not just looks and clothes, but a real honest-to-god gentleman... I like it! “ —Speedwagon (Jonathan was proud and mischievous, yet gentle. Despite already aspiring to be a "true gentleman", Jonathan lacked manners and mostly behaved like a normal child. His mother having died before he could remember her, and his fellow boys ostracizing him because of his status left Jonathan somewhat lonely. While at first, Jonathan didn't have his future strength of will, Dio unwittingly became the catalyst of his growth by pushing him to the edge and humiliating his then girlfriend Erina Pendleton. However, he did have the kindness and courage to immediately jump to Erina's rescue against two bullies bigger than him despite not knowing her. JoJo is determined to rid the world of Dio's evil First and foremost, Jonathan strives to become his definition of a "true gentleman" as he carries his Joestar name with pride, never betraying the code of conduct he has set for himself and will treat any fellow human with respect unless they prove evil. Jonathan also possesses a fierce inner strength and the drive to face and overcome conflict, which Dio calls an "explosive power". That drive, fueled by his affection to his friends and loved ones, enabled him to overcome the direst situations, notably managing to save his wife Erina when their boat was overcome with zombies and he was fatally hit in the throat. Jonathan fights for what he believes in, and once he is committed to something, he won't back down until the deed is done. During his journey to find a cure for his father's illness, he was ambushed by a band of misfit hoodlums. He did not so much as flinch as he grasped an assailant's knife within his hand, saying he had much more riding on the fight than merely four fingers. As a gentleman, Jonathan is also kind and positive. Jonathan has a mindset where he tries to imagine the consequences his actions would have on other people, even if they appear to be enemies. He is gentle and sympathetic, feeling pain even as he vanquishes a zombified copper. Despite his skill in fighting, he will never seriously harm a person without a valid reason. Even after everything Dio has done, Jonathan still considers him his brother, and sheds tears for him. His courteous nature as well as his mental fortitude and ability to withstand fear and pain, is the main reason Speedwagon decides to aid him on his journey. During his life, Jonathan has always had an impulse to save others, beginning with Erina, and ending with his thought of a nearby baby just as he was agonizing from Dio's attack. Yet Jonathan can feel righteous fury at the evilness of his foes, and will conduct justice by vanquishing them. He admitted that his reason for fighting Dio wasn't out of duty for saving the world, but to avenge his loved ones that Dio had killed. Moreover, he has no pity for truly despicable individuals he is not familiar with such as Doobie. With his courage and spirit, Jonathan sets a legacy as the first JoJo of the series.Fascinated with the Stone Mask, Jonathan tried to study it and even took on the path of archaeology. However, not having thought of putting in on anyone, Jonathan didn't discover its true purpose himself. 5/5

(3) ABILITIES:

Athleticism - Jonathan had lived a rough past as the son of an aristocrat, and was known in his childhood to have been at least a competent boxer. In his college life, he played Rugby alongside Dio Brando, and was revered as one of the two stars of Hugh Hudson Academy.Even prior to learning the Ripple, Jonathan was able to hold his own against three thugs, Speedwagon among them, with sheer might and willpower. He was capable of wielding various weaponry held by the suits of armor in the Joestar Mansion. He had also performed incredible feats of strength, such as jumping from the hilt of a sword and hoisting himself up to the second floor while doing a flip over the guardrails, despite his arm being inhibited by a spear pierced into his pectorals. Perhaps his greatest display of strength was after being revitalized and empowered by Zeppeli's Ultimate Deep Pass Overdrive, where he ripped through 3 steel bars clutching his neck, a feat that even the mighty zombie Tarkus outright admitted he was incapable of.

Intelligence - Jonathan is shown to be an intelligent person and a very competent thinker during battles, constantly coming up with new strategies mid-combat to defeat foes such as Bruford and Dio. Academically, Jonathan graduated from university after having written a celebrated thesis in archaeology. He has meticulously studied the Stone Mask, going as far as identifying the spots in the brain it would pierce,but didn't discover its true purpose himself.In a fight, Jonathan is adept at thinking of moves on the spot and using the environment to his advantage. On several occasions, Jonathan was quick to formulate plans even in a moment of crisis. Still recovering from the loss of his father, Jonathan had to fight a vampirized Dio, and quickly thought about burning down the Joestar Mansion in order to bring Dio down. Likewise, agonizing from a wound in the throat (which also led to a loss of oxygen going to his brain), Jonathan managed to use his last Ripple on Wang Chan to dispose of a horde of zombies and Dio at the same time by controlling Wang Chan's body to make the boat explode. Jonathan even notably used his belt as a supplementary whip before ever acquiring the Ripple, as well exploited the fact that Windknight's Lot was a coal mining town to deduce that a lake would have air pockets at its bottom to surprise Bruford with an unexpected production of Ripple.

Ripple

Jonathan has an arsenal of ancient martial art techniques, most inherited from Will A. Zeppeli and involving Ripple, at his disposal. Some are his original creation, each ending with "Overdrive".

Zoom Punch (ズームパンチ Zūmu Panchi): Jonathan launches his fist forward and strikes his opponent. First used by Zeppeli, the attack involves a Ripple breathing technique that dislocates and stretches the joints to extend the arm and give it greater reach while also using the same Ripple to dull the pain caused by the move. Due to the increased length, the strike immediately reaches the opponent's face first, which from that perspective seems "zoomed in."

Sendo Ripple Overdrive (仙道波紋疾走オーバードライブ Sendō Hamon ShissouŌbādoraibu): Jonathan charges a Ripple wave through his arm and releases it into a solid object, such as a wall or partition. The Ripple can travel through and reach anything on the other side, and anything hit by the Ripple is sent flying in a spiral. If the enemy is an Undead, the Ripple will enter their bloodstream and destroy them from the inside.

Scarlet Overdrive (緋色の波紋疾走スカーレットオーバードライブ Hiiro no Hamon ShissouSukāretto Ōbādoraibu): Charging the Ripple into one hand, Jonathan can create a Ripple of flame. He is able to transfer over this flame to another part of his body, and anything that touches that body part has a chance of catching fire.

Underwater Turquoise Blue Overdrive (水中のための青縁波紋疾走ターコイズブルーオーバードライブ Suichū no Tame no Aomidori Hamon ShissouTākoizu Burū Ōbādoraibu): Appropriately the strongest place to use the Ripple, Jonathan can release high powered tempests while underwater with enough force to blast enemies away. In most cases, a good portion of the water is propelled outward as well, draining something like a lake to waist-high depth.

Overdrive Barrage (波紋疾走オーバードライブ連打 Hamon ShissouŌbādoraibu Renda): When Jonathan jabs fast enough consecutively, he can release multiple Overdrives at once.

Metal Silver Overdrive (銀色の波紋疾走メタルシルバーオーバードライブ Giniro no Hamon ShissouMetaru Shirubā Ōbādoraibu): Essentially the same as a Sendo Ripple Overdrive, but with the ability of transferring through metal.

Life Magnetism Overdrive (生命磁気への波紋疾走オーバードライブ Seimei jiki e no Hamon ShissouŌbādoraibu): With the aid of Zeppeli, Jonathan can draw all the leaves in the immediate area and magnetize them together to form one giant leaf, which was used as an impromptu-hang glider. This move can be applied to most plants, and has the ability to revive them passively as well - as when Jonathan touched a dead tree branch with his newly Ripple-healed arm and restored its wilted flowers.

Sunlight Yellow Overdrive (山吹き色の波紋疾走サンライトイエローオーバードライブ！！ Yamabukiiro no Hamon ShissouSanraito Ierō Ōbādoraibu, Lit. "Bright Yellow Ripple Sprint"): His final and most memorable attack, first marked by Jonathan's words: "My heart resonates! The heat's enough to burn! The beat of my blood is razor-sharp!!" (ふるえるぞハート！燃えつきるほどヒート！！刻むぞ血液のビート！ Furueru zo hāto! Moetsukiru hodo hīto!! Kizamu zo, ketsueki no bīto!). It is a devastating and extremely rapid flurry of Ripple-infused punches with power comparable to the sun itself and has the ability to completely obliterate the Undead.

Alongside the attacks, the Ripple has various other uses in combat. A skilled Ripple user such as Jonathan has the ability to walk on water, strengthen objects and increase their potency, increase jumping height, and much more. Healing One of the main conveniences of the Ripple is the ability to heal the body to an extent. During his battle with Doobie, Jonathan was able to eject poison out of his bloodstream via Ripple transfusion. During his battle with Tarkus, he was also able to heal his broken neck after receiving the Supreme Pass Overdrive from Zeppeli.

Luck and Pluck (幸運ラックと勇気プラック kōunRakku to YūkiPurakku): After his defeat, Brufordgave Jonathan his sword, which played a major role in the final battle against Dio, where Jonathan was able to counter Dio's freezing ability by infusing the sword with Ripple, in order to avoid direct contact with Dio's body.

