#perhaps we could all use a bit of a refresher on like. english class

[rollercoasterwords]

opening my own fic that i wrote to make sure i'm not living in a parallel universe after seeing someone say that it was written in first person ????????? it is in fact written entirely in third person. baffled confused and quite frankly amused but also a wee bit concerned. is everyone okay do we need a refresher on what first second and third person narration actually is 😐

[mirekat]

From the Trans Archive: Just Some Guy in 1950s England

In the spirit of creating some cheerful distraction for @little-brisk​, I thought I’d share my favorite bit from the chapter I’ve been writing this week: a glimpse into the refreshingly un-tragic life of trans tabloid personality Kim Harford.

         Sweater vest and two tone tie: a timeless transmasc look

Now I say tabloid personality, but what I love about Kim is that he’s basically just some guy. He wasn’t ‘the first trans’ anything. He wasn’t a celebrity. He didn’t do any noteworthy crimes. He put in his shifts at the aircraft plant and hung out at the pub and picked away at his Great British Novel and would probably have lived and died in total anonymity had he not, in December 1953, tried to emigrate to Australia with the 'friend’ to whom he was still legally married.

Here’s the thing: in 1950s England it was really really difficult to change the sex on your birth certificate. But Kim had managed to get himself reregistered as a man with the Ministry of National Insurance, which meant that he would have been able to work and draw benefits and access healthcare without anyone knowing his trans history. And because this was the legal ID that mattered most in his day-to-day life (and because he was still living with and at least besties with his husband Paddy) neither he nor Paddy apparently bothered to check to see if their marriage was valid until somebody at Australia House took a look at their visas and was like what the fuck, it is 1953, gay marriage is not a thing.  

Paddy: ‘We shall be friends, perhaps deeper than brothers, all our lives’

Anyway, someone at the Sunday Pictorial got a tip about the two guys’ visa issues and bought an exclusive off them, which promptly turned into interviews at a dozen-odd local Australian papers. And in some ways the coverage is exactly as gross as you’d expect for 1950s.

But reading this stuff ‘against the grain’, as we say in the trade, gives us a snapshot of a trans life that’s almost moving in its banality. His husband misgenders him when referring to him in the past, sure, but uses he/him in the present and seems pretty staunch in his support. The news stories themselves are sensationalist and sexist but are also mostly free of moral condemnation and focused on cosy domestic detail. Like here’s a fairly representative lede:

[Kim] got up from an armchair, knocked out a pipe, threw a jacket over well-muscled shoulders, and said, “Well, time for a pint, Paddy! Gosh, I’m thirsty.” They grinned with warm companionship and set off down the road--sharing what is perhaps the greatest personal dilemma in Britain to-day.’                                                                                    --Sunday Mail (Brisbane), 20 December 1953

It’s kind of refreshing, even as someone who’s been elbow-deep in these docs for three years, to hear about a trans person 70 years ago cracking open a cold one with the boys. This is a person. He banters with the lads and wears silly sweater vests and shows off his new T muscles for the camera. He is a human person. 

   Whomst among us who has been on T has not taken this picture?

What’s more--and this was the most exciting find in my camera roll this week!!! breaking news!!!--I turned up his actual reregistration documents and he seems to have had decent community support, too. His GP and the welfare officer at his work sent letters to the Ministry of National Insurance testifying to his ‘male outlook’, and the Ministry lawyers, after a bit of back-and forth, responded with a resounding ‘Whatever, dude, just pay your taxes.’  

                           ‘Whatever, dude, just pay your taxes’

Anyway. Look, there’s obviously a lot to say here about what kind of trans person was most likely to enjoy this kind of community support. This is a white man. He has access to HRT and is no longer, apparently, read as trans. He doesn’t have a disability that we know about. He’s working-class but has a steady semi-skilled job; he’s married to a man and seems probably bi but presents himself as straight for the papers. I read a hell of a lot of stories about English trans people in the 1950s and a hell of a lot of those stories, especially when they’re about anyone who isn’t a white man, don’t have happy endings.

And technically we don’t know how Kim’s story ends. He drops off the archival record in late 1954 with the immigration issue unresolved. The last we hear of him, Kim and Paddy and Paddy’s new girlfriend--and according to at least one paper Kim’s new girlfriend, too--are still planning to move to Australia, now as a bigger, more complicated menage. I’ve poked around the arrival records there but haven’t managed to figure out if they made it. 

Kim & Paddy ‘gay married and possibly polyam in a God-honoring way’ Harford-O’Lynam

I like to think that they did. And I like to think of this story when I’m deep in those more familiar depressing trans stories. Yes being trans in the 1950s could look like alienation and prejudice and physical danger but sometimes it could also look like this: just some guy, and his husband, and his husband’s girlfriend with her arms around them both, and all of them, despite everything, smiling.

                                                         *  *  *

If anyone’s interested, TROVE, the National Library of Australia’s digital repository, has some of the articles here  (cw for transphobic language and misgendering and sexism, obviously)

Photo credits: (top to bottom) Sunday Mail [Brisbane];  Sunday Mail [Brisbane]; Singapore Standard; personal photo; The Sun [Sydney]

[greenninjagal-blog]

The Rumor Mill Game (pt4)

I swear I didn’t forget about this au. This chapter is just....long.

Welcome back to this mess of an au :) If you need a refresher, you can find Part Three [here!] Or if you’re new check out the first part [here!]

Summary: Logan is...dealing with the fallout of him and his coworker, Remus, having created a rumor about them being married and now apparently having a kid except not because Logan screamed at the top of his lungs that Virgil wasn’t his kid. His boss has a different definition for what “dealing” actually means. 

Words: 8292 (Holy shit remember when this au was 2k words)

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist

When Logan had seen his boss after he made Virgil cry, he hadn’t expected it to end up like this.

Granted when he hadn’t exactly been expecting anything. He hadn’t been looking ahead, hadn’t been making plans, hadn’t been thinking at all. Which was most likely how he ended up outside the bar in the first place. 

Logan could, of course, count the number of times he had been drunk on one hand. College had been a time for experimenting, and of course for his twenty-first birthday his friends at the time had been insistent that he needed to imbibe an unholy amount of alcohol in one night. They had turned it into an experiment, where Logan documented exactly what he was feeling after each drink and he still had the notes in his desk at home, despite the fact that his handwriting had become illegible after the fifth drink and someone had spilled an orange soda based tonic on the third page. The notes themselves were worthless, but they served as a memoir to people who he no longer associated with and a younger version of himself who had still been learning.

And Logan did have a soft spot for that imbecile: Twenty-one-year-old Logan Ackroyd who still believed in the goodness of people and who wanted to change the world and who could fall in lov--

Logan pitied him-- that kid he used to be-- which he was certain that his younger self would be indignant about. Logan always did hate when people pitied him. Those emotions had rarely ever been genuine, rarely ever been helpful, rarely been productive. What was he to do about people feeling bad for him? About others being disappointed? About others making assumptions about him and how he felt?

He didn’t need pity, and he didn’t want it. Not when he got rejected to his first three colleges, not when flunked that English class and had to pay to retake it the next year, not when he had bought that ring and gotten down on one knee and made a whole carefully edited speech and--

And he’s not nearly drunk enough to deal with these types of thoughts. Or any thoughts for that matter. Wouldn’t it just be great to stop thinking? 

Then he wouldn’t have to remember the looks on his coworkers faces when he storming into the office less than fifteen minutes after initially leaving for lunch and demanded that Beatrice turn in her overdue spreadsheets in twenty minutes or he’d have her fired before slamming his office door hard enough to crack that frosted glass, or the look on Remus- fucking- Prince’s face when he tried to act like everything that had happened was not his fault and that Logan had taken the game to far by himself without any sort of prompting from Remus, or the look on Virgil’s face when Logan lost his self control.

Like an idiot. Like an asshole. Like someone who doesn’t think before he acts.

Like someone who should be alone for the rest of his life, because he can’t seem to get a hold of those useless emotions of his. 

And Logan wanted so very badly to blame Remus Prince for this whole endeavor, the whole production, the whole catastrophe. He wanted to say that without Remus he never would have gotten that angry, wouldn’t have had that conversation, wouldn’t have even gotten Thai today. 

Logan wanted to say that, but really it's his own fault. If he had just dismissed Remus’s rumor in the beginning, if he had just told Jen and Quin that his personal business was his own, if he had just ignored the urge to get coffee and finished the spreadsheets without getting up that last night.

His fourth finger itched around the base, the area where that little silver ring had been sitting for less than a day. It was ridiculous, utterly ridiculous, because Logan had never worn a ring before and now suddenly the absence of it caused his skin to crawl in a most unpleasant, unproductive way. 

Distantly Logan realized that by gifting Remus such a wonderful present, he had also thrown away four hundred dollars. And perhaps ironically Logan noted that he feels annoyed about it-- four hundred dollars had been sitting in a pocket of a dress jacket in the corner of his office for over nine months and he had tossed it aside in a fit of impulsive anger.

Logan had not been hurting for money recently, with how decently he was paid, and the amount of overtime he worked, and how little time he had taken off since that disastrous night.

But perhaps he might have been able to return it to the jewelers and weathered the terrible, awful pitying looks they would give him when he requested about their refund policy or a location where he might be able to sell it himself. It was a ring that was worth four hundred dollars and he had given it to Remus, and isn’t it funny that that’s farther than he got with the one for whom the ring had been originally intended?

And as Logan downed his next rum and coke of the night, he hoped that Remus found a better use for it. Newton knows it hadn't done any good for Logan. 

(Its stupid, Logan knew, to blame a ring for the way that he had screeched “He’s not and never will be our son!” Its stupid, Logan knew, to blame a ring for the way that Remus had hummed mischievously “I think I enjoy being fake-married to you, Logan." Its stupid, Logan knew, to blame a ring for the the way his last partner had said “We should see other people”. Its stupid, stupid, stupid--)

“Hmmm,” A voice behind him said, “I thought I would find you here!”

Logan didn’t realize he had closed his eyes until he heard the voice and felt every atom in his body figuratively threaten to combust. He wasn’t drunk enough to be thinking about him, and he most certainly wasn’t drunk enough to turn and look at the incessantly, perky man that had decided to sit down next to him.

Logan waved at the bartender and ordered another rum and coke and watched his freshly emptied glass disappear like the handful of others he didn’t bother to keep count of.

“And I’ll have two waters, please!” Patton Hart added with one of his peppy, happy, insufferable laughs, before turning to face Logan. “Hiya, Lo! It's been so long since we’ve seen each other!”

“Not long enough,” Logan disagreed, with a rueful smile that should very clearly, very precisely detail how much he does not want company at the current moment. “Don’t you have things to be doing tonight, Mr. Hart?”

Patton hummed, pressing his lips together as he thought-- a monumental task for someone like him, surely. Logan was partially convinced that if he removed his glasses he might be able to see the squirrels beginning to run on that rusted wheel in the other man’s brain. If Logan was of a less logical mind he might even be brazen enough to call this the first time Patton had used his brain all week.

“Well,” Patton said, carefully settling himself on the stool next to Logan. “I was graciously informed by my son that he would be enjoying the perks of being a teenager with no bedtime tonight and along with where exactly I could shove my homemade lasagna.” He laughed lightly, “Kids, these days! He really does keep me on my toes!” 

Logan did his best not to roll his eyes. “I do not know the whereabouts of your son, Mr. Hart.”

“Patton,” He said easily, “And I’m not here for my son. I’m here for you, Logan.”

“If this is about the glass in my door, you are very capable of taking that out of my paycheck.” Logan told him.

The bartender placed Logan’s new rum and coke in front of him and he reached for it almost immediately, only stopping when Patton’s hand landed on his forearm.

“Mr. Hart--”

“Patton,” Patton corrected with that smile that Logan suspected was the worst thing in the world. Worse than Virgil’s blank expression when he told them to get out, worse than Remus’s smug one when he suggested that Logan did indeed enjoy the ability to manipulate his coworkers, worse than Beatrice faulty excel sheets, than broken glass of his door, than a ring he never wanted to see again and yet he still felt like it was missing from his finger.

“Mr. Hart,” Logan said again, “I am going to get horrifically drunk tonight, and I will be calling out sick tomorrow, regardless of what you say. So my advice to you is, say anything of importance now, before I am too incoherent to register and respond accordingly.”

“That doesn’t sound too smart there, kiddo!” Patton said, like he was any older than Logan was.

“I do not feel like being smart right now,” Logan said snippily. Because being smart involved thinking, and Logan had done quite enough thinking for the day. He was tired of thinking, tired of memories, tired of the lump in his chest that had formed during his lunch break and hadn’t dissolved in the eight hours since. He was tired.

“Would you like me to be smart for you?” Patton asked.

Ah.

Yes, Logan remembered suddenly with just a few words why he hated Patton Hart so much. Why he hated those too-wide brown eyes, those stupid freckles, that soft smile. Why he hated the way that Patton had tracked him down despite the fact that he had turned off his phone, the way that Patton had ordered two waters, the way that he hadn’t taken off his jacket. The way that he had taken out his keys and put them on the bar counter between them and Logan could pick out his own house key from the jumbled mess of bits and bobs.

“I heard something pretty interesting today,” Patton said, when Logan didn’t reply because he was too busy remembering why he hated Patton so much.

“Please don’t pretend like you didn’t know about my so-called affair before I did.” Logan snapped. “Honestly, Patton!” Logan dropped his arm from the glass and instead pressed his knuckles to his forehead. “Playing dumb about your own company is my least favroite thing about you.”

“I thought you hated my laugh the most.” Patton looked at him, letting the smile slip into something more serious.

“I hate everything about you.” 

“Pay for the drinks, Lo.” Patton told him, “And I’ll take you home. We can have some of my lasagna and watch a space documentary, like we’re twenty years old again.” 

Logan hated Patton and hated the way his chest ached at the offer. His knuckles bore into the side of his head, jabbing the frame of his own glasses into this temple. He hated the way that Patton was looking at him, soft and sweet and naive.

He hated the way his fingers itched to take Patton’s hand and go home.

“And after all that,” Patton continued so lightly, “You can tell me all about how Remus Prince got under your skin.”

 Logan’s hand slammed on the counter, so suddenly he surprised himself. Patton, however, didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink, didn’t react other than to hold that smile. 

“I am not drunk enough to be talking about Remus Prince,” Logan spat. “Especially not to you, Patton.”

Patton was quiet and at first, Logan really had thought that he had won something-- he thought that perhaps Patton would grant him mercy and let him drown his sorrows alone and miserable in a bar until he forgot his own name. But Patton was too good of a friend and Logan really should hate him less for that.

“You know,” Patton said with a cold type of humor that doused Logan with awareness. Bad awareness. The type of awareness that sunk it’s metaphorical claws into Logan’s chest and pierced straight through his heart before Patton finished what he was saying. “I think….yeah that does sound familiar. Do you remember the last time you said you weren’t drunk enough to tell me something?”

Logan did.

Logan couldn’t forget if he tried. 

And he had tried so very hard for so very long-- except that Remus Prince had waltzed into Logan’s life, had called him a Robot, had smirked at him and run their coworkers around like cattle with pretty little words. Except that Remus Prince had gotten bored and decided that the only logical next course of action was to mess with Logan’s personal life. 

Except that Remus Prince had played along with the rumor game, and smiled at him, and kissed him, and---

And Logan had started thinking---

And Logan’s mouth had started moving--

And Virgil face had--

Logan reached for the glass in front of him, reaching for the cool ice and the spritzy carbonation and the burn of the rum.  

Patton watched him, blinking in the long, slow, dumb way of his that had fooled just about every person that he had come in contact with. With the goofy smile and the habit of deliberately misunderstanding key phrases and making puns and jokes when things were tense, it was hard to see him as anything other than a rich son who became CEO via thinly veiled nepotism. 

Logan knocked back the drink, blinking back the burn behind his eyes that were from the alcohol and definitely not from the lump in his throat that had started dissolving.

He didn’t want to close his eyes, because he knew what he would see when he did: a nice suit, a fancy dinner, a walk to the bridge dotted with fairy lights of all things. He’d see that stupid ring, that stupid face, that stupid end of the night that everyone had told him would be nice, and perfect, and everything he would ever want! 

And he didn’t want to think about how it had not been nice or perfect or anything either of them had ever wanted!

He didn’t want to think about how years ago he had come to a bar just like this, and tried to get so drunk he could pretend that it hadn’t happened, and Patton had shown up then and offered him a job and--

“He wants to go by Janus now,” Patton said, picking up one of the waters and taking a sip.

Logan squinted at him and tried not to be happy about the distraction from his own thoughts, “Who?”

“My son,” Patton said, like it was obvious he had switched back to a neutral topic. “He told me earlier during our phone call he wants to go by Janus, now. He said he’s hated the name Dante for forever. Can you believe it, Lo?”

Logan couldn’t actually. Because he had known Patton since they themselves were teenagers, since before Patton had brought up how empty being a CEO was without anyone to come home too, since Patton had first invited him to Sunday brunch and introduced him to the child he called “son”. Logan had babysat Dante when Patton had business trips and Dante had always been proud of himself, of his better-than-the-status-quo lifestyle, of his name that held power and prestige and weight.

Dante had been practicing saying his name in the mirror since before his voice cracked. Dante Hart, future CEO. Dante Hart, son of Patton Hart. Dante Hart. 

“He’s a teenager,” Logan said, “He’s rebelling.”

“Maybe so!” Patton laughed, and it dwindled down to something that was easier felt in the air than definable in terms Logan was familiar with, “Gosh, I love him so much, Lo. My baby! He’s growing up so fast now! The other day he told me he had a boyfriend. He’s at that stage where he doesn’t want me to help him anymore!”

And despite the buffoon having not had a single drop of alcohol, Patton was tearing up. Logan gritted his teeth at the implications of a weepy, teary, so-full-of-emotions Patton. He had spent enough time in college trying to console him as he figured out the whole “Why does it always have to be about sex? Why can’t I just love hugging someone, Lo? Why does everyone make me feel so broken?” Logan hadn’t been any good back then, and he definitely hadn’t gotten better with time. 

After that disaster with the last guy, Logan had decided that feeling things, frivolous things, emotion-like things, were not something he was into anymore.

Logan learned from his mistakes, after all.

Even the mistakes that started with “R” and ended in a $400 ring being thrown away.

“Is that why you’re here, Mr. Hart?” Logan asked, in that way of his that told even Patton with his squirrel run brain that it wasn’t actually a question at all. “You can’t baby your son anymore so you’ve moved on to the next best thing?”

Patton stuck his tongue in his cheek and set his water back down. “Patton.” He stressed. “And I’m not here to baby you, Logan. I’m here to be your friend.”

He said “friend” like it was a word in the dictionary Logan didn’t know. It was infuriating: the insinuation that Logan had never cracked open a dictionary before, that he was so unknowledgeable about the concept of a friend that Patton was about to show him the online Oxford dictionary definition, like someone who played dumb all day and peppered his windows with sticky notes in the shape of a game of Frogger knew more about something than Logan who had clawed his way up from nothing and was constantly needing to prove how he earned his position.

Patton nudged the second water in Logan’s direction.

Logan stared at it, at the condensation on the glass, at the ice cubes, at the refraction of the low lights from the bar counter. He stared at it like it was a portal back through time that would allow him to slam some sense into poor, pitiful twenty-one-years-old Logan before he let himself fall in Love.

Before he bought a ring or stopped taking days off unless Patton tromped down to his office himself. Before Remus Prince borrowed his cup and before Logan got it in his head that he was serving revenge rather than idiocracy. Before he let himself think too little and say too much and hurt a kid that had never deserved to be upset before in his life.

“If my son wants to be called Janus, I’ll call him that,” Patton says softly. “Because even if it doesn’t make sense to me, it means something to him. And even if my friend is struggling with emotions that don’t make sense to me, I’m still gonna try to help him, Lo.”

Patton ducked his head just a little, just enough that he managed to catch Logan’s strategically averted gaze and make something out of it: a swell of guilt, a sense of hope, a pinch of safety and unadulterated kindness.

His throat was dry, but it was the type of dry that couldn’t be fixed with a glass of water.

“I made a kid cry,” Logan said, because self loathing is a coat he had thought he’d outgrown but he can still fit his arms in the sleeves.

Patton nodded. “Yeah, I heard about that.” He sipped his water. “I think we all have at one point or another.”

“See, the distinct difference that you are missing here, Patton, is that you are a father.” Logan snapped, “And your son will cry at the drop of a hat if he thinks he can get something out of it. And you would never harm a child! Not for any reason in the entire world!”

“And you would?”

“I did.” Logan felt himself sink into the chair, sink like an anchor in the ocean, sink like the floor below him had turned into a blackhole. “I did, I did it. What type of person does that make me?”

“I hate to break it to you, Lo,” Patton said, as kindly as he could, which Logan knew was truly, sickenly nice. He wanted to choke on the sentiment but he found that he couldn’t quite make his chest hurt the way he wanted it too when it came to Patton’s pity.

 “But that just means you’re a normal person.” Patton smiled dumbly, tilting his head and shrugging. “Everyone says things they don’t mean sometimes.”

“You don’t.”

“I do,” Patton countered gently, “Like when I hired Beatrice before realizing that she had lied about knowing how to use Excel.”

“Fuck, Beatrice,” Logan agreed, because if he closed his eyes too hard he thought he might still see grid patterns as much as he might see Virgil’s hurt expression and he hated it so much. So much. 

“I also told-- Janus once that I would get him anything he wanted for his birthday, and he asked for a snake.” Patton shuddered, almost comically, “And you saw how that turned out.”

“I’ve always been impressed with his ability to sneak things into the school buildings,” Logan sighed. “I doubt anyone has ever forgotten that Show-and-Tell.”

Patton chuckled quietly. It was almost lost in the buzz of the other patrons in the bar. He drew a smiley face in the condensation on his glass and Logan reached over to wipe it away, like he had done a hundred seventeen times since college.

“So….Lasagna?” Patton offered. “We can make some garlic bread too.”

“I regret ever meeting you,” Logan said, even as he picked up the keys on the counter between them. He wished that Patton didn’t look so self satisfied, so pleased, so smug when the words tumbled from his lips, but Patton had never been one to pertain to the wishes and whims of Logan like that.

Settling his tab was quick; a pile of bills from his wallet that he didn’t actually check, but decided the bartender deserved anyway and then Patton linked their elbows together so that Logan couldn’t walk off the way that he used to when he would agree with Patton just to get him to shut up. Logan snagged Patton’s glasses from his head and fogged them up with his breath, before taking on the tedious task of cleaning the fingerprints off the lens meticulously while walking in a wobbling straight line. 

Patton laughed like silver bells and it alone brightened the entire street with a type of magic that Logan had long since given up on trying to scientifically explain. The poet in him that Logan had buried under Calculus classes and Statistics courses and a Business degree and only let out when the alcohol out weighed the blood in his system, whispered that it was because it was Patton and his aloofness, and his kindness, and his generosity that never made any sense, and wasn’t that reason enough for the universe to lighten up?

It was drizzling outside, scattered raindrops and dark heavy clouds that whispered of a thunderstorm later. Patton skipped, Logan rolled his eyes and let himself be dragged towards the familiar pale blue punch buggy. It was the same exact car from their college time together, if one ignored the frankenstein replacements of just about every single component in it. Patton clung to the car the same way he had clung to the delusion of Logan being a good friend; sticking close through every breakdown, excusing every letdown, and spending far too much money on it when economically it would have been more beneficial to just let them go.

A wave of self loathing wrapped over Logan again when he pulled on the car door. Patton was genuinely a good person, a good friend. He was stupid at times and he made decisions that made Logan was to strangle him, but he cared so much more than other people. He offered fourth and fifth chances when Logan would have stone-walled his offender at one. 

Not to mention, he had come out in the rain to find Logan specifically, probably traversing through three other bars to find the one that Logan had chosen to be his misery echo chamber.

By some sort of lucky happenstance, Logan had originally walked far enough to hail a taxi  to get to this bar, leaving his car in the safety of the parking garage where Patton’s company paid a nice sum for security. Logan had tried to argue about that expense with him back in the day, but Patton had pulled out a picture of his toothy grinning son-- Janus-- and said “Lo!! What if my son comes to visit when he learns to drive?! I don’t want to worry about him getting attacked in the parking garage!” 

Logan had brutally pointed out that his son would never visit him during work, and so far he had been correct in that assessment, but that didn’t stop him from feeling the slightest bit guilty about his bluntness even so much time later.

Patton had always looked for the best in people, had more strength than most of humanity, had more hope in happy endings that Logan had trust in fact and numbers.

“Is your son okay with me calling him Janus? I’m unsure of etiquette on this. Should I wait until he tells me his preference or should I just make the switch and not bring it up to him?” Logan asked with a sigh as Patton pulled out of the parking spot and set them towards Patton’s house on the other side of town. Unobstructed and following the driving laws, it would only take them about fifteen minutes, and yet Logan wondered about the possibility of Patton having Advil in the car.

The back of his head was already aching from the days events: banging his head on the keyboard all morning leading up to his disastrous lunch date, Remus, Virgil, squinting at spreadsheets until he couldn’t make out the numbers anymore, and the of course stumbling his way to the bar and dealing with Patton.

Patton giggled. “Oh yeah! I asked him earlier if it was okay to tell you. He said he wanted you to call him Janus now. He also said to tell you, you can take a hike.”

Knowing Janus, it was probably something more volatile than “taking a hike”. Most likely it had been something that might have required him to put a full five dollars in the swear jar that they kept on the counter next to the cookie jar. Not that it would matter much. Logan had stayed over at their house dozens of times and every single time he had come across Janus taking that money back out of that swear jar.

As far as Logan was aware, the swear jar had never actually been full. Patton must have noticed at some point-- probably that very first time Janus had taken the money back out-- but he was irritating insistent that he play dumb about it. Thus, Janus continued to swear in excess, Patton continued to make him put money in a swear jar for no real reason, and Logan continued to never understand either of them.

The radio in Patton’s car had been broken fifteen times since Patton had gotten it, but Logan assumed from the silence of the drive that it was now sixteen. He rested his elbow on the window and watched the drizzle turn into a steady rain and the windshield wipers flutter across their vision to occasionally bring them clarity.

The night life was somewhat dreary. The driving pace was slow, and they hit every single stop light in the city because that was just Logan’s luck. There were a few people running around in the rain: a family with a small child who was jumping in every slowly forming puddle on the sidewalk, a couple sharing an umbrella walking so close together they appeared as if to be one misshapen form, a group of friends chatting outside a 24 hour dinner in raincoats, and a few smokers huddled under an alcove with embers burning just enough for Logan to make out their forms through the downpour. 

