#screwing mr. scrooge

[nalit-source]

HOLIDAY ROMANCE BOOK RECOMMENDATIONS

Part 1/?

[cocogum]

Enutrofs can be scary too in their own right.

Cuz imagine if these old ass fossils organized a secret mafia together 💀💀💀

[locuas642]

Reminder than in the original book. While Mr. Scrooge is cranky and upset at Cratchet asking for the day off for Christmas with pay included, he gives it to him.

Which means Elon Musk wanting to shut down the government until Trump takes over and screwing over everyone living off of the government being open. during the holidays, makes him worse than scrooge ever was in the book

[shrinkrants]

I was watching my favorite Christmas movie, “It’s a Wonderful Life.” Mr. Potter, the film’s cranky, old, uber-rich villain serves as a fine representative of the oligarchs of the US mafia state.  In my favorite scene–one that may have helped shape my politics as a child–our hero George Bailey stands up to Mr. Potter, who is attempting to liquidate the Bailey Brothers Building and Loan, which would effectively put an end to affordable housing in Bedford Falls, the fictional small town where the story takes place. In pushing back against Potter’s mockery of the establishment’s policies, which have allowed a number of working class renters to become homeowners, Bailey delivers an iconic speech, saying:

What'd you say just a minute ago? They had to wait and save their money before they even thought of a decent home. Wait? Wait for what?! Until their children grow up and leave them? Until they're so old and broken-down that… You know how long it takes a working man to save five thousand dollars? Just remember this, Mr. Potter, that this rabble you're talking about, they do most of the working and paying and living and dying in this community. Well, is it too much to have them work and pay and live and die in a couple of decent rooms and a bath? Anyway, my father didn't think so. People were human beings to him, but to you, a warped, frustrated old man, they're cattle. Well, in my book he died a much richer man than you'll ever be.

We could really use some of George Bailey’s energy right about now. Potter is similarly useful, in an emblematic sense. After all, the Grinch and the Grinch and Ebenezer Scrooge were capable of redemption. To pretend that the oligarchs of the US mafia state can be morally redeemed would avail us nothing. They are our enemies, and they are attacking our very ability to survive. Elon Musk is a neo-Mr. Potter, operating at scale. To Musk, a warped, deluded, ego-obsessed man, we’re cattle. While many people in the United States lack a coherent political analysis, they do understand that they are being screwed. The public’s reaction to Mangione and his alleged crime make that much clear. The public celebration of Mangione is reminiscent of the fandoms that formed around Depression era bank robbers like John Dillinger. Rather than condemning people for “bloodlust” (as though the indifference to bloodletting that typically defines life in the US is somehow morally superior to applauding a single death), it is crucial that we understand Mangione’s folk hero status as a flash of class consciousness. The outrage people are feeling at insurance companies should be encouraged and expanded to include the billionaire and corporate classes as a whole. 

In fact, there is no better target for the public’s ire in this moment than the richest man in the world, who just used his multi-billion dollar social media platform to spread misinformation at scale, thwart pediatric cancer research, deprive workers of their paychecks, and make life less livable for people on reservations.

I am not advocating for violence, of course. I am not a violent person. I am an organizer. I want people to organize. Simply applauding the violence of outlaws, while potentially cathartic, will not save us (though I will admit to sharing Mangione memes with my friends, pretty much daily). What we need is a sharpened sense of who the villains in our stories are, and the will to mobilize in defense of our shared interests. 

-- Kelly Hayes

[twistedtummies2]

Top 12 Portrayals of Bob Cratchit

In past Decembers, I’ve talked about my favorite adaptations of Charles Dickens’ classic tale, “A Christmas Carol,” as well as my favorite portrayals of its central character, the miserly and miserable Ebenezer Scrooge. I felt the most appropriate way to continue things this year was to cover some of the side characters from the story; after all, many of them are just as iconic as Scrooge himself, and each plays an important role in the wicked old screw’s redemptive arc. So, throughout this week, leading up to Christmas Eve, I’ll be talking about seven of the most prominent characters in the story. First up is arguably the most important role besides Scrooge himself: the moneylender’s overworked, underpaid employee, Bob Cratchit. Cratchit is an interesting character because he is, in many ways, the exact polar opposite from Scrooge. He is a foil to the nasty curmudgeon, and his side of the story is easily the most noteworthy part of the tale aside from Scrooge himself. Whereas Scrooge is rich and bitter, jaded by his own tribulations, Bob is poor, but also mild-mannered and tender-hearted, not complaining about his situation but simply trying to make the best of it. He has faced just as much hardship, if not more, compared to Ebenezer, but he comes through it all trying to keep a level head and an optimistic outlook. It’s a bold contrast to Scrooge, who has closed off his heart to all emotion and compassion, and obsesses over his profits. Cratchit doesn’t really change, mentally or emotionally, by the end of the story, but what makes him interesting is his steadfast morality, and the unorthodox obstacle he presents. Bob is the largest hurdle Scrooge has to overcome in his redemption; not because he’s openly antagonistic, but simply because he’s the one Scrooge has arguably wronged the most, and is the one who presents the greatest challenge to gain forgiveness from as a result. Through seeing Cratchit and his family’s plight, above all others, Scrooge realizes just how directly his actions and inactions can affect the world around him: that the people he has power over don’t just disappear when they walk out his door. They have their own lives, their own struggles, and he should consider what he can do to help his fellow people. I’ve played Cratchit three times onstage - one of my most frequent roles - and as a result I’ve become rather protective of this character, and I have a respect for him I probably didn’t have before I ever got to take him on. Choosing my favorite versions of him from other interpretations wasn’t easy. These lists are going to be “description-less” ones; just pictures, names, and credits. Hopefully this won’t be too disappointing. With that said…here are My Top 12 Portrayals of Bob Cratchit!

12. Jack Cassidy, from Mr. Magoo’s Christmas Carol.

11. Michael York, from A Christmas Carol (1997).

10. Edward Gower, from A Christmas Carol: The Musical (2004).

9. Mervyn Johns, from Scrooge (1951).

8. Frank Readick, Jr., from the Campbell Playhouse Radio Production (1939). (The Shadow as Cratchit. I never would have expected that one, by that credit.)

7. Gary Oldman, from A Christmas Carol (2009).

6. Mickey Mouse, from Mickey’s Christmas Carol. (Because it's Mickey Mouse. How can you NOT love him?)

5. Melvyn Hayes, from A Christmas Carol (1971).

4. Kermit the Frog, from The Muppet Christmas Carol. (I refer you to what I said about Mickey Mouse.)

3. David Collings, from Scrooge (1970).

2. David Warner, from A Christmas Carol (1984).

1. Richard E. Grant, from A Christmas Carol (1999).

[mariaofdoranelle]

i love their cousin banter do much

also there’s something very inherently american about this scene don’t ask me what but something about the exchanges and the jokes scream american 😂😂 maybe it has american tv show vibes?? anyway it isn’t necessarily good or bad just american lol (but the jokes they’re really good(

“You never know what you’ll find during the holidays, right?” SO HALLMARK-CODED IM DEAD

“Rowan had bought Aelin a complete set of her favorite small-town romance series and written sweet little messages in each book’s cover.” he’s the cutest 🥹 i want then dating

“Screwing Mr. Scrooge,” SHOULD I READ IT

EVALINNN. NNNNNNNNBBB

Stick Season (Part 2)

masterlist

Rowaelin Month, Day 7: Vacation/Outdoors

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: bickering cousins, couple of swear words, one healthy serving of angst

Enjoy! (?)

@rowaelinscourt

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Present

The Whitethorn horde blew into Doranelle, Vermont, like a Category 4 blizzard, albeit a very welcome one. Rowan felt like he’d barely woken up and downed his first cup of coffee before there was a rigorous pounding on his front door and he looked out the kitchen window to find an entire caravan of silver vehicles filling his front yard as if it was a parking lot. 

“We know you’re home, Ro-Ro!” Sellene yelled from the porch. “You can’t hide from Christmas forever, and besides, you invited us!” 

“Calm down, LeLe,” Rowan drawled, opening the door to a flock of bright green eyes, blonde hair, and layers of winter clothing. “Nobody said you had to show up at eight in the bloody morning.” 

“It’s ten-thirty,” she retorted. 

“Same difference.” He easily lifted the two large suitcases she was rolling and headed for the guest rooms. “It’s too early.” 

“You never were a morning person.” She flicked on the bedroom lights. “Just leave them by the window.” 

He put the suitcases down and made a quick stop to pull on his jacket before heading out to the neatly parked rows of cars, where he found his closest (in age) cousin struggling to maneuver luggage out of his SUV. “The dealerships called, Enda. They’re out of silver paint.” 

“What can I say?” Endymion Whitethorn shrugged, far too charming for his own good. “We’ve always liked our family colors.” 

“Doesn’t mean we have to drive around in matching cars like some kind of hippie mission church,” Rowan deadpanned. 

Enda snorted with laughter. “Gods, I’ve missed you.” He pulled Rowan into a brief, tight hug. “How are you? How’s the property? How’s…everything?” 

“Property’s fine, I’m too damn tired for this chaos, and everything is fine.” 

“I’m sure it is.” The dryness of Enda’s voice rivaled the Sahara Desert. 

“Don’t get any romantic ideas,” Rowan warned, only half teasing. Last Christmas, he’d lost a bet to Enda, who’d then set him up on a spectacularly awful date with a shrewish woman named Remelle– “but you can call me Remy”–an event that soured his memory every time he recalled that evening. 

“I would never,” Enda said, drawing out the never into a long, supposedly innocent singsong.

Rowan rolled his eyes. “And I’m the Queen of England.” He snickered at the outraged expression on his cousin’s face and picked up a duffle bag and a couple of crates full of brightly wrapped gifts. “Your car won’t unload itself, you know.” 

“Remind me why I put up with this bullshit,” Enda grumbled. 

Passing by just in time to hear the curse word, Sellene swatted Enda upside the head. “There are children present!” 

“Oh please, your kids were swearing before they spoke full sentences.” 

She huffed. “And it’s no wonder, considering that their uncles have such foul mouths.” Fondly, she rolled her eyes at Enda, who was still hopelessly attempting to maneuver one suitcase out from the bottom of the luggage piled in the trunk. “You’ll get unpacked a lot faster if you don’t try to play Suitcase Jenga. Here, let me.” 

He grumbled something about her being interfering but stepped aside and let her expertly dismantle the pile of suitcases. “Thanks, Sel.” 

“You’re welcome.” She blew him an air kiss. “How two men and a puppy manage to have more crap packed in their car than me and my whole family, I’ll never understand.” 

“That’s because my husband and I care about looking our best, thank you very much.” Enda flipped his shoulder-length hair, picked up a few of his bags, and sauntered off towards the house. 

“Would it be rude of me to say ‘yes, queen?’” Rowan murmured into Sellene’s ear. 

She burst into shaking, wheezing laughter. “Oh gods,” she gasped. “I think I peed myself a little.” She smacked his shoulder, though between her winter gloves and his thick parka, it didn’t do much  damage. “You’d better let that sense of humor loose at least a few times, Ro-Ro, or we’ll be forced to believe you aren’t actually human.” 

“Piss off,” he grumbled, but he was laughing. “I’m glad you’re here, Sel.” 

“I’m glad you let the horde of heathens come to your place again after what happened last year,” she quipped. “I thought for sure we’d be banished to Ellys’s place for Christmas vacation.” 

“Ellys can barely host a birthday party, let alone multiple nights with the whole Whitethorn family. It’s better if everyone crashes here; there’s more space.” 

“Plus we can always pitch tents in the yard.” 

“This is true.” He winked. “I think we should make that the punishment for the loudest ones.” 

“Deal.” Sellene bumped her gloved fist into his. “Fifty bucks says it’ll be Fenrys and whoever he brings home for the holidays.” 

“Why do I let him come to my house?” Rowan sighed. 

“Tradition,” both he and his cousin chorused. 

Sellene snickered. “Alright, I’m going to go control my wild children.” 

“Too late,” Rowan called. “They’ve already found the hot cocoa.” 

~

“Thank you for visiting Orynth Shelves! Happy holidays!” Aelin waved cheerfully to the most recent customer, turned back to the mercifully empty desk, and exhaled a deep sigh of relief. The day had been absolutely insane, packed full of holiday shoppers ranging from sweet elderly ladies to rambunctious kids who tried to climb the bookshelves and tracked wet slush everywhere. She had just turned around to steal two minutes of peace and quiet when the bells on the front door jingled and she had to turn back around, paint her customer service smile on her face, and– “Sellene?” 

“Aelin?” Sellene Whitethorn looked just as shocked as Aelin felt. 

“In the flesh.” Aelin shrugged. “Here I am, back in my hometown. Crazy, right?” 

“It’s…unexpected,” Sellene admitted. “But damn, it’s so good to see you again, Aelin.” 

Aelin rounded the desk and accepted Sellene’s brief hug. “It’s great to see you too. Are you looking for something in particular, or just browsing?” 

“Hmm, I think I’ll just browse.” Sellene grinned. “You never know what you’ll find during the holidays, right?” 

“Right.” Aelin gestured towards the shelves. “Happy hunting! If you’re interested, though, there’s a special winter section in the feature corner, and I’ve stocked it with as many cute little holiday romances as I could find.” She wiggled her eyebrows. 

“Say no more!” Sellene hurried off towards the seasonal display. 

Aelin laughed to herself and returned to the desk. Even after a number of years, she still remembered how much Sellene Whitethorn adored holiday romances. It had been one of their shared interests when they’d first met–way back in high school–and she could recall the exact expression on Sellene’s face when she realized how many books (and book boyfriends) they had in common. 

One Christmas, Sellene had even taken Rowan (her “hopelessly clueless cousin”) to the bookstore to buy Aelin’s present. With her guidance, Rowan had bought Aelin a complete set of her favorite small-town romance series and written sweet little messages in each book’s cover. 

Aelin still had those books. They lived in an unlabeled tote in her spare room. 

She shook away the ache of that memory, pushing it back into the deep recesses of her mind where it belonged, and grinned as Sellene walked up to the register with a small stack of books in her arms. 

“I was expecting more than that,” she teased as she rang up the books. 

Sellene laughed. “Well, I’m on a budget–”

“Bullshit, it’s Christmas.” 

“Fair enough. I’m on a book-buying budget, and I can’t exactly gift these to anyone in my family.” With a suggestive smirk, she passed Aelin one of the books. 

Screwing Mr. Scrooge, proclaimed the title. 

Aelin snorted with laughter. “Yeah, maybe don’t make that someone’s present.” 

“I’m only buying it because my husband and I–”

“And that’s where you can stop,” Aelin interrupted, pretending to gag and swatting Sellene playfully with the book. “My gods, Sellene!” 

Sellene giggled. “Alright, I’ll spare you the details.” She winked as she took out her credit card and tapped it to the card reader. “You’re in publishing, right?” 

“Yep.” 

“Then you definitely know what happens when readers who have a significant other find a spicy scene they like.” 

“Doesn’t mean I need to have firsthand knowledge,” Aelin teased. “There you go, Sellene. Enjoy the rest of your vacation!” 

“Thanks!” Sellene zipped up her thick parka jacket. Almost at the front door, she paused and turned back to Aelin. “Hey, I had a thought.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Well, I don’t want you to be here alone, least of all during Christmas–” 

“Oh, don’t worry about me.” Aelin waved off the protest. “I’m with Dad, and Aedion’s here too. I’m not going to be alone on Christmas.” 

“Still, the invitation stands.” Sellene continued as if Aelin hadn’t spoken. “I want to invite you to come over to the Whitethorn place. We haven’t seen you in far too long, and the whole family is here, even the little ones. Plus, I’m sure Rowan wants to see you…” 

She kept going, but Aelin no longer heard anything she was saying. The mere mention of the name Rowan had consumed her. Rowan wants to see you. 

How could he? 

Until the other week outside Staghorns, they hadn’t spoken in three years. How could he possibly want to see her? 

She’d been the one to leave. 

~

Three Years Ago

Aelin slowed down and turned onto the long, painstakingly cleared driveway of her family home and drove up the asphalt pathway until she reached the turnaround in front of the sprawling, elegant redbrick structure that was the Galathynius home. She parked, turned off the engine, and sat in the driver’s seat for a long, achingly silent moment. 

Then she dried her tears, checked her reflection in the rearview mirror to make sure there was no evidence that she’d been sobbing for the last fifteen minutes, and exited her car. 

With her suitcase behind her and her tote bag slung neatly over her shoulder, Aelin walked up the front steps and entered the two-story atrium of the house’s front hall. “Hello?” she called. Part of her hoped–desperately–that there would be nobody home. 

But with a soft rustle of cashmere and a gentle tap-tap-tap of heeled pumps, Evalin Ashryver appeared at the top of the grand staircase. “Hello, darling.” 

“Mother.” Aelin set her luggage aside and crossed the foyer, meeting her mother in the middle and accepting a perfunctory hug and air kiss. 

“How was the drive?” Evalin inquired. 

“Smooth,” Aelin replied. “The traffic disappeared after I left the city.” 

“Funny how that happens.” Evalin pressed the buzzer on the wall, summoning the housekeeper that the family apparently still employed. “Clara, would you please take my daughter’s things to her room?” She dismissed the housekeeper and led Aelin towards the family living room.