Hermit Purple-like Stand were due to a Stand power that awoke in Jonathan's body, Similar to Hermit Purple, it can produce a psychic photograph by smashing a camera, which Dio used to track the Joestars and their friends's current location to send Stand Users after them.

4/5

(4) APPEARANCE

As an adult, Jonathan is a tall (195 cm/6'5"), extremely muscular individual with a gentlemen's poise. His typical attire tends to reflect his noble background, characterized by stylized tunics over long sleeve shirts. Reoccurring articles of clothing include a cravat, bow tie, thick boots and a vest. At home, Jonathan wears semi-formal attire consisting of a collared shirt, tie, and jacket with rolled up sleeves. During University Rugby matches, he wears a standard striped rugby shirt and pants with long socks. When he sets out to Ogre Street to find a cure for his father's illness, Jonathan dons an entirely new outfit made up of a padded jacket and pants, complete with a deerstalker cap and a long cloak. During his training with Zeppeli, he strips down to a stylized tank top with wristbands, and at some point a circlet.On his quest to Windknight's Lot, Jonathan dons a double layered tunic with a bowtie and Deerstalker cap. After his fight with Tarkus, he wears a close-fitted tank top with capped sleeves for the rest of the journey. In the anime, these sleeves are converted into shoulder pads. During his honeymoon and final encounter with Dio, he wears an ornate suit with a long tail over a collared shirt with straps on the shoulders, and a cravat. 4/5

5) MOTIVATION

Jojo’s motivation is avenging his father, his honor and defeating Dio. (Thanks Hanawriting) 5/5

6) CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT

After finally defeating Dio, Jonathan watches as he falls from the tower into the unknown disintegrating piece by piece. Shedding a tear for his corrupt brother... Even though Dio had hurt Jonathan in the worst way possible, he would always have a special place in his heart. This action would prove that Jonathan was too pure for this world. 5/5

Total 27/30

Source: https://jojo.fandom.com/wiki/Jonathan_Joestar#:~:text=Adult%20Years,thick%20boots%20and%20a%20vest.

#anime #animelove #anime / manga #jojo's bizarre adventure #jonathan joestar #character study #mha #dbz

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thedistantstorm · 5 years

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Phoenix Protocol 30

When the Traveler’s Light was returned to the Guardians after the defeat of the Cabal, it did not manifest itself the same in everyone. Miyu, an Awoken Warlock, finds herself struggling with her abilities, her Light feeling different and not her own. With her Vanguard preoccupied with grief and all eyes turned to the Reef, she finds herself turning to an unlikely source in an attempt to rediscover her connection to the Light and define what it means for her as a Dawnblade.

Previously

“Okay,” Miyu says to Tamashii. “We’ve done this before. We just need to do it one more time.”

They both look at the portal then at the group behind them. Miyu meets the gaze of Sedia, who nods grimly. Petra flicks her fingers in a casual salute. They step carefully through the great black maw of the portal. The Ascendant Plane is cold and stale, just as they had left it..

“As long as you don’t drink that Tincture of Queensfoil garbage again, I think we’ll be alright. Slow and steady.”

She pouts, “I didn’t enjoy being ascendant. I didn’t ascend, I only seemed to attract every enemy around me.”

“Around us,” Her Ghost corrects. “I love you, Yu-mi, but it… well, that wasn’t your best idea.”

“Technically, it was Lilith’s idea. She had the bounty.” Tamashii looks at her knowingly, and her cheeks puff, just a little. He's missed her quietly expressive nature. “Okay, so I wanted to try it. Once was enough. I learned my lesson,” She ducks her head. He thumps her cheek affectionately.

“I know,” He replies, feinting up and around her. “Now let’s get to work, get this over with, and go home. Ready,” He asks, and she nods. Then, "Excited?"

Miyu moves her helmet from under her arm. Just as she’s about to put it on, she smiles. “I wonder if he’ll be surprised,” She muses aloud.

“I don’t know if that’s the right word,” Tamashii coos, melding into her armor as she puts her helmet back on her head. “I think he’s believed in you all along.”

Lilith lets her Ghost take control of the ship when they break through the atmosphere, coming out of Orbit. Her Ghost is not a pilot, so she grasps the armrests of her chair tightly as the vessel shakes and rattles. The planet seems to be experiencing a downpour. Everything seems dingy, dull, and shaded gray.

“After spending a few months in the Dreaming City, this is almost a welcome change,” The petite Warlock jokes to her partner.

The little being chirps and hums her agreement. “Almost,” She quips lightly. “I know you won’t appreciate how much colder it is. Your body temperature is around thirty-nine point eight degrees centigrade.”

“What is the temperature here?”

“Negative two.”

“Shouldn’t it be snowing?”

Her Ghost whirls, calculating. “The rain here is sixty-five percent water and thirty two percent methane. The additional three percent is comprised of mild acid precipitate, pollution from Golden-Age artifact. Chemical composition of the actual rain itself makes it stay liquid. Before the Traveler terra-formed this planet,” The little bot continues, academically, “It would have been approximately negative one hundred eighty degrees centigrade, instead.”

“Still,” Lilith says, wishing she’d exchanged her Reverie armor for something a bit heartier. “I’m going to freeze.”

“If it makes you feel better, the temperature on Mars right now is negative fifty-three. Thankfully the Vanguard sent us here, instead.”

“Well, maybe it’ll be warmer in the Arcology.”

“Based on what I gathered from previous strike logs, it will be warmer inside. And even so,” Her voice takes on something softer, doting, “You’ve been practicing, Lilith. Your solar energy can help keep you warm.”

The Exo shivers anyway. “I know, Nizana,” She replies. “I just forget sometimes.”

The Ghost's intricate shell spins thoughtfully. “I would wager that to mean you don't know, clearly.”

The sheer numbers of Taken are more dangerous than anything else. As Tamashii had suggested, they move slowly, Miyu thinning out their numbers from afar. Whenever they take a break, he synthesizes more ammunition as rapidly as possible. She'll run out of bullets before she dies, though the first could very well lead to the second.

She's meticulously combing through area by area, following the tips Tamashii gives her, flagging the direction he believes will lead them through the great maze at the beginning.

When they're through, she slips into a nook, a great crack that starts at the top of the building and becomes wider as it trails down. He heals her quietly while she catches her breath. She's exhausted already.

“I stopped counting at three hundred,” He tells her. “I realize it's easier with two, but I feel like there are more Taken here than there were last time.”

Miyu checks her gun, eyes hard. “Let's keep moving. I'd rather pick off as many of them as we can by surprise. It only gets more difficult from here.”

“Just remember to use your glide. They can't jump as high as you.”

Tamashii phases away with a shimmering spark and they're off again.

Sloane is pacing across the open-air command deck. “It's a standard mission,” She's telling them. “Get in, disable their ritual, get out. Don't dally. The Hive in these parts are ruthless and use Guardians and their Ghosts as unwilling sacrifices.”

The Hunter next to her shifts, uneasy. Meanwhile, the Titan that accompanies them nods, almost eagerly. “It’ll be fine,” he tells the human woman between himself and Lilith. “Easy peasy.”

Lilith’s Ghost makes some irritated sound in her Guardian’s mind. The Warlock can’t help but agree. They’re just doing this to pass the time until Miyu returns. She never thought she’d miss training, but there’s something soothing in the structured discipline. She pulls out her sword and looks at her reflection in the blade.

Well, if nothing else, if she can have a good story to return to Miyu with - maybe put some of her new skills to good use - maybe she’ll be shown some more advanced katas. Miyu’s been holding out on her. Lilith knows it; Just like she knows where it is Miyu goes in the mornings - in the mists, overlooking the bay - for her own private training.

Getting into the Archology is an easy thing. There's some Hive but it's nothing horrific. Compared to some of her rounds in the Blind Well, it seems like a breeze. Even the runes spelled to keep the main buildings closed fall easily.

It's only once the doors close behind them with a boom and a flash of green, that Lilith realizes it just might have been this easy for a reason. She realizes it even more so when she sees a Knight with a blade she's only seen once before.

Miyu has Tamashii transmat her Tigerspite - a gift, from Lilith following one of their early training sessions - into her hands to traverse the narrow ballasts between one area and the next. The near-constant fire keeps the Ogres from knocking her off and into certain death.

All in all, she makes it through with little issue, the number of enemies reduced severely due to the limited terrain. Tamashii bumps her cheek proudly and swaps the auto-rifle for her Service Revolver.

Then, she lingers in front of the doorway to the next phase. "The barriers and miasma will be heavier since you're alone," Ghost wagers. "Just keep moving and you should be fine."

Miyu nods. "Alright. Ready?"

"Ready."

She steps through.

It feels like her soul is being crushed, like the weight of worlds is forcing her into the ground. Tamashii was right in his guess; It's far worse than before. Her vision swims, and her eardrums feel like they're going to pop.