Logan realized almost immediately that the pit in his stomach was much more bearable if he instead focused on the raindrops on the window that are much easier to look at, much less representing something that Logan had always expected he might one day have, much less accusatory in wondering what is wrong with him that he can’t act like a normal human being, this isn’t working, who wants to marry a robot like you--

That was the reason why he wasn’t expecting the sudden jerk of the car coming to a hard stop at a yellow light that they absolutely could have made. 

“PATTON!” Logan yelled.

The car behind them blared it’s horn and Logan rubbed his neck and reset his glasses from the sudden movement, ready to question what exactly Patton thought he was doing, because truly of all the things Logan was not in the mood for, this was one of them. 

Except that before Logan could get any words out, Patton had put the car in park and whipped off his seatbelt to kick open his door. A wave of rain came pouring into the car as the man threw himself from the driver's seat like there was something wrong with the car, and for a second Logan entertained the absurd idea that they were going to blow up.

Which truly, would have just been a fitting end to his horrific day.

“Patton!” Logan hissed, grabbing after the other’s coat to pull him back inside before the rain soaked into the seats. “Get back in th--”

The other man ignored him, frantically waving to someone in the rain. “REMUS!! MR. PRINCE!! OVER HERE!!”

If Logan knew slightly less about human biology he might have been inclined to say that his heart jumped straight to his throat and climbed its way up his esophagus to strangle him. He wouldn’t have recognized the figure on the street corner on his own: Remus Prince was wearing a black leather jacket and jeans with holes in the knees. He was soaked to the bone, without an umbrella, and his usual bouncy brown curls were matted to his head, as if he had been walking out in the rain for much longer than the rain had been sweeping through the city.

He was standing with the smokers under their minimal tarp, although he, himself, was without a cigarette at all. When he turned at the call of his name, there was only confusion and exhaustion in his face. None of the smugness, or the ego, or the energy that he usually had.

Logan didn’t know why that bothered him. He was hurting from earlier; that was good. 

After all, it was Remus’s ridiculous game that he had dragged everyone else into. 

((Logan’s finger itched and he dug his nails into his skin so deeply he was afraid to glance down in case there was blood pouring off hands.))

Remus ventured out to meet them, dodging across the lanes of traffic without a care in the world, or perhaps with a death wish. Remus didn’t seem particularly like he would mind getting run over by the way that he opened the back door, climbed in, and shook the excess water out in the interior of the car like some type of undomesticated dog. 

“Is this a kidnapping?” He asked, rain dripping down his face. “A murder? Do I get to know your name before you dismember me, cutie?”

Patton laughed joyfully, even as Logan felt his face screw up at the sound of Remus calling their boss “cutie”. It was beyond unprofessional, even if Remus was apparently unaware that his career hinged entirely on not insulting Patton. It took a lot to make Patton angry enough to fire someone-- his patience was the best and worst thing about him, as Logan had been reminded every time they interacted-- but once Remus crossed that line, not even a cockroach like him would be able to drag himself out of the metaphorical wasteland Patton would make out of his life.

Cutie, honestly. Who calls anyone they’ve just met cutie. Logan could understand Remus having called him Lovebug and Lolo, but cutie? 

For Patton?

Patton climbed back into the car, snapping on his seatbelt and managed to get out of park at the very same moment as the light turned green. He wiped his sleeve along his glasses, and brightly said, “I’m Patton! And you already know Logie here!”

“Logie?” Remus repeated, sitting back against the seat taking in Logan for the first time. “Oh shi--”

“Do not call me that,” Logan said. “Patton, you can drop me off at the next corner. I will walk home.”

“Don’t be silly!” Patton said, in the same tone that he had used during their college days to coax Logan into driving him to the nearest grocery store after he had successfully managed to pull two all nighters in a row. Logan hated that tone, and Patton knew that well.

“If you do not stop the car, I will throw myself from it while it is still moving.”

“I can get out, actually!” Remus said far too loud for the small car. Logan resisted the urge to turn around and scowl at him. Surely, his pea-sized brain had managed to figure out that he was the point of contention here and that his best move would be to shut up, so why had he decided to open his mouth? “I need to get home anyway. Big day tomorrow and everything.”

“Oh?” Patton said delightedly because Logan would not ever play into subject changes willingly. “What’s tomorrow?”

“I’m getting fired,” Remus said with a nonchalant shrug.

Patton blinked for a moment-- his squirrel-run brain jamming at the sudden twist of the words because whatever he was expecting from his visitor it was not that. Logan resisted the urge to reach over and give him a shake at the shoulders: of course he wouldn’t be able to expect anything with Remus Prince. The man was insufferable and illogical and he wrought chaos for fun. 

With everything that had happened, did Patton really think that there was an exaggeration in there?

Remus wanted attention. And he said whatever he needed to in order to get it: a fake affair, a fake divorce, a fake child-- Of course he would say he was getting fired tomorrow if it got Patton to have to use all of his meager brain cells to figure out how serious he was.

“Is that something to celebrate, Mr. Prince?” Logan cut in coldly. “Getting fired?”

“And here I thought that you would be happy, Ackroyd,” Remus said. “Unless you think you’re going to miss me.”

“If only I would be so lucky,” Logan said, digging his phone from his pocket, and turning it back on. The screen was blindingly bright and Logan’s eyes ached just glancing at it in the corner of his vision. “Patton, pull over. I am not doing this tonight. Or tomorrow. Or ever again.”

“I’m not going to let you walk home after however many rum and cokes you had, Logan.”

“Patton,” Logan snarled. “If you continue to treat me like you treat your son, I will tender my resignation tonight. Pull over now.”

Patton opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say was swallowed up in Remus’s empty voice speaking. 

“You went drinking?”

“Do not talk to me, Mr. Prince.”

“You’re not even yelling.”

Logan wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean, which may have irritated him more than the fact that he was so insistent about continuing to talk when Logan was liable to push the car to crash and kill all three of them. Remus was already staring at him, his expression dark and serious in the passing car lights and somehow Logan thought that he looked vulnerable. 

Logan gritted his teeth as his headache pulsed behind his eyes. 

“Shut up,” he said. “And put on your seat belt.”

“Or what? You’ll divorce me?” Remus pushed forward between the seats until he was just a few inches from Logan’s own face, grinning with all his teeth. It was at once the same smile that Logan had catalogued through every week of working with him and also something completely foreign.

Remus had pulled him into a kiss earlier that morning, and Logan remembered the taste of pickles on his lips just as well as the smirk he kept as Logan walked away. But this expression is somehow inverted, somehow shifted, somehow a weapon more than a challenge.

“Boys,” Patton said. “Please don’t fight in my car!”

“If you did not want us to fight, why did you invite him in this car?” Logan asked. “You, of all people, know my opinions on--”

“Logan, you’re drunk.”

“What does that have to do with this?!” Logan bit out. He glared at his phone: there were three missed calls from Patton and a handful of text messages from him that Logan couldn’t actually read in the combination of the bright phone light and darkness around them. His eyes were blurry even with his glasses on and the frustration of not being able to read only heightened as he made out the notification for his email which meant that Beatrice had managed to finish her work (allowing Logan to be able to go fix it) or that news of him yelling at a child made it around the office and now he was going to harassed by them as well.

All because of Remus Prince’s inability to shut up. 

 Patton threw a hand out and grabbed Logan’s phone from his hand and carelessly tossed it over both their shoulders to Remus.

“Patton!” Logan hissed, rubbing the irritated tears from his eyes. “Remus, give it back!”

Remus, however, was just staring at the phone in his lap like it was some type of bomb. Logan’s phone locked itself and the screen went dark, and still Remus sat inhumanely still in the seat, staring at it, with a type of blank expression that Logan oftentimes related to their coworkers when Logan asked them to perform any sort of math without a calculator.

“Remus,” Logan said again.

Remus jerked at the sound of his voice, snapping out of whatever fit the phone had put him in almost meekly-- if Logan could describe anything Remus did as meekly without it being a blatant falsehood. “Meekly” itself had never seemed to be a word in Remus’s vocabulary which was another irritating fact about him that made Logan break out in figurative hives.

Logan knew how Remus was.

He knew Remus.

It didn’t matter that he had never talked to Remus before today, that his thinly veiled contempt for his coworkers kept him from being willing to stand in their presence more than he was being paid to, that this fake affair was the first stupid relationship of any kind he had gotten outside of Patton and his son since his last boyfriend had dumped him on the night he was going to propose and hadn’t he thought he’d known him too? Isn’t that what led to all this? 

It didn’t matter. 

Logan was smarter, now. Logan was better now. Logan was--

“I don’t…” Remus said, trailing off as he stared at the messages popping up on Logan’s phone and Logan wondered why it felt like his lungs had shrunk right in his chest. “I don’t think you should be reading these right now.”

“He definitely should not!” Patton said, with a very convincing amount of forced happiness. “Hold that for him will you, Remus? Oh and why do you think you’re going to get fired tomorrow?”

Remus looked up at Logan and then at Patton and then back at Logan, like Logan was supposed to know what that meant in addition to every other stupid look he’d given Logan all evening. Logan shoved his glasses up to his hairline and rubbed his aching eyes, and yet somehow that still didn’t fix the pounding in his head or the exhaustion hollowing out his bones. It also didn’t make Remus disappear from the backseat, which was equally annoying, even though Logan hadn’t truly thought he was a shared apparition for him and Patton.

“You didn’t mention anything about today to your… what are you a fuck buddy?” Remus said.

And Patton laughed. 

Logan grabbed the door handle and yanked on it, but of course the ridiculous safety locks were engaged, and Logan had spent far too many sober years getting locked in this car to try to puzzle out the broken locking system in order to drunkenly throw himself out of the car. He was not in the habit of wishing for miracles, or even believing in deities, but he imagined that some powerful entity was finding ruining Logan’s life to be semi enjoyable.

“See this is why I can’t fire him!” Patton said through giggles and Logan thought maybe he was being addressed for this. Patton met Remus’s gaze through the rearview mirror and shook the last bit of water from his damp hair. “You make everything so entertaining!”

“What?”

Logan grit his teeth and yanked on the door handle again. “Remus, meet Mr. Hart, the CEO and your boss. Also put on your seatbelt.”

Remus blinked at them both, leaning between the seats and definitely not putting on his seatbelt. Logan counted backward from ten, reminding himself that one of the hiring requirements for Patton’s company has always been must be the stupid beyond belief. He’d known for a while that his coworkers were idiots on a good day, hazards to his health on bad ones, and yet somehow in the whirlwind of the day he’s had, Logan had forgotten that Remus counted as a coworker still.

“I’m not… getting fired?” Remus said, acting much like a computer after being turned on. “Why do you know my name then?”

Patton shrugged, flicking on his blinker to change lanes before the next light. “You have interesting ideas for your advertising strategy! Of course I would know your name! I’m sorry about vetoing that last one. I know Logan liked it, but I wanted to stick to the family-as-a-whole angle.”

“Patton,” Logan warned with an edge.

“Logan liked…?” Remus echoed, before turning towards Logan with a look of bewilderment that annoyed Logan far more than it had any right to. “You actually look at my shit?”

“Put on your seatbelt, Remus,” he said, because wasn’t it obvious that Logan looked at his things? Before the whole Robot incident Logan hadn’t had a problem with Remus at all: he was effective and efficient and the rumors were irritating but below him to indulge in. Before Remus had dragged him figuratively kicking and screaming into this mess, Logan approved the budgets that came with the projects Remus created.

He still did that, just with more anger than before. Petty feelings for Remus himself aside, his work was objectively good. 

Logan knew that about him.

“So!” Patton said over both of them, with his signature grin that Logan suspected he would still be wearing even if Logan decided to kill him right now. It must be the by-product of being controlled by rodents running on a wheel. “How was your volunteer work Remus?”

Remus froze in the back seat, going unnaturally still again. “Are you some kind of stalker-- uh sir?”

“Will you knock that off?” Logan snapped, which only made Remus’s shoulders jump straight to his ears. “And put on your seatbelt.”

“Just curious!” Patton said, ignoring Logan entirely. “Darlene is a good friend of mine! I make sure to send monthly donations to the organization since I don’t have a lot of free time to jump over and help.”

Remus didn’t say anything to that. He swallowed audibly and leaned back against the seat, dragging fingers through his wet hair and then tucked his arms in his own armpits. Logan pressed a palm to his forehead watching the street lights bend from behind his eyelids because that was easier than staring at Remus act like Patton was trying to pull his teeth out.

“You actually do volunteer work?” Logan said. “You don’t seem like the type.”

“Ha,” Remus said without any inflection. Logan thought that was the quietest that he had ever been. Where was that stupid ass smirk? Where was the stubbornness that pushed back against everything? Where was that loud voice and that confidence?

“Put on your seatbelt,” Logan said again.

“Why do you care if I wear the belt or not?”

“Remus put on your seatbelt or, so help me Newton, I will climb back there and put it on for you, myself!”

The air simmered from the acid in his tone, making the silence figurative chafe against his ribs. Remus stared at him, blinking slowly, with the street lights casting roving shadows on his face. His dark eyes were just so-- so--

Logan dug his nails into his palm. Why was it Remus Prince could make him feel like this? What gave him the right?

“It’s okay!” Patton said, setting the car to park. “We’re here anyway!”

Logan reached up and pulled his glasses back onto his face properly, but it still took him a moment to realize that they were near a bunch of townhouses, double parked outside one that Logan had considered moving into all those years ago when he had first been looking for an apartment for after college.

Remus too, apparently needed a moment to recognize the area. “We… are at my apartment? Holy shit, you are a stalker.”

Patton giggled, flashing Remus with his blinding smile and reached back to pick up Logan’s phone from his hands. “Thank you so much, kiddo! We’ll wait until you get inside all safe and sound, and I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“You will not,” Logan said. “Tomorrow you have a business deal two hours away to complete and if you miss it--”

Patton stretched back in his seat and let out a hugely exaggerated yawn. “But they’re so boring! Maybe I should bring Janus with me. He always makes my business deals entertaining. I love when he sets his snake on people. He looks so happy and he laughs and--”

Logan squeezed his eyes closed and recited the first twenty digits of pi in his head to keep from grabbing Patton’s squirrel run brain and slamming it into the steering wheel.

“Homicide is wrong,” Logan said.

“I’ll help you vouch for insanity,” Remus said. “I mean, tied together through a murder, and possibly hiding a body is much more juicy than a fake marriage that’s falling apart. We’d be the talk of the office.”

“They would not find any body that I hid,” Logan said. “Nobody would.”

Remus opened his mouth to say something more, but whatever it is he decided against it. Instead he slid over the seats and kicked open the door right behind Logan and stepped out into the night air.

“Thanks for the ride, Mr. Hart, sir,” he said, strangely formal, then squinted and added, “Daddy?” 

“I’m not firing you, Remus,” Patton said. “No matter what you call me!”

Logan ran his tongue over his teeth counting each and every one. Remus looked at him but ultimately finally adhered to that whole shutting up thing. He closed the door to Patton’s blue punch buggy and started towards the door to the apartments.

“Oh,” Remus said, and turned back at the last second. He knocked his knuckles on Logan’s window a few inches from where Logan’s gaze fixed itself on a light. Patton apparently knew more about what to do than Logan because he pressed the window lowering button and Remus reached his entire arm into the window to drop a small object right into Logan’s lap.

Logan caught it mainly due to reaction rather than skill and his skin tingled at the familiar item. Even in the dark, Logan’s fingers roll over the shape of the ring that had always reminded him of the worst day of his life. It was still warm from being in Remus’s pocket.

“I think that should stay with you,” Remus said, like it wasn’t a big deal at all. “You know… for the next boytoy you take to your sex dungeon or whatever nerds like you do on weekends.”

And then he turned around and fled towards the apartment building. Patton turned off the hazard lights and slipped back into traffic and Logan wondered if he would be polite enough to not comment if Logan started crying right then and there.

His throat felt swollen, his tongue too big for his mouth, and the headache thrummmmmmed painfully. 

Logan knew Remus Prince.

“You know that Remus Prince isn’t gonna be like him,” Patton said to fill the silence.

“Remus Prince isn’t like anyone.” Logan didn’t whine. To whine would be unbecoming. And childish. And embarrassing.

So Logan didn’t whine and Patton mercifully didn't call him out on his not-whining.

And neither of them mention the choked tone that Logan had for the rest of the night.

When Logan had seen his boss after he made Virgil cry, he hadn’t expected it to end up with him clutching that ring like a lifeline, but as he ran his fingers around the rim, he wondered if it had fit on Remus’s finger at all.

(Part Five)

[gwynsplainer]

On The Grinning Man and the De-Politicization of L'Homme Qui Rit (a Spontaneous Essay)

Since I watched The Grinning Man I’ve been meaning to write a post comparing it to The Man Who Laughs but I have a lot of opinions and analysis I wanted to do so I have been putting it off for ages. So here goes! If I were to make a post where I explain everything the musical changes it would definitely go over the word limit, so I’ll mostly stick to the thematic. Let me know if that’s a post you’d like to see, though!

Ultimately, The Grinning Man isn’t really an adaptation of the Man Who Laughs. It keeps some of the major plot beats (a disfigured young man with a mysterious past raised by a man and his wolf to perform to make a living alongside the blind girl he rescued from the snow, restored to his aristocratic past by chance after their show is seen by Lord David and Duchess Josiana, and the interference of the scheming Barkilphedro…. well, that’s just about it). The problem I had with the show, however, wasn’t the plot points not syncing up, it was the thematic inconsistency with the book. By replacing the book’s antagonistic act—the existence of a privileged ruling class—with the actions of one or two individuals from the lower class, transforming the societal tragedy into a revenge plot, and reducing the pain of dehumanization and abuse to the pain of a physical wound, The Grinning Man is a sanitized, thematically weak failure to adapt The Man Who Laughs.

I think the main change is related to the reason I posit the book never made it in the English-speaking world. The musical was made in England, the setting of the book which was so critical of its monarchy, it’s aristocracy, and the failings of its society in ways that really haven’t been remedied so far. It might be a bit of a jump to assume this is connected, but I have evidence. They refer to it as a place somewhat like our own, but change King James to King Clarence, and Queen Anne to Angelica. Obviously, the events of the book are fictional, and it was a weird move for Hugo to implicate real historical figures as responsible for the torture of a child, but it clearly served a purpose in his political criticism that the creative team made a choice to erase. They didn’t just change the names, though, they replaced the responsibility completely. In the book, Gwynplaine’s disfigurement—I will be referring to him as Gwynplaine because I think the musical calling him Grinpayne was an incredibly stupid and cruel choice—was done to him very deliberately, with malice aforethought, at the order of the king. The king represents the oppression of the privileged, and having the fault be all Barkilphédro loses a lot thematically. The antagonism of the rich is replaced by the cruelty of an upwardly mobile poor man (Barkilphédro), and the complicity of another poor man.

The other “villain” of the original story is the way that Gwynplaine is treated. I think for 1869, this was a very ahead-of-its-time approach to disability, which almost resembles the contemporary understanding of the Social Model of disability. (Sidenote: I can’t argue on Déa’s behalf. Hugo really dropped the ball with her. I’m going to take a moment to shout out the musical for the strength and agency they gave Déa.) The way the public treats Gwynplaine was kind of absent from the show. I thought it was a very interesting and potentially good choice to have the audience enter the role of Gwynplaine’s audience (the first they see of him is onstage, performing as the Grinning Man) rather than the role of the reader (where we first see him as a child, fleeing a storm). If done right, this could have explored the story’s theme of our tendency to place our empathy on hold in order to be distracted and feel good, eventually returning to critique the audience’s complicity in Gwynplaine’s treatment. However, since Grinpayne’s suffering is primarily based in the angst caused by his missing past and the physical pain of his wound (long-healed into a network of scars in the book) [a quick side-note: I think it was refreshing to see chronic pain appear in media, you almost never see that, but I wish it wasn’t in place of the depth of the original story], the audience does not have to confront their role in his pain. They hardly play one. Instead, it is Barkilphédro, the singular villain, who is responsible for Grinpayne’s suffering. Absolving the audience and the systems of power which put us comfortably in our seats to watch the show of pain and misery by relegating responsibility to one character, the audience gets to go home feeling good.

If you want to stretch, the villain of the Grinning Man could be two people and not one. It doesn’t really matter, since it still comes back to individual fault, not even the individual fault of a person of high status, but one or two poor people. Musical!Ursus is an infinitely shittier person than his literary counterpart. In the book, Gwynplaine is still forced to perform spectacles that show off his appearance, but they’re a lot less personal and a lot less retraumatizing. In the musical, they randomly decided that not only would the role of the rich in the suffering of the poor be minimized, but also it would be poor people that hurt Grinpayne the most. Musical!Ursus idly allows a boy to be mutilated and then takes him in and forces him to perform a sanitized version of his own trauma while trying to convince him that he just needs to move on. In the book, he is much kinder. Their show, Chaos Vanquished, also allows him to show off as an acrobat and a singer, along with Déa, whose blindness isn’t exploited for the show at all. He performs because he needs to for them all to survive. He lives a complex life like real people do, of misery and joy. He’s not obsessed with “descanting on his own deformity” (dark shoutout to William Shakespeare for that little…infuriating line from Richard III), but rather thoughtfully aware of what it means. He deeply feels the reality of how he is seen and treated. Gwynplaine understands that he was hurt by the people who discarded him for looking different and for being poor, and he fucking goes off about it in the Parliament Confrontation scene (more to come on this). It is not a lesson he has to learn but a lesson he has to teach.

Grinpayne, on the other hand, spends his days in agony over his inability to recall who disfigured him, and his burning need to seek revenge. To me, this feels more than a little reminiscent of the trope of the Search for a Cure which is so pervasive in media portrayals of disability, in which disabled characters are able to think of nothing but how terribly wrong their lives went upon becoming disabled and plan out how they might rectify this. Grinpayne wants to avenge his mutilation. Gwynplaine wants to fix society. Sure, he decides to take the high road and not do this, and his learning is a valuable part of the musical’s story, but I think there’s something so awesome about how the book shows a disabled man who understands his life better than any abled mentor-philosophers who try to tell him how to feel. Nor is Gwynplaine fixed by Déa or vice versa, they merely find solace and strength in each other’s company and solidarity. The musical uses a lot of language about love making their bodies whole which feels off-base to me.

I must also note how deeply subversive the book was for making him actually happy: despite the pain he feels, he is able to enjoy his life in the company and solidarity he finds with Déa and takes pride in his ability to provide for her. The assumption that he should want to change his lot in life is not only directly addressed, but also stated outright as a failure of the audience: “You may think that had the offer been made to him to remove his deformity he would have grasped at it. Yet he would have refused it emphatically…Without his rictus… Déa would perhaps not have had bread every day”

He has a found family that he loves and that loves him. I thought having him come from a loving ~Noble~ family that meant more to him than Ursus did rather than having Ursus, a poor old man, be the most he had of a family in all his memory and having Déa end up being Ursus’ biological daughter really undercut the found family aspect of the book in a disappointing way.

Most important to me was the fundamental change that came from the removal of the Parliament Confrontation scene, on both the themes of the show and the character of Gwynplaine. When Gwyn’s heritage is revealed and his peerage is restored to him, he gets the opportunity to confront society’s problems in the House of Parliament. When Gwynplaine arrives in the House of Parliament, the Peers of England are voting on what inordinate sum to allow as income to the husband of the Queen. The Peers expect any patriotic member of their ranks to blithely agree to this vote: in essence, it is a courtesy. Having grown up in extreme poverty, Gwynplaine is outraged by the pettiness of this vote and votes no. The Peers, shocked by this transgression, allow him to take the stand and explain himself. In this scene, Gwynplaine brilliantly and profoundly confronts the evils of society. He shows the Peers their own shame, recounting how in his darkest times a “pauper nourished him” while a “king mutilated him.” Even though he says nothing remotely funny, he is received with howling laughter. This scene does a really good job framing disability as a problem of a corrupt, compassionless society rather than something wrong with the disabled individual (again, see the Social Model of disability, which is obviously flawed, but does a good job recognizing society that denies access, understanding and compassion—the kind not built on pity—as a central problem faced by disabled communities). It is the central moment of Hugo’s story thematically, which calls out the injustices in a system and forces the reader to reckon with it.

It is so radical and interesting and full that Gwynplaine is as brilliant and aware as he is. He sees himself as a part of a system of cruelty and seeks justice for it. He is an empathic, sharp-minded person who seeks to make things better not just for himself and his family, but for all who suffer as he did at the hands of Kings. Grinpayne’s rallying cry is “I will find and kill the man who crucified my face.” He later gets wise to the nature of life and abandons this, but in that he never actually gets to control his own relationship to his life. When I took a class about disability in the media one of the things that seemed to stand out to me most is that disabled people should be treated as the experts on their own experiences, which Gwynplaine is. Again, for a book written in 1869 that is radical. Grinpayne is soothed into understanding by the memory of his (rich) mother’s kindness.

I’ll give one more point of credit. I loved that there was a happy ending. But maybe that’s just me. The cast was stellar, and the puppetry was magnificent. I wanted to like the show so badly, but I just couldn’t get behind what it did to the story I loved.

[angeloncewas]

The following post is not cc critical (I'm Twitter-critical, actually), but does discuss the current discourse, so please proceed accordingly. Stay safe, drink water, interact with media in the way you want to. Take care <3

The Asian community is not a monolith, Twitter cancelation is bullshit, and what are we even doing? (A rant by yours truly.)

Here is my disclaimer: none of this is related to any other joke or action by the cc I reference or any other. I am zeroing in on a specific subject.

Let me ramble for a bit about this joke.

I grew up in a white community. A fairly progressive white community, actually. Conservatives were the outliers and we were widely known as tree-hugging bleeding-heart liberals.

Yet, perhaps surprisingly, I received racist comments pretty much every day. Seriously. My food was "gross," or presumed to be cats and dogs, my name "sounded like a soy sauce brand," and my English was "surprisingly good." Everyone from outright racists to the sorts of people who post activist Instagram posts on their story had a hand in it. My work toward my grades was always discredited, deemed an obvious result of my genes; one time a man shouted "ni hao" at me on the street and not a single person in my ensemble thought to comment on it. (I'm not even Chinese.)

As such, I'm hypersensitive toward theoretical racism. What Train said on that podcast? Offended me. David Dobrik's ching-chong jokes? Offended me. Call me a snowflake, I've spent years building armor against this stuff and I still feel every pinprick.

Now that my backstory is out of the way, I want to say that to me (and I fully acknowledge that I could be extremely off-base because I am a singular person) the joke that Techno made is not a racist joke.

Why? Because the joke is on the racists.

Techno isn't saying "haha all Asians have coronavirus," he's saying "if you are Asian, people will believe you have corona" (which, guess what? He's right) and the joke is "you can use that to your advantage."

When the corona stuff first hit, I sat in a tech class and watched people side-eye me as I cleared my throat. I sat and listened as a guy joked about buying an Asian girlfriend online and her having corona. This is real shit. It happened. It is happening. People see my race as intrinsically tied to the pandemic. That's a fact.