Aelin bit her tongue to hold back all the things she wanted to spew. She’d been trying for years (without success) to convince her mother that there was no need to keep on a full-time housekeeper and butler. A cook she understood, and a groundskeeper, but Rhoe and Evalin were the only ones who lived in that huge house anymore. They didn’t need staff for everything they did. 

“So pleased that you were able to come home this early,” Evalin said. 

Aelin returned her attention to her mother. “Yes, I managed to take a more flexible holiday vacation.” Her lips quirked upwards. “I suppose the promotion helped.” 

“The promotion?” 

“Didn’t I tell you? I was promoted to editor in November.” Aelin couldn’t control the proud smile that curved across her face. 

Evalin beamed. “I’ll never know why it took your firm so long to realize that you’re the most competent person there. Congratulations, darling.” She squeezed Aelin’s hand, her own hand cold. “An editor at only twenty-four. Next up, editor in chief, right?” 

“Perhaps,” Aelin concurred. “But–”

“Rhoe, dear!” Evalin called, unaware that her daughter was speaking. “We have news!” 

Rhoe strode into the living room with a broad, genuine smile on his face and pulled Aelin into a powerfully warm hug. “Welcome home, Fireheart.” 

“Hi, Dad.” She grinned up at him. “I have news.” 

“So your mother tells me.” He took a seat in one of the comfortable armchairs. “Well?” 

“I’ve been promoted to editor as of last month.” 

“Congratulations!” Rhoe got to his feet and wrapped his daughter in an embrace, then went over to the bar built into one side of the room and retrieved a small bottle of champagne and three flutes. “This calls for a toast!” 

“Really, Rhoe,” Evalin tutted, frowning at her husband as he poured the champagne and handed out the glasses. “It’s barely even four o’clock.” 

“It’s a perfectly reasonable occasion for a toast,” Rhoe returned. He pressed Aelin’s glass into her hand, giving her a look of reassurance. “To our Fireheart, the editor!” 

Aelin grinned at her father, clinked her glass gently against his, and took a delicate sip of the expensive champagne; of course her parents would only stock the finest in their fridge. “Thanks, Dad.” 

“Darling, haven’t we discussed how mature women ought to be past the point of referring to their parents in childish ways?” Evalin’s tone was cool, reproving. 

The champagne curdled in Aelin’s stomach. Silently, she placed her glass down on the granite bartop. “I was unaware that there were politically correct terms for one’s own parents.” She kept her voice light, but her spine stiffened into steel, preparing for the inevitable onslaught of her mother’s disapproval. 

“As an editor, surely you understand the value of adjusting language to fit the appropriate categorization and age range,” Evalin stated. “The same principle ought to apply to all areas of speech, darling. Furthermore, your father would never allow his employees to address him as ‘Rhoe,’ so why should his daughter address him that casually?” 

“Perhaps for the fact that she is his daughter.” It was Rhoe who spoke, his words laced with the underlying note of command that marked him as the incredibly successful businessman he was. Subtly, he moved closer to Aelin, acting both as a shield between her and Evalin and as an extinguisher to the brewing flames of both women’s wrath. 

Aelin exchanged a look of deepest gratitude with her father and turned to leave the room. Before she was out the door, though, she heard her mother whispering heatedly, tearing into Rhoe for the simple act of defending his only daughter. 

“I will not have you come between my daughter and I when I am speaking!” Evalin hissed. “I am her mother, and you know full well that we hardly get the chance to see her. You cannot deprive me of the time I need to spend with her on the rare occasion that she’s home, you callous–” 

Aelin wheeled around and stalked over to Evalin, fire blazing in the gold of her eyes. “If anyone is callous, Mom, it’s you.” Vehemence threw her words like spears. “Or were you conveniently going to forget that you interrupted my call with Rowan while I was driving because you needed to remind me that I’m a pathetic excuse of a daughter for wanting to see my boyfriend for two minutes before I come home?” Her breath was ragged. “Well, you’ll be delighted to know that I broke up with him.” 

Evalin’s jaw went slack. “I–” 

“You got your wish, Mother.” Aelin laughed, sardonically. “I’m home for dinnertime.” 

Turning sharply on her heel, she stalked out of the room, leaving behind her shell-shocked father and her mother stunned silent for once as she processed the truth her daughter had just flung. She kept her composure all the way up to her bedroom, where she entered the room and locked the door behind herself. 