She makes it up the first staircase, thrall practically licking her boots they're so close behind her. Then, she high-tails it to the left and up the next.

That's when things get a little strange.

"Anata," She hears. "Miyu."

Her footsteps falter. She looks up and around, searching for the source of the voice. His voice.

"It's a trick," Tamashii says from beside her.

"I know."

The miasma gets heavier. "We have to get out of here," He screeches, when she only takes another two steps and pauses. "MOVE!"

"I am," She says, slowly. Delayed. Tamashii circles her, notes how the Taken Thrall seem to wait carefully out of reach. His danger senses are white hot, on alert. Something is very wrong here.

"Faster, Yu-mi. Whatever this is, your helmet isn't filtering it. Listen to me." He thunks the whole of his tiny body into her chest and she staggers. "Only me."

"Finally, you're here," Miyu takes a shuffling step forward, dropping her gun. Tamashii is screaming something, but it's far away, like she's under water. "How I've missed you, Anata."

She sees him, like a light at the end of a tunnel. Her feet move slowly, though it doesn't seem that way in her mind. There's something cloyingly sweet about the air in her helmet, but it's almost pleasantly fragrant and each breath makes her relax more and more each time.

No, some rational part of her mind challenges. She was here to do something. Tamashii said not to let her guard down.

But…

But, he's here. She wants - has wanted - more than anything to see him.

"Don't worry," Zavala says, so gently it makes her heart hurt. "You must be tired from your journey. Come to me, dear one. Rest."

"I missed you so much," She mumbles, ambling closer. His words become her truth. She is tired, she realizes. Her limbs feel heavy, her head is buzzing, and she just wants to rest in his arms.

Miyu makes it to the top of the staircase after a long moment. Tamashii is still screaming at her, but she makes no indication that she can hear him. "Guardian! MIYU! LOOK AT ME!"

"You have done so well."

She smiles, behind her helm. "I can't wait to show you…"

"Wait, wait. Yu-mi? Who are you talking to? What are you looking at?"

"Let me see you."

She reaches for the clasps on her helm. Her Ghost fights her, knocking her hands away and phasing around attempts to brush him off like a pesky fly.

"I need to see you, Anata. I want to look into your eyes."

"I want…" She trails off, hands stilling. "I have to tell you…"

"Yes," The vision in front of her breathes aloud, coalescing in a great violet-black plume of dark, speaking with the inflection of the Vanguard Commander. Except, to Tamashii, he can hear the anger. The fraud. He is not impacted by this miasma, the Taken essence pumped into the stale air. "Tell me everything. But first..."

Miyu rips off her helmet. Tamashii screams. She looks over to him with clouded eyes, blinking slowly. A smile steals over her face.

"You're tired, Miyu," The voice says, "Such a long journey, it's only natural that you should want to rest."

"Oh," She slurs, staggering. Her brows furrow sleepily, "Wass'n't I-"

"You're home," He says. "How I've missed you.”

Miyu hums. "Tha'ss… yes," She agrees.

"Rest, beloved." In her mind, she sees a hand reach out to cradle her head that looks so unlike the dark Spectre her ghost sees. She's so tired, she could fall asleep standing up. "I am never letting you go again."

Belatedly, she realizes that statement doesn't make sense. Zavala would never… never…

A brilliant white light steels into her vision, and, in that moment, everything becomes clear.

"STAY AWAY FROM MY GUARDIAN!"

"Tama-Tamashii?!"

There's a chink! then, a thunk as her partner hits the ground. Miyu looks over to see the Thrall - that's right, what was she thinking? - rushing his shell. Panic and fury bleed her vision white. She calls forth fire and lunges toward him.

It's the opening the Knight that's definitely not Zavala and has been waiting patiently for her at the top of the staircase needs to bring down his blade.

#destiny fanfiction #commander zavala #zavala x oc #oc: miyu #miyu the sweet bean warlock #collection: phoenix protocol #oc: lilith

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natsumi-no-hotaru · 5 years

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Chihayafuru #20: So high are the white-capped waves

AKA. Being overwhelmed by superior skills is but another hurdle to overcome; one should rejoice in getting to witness such magnificent display, take a deep breath and keep moving forward.

[Previously: The Kanatomu set sail for the open sea and Taichi is too precious.]

This is definitely one of the strongest episodes in the 1st season - tight writing, spot-on animation, and so many quote-worthy lines. The episode succeeds in maintaining its focus on Arata’s official return to the screen karuta world and its emotional impact on our childhood friend trio, while delicately weaving in the minor story line of Chi-chan’s dismal academic prowess and Taichi’s almost-there struggle to move up to class A.

Her struggle

Yup, there’s absolutely no space in our heroine’s mind for something so dull and mundane like schoolwork. The new daddy bear, lol.

Introducing Komano-sensei, the tutor from hell. *Reborn nostalgia*

I love authority!Tsutomu-kun. Still, poor Chi-chan must refrain from snickering

Yikes. Lol, “from your tutor”

When your mind’s made up ~ There’s no point trying to change it.

#TaichihayaFTW

Yes, yes, yes! Run, girl, run!

His struggle

I lost in the third round.

It’s not really Arata’s fault.

*hugs for mah bebe*

You know shit is bad when Chi-chan’s reaction face is the only thing that saves the story from tumbling down a bottomless pit.

Their reunion

There’s no doubt that Chi-chan is profoundly affected by the sight of Arata sitting and playing karuta with such acumen and fluid grace, as if he’s never left that world for a second. To simply describe the fact as that she’s “moved to tears” is an understatement in itself. Arata has long been an integral part of all that she aims to be as a karuta player so to her, he’s more than just a long-time-reunited childhood friend and karuta rival - he’s the very embodiment of her conviction in karuta as a way of life.

Arata’s gonna come back so we have to be stronger and wait for his return.

- recalling Taichi, episode 5

In the face of Chi-chan’s come-as-you-are honest emotional outflow, it is perhaps easy to overlook Taichi’s equally complex, understated reaction to Arata’s return. While the waves may be made of soft water for Chi-chan, the same cannot be said for Taichi, whose defeat at round 3 can be partly attributed to the emotional turbulence he felt in Arata’s presence. The deep-rooted inferiority Taichi long harbors with regard to Arata’s overwhelming karuta genius was after all what led him to quit karuta in middle school, prior to his reunion with Chi-chan in high school.

Sensei, I played karuta in middle school... I practiced and became better little by little, but I always knew, deep down, that I could spend my entire youth on karuta without ever becoming better than karuta.

- Taichi, episode 4

Having to overcome the pressure from seeing the reminder of his inferiority in person aka. Arata at such an important juncture of Taichi’s karuta journey is perhaps a tall order. But it really makes one appreciate Taichi all the more for the self-awareness he demonstrated in admitting that his loss is not Arata’s fault, that it’s his own problem to deal with, not to run away from.

Part of me didn’t want to see him here, but deep down, I’m celebrating.

Taichi still stumbles a lot on the way but he’s getting there as long as he keeps being honest with himself.

The Resolution

And this is Taichi’s honesty being put to good use. Man, this scene though, so many feels for mah man Taichi. I love how Arata was so taken back by Taichi’s display of emotion, when ust a moment earlier he was all fired up.

You’re too slow. Hiroshi-san is our ace. He’s not going to lose to someone who hasn’t played in 18 months.

Then comes this precious moment of reunion and acknowledgement between Chi-chan and Arata. As usual, she would totally have missed it if it had not been for Taichi drawing her attention to the actual person she has been missing.

She’s way too adorable. *hugs Chi-chan*

And we also got this so-not-awkward conversation at all lol.

Well, I wasn’t sure ... I’m no longer here, so I didn’t know if the two of you were a couple now.

No, definitely not.

Yeah, at this rate, it’s like dream on, Taichi. *head slam*

The reunion story ties up beautifully with the episode’s beginning, as Chi-chan gets scolded by Komano-sensei when she gets back to the library, and before that, by his lovely assistant, Kana-chan, who looks absolutely hilarious with glasses.

Nonetheless, all’s well that ends well. Chi-chan finally understands the need to rise up to all of her responsibilities, be they academic-wise or karuta-related. As Komano-sensei so succinctly put, “You have to do the things you don’t want to do, before you can do the things you truly want to do.”

The untied threads aka. TBC

1. Friendzoned Arata? At least tentatively speaking?

It seems to fit Arata. Whenever I get to meet him, he has to leave right away. It sounds like a love poem, but this poem is about a girl who was her childhood friend, right? It fits perfectly.

2. Taichi staying true to himself... but what will happen now??

On Harada-sensei’s proposal to make an exception for him by promoting him to class A regardless of not having secured a tournament win yet.

Please don’t do that, Sensei. That’s not like you...

Sensei, I’m not so much focused on making Class A as I’m focused on becoming some one who doesn’t run away.