I don't know if Techno knows that. I don't know how socially aware he is. Maybe he is a raging racist. But I don't find a joke where he calls it "powerful" that I can use those prejudices to my benefit racist or offensive.

I found it, frankly, kind of refreshing. Because plenty of people have made and are making Asian-corona jokes and nearly every single one is about how my people are a sickness, not the world's presumption that we are.

Twitter has evolved to be a sort of hivemind. Not only do they demand apologies for things that happened years ago, as though the two words "I'm sorry" will say more than witness-able change, but they also band together with the sentiment that all poc must agree with their cancelations and it is their job to fetch us justice.

I legitimately saw a post that was like "to the Asian people in this fandom, I'm so sorry that this is happening, I'm here for you, I know you're hurting." Excuse me?

Yeah I'm hurting. I'm hurting because I'm statistically less likely to get a job due to my non-white name. I'm hurting because people only treat my Asian parent like a human when their white partner accompanies them. I'm hurting because Asians on the street - defenseless elders, oftentimes - are being attacked and killed.

I'm not hurting because Minecraft white boy Technoblade made a joke that included my race one time.

I understand that it can be painful to see a creator you admire acting in a way that you deem offensive, but if you don't like it, leave. Or figure something out - I don't know - but don't put your performative activism on the rest of us.

I don't want an apology from an internet celebrity, I want to not fear for my life when I go outside.

This mentality and set of behaviors that Twitter has normalized aren't normal. I'd even dare to call them harmful, above anything else, but they are at the very least useless and frustrating and rarely accomplish much.

I hate the phrase "touch grass," but I really encourage these people to step back and look at the bigger picture, especially in times like these.

[lovelylogans]

spring cleaning

there’s a pack rat in the family. who it is will not surprise you.

part of the wyliwf verse.

warnings: food mentions, alcohol mentions, general messiness, jokes about hoarding

pairings: patton/virgil, offscreen logan/roman

word count: 2,412

notes: hi! this is just a quick little fic as i beta and finish off the next chapter of debutante. this is based off the gilmore girls season three episode twelve “lorelai out of water” cold open. takes place the spring after the main storyline, after alliance but before debutante.

⁂

virgil’s phone buzzes at 10:13 am on a sunny spring sunday. he pauses just after he drops off the brunch plates for mrs. torres, babette, and east side tilly, digging around in his back pocket to squint at his recent texts.

logan sanders: Please help.

any other time, this kind of text would probably send anxiety flooding his veins like ice water. as he’s been warned, sure, he’s a little anxious that he’s misreading the situation, but he shakes that aside and snorts.

“called it,” he mutters under his breath, before he wipes his hands on his apron and types out christ, you’re folding easy this year. is that a new record?

a brief pause. then, No, the record was twenty-four minutes. To be fair, that took place when I was ten years old, we were moving into the house, and you were already going to be involved, so I perhaps I should propose that does not count against my spring cleaning record.

ah, that’s right. god, helping patton move had kind of been a nightmare. helping anyone move is a bit of a nightmare, but with patton there’s a whole new layer of shenanigans.

Another buzz. Also, I need this to be hastened along. I have a Socratic seminar in English tomorrow, and though we have settled on a tentative truce I refuse to let Dee achieve the highest grade in the class.

he shoots back i’ll be there asap.

“jean,” he calls to the counter, but jean, having been warned as well, waves him off.

“i got it, at least he waited till the we hit the between-masses lull.”

“you’re the best,” he says, hanging up his apron and ignoring mrs. torres’ hoots about his arms—he's like ninety percent sure she’s spiking her own orange juice so she can have a screwdriver with her pancakes but he hasn’t caught her with a flask in hand yet—and heads out the door.

the citizens of sideshire are fully soaking in the pleasure of a sunny spring day—it’s one of those days, where the weather’s warming up slowly, but there’s sure to be more cold snaps before they fully settle into spring, so lots of people are taking advantage of it. families are sprawled with picnic blankets in the grassy town square. the “long-haired freak” (taylor’s nickname, not his. virgil’s pretty sure his name is dave, but also, he’s not totally sure his name is dave, and as such usually avoids any complications by saying “hey, man,” whenever virgil sees him) is out hawking fruits and vegetables from his garden. lots of people are out on walks, some with earbuds or headphones on, some calling out jolly greetings to other people taking advantage of a blue sky and temperatures that are soaring above freezing.

“hey, virgil.”

“hey, felix,” virgil says, craning his neck to catch sight of—well, he guesses felix and riley are technically his tenants? but that always feels weird to say—his neighboring business owners. felix is busy making sure a promotional poster’s taped to the window. “how’re things?”

“ah, y’know, y’know,” felix says, waving their hands around. “weather’s warming up, so we’re getting into busy season. guess people want to be able to flaunt new ink in the warmer weather, y’know?”

“hey, speaking of—” virgil says.

“oh, yeah,” felix says, scratching at the half of their head that was once shaved bald but is now growing in stubbly. “you wanna have riley do one this time? they can draw up some sketches for you, if you want. or i can, if you want, but it might be a minute ‘cause i’m all hands on deck for this massive full-back piece.”

“nah, riley’ll be cool, it’s been a minute since they’ve done one for me,” virgil says. “i’ll drop by later with some reference photos, ideas and stuff.”

“i’ll make sure they’re refreshed on what your style is before the consultation,” felix says. “appreciate the business.”

“appreciate you and your spouse taking over this empty shop so taylor didn’t get a chance to,” virgil returns, as he usually does whenever felix or their riley thanks him for something. he’s really awkward about accepting gratitude, he’s working on that with emile and patton.

“god, could you imagine taylor next door,” felix says with a theatric shudder. “bad enough he runs half the town.”

“i’ll call tomorrow to make the appointment?”

felix flashes him a thumbs up, and virgil raises a hand in farewell as he continues on his way.

he ends up pushing his sleeves up to his elbows as he walks to the sanders’ house, occasionally saying hey to other residents of sideshire, or tilting his face up to the sun. 

this winter’s been brutal, even worse than it usually is for the northeast, with absurd amounts of blizzards and ice. on the days where it wasn’t shoveling ridiculous amounts of snow on the whole town, the sky had been gray and overcast, and what little sun there was could barely stream weakly through the clouds. 

but now, the sun sinks softly into his exposed skin, warming him without overheating him thanks to the breeze, carrying the sweet scent of tentatively blooming flowers planted by particularly audacious gardeners.

it is a perfect, lovely spring day. 

by the time he gets to the cheerful yellow clapboard house, he’s taken enough deep, calming breaths to ensure that he is a calming presence. he ascends the stairs of the wraparound porch—oh, huh, looks like patton or logan’s making an attempt at being a gardener, that looks like mountain mint—and knocks lightly on the front door.

“please come in,” logan shouts, sounding exasperated, and virgil obligingly pushes the door open.

he toes off his shoes, even as he overhears patton’s voice, cajoling.

“hug-a-world! c’mon, you’ve gotta remember your hug-a-world!”

hug-a-world, virgil mouths to himself, before it comes back to him in sudden, vivid technicolor and he rounds the corner.

and, sure enough, surrounded by the detritus of the sanders home, patton and logan sit in a hastily-cleared space in the middle of their living room, patton holding a stuffed ball tight to his chest.

“of course i remember the hug-a-world,” logan says, still with that tone of exasperation, but lessened now at the sight of a beloved childhood toy. 

“you can’t make me throw away your hug-a-world,” patton declares viciously, which would almost be believably threatening if he were not clutching a stuffed ball made to look like a globe to his chest, and if his curly hair was not sticking up in a configuration that virgil thinks of as chaotically unruly, and if he were not wearing a pink-and-blue sweater he usually busts out around easter, and if someone did not know patton as a person. “you learned all seven of your continents on hug-a-world!”

see, without fail, almost every year patton gets suckered into the whole concept of the spring clean. and, without fail, logan or virgil will try to point out that he does this every year, and patton insists no, really, this time for sure he’ll get rid of some of the clutter around this house, it’s about time!, and then he gets sidetracked getting attached to objects he finds that he suddenly cannot bear to get rid of, despite the fact that said objects have typically been buried away in a dark closet all the rest of the year.

which means that logan and virgil sit with him and try to point that out, and patton wavers, before he decides to keep or donate or trash it, and it seems like it’s going okay, until the next thing he touches turns out to be another thing that he suddenly cannot bear to give up.

it’s gotten a little better since that time they introduced the marie kondo method, but also, that much worse, because of course he insists that everything sparks joy! 

but this is way more mess than usual. there are cardboard boxes and piles of clothes and bits and bobs that are in piles that come up to his ribs. virgil squints it at it suspiciously.

“attic,” logan says wearily, in explanation. “he got boxes out of the attic.”

oh, shit, the attic. god, that thing is stuffed to the brim with boxes, no wonder the living room looks like someone upended the odds-and-ends drawer for a giant into the house.

“but—c’mon,” patton says, in that same sweetly coaxing tone that usually makes them all throw up their hands and leave the rest of this spring cleaning mess for next year’s spring clean. he holds out the hug-a-world to logan. “hold it. marie says so.”

“marie does not realize that she has a special case with my hoarder of a father and therefore should customize the approach of sparks joy, because you have too wide a definition,” logan says, but he reaches out and takes the hug-a-world with both hands anyways.

virgil examines logan holding it, thinking suddenly of a much tinier logan with a gap in his front teeth holding the same toy in the same way, though the fabric had been much more vibrant shades of blue and green then. there had been a solid stretch of time that the hug-a-world had been the toy that logan had hugged falling asleep, back in the poolhouse. he’d taken the hug-a-world to the diner and to school and all around the inn and to the princes’ apartment and back again.

a side of logan’s mouth twitches up, and then, as if suddenly conscious of it, he forces the corners of his mouth to turn down as he stares at it.

“remember?” patton repeats, staring at logan and the hug-a-world fondly. “we used to take turns to squeeze it as tight as we could and then wherever our pinkies would end up, that’s where we were going to go together when you grew up.”

“yes,” logan says, and then loses the fight against his mouth, because it twitches up into a smile again. “many a trip to uzbekistan was planned that way.”

“look!” patton says, pointing and tilting his head. “that’s canada, then, where’d your other one get you?”

logan moves his other pinky in order to squint at the faded fabric. “i believe that’s cambodia. possibly vietnam, i was rather splitting the border.” 

“why not both?” patton says pragmatically, or as pragmatically as he can sound planning a potential trip based off hugging a ball. 

logan hesitates, holding the ball.

“look,” patton says. “hey, how about virgil helps clean it up, and the hug-a-world can live in your room?”

logan chews at the inside of his lip.

“if it sparks joy,” patton sing-songs.

logan heaves a sigh.

“the hug-a-world will live in my room, then,” he says, before looking to virgil. “we’ve started a pile for you right here,” and pats a pile of what mostly looks like clothes that can be either repaired, repurposed, or sneakily donated.

virgil takes a breath, and says, “i’ll crack open a window and put on some music, then. patton, you take your allergy medicine today?”

patton tilts his head to think about it.

“that’s a no,” virgil says. “i’ll grab it on the way. water, snacks? we’re gonna be here for a while.”

“are we?” logan says doubtfully, twisting to look at him.

“we are finishing spring clean this year!” patton insists. “i mean it this time!”

logan arches his eyebrows at virgil, and virgil mouths play along, and logan sighs before he turns back to the pile, pulling out an old jacket at random.

“i have never seen you wear this. it should be donated.”

“that was from raf, we can’t just toss it!” patton cries out in dismay, and virgil heads for the kitchen.

he fills up three glasses of water, chops up some celery and apples, fills up three mini ramekins with peanut butter, and sets it all on a tray, along with the round white pill that patton takes for his allergies. 

he plugs in his phone and scrolls to a roman-made playlist, lowering the volume so that they’ll be able to hear each other, and proceeds to make his meandering way around the piles of Stuff as best he can without knocking anything over.

on his way, he moves to crack open the windows of the living room, allowing the floral-scented air to waft into the messy room, to hear the chirping of the birds under patton and logan’s debating.

he pushes aside a pile of old books on the coffee table and sets the tray down, mostly ignored as logan manages to triumph and tosses the jacket into a box labeled DONATE.

virgil settles down next to his pile, sitting in criss-cross-applesauce, and gosh all of the clutter of patton and logan’s lives looms over them like a mountain at this angle. 

“okay,” virgil says encouragingly. “good, that’s good! raf’s old jacket will probably make some other teenager very happy to have it.”

patton sighs, staring after the jacket. “yeah, i guess.”

“this is good,” virgil says stubbornly, before tugging at a piece of fabric sticking out at random and unearthing a blanket.

“oh, i was wondering where that got off to!” patton says, delighted. 

“i thought that got lost in the moving shuffle,” virgil agrees, because the last time he saw this he was pretty sure it was tossed over the back of their rented apartment couch.

“so this blanket has not been washed in at least six years,” logan says.

“well, that can be fixed!” patton points out. “i say keep.”

“we’re never going to finish,” logan groans.

“of course we’re gonna finish!” patton says.

“yeah, logan,” virgil says unconvincingly. “listen to your dad.” 

patton beams at him, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek; logan rolls his eyes, before he turns his attention to the blanket.

“so, you claim keep for your room,” logan says. “you already have so many blankets.”

“well, we can always use more blankets!” patton points out. “worse comes to worse, we’ll put it in the linen closet.”

logan tilts his head, before he sighs, and places it in a pile of other fabrics that they seem to have decided to keep.

“all right, fine,” he says, then fishes out another piece of fabric. “next item—”

“look how fast we settled that!” patton says brightly.

“pretty fast,” virgil agrees dutifully.

“we’ll totally finish spring clean this year,” patton says confidently.

(they do not finish spring clean this year.)

[slowlyreadinghouseofmirth]

Page 7

In truth, he had never liked her as well as at that moment -> Selden's affections here are plain to see, made so especially by subordinate clause 'in truth' which conveys an honesty and freshness about his feelings. Most importantly, he likes her when she is being her true self, unconventional, and willing to take risk. It's likely informed by his disillusion with high society and finding commonality in someone willing to disregard its etiquette. This is where Lily is unique.

There's also this sense that Selden likes Lily because she is impulsive and this sparks his curiosity to try and understand why she does the things she does-- understand Lily as a person.

He knew she had accepted without afterthought: -> This reaffirms Lily's lack of hesitancy, which alludes to how willing she is to be in Selden's company. It also shows how comfortable she is with him as she is aware of the rumours that could occur but never merits them with being a possibility, showing great trust.

Alternatively, being aware of the risks and having not afterthoughts could suggest that she doesn't fully understand the risks' depth and nuance as in future the situation at Monte Carlo would suggest, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

he could never be a factor in her calculations -> there's a colon that separates this clause from the previous one which suggests this is an explanation for Lily's certainty. To me this would point more towards Lily not really associating the risk of rumours with Selden because she trusts him so much. i.e she does not think of him when she thinks of the risks. But given that they are going up to his apartment it seems strange that Selden would not think himself a factor in her decision. It's therefore possible that he thinks that Lily does not think of him worthy of great consideration.

Also the noun 'calculations' would suggest a lot of thought had gone into the decision where it was previously implied it was one of impulse. This seems like Selden thinks that Lily is playing an intricate game, which further demonstrates his curiosity about her and need to understand her.

there was a surprise, a refreshment almost, in the spontenaity of her consent -> This further contrasts Selden's perception of Lily's 'calculations' and I think the narration is a fine weave between objective reality--where Lily is impulsive-- and Selden's subjective perceptions-- where Lily appears impulsive but there is something more complex informing her decisions. I think this is meant to show that Selden is blinded somewhat by his affections for Lily, seeing things deeper than what are there or what everybody else sees. Alternatively, we as the reader lack Selden's sight into the complexities of Lily and so she is introduced to us as other people see her, which isn't well at all, and we have to learn how Selden sees her. It's a challenge to care for Lily as he does.

The spontaneity invokes a light hearted and refreshing feeling of being in love which mirrors the honest of truth mentioned earlier.

So there's Selden's surprise at Lily being so spontaneous which draws back to a previous point about she is unique for being impulsive almost reckless. It's like we get a sense of her character and her environment from how the two are at odds with each other. Lily is impulsive; noone else of her class should be like that. In a way that makes her free from the system and yet shows her struggle against it but ultimately her struggle will be more defining.

She noticed the letters and notes heaped on the table -> I assume that this is a reference to future letters although I don't know if they would be the same ones. If they were, I don't even have the mental capacity to unpack that. Just the thought that Lily's fall is inevitable, that even when she is happy, having a nice time, an unknown omen lurks within the same room that will bring her sorrow... oh its symbolic, for sure. But I don't want to think about it.

Lily sank into one of the shabby leather chairs -> the verb 'sank' shows how at home Lily really is with this kind of surroundings, how the shabby whilst not fashionable or expensive, is comfortable. From this we and the the pile of letters we get an image of a a slightly disorderly but well-lived in home. This is one of the tragedies where we see the possibility of what her future with Selden could look like where it is unconventional but Lily is comfortable at home even with it.

"How delicious to have a place like this all to oneself! What a miserable thing it is to be a woman," -> I love Lily's exaggerated turns of phrases like 'delicious' and the exclamations; I think Wharton's emphasis on these exaggerations is to capture Lily's innocence through her speech by making it similar to that of a child who is easily excitable.

Again with the exaggeration but this time with 'miserable', we get the sense that Lily has found the world difficult as a woman to live in but miserable seems too strong of a word, certainly at this stage in the book and is sort of hidden within her other hyperbolised expressions. Maybe this creates a kind of cry-wolf situation where, when Lily properly starts to struggle, people don't take notice not only because it wasn't the done thing to do to talk about struggles but also because of her melodramatic personality, everyone thought the same stuff was happening as it had before and Lily was making a big fuss over nothing.

There is repetition of 'miserable' in association to being of female sex further down the page which is another example of Lily's melodrama. But at this point we as a modern audience start to question if she is actually alright (or at least I did). I'm not sure if a contempary audience if the time would have given the strict taboo over discussing any kind of struggle financial/physical health etc. let alone the discussion of mental health. From the impression I get of the time, the only real source of outlet for people struggling with mental health beyond self medication was art, which makes me wonder as to the position Wharton is writing this from.

she leaned back in a luxury of discontent -> The juxtaposition of 'luxury' and 'discontent' raises an important theme that wealth does not equate happiness and that Lily is not happy as a socialite but happy in the company of Selden, and that actually money is the source of Lily's unhappiness. In this specific context, she is lamenting her lack of freedom to live the lifestyle that Selden does.

"Even women," he said "Have been know to enjoy the privaledges of a flat." -> Putting the discourse marker directly after the subject of 'women' breaks it apart from the rest of the sentence and emphasises the extraordinariness of women being able to live independently. But it also raises the possibility of it and suggests that Selden thinks Lily is extraordinary and unconventional enough to achieve the possibility if she chose to.

"Oh governesses– or widows. But not girls– not poor, miserable, marriageable girls!" -> Again we have the breakdown of womanhood into distinct classes like governess, widows, and girls,which creates the idea that there's no intersections between any of them and is a reflection of of societies fixation for categorisation which loses sight the complexity of situations and problems. And it also makes it easier to place social stigmas like those on governesses and widows. Those stigmas are made apparent here but in contrast to how Lily describes girls, being a governess or a widow seems desirable.

In the list of adjectives 'poor, miserable, marriageable', marriageable is equated to these other adjectives and we see that Lily associates marriage with a poverty of kind, of the heart.

It's also interesting that Lily talks about herself as a girl where Selden speaks of her as a woman. Lily plays up her innocence as she has probably been taught to to make desirable marital match, but with that Lily carries around an air of immaturity and naïvity; she's still very child-like. Perhaps that's a part of her that's trying to cling to her youth so she doesn't have to face her future where she will need to marry to survive. Lily sees her adulthood as a constraint on her and her desires whereas Selden sees her potential.

"you mean Gerty Farish," she smiled a little unkindly. "But I said marriageable–" -> Okay so definitely a little tone deaf on Lily's part buts she's honest to a fault and her honesty is refreshing and entertaining.

I'm no expect on autism and don't claim to be but there's something about Lily's mannerisms here that reminds me of people who I know and am very close with who are autistic. And it makes me wonder if Lily was autistic and neurodivergence was recognised in her time if her fate would have been any different.

"Her cook does the washing and her food tastes if soup. I should hate that you know." -> I just love the imagery of the first sentence, it strikes my funnybone. I guess it also illustrates that Lily's privileged upbringing if she thinks this is a bad situation to live in.

Okay I'm going to bring in a bit of a technical term to describe the verb 'should'. So it's a modal verb (expressing possibility based on context) but specifically a deontic modal verbal, meaning that Lily's hate depends on social rules. When she says she should hate it it implies that society wants her to hate it but she wouldn't necessarily hate it. That's what that verb phrase implies in today's english, but language has changed since the time it was written so it may not have been written with this meaning, especially as a signifier of an older text is the use of modal verbs in places we wouldn't today and a lot more of them.

The shift from Selden's reflections to the quick dialogue and short simple sentences of action creates a lively and charged atmosphere that feels almost flirtatious in its rhythm but by the nature of the content is more domestic (preparing afternoon tea). The balanced turn taking feels comfortable in that they both have equal power in the conversation, being allowed to say what they want to and being listened to. It goes towards simulating what a possible future could be and also shows how happy they are in this moment.

[asfaltics]

and yet we went on reading

  Flim, sb. Obs. Sc[otch]. A whim; an illusion.       1   in the manufactory of these flimsy things       2 had hung a basket of fodder underneath for these flimsy things       3                                                 Poor indeed are their prospects of continued protection, if they rest upon these flimsy things alone.       4   will you never learn to choose good, useful, lasting articles, instead of these flimsy things that do good to no one, and that a breath       5 took hold of these flimsy things, Oh!       6 the discomfort, the positive misery of these flimsy things       7   wretchedly printed on bad paper, with few or no literary expenses, these flimsy things drag on       8 “These flimsy things don’t last long, they soon break,” said he. “Of course they do!” declared Madame Guibal, with an air of indifference. “I’m tired of having mine mended.”       9 In all her looks the words we see, These flimsy things are not for me And I with them do not agree.       10   of these flimsy things       11       the ice floes ran in under and cut out these flimsy things.       12                         about 12 inch in being evident that these flimsy things are depth, which projects over the top of the difficult       13                           He knew “Well, it’s a good deal warmer than when to leave a man unhindered and to these flimsy things” he said, lifting the       14 attempt to hit some of these flimsy things, you will put your screwdriver through them.       15 You undertake to fix some of these flimsy things and you put a screw driver into them and they go to pieces.       16   You undertake to fix some of these flimsy things and you put a it in the same condition although I know       17                                                                         Lucy gave her skirts a toss “I am getting tired of these flimsy things, and am trying to wear them out”       18 “I must get some more,” he said, “stronger than these flimsy things.”       19   First of all, I know now what it means to travel “light.” These flimsy things       20 These letters, these unintelligible flowers, these bits of lace and of paper, what are they? Around these flimsy things what is there left ?   And yet we went on reading. But something strange is growing gradually greater...       21 “Why, if I put these flimsy things on now they’d be in holes before I ...”                                                                                     Thorough Young Lady enters. Thorough Young Lady — “Good morning... I’d like a dozen”       22   They had seen it as a whim, Agnes knew; a flimsy, floating thing which scientists might examine under a microscope. But if that were what it was she was full of them.       23  

sources (all but the last pre-1923)