Then Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, unflappable editor, crumpled to the floor and sobbed.

~~~

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[thursdayg1rl]

walking into English w extreme levels of confidence for someone who doesnt know any quotes, doesnt have any ideas abt the texts and is a slow writer

[aftermathfanfic]

Part 2, Chapter 15

Warnings: Major Character Death

---------------------------------------------    

Scrooge stood in the centre of the bridge, staring at the fake Talisman aghast and appalled.

He let his hand fall limply to his side, staring forward and seeing nothing.

He turned around to look at Glomgold’s body, lying limply on the platform on the other side. He heard a dull boom rock the chamber, dust raining down from the ceiling, but he barely noticed.

You didn’t know.

Scrooge winced, rubbing his temple. It has been aching the entire night, but he’d been forcing himself to ignore it. But now that the danger had passed and the adrenaline was fading, it was coming at him at full force.

It isn’t your fault. How could you have known?

Slowly, he turned back around and started trudging back to the entrance, a deep, terrible sadness taking over him.

Flintheart’s was not the first life he’d taken. He was a career adventurer, after all. He’d been in scrapes where his options had been limited to kill or be killed, but he had always tried to exhaust all other options before he resorted to that, and only in self-defence. But this death… this one had been pointless. If he’d just tried to catch up to Flinty, or talk to him, or, hell, even if Scrooge had reacted just a moment later, the talisman would have been placed on the pedestal, revealed to be fake, and this could have been avoided.

This was a difficult decision. You were right to do it.

He arrived back on the cliff face. The armoured mercenary was lying on the ground, presumably still unconscious from the sleep gas. Scrooge ignored him, continuing forward.

“…You can’t go up that way.” The mercenary wheezed as he walked past.

Scrooge stopped, then looked down at him, too surprised that the man was conscious to respond.

“The, uh… the room we came in is kinda… exploded.” Reshad explained. “I blew up the tunnels leading in, so… you can’t get out that way.”

“…Why?” Scrooge demanded.

“I had to get your wife off my case.” Reshad said with a shrug, bringing a canteen up from his belt. “Or servant, or live-in assassin, or whatever the fuck she is to you.”

Scrooge watched him unscrew the bottle, realising that he’d completely forgotten about Bentina in the heat of the moment. If she’d been here…

Reshad poured the bottle’s contents on his face, a splash of brown liquid coating his helmet. Screwing the lid back on, he muttered, “So… we’re kinda stuck down here. I was really banking on that thing down there digging us a new way out.”

He put his bottle back on his belt and spread his arms out, lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling.

After a while, he turned to Scrooge and asked, “You, uh… wouldn’t happen to know any other secret entrances, would you?”

Scrooge glared down at him for a moment, then sighed reluctantly.

---------------------------------------------    

The family had gotten out of the catacombs just as the bombs exploded. A dull boom that echoed through the tunnels announced the detonation, and the thunderous rumble of collapsing infrastructure followed soon thereafter.

They had found the French police waiting for them on the other side, back at the entrance they’d made previously. Immediately, they bombarded them with questions, buffeting the children with inquires made in a language they didn’t speak. Mrs. Beakley took charge of the conversation, talking to the officers in fluent French as the kids were led off to the side, towards a police car.

A paramedic was attending to May as soon as possible, a female white duck in a navy blue jacket. Sitting her on the edge of the car seat, the officer treated to May’s injured leg, quickly cleaning, disinfecting and dressing the wound. The other kids stood to the side awkwardly as it happened, unsure what to make of themselves.

The medic stood up and turned to the children with a smile. “She’ll be okay.” She told them in simple English. “Stay here for now, okay?”

They each murmured their affirmation. With that, the officer walked away, though not so far as to abandon them. The five teenagers were silent, none of them willing to make eye contact – least of June.

Huey looked at her, trying to analyse her. It wasn’t easy, since he was still coming off of the adrenaline rush from behind held hostage, and he couldn’t quite get a good read off of her.

May was the first to speak up, asking her sister carefully, “June… what happened back there?”

The boys turned to look at the guilty cousin, who stared at the floor, not looking at any of them.

“…I don’t know.” She responded quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I wanted to stop him from hurting you… but…”

June finally looked up at her family, all of them looking at her like she was a perfect stranger. May’s expression was that of fearful confusion, Huey’s was of concern and upset, while Dewey’s was merely wary. Louie’s expression bore no emotion – his face was an unreadable mask.

“…I think I went too far.” June murmured, her voice cracking.

“Were you… actually going to let her die?” Dewey asked slowly.

“No, I… I… I don’t think so…” June’s voice sounded unsure, like she had frightened herself as well as the others.

They overheard a snippet of conversation and turned as one towards the police. They could see Beakley starting to break free from them, making her way towards them.

“Please don’t tell her.” June said quickly, distress written across her face. “Please.”

Huey shook his head. “June, we can’t…”

“If Miss Daisy finds out, she’ll never let us go with you guys, never!” June insisted, tears welling in her eyes. “Please, I- I’ll never do anything like that again, I promise! Please!”

Huey hesitated, then turned to look at his brothers, their expressions betraying the same uncertainty that he felt. He turned to look at May, her face deeply conflicted.

They saw Mrs. Beakley make her way towards them, leaving the police officers to talk into their radios behind her. Looking between the five exhausted teenagers, she told them, “Tonight’s not over just yet. They want us to come down to the station to answer some questions.”

Huey let out a long exhale, not particularly surprised. From behind him, Dewey asked, “Was anyone hurt? Like, from the bombs?”

“…There’s been some structural damage.” Beakley admitted. “No deaths as far as I know, but they haven’t told me much yet.”

She knelt down, giving each of the teens a scrutinous eye. “Now, I need to know what happened down there. How did the mercenaries get free?”

Huey didn’t say anything. He saw June look down to the ground, her hands clasped tightly around each other.

“…There…” May muttered. “The mole, I… I thought I’d choked him out, but…” She sighed. “He tricked me. He had this smoke bomb, and… in the confusion, he got free and…”

“He had me hostage.” Huey told her. “Told us not to do anything, or… or he’d kill me.”

“…I see.” Beakley said quietly. “…What made him let you go?”

Huey hesitated. He could see June trembling in inner turmoil, a tear silently rolling down her face.

“Well… that was thanks to Huey, actually.” Louie spoke up. “He, uh… while we were all panicking and everything, he told them about what I found on Glomgold’s phone. Turned out that he hadn’t paid them yet. Didn’t have the money to pay them, either. So… we managed to convince them that it wasn’t worth it and… they kinda just left.” He shrugged.

“They believed you?” Beakley inquired.

“Ehhh…” Dewey waved his hand noncommittedly.

“Well, more like they couldn’t chance that we were lying.” Louie replied.

“…Very well. Did anything else happen?”

“Nope.”

Beakley looked between the five of them once more, her eyes narrowed. June wiped away her tears quickly before she looked at her, keeping her face as even as possible.

After a moment, Beakley sighed and stood up. “Alright… you all did well, considering the circumstances. Don’t blame yourselves for letting them go.”

She pulled her phone out from a belt pouch, quickly dialling a number. June looked around at the others, nodding at them in silent gratitude. Louie nodded back, though Huey could tell that his brother didn’t seem wholly confident in the decision he’d made.

“Scrooge, this is Beakley.” Beakley said after a moment. “We’re being taken to the police precinct for questioning. One of the mercenaries detonated explosives in the catacombs, and the police think we’re involved. Which we are. Make your way there at your earliest convenience.”

Huey double blinked, suddenly realising something. “Wait, is Scrooge still down there?” He asked alarmedly.

“He had to go on ahead and stop Glomgold.” She replied, putting her phone away. “Which he presumably has, since we’re all still alive.”

“But the way we came out is, like, completely caved in!” Dewey protested. “How’s he gonna-?”

“He’ll find a way.” Beakley said confidently. “He’s Scrooge McDuck, after all.”

---------------------------------------------    

Deep underground, in the sewers of Paris, a section of the wall suddenly pushed itself outward.

Then, it slowly slid aside, revealing a passage deep underground.

“Ah, the sewers.” Reshad commented as he exited the opening. “They’ll never think to look for us here.”

Scrooge followed him out, having remained silent throughout the whole trip. The stench of the sewers caused him to gag, but it did nothing to make him forget that he had killed Glomgold.

There was no going back now, he knew. What was done was done. Bemoaning his actions or endlessly arguing ‘what if’ wasn’t going to achieve anything. Even so, he couldn’t shake off the feeling of guilt at the pointlessness of it all.

“Welp. Guess this is where we part ways.” Reshad said casually, turning back to Scrooge. “So, uh, you go that way, I’ll go this way, and we’ll hope the cops catch the other one first. Sound good?”

“You’re… not angry that I… killed your boss?” Scrooge asked warily, not convinced that he wouldn’t just shoot him the moment his back was turned.

“Eh. He’s not the first employer we failed to protect.” Reshad replied apathetically. He cocked his head to the side and stroked where his chin would be, adding thoughtfully, “He was the one I had the most fun with, though… oh, and it means we don’t get see the three billion, either…”

“…He didn’t have three billion to begin with. I think he was just goin’ to betray you.”

Reshad stared at him blankly.

“…Huh.” He said in a low, emotionless voice.

After a moment, he shrugged. “Well, whatever. It’s splitting hairs at this point.” Turning to leave, he gave Scrooge a cheerful wave and said, “Guess I’ll see you around, old man. Maybe. Probably not, though.”

Scrooge watched him leave, feeling somewhat nonplussed. As he walked away, Reshad turned and shouted back, “Have fun telling your family that you’re a murderer now!”

The moment he said that, Scrooge’s eyes widened in realisation. He watched Reshad disappear from sight, a new wave of dejection washing over him. What was he going to tell his family?

More specifically, how could he tell the kids what had happened? How would they look at him, knowing that he’d killed a man over nothing?

You can’t.

He felt his headache flare. He couldn’t just lie about the whole thing. A cursory inspection from any of them would reveal the Talisman’s false nature.

Tell them that he escaped. That he ran away in the confusion.

They deserved to know.

They’ll never adventure with you again if they knew.

He grimaced and rubbed his temple. He reached into his suit and took out a white bottle of pills. He opened it, took one out and popped it into his mouth, swallowing it die. After a moment, he sighed in relief as the headache began to slowly fade.

…they’ll never trust you again…

He took another deep breath to get himself under control, trying to figure out what to do next.

A minute of deliberation later, he’d decided. He started to make his way out of the sewers, rehearsing what he’d say to them under his breath.

---------------------------------------------    

The family had found themselves in the police station foyer. May had been quickly ushered away to the infirmary, leaving June and the boys sitting silently on a set of plastic chairs while Mrs. Beakley was answering questions in another room. Above them, a television was mounted to the wall, playing the evening news. Even though they couldn’t understand the presenter’s voice, they knew exactly what the story was about.

They watched as image after image of destruction was displayed on the screen. Streets and buildings that had collapsed in on themselves, burst water pipes and even fires that had started. It was a chaotic scene to be sure, but it was better than the all-out carnage that the Tarrasque would have surely caused.

“…On ne sait toujours pas ce qui a causé cette dévastation.” The presenter said as the camera panned over a house that had sunk into the ground. “Cependant, de nombreux résidents touchés ont rapporté avoir entendu ce qui ressemblait à une explosion, ce qui a conduit beaucoup à soupçonner l’implication d’un groupe terroriste...”

Dewey frowned in recognition. “Are they calling it a terrorist attack?” He asked.

“Guess so.” Louie replied, leaning forward with his hands clasped around each other. “Honestly, it’s an easier sell than the truth.”

“…I’m sorry.” June mumbled again, prompting the boys to turn to her. “I- I won’t do that again. Ever again.”

“It- It’s alright.” Huey replied quietly. “It… it was clearly something left over from your…” He hesitated, then continued, “…Your F.O.W.L. days, and… obviously, something triggered it in a stressful situation, and now that we know what it was…”

“…Yeah. I think, when I heard May get hurt…” She winced a bit, then nodded. “Yeah, that- that must’ve been it.”

“It- it was just a slip-up. An accident. And it’s not going to happen again.”

“No, it won’t.”

Louie’s hands clenched at that word. Accident. A quick glance at Dewey beside him let him know that his brother didn’t buy that for an instant either.

Suddenly, the precinct doors flew open. The teens turned to see Della barging her way into the room, beelining for the boys. “There you- I’ve been trying to call you guys for half an hour!” She cried. “I just got a text from Mrs. B, I haven’t heard anything from Scrooge-!”

She pulled the boys into a tight hug, causing them to yelp as their ribs were crushed. She let them go and breathed a long-held sigh of relief. “What happened down there?” Della asked worriedly. “Are you all- where are-?”

“We’re fine, we’re fine.” Dewey told her. “Uh, Webby and Lena are back at the manor ‘cause Lena got hit by a car, Scrooge is underground fighting Glomgold or something. Uh, we fought a bunch of mercenaries – don’t worry, they weren’t that tough – May got stabbed in the leg, and… yeah.”

“…Glomgold was behind this?” Della asked incredulously.

“Yep. Don’t know what’s come of that yet, but Mrs. Beakley is just talking to the police.” Huey added helpfully. “And May’s in the infirmary.”

“Cool, cool…” Della muttered. “That’s gonna be a fun conversation with Don and Daisy… and the lovebirds are back at the manor, you said?”

“Yeah… oh, yeah! I totally didn’t realise that!” Dewey exclaimed in realisation. Turning to his brothers, he commented, “They’re probably boning or something, aren’t they?”

“What?” June spluttered, mortified. Beside her, Huey rolled his eyes at his brother’s immaturity.

“On their zeroth date?” Louie deadpanned. “After getting hit by a car?”

“I don’t know, that kinda how it happens in movies.” Dewey replied defensively.

“Yeah, movies don’t do real romance, Turbo.” Della countered him gently. She frowned at the boys and inquired, “Did you guys get my messages?”

Huey shook his head. “No, we turned our phones off before the auction.”

“Oh, shoot.” Dewey muttered, pulling his phone out of his jacket. “Yeah, Webby’s probably been trying to call us as well…”

The police station doors opened once more. All heads turned to see Scrooge McDuck wander through the doors, looking distinctly grubbier than usual.

“Aye, aye…” He said wearily in response to his family’s exclamations of excitement and relief. “I’m alright, I’m alright…”

Della immediately ran up to him, as did Huey and Dewey. Louie remained sitting in on the bench, while June leapt up from her spot but stayed where she was.

“Did you get him?” Della asked worriedly. “Did you stop him from…?” She chuckled as she said it, and added, “I mean, obviously you did, otherwise…”

“Aye, I stopped him… in a way.” Scrooge replied, reaching into his suit and pulling out a gold medallion. “Here… this is what he had.”

“…Holy…” Della murmured, taking it into her hands. “I can’t believe I’m actually… holding… wait.”

Della trailed off, noticing something. She held it up to the light, squinted at it, all the while Scrooge just watched her passively, waiting.

“…It’s fake.” She murmured in shock.

“It’s what?” The kids cried out.

“Are you fucking serious?” Louie blurted in outrage.

“Language.” Scrooge reprimanded him, Huey being too astounded to do it for him.

“I’m sorry, b-but- what do you mean, it’s fake?” Louie cried.

“Just that. It innae the real Talisman.” Scrooge sighed. “Either someone swapped it out before the auction, or it was never real to begin with.”

June’s eyes widened and she turned to look at the television in dismay. “Wait… wait, wait…”

“Oh, no…” Huey murmured, taking a step back in agitation.

“S-So, wait, we did all this- all that for nothing?” Dewey demanded, gesturing wildly at the news program.

“No.” Scrooge said emphatically. “No, not for nothing. We did this because we knew what could have happened, because we knew what Flinty was tryin’ to do. We had no way of knowin’ the truth before we left. We cannae hold ourselves accountable for that.”

Della looked up at him, looking concerned. “But… Scrooge, it’s a mess out there. I heard people got seriously hurt in this…”

“…Aye.” Scrooge acknowledged regretfully. “I’ll deal with that. You lot just sit here, try to wind down.”

“Wait… what happened to Glomgold?” Della asked as he began to walk towards the front desk.

Scrooge stopped.

“Ah… he escaped.” He told her.

“Escaped?”

“Well,” Scrooge shrugged. “Not immediately. After we realised the Talisman was fake and that the way we came in had been destroyed, I showed him and the man he’d hired another way out.”

“There was another way?” Huey asked.

“At least three that I know of, more well-hidden than the one we used.”

“And they were cool with that?” Dewey asked.

“Aye, that armoured fellow was oddly civil about the whole thin’.” Scrooge said perplexedly. Shaking his head, he continued, “Erm… and Flinty was… well, he was bein’ Flinty about it. Last I saw him, he was runnin’ into the sewers declarin’ revenge against me again.”

“Should we be worried about that?” Della asked.

Scrooge chuckled quietly. “Eh, well… the man’s spent all his money and he’s lost his job… I don’t think we’ll be seein’ him for a while.”

Della frowned concernedly. “Are you alright? You seem a bit… off.”

“Eh…” Scrooge rubbed his eyes. “Just exhausted, I suppose. Been runnin’ around all night thinkin’ the world was comin’ to an end… don’t think I realised how tired I was.” He groaned as he continued walking to the front desk. “Night’s still not over, either. The police will be wantin’ some explanation for this…”

“You sure you’re up for it? Beakley’s talking to them now.”

“Aye, I’ll be fine.”

He walked over to the receptionist and began talking to her. Della watched him, frowning.

“…Hey, mom?” Louie piped up. “Can I have a look at that?”

“Hm? Oh, sure.” She walked over and handed him the talisman. “It’s probably not worth a lot, though, just a heads up.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Louie replied quietly, taking the amulet and inspecting it himself. Della left him and walked over to Huey, who was still looking distraught, while Dewey had pulled out his phone in the background.

He looked it up and down, turning it over to look at the front and the back of it in turn. It was a counterfeit, all right. The gold was real, but it was far from pure, and the gemstones were completely artificial. It was obvious, and Louie would consider himself a mere amateur in appraisal.

Which is why he found it hard to believe how Carbonneau wouldn’t have noticed.

He frowned to himself thoughtfully, a plan formulating in his head.

---------------------------------------------    

On one of the balconies overlooking Carbonneau’s garden sat a lone young duck in a pink dress, sitting with her knees hugged to her chest and her head buried in her arms. She had recovered from the deep, wracking sobs that had been consuming her a moment ago, and had progressed to silent, miserable sniffling in the cold midnight wind.

A faint buzz from the pouch on her belt caught her attention. Slowly, she reached behind her and pulled out the culprit, lifting her head to look at it.

It was her phone, displaying a picture Dewey and the option to answer it.

Webby’s eyes shot wide open, and she leapt to her feet. In her melancholy, she had completely forgotten about her family and what they were doing. She answered the call and brought the phone up to her ear, whispering, “Dewey?”

“Webs! Hey!”

“Hey.” Webby mumbled, wiping the tears out of her eyes. “What- what happened? Did you guys stop him?”

“Yeah, yeah… well, Scrooge stopped him, technically. We got, uh… hold on, I’ll put you on speaker.”

Webby waited a moment. Then, she heard him say, “Yeah, she’s on speaker.”

“Hey, Webby.” Spoke June’s voice.

“Hey.” Huey’s voice mumbled.

“Hey, Webs.” Della’s voice said. “You girls okay over there?”

“Yeah, we’re… we’re fine. Is this everyone?”

“I mean, mostly.” Dewey said. “Louie’s here too.”

“What?” Louie’s voice said distractedly. “Yeah, yeah, I’m here too.”

“And you’re all okay?”

“Yeah!” Dewey said. “Well… mostly.”

“We… had a skirmish with some other mercenaries.” Huey explained to her, sounding upset about something. “May got injured in the fight, but she’s being treated here…”

“Injured? Is she all right?” Webby asked worriedly.

“Yeah, it��s nothing serious. Light wounds, that’s all.”

“Nothing Lena can’t heal.” June added.

“Okay, that’s… that’s good.” Webby muttered. “Uh, what about…?”

“Scrooge and Mrs. B are just talking to the cops.” Dewey told her, answering her unsaid question. “They kinda picked us up after we left the catacombs.”

“Yeah, the police spoke to me as well. I just told them that I didn’t know anything.”

“They asked you about the bombs?”

“Wh- no, about- about the gunman, what- what bombs?”

“The mercenaries, they rigged the catacombs to-” Huey started to respond. “You didn’t hear?”

“No!” Webby cried. “What- is anyone hurt?”

“We’re fine, but…”

Huey hesitated. Webby heard Della pipe in, saying sadly, “There’s been a lot of structural damage. And… a lot of people have been injured, from what I’ve heard.”

Webby looked out towards the city, suddenly realising just how many sirens she could hear in the distance. She had been too lost in her heartbreak to listen to them before, but now…

“…It wasn’t us, Webby. It was them.”

“Y-yeah, I know.” Webby replied shakily, turning back toward the manor. “It’s… they were trying to end the world, this… this is still better than that.”

“…Yeah, so, about that.” She heard Louie say reluctantly. “The talisman’s fake.”

Webby stood still for a moment, silently processing what he’d said.

“…Wh… what…” She muttered warily, running her hand through her headfeathers. “What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s fake.”

“Yeah, but- but what does that mean?”

“You know what he means, Webby.” June told her.

Webby stared into the middle distance for a moment. She turned back towards the cityscape, whispering in disbelief, “…It’s fake?”

“Yeah.” Louie replied. “A total dud. It was never gonna wake up the tarask.”

“Tarrasque.” Huey corrected him.

“Whatever.”

Webby quietly contemplated what that meant. “So… so we didn’t have to come here at all.” She said slowly. “We could’ve… stayed at home or gone somewhere else and… it would have been fine.”

“We didn’t know.” Huey told her. “Even if we’d had reason to think it was fake, we still would’ve gone.”

“Yeah, we couldn’t have taken the risk.” Della added.

“…Right.” Webby said quietly, listening to the sirens.

“Hey, there is a bright side to this.” Dewey told her reassuringly.

“…Yeah?” Webby asked uncertainly.

“You know how the original plan was to leave first thing in the morning? Because we thought people would be after the Talisman?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, we don’t have a reason to do that anymore, so… maybe you will have an opportunity to ask Lena out.”

Webby didn’t say anything.

“Uh… are you…?” Huey asked confusedly.

“I mean, think about it! Restaurant at a Paris café, under the Eiffel Tower…” Dewey elaborated.