Urgh, this is poignant in all the wrong ways and it’s absolutely tearing my heart in two. Like I really wanted him to get a break and totally agree with Harada-sensei’s reasoning for this much-needed encouragement measure but damn it, I would have been so disappointed had Taichi said yes. Cos that is not true to himself at all, and would do a huge disservice to his self-esteem.

*sigh* What an emotional roller-coaster.

Anyhow, that’s all I have for now. See you next time, folks! Thanks for checking this out.

Omake

Well, even I can’t say no to Arata’s super serious and concentrated face.

One minute he was all sprawling and gathering himself together after the neck-to-neck defeat, the next he’s already firing up with determination.

Classic Arata.

Until next time, then!

#Chihayafuru #chihayafuru anime #chihayafuru season 1 #chihayafuru marathon #natsumi talks #natsumi watches #ayase chihaya #Chihaya Ayase #Taichi Mashima #Mashima Taichi #Wataya Arata #Arata Wataya #karuta #taichihaya #Kanade Oe #komano tsutomu

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maggiesause-blog1 · 5 years

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Creative Problem Solving Interviews

Adriana Nova, SVP, Creative at LippeTaylor

How do you generate ideas?

How, when, and where are you inspired?

I’m inspired anytime something makes me look twice, lean closer, listen repeatedly, or just want to break it down. Curiosity is at the heart of my inspiration. Anything that makes me want to take it apart and understand why I’m attracted to it. I’m a strategy-driven creative. I accept that lots of brilliant work is just inexplicable but when I can unpack its elements, it’s very satisfying and inspiring in and of itself.

What inspires you?

I know this is a cliché creative answer but: everything. Truly. Sometimes it’s as straightforward as a painting, a song, an anecdote, a book, etc. Other times there’s no apparent connection between the spark and its outcome. I was an ACD on Dove during their Speak Beautiful campaign and I did my best writing for the brand whilst listening to DMX. So there you are.

What obstacles do you face in coming up with a new idea and how do you overcome those obstacles?

I worry over an idea being innovative enough. Will it get attention? Will it stand out? Will it exceed the client’s KPIs? I always want to build on whatever I did last and make it better. But it’s easy to get stunted when you imagine conclusions before you’ve even begun, to the point that just taking the first step can feel futile. I’ve gotten better about this in the past few years, though it’s an ongoing lesson. When you’re a commercial creative, you don’t get to chase - or blame - the muse for too long. Clunky work on the page is at least work on a page. Nothing comes out fully formed, and sometimes I have to force myself to live in that uncomfortable space. Also if you’re a perfectionist, sometimes the strongest solve really is the straight line between A and B. Don’t create for the sake of impressing yourself.

What process(es) do you use to solve problems?

Describe the steps of your problem-solving process. Explain your journey from inspiration to implementation.

Two things: continue to revisit the brief/RFP, and accept the support of your team. I’m afraid I don’t have any recent examples that illustrate step-by-step process but I can explain how and why these two help me problem-solve.

I mentioned before that I’m a strategy-driven creative. Like any creative, though, I can get lost in the life of the mind. That’s where all kinds of ideas come out to play in your head, be they ones that answer the brief or not. When I think I’m veering off-track, I re-ground myself in the ask to remember that I’m there to solve a business problem, not write The Great American Novel. So, practicing self-awareness when I feel stuck is one of the ways I problem-solve.

Second, I collaborate with my team. At those times, I’m not a creative director or an executive. I’m one in a group, and we’re trying to arrive at a place together. It might seem like that’s straightforward but to do it well requires a deliberate shift in how you see and position yourself in the room. Drop the ego, open up room for others’ critique and solutions. Winning ideas will not always generate from you. Understand that by letting others shine, you don’t dull your own sheen. In fact, the mark of a good leader is that they foster environments to bring out the best in others.

When you can help cultivate tons of ideas as opposed to just your own, you’ve automatically installed a problem-solving system that both benefits others and strengthens the work. Also: call out and credit team members when someone else compliments a good idea. You’re in a leadership position already; you’ve proven yourself to the extent you’re in charge.

Tara Hart, Visual Merchandising, Founder HOTHOUSE NYC

How do you generate ideas?

How, when, and where are you inspired?

I find that inspiration comes on the fringes of ‘the process’ and outside of routine. So If I can be mindful while in those spaces something might stick or strike. If I cannot break from routine (jobs, responsibilities) I try and change the perspective or approach.

What inspires you?

What sticks for me are the stories and the people behind a particular object, place or body of work. For me, the journey and layers beneath how something comes to be is what ignites the spark and makes something special. To find this inspiration you have to be curious, ask questions and listen. So my job sometimes is just to be inquisitive, poke around and to sniff out what hasn’t been revealed before.

I have a strange relationship with memory. Mostly just not a very acute one. So memories can be a strong source of inspiration. Like suddenly remembering a particular garment of my mothers, a summer routine of packed lunch on the beach or a childhood toy. When the memories come they lead you down a new path of things forgotten that are suddenly new. These new found memories reveal how small objects or smells, or textures can trigger powerful emotions which can be very useful in the field of visual communication.

I am inspired by people who have that unwavering dedication to a particular craft or work. I am not a specialist. I have never felt that I have one particular talent or calling so when I meet people that have that relentless pursuit of something specific or a bit obscure I am delighted and fascinated - and a little jealous.

What obstacles do you face in coming up with a new idea and how do you overcome those obstacles?

Modern societies obsession with “productivity” can be a burden. Who gets to define what a “productive” afternoon looks like? How do you put a value on the ‘big idea’ you’ve had in the shower? So I try and apply a looser definition to productivity to leave some headspace for ideation.

I believe that modern corporate structures (as enforced by humans) do not cultivate or sustain creative thinking. So I try to remove myself from those constraints even if that’s a just a mindset (ie this is not a full time job, this a 12-month creative residency)

What process(es) do you use to solve problems?

Describe the steps of your problem-solving process. Explain your journey from inspiration to implementation.

I never received formal creative or artistic education after 4th grade. Despite that I have wormed my way into a very creative field. As a result my problem solving approach is a little scrappy.

I am a big communicator. I want to get a group together and have a rounded conversation. I want to hear stories, feedback and different perspectives. So, whether it is for a project kick off or sudden issue, a verbal assessment is my first stop.

With the gathered insight I can create a brief or outline to really pinpoint the outcome I am seeking. I look at past experiences, problems or projects that may shed light on a possible approach or reveal what risks might be lurking.

Defining the desired outcome or goal, and making sure other stakeholders are in agreement at the beginning ensures the task at hand is set up for success.

Sometimes a break down is necessary to whittle the task down into a few stages. Make the problem feel more digestible. No one eats the whole sushi roll at once.

Once this outline is in place you have created the guardrails from within can happen the concepting and ideation. Research and references can be gathered and the seedlings of ideas are recorded. Lots of trial and testing. And of course conversations and feedback. This process can continue until something productive sticks and a resolution is revealed.

William Sause, PhD, Postdoctoral Fellow NYU Langone Medical Center

How do you generate ideas?

I am often inspired at times where I am struggling with my own work or ability to generate novel ideas. I find that after a period of being down on myself, I seek inspiration in order to rebound. These periods often provide the best ideas and motivation.

I am inspired by the brilliance and ingenuity of people I respect and admire. These moments of inspiration often come during discussions or seminars with these individuals. In my academic background, these moments come at the hands of professors. An example of this would be hearing a seminar that overlaps with my own work and interests, I often leave these settings feeling more motivated to finish and succeed with a project. This comes from inspiration and competitiveness.

The best ideas in my line of work are ones that require an individual to reexamine overlooked or neglected concepts to find gems. This is very difficult but can be paradigm shifting when it happens. An example of this in science would be the discovery that a pathway, which has a canonical and widely accepted function - turns out to have a much more dynamic and powerful role in biology...an unappreciated function.

What process(es) do you use to solve problems?

clearly state the problem

exhaustively research the literature and establish a comfort level with all preexisting knowledge

assess how your idea is innovative and how it distinguishes yourself from what exists

determine what you can accomplish on your own and what you will need your colleagues to help you with

set forth a linear path to your goal. in my case this involves laying out series of hypothetical figures that will make up a manuscript.

Donna Sause, Hemostasis Sales Consultant at Instrumentation Laboratory

How do you generate ideas?

What inspires you?

I’m often inspired when I don’t expect to be and mostly when I’m alone. Sometimes the idea is relevant to what I’m doing, for example if I’m doing chores around the yard an idea will pop into my head about landscaping. Other times it won’t be relevant to what I’m doing for example I may be walking the dog and I’ll think up a new recipe idea or a new way to make a sales pitch to a customer.

I’m mostly inspired by nature. I’m more clear headed when I’m surrounded by trees or near water. I also take a lot of inspiration from books eg. Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert and occasionally from podcasts particularly NPR “How I built this”.

What obstacles do you face in coming up with a new idea and how do you overcome those obstacles?