1 Joseph Wright (1855-1930), The English dialect dictionary (London, 1898) vol. 2 : 405 2 OCR cross-column misread (on forged bank notes, and banks), at The Black Dwarf (“A London weekly publication, edited, printed, and published by T.J. Wooler”; January 13, 1819) : columns 21-22 “The Black Dwarf (1817–1824) was a satirical radical journal... published by Thomas Jonathan Wooler, starting in January 1817 as an eight-page newspaper, then later becoming a 32-page pamphlet. It was priced at 4d a week until the Six Acts brought in by the Government in 1819 to suppress radical unrest forced a price increase to 6d. In 1819 it was selling in issues of roughly 12,000 to working people such as James Wilson at a time when the reputable upper-middle class journal Blackwood’s Magazine sold in issues of roughly 4,000 copies.” wikipedia on Thomas Jonathan Wooler (1786-1853), also see wikipedia 3 OCR cross-column misread, at “Mrs. Perewinkle’s Visit to Boston,” by “Muhitable Holyoke,” in Frank Leslie’s New Family Magazine 3:2 (August 1858) : 161-167 (162) 4 ex The Chronicle (“An insurance journal”) 10:18 (October 31, 1872) : 274 on the mismanagement of The Globe Mutual Life Insurance Company under Frederick A. Freeman, its president, and/or other members of the Freeman family (including Pliny Freeman). 5 ex Out of the world, by M. Healy vol. 2 (of 3; London, 1875) : 27 asides — this would be Mary Healy Bigot (1843-1936), daughter of the painter George P. A Healy (1813-94 *) A brief entry on Mary Healy is found at A Database of Victorian Fiction, 1837-1901; rather more, including an extensive list of her publications (journalism, fiction, translations, &c.) is found at her French wikipedia page — “Mary Healy utilisa le pseudonyme de Jeanne Mairet, mais aussi celui de « Madame Charles Bigot » et de « Mary Healy-Bigot ». On trouve des écrits non seulement publiés en français (souvent par Paul Ollendorff), mais aussi en anglais et en allemand. Elle produisit aussi de nombreuses traductions avec parfois l'aide de sa soeur Edith Healy.” in his autobiography is to be found the reason he (and later his daughter after the death of her husband Charles Bigot (1840-93 *)) would move to Chicago — George P. A. Healy, his Reminiscences of a Portrait Painter (Chicago, 1894) : 57 6 ex Alex(ander). Mackenzie, The Life and Speeches of Hon. George Brown (Toronto, 1882), in Chapter 19, The reform convention of 1867. Resolution of thanks to Mr. Brown. Mr. Brown’s reply : 113 7 ex correspondence to the editor (on the subject of “new restrictions in dress”), by “Freedom,” in The Meteor (“Ed. by members of Rugby School”) 175 (May 18, 1882) : 60 8 ex John Bull’s Neighbor in Her True Light : Being an Answer to some recent French criticisms. By a “Brutal Saxon.” Veluti in Speculum. (Third edition. London, 1884), in Chapter 11, The French Press: its Vanity—Le Temps and London Telegraph contrasted—Des Debats—Le Figaro—Le Clairon—Press Laws—Fear of Actions for Libel—Want of Freedom : 87 9 ex conversation about a fan, in Émile Zola (1840-1902 *), The Ladies’ Paradise : A Realistic Novel (London, 1886) : 74 aside — The novel is set in the world of the department store... (wikipedia) 10 “The Village Wedding,” in Poems by Chas. F(rederick). Forshaw, LL.D. (Bradford, 1889) : 28-33 (30) 11 from Act 2, Scene 4 of John Lesslie Hall (1856-1928) his Judas : A Drama in Five Acts (Williamsburg, Virginia; 1894) : 73 aside — “also known as J. Lesslie Hall, was an American literary scholar and poet known for his translation of Beowulf” (wikipedia); (some) papers at the College of William and Mary 12 ex “He saved others” (from Brotherhood Star), at Herald and Presbyter (“A Presbyterian family paper”) 68:46 (Cincinnati and St. Louis, November 17, 1897) : 15 in full — “When ice was running in the North River at New York, a ferryboat was crushed in, under the water line. An employe was sent down to stop the leak, or hold it until the boat could be run into the slip. Bedding, clothing and anything available were passed to him, but the ice floes ran in under and cut out these flimsy things. The boat reached the dock. Passengers were all hastened ashore. The boat was raised up by chains, so that the break was above the water, but the man did not come up on deck. They hastened below and found a bruised body of an unconscious man, pressed close against the opening. Careful nursing brought back life, but broken health and a disfigured body were his. ‘Even Christ pleased not himself.’” 13 OCR cross-column misread at J. B. Fulton, “Faulty Concrete Construction,” in Fireproof 3:6 (December 1903) : 31-33 (32) 14 ex OCR cross-column misread, at Francis Prevost (H. F. P. Battersby, 1862-1949 *), “The Siege of Sar,” in Ainslee’s (“A magazine of clever fiction”) vol. 12 (January 1904) : 1-44 (22) 15 ex Arthur H. Elliott, “The Gas Range in the Kitchen” In Light, Heat and Power 5:12 (February 1906) : 942-946 (944) self-described as “A monthly magazine devoted to the fields of illumination, and also combustion for producing heat and power, wherein the elements employed are natural, artificial, acetylene, gasolene, or petroleum gases.” 16 ex “The Gas Range in the Kitchen," in report of Elliott paper, in The Metal Worker, Plumber and Steam Fitter (March 3, 1906) : 52 17 same as no.s 14 and 15 above, but OCR cross-column misread, at Arthur H. Elliott, “The Gas Range in the Kitchen,” Progressive Age (Gas-Electricity-Water), 24:4 (February 15, 1906) : 96-99 (97) 97 Paper delivered at the First Annual Convention of the National Commercial Gas Association, held at the Cadillac Hotel, New York City, January 24th and 25th, 1906. 18 ex Mrs. Mary Dudeney. All Times Pass Over (London, 1909) : 75 (snippet view only, but entire at hathitrust) aside — little is found, biographically; author of poems, stories, even songs as Mary Du Deney (BL catalogue); are these of the same Mary? — “A novelty appeared in Judge Allen’s court in the shape of a woman, Mrs. Mary du Deney, who sought solace and mental refreshment in a book while her fate was being decided in a divorce proceeding. After reciting the grounds upon which she sought the divorce, the lady was lost to the world until the Judge cut the knot and she again felt the thrill of single blessedness.” (Los Angeles Herald (23 December 1900) : here); and   ◾ “...Old Lady Was Swaying, Fatal Collision with Cyclist At Bridgwater. Returning a verdict of Accidental Death at the inquest on Thursday on Mrg. Mary Du Deney. aged 85, of 2. Holmes Buildings. St. Mary-street, Bridgwater, who died in the hospital on Tuesday...” (Taunton Courier, and Western Advertiser (20 September 1947) : here) 19 ex William Caine (1873-1925 *), The Devil in Solution, (nicely) Illustrated by George Morrow (London, 1911) : 68 (snippet view only, but opens to same page at hathitrust 20 from this longer passage — “First of all, I know now what it means to travel ‘light.’ These flimsy things which the Japanese make are wonderfully serviceable. For instance, I purchased a silk Japanese raincoat which sheds rain perfectly, and yet when not in use I carry it in the pocket of my light overcoat.” ex “Japanese Milling, and Weather,” in Rosenbaum Review 2:39 (Chicago; September 15, 1917) : 8-10 asides — devoted to grain trade; at some point title changes to The Round-Up; published by the J. Rosenbaum Grain Company; this would be Joseph Rosenbaum (1838-1919), whose interesting life is sketched by Arba Nelson Waterman, in “Historical Review of Chicago and Cook County and Selected Biography," found here   ◾ perhaps more interesting is the editor of Rosenbaum Review (and its successor Round-Up), J. Ralph Pickell (1881-1939? *).   ◾ see, for example — “Senate Asks Jardine of Chicago ‘College’” ¶ Secretary Jarine was asked Friday, June 25, by the Senate to explain his connection with the Roundup College of Scientific Price Forecasting of Chicago. ¶ A resolution making the request was offered by Senator Caraway (Dem. Ark.), and adopted. Caraway said the secretary had accepted appoitment as a member of the faculty of the college to teach students “how to speculate and get around the rules of the grain futures act which he administers.” ¶ The resolution asked the Secretary to state whether his information on grain futures markets was obtained as a result of his official connection with the department of agriculture, and what compensation he has received from the college. ¶ The Roundup College school for price broadcasting [sic, should be “forecasting” ?] was held at the Congress Hotel four weeks ago. Secretary Jardine was announced in publicity as the principal speaker. The school is run by J. Ralph Pickell, listed in the telephone book with offices at 1848 West Washington Boulevard and 328 Ashland Boulevard. It is said, however, that the offices have moved to Western Springs, Ill., near Chicago. ¶ Pickell at the time the school was held, said about 500 students would be in attendance. Each student, he said would pay $50 for the course. ex The Illinois Agricultural Association Record (July 1, 1926) : 3 21 ex chapter 23 (the last) in Henri Barbusse (1873-1935 *), Light (Fitzwater Wray, trans.; 1919) : 301 several scans of the same at hathitrust 22 ex Fashions for Men (this passage) and The Swan (in one volume, subtitled Two Plays by Franz Molnar (both comedies in three acts; English texts by Benjamin Glazer); (Liveright, 1922) : 117 Ferenc Molnár (1878-1952), at wikipedia 23 ex Rachel Cusk, Saving Agnes (1993; Picador 1995) : 2

—

subject to change, corrections, &c.  

[notalwaysthevillian]

My Whirlpool of a Life

Ships: Kaminari/OC

Word Count: ~2.k

I will not be doing a tag list for this fic.

Masterlist

Chapter 4: Study Group

The rest of my first day was boring compared to working on our special moves. English had never been my strong suit. There were just too many words. Math was a struggle, but at least I somewhat understood what was going on. When it came to Modern Literature, it turned out I’d already read most of the books on the syllabus.

Foundational Hero Studies was at least a little interesting. We ended up talking about my parents, by pure coincidence. All Might had no idea that I was their child until the end of class, when Midoriya whispered it to him.

He’d started apologizing profusely, but I’d stopped him.

“It’s fine. A lot of people tend not to talk about them around me, but you praised them so much for doing what they could. It was nice, hearing something so good about them.”

School was finally over, and most of us were heading back to the dorms.

Mina skipped up to my side, linking with my left arm. “So? How was your first day?”

“Kind of boring, to be honest.” I admitted, hearing her laugh. “Minus working on our special moves of course. That was super neat, even though I didn’t get quite as much time.”

“Yeah, I saw you were sparring with Aizawa!”

Kirishima stopped and turned around. “You did so good! He’s really fast, and you nailed him.”

My face flushed. “I didn’t mean to leave a welt though.”

“It means you did a good job.” Bakugo rolled his eyes. “Just accept the compliment. Keep improving and maybe I’ll let you fight me.”

I tilted my head. “Wouldn’t the water just nullify your explosions?”

“WHAT DID YOU SAY?”

Iida cleared his throat as Kirishima held Bakugo back. “While it wouldn’t nullify the explosions, it would significantly reduce them. Perhaps if you could create ice like Todoroki, you could freeze over his gauntlets.”

“If you remember, I beat IcyHot the last time.”

Kaminari appeared on my other side, grabbing my hand. “Bakugo, lay off her.”

He growled, but walked off with Kirishima. “Whatever, extras.”

“How does his quirk even work?” I said out loud.

Midoriya immediately launched into a detailed explanation of his quirk. It seemed like he had the most notes on Bakugo, which I thought was interesting.

“How do you know so much?”

“Oh, we were friends when we were kids.” He half-hid behind his notebook. “I’ve been studying his quirk for years.”

“I’ll definitely be coming to you if I need any information about anyone.”

Uraraka showed up out of nowhere, stealing Deku away. She was a little flustered as she talked, all but confirming the crush she had on him.

Speaking of crushes, Kaminari linked his fingers through mine. “Wanna help me study?”

“God, I think I need help studying.” I thought back to Math class. “Literature is my best subject. The others…not so much.”

“Momo does a study group if you need help!” Mina flashed me a smile. “She’s really helped us improve our grades. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you joined us, as long as you don’t distract Kaminari too much.”

“Hey!”

“Your grades will only get worse if you ogle at your girlfriend when you’re trying to study.”

I batted my eyelashes at Kaminari, laughing as his face went pink. “I can’t help being irresistible.”

“How are you two this cute already? No fair.” It looked like Hagakure had caught up, and was crossing her arms. “I want a relationship like that.”

“You just gotta have that spark.” Flicking his fingers out, Kaminari sent a shower of sparks out. 

Hagakure shrieked. “Careful!”

“Oh, relax. That’s hardly enough wattage for you to feel anything but a little tingle.” He ran a hand through his hair, the static making it stick up slightly. “I have wayyyy more than that running through me on a good day.”

I blinked. “Is that even safe?”

“I can handle it, Dew Drop, no need to worry about me.”

“Dew Drop? That’s too cute!”

We climbed the steps of the dorms, heading back inside. It was refreshing to be back in the cool air. The heat wasn’t helping me regain any energy I had expended in training.

“Catch you in a bit.” Kaminari kissed my knuckles and walked off, leaving me blushing.

Momo walked up to me before I could make a break for my room. “I couldn’t help but overhear that you might want to join our study group?”

“If that’s okay.”

“The more the merrier!” Her smile lit up her whole face. “Do you like tea? I usually make some for everyone. Oh, and we usually meet about a half hour after class ends, so everyone can relax, but so they don’t forget what we learned completely.”

“I’m not too picky about my tea, so whatever you choose is going to be great, I’m sure.” I hoisted my bag up a little higher on my shoulder. “And I’ll meet you here in half an hour then? Or…”

“Oh, at the table.” She gestured to the other room. “It helps keep everyone focused. Though I suppose I’ll have to keep you and Kaminari apart. Or maybe not, you might be able to motivate him.”

“We can try a few ways, see what works?”

“Absolutely. I’ll see you soon!”

I headed up to my room, glad to get a few tranquil moments to myself. The fountain bubbled away as I meditated. Once I was in a more calm mindset, I put away the stuff I didn’t need help with, before heading down to join the others.

“Oh, am I late?”

Everyone was already sitting in what I could only assume was their specific seats.

Momo leapt to her feet. “Oh I asked them to come a bit early! I was trying to figure out the best place to put you.”

“We decided here!” Mina pulled out a chair next to her, and across from Kaminari. “Near the people you’re the most comfortable with so far.”

“Thanks guys!” I took my seat, grabbing my books out of my bag. “I want to get to know everyone eventually. But for right now…”

“We get it! There’s a lot of us.” Sero gave me a smile. “Your quirk is amazing, by the way. You’d probably knock me flat in seconds.”

“Oh, thanks!” I could feel the heat in my cheeks. “I’m still working on control, but for the most part I know what I’m doing.”

“It looked like you had control to me!” Momo tilted her head.

“For now, yeah.”

I didn’t want to talk about my lack of control, which Momo must have realized. She clapped her hands together and got us started.

We worked individually and only asked a question when we got stuck. Anyone who was good at the subject we were on would jump in and help.

This led to me finishing my homework fairly quickly.

“Oh! I’m done.”

“Can you help me out with some of the Foundational Hero Studies work?” Sero looked about ready to throw his paper across the room. “Um, if you can. It’s about your parents.”

“I can try.”

“So it says they were trying to hold off this Muscular guy.” Sero pointed to a picture of said villain.

“That question, right.” I’d just finished that one. “Should they have called again for backup or held him off?”

“Why didn’t they call for backup? They were outgunned in every way.”

The pipes above me rattled as I felt my control start to slip. I sucked in a deep breath. Sero wasn’t insulting them, he was just asking a question. “There were still civilians in the way. Kids. If they had split to call for backup, there was a chance the civilians would’ve gotten hurt. Or potentially killed.”

Sero reviewed the footage again. I looked away. “By the storefront.”

“Oh!” He finally spotted them. The glare from the screen moved and I looked back to see he’d turned it away from me. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” I waved a hand, accidentally sending water flying down the table. “Shit.”

There were cries of surprise until I waved my hand again, putting it back into the glass. “I’m just gonna -”

“Please stay?” The look in Kaminari’s eyes absolutely made me melt. I nodded, moving over to the empty chair next to him. He linked our fingers together, putting our joined hands on the table.

“So Momo, I’m stuck on this math question.” He changed the subject, squeezing my hand slightly.

The study session continued. I put my other arm on the table, laying on it so I could look at everyone. Mina made a face at me, making me giggle. I stuck my tongue out as retaliation.

After a while, I must’ve fallen asleep, because I woke up to gentle zaps as Kaminari poked my cheek. “Psst, Dew Drop. Dinner’s ready.”

“What if I just sleep instead?”

“Nope, come on, you gotta eat.”

He tugged on my arm until I stood up, frowning at him. “I was comfy.”

“We can snuggle on the couch when you’re done eating.”

“Fineeeee.”

Kaminari smiled at me, pulling me towards the kitchen. “You’re adorable when you’re sleepy.”

He made me sit at the table, grabbing me a bowl of stew, before sliding it in front of me. “Please eat.”

I dug in, not realizing how hungry I was until the delicious smell hit my nose. Before long I’d powered through my bowl.

“Is there more?”

“You’re the first girl I’ve seen eat like that.” Kaminari said as I got up to grab seconds.

I filled up my bowl before sitting across from him, gently sliding my foot against his. “Get used to it.”

Redness spread across his face as I played footsie with him under the table. “Uh, ye-yeah. I’ve got a lot of new stuff to get used to, huh?”

“I do too though.” I pointed out, eating slower now. “We’re in this together.”

“For better or worse.”

“Isn’t that when you get married?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He sent me a wink, making me blush. “It’s only a matter of time.”

[mariinara]

GET USED TO IT. (Harry Flynn x Reader) FLUFF

A/N: This was super fun to write. One of my favorite characters to write is Harry because he's all clever quips and charming grins, but I enjoyed writing this soft side of the English arsehole. 🥰

Request for: The lovely @missdictatorme . Enjoy it, darling ♡

Prompts: FLUFF (19): "I can't sleep. Can I stay here?"

Warnings: Just really soft Harry 🥺

Word count: 2,919

Not too long ago, you'd somehow gotten tangled up in some warmonger nonsense that you had no business being involved in. You always knew that mingling with the wrong crowd might bring loads of trouble to your door, but – unfortunately – the "wrong crowd" was made up of Chloe Frazer and Harry Flynn. 

Chloe was your closest friend, but no one could be close enough to find out about your immense crush on the flirtatious Englishman– Harry Flynn. 

No one could know. Especially Chloe. You didn't know what on earth was going on between both of them, but by the looks of it, they were most definitely sleeping together. 

Maybe they thought that you didn't know, but you were the observant kind that let things slide just because she thought it was none of her business. But that didn't mean that it didn't irk the living hell out of you. It bothered you to an extreme whenever you caught them sharing a laugh, with his arm draped around her neck, his lips so close to her ear that she'd bite down on her lip to suppress the giggle that threatened to spill out because of how his stubble tickled her skin.

But, you'd sigh and look the other way, as always.

It wasn't like Harry didn't flirt with you. It was always like this with you two. Back and forth, just as clever and just as witty. But it was Harry– he did that with almost every single woman in his life. You were his closest friend as well and he trusted you when he'd open up about his emotions or tell you about something that upset him. His doubts, insecurities, and such. But, for some reason, on this job, he seemed quite distant.

And for some stupid reason, you didn't want to be like any other girl in his life. You wanted to be the girl. His girl. But heartbreakers like him are more suitable to be eye-candy and maybe a one-night-stand, but that was it.

It didn't mean that you weren't head over heels for the British con-man, but you had a pretty good grip and you appreciated the way you've always looked at things with practicality. You thought that you'd definitely be drowning in your tears and self-pity if you'd somehow concocted imaginary expectations for your relationship with him in your head, only to be disappointed by the harsh smack of reality:

Harry Flynn is unattainable. 

That was the only thought that popped up in your mind when you saw him slip into his bedroom in the apartment you, him, and Chloe shared. There were three rooms but Harry would go to Chloe's when he's 'stressed' to relieve some of his 'tension', and your room was always your room. 

You were hired for this job by Zoran since you had an incredible talent when it came to deciphering ancient texts and codes. Because of that, being Lazarevic's favorite came naturally. You were like the star of the class and Zoran trusted you most with almost everything. You'd get exclusive looks at journals, maps, and his plans before anyone else in the team and, thus, it gave the impression to everyone that you were perhaps in a relationship with the war criminal, or at least were under his protection.

No one dared mess with you because of that rumour that you – of course – had no idea about. It was something that one of the men started and it spread around the troops and the research team like wildfire, but it never reached you or Zoran, for that matter.

With a small sigh, you closed the door of your bedroom behind you and plopped down on the bed, resting your head back and bringing the laptop on your lap, starting it to get some work done. 

Just when the windows icon disappeared, you heard your cell phone ringing and, without looking at the ID, you picked up, putting the device on speaker.

"Yes?" You responded, tapping away your password for the home screen to appear.

"Hey, there, love." Came Chloe's voice, making you smile a tad.

"Hi, Clo." You said, clicking on your email inbox icon to check if there was anything new forwarded to you from the research team, "I take it you found the scripts."

"Yeah, but, uh– it'll take a while to get to you."

Your eyes rolled and closed, your hand coming up to pinch the bridge of your nose, "Chloe, I don't have a while." 

"The script is scattered across the city; it'll take time until I find the other pieces–"

"Chloe– if–" You inhaled deeply to calm yourself, "Zoran gave us a week tops and he won't be happy if I don't come up with a solution to the cipher by tomorrow night–"

"It won't take you time– just trust me on this."

"The man is as unpredictable as it is; I can't take the chance and fuck up my position, Frazer. This shit takes time to decode– I'm not a computer, for fuck's sake." You spoke quickly, the irritation apparent in your voice. 

"Alright, alright.. Don't get your panties in a twist; I got it." You heard shuffling on her end, "It'll be there by tomorrow morning, sourpuss."

You sighed heavily, "Thanks." 

"Yep."

You hung up first and discarded the phone on your bed carelessly and refreshed your mail again, just in case, but nothing was sent to you. You shut the laptop and put it on your nightstand and almost sunk under the covers before a knock sounded at your bedroom door. 

Your eyes flickered over there and you blinked twice. The only people in the apartment were you and Harry, since Chloe was out on excavation with the troop and the research team. 

With that realization, you quickly sat up and ran a hand through your hair to make it look a bit more presentable and patted your cheeks and pinched them to make them look more rosy, licked your lips, then cleared your throat,

"Come in." You chirped, trying to dial it down with your excitement. Maybe it was work-related and not at all what your mind tried to make up.

Your door creaked open and there he was, in black pyjama pants and a matching black top that had rolled up sleeves and a V-neck that was deep enough to show a pendant that framed his perfect neck and collar bones. 

"Hey, darling." He started, shutting the door behind him. Your eyes flickered up to look at him with a tight smile, "You uhh.. You have a minute?" He asked as he approached the edge of your bed and you felt compelled to scoot over for him to sit. His nervous tone didn't slip past you and his little neck-rubbing brought an amused little smile to your face.

"Sure." You replied, watching as he sat down next to your legs. He looked down at his hands and you tilted your head at him, "It'd be nice having you talk to me again."

When you said that, he looked up at you with a frown, "I'm the one not talking to you?" He asked, almost sounding offended, which made you frown in confusion.

"Yeah..?" You replied, unsure. Your eyes narrowed at him, "You haven't been the same ever since we started this job."

He gave you a dry chuckle and shook his head, "Have you gone bloody mad?" He asked, incredulous, "You want me to talk to you when you're all snuggled up to Zoran? No, thanks, love, I quite prefer it when my dick is attached to my body."

He sounded frustrated. Beyond belief. And you didn't understand why someone who's sleeping with another woman had any right to be that pent up about..

“Wait--what?!” You almost screeched, sitting up so suddenly that Harry flinched, “Snuggling up to--” You cringed, “Lazarevic?!” 

The British man paused, studying your body language and reaction before frowning deeply, “It’s not true..?”

With a loud, frustrated growl, you slumped back onto the bed, laying down with your hands on your face to slowly rub your exhausted eyes, “You are insufferable..” You muttered, removing your hands from your face, only to cross your arms and stare at the ceiling, “And you didn’t think once to ask me about the matter? You just assumed?” You questioned, incredibly irritated with him.

“Hey, now..” He started, “I never assumed anything; Everyone was talking about how close you two are.” He defended himself, turning his body so his legs were crossed over the bed.

“Okay-- Harry, since when were you a conformer? The Harry I know would've barged into my bedroom, flirted his way in, and confronted me about it.." You argued, but your voice grew softer at your next words, "Besides, you can't expect me to flirt with you or talk to you, either; You're.. with Chloe." You paused a little, "And it's like a.. girl code."

"Wait– Slow down, love." He chuckled, "I'm not with Chloe."

"Cut the crap, Flynn." You hurled a pillow at him, which he caught with ease and placed on his lap, bracing his elbows atop of it, "You're sleeping with her."

"Well, sure, but that doesn't mean we're together, you stupid wanker." He teased you, throwing the pillow back at you, "Now, you could've asked me about that, but you were too busy drowning in your own jealousy."

You sat up again to face him, your brows furrowed, "Jealousy?!" You snorted and rolled your eyes, "Gimme a break, Flynn; I already told you: It's a girl code." You gave him a wry smile, trying your best to conceal the shameful pink color that tainted your cheeks.

His lips curled up into an amused smirk, "She was just a diversion for me, dummy." He replied, his fingers coming up to brush your hair out of your eyes, which made your smile drop and your breath hitch in your throat and, at that very moment, you couldn't stop glancing at his lips and biting on your own, which he took notice of.

"Diversion?" You asked, your voice almost above a whisper since he was inching a bit closer to you, his steamy breaths shattering against your lips and his cologne filling your nose more clearly.

He hummed, "I had a stick so far up my arse because of you and Zoran that I needed a distraction and Chloe did just that." 

You frowned and drew your head away from him, "You used Chloe? To get over me?"

"Relax, Susan B. Anthony; it was a mutual agreement. She knew what was going on with me and offered herself." He shrugged, "I figured why not."

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks at his words, "You like me that much?" You asked, a sweet, warm smile playing onto your lips and it was the most infectious, beautiful sight he's ever seen that it made him smile brightly.

"Don't flatter yourself, love; I'm a certified asshole who says those things to a woman to get her all nice and warm for me, yeah?" 

If you hadn't known him, you would've socked him straight on the jaw for that, but you knew he was a joker and his humor was a tad offensive and albeit often sexist, but you accepted it within reason. It was how it was. The back and forth, playful bickering.

"Right, of course, you asshole." You scrunched your nose playfully and he chuckled at your response before leaning closer again, his lips finally brushing against yours ever so softly. Your eyes fluttered to a close and you softly but firmly pressed your lips against his with a soft sigh and he eagerly shared your passion, his hand cupping the side of your neck so he could tilt his head and deepen it. 

It felt like an eternity, just having your lips dancing against each other in such heated harmony. When you pulled away slowly, the sound of the kiss breaking snapping you out of your trance. You inhaled sharply through your nose and pursed your lips, blinking repeatedly and slowly, as if your eyelids were heavy. 

"That was nice.." He whispered against your lips. You could feel them moving against yours, "Bet you Zoran isn't that good of a kisser." He teased you.

You pulled away to glare at him, "Don't push it." Your voice was stern but you couldn't help the smile on your face.

"Alright, doll." He kissed your cheek and stood up from your bed, "Good talk." He sent you a shit-eating grin when he noticed your frustrated pout, "Sweet dreams, eh? All about me, please." He winked over his shoulder, swinging the door open and strutting out of there in utter confidence and closing it behind him, leaving you there, on your bed. You glared at the closed door, knowing that he was doing this to only tease you.

But, no, you weren't going to roll with his game.

You sat back, resting your back against the headboard and crossing your arms, your leg shaking in nervousness and your eyes glued to the wall in front of you. 

'I should try to sleep..' You thought, reaching for the lamp on your nightstand and flicking it off before sinking under the covers, sighing and staring at the ceiling. You didn't know what it was about the kiss, but every time you recalled the feeling of his lips prying yours open for a deep kiss, a smile creeped onto your face and your fingers went up to touch your lips. 

'God, you're an asshole, Harry Flynn..' You thought, your face turning into a frown of dismay. Mostly at yourself. 

"God dammit." You pushed the cover off of your body and swung your legs over the bed, quickly making your way to your door, your hand reaching for the knob and when you had it in your hand, you turned it and swung the door open and you found your legs carrying you across the hall until you reached his room, "Needy bitch.." You muttered to yourself before knocking on his door and, as if he was just waiting for you, the door opened immediately and he gave you an amused smirk.

"Can I help you with something?" He asked you, his voice low and his tone teasing, his arms crossed over his chest as you pouted up at him.

"I can't sleep." You confessed, as agitated you were about the matter.

"And? Do I look like a bloody pacifier?" He prodded, raising a brow, that infuriatingly charming smirk still on his face.

You groaned, looking down at your feet and closing your eyes to calm yourself. You then met his eyes and huffed, "Can I stay here?" You asked, throwing your hands up in frustration. 

"Hmm, let me check.." He looked over his shoulder, pretending to check if there was anyone there, "There seems to be no vacancy–" He was interrupted when you smacked his arm, which caused him to laugh and rub his aching spot, stepping out of the way for you.

You glared up at him as you walked inside and you heard the door shut softly as you stared at his bed. It looked so much more comfy than yours that you were tempted to just jump on there and drift off. 

"Make yourself comfortable." He told you, watching as you sat on the edge and bounced up and down a little, smiling at how soft the mattress was before you laid down, your head sinking into the pillow like it was a cloud. His scent instantly filled your nostrils once that happened and you inadvertently let out a soft moan and closed your eyes, "Woah, girly. Not that comfortable." He teased, making you snort to hide your embarrassment. You felt the bed dip next to you and you looked over at him as he reached to flick off the lamp before laying down next to you with a sigh, staring at the ceiling. 