“Are you sure that’s appropriate, after what happened tonight?” Della asked.

“I- Look, I know, but when is she ever gonna get another opportunity like this?” Dewey protested. Addressing Webby, he said, “I mean, obviously it’s your choice, but it sounds like a cool idea, right?”

It did sound cool. It sounded romantic and picturesque, like a date taken out of a storybook.

The idea caused her throat to tighten.

Behind her, she heard the balcony door open.

“…Webby?”

“I’ll see you guys back at the hotel.” Webby muttered, hanging up before they got a chance to reply.

She quietly put her phone back in her belt pouch, her back turned to her friend.

“…Hey.” Lena said from behind. “Um… I’m all healed up. So… we gotta go.”

“…Okay.” Webby replied quietly.

“The others’ okay?”

“Yeah, they’re fine.”

“Alright, um… I’m, uh… ready to fly when you are.”

“Actually, I’ll just… I’ll just take a cab or something.”

“…Do you have any money for a cab?”

“Then… I’ll walk.”

“…Are you sure? That’s kinda a long walk.”

“…I’m sure.”

Lena sighed sadly. “…Alright.”

Webby felt her friend rise from the ground, a faint breeze accompanying her as she slowly flew away. She didn’t watch her leave. She didn’t turn around until she was sure Lena had left, until she knew that she wouldn’t have to see her eyes. Only then did she stare up at the pale blue glow of her sorceress friend, watching her disappear into the night sky.

She choked out another sob, then stifled it. Wiping her eyes again, she swung herself over the balcony and fell into the garden, landing on all fours. Then, she got up, and began the slow march back to the hotel.

[cutiepisenpai]

12 days of Fluffmas Day 4 (Christmas Movies)

Shouta Aizawa x Reader

Warnings: none just fluff

In your comfiest pajamas, candy, popcorn and hot cocoa at the ready. You flip back and forth trying to decide on which movie to watch. It’s not like you haven’t seen them all time and time again.

“Pick a movie.” Shouta grumbles sitting next to you on the couch.

“Then help me pick a movie.”

“It doesn’t matter just put one on.”

This is the start of a staring match you are guaranteed to lose.

“Fine, we can watch The Santa Claus and talk about all the theories.” You say finding the movie and pressing play.

“What is the point of watching the movie is you’re going to talk the entire time.” He sighs.

“We already know what will happen, it's not like we’re going to miss something.”

“Then we can just not watch it.”

“Oh you’re a mean one Mr. Grinch…” You sing to him.

“I am not a Grinch because I don’t want to watch Christmas movies.”

“Bah Humbug Ebenezer Scrooge.”

“Stop it.”

He gives you a glare that puts fear into not only his students but the criminals he catches. But having known each other since your UA days that glare did not faze you in the slightest. You simply smiled at him ignoring the look.

“Ok so people have been talking about how they think Scott Calvin has always been Santa Claus and he kept screwing up and having to start over as Santa again.” You explain.

“What does that even mean?”

Perking up and sitting cross legged you start to explain the theory about the elves and how Scott was a toy maker. You spend the entire movie explaining the different theories. The movie plays in the background mostly unwatched aside from a few pauses and rewinds to show specific parts of the movie. In the end you end up watching all three movies and debate on a few different theories about the movie.

[vminity21]

Promise Me | pjm

Pairing: Actor!Jimin X Actress!Reader, ot7 featured, friendshiptolovers!au

Word Count: 17, 280

Genre: fluff/soft/angst/smut

Warning(s): mega-angst, family rivalry, eventual smut, losing virginity, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, nipple play, mild language use Rated: 18+

Summary: You and Park Jimin, two best friends who grow up together, pursue each of your careers in acting. Even after a horrible misunderstanding which then leads to losing contact, the two of you never give up on your dreams. Nor, do you give up on each other. 

Credit to: @suhdays​ for making such an awesome cover!

He relies on his elbow while he slides to lay on his side, beat up converse crossing at the ankles while the loose scrape of his jacket sounds when greeted by the hardwood floor; his cheek brushes your shin once he makes himself comfortable. Your arms are folded across the tops of your knees where you rest your chin, staring at him fondly as you wait for his cue to speak, "You know you can trust me," he flashes a full smile- eyes disappearing into crescents causing your heart to melt at his overwhelming beauty.

"I know, I just... It's not you, it's me," you say, the cliché line sounding believable coming from your lips. Looking towards his clasped hands in response, he nods,

"It's not you, it's me... I've said that plenty of times in my life,"

"So, you understand me," you muse with the raise of your eyebrows hoping your stare exuberates your flirty side. When he returns to peer up at you, his thick lips poise with a slight twitch as if he's conjuring up a reply,

"Come here," he tilts his head up while you maneuver yourself to reach him- lips lock in the most passionate mold, and when he moves to where he can easily pull you closer, his kiss almost makes you forget where you are. Your hand trails to tangle with his blonde strands, getting lost in the movement he makes while he leans back, pulling you with him as previously practiced-

CRASH!

Jumping at the ear-piercing sound of shattering glass, wide eyes stare at the culprit of your piggy bank that fell from the pedestal he happened to lean against for support. Gulping, coins and dollar bills sparsely decorate the floor with the jagged pieces, but none of that is the reason why your heart is pounding with intense fear. There, lying in the jumbled mess of a pile is a couple of ID cards to cover your real identity.

He stands to his feet slowly, taking careful steps toward the muddle.

"I- I can-" You begin, trying to gather an explanation- watching him shuffle up the cards when a façade of shock covers his expression.

"What- what are these?" Anger darkens his eyes with the subtle rise of his voice.

"I can- I can explain-" tears brim the moment he halts your words by holding out his hand.

"No. Don't. I think I've seen enough," he tosses the cards onto your bed before stomping toward the door. Jolting to your feet, you mirror panic,

"No, Sam, please! Wait, please!"

Chasing after him, he spins around, "We're done, Kylee," he removes your hand that happened to reach his shoulder, "Or is that even your real name?"

"CUT!" The director, Steve Aoki, calls and with accomplished smiles, you and Jimin turn to face the cast and crew, "Wonderful, wonderful! Absolutely astounding!" Steve applauds, congratulating the pair of you while the two of you step away from the set. "I know this movie will make it to the big screen if the two of you continue performing like that!"

"Thank you, Steve," Jimin slightly bows forward with a sweet grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. He slips his arm around your waist with pride, "What can I say? I have a great co-star!"

"Ah, the chemistry!" Steve exclaims.

"Well, thank you to the both of you," you gleam with flattery, leaning into Jimin's side with the tint of a blush heating your cheeks, "I'm having a great time."

"We'll film more scenes with the two of you tomorrow. Right now, we need to film action scenes with the stunt doubles," Steve quickly kisses the side of your forehead before walking off, "Take five, everyone!" He shouts, clapping his hands to disperse the workers into a break.

"I must say, I'm really enjoying this movie with you, Chim," you compliment as he leads you to the refreshment table. Bottles of water sit in perfect rows in front of the snacks- cheese cubes and crackers tempting to relieve your growling stomach.

"I can say the same to you, [Y/Nickname]," Jimin reaches for two waters and hands one to you in which you take a few sips once you screw off the lid. As crazy as it sounds, Jimin has been your best friend for as long as you can remember.

Born to wealthy parents, a couple years after you came your sister. From the day you learned how to speak and understand the world around you, a dream was created that revolved around the career of acting. That's all you've ever wanted to do, and in elementary school, where you got to experience your first taste of this dream, you landed a role as Mrs. Scrooge in the Christmas play. Since none of the young boys tried out for the part, they changed the character to a woman the moment they discovered your talent. After your performance, you received numerous compliments that you were beyond grateful for, and since then you knew, acting was your definite calling. Sure, you had only been in fifth grade, but you loved being on the stage. It gave you a new perspective of every character you played- a new way of seeing life played out before you behind someone else's eyes. The stage – you were in your comfort zone. There, you felt home.

You had spoken to your parents about your dream to find that they were thrilled about your hope in acting. Your mom had warned you though that you needed to be patient; landing a show or movie role could be an incredibly hard task. Promising to be patient, like any kid would have, you kept your eyes peeled for any announcement of an audition. First, you started small- your mom had found auditions for commercials, and that was when you officially began the acting business. Three commercials down, and then you attempted in auditioning for TV shows which you hadn't had much success, and you wore the face of a broken-hearted girl. You figured you would never be good enough for the big screen with how everything was panning out, yet one day, auditions were being held in your city for a romantic comedy that was going to be filmed in the same spot also. A young girl was needed that would resemble the main actress in order to accomplish flashback scenes. Of course, you begged your mother to take you once you received the news.

Sitting in the waiting area the day of, your mother had driven you and your sister all the way to the location, and it felt like days when in all reality it had been three hours before your turn was called. The audition line was packed, and your sister had been growing anxious, wanting food or water, anything that would keep her entertained. Your mom comforted her by handing her a notebook and a pen from her purse, "Here baby, draw on this, okay?"

You remembered seeing a girl similar in age to you exit into the lobby with a confident smile. Your heart rammed within your chest as your sweaty palms rubbed against your jeans. Each child had been handed a script to study in the time leading up to this moment you were anxious to begin. C'mon... You can do this. Your eyes shot up in the direction of where a door opened, "Next!" A lady with long, dark hair smiled at you kindly when she caught your timid eyes, and out of habit, something you even did at doctor visits, you turned to your mother as if to ask for permission to follow what seemed to be a genuine woman.

"Go on," your mom said softly, "I believe in you."

Comfort eased your countenance and you left with a smile in determination of needing to nail this audition. If your parents, believed in you, then you knew that you could do it. The squeak of the chair sounded the moment you rose to your feet soon finding yourself inside the audition room where the only thing you could hear was the light thudding of your heartbeat. A red cloth adorned the table before you, where four judges remained seated. One male with gray hair chewed on the back of his pencil before looking up at you behind thick-rimmed glasses.

"How are you today, Miss-" He looked over at a clipboard lying in front of the woman who led you to the audition room, "[Y/N]?"

"I'm good, how are you, sir?" You put on your best smile with pure genuine though your hands quivered at your sides.

"Good," he sounded cheery for that second, "Okay, Mrs. Yeun is going to read the lines which will be spoken by the character, Will." He gestured briefly to the left in introduction of a lady holding a clipboard, "And after she finishes her lines, that's when you'll obviously speak. Start your first line when you're ready,"

Looking back, you're sure he must have repeated himself a million times that day with each audition, yet you still felt as though you were the only soul surrounded by strangers though many mirrored the same feeling. Inhaling deeply, you closed your eyes while your fingers curled into your palms- releasing the moment you exhaled- gradually opening your eyes once you imagined yourself as the character you were supposed to be.

"Will!" You exclaimed whilst envisioning the highlighted lines you studied thoroughly- waving your arms frantically in the air as if to gain the fiction boy's attention, "Will! I- I found it! I found the treasure!"

"You did?" Though the voice of a woman read the part, you still pretended to see a messy haired boy with a galaxy of life behind his almond eyes while he rushed to see what you claimed you had found, "By golly, you did!"

The man then wanted you to read more of a serious scene between your character, Rose, and Will. Trying to think of sad things to keep your expression gloomy, forced tears welled within your eyes just enough to make your character compelling which resulted in applauding judges bidding a slew of congratulations after jotting down a few notes.

"We'll reach out if you make callbacks," the man nodded once and that's all it took before you ran out of the room with a smile from ear to ear. It took only a few days before you received a call back in which you were able to audition a second time but in front of the actual director of the film. You returned to Rose, the character you had grown to love already. This time, it took weeks before you had a callback, ending in nights of nervous tears that maybe your dreams wouldn't come true after all- your parents reassured you despite the inner angst of wondering the same as you, and told you not to give up no matter what the circumstances.

It was the call that changed your life forever. Dancing in the kitchen alongside your mother who was stirring the batter for some cupcakes, you remember as though it was only yesterday, small fingers gripping the device before greeting the person on the other end.

"Is this [Y/L/N] [Y/F/N]?"

Your mom mouthed 'who is it?' when she caught the way your lips had parted in confusion at the male voice you couldn't recognize on the spot, but you answered, "Yes, sir," anyway. It was the screaming in excitement that nearly knocked the bowl out of your mother's hands when you heard the man confirm the hope you've so desperately held onto,

"Well, [Y/N]! I am thrilled to say that you made the part of Rose!"

Arrangements were then made- the company in charge of the movie rented a home for your family to stay in while the movie was being filmed, and considering the duration of how long a movie can be to make, your mother began to homeschool you to keep you from falling behind. On your first day of work, the cast members had gotten together to review the script. Your mother was hesitant to drop you off at first without her being by your side, but with the assurance from the director of your safety, she reluctantly agreed to let you go. Teary-eyed from the anxious feeling pounding in your chest, you walked into the room where a table full of adults greeted you along with two teenagers scrunched next to three empty seats. Not one soul seemed close to your age just yet, but you were politely introduced to your fellow castmates which relieved you enough to promise yourself everything would be okay.

"Hi, you must be Ye-jin!" The voice of a young boy rattled behind you causing you to gasp softly before whirling around to face your intruder. Dark hair swooped across his forehead where almond eyes presented eager, brown irises that beamed with kindness; his wrinkled light blue t-shirt was loose on his tiny frame as well as his jeans, and he was not much taller than you from what you observed.

"Oh no, sweetie!" The surrounding table erupted in frilly laughter, "I'm Son Ye-jin!" The most lovely woman you had ever seen gushed at his widening smile.

"Oh! Well, I'm Jimin! Park Jimin!"

"Well, the two of you take a seat. The director will be here any minute," a handsome man nestled beside Ye-jin gestured toward the empty seats you and Jimin waltzed to occupy. A few minutes of chatter filled the room while your eyes scanned the scene before as any child would do when uncertain of what would be happening next, but that's when a poke on your shoulder disrupted your stares,

"What's your name?" Jimin asked the second your eyes timorously moved to meet his.

"[Y/F/N]. [Y/L/N] [Y/F/N]," You replied, "And you're Jimin,"

"Yes! I play Will! You must play Rose,"

"I do!"

The director and producers filed into the room before any more conversation could be continued, and for the next hour, the plot of the movie was further explained, though now, being an adult, looking back, you understand the synopsis much more than when you were ten years old first hearing it. The main characters discovered a treasure when they were children, unraveling secrets that could be worth a fortune. When the couple became adults, though had lost touch throughout the years, they never forgot about the treasure and the two individually set out to find it yet again. Unexpectedly, they bumped into each other and a love/hate relationship ensued until they found what they were looking for.

You and Jimin started filming different scenes together over the next five months after the script had been explained and reviewed. The pair of you became inseparable, growing closer with each scene finished. There was never a day that went by where you hadn't begged your parents to let him come over just for the two of you to practice your lines for whatever scheduled time for filming was planned next. Your father would bring home ice cream whenever he got off work to surprise you, your sister as well as your newfound friend, and you will never forget Jimin's melted chocolate smile or the way the ice cream would drip from his chin onto whichever shirt he'd claim was his favorite. Throwing a fit of giggles, he would chase you around the yard until he'd catch you- tickling your tummy until you took your outburst back. He also loved drawing with your sister, something he wasn't very good at, but he liked giving her company to prevent her from ever feeling left out.

Whenever the cast and crew had days off, Jimin would return to his hometown and you never could shake the loneliness you endured without him around. Though your sister enjoyed drawing or watching a movie, you more so preferred being outdoors, or practicing your lines which had been a daily chore since you became a part of this movie project, and of course, when Jimin would return, the pair of you would be driven to set to get back to work.

One particular scene, one you will never let be forgotten in your heart, is a moment where Will and Rose made an oath to be best friends forever. You and Jimin were directed to a swing set where the two of you took your seats, slightly swaying forward while the cameramen stood where assigned. Powder was dusted upon you and Jimin's faces to finalize everything before the yell of, "Action!" was voiced.

"You know, Rose?" Jimin became Will almost instantly, a talent not many ten-year-old children can perfect, but from what you remember, he had and has continued to blow minds away even from the beginning of his career. His expression was serious while his gaze remained on you as practiced. "I need you to promise me something,"

Looking at your black slippers, you noticed the swings were edging simultaneously, but you kept your focus solely on the words you were about to speak, "What is it, Will?" You tried to pull off your best curious face.

"I mean promise, even if you get tired of playing checkers with me,"

"Yes," you urged.

"And, if you get tired of playing tag even though you're always 'it,'"

"Yes," you dragged the word length in attempt to feign impatience.

"I mean you have to really promise me,"

"Okay, Will! I really, really promise," the wind calmed just enough to where your hair stopped tickling the sides of your face. Jimin hopped off the swing while his footsteps paused to face you completely. Even though you both were in acting mode, there was something serious behind his umber eyes that only you could see. One of the cameramen moved to film the side angles of you and Jimin's faces in order to capture the scene the way it had been imagined. Sometimes, with the camera being so close, it was hard to ignore, but at that moment, you were too absorbed with your character and Jimin's eyes to even glimpse in the camera's direction.

"Promise me that no matter what, we'll be best friends forever," the blurred sight of Jimin's pinky finger carefully raised in your line of vision, and for dramatic effect, you were told to count to three before your cue to say your line,

"I promise," you curled your pinky and locked it with Jimin's while a shy smile became present upon your lips, "Best friends forever."

"CUT! That's a wrap!" The director had said, but you vaguely remember that. All you had on your mind was the moment you and Jimin had shared. Though your lines had been written from a script, the two of you meant every word. That's why the scene had seemed so believable because there was truth in it.

Jimin was your best friend since that very day, and you pursued your dreams and have landed roles in plenty of hit movies since moving back to your hometown seven years ago. You're now a pretty well-known actress, but others find you humble in the fact that you never seem to show it off nor let the fame get to your head. Being seen in public has become one of caution, yet you adore every fan that comes your way asking for an autograph or a picture just so the memory of meeting you can be burned into their hearts forever.

Your dad, after your first movie, was transferred to officially work at a better job that happened to be in the same city that Jimin and his family lived in, which prompted your family to move being your mom as well as his became very good friends. You attended school with him at this point which he guided you due to you had been growing used to homeschool since your first movie. It was safe at the time to roam the halls of school- you and Jimin never became really famous, but your popularity gained with the pupils once joined the drama club resulting in auditioning for every musical or play the school had to offer. So, did your partner in crime, Park Jimin.

"You're doing it again," you snap back to the present with a sharp shaking of your head to dissolve the thoughts now scattering into your subconscious. Eyes clearing, you realize you've been zoned out for quite some time considering the subtle crease of worry tinged within Jimin's gaze.

"Sorry, Chim. I'm kinda-"

"Dazed," he finishes your sentence- his pink lips pressing into a tease of a smile.

"You know me so well,"

"I do," he winks taking a sip of his water bottle- swishing it around before swallowing, "Want to go out tonight? My schedule's clear for once,"

With busy lives of movies, sponsorships, premiers, cocktail parties, and anything revolving around this world of being on the go, it's hard to truly find the time to spend together which is something you've forced yourself to accept. But, miraculously, tilting your head, you comb back through your memory to realize you are, indeed, free this evening, "I would really like that, Chim. Thanks," you smile, excited to spend time by his side without cameras rolling in both your faces.

"No problem," he slips his hand in yours, carefully scanning behind you to confirm that not one person is watching. His warm fingers intertwine with yours while he leans closer, plush lips nearly tickling your temple, "Besides, I miss spending time with you," he whispers, you repressing the obvious tingles spreading across your skin- you turn in the direction of where the exit is visible, him following suit though hands remain locked.

"You're spending time with me now," you tease.

"You know what I mean," he rolls his eyes, yet his smile remains so wide, you feel the elevation of your heart flying. You love his smile, everything about him makes your head spin into a dizzy world of happiness. He's one of the biggest heartthrobs in the world; girls go crazy with his presence being in the same room as them; and, with many knowing him and his six best friends like the Bible, they don't really know Jimin like you do. It's the same for you, too. You love your fans more than life; you love reaching out to them on social media- signing at cons- meeting them in public when recognized and hearing the endless compliments on how wonderful you did in whatever movie has been released where you're the star of the plot. But as many times as he's said it, Jimin will always be your number one fan.