When I put pressure on myself to come up with something I will usually draw a blank (eg my MSc thesis), if I leave things to the last minute it is also difficult for me to generate ideas. It doesn’t happen often but if I get overwhelmed by things and start to compare myself negatively to colleagues or classmates I don’t find it easy to come up with new ideas.

I make a conscious effort not to do these things. If I know I have a deadline for a presentation I will prepare ahead of time so that I am in control of the situation. I try to think of the positive contributions that I can make to my company and customers instead of feeling inadequate by making comparisons.

For me inspiration happens when I’m happy. I am a happy person by nature but if I’m feeling down I will refer to my favourite book of poems by Mary Oliver or I will follow advice from author and speaker Catherine Sanderson on how to increase happiness.

Describe the steps of your problem-solving process. Explain your journey from inspiration to implementation.

I am a practical thinker, if I am faced with a problem I’ll try to tackle it with a level head. It is important to me that if I have a problem then I deal with it immediately and most often by myself. I never pass my problems on to others. If I’m having issues solving a problem I find writing things down beneficial, that gets things out of my head and puts them into perspective.

When I’m inspired I generally act fast, I don’t like to spend a long time teasing an idea out or over thinking it. I will jump straight in, make an attempt and if that fails I’ll figure out a way of looking at it from a different angle.

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theartofbeinganerd · 6 years

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the most worthwhile of journeys (is taken with you)

Hello, yes, it’s May 15th again, which means I’m posting another birthday fic - though, this year, it’s from Jemma’s POV. It’s also a bit different from the fic I wrote last year, Rising of the Second Sun, but I think that’s the point?? I’m not sure anymore, this was finished a lot later than I planned and it’s two am, bear with me.

Also, I guestimated when Fitzsimmons got married, since we don't know the actual date and the MCU timeline is a mess.

Also also, I'm not completely happy with the title, but I've been trying to think of one for almost an hour and this is the best I've got - it's my birthday, I should get a free pass anyway.

Anyway, set Academy Era through post Season Five

(Ao3)

“I’m hungry – can’t we go get something to eat? It’s nearly dinner time!” Fitz complains with a groan, breaking abruptly into the silence of Jemma’s dorm room, where they’ve been spending their Saturday lounging on her bed and studying for their upcoming finals.

Darting a glance at her watch, Jemma rolls her eyes and tells him sharply, “Ugh Fitz, it’s only two-thirty!”

It’s been almost six months since Jemma had found herself paired up with Fitz in chem class, and a little over five months since Fitz had given up their rivalry and stopped ignoring her, finally starting to talk to her instead. Though she had enjoyed the bit of healthy competition, she very much prefers being Fitz’s partner and friend to being his rival – even when he gets on her nerves.

“I’m wasting away!” he insists, closing the textbook he’d been scanning through, tucking his notebook in between the pages to save his place. “Seriously, I think my imminent death by starvation is more important than studying for finals that we aren’t taking for another month.”

With an exasperated sigh, Jemma leans over the side of her bed, rooting around beneath it for a moment before coming back with a box of granola bars that she’d stashed there with this exact scenario in mind. “Here. And as I keep telling you, Fitz, you can never start studying too soon!”

“Oh yes you can,” he argues, digging through the box until he’s plucked a granola bar from it. He makes a bit of a face at the food (which is probably a much healthier snack than he’d been searching for), but ultimately tears open the wrapper and takes a bite. She only gives an irritated little huff in response, and around the granola in his mouth, he teases, “Oh, I’m sorry, how rude of me – I forgot that you were in a committed relationship with all things academic.”

Narrowing her eyes at the playful dig, Jemma draws her right foot back to kick him in the shin – which is, conveniently, right by her feet – delighting in the yelp it draws out of him. “There,” she says satisfactorily, offering him a winning smile, “now eat your granola bar and be quiet, Fitz.”

But, Fitz does nothing of the sort. Instead, he drops the granola bar entirely, reaching out to cover his shin protectively with both hands as he whines, “Ow! Simmons, you – I think you’ve broken my leg! I…I…” Then, he drops dramatically back onto the mattress, holding a hand to his forehead. “Oh, my poor, poor leg!”

Though Jemma thinks that Fitz is being absolutely ridiculous, his theatrics have a huge smile spreading across her lips as she delivers another little kick to his leg, warning him a lot less firmly than she’d intended to, “Be serious, Fitz!” He lets out a pathetic little moan in response, and she has to press her lips together to stifle her laughter.

And, it’s at that moment, with her heart swelling with absolute affection for him, that Jemma realizes that she can’t quite remember what her life was like before her came into it, even though it’s only been six months. There’s something about being with Fitz, about the way that he makes even the simplest things so much brighter, so much more fun, that she’s never experienced with anyone else before.

When Fitz finally pops back up, leaning on his elbows for support, she prompts him seriously, “Fitz?”

“Yeah?” he questions, his little grin fading into a frown, no doubt at the look on her face (which is most likely a cross between determination and anxiety).

Jemma inhales a short breath, then blurts out without a single ounce of finesse, “You’re my best friend.”

The room falls silent in the wake of her confession, and Fitz spends a handful of moments just gaping at her, obviously not sure what to say in response.

Chewing at her bottom lip nervously, Jemma gives him another, weak little kick as she asks softly, “Fitz?”

Finally, he sucks in a shaky breath of his own, and stutters out, “You’re – well of course – Simmons…” Then, he clears his throat and pushes himself up to sit up fully, hunching his shoulders and dropping his gaze to stare down at his lap. It’s only for a moment, though, and then he looks back up to meet her eyes, an intensity and sincerity in them as he tells her, “You’re my best friend too.”

Jemma had suspected as much, of course – it’s not as if either of them spends any sort of regular time with anyone else at the Academy – but the words being put so plainly have her breath catching slightly in her throat, her heart beating just a bit quicker in her chest.

“Um, good,” she replies, the words coming out strangely breathlessly, and she hastily drops her eyes back to her textbook.

“Yeah. Good.” She can hear him reopening his own book then, shortly before his pencil begins to tap out a steady rhythm against it.

Confident that he isn’t paying attention to her, then, Jemma allows herself to indulge in a wide, excited grin.

And fittingly, that day is the birthday of Peggy Carter (which Jemma, of course, knows because she became fascinated with SHIELD’s founder upon doing her research before attending the Academy last fall), a trailblazer if there ever was one, where Jemma takes her first true steps onto a new path for her life to follow.

But, of course, she won’t recognize the significance of the moment for years to come.

“And you’re sure that you’ll be busy all day? I could even take you out for breakfast, or a late lunch or something,” David, Jemma’s current boyfriend, presses once more.

Shifting to hold the phone between her ear and her shoulder, Jemma finishes buttoning up her shirt as she explains once more, “I’m sorry, but I already have plans. I told you this two weeks ago, David.”

“I know, I know, but – it’s your birthday, Jemma. Can I at least see you?”

Pursing her lips, she lets out a silent sigh and takes the phone in her hand once more and leans up against the sink in the bathroom that she shares with Fitz. “I just don’t think I’ll have the time. But, I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”

Even over the line, she can hear his less-than-happy huff, but he eventually replies, “Yeah, sure. Happy Birthday, Jemma.”

“Thank you. Goodbye, David.” She waits until he’s said his goodbyes as well, then ends the call, tucking her cell phone into the pocket of her jeans and stepping out of the room and into the hall.

When she’d passed Fitz’s bedroom door earlier on her way to the bathroom, it had been closed and he’d likely still been asleep. Now, it is open as she goes by once more, and sure enough he’s waiting for her in the living room when she enters it. The TV is already on, and he’s in the process of queuing up the first of her favorite movies that they’d scheduled to watch for the day.

At her entrance, though, he pauses and turns to face her, a grin curling his lips as he greets, “Hey, Happy Birthday!”

Laughing, Jemma plops down on the couch beside Fitz. “Thank you, Fitz.”

Fitz holds the remote out, as though he’s about to start the movie, but then pauses and turns to her, “And now you’re sure this is what you wanna do instead of going out and getting drunk?”

Shifting to curl up a bit more comfortably on the couch and tucking her legs beneath her, Jemma replies, “Truthfully, yes. I think I’m still recovering from last year’s twenty-one bender; spending my twenty-second birthday at home watching movies all day sounds heavenly in comparison.”

Fitz affects an exaggerated shudder, nodding in agreement. “Okay, yeah, you’re right; I don’t need you puking on anymore of my shoes.”

Jemma rolls her eyes, throwing an elbow into his ribs as she tells him, “Just start the movie, Fitz.”

“Bossy, bossy – but, I’m going to let it pass, since it is your birthday,” he teases in reply, finally pressing ‘play’ on the remote.

And, that is exactly how they spend the day; lounging on the couch together, with the occasional trips to the kitchen for food and the few times they have to pause for Jemma to answer a phone call from a family member. But, it is an absolutely perfect day, and by the time that it’s dark outside their windows and the only light is coming from their TV, they’re on their last movie of the day.