You stared at his side profile with big, glimmering eyes as the blue moonlight spilled from his window, outlining and highlighting the peaks of his high cheekbones. Suddenly, he turned his head towards you to look at you, but you didn't turn your head away, allowing yourself to be trapped in his intense gaze that brought a satisfied smile to your lips.

He turned to lay on his side and let his arm drape around your waist, "Hey, you know what..?" He started, his voice low and his eyes never leaving yours.

"What?" You whispered, turning on your side without ripping your gaze from his, scooting closer to him so your foreheads touched.

Harry closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, nodding to himself, "I could get used to this."

You smiled brightly, giggling like a teenage girl. He grinned and pulled you closer against him, hooking one leg around yours, holding you like a prized possession, before he pressed a soft kiss against your lips. It was affectionate and nothing like the one you shared in your bedroom. It was a tender one, speaking on behalf of your untold feelings. It sparked so many warm feelings within both of you that were so overwhelming that you two had to pull away and take a deep breath.

You found yourself smiling and nestling your head against his chest, right under his chin, curling into him and letting him hold you, "Me too, Flynn." You closed your eyes, finally feeling the fatigue roll over you, "Me too.."

_________________

[cathyparrlyn]

We’re all just mirror shards

_________________________________________________________

Hey everyone! It’s No One here, or perhaps you now know (if you have read a certain lovely, beautiful, baby tief’s post) that my name is Maddy. It’s great to finally post this next part, first update of 2020! Woo!....

Yeah, I know, it’s been a while. I’m sorry for that, but not only am I working on future chapters and a special writing project (some of you might have already heard about it, oops-), but like, school. Ugh. But don’t worry, I have plenty of content to give you guys, so I shouldn’t fall too behind with my updating schedule!

I want to shoutout two people today. First off, one of my writing friends, @justonemoretheatrekid who is super sweet and has helped me with my bi panic, so thanks friendo! I enjoyed chatting with you! :3

I also want to give a special thanks to another one of my writing friends, @toomanyfamdom for not only helping me edit this sucker (legit the only reason I was able to post today. Bless her soul for putting up with my comma crazy piece.), but also for being the sweetest and best baby in the world. She makes me a proud mama. :3 love you baby! And thank you for not joining in on the “(censored name) for the pole” chant. I know how much you like to troll me tho, so I guess will see what happens next time. Lol. <3

Also, good news and bad news! 

Good news! This chapter has the “read more” option! Bad News! It cost me all the pretty and colorful fonts. ;-; Also, it won’t let me edit my draft from my iPad now as I did the function on the computer. So like... I can’t fix it. :(

So now I have a dilemma. Which should I use, the read more function or the colorful and pretty fonts? Please reply down below if you have a preference. Anyways, enough with my long ass author note!

Without further interruption, the chapter! Woo!

Word count: about 2,212 words.

Warnings: Cursing, bullying. (Also, Anne being a useless lesbian gremlin and Cathy being a bi disaster. OWO UWU)

Enjoy~

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Part 11

Annie Boleyn

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…………………………………......Recap………………………………………

“Sorry about that, I’m just so fucking tired of bullshit,” Anne muttered, snapping Cathy out of her thoughts.

"Huh?"

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Cathy was a dumbass. She had to be. How else could she have fucked up so badly with her words? They were her thing! But with Anne, all she could muster up to say was ‘huh?’ Huh! Ugh, she just can’t with herself right now.

What’s worse, this is serious. Anne looks like she needs someone to talk to, Cathy can be that person, but not if she’s a disaster.

Parr wants to be there for Anne. She craves to develop their relationship, for them to get closer. To be able to share inside jokes and small smiles with each other. To have long conversations and calling each other late at night just to rant because they know the other will listen. For the comfort of knowing that she does, in fact, matter to Anne.

Right now she felt farther away from her goal than ever. Looking up, she saw an indescribable look on Anne’s face, the only thing she could note was the fear in Boleyn’s eyes as she held herself. An uneasy feeling washed over Anne as she realized she might have said too much around Cathy. She was nervous. Cathy couldn’t believe it. Anne was scared of her own opinion, and that worried Parr. Boleyn was speechless, not knowing how to respond. It was painful to see this side of her. Yet Cathy couldn’t help but stare. This new side drew her in, and Parr couldn’t stop herself from questioning more and more about who Anne really was. And what could have possibly happened to the Boleyn girl to make her feel so mortified that she couldn’t even express her own feelings.

Now Cathy was scared. She couldn’t just stand there and wait Anne recover on her own. No, Catherine wants to help her, she needs to help Anne.

So with a deep breath, Cathy had made her decision to keep moving forward with the conversation. She refused to make Anne start things, this time she’ll make the first move. For Anne’s sake.

“Hey, are you alright? I’m here for you if you want to talk about it.”

“No, no. It’s stupid, just, please. Forget about it.”

Cathy felt as if she was stabbed in the heart after hearing that statement. Anne was amazing, smart, talented, and said some of the most interesting things Cathy has ever heard. And here she is now, saying that her feelings are stupid.

Cathy doesn’t know who made her feel like this, but they are going to pay for it. Yet, that is for another time, right now Cathy has to focus on comforting the Boleyn girl.

“Hey Anne, we’re friends right?”

“Well, yeah, I would like to think so.” Anne tentatively mumbled. She expressed a blatant insecurity that Parr would reject the idea. But why?

Parr wanted to further analyze this side of Anne and try to figure out what might have happened to her, but she couldn’t. Not right now, when Anne needed a friend. No, especially now since Anne needed a friend, someone to be there for her, to reassure her things were okay. That is what Parr needed to be right now. Her friend.

Cathy smiled, bumping their shoulders together. Hence, grabbing Anne’s attention as Parr stared at her with a look that Anne wasn’t used to seeing: patience and love. With a gentle squeeze reminding Anne of their connected hands, Cathy let the Boleyn girl bask in the show of affection. Anne deserves to enjoy this moment, to feel comfortable with her own thoughts. What’s more, she deserves to have someone to listen to her. Cathy can very well be that person. All Catherine had to do was prove that she would and could be there for her. So she spoke up, determined to help Anne no matter what it takes.

“Then there you go. Your opinion matters to me, Anne. As your friend, I don’t think this is stupid. Not one bit. So please, don’t feel afraid to talk to me. You have a wonderful voice, and I truly think it should be shared with the world.”

Cathy observed as Anne stared at her in shock. A blush formed on Parr’s cheeks as she noticed a sudden change in the Boleyn girl. Tension had quickly left Anne’s face and was now replaced by a small, soft, genuine, and breathtaking smile. Really, Cathy could go on about the beauty of Anne’s smile, but she was rather focused on something else. It was way more important than her feelings. Gratitude, that’s what Anne’s expression conveyed instead of the fearful look she wore mere seconds ago. Anne gently squeezed Cathy’s hand back, returning the affection as she pulled Cathy in so they could be in closer proximity. The action cause both girls heart to race as they were lost in the moment, staring at each other in a comfortable, knowing silence. Both were thinking the same thing.

She does see me.

Finally after taking a few deep breaths, Anne was the first one to break the silence.

“Thank you, that… that really means a lot Cathy.”

“Of course Anne. Do you, um... Do you want to talk about it?” Cathy gingerly asked.

Anne looked down as she contemplated what to do. After a few seconds of thinking it over, she slowly nodded her head.

“Alright, I’m here to listen whenever you ready.” Parr, acknowledging that she was looking down, squeezed Anne’s hand again. Cathy hopes it would reassure Boleyn that Parr planned on being there for her. Seeing that Anne had mustered up the courage to look up at Catherine and start her explanation, Cathy thinks it’s safe to say that it worked.

"Ok, so, our generation is stupid, right?” Anne started off.

“100% agree, continue please.”

“It’s just, no one cares about others' stories. Make believe or real, every story matters. Yet we cast them aside and hold an egocentric viewpoint that mentally and physically tears others down. And I’m so fucking sick of it!”

“Of the kids in the halls?” Cathy hesitantly asked.

“Of basically everyone! They all piss me off! Like, no one even understands why I read, the majority of those people don’t even think I can read! I’m nearly eighteen, for Christ's sake! How would I be in an advanced English class if I couldn’t read?”

“I don’t know, kids are stupid.”

“I know, but… you’re the first person to understand this and believe me…”

“Really?”

“Yeah, Anna won't shut up about how I can't do math, Kitty doesn't like poetry and always whines about me speaking ‘gibberish’ when I rant about it, and the rest of the school thinks I text shit like, 'dat waz fun' smiley face, winky face, kissy cat." Anne rolled her eyes. "It's just..." she pursed her lips, then looked at Cathy and gave her a small smile. "It hurts after a while, y’know. So it's extremely refreshing to finally talk to someone who appreciates writing."

"I totally get that." Cathy nodded.

"Really?" Anne stared at her as if she had two heads.

"Yeah... actually, at my last school, I was teased for reading so much," Cathy elaborated honestly. She doesn't know why, but she felt a need to tell Anne this. It was as if that Boleyn girl elicited a strong desire for Parr to talk about herself. She wanted to know all about Anne, and for Anne to know all about her.

Even if it was about her embarrassing loser past. It's not like she can escape it, only accept it and move forward.

"What the hell is wrong with this generation? That's stupid!" Anne groaned.

Well, at least Anne agreed with her about the matter.

"They called me novel nerd," Cathy bluntly stated.

"... Fucking Alliteration." Anne said after muttering what Cathy assumed was French swear words. She then pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Yeah." Cathy bitterly laughed.

"Want me to fight them for you?" Anne offered, holding her fist up and pretending to punch the air to show she was being serious.

"No, but thanks... it's just like you said earlier, it's nice just to be comfortable enough to talk about these things with someone and know that they respect it." Cathy smiled at her.

Anne lifted Catherine's hand up a bit and gently stroked it.

"Cath, I got you." The gentle action caused Cathy to blush. Anne then looked up with a spark of mischief. "Let's run away to live in a library."

Cathy couldn't help but let out an unlady-like snort. A bit embarrassing, yes. But luckily for Catherine, Anne adored it. She couldn't stop herself from adoring it even if she tried.

"Sounds like heaven." Parr grinned, finally managing to calm her laughter.

They both stared at each other for a few seconds in silence, but after those few seconds of silence, they burst into a laughing fit.

Catherine then looked up at Anne. Something caught her attention about her suggestion. The way she referred to something, or rather, herself.

"Cath, Huh?" She raised an eyebrow, looking Anne over in a teasing manner.

It's time for some playful payback.

She noticed how Anne flinched, and for a quick second, looked embarrassed, but it quickly washed away and was replaced by her usual confident expression.

"Oh, yeah. I just think it's cute and, um, it suits you. Is it alright if I call you that?" Anne asked.

Cathy couldn't stop the dorky smile that was spread across her face. Just hearing Anne give her a nickname just like how she had given one to Katherine, warmed Cathy up inside. She was growing closer to Anne each second and her interest for the girl continued to grow.

"Sure, but only if I get to call you nicknames too!" She agreed.

"Go for it, you got two slots."

Catherine pondered for a second. What should she call her?

Catherine couldn't help but giggle at the first thought to come to mind.

"Okay, first one has to be gremlin."

Anne's smile dropped and her eyebrows furrowed.

"You know what Cath? Fuck you." She huffed, a small pout was plastered on her face. Ergo, causing Cathy to burst into a giggling fit.

After a few seconds of giggling and admiring Anne's pouty face, Cathy managed to calm down.

"Okay, um... Next is.... hm."

It took Cathy a few seconds as she looked Anne up and down. She didn't actually need to check the girl out, she just wanted an excuse too.

The action, however, had caused Anne to blush.

Then it hit Cathy. Her lips quirked up at the idea for what to call the Boleyn girl. Sure, it was simple, but so was Cathy. So it’s fine. No, Parr will do one better.

It was perfect.

"Annie," Catherine said, squeezing Anne's hand and beaming at her with a warm smile.

Anne's happy expression fell after hearing that. Cathy noticed the change in expression.

"Um, is everything alright?" She asked.

"H-huh? Oh, um, yeah. It's swell." Anne nervously looked away.

Cathy stared at her worried, but Anne refused to show any sign of pain. Instead, she just gave Cathy a fake smile and avoided eye contact.

There it is again. The change in expression, the change in tone, the change in the atmosphere around her. All of these changes thickened the air and added to the mystery of Anne Boleyn.

Who was she?

Just a second ago, she was all bubbly. But with just a single name, she instantly became a timid sheep. She wore nervous, wide eyes that were surveilling the surroundings as if she was watching out for a predator, fearing for her life. However, the only other person there was Cathy.

She did that. She did this to Anne Boleyn. She doesn't know how, nor why, but she did it. An god, did it feel awful.

Cathy could only do what she thought was right at the time, to check on the girl.

With a gentle squeeze initiated by Cathy, Anne's eyes slowly looked up. Her breathing was a little heavy and her face was a calm, serious. Cathy's anxiety grew with each lurid second passing. Finally, after making it all the way up the excruciating trail, Anne's eyes met Cathy's.

For a brief second Cathy swore she saw the corner of Anne's eyes filling up with tears, and her skin was slightly paler than usual.

But it disappeared in seconds as she hastily swapped her expressions, as if she was trying to hide something. She... she was trying to hide herself.

Anne had put back on her mask, yet it was too late.

Her perfect image had already broke in front of Cathy, not that she planned on telling Anne that.

So with a heavy sigh, Cathy acknowledge that she needed to do something.

"Anne I-"

"Stop it. There's no need for that." Anne interrupted her in a cold tone, yet she still had a "smile" plastered on her face.

"Huh?" Cathy looked at her confused.

"Really Cath, I'm fine." She muttered loud enough for Cathy to hear her.

Cathy knew that wasn't the case. It most certainly wasn't the case at all. Cathy wanted to convey to Anne that she knew this, and that she wanted to help her. She wanted to stop right there, tell Anne it's okay not to be okay, perhaps even give her a hug.

But she didn't know Anne. They weren't close. Anne said it herself, they just met recently. And although Cathy was connecting with her, Anne might not be as into it. She doesn't know. Boleyn is still a mystery to her, one she has yet to uncover.

So how could she break through Anne's mask? She didn't have the right because she doesn't know her. At least, she doesn't know her yet.

"Okay. If you say so...." she reluctantly dropped the subject.

Mark Cathy's words, she'll read Anne's backstory one day. Cathy might cry, she might laugh, hell, she might not know what to think. But she knows that she'll be there for Anne when the time comes.

Until that day comes, this is all she could do for now.

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Tag list: @sarahzarahh @annabanana2401 @lesbabe6 @aveasorae @qnneboleyn @whenallthestarscollide @its-totes-gods-will @canadianharrypotter @epitomeofchaoss @obliviousasheck @heeleys4feeleys @liliocelotepremium @six-is-awesome @thatbolxyngirl @toomanyfamdom @the-queen-bee-is-here @a-slightly-cracked-egg @thatonedisaster-gay @aywdaimie @thegaywhokindalikesmusicals @everything-insanity @babeebobo @one-time-i-jumped-off-a-cliff @wicked-books-101 @33o9 @agustjnk @i-really-dont-use-this-anymore Please reply if you wish to join the tag list or if your username changes so I can update the list :D

[mor-beck-more-problems]

White Crest 101 || Morgan & Margot

TIMING: Current

LOCATION: UMWC

PARTIES: @g0t-ri5h & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Margot gets a crash course in class from her new professor, and what it means to be a transplant White Crestian

The class had started several minutes ago and Margot had just barely rolled out of bed. She changed quickly into a pair of pants, not bothering to change the sweatshirt that she had slept in. There was no time. Margot had a habit of being late, a trait she had inherited from her mother. While her mother thought it was a fashionable faux pas, Margot was simply disorganised. By the time she busted through the back entrance of the room, the professor was halfway through her lecture. The nearest free chair was close to the front, one that would attract a great amount of unwanted attention. Margot trudged down to it, annoying a handful of students that had to stand to let her past. She sat down, listened to the remainder of the lesson, not following any of it. An advisor had called her over the weekend, told her that she didn’t have enough credits for the semester. To her chagrin, this class was one of the few that still had availability. English, a subject she had always struggled to comprehend, starting later would only make it more difficult. The lecture came to an end and Margot began to pack her things. “She’s a great teacher when she’s actually here.” One student said to another. Margot listened intently. “My roommate was telling me she was gone for like a month last semester. No explanation, just poof.” The other gossiped back. The two of them left, and Margot was just about to follow them out when she heard her name be called.

“Do your reflection responses! Do the reading! Make good choices! Remember you have agency in your life!” Morgan shouted her end of class reminders in one breath, waving goodbye to each of them as the filed out. Most waved back with a mix of confusion and embarrassment. They made faces, because they were still young and had too much pride, but no one was above a little personal attention or affirmation. “Ooh, not you, straggler! Yes, you, Margot!” She smiled smugly, waving the roster in front of her. It wasn’t magic powers that gave her the student’s name, just some really attentive refreshing of the faculty center page. “You know…” She eyed the girl and gave a wry smile, “If you only stay for half the class, you’re only getting half your money’s worth. Also, technically, no participation credit. Which is an extra bummer, since it’s the easiest thing to get. But since you’re new, I guess I can let the first day slide. You got some free time, Margot? I’d love to know what brought you to my class this late in the game while we go over make-up work?”

Margot let out a quiet and frustrated sigh. She was so looking forward to going back to her bed. Instead she turned to face the professor. “I’m sorry I was late. I overslept.” Margot knew this was not an adequate excuse by any means, but she had no patience or energy to think of something more creative or reasonable. Margot began to walk towards the lectern in the front of the room, towards Morgan. “It was a great lecture though, the parts I was here for. Very, uh, informative.” She offered this as a consolation. Margot glanced at her watch, as if she had someplace else to be. “Yes, I suppose I can stay for a bit.” She took off her backpack and sat it on the floor where she stood. Margot imagined this could take a while. “I thought I had enough credits for the semester, but apparently I didn’t. Yours was one of the only classes I could join so late. Is there much to catch up on?” Margot dreaded to think of all the homework she had missed, it would only add to the growing stack of overdue work on her desk.

Morgan let out a long-suffering sigh. Of course she had only come here for the credit. She had maybe even heard that it was an easy class to pass, which...wasn’t wrong either. Morgan didn’t think that being a hardass with grades was the way to students’ hearts, or to teaching them anything effective. She tossed Margot a syllabus and gathered the rest of her materials, leading her out of the room and off to the long series of halls and stairs it would take to get to her office. “No, there won’t be too much work. Just the introductory assignment, so I know some useful things about you. And you’ll have to grab the books and catch up on the book we’re finishing up next week. But, it’s really not much. I’m not interested in competing with your other courses for ‘Most Demanding Homework.’ I’m here to help you figure out how to think differently and express yourself more effectively. But--” She paused on the stairs to look over at the girl. “Maybe you have some questions for me? I’m not sure how long you’ve been at the school, but I know it can be a lot sometimes no matter what.”

Morgan’s sigh sounded nearly as pained as her own. If Margot was more empathetic, she may have even apologised for being so flippant and insulting the woman’s career. But, alas, she was not so perceptive. Margot caught the syllabus between her palms and began flipping through the first few pages as she followed Morgan out of the room. As she spoke, Margot made a mental note to source an online copy of this week’s reading material. It would be cheaper that way. “Introductory assignment?” Margot hoped it would be a simple questionnaire; name, age, perhaps favourite pets name. Hopefully it wouldn’t ask her about her lifelong hopes and dreams. She would most definitely fail. “I transferred in this year, so I’m still becoming acquainted with everything here.” Margot explained, “I do have one question, since you asked. Your absences,” Margot prefaced before continuing, “I overheard some students say you disappeared without warning last semester. I was just wondering, will attendance still be required if that occurs again?” Her question was admittedly influenced most by laziness and her wish to stay in bed as late as possible. But, Margot was also just curious, and rather nosey. It was probably an inappropriate question, but it was too late to rescind it.

“Oh, just a short reflection on how you feel about reading and writing about stories and what you want to learn this semester. Learning doesn’t happen by accident, and being clear with yourself on what your intentions are can go a long way to getting the most out of the semester!” Morgan explained. She jogged up the next flight of stairs and turned on the landing, bright with encouragement. She nodded along as she walked, commenting that asking questions were how everyone learned. And then Margot asked. Morgan’s foot slipped on the next set of stairs and she stumbled down to one knee. “Uh, my--a-atendance?” She understood that her students flourished better with consistency and she knew that even though none of last semester’s students had the nerve to ask her what had happened or express how it had made them feel, she knew they had their opinions on it. What Morgan did not know was that Margot was the kind of student to cut to the chase, no matter how sharp she needed to be. She straightened herself up and smiled again, scrambling to recover. “Uh, well, it is possible that I may cancel class for unforeseen reasons, in which case there won’t be any reason to take attendance, but if there is class, then there will be someone to teach you, even if for some reason it isn’t me. And if there is someone to teach you, then they will be taking attendance and passing on the roster to me.” Her voice was growing tighter, breathier. She was forgetting to breathe. Morgan hissed through her teeth for breath and forced herself to meet Margot’s eyes. “Is there something else that you wanted to ask me about my absences, Margot?”

Margot’s hand reached out to grab Morgan’s elbow as she stumbled. “Oh, shit!” Margot cursed under her breath. She had clearly taken her professor by surprise. But, as quickly as Morgan’s pleasant smile had faltered, it was back in it’s rightful place. “Very well.” Margot responded to the thorough explanation, “I only ask because my course load is already so full. My programming classes are very time consuming, and I just want to ensure I can keep my schedule intact.” A lie, Margot thrived in disorganisation. Her ‘unplanned routine’, she liked to think. “I’m glad to know that the class would be unaffected in such an event.” Margot smiled in a disingenuous, thin line, hoping to settle the sharpness of Morgan’s breath. She was being her most polite self now, the facade she reserved only for her mother and father. It seemed she had distressed the teacher, Margot wondered why. To her it was such a straightforward question. “No, your absences, and reasons for them are entirely your personal business.” For now anyways. Margot’s mind was already in front of her computer, researching. Her question had tugged at a nerve. Margot liked to know what made people tick, their darkest secrets and how best to exploit them to her advantage. “Did you still want to go over the make-up work?” They were still frozen on the staircase, and Margot wondered whether Morgan would still be willing to help her cause despite the hostility in her tone and posture.

Maybe all the mushroom stress was getting to Morgan too much. She’d been so sure a second ago that this girl was trying to get under her skin, needling about her ‘personal emergency’ last year. But Margot stayed on that line of courtesy, and Morgan wondered whether she made other people feel this way when she asked about their kids or their losses or their dates. Maybe people with their sanity just barely intact didn’t like surprise personal questions. Who knew? Morgan tried to smile again, better this time. “Thank you. I uh, appreciate that. And, yes, of course. I want you to succeed. There’s copies of all the handouts on the class website, since I know half of you guys live your life on your computer.” She climbed up the rest of the way and started down the dimly lit hall, ignoring its off-center doors and the soft give of the floor that was just too much on the wrong side of uncanny to bear contemplating for long. “I know I can’t promise a lot for you, Margot, especially in a place like White Crest, but I can say I’ll try my best for you.”

Margot was glad that she had somewhat diffused the situation, having Morgan dislike her would only make passing this class harder. Once more, they were on route to her office. Margot detested this university, most of all it’s appearance, it was as if it had never had a renovation or even been repainted. She visibly cringed as they continued on their path. She had never been in such a lacklustre environment before, having been born and bred in quiet luxury. She hadn’t acknowledged the privilege while she had it, but since leaving MIT, it’s all she could think about. What she had lost. What had been taken from her. “I appreciate the help. I need it.” It seemed that Morgan was one of the more passionate professors at UMWC, most would not give a student this much assistance. “I’m trying my best to fit in here. It’s just,” Margot paused, considering her words, “such a strange place.” Strange didn’t even scratch the surface. “Have you always lived here? In White Crest?”

Morgan’s office was all the way at the end of the hall, through a communal office supply room stocked with paper the wrong size for the printer and coffee that was perpetually burnt. Morgan’s office was through a sticky door off the corner, one desk in five crammed together. Today, only Karl and Kirk were nursing whiskeys in coffee mugs since Kyle (or his body rather) still hadn’t been found. “Sorry, boys. Official business. Come back in fifteen minutes?” Her voice was bittersweet, sharpening an invisible knife under its surface. Karl and Kirk put their mugs down so fast, whiskey spilled over the sides. They folded their laptops under their arms and shuffled away. Kirk clumsily dropped a mint tea bag on her desk before mumbling an apology and shutting the door behind him.

Morgan turned to her student, smile tight with awkwardness. “Don’t mind the Medieval Bros. They’re mostly harmless. Now, anyways. And I’m a transplant from Texas. Strange is probably...the gentlest word for how things are here. Which, just some unofficial wisdom? Don’t be out after dark alone, especially on the full moon. Stay away from the cosplay bars, the crowds there are more dangerous than they look. Don’t go off trail if you’re a hiker, ever. And keep some bleach on hand in case your bathroom starts sprouting blood, eyeballs, or fish.”

Margot restrained her laughter as the two bumbling men were ushered out of the room. She knew the smell of whiskey well enough to know that wasn’t coffee seeping from their pores. Normally such unprofessionalism would surprise her, but this was the new normal. “Yum, mint tea.” Margot picked the bag up, twirled it between her fingers a few times before dropping it into one of the mugs. She had a sly smile on her face, the result of witnessing something she probably shouldn’t have.

“Texas, wow. I never would have guessed. You don’t even have the signature accent.” Margot made herself comfortable, taking a seat in one of the desk chairs that had become vacant by Karl and Kirk. At Morgan’s advice, Margot’s mouth opened, then closed, not knowing how to respond. She didn’t know what to make of all of these random warnings; skeledogs, mimes, now full moons and the dark. “Why does everyone keep telling me to be careful?” Her eyes narrowed. “I know how to take care of myself.”

Morgan reached into her desk and took out some things from her cache of school supplies, the paper handouts, a journal to be graded, the first assignment, and a spare copy of the first book. “Oh, that,” she said, laughing at the teabag. “They’re just trying to...well, make up for their existence. I think they’re really coming along when it comes to respecting women, though they should probably figure out how to do it without being induced by fear.” She handed Margot the stack of assignments. “Maybe at your old school that was true, but things are different here in ways they don’t tell you in the brochures. So, take these, follow the instructions carefully, and have them in by next week, and I’ll waive the rest of what you’ve missed. And, seriously, be careful. Don’t die!”

[namluve]

chapter 2: the misunderstanding

paring: taehyung x reader

genre: collage AU, fuckboy!taehyung, student!reader

warnings: drinking, dirty talk, mentions of porn, grinding on the dancefloor 

word count: 5.0k

summary: oh how a single night can change your entire life. drunken on wine you spill the tea on how none of your previous ex’s could satisfy your needs in bed. taehyung being your very experianced friend offers you a tempting offer you can’t seem to get of your mind. the question that remains is, will you let him?