The fan who knows you.

Starring alongside him in the recent movie the pair of you have been working on was intimidating at first. You're not sure on how the press will react, or fans, or... the world. Jimin landed the role of Sam and nearly begged you to try out for Kylee who would in due course be the love interest for Jimin's character.

"Please! I'm begging you! You'll love it! It has action in it!" He nodded quickly while a ginormous smile with the shimmering pearl of his teeth nearly blinded you- his hands clasped together beneath his chin before he popped up and down in desperation, "Steve Aoki is the director and when I mentioned you to play the female lead, he freaked! He agreed that you should do it! C'mon [Y/N], please! You'd be brilliant!"

"Is this another excuse for you to kiss me again-"

"So, what if it is," Jimin's hands unlatched, "Are you complaining?"

Though it was merely a tease, your chest heated with a deep shade of red- your head shaking incredulously as you placed your palms upon your hips. You dragged on about another minute with skeptical eyes before lifting your hands in defeat, "Okay, I'll do it,"

"YES! Yes! Yes! Yes!" Jimin grasped you in his arms while he spun you around- laughter being the only sound filling the space of his apartment. When you auditioned, you landed the role on the spot which led to Jimin whisking you into the air out of a manner of rejoicing. Your family cheered you on as well, proud of all your successes in the career you've accomplished. After skimming through the script for Kylee, you called one of your good friends, Maeve, thrilled about your new job. Maeve had played your best friend in a movie about five years prior, when you were nineteen, resulting in the two of you becoming real friends instantly.

"You already know I'm going to be front row when it's finally released," she said. The plot is about a young girl, Kylee, whose parents are spies and so is she. But a fatal accident happens that causes her family to go into hiding, and one boy's father had to pay the price. Jimin's character, Sam, is the son and had seen the face of Kylee's father and figured out the last name he had used when his mission had turned into a mistake. But Sam doesn't realize who Kylee is until he sees the ID cards in her bedroom- which is the scene you and Jimin had officially filmed nearly twenty minutes ago.

The conversation with Maeve then turned into how things had been going for her- how her boyfriend wouldn't take the hint that she wanted him to propose to her, "I don't understand why he's so blind! Like, do you love me or do you not? It isn't that hard,"

"Ah, boys," you snickered, "Shame, shame, shame,"

"Speaking of shame. Don't you have to kiss your boyfriend?"

"He's not my boyfriend, Mae. It's just for the movie," your words came off nonchalant despite the nervous tension that traveled throughout your body, and there were some things you haven't found the courage to admit to Maeve just yet. Besides, it wouldn't have been the first time you and Jimin kissed.

Daydream grinning along with the squint of your hazy eyes becomes apparent while the memory leaves you.

"What?" Jimin chuckles, turning to face you fully once the exit stands between your frames and the outside world. Your heart skips a beat from the way his beautiful smile stares down at you, and deep down, you wish you can tell him that, but the pair of you have been friends for so long, you're uncertain if making these feelings known is a good idea. Despite everything the pair of you have been through, you can't help but wonder if a relationship will bring you closer, or just tear your hearts completely apart. And, even now, years later, you're not sure if you can handle losing Jimin again.

"Nothing," you reply tenderly, eyes checking to examine his worn-out converse he has had since high school, "Just admiring your... fancy footwear,"

"Hah!" He laughs once, laying his head back, "I already told you, I'm going shopping today. Besides, I need a new outfit tonight, so wear something pretty," he pulls you in for a friendly hug, rubbing his free hand slightly on your back, each of you still holding your water bottles, yet you maneuver enough to nuzzle your nose into his chest.

"Since when do you care about what I wear?" Your chin moves to plop upon his chest while your eyes peer up at him with the arch of an eyebrow, pulling your lips into a goofy, tight grin.

"I don't," Jimin chortles, "But I know you do," it's the way he brings the tip of his fingers to your forehead tickling your skin to move a strand of hair so he can see your eyes clearly, "You look pretty in anything,"

If your heart isn't already combusting enough, it takes everything in you not to kiss him right then and there, and with a small huff in frustration, you pull your arms from his frame to then rest by your sides. "Alright then... pajamas it is,"

"See you later, [Y/Nickname]," Jimin tries to say between laughs, leaning forward to press a small kiss to your cheek. The old nickname makes you giggle as you watch him step beyond the exit. Memories from high school present themselves almost immediately gracing the strange feeling of being sixteen again in your Junior year and auditioning for the spring musical where you and Jimin had landed the lead roles. Jung Hoseok, a mutual friend the pair of you gained, congratulated you both with a huge smile many knew him for. You played a fairy who happened to be in love with a human prince and of course, you and Jimin not only had to sing but had to dance, too, which led to Hoseok practicing dance moves with you two in effort to help.

Overjoyed was an understatement though dancing had always been something to hold you back. Jimin is a phenomenal dancer- raw talent to the point he makes it look easy with the way he poises his body so effortlessly upon the stage- swinging his limbs to the beat of the music, emotion etched on every inch of his face. You remember the endless pressure that seeped into your skin building anxious fingers that clasped tightly together when you were listening to the script Mrs. Lee had written.

Saying quick goodbyes to your castmates, the reminiscent disappears for a fractioned moment while you gather your items before sprinting to the limo where your driver, Stan, awaits you. Shouts of hundreds of fans boom instantaneously at the appearance of you leaving the set. Security surrounds the area in case of any danger, and though you reach to open the door, you turn to wave with the best Red Carpet smile you can muster- blowing a kiss to add to your appreciation.

The limo holds a haven you've grown to adore since your fame took off. Shutting the door, you slide to rest your head against the tinted window, politely greeting Stan before your eyelids flutter for the crave of sleep.

Jimin came over countless times just to practice dance steps; every now and then, Hoseok joining, despite the chagrin that haunted the crippling blushes dawning your cheeks. For the last musical number, the Grand finale, Jimin had to lift you in the air by the waist with you posing your limbs exactly how Mrs. Lee demanded leading Jimin to spin you around during the growing intensity of the belting harmonies before returning you to your feet. It hadn't been easy- something you'd grown to learn especially with the helpless moments of him firmly gripping your waist right when you'd jump sending the two of you tumbling onto the ground in bouts of breathless laughter. After weeks of attempting this one lift you couldn't seem to perfect, your parents happened to be out of town one evening for taking your sister to an art gallery about an hour's drive away. Your mother had been a tad iffy with leaving you and Jimin alone, but you assured her that it would be fine- just because he's a male didn't mean that she couldn't trust the pair of you to behave being you two had simply been friends for years, and nothing more.

Once your family left, Jimin arrived, setting the music in preparation for the mini rehearsal you'd been dreading for the thousandth time.

"Okay," you exhaled, carefully placing your hands upon his shoulders, "Now, lift me," Jimin obeyed, hoisting you as high as he could with a swift grunt escaping his pressed lips. His fingers dug into your sides unintentionally, and before you realized you'd closed your eyes, excitement showed in the widening of your smile- he was holding you up! Finally, longer than ten seconds you remained there,

"I. Got. You," Jimin said between clenched teeth, until suddenly, his arms shuddered beneath you ensuing the shape of an "oh" that formed on your mouth.

"GAH!"

Jimin fell backward onto the couch- your side bouncing off the cushion for your gluteal muscles to meet the wooden floor. Stunned, you'd never seen Jimin's eyes so enlarged, but before you could gather your bearings, you blew at loose hairs that were static over your eyes,

"Ouch."

"HAH!" Jimin let out a high-pitched, one-syllable laugh, already covering his mouth with both of his hands to stifle the chuckling, but it was no use. Clapping a few times, he buried his shoulder into the couch while a breathy snicker escaped your side smile. Tears flooded your eyes from the hysteria of the moment- springing to your feet to then fixing your wrinkled shirt.

"Okay, okay," you breathed, trying to resume composure just enough to stop giggling at yourself, "Let's do this one more time! Chop chop!" Hitting your hands together like how Mrs. Lee tended to do to receive her pupils' attention, Jimin pranced to plant his feet in front of you, repositioning his hands on your waist, "Wait," you paused, concern abruptly covering his eyes while he waited for you to speak, swallowing, you began, "Chim Chim, I need you to promise me something," Lips in a firm line, you held his gaze. It was hard to be serious at times with your best friend, but for right now, you rejected from breaking.

"Anything," he nodded once, searching your stare, lips parted, and realizing how close he was sparked a strange desire that you never wanted to reveal before.

"But you have to really, really promise me,"

When a knowing smirk twitched on his lips, his eyes now held the memory that you were trying to remind him of, "Okay,"

"Even," you continued, "If I love beef bulgogi a little more than I probably should. And-" you paused for effect.

"Go on,"

"Even if you laugh like a maniac and I can't take it," teasing had always been something you both loved to do, and bowing his head with more laughter, he returned even closer than before- his warm breath brushing your cheek.

"Alright, alright! I promise! I really, really promise,"

Eyes still locked, you slowly raised your pinky finger up to him, investigating his expression letting nothing but the sound of the starting air condition fill the space,

"Don't. Drop. Me,"

A soft chuckle enhanced his smile causing a pitter patter beneath your chest, while you joined him. He brought the back of his hand to his mouth- something that he does when he's really tickled, and the sight of it made your heart swell in ways you hardly understood. How could someone have such a strong effect on you?

"First off, I prefer Kimchi stew,"

"Oh, you. Ham!"

Shaking his head in amusement, Jimin reached for your hand, hooking his petite pinky finger around yours to conceal the promise you had forced him to make, "I promise I won't drop you this time," he twirled you once like a gentleman, placing his hands back on your waist once you faced him.

"1, 2, 3!" Jimin, with all his might, boosted you into the air, immediately spinning you around. Now think ballet, you reminded yourself, holding your arms with elegancy. After four twirls, Jimin effortlessly set you down and overwhelmed with pure exhilaration, you couldn't refrain from rejoicing, "We- we did it! Jimin, we did it!"

Right then, you kissed him. Cupped his cheeks into your palms and pecked his lips. You hadn't been thinking entirely straight, but it all happened so fast that it took a second for you to comprehend. Hushed. Silence engrossed the room to the point that your heart throbbed in your temples mingled with the growing heat on your reddened skin- perspiration clammed your palms, yet the only thing frightening your state was the attempt on not panicking though you knew deep within your soul that you'd never regret it. Gulping, your eyes fell to the slow fall and rise of Jimin's chest- his gray shirt showing the iridescent silver pendant you gifted him for his past birthday staring right back at you.

You just kissed your best friend.

Jimin stood there, questions swarming full circle within your mind; feeling distraught, your lips pressed together to prevent the tears burning your nose. You remember figuring that he was angry with you, hence why he couldn't invoke any words to speak. But, unexpectedly, gentle fingertips lifted your chin, your eyebrows furrowed in surprise, but that's when your eyes met as if meeting for the first time, the innocence of the moment not once lost while you anticipated the sight of his nervous expression lowering to yours. You held your breath, eyes closing, every inch of the world disappearing. It was just you and him as it'd always been.

He kissed you. He kissed you right back.

With shivering arms, you wrapped them tightly behind his neck while he moved to encase you closer to him, bodies pressed into a blanket of warmth, you never wanted to uncover from. Feelings you had denied time and time again were showing in that kiss with Jimin- a surreal image you never dreamed you would experience, yet here he was, wrapped in your arms- lips moving to relock with yours so lovingly that your mind was rotating. Nothing could compare to the soaring of your heart, especially sharing something so passionate with someone you had grown to love so much, and this new feeling, one you'd never quite endured ignited a curiosity you couldn't withhold any longer.

The kiss grew aggressive, breaths increasing while dazed eyes remained shut, and though track of time had been misplaced, you no longer cared. Hands pressed against Jimin's chest, he gradually stepped backward until the back of his calves greeted the sofa- breaking the kiss, he swallowed anxiously, eyes never leaving yours- collapsing onto the couch before you propped either leg beside him in a perfect straddle. Snatching his kiss rapidly, your palms held his face while he finicked with where to place his eager hands, gliding up your back in awe of how beautiful you were to him.

You left him completely and utterly breathless, and you wanted this moment to last forever.

Everything had been going perfectly until your parents walked in-

SLAM!

The loud sound of the car door jolts you awake as you blink through the mild darkness. Previous memories fade for now, swiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand before thanking Stan for the ride. The white mansion stands tall beyond the gate where you punch in a code to then proceed onto the property. It appears your mother is not home momentarily, where as your sister and father are visiting an art show in another town, giving you time to prepare for whatever Jimin has in store for you later this evening.

There's a feeling of relief when kicking off your shoes, parading up the spiral staircase toward your closet that waits for your attention. Sifting through the rack of dresses, you close your eyes to randomly select from a hanger in a mechanism to prevent you from being in disappointment; yet, you find your shoulders dramatically dropping when you peek to see what is now hanging from your hand. You're uncertain of why you feel the need to judge every article of clothing you own, and you figure it has to do with impressing a guy, but you are aware that Jimin will accept you for who you are no matter what, so why are you so worried?

You love him- you wince, because that's something you are still struggling with confessing even though it has been blatantly clear since you were sixteen years old that you are wholeheartedly and irrevocably in love with Park Jimin. And, that never changed even years after losing him.

You remember that night like it was yesterday, the very first time you and Jimin kissed. Caught in the moment of what the pair of you secretly dreamed of with no recollection of how much time had passed. No bad intentions were going to be followed through, honestly no other thought from kissing him was even considered for you; all you cared about was how you never wanted him to leave.

But, your mother, unfortunately, assumed the worst.

There wasn't even a chance for you to stop what had already begun, it was too late- your parents walked right into the sight of you lip locked with your best friend, prompting you to immediately jump off him. The gesture was so quick that a slight headache thudded, and all that was flooding your widened gaze was your mother's horrified expression. She happened to be the first to enter the door while your father and sister lagged, luckily missing the already humiliating scene that nobody would ever want their parents to see. With gritted teeth, your mother's icy glower said enough, but she still voiced for Jimin to leave. Him flashing you an apologetic look while he stumbled to gather his things. Your father had no idea of what was happening until he heard your mother shouting at you for over an hour.

"I thought I could trust you!" Your mother jabbed a finger at you, pacing back and forth in front of you while you wailed into your pillows. "I can't believe you betrayed my trust!"

"I've already told you I was so-sorry-" You choked, wishing nothing more for this feud to end, begging the universe to turn back time, so you could have anticipated of when your family would have returned home- saving you and Jimin from this shame.

"What if we had run an hour late, huh!? For God's sake, [Y/N], you're only sixteen!"

"Mom! It-It wasn't like that!"

"Well, it sure looked like it!" Tears brimmed her eyes, because her heart was just as torn as yours, battling with what she should do as a parent, but also inwardly understanding what it was like to experiment in falling for someone at a young age. Something she hadn't really shared with her children. She had left the room for quite some time, trails remaining damp upon your cheeks before your mother returned with firmly crossed arms.

"Mom, I promise, it wasn't my intention," your voice broke, trying to gather whatever explanation you could, but she stopped you.

"I'm sure it wasn't, but I talked to your father and we came to an agreement. You will finish out the school year here, but once it's over, we're moving back home."

It was like your world shattered all at once in so many different directions, and there was no way to describe the abrupt halt of your heart mirroring in the way your eyes expanded in sheer dismay. "No! No, no, no- Mom, what about Jimin!? I can't just leave him!" The pain etched in your cries haunted your mother more than you'd ever know, but at the time she was doing what she assumed was the right decision.

"That's the point, [Y/N]. You're not allowed to see Jimin, speak to him, or even think about trying to see him. I've already spoken to his mother,"

"But- but what about the play?" You panicked, desperation clinging within your words, not wanting to process what was just demanded of you.

"I don't know. Right now, I'm too upset to decide."

It was the worst night of your life. One thing you never expected throughout your friendship with the one person who mattered most to you, was losing Jimin, especially knowing that once school ended, you would move back to your hometown, far away out of his reach. Your cellphone was already locked in your parent's room, and any form of technology, you would no longer be in possession of if your mother could help it. Bawling uncontrollably, you cursed fate for taking away what could have been.

The spring musical was the only time you and Jimin were able to truly see each other amongst rehearsals; and the night the play began, the pair of you performed with all you had, trying to mask the hurting as if it hadn't existed, portraying as though all was well when really your world was falling apart. Even when the evil fairy sprinkled dark magic upon the Prince's Kingdom, Mrs. Lee flew her fingers speedily along the piano enhancing the volume, imaging the chaos felt beneath your chest. The Prince and evil fairy battled it out until the enemy was defeated, the piano softening to a more pleasant sound that eased you enough to force your face into a loving grin.

The cast crowded around the both of you, but you hadn't noticed, because the only person you longed for, getting lost in his shining eyes was Park Jimin's. "Fairy, my love, listen to the sound of my voice," he bowed, reaching his hand toward you- hands collided tenderly, "Whether ye stay or whether ye go, you have a choice." You yearned for it to be real, that you had a choice- that you could stay with him. Stay with him there in this city where the two of you could remain best friends and possibly become even more. "Just promise me, as each day passes, that ye will never forget thy love or my Kingdom as long as ye live." You swallowed the lump in your throat, fighting tears at the finishing of Jimin's final line.

"My prince, in every dream I dream, I choose thee," though not within the script, Mrs. Lee always preached improvisation, and lightly, you touched his cheek, him flickering his stare between yours whilst leaning into your palm, the Kingdom rejoicing when Jimin pulled you into a crushing hug. The faint smell of his cologne met your nostrils causing you to memorize this moment as best as you could, so you'd remember everything about him. His touch, his hold, his smell, his smile. Anything you could take with you in hopes of getting to see him again one day.

When the intro of the duet is keyed from the piano, hand in hand, you and Jimin faced the audience, smiles as heart stopping as could be, belting harmony from beginning to end, both capturing the audience with every word. Blended voices were breathtaking when the cast joined in, finalizing the night with dancing eyes and goosebumps across the theater, and even more applause when Jimin effortlessly succeeded in the originally dreaded lift where he spun you in the air, returning to plant your feet upon the stage. While the crowd stood to their feet in an ovation, the cast had you and Jimin hidden enough, and although time was ticking, Jimin hadn't cared. His palms cupped your cheeks while you tried to read his hurried eyes, the tip of his nose brushing yours before he captured your quivering lips. The kiss was soft. So soft, and when it ended, he whispered through the loud whistles of the audience to where only you could hear, "I love you," he breathed.

"I love you," tears fell from your cheeks, and he gripped your hand as soon as the cast dispersed into a line, uncovering the pair of you as rehearsed, leading to everyone bowing while the clapping continued to reverberate throughout the building. Although, beyond proud to be a part of such a successful production, nothing could take away the pain hounding your heart when your hand had to ghost Jimin's to find your parents. Your mother refused to let you out of her sight, and whether your parents were proud of your performance or not, you never knew, because not a single member spoke on the way home. Instead your mind replayed the secret kiss Jimin gave you over and over to the point it welcomed you in your dreams. It was hard not to cry when you had awoken, eventually breaking into a fit of sobs wishing Jimin had been there to hold you.

Depression was evident in your demeanor, and there was nothing anyone could have done to 'fix' you, or the situation you felt so hopelessly in bondage by. When the last day of school arrived, it had been the worst, and you and the person your heart belonged to had not spoken in months. Times where he would glimpse your way in drama class, you just couldn't bring yourself to face him, because it hurt way too much to accept the reality that you were leaving. You figured his mother informed him of your family moving back, especially since he never seemed to give up on trying to get you to at least look at him.

That last day of class, you cuddled your music binder to your chest, backpack straps hanging loosely from your shoulders, and you strolled upon the sidewalk to wait for your father to come pick you up. It was a sudden moment, when you curiously turned to lock eyes distantly with your best friend. You both stared, yet the way your heart sank to the floor, all you wanted more than anything was to run to him, embrace him in all entirety, kiss him for what you presumed would be the last time, and savor the moments you would have had with him. But, you couldn't, and you didn't; instead, you mouthed three words that you meant with all your soul, 'I love you.' Jimin bit at the corner of his mouth as fresh tears pooled- he looked down momentarily as if destiny had betrayed him before returning his eyes to yours, 'I love you, too.' As if it could have been anymore of an opportune time, your father arrived right then to pick you up, and in fear that he had seen Jimin, your head whirled to look back where your best friend had been to see he was gone, prompting a painful, long sigh of relief.