Jemma has her legs slung over Fitz’s lap and her head resting on his shoulder, and she can feel the beginnings of exhaustion just beginning to tug at her. She’s just so warm and comfortable there…

“Hey,” Fitz says suddenly, startling Jemma out of the half-sleep she’d been slipping into, “do you have plans with David tonight? Because if you do, you can go if you want – it’s not my birthday, you don’t have to stay here with me.”

Lifting her head from his shoulder, Jemma turns to look at Fitz more fully, noting his understanding smile. “No, I…” Truthfully, she does feel badly about skipping out on a date with David to spend the day with Fitz – but, she’d justified it to herself with the reminder that it was her birthday and, well…he was dreadfully dull compared to Fitz. However, to him, she says, “Fitz, there’s no else that I’d rather spend my birthday with.”

The words have a flicker of relief crossing his face and his smile growing a bit wider, but he simply nods in response, replying, “Oh, okay.”

And, though Jemma knows what she said is true and that Fitz is more important to her than any of her boyfriends ever had been or ever could be, she’s a bit taken aback to realize that she has never meant anything more than those words in her life.

It’s still rather early when Jemma tiptoes out of the bunk and into the hall, quietly closing the door behind her before hurrying through the corridors of the Playground until she reaches the commissary. Fortunately for her, it’s early enough that she doesn’t run into anyone else as she moves as quickly as possible through getting what she needs to ready.

Once she’s finally finished, she piles it all onto a tray, and (carefully) hurries back the way that she’d come, slipping back into the bunk and smiling at the sight of Fitz still fast asleep in their bed. He’s rolled over onto his stomach in her absence, his face buried in his pillow with his cheek crushed against it, and he’s so adorable that her stomach flips with affection.

Jemma sets the tray down on the desk, and slips out of the robe that she’d donned to leave their room, crawling back into bed with him and slipping beneath the covers. “Fitz,” she whispers, sliding one palm along his naked back and leaning in to press slow, lingering kisses over his shoulders and the back of his neck. “Fitz, it’s time to get up. Fitz.”

He grumbles something incoherent, shoving his face more fully into his pillow.

She lets out a little laugh in response, trailing her fingertips lightly over his side, and dropping another kiss on his shoulder. “Fitz, come on, it’s morning.” But, when she doesn’t even get an attempt at a reply that time, she shifts up onto her knees until she can straddle his back. She feels him stiffen slightly beneath her, then relax, before she slides her arms underneath his in a hug, the entire length of her front pressed against his back. “Wake up, Fitz, wake up,” she sing-songs, tilting her head until she can find the hinge of his jaw with her mouth, nibbling lightly at the skin there.

“M’up, m’up,” he mumbles out, and it’s her only warning before she finds herself suddenly on her back, Fitz rolling until he’s above her and kissing her lazily, one hand cupping her cheek and the other gripping her hip.

Jemma responds eagerly to the kiss, burying the fingers of one hand in his curls to keep him close, and against his lips, she whispers, “Happy Birthday, Fitz.”

His lips pause against hers, then he pulls back just enough to catch her eye, and the way that his are shining has her heart filling with warmth. “Best one I’ve ever had, without a doubt,” he murmurs, beginning to lean back into her.

But, she wiggles out from underneath him, hopping out of bed and ignoring his groan of loss. “Wait!” she calls over her shoulder as she crosses the room to grab the tray from the desk, bringing it back over to the bed with her. “I’ve got tea and pancakes!”

Fitz, having rolled onto his back, drops back against the headboard then, eyeing her for a moment before releasing a great sigh and rolling his eyes skyward. “Alright, now I don’t think any birthday could ever compare to this one – I mean, naked Jemma Simmons bringing me pancakes in bed? What could possibly top that?”

“Oh hush,” Jemma snaps lightly, climbing back into bed and handing him the tray. They’ve only taken a couple bites of pancake, however, when she says contemplatively, “This really is different from how we’ve always celebrated birthdays in the past, though, isn’t it?”

Fitz freezes, fork halfway to his mouth. “Uh…good different, or bad different?”

Giving a little roll of her eyes, Jemma curves a hand along his cheek and pecks his lips reassuringly before answering, “Good different, of course.”

It’s true, though; this is the first birthday that they’ve celebrated as a romantic couple, and the reminder has a little thrill passing through Jemma. Sure, things aren’t great around them at the moment – Daisy has taken off in the wake of Lincoln’s sacrifice and has so far evaded any and all efforts to bring her home, Coulson is being forced to step down as Director in the coming months, and they’re all still coming to terms with the government being more directly involved in (and scrutinizing) their affairs.

However, today is all about them, and about making the day as good as she possibly can for Fitz, so Jemma forces herself not to think about all of that, to not feel guilty about this little indulgence. Instead, she teases, “Being a couple certainly would’ve made for interesting birthdays these past twelve years, you know. Though, I’m sure it would’ve gotten old eventually.”

“Never,” Fitz argues immediately, finding her lips with his to press in for more kisses, made sweet and slightly sticky from the syrup.

She isn’t sure if it is the conviction in his voice or his lips against hers or just him in general, but Jemma is abruptly (and not for the first time) overwhelmed with a rush of utter love for her best friend. When he goes to pull away, she lifts a hand to hold the back of his head and draw him back in (and it’s not as if he puts up a fight).

After a long moment, she finally breaks away, resting her forehead against his and holding his beloved face between her hands as she murmurs, “I love you, Fitz.”

His own hand comes up to cradle her cheek, and his thumb strokes her skin as he replies softly, reverently, “I love you, Jemma.”

And, even though everything around them is so wrong and Jemma has the feeling that it’s only going to get worse, it is the best birthday that they’ve spent together in a long time.

The day that Jemma marries Fitz is one the happiest that she has ever experienced – which is incredible in and of itself, given that there’s a dimensional rift in their basement threatening to break open at any moment with their worst fears made real, and they’ve just returned from a trip to an apocalyptic future that they have to try and stop from happening.

But, it’s simply a testament to how strong their love for each other is that it can temporarily outshine the worries in her mind, leaving only wedded bliss and the joy of finally marrying her best friend and the love of her life.

After the wedding itself, their little team gathers in the common area with a few of the other agents that have joined them at the Lighthouse, and they drink and talk and laugh, celebrating their unity as though the world isn’t getting closer and closer to ending every minute.

Jemma has spent much of the time either curled up against Fitz or perched on his lap, but after awhile, she rises to stretch her legs for a bit. He catches her hand as she steps away, and she bends over to press a kiss to his forehead, assuring him, “I’ll be right back.”

She meanders over to the little table set up with some snacks and sandwiches, and is nibbling on a couple of crackers (and being careful to keep any crumbs off of her wedding dress) when Daisy approaches her with a beaming grin.

“I can’t believe you guys actually got married,” she says excitedly, giving Jemma a little nudge in the side with her elbow.

“Neither can I,” Jemma admits.

“I mean, it’s such a long time coming.” Daisy shakes her head, grabbing a handful of pretzels and munching on them. Around the mouthful, she goes on, “God, I just never thought that those two nerds I met on the Bus all that time ago would get married – to each other.”

Jemma can’t help but laugh at that, giving a little shake of her own head. “I know – we would’ve never thought it either, I can tell you that much.”

“I know I’ve asked this before, but…you guys really never thought of each other like that before?” Daisy gazes at Jemma imploringly, her eyebrows raised.

“No,” Jemma confesses, folding her arms over her chest and shrugging slightly. “We were always very firm in the belief that we were best friends, completely and utterly platonically.” She glances over her shoulder, spotting Fitz – her husband – chatting with Mack, Davis, and Mike about something that has them all laughing, and the sight of happiness on Fitz’s face has a smile automatically curving her own lips. “It’s the only thing we’ll ever admit to being ignorant about.”

Daisy snorts out a laugh at that. “Well, lemme tell you, for as long as I’ve known you both, you’ve never acted like completely and utterly platonic best friends; I always knew there had to be something else there.”

“So we’ve heard.” After all, Daisy is far from the first of their friends to say they saw something between her and Fitz before they saw it themselves.

“Well, no matter how you got here, I’m so happy for you guys.”

Jemma’s smile widens, and she catches one of Daisy’s hands in hers to give it a grateful squeeze. “Thank you, Daisy. Though, I truly doubt that anyone’s happier than Fitz and I are just about now.”

“Oh, so do I,” Daisy agrees easily, chuckling – which quickly turns into full-blown laughter as Jemma crosses the room and tugs Fitz up from his seat. They say their goodnights to everyone before she begins to lead him toward the door, and Daisy calls after them, “Whoa, I guess you really are happy about this wedding!”

In response, Jemma simply shoots Daisy a wink over her shoulder.

And it isn’t until much later that night, when Jemma’s thinking back over the day, over the wedding, and her conversation with Daisy at the reception, that she realizes abruptly and very much out of the blue; it’s Sigmund Freud’s birthday.