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As Monday came around you had almost forgot about the weekend’s events. Keyword, almost. You and Lea walked together to campus, living only ten minutes away was quite the luxury. Many times had the two of you had friends staying over at your apartment because they did not want to wake up early for class. Those extra hours of sleep mattered and every single guest that had stayed over at yours knew that. 

The second you saw Taehuyng you stopped in your tracks, Lea stopping as well and looking at you confused. Following your gaze, she sees you looking at Taehuyng as he talks with Jungkook. They are laughing, smiling, probably joking about something. Smiling she nudges you, getting your attention.

“Daydreaming about lover boy I see” She teases you and you give her a look that would kill if looks could.

“Stop it, he has probably forgotten about it now. Besides… I don’t think I’m his type”

“Not his type? You literally said the other day that he said, and I quote ‘I want to fuck you’” You put your hand over your roommate’s mouth.

“Shh! What if someone hears you!” Giggling and satisfied with teasing you Lea linked arms with you and the two of you began to walk to your class.

Waking up the next day on Tuesday morning you were reminded of the English class you were going to share with Taehyung today. Last night you had spent the evening finishing last week’s assignment, a short analysis on the book you felt depicted a love you wanted to experience or have. Pride and Prejudice was the book you had chosen, partly because you loved it and partly because it would be fairly easy to write an analysis on it. If you ever lost motivation or got stuck, you could easily google others depiction and analysis of the book to gain inspiration and depth to your assignment. 

Satisfied with your essay you packed down your computer and the books you needed today to go to class. Walking in the early spring sun had you fild with new energy, the refreshing air, the animals and plants waking up and greeting you with colour and song. The ten-minute walk did not seem like enough today for you to enjoy the weather. 

You sat down at your favourite spot in the classroom, almost front row and far to the left. Taking out your notebook you reviewed last weeks notes, wondering what todays lessons would be about. Soon enough you heard laughter fill the classroom and you knew the rest of the class was starting to drop in.

“Good morning class!” Looking up from your notebook you greeted your teacher Mrs. Johnson with a nod and smile. Looking over your notes once more you felt a presence beside you. Looking up to your side you saw Taehuyng standing with his backpack over his back, hands nervously gesturing towards the empty chair beside you.

“Mind if I sit here?” His voice was soft, much more tender then last time he spoke to you. You nodded and he smiled as he took his backpack of his back. Usually Taehyung would sit with Jungkook, so you began to wonder why he wanted to sit next to you. Was it because of your conversation last week at the party? Your body felt hotter as you recalled the memory.

“Mind if I ask why you wanted to sit next to me?” You ask him, curiosity getting the best of you. He let out a low chuckle, looking at you for a second before continuing to unpack his stuff from his bag.

“Well you are fairly friendly, and I noticed you sit alone mostly”

“Only fairly?” Dramatically pausing, acting offended at his words Taehuyng chuckled before you continued “And also, I sit alone because I want to concentrate, not because I don’t have any friends or anything” Smiling he rolled his eyes.

“I know that, it’s just that Jungkook is sick” You let out an ‘oh’ before Taehyung continued “I don’t have any other friends in the class and I did not want to sit alone” So that was the reason Taehyung sat down next to you, perhaps he had forgotten about the party, maybe he was even more drunk than you?

“So… you consider me a friend?” You smirked and Taehyung rolled his eyes. “Is talking to you a few times and texting you twice enough to be your friend?” As your question left your lips, he shook his head.

“Once” Tilting your head looking at him confused, waiting for an explanation you asked him ‘what?’

“You have only texted me once, asking if I wanted to come to Yoongi’s party” Shocked you started to try and cover you up somehow, feeling hot and embarrassed. The way he smiled at you, knowing what kind of power he had over you. “You didn’t reply to my last text” He finished before the Mrs. Johnson started the lesson, but you had a hard time focusing. He did remember. How could he just go back to the lesson and focus as if nothing? You felt struck, not knowing what to do with yourself as thoughts of Taehyung doing whatever he wanted to do to you came through. 

The offer suddenly became very tempting. Was it your lack of sexual encounters lately? Was it the fact that his grey hoodie and black jeans suited him so good you just wanted to find out what was underneath? Was it his smug smile and messy hair that he had probably just quickly brushed through this morning? Was it the promise that he would give you anything you want? Anything you desire?

“Could you stop starring at me, it’s adorable but also very distracting” Taehyung suddenly spoke, and you muttered a quick ‘sorry’ before trying to look at the board again. You swore you could have seen his ears turning slightly redder before he spoke to you and you wondered if you had any effect on him all. Of course, you must have had, otherwise he would not have offered to sleep with you right? 

Lea’s words at the party began to root deep in your thoughts, what if he had a crush on me or something? Shaking your head at your ridiculous thoughts that you somehow could not seem to let go you listened to your teachers last words of the lesson.

“For the next two weeks I want you to swap books with the person sitting next to you. Compare your analysis and read some chapters of each other’s books that are mentioned in the analyses. Write with your own words the kind of love you think your partner want to have and why, get to know each other really well” Fuck, fuck, fuck was the only words at the back of your mind. Two fucking weeks with Taehyung and him reading one of the most personal things you had probably written to date. Panic washed over you as Mrs. Johnson dismissed the class.  

“Do you have anything after this class?” Taehuyng suddenly spoke and I shook my head.

“Not really until after lunch, why you ask?”

“Do you wanna go over the assignment somewhere? I am very busy until the weekend with school and other stuff so it would be great if we could swap books and go over it” Nodding, you rise up from your seat and take your bag.

“Yeah sure, where do you want to meet?” He gets up as well and shrugs at your question.

“I don’t know, maybe my place? Or yours, which ever is closest”

“Mine it would be then, it’s only ten minutes away” He smiles at your suggestion and stretches his arm towards the classroom door.

“After you m’lady”

“Oh God” You laughed and slapped him on the arm. ‘I guess chivalry isn’t really dead’ you muttered on your way out not knowing if Taehyung would have heard you, but he did and you knew it when you heard him answer ‘I know right?’ as quiet as you mutter yours.

The way back to yours and Lea’s apartment was not as awkward as you thought it would be. The two of you shared stories and got to know each other for a bit. Taehyung was showing you a whole different side of him that you had not seen before. Well to be fair, you had never spent time with him like this before. You had been nervous about bringing him home to your apartment, knowing well what he said at the party. 

He had almost blushed slightly when he caught you staring at him so maybe the bold Taehyung you knew from all the parties was drunk Taehyung. Sober Taehyung might not be as bold but very bubbly, a bit shy and funny. Laughing as he told you about the time his neighbours had knocked on his door in the middle of the night, telling him to keep down on the noises. It was dead quiet in his and Jungkook’s apartment and they were not having anyone over so annoyed he just said sorry and closed the door. It was not until the morning after that Jungkook had told him he accidently connected his phone to their Alexa while he was watching porn.

“I cannot believe it! How did he even manage to do that?” You laughed and Taehyung just shock his head.

“I have no idea and I didn’t really ask” Going up your apartment building you were happy your and Lea’s apartment was only on the second floor as the six stories apartment building did not have an elevator.

“Can you imagine the poor people that has to go all the way up?” Taehyung smiled and shook his head.

“I don’t even want to think the thought” He answers as you unlock the door to the apartment. Lea was having lessons today until at least two a clock, so that would be the earliest she would be home. Unless she decided to hang out with your friends afterwards that is. Waiting so you both get home at the same time and she can beg you to cook food for her. You were not the best chef, but Lea could not cook even if her life would have depended on it.

“So… this is us” You announce as the both of you take of your jackets and shoes. On the right to the hallway was the kitchen that was connected to the living room on the left. The bathroom was straight ahead of the little hallway and on either side of the bathroom was the bedrooms, yours on the right, closest to the kitchen and hers connected to the living room. 

The two of you always loved that you had the bathroom in between your rooms. It provided a sound barrier for when any of the two of you were having guests over. The décor was simple, none of you really had to much money to spend on the apartment but you really enjoyed the black, grey and blue theme the two of you had.

“It looks really cosy” Taehuyng commented as he entered the apartment and looked around. You muttered a ‘thanks’ before picking up your computer from your bag and going over to the couch.

“We’re doing it in the living room?” He asks as he reaches for his computer from the bag. You nod and he pops down on the couch next to you.

“Shame, would have loved to see your bedroom” Your mouth slightly open, shocked at his comment you meet his gaze. His smile fades and he raised his hands in deafens.

“No, no I was not meaning it that way!” He chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his head.

“It’s just that I heard from Mark that your room smelled like honey when he was there, you know?” You almost blushed at his words, the one night stand you and Mark shared a couple of months ago when you had just begun the school semester.

“Rumour has it that you are a real candle freak, but like in a good way, so I just wanted to see it for myself” He explained himself and you had listened carefully at every word, seeing how nervous he got around it.

“You would be pretty disappointed” You sighed, and he looked at you puzzled.

“Why is that?”

“I only have one candle left and it is peach scented, so it only smells faintly peachy in there right now” You answered, remembering how the money you usually spent on your candles went to a present for your mom’s birthday this month. Therefore, you only had one left that you cherished a lot, well until you could buy new ones and finally have a different scent in your room.

“I see” Taehuyng pulled up his laptop and started it. You did the same and while the both of you waited until you could log in Taehyung decided to confess something about his assignment.

“So… this is not really the love I want to experience” You nodded thinking he was somehow trying to protect his image or something by saying ‘he is not really looking for love’ or anything. You started getting nervous yourself, remembering that Taehyung would read your assignment that you had poured your heart in.

“I misjudged the assignment, I thought we were supposed to write about a love we had experienced. Not wanted to experience” You let out a quiet ‘oh’ and Taehyung continued.

“So… I chose The Great Gatsby, yes, it is a toxic relationship and no I will not take further questions on it. Mrs. Johnson said it wouldn’t be a problem, I freaked out and emailed her yesterday about it after I had heard Jungkook panicking about it and realized I had misjudged the assignment. Anyway, she said whoever would be working with me should take the elements I wrote about and find the opposites to them” So he had previously been in a relationship that was most likely toxic? Anyway, you did not want to ask more about it when he had been clear that he did not want to talk about it.

“So… you knew that who ever you sat next to in class you would be paired up with?” You asked out of curiosity. What if he knew? What would that even mean? He smiled at you warmly.

“Yes… So, I guess you’d want to know why I chose to sit next to you right?” Was Jungkook really sick you thought to yourself or was this all part of Taehyungs plan. What if he had a plan? I mean Lea did say… or was it Hoseok? Either way, it did not matter, if he was as determined as they said maybe this was all part of his plan? You nodded. You would at least give him a chance to explain himself.

“Well for me to tell you, you have to come to the party one of my friends is throwing. Seokjin, Yoongi knows him as well. Tall, broad shouldered guy with a laugh that could be heard miles away” Still looking just as confused when he mentioned Seokjin’s name Taehuyng realized you had had no idea who he was talking about.

“Anyway, the party is on Friday and I will give you a shot as well, just because I am a good friend” Smiling proudly at his proposition he waited for your reaction.

“So… You consider us friends huh? Is that why you decided to have me as your partner?” You ask, starting to form different theories in your head already. He shook his head.

“Not answering, guess you’ll just have to come to the party to find out”

That’s how you find yourself at the store with Lea on Thursday evening. The both of you were going to Seokjin’s party as you refused to go alone, and you need to know why Taehyung had chose you as his partner on the assignment. The rest of the time the two of you spent in your apartment before Taehyung left for his next lesson had been pleasant. The two of you switched books and started reading each other’s analyses. So here you were, helping Lea find her perfect dress for the party.

“I can’t believe you are going to another party so soon and we didn’t even have to convince you? Taehyung did all the hard work. I have to thank him someday” You laugh at Lea’s words. Rolling your eyes when she looks at you, stepping out in yet another dress.

“We went over this. I am only doing this out of pure curiosity”

“Yeah but he also offered you a drink even before the party so he must be pretty whipped for you. OH! What if, that is the reason he chose you as his partner for the assignment? Just so he could confess his undying love for you?” Chuckling at her words you shake your head.

“I don’t think that’s it. That dress though, that one I think is it though” Lea smiled down at the short dark blue dress and nodded in approval of your words.

“This one really is it, are you sure you are not getting anything?” She asks and you nod.

“Yes, I rarely use my party clothes so I should have something at home”

You had nothing at home. No outfit was good enough for your taste and you could not choose the one you had last time. It would be weird, or would it? Either way it was still in the washing bin so that was a no. Why did you suddenly care so much? You had to admit a small part of you wanted to impress Taehyung, you could not deny that. He was incredibly good looking, funny and somehow took an interest in you. Would he make a move on you tonight? God, you almost hoped. His words from the last party had never left your mind. Truth to be told you had masturbated to it and to the thought of Taehyung, but actually being with him in real life? That did scare you a little.

Ending up wearing a bright shirt with a black skirt you and Lea entered the house that Seokjin owned. His parents were very rich so you weren’t really surprised over the fact that he would have his own house. The party had already started two hours ago (you can blame Lea for being late) and the loud music from the living room could be heard from the street. Thankfully, Seokjin did not have that many neighbours and rarely got the police called on him, even though it had happened a couple of times. Now, all you had to do was stay focused. Find Taehyung and ask him why he chose you as his partner, talk with some people and leave to get a good night sleep.

“Come on, let’s go get a drink!” Lea took your hand and lead you through the crowds and into the kitchen. You had almost forgotten that she had been at Seokjin’s house a few times in the past, before the two of you were friends. In the kitchen there were a few people, mixing drinks and soon you and Lea did the same. A drink could not hurt, and you had to blend in after all, you thought. 

A drink later became two along your quest to find Taehyung. Somewhere along the crowd you finally spotted him, a girl in front of him, grinding her ass in sync with the music on his crotch. Taehyungs hands on her hips, his eyes looking over her shoulder down at her cleavage. You could not help but stare at the sight. The way it looked like Taehyung was controlling her hips. His hungry look at her body. You felt hot, one of your hands reaching up to rub your neck, trying to smother any feelings and thoughts of Taehyung touching you like that. You wanted it, in that moment you really wanted him.

Staring for so long you did not notice Taehyung had been looking at you all along until you looked at his face and realized the two of you had locked eyes. A smirk placed on his lips, a proud glint in his eyes as he saw the way he was affecting you. He looked down at the girl’s neck for a second before looking up at you again. Was he going to kiss her neck right in front of you? 

You did not have to wait long before you found your answer that was much better than what you could have anticipated. One of his hands left her hips and moved to her hair. Not breaking eye contact with you he pulled her by the hair to the side so he would have better access to her neck. A whimper left the girl lips and he took his time seeing your reaction before he started kissing her neck, sucking, licking, doing anything to mark her roughly. 

You let out a whimper closing your eyes for a second and the next time you opened them Taehyung was on his way over to you. The girl nowhere to be found. Inhaling a sharp breath as Taehyung was now right in front of you. His head low, almost touching yours. You looked at his lips as he bit them before looking into his eyes. He smiled at you before he brought his mouth to your ear.

“Do you have any idea how good your legs look in that skirt?” He spoke and you took one of your hands and brought it up to his shoulders, carefully lightly tracing his collarbones underneath the black shirt the was wearing.

“Oh, how I would love to just throw them over my shoulders. Getting really deep in your tight pussy” You were a bit tipsy from the alcohol yes, but right now you were drunk on Taehyung. The way he spoke, touched, smelled and how he looked at you with such hunger in his eyes. Your other hand started wandering over Taehyungs chest, the feeling of his defined chest almost bending your knees, how heavenly he must look underneath his clothes.

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” At his question you looked up at him and meet his eyes. He was so close you could feel his breath on your face. Looking down at his lips you answered him ‘yes’ and he smiled. One of his hands tucked away a bit of your hair as you looked down on his chest where you were still roaming your hands and getting used to the feeling of him, could you even get used to this feeling? As he tucked away your hair, he looked at your focused eyes, the way you bit your lip, he could have his way with you tonight if he wanted.

“As much as I would have loved to fuck your brains out tonight” He spoke before taking hold of your wrists with his hands, removing them from his body leaving a confused look on your face as you looked up at him again.

“You would have to be sober to be able to take all of it” You wanted to tell him that you only have had a glass or two, that you were barely tipsy. How much you wanted him, but you were at lose for words. His forehead touched yours, lips so close that if you barely went up on your toes you would kiss him, and it was tempting. Something at the back of your mind told you not to, it was not that you did not want to but right now, in this moment, you were at Taehyungs mercy. He called the shots.

“Besides I have a lady upstairs waiting for me that I need to attend to” Suddenly you were faced with reality, this was a game for Taehyung, as was inviting you to the party and choosing you as his partner on the assignment. He wanted your attention and you had just given it to him, without any hesitation.

“This has to wait until another time” He spoke before letting go of your wrists and leaving you, presumably to go and fuck the girl he was grinding on earlier. How stupid you felt when you were felt on alone the dancefloor, angry, confused and even a bit sad. He had chosen her over you, without any hesitation. You took up your phone texting Lea that you were heading home, and she was free to stay for as long as she wanted, you had gotten your answer from Taehuyng, you also wrote. It was all a game to him, and it could not have been clearer than right now.

Once you got home you turned off your phone, not wanting anybody to disturb the sleep you felt was the only thing that could help you remove the feelings you were feeling.

The weekend passed quickly, Taehuyng had texted you a couple of times but you decided not to reply. You knew you had to sooner or later, since you had the assignment together but decided to draw it out for as long as you could. Monday came and you dragged your feet across the halls, you may or may not have been watching tv-series way past when you should have, considering having early lessons the next day. 

Earphones in your ears listening to music, trying to draw out any other noises that may give you a headache. That is why you did not notice him, standing against his locker as you past by him. Taehyung quickly noticed you and grabbed your arm, pulling you so you were standing in front of him. Shocked, you quickly pulled out your earphones seeing his slightly annoyed face right in front of you.

“I called you out like three times” He spoke, and you looked nervously around to see if anyone had seen Taehuyng grabbing you towards him. You felt him left go of you and you looked him in the eyes.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you” Holding up your earphones for him to see and he sighed.

“I also texted you several times and you did not reply, did I do something wrong ____?” His eyes were filled with concern and you almost felt bad for ignoring him, almost, if it was not for the fact that he was playing games with you.

“Like…. Did I go to far at the party? Did I make you uncomfortable?” You shook your head. Why was he so concerned with you all of a sudden? It was almost like there was two sides of him, the one where the two of you are alone, and the one at the parties.

“No, it’s not that. It’s just that I felt like I got to know the answer to why you chose me as your partner” Being honest was always the best way to go, at least that is what you learned with your first boyfriend when it came to your mutual breakup.

“Which is?” He asked and you bit your lip, unsure how to phrase your words.

“Well… It’s all a game to you, isn’t it?” You began and he tilted his head, looking almost confused at you and you continued.

“I’m just another conquest, see how long it takes for you to get me into your bed.  That’s why you invited me to the party isn’t it? To get my attention. To see how much, you had affected me right?”

“That must be the most fucked up thing I have ever heard” He scoffed, and you did not know what to say, your mouth slightly opened, eyes wide, not knowing how to react to what he just said.

“Is that really what you think of me?” There was a silence between the two of you and you started feeling ashamed of yourself, if it was not like that at all, that was indeed a pretty fucked up thing to say and think about someone. You never really let Taehyung give his side of the story after all, since you ignored him.

“I waited over an hour for you, looking everywhere for you at the party. I thought you didn’t show up at all” So he actually invited you to hang out with you, you were just stupidly late and made him think you stood him up.

“So, when Jess started talking with me, was I supposed to ignore her when you didn’t show up?” Biting your lip, you let out a ‘no’ almost as quiet as a whisper. You could barely look him in the eyes at this point, feeling ashamed of yourself.

“God, I chose you for the assignment because I did not really know anyone from that class and from what I’ve heard you were supposed to be kind, understanding and compassionate. Guess I was wrong on that one?” Before you could say anything, he had already stormed off, not looking back once at you. Should you follow him? What would you even say to him? You watch as he disappears around the corner, walking probably to one of his classes and you wonder if you could ever make it up to him. You had to, you had the assignment together and if it was not awkward and uncomfortable before, it sure would be now. You cursed at yourself for always believing the worst-case scenario as usual. How were you supposed to fix this?

[taeken-my-heart]

Moirai Chapter 4

Summary: On your 18th birthday a name appears on your wrist. The name of your soulmate. It’s a momentous day that everyone looks forward to, but you’ve always brushed aside; refusing to believe in a fickle mistress called destiny. But what happens when on the morning of your 18th birthday you wake to find the name of your mortal enemy? Jeon Jungkook. 

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Soulmates au/ Enemies to lovers au. Angst, fluff, bickering, romance, eventual smut.

Word Count: 5106

Notes: There is a read more placed after the first paragraph, but we all know tumblr is weird so if it doesn’t show up I’m sorry :(

                                                          *****

Mondays sucked. You were pretty sure that was a hard and fast rule by now, but as you rolled up to school looking like an actual hot mess and with your sweatshirt on backwards (don’t ask, you weren’t actually sure how that happened but you did dress in the dark this morning so…) you were even more sure of that fact.

Ella complained the entire way about your mom not being able to drop you off and now you felt like your ears were bleeding as she rushed off in the direction of her friends; a new audience to voice her frustrations to.

You hiked your bag higher on your shoulder, aiming for the doors of the school. You had an AP bio test today that you’d spent the weekend studying for, which sucked because those were hours of your life you couldn’t get back and would rather have given to Lucas. As it was, he had only about a week and a half left before he had to go back for the next semester.

He insisted that when you graduated you could just go to college with him and then you’d get more time together…it just felt so far away. The hallways were filled with the zombies of the weekend and the others that were far too chipper this early in the morning. You liked to think you fell somewhere in between. You weren’t exactly happy to be awake, but you’d made it past the point of zombie thanks to a clumsy journey of dressing yourself in the darkness of your room.  

The sea green of your locker came into view and you shuffled up to it, twisting the combination into the lock and pulling it open. AP bio was first so at least you could get the test out of the way and breathe a little easier after.

“Hey there, sister in law.”

You turned to find Lillian, long strawberry blonde hair swept up into a ponytail and a goofy smile attached to her barbie pink lips. “Wow, that’s a statement.” You said, pointing at her mouth and she grinned wider, shrugging the books in her arms higher.

“Figured I’d give something new a try. Is it a good statement or a bad statement?”

You turned to look at your friend, frowning in dismay. “We’ve been over this, everything on you is a good statement, you rude girl. You can’t be smart, nice, and beautiful too. You need to share with the rest of us.”

“Oh stop,” Lillian chuckled, “you’re literally the entire package, Y/N, so I don’t even want to hear it.”

Noelle came strutting up beside you, hip pressed to the lower locker next to yours, sunglasses still covering her eyes and eyebrow raised. “Did I hear correctly? Is one Mr. Jeon Jungkook really your English tutor?”

“Wha-?” You spluttered, watching as Noelle pushed her sunglasses from the bridge of her nose and to the crown of her head. “Why would you even think that? Are people seriously saying that? The tea must be empty if that’s what people are concerned about.”

“I don’t hear a denial,” Noelle sing songed and you rolled your eyes, grabbing your AP Bio book and closing your locker.

"OK, no, I’m gonna go ahead and put a stop to that right now. He’s not my English tutor, I’d rather choke. I do take my education seriously, though, so I probably should find a tutor.”

“Seriously enough to take advice from your worst enemy?” Noelle asked, turning to walk beside you as you and Lillian began walking towards your classes. “Wow, this must be the real deal.”

“It’s really not.” You muttered darkly and you could see Noelle grinning from the corner of you eye. “And I just told you he’s not my tutor. Anyway, this is my class so I’ll see you guys later. Bye!” You waved quickly, stepping into the classroom and going to take your seat.

                                                       ******

After lunch was finished and you retreated to your English lit class, you waited until Jungkook and pool party Barbie were seated before going and finding a seat as far away from him as possible. Unfortunately, that meant the back right corner, but beggars couldn’t be choosers in a situation like this.

Ms. Collins passed back the first draft of your essay, weaving her way around the room and you frowned down at the very average C written in dark blue ink. You would never get the hang of this crap. No matter what you did, you couldn’t figure out what you were doing wrong.

You sighed, shoving the essay into your backpack and scratching at the wood of your desk with your fingernail. “Remember,” she said, now standing back at the front of the room, “the second draft is due this time next week so make sure you’re doing your research and putting in the effort; you don’t have much time to slack off.”

The lesson passed with you taking a few measly notes and a new list of words you needed to memorize for a small spelling test next week. Ms. Collins then turned on the Kenneth Branagh version of Hamlet and you sat back to try and comprehend at least some of it. You weren’t sure what Shakespeare was on, but it had to be good considering he was making up words and crap and still managed to become one of the greatest playwrights of all time.

The bell rung, signaling the end of class and you lifted your bag onto the table, sliding your books into your bag as you allowed the rest of your classmates to trickle from the room. You just wanted some time to pout by yourself. What was the point in a second draft if you still had no clue what you were even doing wrong in the first draft?

Standing sluggishly, you made your way to the front of the room, eyes trained on the door as you began to prepare yourself for a refresher on the Civil war.

“Y/N, can I speak to you really quick?” Ms. Collins smiled and you nodded, pulling at the strap of your bag and walking to her desk.

“Everything OK?” You asked.

“Well, I’ve noticed you’re having a bit of a tough time with some of our assignments so I wanted to talk to you about the idea of me assigning you a tutor from class.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “I have thought about getting a tutor but I wasn’t actually sure how to go about finding someone in the class with the time and skills to help me.”

“It’s no problem, I’ve already got someone in mind. Actually, I asked him earlier if he’d be willing to help out and he said he’d be happy to.”

“Oh!” You smiled in surprise. “That’s great, I really appreciate it.”

“Great, so I’ll let Jungkook know you are game and you guys can figure out the details.” She smiled, shuffling some papers around on her desk and you felt like your heart fell into the pit of your stomach.

“Jungkook?” You stuttered, and she looked up at you.

“Yeah, is that a problem?”

“Ah,” you hesitated, glancing around the room in discomfort, “It’s just, we…have our differences.”

“Well, he’s the highest in the class and he’s got time until the soccer season starts in the spring. He’s the best candidate. Perhaps it’s best to put differences aside. I’m all for positive collaboration and learning to work with people you don’t always get along with; you’ll need those skills when you’re older and going into the workforce.”

You sighed, nodding and pouting. “I know, it’s just…Jungkook and I have a weird history.” You mumbled, scuffing the toe of your shoe against the floor.