It had only taken a week for your family to officially move, finding a much larger home which happens to be the mansion your family resides in now. Although the space was nice, it still took months until you forced yourself to move on from the dancing boy that had appeared in your dreams almost every night. The boy who had stolen your heart when you hadn't realized it. There was an attempt, when you were allowed your cellphone back, that you tried reaching out to discover his number had been disconnected, and despite the gnawing of confusion, you guessed his mother must have changed his number, the same as your parents had changed yours.

Eventually, after a year of returning to your hometown, which included graduating high school, your mother convinced you to get back into acting, to audition for as many things as you could until you found a job. So, that's what you did to keep your mind busy, scouring any information you could get regarding auditions for tv shows, movies, commercials, absolutely anything that would just keep you going. Sporadically, you landed the lead role in two separate movies, gained a celebrity friend, Maeve, and continued into the years piled immensely with interviews, traveling, movie premiers, award shows, your fame skyrocketing to the point millions knew your name.

And just like that, your world became brand new. Became a clean slate. Your past buried behind you while you sprung forward. Your success in the acting business brought numerous calls pleading for you to audition for their movies; businesses were begging you to promote their products; magazines arranged for your photoshoots where you appeared on a myriad of covers- you rarely had a clear schedule, and you liked it that way. Lights, cameras, paparazzi, meeting other famous individuals as well as meeting your fans, you were becoming happy again, you were finally returning to having a steady relationship with your parents, and your sister improved in her artistic ability. You were slowly forgetting about the boy you once knew.

You made callbacks for yet another movie at one point, but unfortunately, had not gotten the lead role as hoped for, rather, you played a minor character which ultimately gave you a break from the consistent moving. Your body needed a break; your mind needed rest, and so you decided to take a short break until you found the motivation to search for another job. The movie merely didn't make it far- critics claimed the plot had been too predictable, but it made it to the big screen regardless, and for that you were grateful. Another year passed, now being twenty-two years old, you and Maeve went on a shopping spree throughout the streets of your favorite city, sipping frappuccinos in the smothering heat of summer, a poster happened to catch your eye. Stopping to read it, the straw of your drink pressed to your bottom lip, Maeve's furrowed eyebrows veered from you to the poster.

"What is it?" She asked, ears perked to the sound of clicking cameras though the pair of you have learned to ignore it. Mumbling the words along with you, Maeve leaned forward, "Auditions being held for a romantic comedy this Saturday.... 9am to 3pm... Oh wow! You should audition!"

"What? Why me? Why just me?" You turned your head abruptly while studying your giggling friend.

"You said so yourself that you wanted to be in a comedy! And, there ya go, how much more of a coincidence can this be?"

"A poor one," you took a long sip from your drink quelling laughter from the incredulous gape Maeve flashed you.

"Are you not going to at least try? You are [Y/L/N] [Y/F/N] for crying out loud!"

You were tempted, and you honestly hadn't been in a comedy since you were... Ten years old. Chick flicks had mostly been your calling though funny moments of course were mingled amongst the seriousness. "That I am, but I don't sit on a throne, Maeve, I'm just as normal as it gets."

"If you define normal as putting your potato chips in your sandwich then I guess you're right,"

"It gives it a lil' crunch," your mouth missed your straw awkwardly, but you swerved just enough to catch it, "you should try it sometime."

"I'll try it when you audition for this movie," Maeve teased, "Which you will even if I have to drag you there myself,"

"You have much faith concealed in that tiny body, but okay,"

So therefore, you auditioned. It was the lead role you applied for which was about a character who caught the eyes of two guys the second she stepped into the school. The movie seemed hilarious from what you could collect, and you were shaking your head in laughter when you called Maeve exclaiming how you had gotten the part as she predicted. Although, she squealed in glee, she was dreading the idea of adding potato chips to her sandwich as she promised she would if you made the part.

The following week, you couldn't wait to meet your co-workers as well as the rest of the crew, and as much as you hated to admit it, you were immeasurably curious of who would be casted as your character's love interests. Though numerous options, it was hard to guess, though your mind filtered through familiar faces in the acting business. The producers and director filed into the room when chairs began to fill, slapping a thick script in front of everyone.

"There's been a slight change of plans for the story," the director said, prompting your eyebrows to knit together as you wondered what he could potentially mean, "Instead of two guys fighting over you," he pointed in your direction, "there will be seven!"

Interested grunts and 'awes' echoed in the space, and you nodded in surprise; seven? Seven men wanting you all at once? That would sound farfetched to any woman, even in the position you're in as an actress, it remained unbelievable. The director rubbed his hands together, "They couldn't make it today, but we will officially meet them tomorrow to finish looking over the script."

It seemed as if all you did was blink when you made it to set the next day, dressed in your favorite boot heels and casual wear- you weren't paying a bit of attention when you suddenly smacked dab into someone who happened to over tower you.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, Ma'am!" He said, his fingers tickling your arms from where he hoped you would stay steady.

"It's fine! I'm sorry, I should have been watching where I was going," you chuckled against the chagrin burned red upon your chest, and you couldn't help but be starstruck by the incredibly handsome face staring down at you. Noticeable dimples rested on either side of his grinning cheeks, and the coffee color of his eyes radiated kindness, and of course, you wondered innocently if he was one of the potential love interests the director mentioned the day before.

"I'm Kim Namjoon," he offered his hand which of course you took, enchanted by his smile, but you scolded yourself interiorly due to the obvious fact of not knowing him personally enough to care on whether he was available or not. There seemed to be a recognition in his countenance that you typically notice when people realize who you are, and you couldn't help the flattery when his hand still latched to yours picked up the pace while shaking it. "Oh my gosh! You're the [Y/L/N] [Y/F/N]! My girlfriend loves you!"

"That is so sweet of her," you were still blushing, but deeply touched by his words. Namjoon, dropped his hand in embarrassment from how long he had shaken yours, mumbling an apology, he slid his slim hands within his pockets.

"I must say, I am very honored to meet you. I've seen two of your movies with her and you were phenomenal!"

"Thank you very much, Namjoon! That means a lot. I hope I get to meet your girlfriend soon, she sounds like such a sweetheart," you tried to think if you had seen him in anything that had come out recently, but couldn't place a thing. You continued into the same room as yesterday, pulling your script from your bag, you settled into a seat before observing your surroundings, noticing in your peripherals Namjoon taking a seat beside a guy who appeared very quiet. Long, straightened blue strands spread upon his forehead while his dark eyes scanned the room. His lips were thinner compared to Namjoon's, and they rested contently while he leaned back in his chair. You tried not to stare too much, but when he caught you, you grinned instead of averting your eyes, relief flooded your senses when his lips raised into a side grin in return- his nametag reading 'Min Yoongi.'

When the seat on the other side of Yoongi skidded against the concrete floor, you instinctively looked to the sound, beyond amazed at the sight you saw. You weren't one to spike perspiration on the lining of your forehead just from seeing a man, but with the way his bandana complimented his brown tendrils neatly stacked on his head, you were beside yourself. His square jaw was locked in concentration while his petal pink lips pursed- his chocolate eyes rushed over the lines where he opened his script.

"Kim Taehyung?" A staff member asked, Taehyung nodded in reply, the worker placed the nametag before him, rounding the table to set yours before you. You would honestly never get used to people knowing who you are prior to an introduction considering the staff member had not questioned if you were indeed you. Thought aside, you were very taken aback on how sculpted this man was to a heavenly perfection.

"No, I didn't mean to trip the guy, I just wanted some food!" You vaguely identified the male whose windshield wiper laugh pleasantly greeted your ears while he found a seat, "Seriously, I hadn't seen him standing there." He poised his head enough to lock eyes with Min Yoongi, and you tilted your head curiously with question if they happened to know each other. But my, so far, who you assumed were going to be the men who were going to fight for your love, you were quite mesmerized by their beauty.

"Hello, my name is Chan-ri, I'm a huge fan of yours, how are you?" The exquisitely rosy cheeks of a red headed female entered your vision, and hearing her name, you remembered her from a TV show you binge watched with Maeve before. Genuinely, you offered a handshake, her comfortably taking the seat beside you. After you thanked her for her compliment whilst answering her question, she leaned in closer to your ear, "Is it just me or are these guys ca-ute?"

"The one in the bandana is looking better and better," you winked.

"Gosh, I couldn't agree more. And, I don't know if you've heard the rumors. But, the singer Jeon Jeongguk, apparently auditioned for a role,"

Eyebrows raised when you heard his name, "You're kidding!" You gasped in excitement. "Euphoria is literally my favorite song by him!"

"I could rave about his music all day long!" His presence entered the room as if on cue, hushing you and Chan-ri into bottled-up giggles, her winking at you in a way to say, 'we will talk later when the coast is clear.' A man with even redder hair than Chan-ri followed behind the well-known singer, and your lips parted in a silent gasp along with your amplified glance. "H-Hoseok?" He immediately sought for who said his name, and when he realized it was you, he couldn't help the smile that decorated his face.

"[Y/N]!" He greeted loudly, shuffling to collide into your hug, "Wow, how have you been? I haven't seen you in years!"

He helped you with dance moves for the spring musical sparking memories you hadn't reminisced in what felt like a lifetime ago, but here he was, in the flesh. "What a small world, I've been wonderful! How are you, Hoseok? What have you been up to? Look at you! So handsome!"

Hoseok thanked you before catching up with his life- he decided to go into acting when he graduated from Konkuk University with his soon-to-be fellow co-stars Seokjin and Yoongi which all made sense as to why Seokjin seemed comfortable talking to Yoongi earlier. Due to the encouragement of an individual he befriended, in high school, Hoseok explained how it stemmed him to chase his dreams, and here he was, auditioning for his first movie, excited to reunite with a familiar face from his past. He sat on the other side of Chan-ri, making conversation with her while you focused on the twiddling of your fingers. A poke on your shoulder made you jump an inch,

"Excuse me, is this where we meet?" A lighter voice spoke, but there was a distinct familiarity to it. When you faced the direction of where the question came from, the first thing you visualized was a silver necklace holding a pendant you hadn't seen since you were sixteen- one that you gifted someone as an emblem of your friendship- you were confused because not many people owned this specific piece of jewelry, and when your eyes slowly made the adventure to the individual's face, the rigidity paralyzed your frame faster than you could anticipate. Those eyes.

You knew those eyes. Better than anyone.

There was no stopping the intense hammering of your heartbeat; your temples pounded profusely, and he was frozen in place at the sight of you, because of your eyes. Neither of you moved, because there was disbelief at who either of you were looking at- his hair, now dyed, gleamed sleek blonde tendrils parted but long enough to tickle the lateral canthus' of his eyes, face thinned in a mature eloquence. It had been nearly seven years since the last time you ever saw him, and even then, he reflected your confusion, anxiously collecting whatever jumbled words he could form into sentences, but it was too late. The director enthusiastically entered the room, dispersing the moment just as quickly as it came.

"Greetings everybody! I see you've met our seven new cast members!" He grinned ear to ear, gesturing his hands toward all the guys. Shivering, but trying to keep it maintained, you watched your long-lost friend take a seat across from you next to Jeongguk. "Oh, and here's your nametag," the director plopped one in front of Jimin, you swiftly dropped your gaze, gritting your teeth in reaction to the strong waves of shivers plaguing your body. He was there. Park Jimin, as though you were acquainted with a ghost, was sitting right there in the midst of the small crowd, but with the way your muddled state was feeling- it had been only you two.

"Alright, let's open our scripts to page three. We need to review some main points of the story line." The director informed, but you were hardly listening, yet you kept your eyes zoned upon the booklet before you, only flipping pages at the sound of others doing so. Too many memories spun nonstop like a whirlwind, and you could sense Jimin glimpsing at you in the same wonderment as you were.

The trips to Mcdonalds where you both would split a large fry and dream about the future; the afternoon at school when the pair of you laughed about some cocky kid who face-planted in PE while playing soccer; the days you'd go jogging together and joke about anything under the sun; the moment when you two were drawing with your sister, and you thought Jimin's cow doodle was a duck. One of your fondest memories was your fifteenth birthday when Jimin, even Hoseok, along with your parents planned a huge surprise party just for you; the get-togethers with the drama club; auditioning for the lead roles in the spring musical and landing them. And the grand finale, when Jimin kissed you on what had been a final goodbye before exiting the stage that very night.

Nobody, other than Hoseok, in that room knew of the friendship you and Jimin once had. Nobody in the world would have known except the pupils the two of you attended school with. You were aware that if Jimin were to become famous, people would dig deeper to find that the both of you were in a movie together at ten years old, and all the other evidence that would explode within the media. You, to this day, will never forget the anxiety shooting through your figure while you pretended to review the script wishing you had the guts to just look at him.

The meeting ended in a blur, and you slung your bag over your shoulder, death gripping the script, and rushing out of the room where you felt as though you had been suffocating. You did not want to relive the heartbreak, so in desperation, you wanted to run.

He stopped you before you could even make it halfway to the entrance.

"Wait!" He bellowed. People were bustling by without any concern, but with the risk of a paparazzi capturing this moment you knew would need to be private, you ducked into the other side of a large staircase that appeared vacant aside from a tall plant, and Jimin followed suit- you spinning to see him sprinting toward you. For once you then understood when people described something to relate to a scene from a movie, because there was the love of your life, as if in a movie, running until he reached where you were. He was breathing heavily from the frenetic gesture, and understandably speechless, the pair of you weren't sure where to remotely begin. Swiping a slow hand through his hair, he looked so exquisite as he always had, and though you didn't want to revert to staring at the tiled floor of the opposite side of the lobby, you did. Carefully, he slipped his hands into his pockets, pressing his lips together in apparent worry.

"You're- you're blonde now," though small, a hint of a smile tinged your lips, a breathy laugh broke through Jimin's tight-lipped grin that infamously made his eyes disappear.

"Yeah," Jimin whispered tenderly, "Felt it was time for a change, ya know? Have been getting it colored since my twentieth birthday," breaking the ice enough, you found the strength to meet his gaze. His lips parted to then close multiple times, until he wetted them, "As you can tell, I honestly, don't know what to say, but, my God, I am so proud of you,"

"Jimin-" your voice broke, chin trembling from the burning tears when you knew that he was referring to your success, and the woman you have become. He stepped closer, releasing one hand from his pocket holding it out as if to calm the nervous tension.

"Really, [Y/N], I- you-" stammering through his words, you could see that he was blatantly in as much shock as you were, processing the fact that his long lost love was standing before him in all your glory. "I gave up acting in high school," he swallowed roughly, "as you can imagine, I was going through a rough time." He had been terrified to admit the reasoning considering the pair of you had no idea what had happened personally in each other's lives in the time between, and though he battled with what to say, he found the courage to just say it regardless, "When I lost you, I felt like- I just felt like there was no reason to really try anymore."

"Jimin," you whispered as if pleading with him, "I tried reaching out to you, but your number was disconnected- it was, it was disconnected, I-"

"No, [Y/N], please, don't cry- it's not your fault- Please," this time, he inched so close, that if you would have collected enough bravery, you could have rested your forehead at the curve of his chin where he could have invited you in for the warmth you could fall forever deep in. Eyes refusing to break contact, he continued, "After I saw your first movie, there were a few interviews I listened to where you said some of the most encouraging things, and I realized, if there was anyone I aspired to be like, it's you." Surprise lingered in your expression, because how could any of this be real? You knew stories like this were only filmed for the interest of the world, so how could someone you once cherished return out of the blue to tell you exactly what you needed to hear? "You, [Y/N], are the reason why I never gave up on myself. Why I never gave up at all. Why... I decided to go back to what I loved."

You were his inspiration, and because of that he ended up here. Back when you thought fate was so cruel to take him away from you, here he was, back into pursuing his passion for acting, all because he never gave up on you. You hated falling apart, you hated crying unless it was for the cameras, but in all vulnerability, especially when Jimin pulled you into his arms where your nose pressed into his chest, you cried. With all the pent-up emotions from a time you tried to avoid, you cried. Jimin refused to let you go until you were okay, and without any delay, you stayed by his side, repudiating from going home when you had seven years of catching up to do. There was barely any attention on anything, not even how Jimin opened his hotel room door without you stealing his kisses to the point you couldn't breathe. Fingers tangled into his shirt, he kicked the door behind him, emotions pouring from the way he kissed you as though he was going to lose you again. The most experience you knew, sexually, was from scenes you filmed with other actors- mostly steamy make out sessions, but you had never personally done the 'deed' in reality. Your back plopped upon the bed, palms pressed on either side of Jimin's jaw where your fingertips graced his hair, his hands cradling the sides of your waist while he continued to part his lips so gently with yours.

"Wait," you stopped, Jimin's enlarged eyes flashed concern as though he may have hurt you, "No, no, you haven't done anything wrong. I just- I just," you trailed off, chest rising and falling to steady your nerves. "I've never..."

Jimin exhaled a sigh of relief, bowing his head enough to where his hair feathered your cheeks, "I haven't either." You would be lying if you said you weren't surprised especially with all you had heard from stories others had told about men when it came to sex. But, at the same time, you always knew Jimin was different. Or, maybe it was purely meant to be, how you two abstained from something that was destined to be saved for the pair of you to share with one another. "I don't," Jimin's eyes flickered between your own because if there was anyone, he had an immense respect and adoration for, it was you, "I don't want to rush you into anything-"

"Jimin," your thumbs ran along the soft skin of his face, halting his words, "I want you,"

There was a hopeful smile that beamed from him before he covered your lips with even more kisses, making your head spin in a bliss you only ever felt when being with him. "Are you sure?" He pulled away; eyes boring into yours as if reading every inch of your soul.

"More than anything," you nodded, lifting your head to touch your lips to his for only a mere second. He was so in awe of you that he would do anything for you, and that never changed and never will. Kissing him was the most captivating addiction, and you never wanted it to end. Still completely clothed- the innocence would have been humorous in others' eyes, but the two of you were learning. And, the two of you were wanting to learn together and that's all that mattered to you. Park Jimin had never made you feel uncomfortable at any point that night, and you knew he wasn't going to overstep any boundaries. The fast pace of his lips sparked a feeling to rise within your core- a new feeling you wanted so eagerly to explore, the warmth was nearly smothering your panties, and you instinctively spread your legs to where he comfortably remained, his hips grinding his clothed erection along your area, where the crave to feel the entirety of his skin was all you could think about.

Breaking the kiss, you trailed your fingers underneath his t-shirt, his stare timorous whilst you lifted it past his head, exposing the rock-solid muscles toned along his arms and abdomen. Your mouth watered causing you to gulp- never in your life had you seen such a masterpiece, even from his jawline to his soft, blonde hair- you still couldn't muster how ethereal this man before you was. Tossing his shirt to the ground, he remained above you, the necklace you gifted him years ago dangling before he kissed you hard while your fingertips soothed along his back, his hand moving to cup your attired breast, tenderly squeezing it releasing a soft moan from your lips. Just the feel underneath your fingertips of his warm skin made you anxious to feel him molding into you- gripping his wrists, leading them to the end of your shirt, Jimin lifted it off you- your lacy bra staring back at his broadening eyes which caused his breath to hitch in the back of his throat.