To herself, Jemma can’t help but think dryly then that the psychologist certainly would have a lot to say about her relationship with Fitz – after all, he is the one that first stated the significance of unconscious behavior, that the choices that people make are determined by hidden reasoning in their minds. And, well, if that didn’t describe their friendship, the way that they had always wanted to be together, the way that they’d grown so close but never saw it as unusual simply because they weren’t aware of their feelings, she doesn’t know what does.

Daisy had been absolutely right earlier; she and Fitz had never acted as traditional best friends, but their draw toward each other and the physical and mental closeness that had grown out of it had been completely unconscious to both of them. While outsiders had always read it as a romantic interest in one another, they’d simply brushed off the notion and explained the intimacy away with their close friendship.

Rolling over in bed then to face Fitz, who is already fast asleep, Jemma reaches out to lightly trail her fingertips over his cheek, before finding his left hand to stroke her thumb over his wedding ring (which she’s been caressing off and on for hours, but the feel of the metal against her skin still makes her stomach do a little flip).

The notion that they hadn’t realized their romantic love for one another for a decade feels ridiculous now, lying in bed together and wearing wedding rings, but Jemma can still remember the days when Fitz was her best friend and her partner, and she was convinced that her desire to spend every waking hour with him was because he was the most interesting person that she’d ever met, that he understood and shared her love of science, that he could read her mind and finish her sentences so effortlessly.

And though she knew now that it had been all of that, plus a deep connection that eventually and without their notice turned to love, she wouldn’t give up all those years as friends for anything – they are just as important and dear to her as the time that they’ve spent as a couple.

So, though Freud might have a lot to say about the wedding that occurred on his birthday, Jemma doesn’t pay it anymore mind; all that matters is that they’re fully aware of it all now, and that they’re married, moving forward in their lives together.

Though, however, that doesn’t last very long at all (and, without a doubt, Freud would also have quite a bit to say about what happens next).

“Hey, do you think we have enough balloons?”

Noting the dry tone of her husband’s voice, Jemma rolls her eyes and throws a sharp look at him over her shoulder after she’s finished carefully placing the cake in the fridge. “It’s her first birthday, Fitz; it should be special.” He opens his mouth, but she continues before he can speak, “Yes, I know she won’t remember it, but that’s not the point.”

“Alright, alright,” Fitz says, holding up his hands in surrender, then swooping down to pick up Evelyn from her seat on their living room floor and sitting her on his hip. “I can agree that our little Evie deserves the best.” He drops a kiss on top of her head, grinning at the delighted little squeal he receives in response. “So, what time did you tell everyone to get here?”

Jemma throws a glance at the clock on the wall in their kitchen. “Actually, they should be getting here any minute.” She presses her lips together a bit anxiously, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear as she peers at their front door.

After much debate, they’d agreed to invite the team to their Perthshire home for Evelyn’s first birthday (and to throw a separate party later that day with their families – though, if all went well, they’d invite their SHIELD friends to stay for it as well). Though they’d left SHIELD amicably the previous year, things still hadn’t quite been healed from the cracks that had begun to form between them while they’d been trying to break the time loop they’d found themselves in.

As such, Jemma isn’t quite sure if today is going to end up being a disaster or not; after all, without a world to save as a distraction, things might only serve to be worse than they had been before.

It’s at that moment that a knock sounds through the cottage, and Jemma takes a steadying breath before going to get it. The very moment that she opens the door, though, to the sight of Coulson and May arguing in whispered voices about where they’d parked the cloaked quinjet, Elena and Daisy chatting about a new training regimen the latter had just begun with Deke offering his two cents every so often, and Mack simply looking exasperated with the others, a brilliant smile spread across Jemma’s lips.

“Hey,” Daisy is the first to greet her, “sorry we’re late.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Jemma assures her immediately, stepping back to let them all in.

Fitz steps closer to greet them, but Jemma notes in concern that he has become more subdued as he says simply, “Hey.”

But, then Mack claps him on the shoulder with a, “hey Turbo”, and Daisy plucks Evelyn directly from his arms and coos, “oh my god, your baby’s adorable”, and she notices the tension in his body begin to ease.

They all gather in their cozy little living room, Daisy and Deke ending up on the floor playing with baby Evelyn (with only a few of the usual comments from Deke here and there about how weird it is that she’s his mother), and they catch up on everything as though nothing has happened.

Or, perhaps that isn’t right. It’s all still there, of course; it can’t be taken back. But, now, it’s as though what happened isn’t what’s most important anymore, that it’s been forgiven, it’s been dealt with and left in the past, and it’s been allowed time to heal.

And that feeling is prevalent throughout the day, as they sing Evelyn ‘Happy Birthday’ and have cake, as they watch her open presents (or, watch Jemma and Fitz open her presents for her), and as they celebrate the birthday of the littlest member of their family.

That’s what it is, Jemma realizes, that’s what feels different. It’s the first time that their team has come back together as more than a team, but as a family since everything that happened between all of them.

Though she’s so, so happy to have started a family of their own with Fitz, it finally feels whole now that their SHIELD family is there with them, and is able to enjoy it with them. She and Fitz have been each other’s family for almost fifteen years by now (in fact, likely since that first day she realized that he was her best friend), and for some, she’d thought that that was enough. Then, they’d joined Coulson’s team, and she’d slowly come to realize that maybe it didn’t have to just be them against the world.

But, things ended up falling apart, they left and had Evelyn, and though she loved her daughter fiercely, she didn’t – couldn’t – replace the family that they no longer had with them. Now that they’re all together, though, it is the first time that Jemma feels like nothing is missing.

She thinks then, of how far she’s come with Fitz on the journey that began all those years ago in a chem class, of how they found each other and held on tightly to one another through life’s many ups and downs. Then, somehow, they’d fallen right into a group of people just like them, who understood them, and ultimately ended up helping to build this sorted little family that surrounds them at that moment.

And today, with Evelyn now in their lives and their SHIELD family back in them as well, it’s finally complete.

#shayna writes #fsfic #fitzsimmons #on this day in history shayna was born #birthdays #academy era #sci-ops era #post season three #post 5x12 #post season five #future fic #team as a family #evelyn fitzsimmons #why is everything i write so LONG????

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benignurse · 5 years

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FRESHMENT ORIENTATION

I could still remember that I was late on the first day of class because I thought it will be more chill and fun but I was wrong. I remember that I was in section B and because of some adjustments, I was transferred to section A because they separate the sections based on who graduated in STEM and Non-STEM.

There was something special in our section that really binds us so well. We didn’t have a hard time getting to know and connecting with each other because since day one we never had a dull moment.

There are two parts of Freshmen Orientation: university based in the morning, and college based in the afternoon.

Maybe that’s the reason why when we had our first freshmen orientation in late August 2019, we are one. We already established good relationships with each other and we were all excited especially when the emcee introduced our department. I could still recall our yell and it goes like this “Nursing students, nursing students; Mga may talento at potensyal. Nursing students, nursing students; Mga estudyanteng hindi susuko.” It was one of the proud moments to represent the Nursing Department.

Lucky for me because it was not hard to adjust to the environment when I entered college because I graduated in Senior High School at CEIS which is under CEU. I am quite familiar with the places and some rules but since I am now in college, rules are a bit strict and so the professors.

In the afternoon, it’s the first time all the nursing students are in one room together with Non-STEM and Second year. Each section showed their talents in singing and dancing. I felt proud because nursing students are not only good in academics but can also showcase their hidden talents. Besides that, our Professors formally introduced their selves on us and discussed the rules and regulations in our department. I felt happy and excited knowing that on my journey towards RN they will be our second parents to teach us, guides us, train us, and push us to unleash our full potentials to be good nurses someday.

As the event ended, I finally felt that I am now a real Nursing student. I realized that those people who were with me during the event will be the same people I will be with and will be part of my college journey. We are a family. We may have different stories about why we are here but one thing’s for sure: we are all struggling and fighting for the same reason. This to save lives in the future.

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deadlysinofwrath · 7 years

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Zach Dempsey x Reader: Late Night Adventures

Heyy guys! So, I decided to give this fandom a try. This fic was inspired by the movie Nerve and the song Ride by Far Places. Enjoy!

Word count: 1989

It was already 4.30pm. School ended 2 hours ago but you were still in the library, finishing your Chemistry paper. The basketball team had just finished their practice and you could hear them from the outside. Realizing you had stayed long enough, you packed up your things and went out to the hall.

‘Well, look who is it?“ You rolled your eyes. The obnoxious sound of Zach Dempsey. “What do you want?” You turned to face him, your expression bored and annoyed. “Is that any way to talk to the school star player, (Y/N)?” Zach sounded amused. You rolled your eyes again and turned to walk out of the school.