“Maybe it’s time to let bygones be bygones.” Ms. Collins smiled. “Anyway, you better run, class starts soon. Just give it a try for me, hmm?”

You sighed, nodding. There was no point in fighting against it; Ms. Collins was nice, but bullheaded. When she’d made up her mind, you couldn’t change it. “OK.”

After school you sulked your way to the courtyard. Ella had texted to tell you she was meeting up with friends and not to wait up and you still couldn’t get the whole Jungkook being your new tutor crap out of your head.

“Y/n!” Someone shouted and you turned to find Noelle running to your side, long dark curls swinging haphazardly around her face. “Are you walking home?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, looking over her shoulder, “you wanna join?”

“Yes please!” She grinned. Just as you started walking again another person was calling out your name and you turned your head just in time to see Jungkook coming to walk beside you.

“What do you want?” You grimaced. He smirked, nodding his head at Noelle in greeting before turning his attention back to you.

“Ms. Collins told me you agreed to tutoring. When did you want to set something up?”

You grumbled under your breath. Of course, she’d already told him. “I don’t know, to be honest I don’t think you could even take this seriously. Maybe we should just call it off. I’m fine with just skating by. English isn’t my thing, that’s ok.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, bumping your shoulder with his and you frowned up at him. “Of course, I’ll take this seriously,” he said, “I do some paid tutoring on the side and it would hurt my reputation to mess it up with someone out of spite.”

“I’m not paying you, Jungkook.” You said, linking your arm with Noelle who was listening quietly by your side.

“No payment necessary, I’ll tutor you for free since we’re such good friends.” He grinned.

You scoffed. “Since when?”

“Come on, Y/N, help me build my tutoring portfolio. Besides, I already told my mom about it yesterday after Ms. Collins asked so your mom will probably be expecting it.”

“Geez, do you share everything with your mom?” You sneered.

“Absolutely.” He chuckled. “So, what do you say?”

Noelle nudged your side and you glanced at her. “Come on,” she smiled, “you were talking about needing a tutor anyway. Jungkook’s really smart, let him help you.”

“Fine.” You sighed, “But if you pull any funny business, I swear I’ll castrate you.”

“Scouts honor!” He saluted and Noelle giggled as he sent a wink her way.

“Well, anyway,” she said, pushing some hair from her face, “I need to head this way. I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N!”

“So really we can start anytime,” Jungkook continued as you resumed your walk home, “we could even start tonight if you wanted to. I could help you with the second draft.”

“I don’t know.” You mumbled, forcing your gaze anywhere but him. His hair was parted and swept off to each side, dark and slightly too long, reaching just passed his eyes. He pushed his hair back with his hand as though he could hear your thoughts and you sighed. Why was he so good looking? You hated him.

“Come on, no backing out now. I swear, I’ll be a good boy, just let me help you.” He smiled, three fingers up in a scout’s honor.

“Fine,” you acquiesced, “but any funny business and I swear I’ll punch you straight up the butthole.”

“Graphic,” Jungkook nodded, “I like it.”

You walked up the pathway to your house, Jungkook trailing behind you. Sliding the key from your pocket, you unlocked the door and made your way inside, kicking your shoes off at the threshold. Jungkook closed the door behind him, stepping from his shoes and into the hallway.

“Mom, I’m home!” He called, and you looked up at him with a frown.

“Jungkook?” Your mom called, stepping from the kitchen with a smile, “hey honey, what are you doing here?”

Your mom wrapped her arms around his waist, patting his back and you huffed. Your mom didn’t even show this much love to you. “Hi sweetie,” she smiled at you as an afterthought and you smiled tight.

“I’m here to tutor Y/N in English.” He smiled and your mom grinned, patting his arm.

“Oh, that’s right, your mom told me you were probably going to be doing that. That’s so kind of you! Did you say thank you, Y/N?”

You huffed deep in your chest while plastering a smile across your face, “of course mom. Jungkook knows I’m grateful.”

“Yeah, Y/N is great,” he said enthusiastically, slinging his arm around your shoulders and you tried your best to hold your squeal of disgust. “Actually, she even told me she wanted to make me dinner some time, as a thank you.”

“Really?” Your mom smiled at you and you smiled tightly at Jungkook.

“Oh, yeah.” You huffed; chest tight with indignation. “Wow, yeah, well, I’m just so grateful after all.”

“I’m so glad you two are such good friends.” Your mom smiled, squeezing your elbow. “How about you stay for dinner, Jungkook? I could text your mom.”

“That would be great, actually. They’re going out on a date so it’s fend for yourself night.” He chuckled and your mom practically belly laughed. Mortifying.

“Anyway,” you called loudly, grabbing Jungkook’s forearm, “we’re gonna get started on that English assignment.” Jungkook waved at your mom as you pulled him up the stairs, closing the door behind you and dropping your backpack on your bed.

“Man, haven’t been in here in years.” Jungkook whistled, dropping his bag at his feet and scanning the walls of your room.

“You haven’t exactly been welcome.” You muttered and he looked over at you with a smirk, eyebrows wiggling.

“But I am now?”

“I thought you said you were going to be good!” You seethed and he held up his hands in defeat.

“Fair enough. Ok, grab your stuff and let’s get started. Where should we sit?”

You sighed, looking around your room. “Let’s just sit on the bed, my desk only has one chair and the carpet is uncomfortable.”

He nodded, grabbing his bag and bringing it with him, sitting cross legged on the end of your bed and digging through his backpack for everything he needed.

You took your place at the top of the bed, a pillow behind your back and one in your lap. “Here, hand me your latest essay so I can see what I’m working with.” Jungkook said, taking a notebook from the front pocket of his backpack and clicking his pen to life.

You pulled your essay from your assignments folder, handing it over gingerly. “I swear, if you make fun of me…”

“I promise I won’t. I really meant it when I said I take this gig seriously. It’s how I’m making extra cash right now.” He stared down at your work, pen twirling between his fingers as he read. Every once in a while, he’d hum and make a note in his book before continuing on.

You watched in apprehension as he flipped the page in silence. After finishing the essay, he made more notes in his book, chewing on the end of his pen in thought. “OK, so one big problem that I see right away is that your paragraphs are not well connected. You have certain ideas you want to connect, right, but instead of connecting them from paragraph to paragraph you’ve kind of left them disjointed. So, it’s like, in paragraph one you’ve talked about how Hamlet’s goal is to avenge his father’s death and the consequences of that choice and then in paragraph 2 you’re suddenly talking about Ophelia’s death, which doesn’t necessarily connect, but you could connect it with the idea of foreshadowing the royal families demise. Then in paragraph three you continue on talking about why you think Ophelia and Hamlet’s relationship is significant, but again, it doesn’t exactly have a connection to Hamlets attempt at revenge or even her death so it feels disconnected. You also have a habit of telling and not showing. You’ve gotta let the evidence speak for itself.”

“Wow…” you breathed, lips pursed in thought, “that is not at all what I thought you’d say. OK…so then what would you suggest?”

“Well,” he sighed, “if I’m being honest, I’d suggest a complete overhaul. This was just the first draft so there’s of course going to be lots of room for growth. You’ve got some pretty solid ideas; I just need to help you find a better way of connecting those ideas together.”

“So, it’s not a complete loss?” You asked, shoulders loosening slightly.

“Naw,” he shrugged, “we can definitely work with this. Your writing voice is pretty decent, you just need to figure out how to get the ideas you have in your head down on paper in a better way. It’s almost mathematical, like how you build an equation.”

You laughed, shaking your head, “this is nothing like math, Jungkook.”

He grinned, shrugging, “I don’t know, you have to formulate ideas, make a base and build on top of that. There are formulas to writing, you know? You just have to solve them.”

“Ok, ok. I’ll take your word for it. So, what would you say I do now?” You asked, biting your bottom lip nervously.

“Let’s work on making an outline, we can even spider diagram it if you need to.”

“Sure,” you shrugged, “if that works.”

By the time your mother called you down for dinner, Jungkook had helped you to map out all your ideas on a spider diagram and even start writing down your first few paragraphs on your laptop, helping you to see how you could tie your different ideas together to make your essay more cohesive.

“The spider diagram seems to really help you,” Jungkook said, trailing after you down the hallway towards the kitchen, “you should use it more often to sort out your ideas so you have a basis of how you want to start and where you want to go from there.”

Stepping into the kitchen, you grabbed a plate, loading it with the food your mother had left on the island for you to pick through. “Hey Jungkook.” Ella smiled from across the countertop, grabbing some fruit for her own plate. “My mom mentioned you were here.”

“Yeah,” he grinned, “just helping Y/N with an essay she’s writing.”

“Completely hopeless, right?” Ella joked and you scowled at her.

“Actually, she’s doing pretty well. She’s got some really good ideas, it’s just all about finding the best way to get them down on paper. She’s picking it up pretty quickly.”

“Thanks, Jungkook.” You murmured, looking up at him in surprise.

“Wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true.” He grinned.

He made his way to the dining room, Ella hot on his tail with conversation he was a willing audience to and you watched him go in curiosity. Why was he being so…decent?

“How are your AP classes coming, Y/N?” You mom asked, taking a sip of her water as you pushed a piece of broccoli across your plate.

“They’re fine,” you shrugged, “pretty easy as long as I study the material.”

“And you came up with an idea for your science project?” She continued, taking a bite of her food.

“Yeah, I’ve got a general idea for what I want to do.” You said. Jungkook turned to look at you, eyebrows rising.

“You’ve already figured out your science project?” He asked, voice husky with surprise, “we don’t even have to start working on that until the spring.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, starring down at your plate in embarrassment. “I like to be prepared. I’m a bit of a nerd I guess.”

You could see Ella nodding out of the corner of your eye and just before you could extend your foot to kick her in the shin, Jungkook continued. “No way, I think that’s super cool. The science fair always takes so much time and preparation; it’s cool that you’re trying to get ahead of the game.”

You stared at Jungkook, eyebrows furrowed, but Ella distracted him with conversation about how prepared she was for all of her classes so you could only ruminate to yourself. What was Jungkook’s deal? Was he seriously trying to bury the hatched like he’d proclaimed? There was no way.

“What about you, Jungkook, honey?” Your mom said, turning her attention to him after asking Ella all about her school activities, “what have you been doing recently?”

“Mostly doing school work, but I’ve been doing some tutoring on the side to make money while I’m not in sports.”

“This is your last year playing soccer, do you think there are going to be scouts when you get into the season?” She inquired, finishing off her water and grabbing the pitcher to pour more.

“Yeah, maybe.” Jungkook nodded, “but we won’t know for sure until it’s closer to the season.”

“Well you never know, you could get a sports scholarship to a lot of different schools, pay your way through college!” Your mom smiled, offering the pitcher of water to your sister who shook her head, taking a bite of her food instead.

“That’s true.” He nodded.

“Where’s dad, by the way?” You asked, glancing back out the door to the kitchen.

“He’s just coming late from work; told us to eat without him.” Your mom remarked, finishing her plate and standing, “want me to take yours?” She asks, motioning to your plate and you nodded, allowing her to collect it from you and take it to the kitchen.

After the four of you finished dinner you cleaned the kitchen, putting away the food and dishes before Jungkook ran to grab his bag from your room and you showed him to the door. “You should try and finish the essay tonight so that you can show me tomorrow at school and I can give you some more pointers.” He said, slinging his bag over his shoulder and you held the door between the two of you as he put one foot over the threshold.

“By tonight?” You huffed, pouting down at the floor and he grinned.

“Better to be proactive, right?”

You shrugged, sighing, twisting the door knob in your hand. “Yeah, I guess.”

He nodded, backing out the door, “Cool, well, see you tomorrow.” He waved and turned to head towards his own place, just a few houses down the road.

You sighed, closing and locking the front door, staring up the staircase towards your room where you’d left your laptop with your essay on it. The last thing you wanted to do right now was go upstairs and work that essay.

With a huff, you grabbed hold of the railing, dragging yourself up the stairs and into your room. The paper wasn’t going to write itself and you needed to do it now while Jungkook’s advice was fresh in your head.

By the time you were finished, everyone else had already gone to bed so you were shuffling quietly into the bathroom to go brush your teeth. You had about 6 hours to sleep and you intended to make the most of it.

                                                  ******

You dreamt of Jungkook dressed as Hamlet. Your mood was especially crabby because of it, but you managed to remember to print out your second draft for him to read so that was something positive, at least.

“You ready to go?” Your mom asked, peeking her head into your room as you finished packing your backpack.

You nodded, throwing your bag over your shoulder and following her down the stairs. Ella was already sat in the back of the car, which surprised you, but you figured your mother must have insisted since she was such a shotgun hog all the time.

Sliding into the passenger seat, you dropped your bag by your feet, fastening your seatbelt and leaning your head back against the rest with eyes closed. All you could picture was Jungkook in a stupidly good looking houppelande and puffy shorts, but he was wearing a hat with a feather sticking from the top and drooping down the back of his head and somehow that made you feel so much better about the whole thing.  

The ride was mostly silent. You could hear the music from Ella’s earphones, but there was no conversation and it gave you a few minutes to let the irritation from your dream wear off before you arrived at school. The last thing you wanted to do was take your frustrations out on your innocent friends.

“Have a good day at school!” Your mother called as the two of you stepped from the car and you waved. “I’ll be in the pick-up line at the end of the day, Ella.”

Jungkook was waiting at one of the outdoor tables when you and Ella made your way towards the front entrance and he waved you over. Ella continued on towards her friends and you grit your teeth, turning to make you way towards him as he pulled the notebook and pen from his backpack once again.

“Morning!” He smiled as you sat across from him. The sun was already blinding and you had to squint to see him from where you were sitting. You readjusted your shorts; the bench a little too cool on your skin and nodded in greeting towards him. “Did you manage to finish your essay?”

“Yeah.” You murmured, pulling it from your backpack and handing it across the table to him.

He grabbed it from your hand, reading through while clicking the tip of his pen absentmindedly. After what felt like forever of you shifting awkwardly in your seat and looking around the courtyard at all of the other students beginning to make their way into the building, he finally cleared his throat, looking up at you.

“This is much better. There’s still room for improvement, but for a second draft I’m pretty happy with what you’ve done. I’m gonna make some notes and we can go over them after school.” He said, handing you back your essay and standing to pack his own things.

“I can’t today, I’m actually meeting up with Lucas after school.” You said, sticking your essay back in your homework folder and sliding that back in your bag.

“Oh,” he faltered, looking down at you, eyebrows wrinkling in the center. “Ok…well, maybe after you guys are done hanging out?”

“I don’t know when that will be.”

Jungkook pursed his lips, tugging his backpack over his shoulders. “Here, let me see your phone really quick.”

“Why?” You asked, handing it to him anyway.

After messing with your phone for about 30 seconds he handed it back to you, one recent outgoing call on the screen. “Just text me when you’re done and I’ll come over.”

With that, he walked towards the school where you could see Rachel waiting, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently. “Sucks to be him.” You mumbled, before packing up your own stuff and heading to your first class.

                                                     *****

Thank you so much for waiting patiently for me to get this out! Now that my life has settled the next few chapters should come out much sooner than 6 months. My goodness, I’m so sorry you had to wait so long! I’m going to try and get myself back into a once a month posting schedule. Please be patient with me while I figure this out and please let me know what you think of this chapter! Your feedback means so much. 

Chapter 3

Chapter 5

Copyright © 2018  by taeken-my-heart (Nora.) All rights reserved. 

[cloudoclock]

1 Year Later : My Sixth Form Masterpost 😊🧐

Last Summer, I decided to make a Masterpost of all the tips I gathered for people moving from year 11 to college of sixth form, as well as those who need any academic aids.

Today I decided to make a review of the  masterpost I made for sixth formers last year. I’m now going into year 13, so I’ve had time to think about what’s best for me and as a very determined student, I thought it would be a good idea to look back at what I thought I needed.

Websites and Resources

Revision world - I did not use this at all this year. The only useful thing that came out of this website was the ability to make mind maps because I always get lost when I do them by hand - although there’s many other sites for that. 2/10

Specs - Going to your exam board website and printing out your specifications are a big help because you can outline your own self study throughout the year. Keeping track is essential. This was very essential for my Media class and English Literature because they are essay based and the spec is perfect for planning. 8/10

Specimen Papers and Walkthroughs - we all know how useful practice is and finding up-to-date papers are essential for calming yourself into the exam mindset. Walkthoughs on Youtube are also great because it gives a condensed version of the exam thought process. As someone who struggled with improving my essay writing to A Level standards, specimen papers are essential to my own planning  and actually understanding how arguments are executed. 8.5/10

Powerpoints  or Prezi- this one is a bit of an odd one and does require a bit of digging. Search up “a level (subject) powepoint/presentation” and there may be a presentation from teachers on a unit from your subject. On Prezi there are loads of presentations that are easy to follow and vary in content. This was unintentionally the most useful resource for Media Studies. In my class, our teachers would set us up in groups bi-weekly and just give us an element of media to make presentations on. Luckily when you do a search along with “slideshare” there’ll be an array of student-made presentations. I don’t encourage copying but it cuts down on time spent searching for main facts. 10/10

Youtube - of course everyone’s favourite site is a useful resource. However, it is very easy to get distracted so look at specific channels and playlists. I actually didn’t use youtube too much this year, but I think it’s great for advice videos. 5/10

Emma studies - this is truly my prinatable queen annd planner life saver. She has all these free printables and layouts that you can just put in your binder and in your books to keep up with your work. However, I haven’t been journaling since COVID properly started in February, so I need to figure that out haha. *Note she hasn’t really been active in a while

Study Methods

Cornell Method - Not useful for someone like me. I did not practice this method enough because of its inefficiency and have now realised its totally useless for my style of work. I advise that you get a Skillshare and watch the entirety of Ali Abdaal’s study class or go look on his Youtube channel. The summary section is counter is a waste of space as I would probably rush it to just do it. Although the questions section is the most useful part, its more efficient to write the questions as a title and make additions after.

Colour schemes- Once again, another very very pretty add-on to notes but I stand by the rule of a MAX 3 colour scheme. I must reiterate that this is an add-on and it is best to stick to one colour pen, rather than switching between pens. 

Rewriting Notes after class - now I know the idea seems long winded and a waste of your time, but ... I now realised it is actually A WASTE OF TIME. I earnestly entreat you to watch the skillshare class I mentioned. The act of re-writing extensive notes from class is not active recall, even though the act of writing is partially benefitial. I would advise writing down key points and specific points for the exam, but not much more. Repeated exposure to these facts or ideas is much better because you do all the summarising in your head. Obviously, this is the time you can make reformed notes, but doing it for every lesson is strenuous in the long run.  The learning doesn’t take place on paper so save the environment. 

Music

My light playlist - this playlist is pretty chill and a bit of a autumn night vibe.

Reading playlist - there’s pretty good scores on here for reading sessions for a bit of a switch from the usual (I really loved this during the autumn term, especially for English)

White noise- I loved this and some exam hall sounds on youtube.

Supplies

Home Binder/ expanding file - Unfortunately, I am yet to have a system that works with binders. It really does help to have a small file to hold all your papers, but I would use online files and not print unless necessary.

Binder for lessons- For STEM, language and perhaps essay classes, I think you definitely need a place to store all that content. Make sure you declutter often!

Refill pad/ notebook- I hated my perforated books and I’m starting to grow hatred for wirebound books (maybe its the way I store them), but I like having an easy notebook on the go.

Post its/ page tabs- I personally think these are a little wasteful if you are not using them consistently. Page tabs are very good for books if you need to focus on themes, characters or as points for essays.

Planner- please, please, please get a planner. You need a planner regardless of how you do it - online, bujo or on daily memo sheets.

USB - not many people talk about having a usb, maybe because we are in the digital age of sharing. When you need to quickly open docs or powerpoints in school, or in the library or at home, no one has time to wait for google drive. I learned how important it was to have a usb in gcses and it is worth the extra effort.

Tips and advice

The jump in self discipline, workload and effort at a level is different for everyone, but it is helpful for you prepare in whatever way you can, so that the hit isn’t so scary. I got hit so hard and was giving up by November; those videos about being tired are no joke.

Your friends are not always the best people to organise study groups with. Unless you are sure, that work is going to get done, its best that you find people that you can get serious with. I still stand by this because I know not everyone has a nice study space at school and the sooner you get used to focusing alone or better yet with a teacher, the better.

If you feel yourself losing focus and even after taking a break, you’re uninterested,stop and refresh at another time or the next day. You’re brain is doing so because it cannot fit anything else in there and forcing yourself isn’t helping anyone. If you continuously burn yourself out, you will find it difficult to come back to the work because you’re constantly reminding yourself of how much of a chore it is. - I got burned out twice and never recovered. Please take care.

Ask your teachers and your head of year questions. The magic word “ucas” is going to be popping up and soon enough you’re going to be worrying about your personal statement.(Its popping up right now for me </3) If you have a query, find a time to talk with them because it is invaluable support. If you’re like me, write on a piece of paper the questions you have and meet your teacher in a free or at lunch so you can be comfortable and get down what you can. They’re a lot more understanding than I thought.

You can buy all the supplies and ask all the questions but implementing these keys are all on YOU. If you feel yourself slipping, be honest and accept it because if you keep running from it, you could seriously damage your physical and mental health. Keep a diary so you can notice patterns in your energy.

Your best is your best. Succcess is subjective blah blah blah and no one can take that from you. When you get your results, you know what you put into those exams/coursework , so you are entitled to disappointment or joy.

This took me a while to make so I appreciate any comments or reblogs. I love you random person.  If you got to this point I would appreciate it if you could follow my general account on Instgram @fairy_lierre, as I’m going to rest my studygram. Stay tuned for lots more on a level advice and life update <3

[ewankoseyo]

perfectly you || mark imagine

A/N: Finally finished (with extra cheese!) after having sat in my drafts for weeks! This is probably best to read on desktop rather than on mobile since mobile editing is being wonky. Decided to try something new with the OC. Also realized I could kill three birds with one stone by fulfilling three requests in this imagine. Enjoy!

“your mark imagine about the car ride made me tear up, your writing is so good ! i was wondering if you could write another fluffy mark drabble about a girl who is super focused on school and doesn’t rlly have any friends, but suddenly mark comes around and insists on being her friend, but she doesn’t want any friends. so she’s totally in denial when it’s obvious he likes her and she likes him. dk if that made much sense but hopefully it did to you! thank u sm in advance <3”

——

“Kang Jisoo? Are you related to—”

“Yes, she’s my sister.” Jisoo took her uniform from the teacher with a short bow and not another word.

She was used to it, expected it every time she entered a new space.

“Oh Kang Jisoo, you just got your uniform? Great, you can sit right over here by the window!” The giddy teacher chirped. Jisoo slowly made her way to the only empty seat, ignoring the stares from her new classmates as she passed. “What a coincidence! You know, Jiwoo also sat there when she was in my class two years ago!”

Jisoo gave a feeble laugh. “Yes, well...”

“I’m sure you’ll be a delight to have in class just like she was!” The teacher said before addressing the rest of the class. “Well, now that we’re all here, let’s get started. Welcome to high school orientation everyone! You will all be my homeroom students for the year...”

For Jisoo, it was just another day stuck in the the shadows.

——

“Hello, are you even listening?”

Mark glanced at the boy sitting in front of him before letting out a bored sigh. “Yes Jackson, you did look so cool at your match yesterday.”

“Ugh you weren’t even listening!” Jackson groaned, putting his head down on the table in defeat. “I've been asking if you could volunteer for the fencing team’s carwash fundraiser this weekend since one of our members can’t make it.”

“Yeah sure, whatever,” Mark replied dismissively, returning his gaze past Jackson. For Mark, it was just another day at lunch with some of his closest friends. Jackson would blab about some random topic of the day while the others would passively listen as they ate, occasionally taking jabs at the talkative boy.

Jinyoung, sitting next to Mark, had noticed between bites of his lunch that Mark had been checked out of their group’s usual silly conversation. He turned to see where the boy was staring and let out a snicker. “Why are you staring at Kang Jisoo?”

Jackson, being the King of Subtlety, quickly whipped his head around to the object of Mark’s attention. Jisoo was sitting alone at her usual spot a few tables down, completely engrossed in the book she was reading for a class. She would take a sip out of her milk carton every so often, but never put her book down, completely unaware of the stares she was getting. Jisoo was often seen eating by herself during lunch, so Jackson thought it was odd how Mark was paying her mind that day. “Oh? Does someone have a thing for Ms. Kang?”

“Jisoo? That’s her name?”

“You don’t know her?” Jaebum, usually half-present during these lunchtime conversations, looked at Mark incredulously. “It’s the last year of high school!”

“Exactly! I know I only transferred here in the second year, but don’t you think it’s weird how I’ve never seen her before? Or wouldn’t think of talking to her? It’s our last year yet...JB, do you know who that is?” Mark quizzed his friend, pointing to a boy tossing his trash.

“Uh...I actually don’t know...I think I have him in bio?”

“And Jackson! That girl over there!” Mark pointed to another girl walking into the cafeteria. “What’s her name?”

“Kiso? Miso?” Jackson scratched his head in confusion.

Jinyoung raised an eyebrow at Mark. “Is this your way of telling us you’re tired of us?”

“Of course not,” Mark assured. “All I’m saying is that even though our school is so small, we don’t even know our own classmates. We’ve been stuck in a bubble, not that there’s anything wrong with our group, but it’s our last year of high school. I think we should try getting to know our own class, don’t you think? JB, Mr. Class President, you of all people should agree.”

“You do have a point,” Jaebum agreed pensively. “So what? Are you going to try and be best friends with Jisoo now?”

Jinyoung sneered. “Yeah, good luck with trying to even talk to her.”

Mark looked at the three boys curiously. “What do you mean?”

“That girl will not give you the time of day unless you are a textbook,” Jackson joked, going back to picking at his food. “She’s all about school and grades so she doesn’t have a lot of friends. Or any friends, really.”

“See, all the more reason to try,” Mark contended.

“I’m surprised you don’t at least know of her,” Jinyoung said thoughtfully, hand under his chin. “Don’t you know her sister?”

“Who’s her sister?” The simple question was met with audible gasps.

“Wait, you really don’t know?!” Jackson looked around, making sure Jisoo—though far away and still not paying attention to anything around her—wasn’t listening. “Her sister is—”

“Hey Jackson!” A boy had sidled up to their table, notebook in hand. “Here are those notes you asked for earlier.”

“Oh thanks man!” Jackson took the notes and brought the boy in for a pound hug. “See you in math!”

“You’re hilarious! I’ll see you in English!” The boy chuckled before heading off. The three friends looked at Jackson with amused expressions.

“You have no idea who that is, do you?” Mark asked dryly.

Jackson simply shrugged. “I could have sworn the only class I needed notes on was math.”