"Oh," he groaned, "[Y/N], you are so perfect," his words nearly brought you to tears; your hands rested upon his cheeks, bringing him back to you to plant a soft kiss on his thick lips, him lowering to where his skin finally met yours, the enticing move enveloping you all at once, you could hardly contain yourself, exhaling against his lips just for him to brush his tongue along yours. One by one the clothes came off until his bare legs were jumbled with yours, his erection rubbing along your dampened heat, his thumbs caressing your nipples- the ticklish feeling caused your fingers to dig into his back. Jimin nipped at your collarbone, leaving numerous kisses along your chest, moving backwards to kiss along your stomach, the wetness lingering while your eyes slammed shut in utter paradise. He pecked along your hip bones, his hands never leaving your breasts until he made it to your inner thighs. Slithering his fingers to cling onto your quivering limbs, he spread your legs, his breath panting tepidly along your folds, his eyes widening with the urge he always wanted to fulfill, and only with you. You had never experienced this, and though you had heard of the such thing from various sources, you were curious to know what it felt like. Your clit rhythmed with your hyperventilating, him moving to kiss your inner thighs before returning to your vulva. Your toes curled along the bed sheets, your body tensing in preparation- and that's when he did it.

Gently licking his tongue along your slit, up and down, the motion emancipating a high-pitched moan from your throat which motivated him to continue. He brought his fingers to spread your folds, your core clenching while he sped the movements of his tongue- licking and licking until your hips involuntarily began to shift- your fingers gripping the bed sheets- sweat beading your forehead. For a few minutes, he continued to pleasure you, the tip of his tongue sliding against your clit before returning to hover above you. Though you were uncertain if what you were about to do would be done correctly, you moved your hand to hold his erection, gliding up and down gradually, him hissing with how good it felt to have your hand wrapped around him. That gave you the inclination that everything was being done smoothly; Jimin rested his lips to where your heart pounded, then moved to suck your nipple while your hand did the work, his hands squeezing at the mattress in response to the growing feel of an orgasm.

He stopped you, not wanting to cum too soon, instead interlaced his fingers with yours and rested your closed hands against the pillows above your head. Your core still tightening from how aroused you were, both of you held each other's gaze, you nodded that you were ready. Ready for what you two had been longing for. He swallowed nervously, "I, um, I don't have a condom,"

"Oh," you seemed a bit more scared than how you really felt, "well, I mean, I am on birth control for my... monthly cycle, so I don't think... I should be good," relieved, his knees rested on either side of your legs; lips parted, Jimin's eyes met yours, him leaning forward to stay above you- your legs raising to spread in preparation- while his one hand rested beside your head, he took the other to hold his erection to your heat, your shoulders tensed from the butterflies swarming your stomach.

"Are you sure?" His whisper was nearly inaudible, but nothing in this world would ever change your mind.

"Yes," you nodded, breathless. "Please." Your hands moved to rest on his shoulders- slowly he began to push within your walls- the pain nearly brought you to tears- but, you clenched your teeth, forcing yourself to relax just enough for him to penetrate further, his heart thrumming beneath his chest, especially with the pain he did not want to inflict on you.

"[Y/N], I'm so sorry, are you sure about this, I don't want to hur-" he paused immediately when he heard a muffled cry escape you.

"It's okay, keep going," your eyes were squeezed shut, and you eased your body from the tension knowing he was halfway there. Steadily, he moved further until all of him was within you, the worst part finally being over, you calmed yourself enough to stare into his eyes, your breaths increased, yet relief flooded your countenance because now the pain was subsiding just enough for him to proceed. He thrusted slowly, his lips passionately syncing with yours as your fingers tangled with the smooth tufts of his hair- with one hand, he rested his fingertips above your clit, rubbing affectionately whilst sexing you- the building of the fire below causing your muscles to taut. How something so powerful could bring such a wondrous escape you would never be able to equate,

"Mmm," you hummed against his mouth- the sensation of the orgasm finally reaching its peak- him jolting backward, to finish pumping his spillage onto the bed sheets to then watching you unravel from the ecstasy released from your core. "Holy shit," you could barely find words- perspiration covered each of your bodies, the heat nearly stifling yet still wanting his skin upon yours lingered. He embraced you once the sensitivity dimmed- you nestled your face into the side of his neck.

"We did it," you whispered, finding it adorable how accomplished you feel, and Jimin pressed you tighter to him, his fingers running along the side of your arm- him moving to brush a gentle peck to the side of your forehead.

"We did it," he repeated, a large, contagious smile spreading across his face- a smile you had fallen in love with once upon a time. You shifted just enough to where your arms hugged behind his neck- bare chests pressed together- your leg lacing around his waist, his hand sliding to rest upon your hip. The silver pendant entered your sight, and amazement hovered,

"You still have it,"

It wasn't a question, more of a softened statement; it was the first time you mentioned it aloud, but Jimin knew exactly what you were talking about, "I never planned on taking it off," rendered speechless, you kissed him one more time, letting every piece of him whisk you away- and nothing could ruin this moment. Park Jimin was back in your arms, and nothing was ever going to take him away from you. Not again.

-

The fabric of your dress feels silky beneath your palms as you slide them to smooth out any wrinkles. Makeup finished as well as the curling of your hair, you are proud of the dress you chose to wear- it being your favorite color, and one you confidently feel Jimin will love just as much. For some reason, you feel anxious about seeing him tonight, though you don't know why exactly. You have known him a total of fourteen years, yet it still feels like you are seeing him for the first time with any day he is standing before you. Flicking off the lights to your bathroom and bedroom, you scurry down the stairs with your black clutch in hand, entering the living room in the direction of the front door.

"Well, someone looks extraordinarily beautiful tonight,"

"Oh! Mom! You scared me!" You gasp, chuckling when you turn to see your mom leaned against the door frame that leads into her office; her arms are crossed though she smiles at you suspiciously.

"Sorry, honey. I was on Facebook when I heard heels, so I came running,"

Lowkey a fashion guru, your mother always enjoyed seeing the gowns you would be fitted for events, and knowing you haven't had anything lined up recently, she rushed intuitively to see what her daughter is up to.

"Well, what do you think?" You twirl in place, the dress brushing your knees before hanging in place.

"What's the occasion?" Mom raises a brow, though you know she's teasing. Your mother has always been one who liked to be aware of where you are in case if something were to happen which you know that is how you would be if you had a child. Though aware of your fame and constant schedule, your mother wants to at least know you're safe, especially when you are followed most of the time in public.

"I'm... going to see Jimin tonight," you have refrained from bringing him up countless times knowing it can be a potentially uncomfortable topic for your mom, but you refuse to lie about your whereabouts for fear of something that might not be the case anymore. Distant, you notice the way she seems closed off, like something is drifting a cloud of culpability above her head. "Mom, are you okay?" Worried that something may be wrong, you question: does she not like him? Sadly, you truly have avoided any conversation revolving Jimin; even when he came back into your life, it still made the topic awkward.

Mom bites the corner of her mouth before letting out a defeated sigh, "I'll be right back." She steps into her office, and your eyebrows scrunch in obvious curiosity as to what she is doing. Waiting patiently, she makes her way to you, hand outstretched with a folded picture she gestures toward you. "I found this the other day, and I thought maybe you should have it." Your mother slightly grins against welling tears, and when you reach for the picture, you carefully open it, tears filling your own eyes at what you see.

It's a picture of you and Jimin from when the two of you were either fourteen or fifteen- taken in the evening since it was dark in the background; you figured it must have been cold because you were wearing a jean jacket while he wore his favorite gray hoodie at the time with the bolded word 'Supreme' written in the center. His arms were draped over your shoulders, and you could see the top of a Mcdonalds drink resting in his free hand. The pair of you were smiling so wide defining the happiness the two of you brought to each other on any given day.

"I remember this," you murmur, looking back at your mom, "Our families went out to eat together, and you and his mom were taking God knows how many pictures," you kid. A tear pangs your mother's cheek as she shares a smile with you.

"I remember too. It was such a great night."

"It was," staring at the photo, your heart swells, "Thank you, mom."

When you step to hug her, that's when she loses it- tears spilling down her cheeks while she holds you so close, "I'm so sorry," she sniffs, "We could have worked everything out- grounded you, supervised the two of you or, something! I shouldn't have forced you to move away."

"Mom," you plea, not wanting her to hurt because it breaks your heart to see anyone you know, and love upset. The both of you have held your feelings about the situation for seven long years and never even tried discussing it. Sometimes, talking can be the best medicine- not only do you have to think before you speak, but forgiving the person long before the two of you work things out can really help solve a problem. All one must do is listen.

"I just... I panicked! I didn't want my daughter to make a mistake. You were so young-"

"It's okay, mom, really. I understand,"

"I wanted to even force you to switch out of drama class, all because I was so scared. I didn't even want you in the play. Your father convinced me to let you perform because," she pulls away and holds your arms, wanting to look in your eyes that mirror her own, "He reminded me that we were young once too. We met at sixteen, you know that. And I just remember feeling so guilty when he told me that," your mother looks down for a moment to gather her words, "I could have lost my daughter because I believed I was doing the right thing. I should have trusted you, and I am so, so sorry for everything."

"Mom," you hug her again, "I forgive you. I forgave you a long time ago."

"Oh, it's so good to know that!"

"And, mom, if we never moved back to our hometown, I wouldn't be as successful in my career as I am now. You encouraged me to go back into acting, and for that I will forever be grateful. Besides, Jimin came back. That's all that matters," your reassurance mends her heart together as she carries pride in her eyes on how far you have come in all that you have endured.

"I love you. And, if you ever need to talk to me about anything, anything at all, you know I'm here for you,"

"Even if it's about Jimin?" You giggle lightheartedly, tucking the picture of you and him in your clutch for safekeeping.

"Even if it's about Jimin." She smiles, "Now what are you still doing here? Go! Get out! Have fun, and please be safe!"

Skipping out the door, the feeling of closure overwhelms your soul, and for once, you feel as if life couldn't get any better, and now you and your mother can one hundred percent be the rock you will forever need no matter where life takes you. When the black SUV that holds your favorite driver, Stan, appears, you burst through the gate and into the back of the car, for him to hand you a small note.

Meet me on the rooftop. Your Chim Chim xo

You reread the note with a smile when you make it to an elevator upon arrival to Jimin's hotel- Stan saying to call whenever you are ready to be picked up. You're amazed how little people seemed to be roaming the hotel, and as a normal for you, you scoped your surroundings in case of any clicking cameras before stepping into what will lead you to your destination. Reaching the top floor, you find a staircase that you presume will climb you to the rooftop, so in determination you begin, trekking up the flight of stairs until you pause at a door.

Inhaling and exhaling calmly, you slowly push open the door, rounding a corner where an intriguing scenery causes you to gasp in surprise. Stringed lights glisten, covering every pole of mahogany wood that encloses the area together. Candles are blinking upon an elegant, black table for two adorned with silverware, lid-covered plates, a wine bottle, and two empty wine glasses. Flowerpots are hanging from different sections of the balcony, bringing more color to the patio; sparse trees fill the rest of the space, the atmosphere exuberating nothing but serenity. Jimin did all of this for you.

Eyes searching, you finally find him, in a black fitted suit, hands in his pockets while he stares at the starry sky. Taking the time to admire him, you have always been so in awe of how genuine he is. Treating his fans with all the love, constantly caring for his family, keeping up with his friends, and for always being there for you no matter what it takes. He listens to you the same as you do for him and being in the entertainment business where rumors spread like wildfire, sometimes a listening ear is what one needs. He has been everything you have ever wanted, and he always will be.

You clear your throat, "Well, sir, you weren't kidding when you said you wanted to spend time with me."

Whirling on a heel, his expression eases when he sees it's you, "Hey!" He beams, eyes disappearing from how big his smile spreads. "I didn't hear you come in. How long were you standing there?"

Noting how he seems embarrassed, you can't help but find it irresistibly adorable, "Not long," you promise, watching him step in your direction.

"Good, I'm sorry about that."

"It's okay, Chim. I don't even know why you're worried, silly,"

"Whoa, you really took me seriously when I said to wear something pretty," Jimin reaches for your hand while you lower your head timidly.

"Look at you! You look like a model!" Jimin throws his head back at your compliment, "And, look!" You point at his shoes, "New shoes! Look at those beautiful, new shoes!"

"I told you I was going to get new ones today!" He tries stifling his laughter in the crook of his arm before sliding your chair out for you to sit.

"And, have I ever told you how much I love the blonde hair on you? I feel like I don't tell you enough," One thing you have learned over the years of knowing Jimin, is he blushes just as easily as you do. When one compliments him, he can't help but slump in his chair before burying his forehead onto the back of his wrist.

"Why are you making this about me," he whines playfully, "I want this to be about you,"

"But, it's always about me, maybe I like to spice things up a bit to appear humbling," your eyebrows wiggle, sending Jimin in another bout of giggles.

"Speaking of spice, are you hungry?"

"Famished," you dramatically emphasize, Jimin shaking his head at you with amusement while he reaches over to lift the lid of the plate. A steaming slab of steak laying scrumptiously on a pile of rice makes your mouth water, even when your eyes trail to the seasoned vegetables beckoning you to devour them. "This looks so good," you acclaim, preparing a fork and knife in order to start slicing. Jimin has already taken a bite in agreement. Deciding to take another swoop of how beautifully the décor mingles with the design of the patio, you speak after swallowing your first mouth full of meat. "I wasn't expecting this," you say softly, looking back at Jimin who cocks a musing eyebrow.

"What did you expect? Mcdonalds?" Jimin grabs the wine bottle, succeeding in opening it before he pours each of you a glass.

"No, you brute, the patio! It's wonderful up here."

"I wanted everything to be special." He murmurs, lifting his glass after holding your eyes, "You deserve it,"

In all honesty, you are at a loss for words, because how you ever deserved a man so loving, you will never know. And amidst conversation, you briefly remember the picture your mother gave you before you left, and deciding to make this known, you wet your lips, "So, I talked to my mom earlier this evening and," you prop your elbow onto the table after gripping the memory within your fingertips, the back of the picture facing Jimin. "She gave me this, and I wanted to show it to you."

Handing it to him, he gently takes it, a reminiscent grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I remember this," he says, "my brother actually teased me because..." He trails off, his grin falling for a moment. "I was going to ask you to be my girlfriend that day, but I chickened out." Your shoulders fall a bit though your heart flutters. Jimin was going to ask you to be his girlfriend? What made him afraid to? You open your mouth to speak, but when you find no words, he continues. "I had assumed that it was just going to be me and you going out that night with Jihyun, but, then both our parents ended up coming."

"That's still so sweet of you," you assure him, wanting the guilt that clouds his eyes to dissipate.

"I like this picture by the way." He holds it up and hands it back over to you. "I want a copy."

"I'll print one for you," you pact, his sincere eyes never leaving yours- all you know is if the table between you didn't exist, you'd kiss him. But as if he reads your mind, he reaches across the table and intertwines his fingers with yours; your eyes still locked preparing to say something, but the scrape of the door makes the two of you jolt and hands part. "Dessert!" A waiter lays out two white bowls in front of each of you, to then taking up the emptied dinner plates.

"Chocolate ice cream?" You say as Jimin smirks at your mouth falling open in glee.

"Our favorite," he winks, bringing a fourteen-year-old memory back in loop of the days where he loved to wear it on his face, and you never let him live it down. Chocolate syrup is drizzled over the dollops, a leaf of mint nestled on top of a scoop to complete the appetizing goal.

"I thought you said you weren't good with girls," you scoff, pressing your spoon into the dessert.

"I'm not."

"Then what is this?" you say quickly, gesturing to the dessert of symbolism.

"I think what you're trying to say is I'm romantic," He raises a brow, pointing his spoon toward you. "Besides, I think it's about time that we admitted that we are committed."

A warm sigh brushes over your cold lips, the taste of the ice cream melted on your tongue, because you know he's right. What have you really been afraid of? Was it really your mother for the fear of her still not accepting him? Well, now you know that she will accept him, so that's not an excuse. Were you afraid of the hateful words that would be thrown your way if the press were to confirm a relationship between you two? In the end, it's about you and Jimin, and despite hate, what would it matter if the world knew? Candidly, you want to protect him from the media, but your strong feelings of keeping him safe are equal to how much he wants to keep you safe.

What really scares you, more than anything, is losing him again. And, you have remained in this strange thought that if the pair of you stayed simply friends that maybe it would prevent heartbreak. Others, for example Maeve, you know would be highly confused by your thought process on the entire subject because why not be in a relationship with him when you both already seem like you are in one? What's crazy is you know Jimin loves you more than anything in this world, you can feel it, yet the pair of you have not said it since you were sixteen years old. The couple years of him returning made you fall in love with him all over again, and the truth is:

You would love to be his girlfriend. You would love to just be his forever.

Before you can respond, the subtle sound of a guitar begins to play through speakers you notice are hanging a distance behind the flowerpots. As if on cue, Jimin stands to his feet, patting his lips daintily with a crumpled napkin before tossing it on the table. "You want to dance?" He asks you, offering his hand.

"Always," he leads you to a secluded spot upon the balcony, and his arm rests behind your back. The volume of the music rises just a notch, you squeeze his shoulder once before resting your head on his chest. The side of his chin brushes your forehead while he sways you so gently, and merely getting lost in the feel of him. Your heart pounds to the rhythm of the song, and you swallow against the nerves enveloping your chest, and you let the song finish into the start of the next one, when you pull away enough to gaze into his eyes. Concern etches in his irises the second he sees you, slowly swaying to a halt. "Jimin," you breathe, fingers tightening their hold on his hand and his shoulder unintentionally, but he is ready to hear what you have to say, no matter what it may be. "Jimin, I know the past two years have not only been the most trying, but they also have been the most rewarding," you timidly drop your gaze to the silver necklace he has resting on the collar of his shirt before returning to stare at him once again, "I am in love with you, and I am ready beyond belief to let the world know it."

Nothing will ever be more magical than watching Jimin's smile grow, and the second it does, Jimin puts both hands on your waist, hoisting you in the air, spinning you around from the excitement he feels soaring all around his soul. You let out a loud laugh, linking your fingers behind his neck, your body leaning forward just a bit as your legs bend to where your heels almost reach your back. "I got you!" He laughs as you lightly lay your chin on his soft bundle of hair until he settles you back to your feet. Jimin, the one who stuck with you from the beginning and will stick with you until the end; the one who knows you more than you know yourself at times, the one you can laugh with, the one you can cry with; the one that you know will never want to lose you as long as he lives.

"I love you so much," His beautiful, brown eyes continue to bore into yours and just the pure love in them nearly brings you to tears, and in this very moment, something rings true- that if this man doesn't kiss you right now, you're going to lose it! Running your left hand through his hair, you stop at the back of his head. His wide smile turns into a grin as he leans closer to your face, resting his forehead against yours prompting your lips to part in preparation for his kiss, ready to feel the fireworks bursting in every place of your heart, ready to be wrapped so tight in his arms, ready for him to leave you breathless as he always does. Jimin then slips a hand off your waist and holds up his pinky finger to you- it catches you off guard, but it the most beautiful way.

"Promise me something, [Y/Nickname]." he nearly whispers.

"Anything, Chim,"

"Promise me that no matter what... You'll love me forever."

A tear slips down your cheek as joy overflows you, because from the first promise the two of you ever made to now, every memory you both have shared has been forever written on your heart. And you know from the look in Jimin's eyes, you both will be sharing plenty more.

"I promise, Jimin, " you say, bringing your pinky to his and wrapping it securely. "I will love you forever and always. Now... you better kiss me before I change my mind!"

Thrusting his head back in flattery, he shakes his head at you with glimmering eyes as he straightens himself to where he can cup your face with his palms. There is never a dull moment with you, and he knows a playful remark always has to be congruent within the seriousness, and when his plush, warm lips touch yours for the first time this evening, the fireworks begin, but instead of in the sky, they are literally bursting in every direction of your heart. No camera, script or film can ever describe how real this moment is. How true it feels. You both hold each other tight, feeling not only love but forever. As Jimin kisses you, sparks ignite, both your heads spinning, hearts pounding and cherishing every second, excited for the future.

Like the end of a perfect movie, you can faintly hear the beautiful song, singing the words of your promise, come to an end.

[this-account-doesnt-exist]

Gundam Wing Secret Operation (1996) Side A (Part 5)

Heero = H; Duo = D; Quatre = Q; Trowa = T; Wufei = W; Treize = TR; Zechs = Z