“Finishing school homework again, nerd?” Zach called out as he caught up to you. “What is it to you, jock?” You glared at him. Zach shrugged. “It’s just the typical nerd activities, I guess. Boring and dull. Like you.” He emphasized. You scoffed at him. “I am not boring or dull.” Zach looked at you, his brown eyes staring intently into yours. “Prove to me then. Prove to me you’re not boring nerd.” You rolled your eyes again. “I don’t have to prove to you anything. If anything, you should be the one proving me that you’re not just another jerk.”

Zach’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “Let’s make a deal. Go out on a ride with me. I get to take you wherever I wish, and throughout the whole journey, you prove to me you’re not boring, and I will prove to you I’m not a jerk.” He put out his hand as an invitation. You kept quiet for a moment, thinking. “Fine.” You finally said and placed your hand in his. “Show me, Zachary Dempsey. Show me the side nobody sees.” Zach’s grin was nothing but dangerous. “Deal.”

"Where are we going?“ You asked. You were in Zach’s car, and was surprised it was actually quite clean. "To the fair.” Zach answered. You arched an eyebrow. “The fair?” He nodded. “The fair.”

The fair was located on a small part near the edge of the town. By the time you guys arrived, it was already teeming with people. You had never been to the fair before, and the sight and smells left you in awe. Zach looked at you and was amazed by your reaction. He was glad he chose this place first.

“Holy shit.” You breathed. Zach laughed. “What do you know? The nerd actually curses.” You scowled at his remark, but it was quickly forgotten as you saw this huge teddy bear at a game stand. “Oh my god! I need this!” You shrieked and ran towards the game stand. “How much to play?” You asked the game master. “5 bucks for 2 throws. Just hit any of those boxes and you win.” He gestured to the 3 racks of boxes behind him, each further and taller than the previous one. You frowned. “What exactly do I win?” The game master pointed out to a bunch of soft toys at the back ranging from small to big. They weren’t in the best condition. Some had tears and cotton coming out of them.

You folded your arms together. “That’s too expensive. And your prizes aren’t even that nice.” The game master arched an eyebrow. “Excuse me?” Zach placed a hand on your shoulder. “(Y/N), what are you doing? Look, I will pay, alright? Don’t make the dude angry.” You shook your head. “What about that bear?” You pointed at the one you wanted. The game master clicked his tongue. “That is only if you hit the red box all the way at the back. Even I doubt you can hit it. Just let your boyfriend do it. He seems like a better shot than you. ” He sneered. You glared at him.

Zach huffed. “(Y/N), just take his offer. I will throw it for you alright? Don’t make the guy even angrier.” You smirked at him and turned to face the game master. “1 buck for 1 try. I hit the red box, I get my bear, and you take back what you said.” The game master eyed you carefully. “2 bucks and you get yourself a deal.” You grinned. “ Deal.” The game master smirked, as if he already knew you would fail. “Here’s your ball.”

Zach couldn’t stop laughing. He laughed so hard you guys had to stop and sit down for a while, but even then he was still laughing. Your face was red with embarrassment. “Fuck, that was hilarious.” Zach snorted. “Oh, shut up.” You snapped. Zach burst out laughing again. “You really owned it, (Y/N). You really owned it. Where did you learn to throw like that?” Zach clapped his hands together in amazement. In your arms, was the huge teddy bear. “My brother is in the baseball team, remember?” You grinned in triumph. “ Told you I wasn’t boring.” Zach shook his head good-naturedly and stood up. “Come.” You frowned at him. “To go where?” Zach smiled. “ To the Ferris Wheel. We can’t leave a fair without going up its Ferris Wheel.”

The two of you stopped to buy some corn dogs first before heading towards the Ferris Wheel. The line wasn’t too long and you guys managed to get into a passenger car pretty quick. The two of you sat in comfortable silence across each other, eating the corn dogs as the Ferris Wheel slowly turned.

“Tell me something about yourself.” You broke the silence. Zach frowned at you. “What do you want to know?” You shrugged. “ Something that your group of friends don’t know?” Zach nodded and thought for a while. “I want to be a marine biologist.” He looked at you, and was surprised to see you nodding. “Hmm, that isn’t too surprising. Your Biology grades are amazing compared to your other subjects.” Zach laughed. “What about you?”

You bit your lip in thought, and Zach realized he liked it. A lot. “I want to be a professional violinist.” Zach raised his eyebrows. “Now, that is surprising.” You laughed and rubbed your hands together. “I never really had an interest in academics. The only reason why I excel in them is because my parents want me to become a doctor. But late at night, when everyone else is asleep, I play. And I love it.”

Zach realized how your eyes lit up as you told him your secret passion. Unconsciously, the both of you slowly leaned forward to each other. Realizing, Zach cleared his throat and gestured to your lip. “Erm, you have a bit of sauce on the corner of your lip.” Gently, he used his thumb and wiped it off. Your cheeks reddened. “Thank you.”

The passenger car finally reached the bottom, and you guys stepped out into the crowd. “Where to this time?” You asked. Zach took your hand in his. “To the city.” You tightened your hand around his. “Okay.”

You looked at Zach as he drove to the city. His eyes were focused on the road, as it was already 7pm. You blushed at the memory where you and Zach almost kissed at the fair. You never knew how gentle his touch can be, and the fire he left behind. Shaking your head to dispel the thoughts, you looked up, and ahead was the city.

The city lights were beautiful. Electronic signboards and flashing neon colors against the night. You had never seen anything like it as you never left the town before. Zach rolled down the windows and you stuck your head out, your hair flowing behind you and you shouted into the wind.

Zach stopped in front of a street, and you guys got out of the car. “So, what is your next big plan, Mr. Dempsey?” Zach grinned mischievously. “To get us tattooed.” You looked at him in shock. “What?! Oh no no no no. No, we are not!” You freaked out. Zach pouted. “Why not? You said it yourself you are not dull.” You huffed. “I am not dull. But getting a tattoo, in this shady shop?” You shook your head strongly. Zach raised his hands in reason. “Trust me, this place is good. And I promise I will pick a good one for you.”

You fumed. “You’re gonna what now?!” Zach placed both hands on your shoulders. “You will get to choose mine too, I swear.” You folded your arms, calming down. “Okay, I trust you.” Zach nodded and the two of you stepped into the tattoo parlor.

You watched as Zach greeted the tattoo artist like an old friend. The two of them conversed silently. You took a deep breath as Zach walked towards you. “Are you ready?” You nodded, trusting Zach completely with his design. “This is a terrible idea, you know that?” Zach patted your shoulder comfortingly. “Rest assured, it’s my turn next.” You made yourself comfortable and the artist began his work.

You stood in front of the mirror, admiring the finished work. “You chose this?” You asked Zach, amazed. It was an artistic outline of a violin on your left bicep with splotches of water color carefully inked. Zach looked extremely pleased with himself. “I know you often wear long-sleeved shirts, so I thought you could hide it and only show to certain people.” You smiled wide and hugged Zach tightly. “Thank you. Now, it’s your turn.”

“You did not, you did not.” Zach was ecstatic. “Hah, you really did!” On his right bicep, was a wave shaped into a crescent with a moon at the middle. The whole tattoo was colored in beautifully. “I hope you like it.” You smiled shyly. Zach turned to face you. “Are you kidding? I love it!” You laughed. When it was over, it was already 11pm. Once again they were in the car. “One last stop for the night.” Zach promised. You smiled at him. “Show me.”

Zach parked in front of a diner. The whole place was really well ran. The two of you settled into booth and placed your orders. While waiting, Zach showed you his spoon trick, but as usual, he failed. You burst out laughing. “Who taught you that?” Zach replied. “Bryce Walker.” You grimaced at the name. Zach noticed and frowned. “What’s wrong?” You shrugged. “That guy just gives me the creeps.” Zach nodded as if he understood what you meant.

Finally the food came, and the two of you started eating. “Mmmmm.” You moaned out. “God, this is delicious.” Zach chuckled. “I know. Justin and I came here once after a game last year. I thought this would be a nice way to end the night.” You stuffed your mouth again. “With food? Zach Dempsey, you are the best.” Zach laughed.

Once fed and the bill paid, it was time to head home. The car ride was in a comfortable silence, both of you tired from the long night. It was already 3 in the morning when Zach stopped in front of your house. “Thank you for the wonderful time.” You beamed as you hugged your bear. “You’re welcome. At least, we both held up our end of the bargain, especially me, I hope.” Zach rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. You laughed. “Definitely. Good night, Zach.” You turned and started to walk back into your house.

“(Y/N)!” Zach called. You turned around. “Erm, if you wouldn’t mind, I really want to know you better.” Zach sheepishly looked towards the ground. You walked up to him, and kissed the corner of his lips, surprising the both of you. “I would love to.” Zach broke out into a large smile. “This Friday? At Monet’s?” You returned his smile and nodded. “It’s a date.”

Zach watched as you entered your house and continued to stay until he saw your room lights switch off as a sign you went to sleep. Smiling to himself, admiring his new tattoo, Zach went home.

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