——

The next day, Mark made it a point to hunt down Jisoo. He didn’t know why he was particularly drawn to attempt befriending her, perhaps it was the challenge? Mark wanted to prove his friends wrong. Was it so bad to want to try making new friends? Maybe she just didn’t have a lot of friends because people were jerks. And Mark wasn’t a jerk, he got along with people really well, even if he was the more soft-spoken one in his friend group. But there was a first time for everything. Mark could break out of his shell and make a new friend.

But if he didn’t know anything about her before, how was he supposed to find her now?

Luckily he had made it a point to actually look up when he was walking into his classes today rather than scroll on his phone as he strolled in, because he finally spotted her sitting in the back of the classroom—nose shoved in another book—during his third period.

“Hi, is this seat taken?”

Jisoo glanced at the seat next to her. “No, go ahead,” she replied, removing her backpack from the chair so Mark could slide in next to her. Before she could return to reading, Mark spoke up again.

“Thanks. I’m Mark, by the way.” He stuck a hand out to Jisoo.  

She only smiled at his hand, returning her attention back to her book. “Mark, I know who you are.”

He shyly retreated his hand to his lap. “You do?”

“Yeah, I’ve only been sitting a few rows behind you the whole year.” She smirked, eyes still glued to the pages before her.

“Oh, but—”

“Just because you don’t know me doesn’t mean I don’t know you,” Jisoo interrupted, glancing at the boy in amusement.

“Oh.” Mark didn’t expect their first interaction to turn out this way. He imagined Jisoo to be more...shy and soft-spoken. Lost when it came to people. Kind of like him, but more so. He didn’t expect her to bite. Dumbfounded but determined, Mark pressed on. “I know you like reading. What are you reading now?”

“What are you trying right now, Mark Tuan?” Jisoo put her book down and gave Mark a bemused expression. “You’ve never spoken to me a day in your whole life, despite us being in the same Honors English class for the last three years, and now you’re coming up to me asking what I’m reading?”

Mark looked up at Jisoo ashamedly, suddenly feeling small under her gaze. “It’s never too late to make new friends, is it?”

Her gaze softened a bit. “It’s a book of poems in English. Mrs. Baek let me borrow it to practice reading English prose.”

“Oh, cool.” Mark nodded, wanting to relate. “So do you like writing? Are you planning to go into it after you graduate?”

Jisoo shook her head and gave Mark a wry smile. “You don’t need to try so hard Mark, I don’t need your pity.”

Mark was silent for a moment. “I wasn’t taking pity on you. I was just thinking about how weird it was that we’ve been in the same classes but I didn’t know you, though I should, and that’s why I wanted to talk to you.” He averted his attention to the front of the classroom. “I’m sorry for bothering you.”

Jisoo continued reading until the silence became too unbearable for her to handle. 

“Do you really not know who I am?”

Mark shook his head. “Should I? You know, I didn’t imagine you as the type to have an ego.”

She grinned to herself at the boy’s cluelessness. How refreshing. “I do like writing, but I may go more into journalism later. What about you? What are you thinking of doing, Mark?”

Mark returned the smile, giving Jisoo his full attention. “Well I’m glad you asked...”

——

The usually empty desk next to Jisoo in her English class had become Mark’s self-assigned seat. Every day at the beginning of class, he would cheerfully slide into his seat as she was hovered over some assignment due the following week. 

“Good morning Jisoo!”

“Good morning Mark,” Jisoo would greet back quietly with a small nod before returning to her work. 

Despite having sat next to her for weeks, Mark felt he had barely learned anything about Jisoo. Jisoo had a tendency—and was really good at doing it without him noticing—to deflect questions back onto Mark whenever he’d ask questions about herself. When he asked her what she liked to do for fun outside of school, she had said she didn’t have much free time because of all the work she had to do for her other classes.

“But what about you Mark?” Jisoo asked before Mark could press on. “You’re on the volleyball team, aren’t you? What’s that like? When did you start playing?”

Seeing as only fifty minutes of class every day was not enough for Mark to get closer to Jisoo, and Jisoo would quickly leave to her next class as soon as that one was over, Mark knew he had to try even harder. 

Which brought him to lunch today. 

“So are they like...together now? Or something?” Jackson, Jinyoung, and Jaebum were baffled as they watched the unusual pair sitting together tables away from theirs. “Mark always sits with us during lunch.”

“Of course not, Mark would have told us if he was seeing someone,” Jinyoung assured Jackson, though he was half-convincing himself. His friend wasn’t one to step out and talk to others, but here Mark was, speaking animatedly to Jisoo. “I guess he was serious about trying to make new friends.”

“Still, this is the first time I’ve ever seen him talk to her,” Jaebum stated confusedly. “With Jisoo, Mark looks almost...outgoing.”

“See Mark, your friends think this is weird too.”

“What do you mean?” Jisoo nudged her head in the the direction of the three boys burning holes into the back of Mark’s head. They immediately busied themselves as Mark turned around, attempting to seem like they weren’t staring. Mark chuckled as he turned back to Jisoo. “So what? They think everything I do is weird. They can’t talk though, they’re really weird too.”

“No wonder you guys are friends,” Jisoo stated pointedly, stabbing at her salad. “So why aren’t you sitting with them right now?”

“Why? I can’t sit with my other friends?”

Jisoo looked at Mark skeptically. “You think we’re friends friends? You sit next to me in English and we talk before class starts.” 

“Hey, I told you about the time I split my pants in elementary school in front of my crush, and not even the guys know that,” Mark explains, darting his eyes at the aforementioned boys. “We are friends.” 

Jisoo studied Mark’s face for any sign of insincerity before relenting. “Okay Mark Tuan, I’ll bite. So what brings you here to sit with me today of all days?” 

Mark simply shrugged, finally allowing himself to start eating. “Well I realized that you know a lot about me, but I wanted to know more about you.”

“What do you want to know?” Jisoo closed her notebook, giving Mark her undivided attention. It didn’t seem like Mark was going to budge, so she knew there was no point in trying to get some studying done for tomorrow’s quiz. Jisoo was also just genuinely curious as to what Mark was getting at. 

“Oh! Uh...” His eyes darted around as if searching the cafeteria for the right question. Mark hadn’t expected her to open up that easily. “What is your favorite...color?”

“Mustard yellow.”

“Why?”

And that’s how it started. Jisoo went into a story of she had an affinity for fall colors and was compelled to buy everything she saw in those shades. Jisoo and Mark amicably went back and forth sharing stories of the random things about them, Mark feeling touched by the sentiment that these were now things only he knew. Jisoo was obviously very closed-off so Mark felt a sense of accomplishment with how much she was sharing with him, trusting with him, in such a short amount of time. Judging by how rarely he saw Jisoo talking to others, he thought that people also knew very little about her. Though he did vaguely remember the guys saying something about knowing her—

“So what does your family look like?” Mark asked after finishing a story about how his sisters used to dress him up when he was younger. “I think Jackson or Jinyoung mentioned something before about you having a sister too?”

The small smile that had inched its way onto Jisoo’s face instantly dropped and she looked almost panicked. She abruptly got up from her seat and started to gather her things. “I should probably start getting to my next class, it’s a bit of a walk.” 

Mark frowned at her sudden disposition. “Sorry, did I—”

She gave a small bow before leaving him. “See you tomorrow!”

He sat there watching Jisoo’s retreating form, completely dumbfounded by what just happened. Mark turned around, meeting the now-shameless stares of his friends who had watched the whole interaction happen. The three of them just shrugged at Mark, at a greater loss than he was. 

——

Jisoo found herself inexplicably looking forward to her daily interactions with Mark. 

After she brushed him off that day in the cafeteria, she was really worried about how she was going to talk to him ever again—Jisoo was even more shocked that she wanted to talk to him—but it turned out that she had nothing to worry about. The following day, Mark had sat next to her during class like usual and talked to her normally, asking if she had understood the assigned reading. He never mentioned anything about family ever again, conversing happily with her as if the end of their lunch together had never happened.

That’s when Jisoo realized she considered Mark a friend. 

And it was normal for friends to look forward to seeing their friends every day, right?

“Good morning,” she greeted teasingly as Mark lazily slid into his seat. “You look awful. Did you stay up late playing video games for the fourth night straight this week?” 

“Very funny. It’s the only way I can play with friends in other timezones.” He laid his cheek on the desk and side-eyed her. “But I’m glad you’re enjoying this.” 

“Oh no, it pains me to see you looking tired. It means you won’t be listening to me nagging you to put as much effort into your homework as you do video games.” Mark rolled his eyes before rolling his head on the desk so that he was facedown. Jisoo let out a hearty laugh as she finally took notice of his outfit. “Mark, were you too tired to even turn the lights on this morning? You look like you dressed yourself in the dark!”

“Wait, what do you mean?” He shot up in his seat and looked down at his clothes.

“Your shirt’s inside-out! How’d you even button up your shirt this morning?!” 

Mark quickly put on his cardigan, slightly hiding his little mishap. “Oh my god, I’ve been walking around like this all morning, and no one told me anything!” Jisoo, amid her fit of giggles at her friend’s troubles, wiped away the stray tears that had formed in her eyes. Her laughter subsided when she noticed Mark silently staring at her, an impish smile quirked on his lips. 

“What?” 

“You look prettier when you laugh. You should do more of that.”

Jisoo’s face quickly flushed. “Prettier? What do you mean by ‘pretty’?”

“What do you mean what do I mean? You’re pretty!” Mark shook his head and chuckled. “Oh wait I remember, the Kang Jisoo has a bit of an ego. Fine, when you laugh, you’re so beautiful,” Mark corrected himself with another laugh. “Happy now?”

Mark broke into more fits of laughter as he noticed Jisoo’s face turning shades darker by the second. She slouched in her seat and covered her face with her hands. “Mark, why would you just say that so easily? What am I supposed to do about it?!” To Jisoo, Mark had said it as if he were talking about the weather. 

“I don’t know, I think it’s Jackson’s sappiness rubbing off on me. We’ve been hanging out too much lately,” Mark joked, turning to the front of the classroom as Mrs. Baek walked in, signaling the start of the period. For the first time ever, Jisoo couldn’t focus on the lesson, Mrs. Baek’s words going in one ear and out the other. 

It was also normal for friends to call their friends beautiful, right?

——

Jisoo told herself she only let Mark walk with her home because her house was already on the way to his and the days were getting shorter. It’s better for a girl to walk home with someone, especially a guy, when it was starting to get dark, of course. 

And Mark most certainly forced his jacket onto her when a gust of wind had whipped past them that afternoon. She hadn’t asked to use it and she definitely did not exaggerate how cold she was by wrapping her arms around herself so that Mark would notice. Jisoo really was cold and Mark, being the nice friend that he was, had forced his jacket over her. 

“See if I weren’t walking with you, you’d be freezing!”

Jisoo rolled her eyes as she returned the jacket to Mark. “We were a block away from my house, I think I would have been fine.” 

 “Yeah, yeah whatever you say,” Mark replied with a sneer, waving you off. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, if you don’t oversleep and actually make it tomorrow,” Jisoo joked, earning a playful shove from Mark. “Bye—”

“Jisoo, you’re home!” 

A middle-aged woman donning an apron and with fresh dusts of what seemed to be flour on her face had emerged from Jisoo’s front door.

“Oh Mom, yes, I just got back.” 

The older woman walked up to Jisoo, lacing Jisoo’s fingers with hers and beaming brightly. “I just got the best news today! We’ve got a special surprise arriving tonight!”

Jisoo smiled as she dashed her finger across her mom’s cheek and flicked the powder off. “Is that why you’re going crazy in the kitchen?”

Her mom nodded. “It’s not every day we get this surprise, so we’re having a feast tonight.” She looked behind Jisoo to see Mark still standing there in the walkway, watching the interaction. He waved when Jisoo’s mom looked his way. “Oh! Is this a friend from school?”

Jisoo gave a nervous laugh. “Yes, well...” She nudged her head and gave Mark a slightly-panicked look, motioning for him to come over. “This is Mark Tuan from my Honors English class. He lives a few blocks that way so we walk home together sometimes.”

Mark stuck his hand out to the older woman. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Kang.”

She gladly took it, shaking his hand profusely. “Very nice to meet you, Mark! You must join us for dinner, I made a lot of food and this is the first time I’ve met one of Jisoo’s high school friends. More of a reason to celebrate!”

“No Mom, Mark is really busy—” Ignoring Jisoo’s protests and before Mark could get a word in, her mom had dragged the two of them into the house. 

Jisoo’s house was simply decorated, the mustard yellow walls doing most of the eye-catching. It was warm and cozy as the smell of her mom’s cooking wafted in the air. One thing Mark noted to himself was that he couldn’t spot any family pictures anywhere. 

“I think I’ll be learning more about you today than I have in all the time I’ve known you,” Mark teased, giving Jisoo a nudge as her mom ushered them to the living room. 

“Whatever you do, don’t ask too many questions, answer all of my parents’ if they have any—but be vague when you answer—and just give me your food when my mom’s not looking if you can’t finish it,” Jisoo hissed quietly as she pulled Mark to sit on the couch. She turned back to her mom. “So what’s the surprise?”

The older woman shook her head, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Well it wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, now would it? Your father is picking it up right now.” She was about to return to the kitchen but quickly turned back to Jisoo. “I almost forgot! Dear, could you go over to Mrs. So next door? I asked her to fix my pants and was supposed to pick it up today before she went on her trip with Mr. So, but I still have so much to cook.”

“I can come with,” Mark volunteered. 

Jisoo gave him a hesitant look. “No...you better not. Mrs. So gets weird about strangers coming over. You can just relax, I’ll be right back.”

Mark went to join Jisoo’s mom in the kitchen. “Mrs. Kang, I can help you finish cooking or set the table while waiting.”

She clapped her hands gleefully. “Oh, I’d appreciate that Mark! You can help me make the cheesecake, it won’t take too long to make. Here’s an apron!” Mrs. Kang lowered her voice to Jisoo as Mark busied himself with the apron. “He’s handsome. Bring him around more often.” 

“Mom!” Jisoo gave her mom a frightened look, silently ordering her to stop, before turning to Mark. She stifled back a laugh as she noticed he was wearing her dad’s “kiss the cook” apron. “I’ll be back. Don’t make too much of a mess.” 

Jisoo was at Mrs. So’s longer than expected. As soon as she rung her doorbell and the older woman came to the door, Jisoo found herself answering a parade of questions. Mrs. So claimed to have not seen Jisoo in so long and wanted to catch up, even though Jisoo would sometimes join her mom and the other older women in the neighborhood for weekly tea. Mrs. So had occupied Jisoo with so many questions that she had almost forgot the reason why she was there. 

Taking a breath after finally leaving Mrs. So’s with her mom’s pants in hand, Jisoo headed back to her house, hoping her mom wasn’t similarly bombarding Mark with questions or embarrassing stories about her. She was also really looking forward to whatever surprise her parents had in store. Perhaps it had arrived when she was gone? Maybe they were finally getting a dog? With that exciting prospect in mind, Jisoo happily bounded to her doorstep and opened her front door, ready to be greeted with a—

“Surprise! I’m home!”

Frozen in her spot, Jisoo allowed herself to be engulfed in a bone-crushing hug by her older sister. 

“Unnie...you’re—”

Suddenly Mark emerged from the kitchen, looking as giddy as a kid at a candy store. “Jisoo! I didn’t realize your sister was the Kang Jiwoo! I see her on tv all the time! I should have put two and two together. Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Yes, well...” Before she could even begin to formulate an answer, Mrs. Kang had enjoyed them in the foyer.

“Come and take a seat before the food gets cold!” She ordered, ushering the kids into the dining room. “Jiwoo dear, you must be starving! I made all your favorites!”

Jisoo felt like a lost scubadiver with only a couple of breaths left in her oxygen tank, a few seconds away from drowning.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to get away. But she could only sit there and watch silently as Jiwoo seemed to bewitch her friend at the dinner table like she did with everyone else she encountered. Jisoo couldn’t even enjoy her mom’s cooking. 

“This is top secret information, so keep this on the down low,” Jisoo advised jokingly as Mark pretended to zip his lips. “But we’re shooting the music video for our comeback single. One of the locations is a half hour away, and the other girls are just staying at a hotel, but I decided it was close enough for me to come home and spend the night.”

Mark had stars in his eyes as he conversed with Jiwoo. “Wow, a comeback? You must be super busy! You probably have a tour coming up too! I saw some footage from your concerts overseas before on the news, you guys got really big!” 

Jiwoo gave a shy laugh, looking down at her plate in modesty. “Yes, well...”

“Jisoo does that too!” Mark pointed out, turning to the silent girl next to him. “You probably get it from her, don’t you?” Jisoo could only shrug as she occupied herself by tossing the food around on her plate, not wanting to answer and confirm his speculation. 

“Oh, Jisoo gets a lot of things from me,” Jiwoo added with a lighthearted laugh. “When we were younger, she used to always follow me around and copied whatever I did. I remember I used to get so annoyed when she’d mimic what I’d say.”

“Really, she used to copy you?” Mark looked back and forth between the sisters. “But you two are nothing alike!”

Mark had no ill-intent behind them, but as those words left his mouth, Jisoo knew she was done for. He had finally seen Jisoo for what she really was—everything that Jiwoo was not. 

Out of breaths in her oxygen tank, she was drowning.

——

Mark was certain Jisoo was avoiding him. 

He thought nothing of it initially. She had been quiet during dinner at her house, but Jisoo was always quiet, so that was nothing out of the ordinary to him. The next day during their class together, she had arrived just as class was about to start. She had no choice but to take one of the seats up front, so Mark had no chance to talk to her in class. Perhaps she had been running from her last class? Mark knew Jisoo could be a bit of a grade grubber. He speculated that she was probably trying to negotiate her grade up from a 99 to a 100 with a teacher, and that’s why she ran a little late. 

But then it happened again the next day. And the day after that. And after that. And so on. He noticed she wouldn’t look his way during class. Then she’d quickly leave as soon as class let out. Jisoo was also nowhere to be seen during lunch. Nor was she at her locker after school, where Mark would meet with her so they could walk home together. 

Jisoo didn’t answer any of his texts or his calls. Had he not seen her every day during English, Mark would have been really worried that something happened to her.

But it had been a week after the dinner at her place and Mark was still worried because something did happen to her, otherwise she wouldn’t have been ignoring him for that long. He felt helpless, he didn’t know who to ask about her whereabouts. 

Jisoo had really opened up to him in the last few months, so why was she closing herself off again?

Mark finally caught her on her walk home. As soon as school finished that day, he had made it a point to race to her block so she would run into him. Jisoo was a good girl, she surely wouldn’t be skipping out on class just to go home early so she could avoid him. 

Jisoo found him leaning against a lamp post near her house. Waiting. She was about to make a run for it when Mark turned and saw her. 

“Jisoo, wait!” 

“Mark, jus-just leave me alone.” She tried to sound assertive, but sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than Mark instead. 

He walked up her, eyes boring into her skull, willing her to look at him. “Why have you been avoiding me?” She stayed silent, averting her eyes in any other direction but his. Mark knew she was trying to figure out a way to make a run for her house. Jisoo knew he was a fast runner and could easily catch her. “Did I do something wrong? Was it something I said at dinner to your parents? To your sister?” Taking her chances, Jisoo attempted to dash past Mark. With cat-like reflexes, he grabbed her arm, spinning her around and holding her in place so she was forced to look at him. “Whatever it was Jisoo, I want to apologize for it properly, but you need to talk to me.”

She had never been so close to him. She found looking Mark in the eye unbearable so she averted her gaze elsewhere. “Why do you care?”

“Why do I care?” Disbelief laced heavily in his voice. 

“Yeah, it’s fine, it’s not like my sister’s going to hate you for not checking on me or anything,” Jisoo said offhandedly, slipping herself out of Mark’s grasp. “She loves all her fans.” 

Suddenly it all made sense to Mark. 

“Jisoo, do you really think that lowly of me?” 

Whatever resolve Jisoo had built up came crumbling as soon as she heard the hurt in his voice. “Mark...”

“I always thought that you were only distant from others because you were so focused on school and people misunderstood you, but you were doing this deliberately, weren’t you?” The heartbroken look on Mark’s face tore Jisoo to shreds. “Jisoo, how could you think I was being like everyone else? We’re best friends.”

Jisoo could feel herself getting choked up. She felt like a fool. Of course he wouldn’t purposely use her like everyone else did, Mark Tuan was the nicest person she had ever encountered. Never did he ask anything of her, except for her time. 

Which is probably why she had fallen for him, slowly but surely. 

“I’m sorry,” was all she could say, with her head hanging down. 

Mark looked at her with a stern expression. “You know what your problem is? You push people away before they can hurt you. You’ve never let anyone in long enough for them to see how amazing you are.” He reached into his backpack and pulled out a small mustard yellow gift bag. “Talk to me when you like yourself as much as I do.” Without another word, he tossed the bag to Jisoo and left in the direction of his house.

——

“Do you...mind if I join you all?”

It was an odd sight to take in. The boys looked to Jaebum for guidance, always yielding group decisions to the unofficial leader.

“Sure Jisoo,” Jaebum choked out. The boys hurriedly moved their stuff from the table, shifting themselves to make room for her. Jisoo quietly took a seat directly across from Mark and began digging into her lunch, unaware of the stares she was receiving. 

“So Miss Kang...” Jisoo made a funny face at Jackson’s formality. “What brings you here to sit with us?”

“You guys are always staring at me during lunch, I figured I’d join you so you wouldn’t have to strain your eyes so much,” Jisoo teased, side-eyeing the boys as she ate.

“Oh, she bites!” Jackson bellowed. All of the boys, except for Mark, laughed at the usually quiet girl’s uncharacteristic jab. 

“I was also just thinking about how it’s our last year. It’s kind of weird how I see all my classmates every day but I’ve never really made the effort to talk to them. So I guess, here I am now.” Jisoo gave them a sheepish smile, as if asking for permission.

“Well you’re more than welcome to sit with us during lunch whenever you want,” Jinyoung invited graciously with one of his signature eye smiles.

She smiled warmly at them. “Thank you.” 

Mark could only stare silently across the table at Jisoo as she conversed easily with his friends, his eyes fixated on the mustard yellow bow tying up her hair. It had been over a week since he had last spoken to Jisoo. Joining him and his friends at their usual lunch table was the last thing Mark expected her to do. Watching as she blushed and giggled softly at one of Jackson’s typical flirtatious jokes, he didn’t expect her to get along with his friends so well either.

“Better get going,” Jaebum announced as the bell rang, signaling the end of the lunch period. They all got up to clean up after themselves. “Don’t forget about the meeting after school. And Jisoo...”

“You’ll have lunch with us again tomorrow, yeah?” Jackson asked, looking at Jisoo hopefully.

She glanced at Mark who looked back at her with an unreadable expression. “Well...if it’s okay with you guys...”

“Of course it is,” Jinyoung reassured. “Anyone who’s able to completely debunk Jackson’s stupid conspiracy theories is all right with us.”

“Hey!”

“Sure, see you guys tomorrow,” she replied gratefully, waving the three boys off as they headed to class.

“Jisoo...”

“I’m sorry, am I overstepping boundaries?” She looked at Mark worriedly. Of course he’s still mad. She silently scolded herself for imposing. “I knew I should have asked you first if it was okay.”

Mark shook his head as he pulled Jisoo aside from the other students leaving the cafeteria. “No, not that. You always sit at the same table or spend lunch time cleaning lab supplies for Ms. Kim. What are you trying to do here?”

Jisoo sighed as she gazed up at Mark’s questioning eyes. There was no point in trying to come up with a lie, Mark had already seen right through her once before. “Can we talk and walk at the same time? I really can’t be late to History, we have a quiz.” Mark rolled his eyes before gesturing Jisoo to lead the way to class, a small smile playing on his lips. That was the Jisoo he was used to—always prompt.

“I missed you.”

Now that was the Jisoo he was not used to.

Mark stopped in his tracks. “Are you sick?” He placed a hand on her forehead. “Your temperature seems fine. Are you really the Kang Jisoo, the one who thinks nagging someone about how much sleep they’re getting is a sign of affection?”

She removed Mark’s hand before continuing to walk. “It means I care.”

“So do I.”

“And that’s why I missed you.” Jisoo stopped walking again to look at Mark properly. “Mark, you were right. I do tend to push people away because I’m afraid of getting hurt. Like before. I thought I was going to get hurt again so I pushed you away too.” She gave him a regretful look. “I’m sorry I thought so little of you, Mark. Of course you weren’t going to be like everyone else. You’re my best friend.” 

“But why do you keep pushing people away?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” She smiled sadly as she looked down at herself. “I’m not Unnie. She’s a beautiful and successful Hallyu star that everyone wants to be or be with. I was always compared to her ever since we were kids, and whenever people talked to me, it was always about her—they would ask if I could get them tickets to her concert or an autograph or if I could give her a letter and to let them know what she says when she reads it. I was always living in her shadow.”

Now Mark was the one looking apologetic. “That must have felt awful.”

“That’s why I’m so focused on school. I can finally do something that Unnie didn’t get a chance to finish. When it comes to my education, I can just be me, not Kang Jiwoo’s younger sister.”

They gazed at each other for a moment, letting Jisoo’s words sit. Though she had said that he was right, Mark now felt horrible about berating Jisoo before. He suddenly took her hand and started walking hurriedly. 

“You’re right, you’re not your sister,” Mark announced undoubtedly. Jisoo didn’t have it in her to protest. She could only stare at Mark’s grip and let him tug her along. “Jisoo, you’re you, perfectly you. You’re Kang Jisoo, the girl who silently judges my unkempt hair in the morning even though she’s basically had the same haircut since the fourth grade.”

“Hey!”

He gave Jisoo’s hand a gentle squeeze as he continued walking, unintentionally causing her stomach to stir. “You’re everything you should be and nothing less. I wouldn’t have it any other way, and neither should you.”

They had arrived right outside of her History class. With her hand still in his, Jisoo scanned Mark’s face with uncertainty. “So we’ve confirmed that we are best friends, but still, how could you be so good to me? I feel like I’ve always given you 10 when you’ve given me 90.”

“Because I like you,” Mark replied simply, releasing her hand with a shrug. “And don’t worry, you don’t have to say it because I already know. Otherwise you wouldn’t be wearing the bow I got you.” 

Jisoo felt her face flush red. “But I—”

The bell rang again. “I better run to class before Mr. Jeong gets mad again. Meet you at your locker after school?” Unable to produce a proper sentence, Jisoo nodded dumbly, earning an ecstatic smile from Mark. He quickly pecked her on the cheek before heading off in the opposite direction. “Go be the educated Jisoo that I like, bye!”

She grinned to herself like an idiot as she slid into her seat, Mark’s words replaying in her head over and over again. More motivated than ever, Jisoo happily greeted her classmates around her as she got ready for the rest of the period. 

“Because I like you.”

Slowly but surely, with the help of a good friend, she was beginning to like herself too. 

——