~~~

H: Operation Two: Fundamental Knowledge Workshop

~~~

D: Good afternoon, welcome to the Gundam Wing Fundamental Knowledge Workshop, where we teach things that are at first glance useless, but will definitely come in handy in the future! I am your host for today, big brother Duo Maxwell! 

Q: And I am his assistant, Quatre!

D: Aw man, I thought they were gonna make my assistant a cute girl!

Q: …Would you like me to crossdress?

D: Are you still mad about what happened the other day?

Q: ...Not at all (clears throat) Now then, let us introduce our speaker of the day!   

H: I am Heero Yuy. It’s my pleasure to be here.

D: Oh lord, why did we get the one guy who is the absolute worst at teaching to do this…

Q: I personally think there is no one more suitable than Heero to lecture on today’s topic!

H: I would be more than happy to leave if you didn’t want me here. It’s not like I volunteered to come on or anything.

D: Okay, okay, my bad! Please don’t go! Quatre, what is today’s topic?

Q: Our topic for today is -- 

H: “Mission accomplished”.

D: This phrase is used by not only us Gundam pilots, but also the folks over at Oz!

Q: This phrase is one that comes in handy in daily life as well!

D: In order to provide a concrete example, we will demonstrate through a skit! First off, let’s see how we could use this at school!

~~~

D: Oh shit, I screwed up!

Q: What’s wrong, Duo?

D: I forgot about the homework!

T: Again? Were you infatuated with playing games again?

D: Yah, the game that I purchased yesterday was super fun!…Wait no, homework! I am in so much trouble!

Q: Mr. Zechs is in fact quite strict... Didn’t he make you run ten laps the other day?

D: Quatre, please! Let me copy your homework!

Q: No, you won’t be able to learn that way!

D: Com’on, pretty please? My lord and saviour student council president! 

Q: Quit your flattery.

D: Trowa!

T: Sorry to disappoint you, but I have to agree with Quatre on this one.

D: You scrooges!

W: You’ve made your bed, now lie in it.

D: What about you Wufei, did you do your homework?

W: Of course…not.  

D: Don’t sound so proud of yourself!

W: Unlike you, I have no plans of running away from the consequences. You should do the same as well.

D: I, Duo Maxwell, am an expert at running away from consequences! You are the weird one for being so nonchalant about it!

H: Duo, you are being too loud. Let me read in peace.

D: Heero! You are on my side, right?

H: You were the one who failed to complete the mission on time. Now clean up after your own mess. 

D: Geez, why is everyone so cold! Aren’t we classmates? Shit, class is about to start!

Z: Good morning everyone. First, I will be returning the test that you did previously.

[Students grunting]

D: Fuck, I forgot about that as well!

Z: Silence! Come to the front when your name is called. Duo Maxwell.

D: Here! Coming! Right away!

Z: Try harder next time.

D: …I don’t want to look at my marks…

Z: Quatre Raberba Winner. Great work as usual.

Q: Yessir! Hm, it is unusual for me to not have gotten full marks. What did I get wrong?

Z: Trowa Barton. You did a great job as well. Being strong at application questions is a big advantage. 

T: It’s just a matter of applying fundamental knowledge to problems. No big deal. 

Z: Chang Wufei. I understand that you are busy as a member of the martial arts club, but you should treat academics more seriously as well. 

W: Math is unnecessary for becoming strong. It is against my personal philosophy to do useless things.

TR: Wufei, winning at sports is out of the equation if you don’t first train your brain.

W: Treize! Where the heck did you come from?

Z: Principal Treize, please refrain from entering classrooms during lectures!

TR: Pardon my intrusion, it was not my intent to get into your way. I was just curious about the performance of our students. I shall take my leave now. Wufei, don’t forget to study hard!

W: …What the hell was that.

D: Our principal is as unpredictable as usual.

Z: Silence! Next up is…Heero Yuy. As usual, you ranked first in your grade with a full score on the test.

D: Atta boy!

Q: Congrats, Heero! I will not lose to you next time.

T: Heero Yuy’s studying methods are as foolproof as they could be.

H: Hmph.

D: What’s wrong, Heero? Got an upset tummy or somethin’?

H: (Laughs) 

D: What’s happening?

Q: Is everything alright? Heero?

H: Mission accomplished.

[Sound effect of everyone falling down]

~~~

Q: We…well, that was the demonstration! Besides from when you got a good grade, the phrase “mission accomplished” could also be used in scenarios such as when you successfully jumped over a box horse in P.E., or when you managed to purchase your favourite pastry despite the cafeteria being extremely crowded.

D: Honestly, I feel like this is not something that normally happens at school…oh well! However, Heero, you stood out like a sore thumb at school!

H: I try my best to act like a normal student and to blend into the crowd.

D: What part about that was normal?

Q: So, how was today’s Fundamental Knowledge Workshop?

D: Let’s see… Next week’s topic is…

Q: “Self-detonation”!    

D: Now this is a match made in heaven for ya, am I right, Heero? We’ll be counting on you next week as well!

H: There is no need to wait until next week. I am already demonstrating it. 

D: Yo, what’s that thing that you’ve got in your hand?

H: The self-detonation button.

D: Wait wait wait wait don’t do it here!

H: Mission accomplished. 

[Explosion SE]

Q: Wow Heero, that was one impressive self-detonation!

D: Quatre, how come you didn’t suffer any injuries?!

Q: Oh Duo, you shouldn’t have stood so close to Heero when he self-detonated. The average person would have died from that! Everyone, please be careful when it comes to handling explosives. Next week same time, we will be giving detailed instructions as to how to correctly self-detonate. Please look forward to that! Heero, thank you so much for today!

H: No worries.

Q: Farewell!

D: Someone please call an ambulance…

~~~

[Part 4] [Part 6]

[hyperpsychomaniac]

Bonding Exercise - Chapter 2

DT 17 Fanfiction

Summary: Scrooge is sick of Della and Launchpad fighting over the Sunchaser, which is costing him money, so he sends them on a 40 hour flight and orders them to sort out their differences.

Chapter 1

***

Scrooge was right. The flight was too long. Having someone to help share the flying sounded like a good idea, but by the time they arrived in Sydney, Della would have happily risked falling asleep at the controls. She finished the power-down checks and then glared across at Launchpad, where he sat in the copilot's seat. "You going to fuel her up, or do I have to do it?"

Launchpad glanced up from his phone and blinked. "Huh?"

"Never mind. I'll do it." Della could just see them taking off and trailing an entire fuel truck behind them.

Launchpad didn't even offer to do it himself, argue or apologise; he just shrugged and went back to playing with his phone. Seriously?

Della stomped off to arrange for the fuel and left Launchpad hunched over in the copilot's seat.

"Complain about never getting to fly. Then spend half the time playing on your phone… what is your deal this week?" Della waited, tapping her foot, as the mechanic chugged fuel into the Cloudslasher. The metal ring of her fake leg on the concrete seemed to unsettle him; he kept glancing her way warily.

By now, she was sure a few hours together, no matter how much they dragged on, would not fix her and LP's issues. And Launchpad didn't seem keen on cooperating. He'd been more interested in his phone. If it had just been Scrooge complaining about a few cents here and there, it wouldn't have irritated her so much. But they'd upset Dewey as well, and she knew Launchpad cared about her son. He could at least try to have a conversation with her. As frustrating as that sometimes was, it would at least mean he was trying too. They'd never patch things up if it was just her doing all the work.

Della's gaze fell on the gauge on the side of the mechanic's truck, and in her flustered state, it took her a few seconds to comprehend the reading and connect it to Scrooge's words earlier. "Hey, slow down, don't overfill her." She jabbed a finger at the rapidly climbing gauge. She could at least get one of Scrooge's instructions right and not get ripped off buying more fuel than they needed to make it home.

The mechanic raised an eyebrow as he looked between Della and the fuel truck. "You sure…"

"Um, yeah. I know how much fuel my aeroplane takes."

The mechanic shrugged his shaggy shoulders and got back into the truck. Well, at least some idiots wouldn't waste their time arguing with her.

Della climbed back into the Cloudslasher's belly and shut the bay door. "Right, we're refuelled, and… are you still playing on that thing? Better send whatever the heck you've been spending so long on. Once we start heading out towards Scrooge's sheep station, you're not going to have any reception."

"Um, yeah, okay."

Della prepared the Cloudslasher for takeoff. Then slammed the throttle full on. They were both thrown back into their seats, and Della couldn't help but smirk as Launchpad yelped and his phone skittered across the floor.

***

As they approached Scrooge's sheep station, Launchpad was at the controls. Della shuffled over to stand behind his chair and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

"We're nearly there," Launchpad muttered. By this point, he sounded more tired than irritated.

Della was pretty sure they were both over it. If anything, whether they worked their issues out or not, they'd plain just be sick of bickering. "Good."

"You'd better land her. You don't want me screwing it up."

Della rolled her eyes. Then she squinted out the windshield. "Wait, what the heck is that?" Ahead of them, a red wall of cloud reared up. Its edges churned, and faint flickers of lightning played at its interior.

"Sunchaser, come in," the radio squawked.

Della's eyes narrowed. Launchpad reached for the radio, but Della leaned over his shoulder and snatched up the handset before he could get to it. "This is the CLOUDSLASHER. We read you…

The radio crackled. "Wait, who? We're trying to contact the McDuck plane…"

"Yes, this is the McDuck plane which is, and always will be, called the Cloudslasher. We… what the heck is going on down there?"

"Dust storm, mate. You won't be able to land. You can go into a holding pattern; she should clear soon. Or you could head back…"

Della groaned. "We can't circle up here for hours!"

"Hey, up to you."

"It'll take twice as long to fly all the way out here again if we go back," said Launchpad.

He had a point, and it was the first helpful thing he'd said all trip. Here for a couple hours. Or adding on a whole pile more, including another landing to try fumble their way through together. "We just refuelled; we'll be fine. We'll hold up here. Let us know when it's safe to land? Please."

"Roger. Sheep station out."

Della slumped into the copilot's seat. "Great. More bonding."

Launchpad glanced across at her. "I don't like fighting with you, you know. Even if it wasn't upsetting Mr McDee. And Dewey, but…. I guess that's kind of important."

Dewey. Della sagged back in the seat and let out a tired sigh. Something, someone, they could agree on. Finally, it seemed Launchpad was ready to talk to her. "Yeah. I suppose we could just pretend, right?" she said. "For Dewey's sake? We don't have to be best buds. Just not fight like we did in front of him in the hanger."

They sat quietly for a moment. And then, or all the things Launchpad could've done, he once again pulled out his phone and started tapping away at the screen. Della's eyes narrowed. They'd actually been talking sensibly about Dewey. It was an important topic for both of them and the stupid phone… "There is no reception out here, Launchpad. But you know that, don't you? I get the message, alright? You're not interested in making this work. And I understand if you've got a problem with me; I know I've been harassing you about the plane, and I'm sorry, alright. But what about Dewey? You're supposed to be his best friend."

That brought Launchpad's gaze snapping up to meet hers. "I am his best friend!"

"So what, you've not been trying to ignore me for the entire trip? What's so important on that stupid phone; you got a new girlfriend or something?"

"Mind your own business." Launchpad hefted himself out of the chair and moved over to lean on the railing. The glow of his phone illuminated his creased brow and the darkened cargo bay behind them.

Della took over the controls. "You know," she said through gritted teeth. "You pretend like you’re everybody's friend, but you really don't seem like you want to put in the effort when things get a little tough."

Launchpad ignored her.

***

Three hours later, and Launchpad was still ignoring her. At this point, it was probably for the best. Della couldn't imagine anything he could've said to her that wouldn't result in an argument. He'd ditched the phone, maybe he'd run out of things to do on it without reception, but that hadn't stopped him making it clear he did not want to talk. Now, he had his notebook out on his lap. He sat in the copilot's chair, scribbling and crossing out what he'd written again and again.

Della called the station. Their reply was garbled and crackling, and the storm still showed no signs of clearing. They were probably getting sick of hearing her voice. She hung up the handset and flopped back into her seat. "Maybe we should have just flown back."

Launchpad looked up, pencil hovering over his paper. "Huh? What, you're blaming me?"

Della sighed. "No." She'd call him on ignoring her, but there was no point snapping at him for something she was as much to blame for. "We both made that decision. At least we have plenty of fuel."

Launchpad scowled at his notebook, then flipped it shut and tossed it up onto the console.

It wasn't just her he seemed irritated at, Della realised. Maybe she'd been wrong. Maybe his distraction wasn't intentionally directed at her. "What are you writing anyway?" she asked tentatively. She'd try, just one more time. Both to give Launchpad another chance, but primarily for her son. "Darkwing fanfiction?" It was the only thing Della could think of off the top of her head. But why hadn't she thought of this before? Even if Launchpad was trying to ignore her, she was sure he couldn't resist talking about Darkwing Duck. And Della didn't care squat about it, so she'd have no reason to fight with him over it.

"No, I… never mind." Launchpad got up and looked over her shoulder at the console.

Not the reaction she'd expected. At least he hadn't walked away from her, but Della did not appreciate him hovering. "You know what, this is getting boring. It's your turn. "She grabbed Launchpad's sleeve as she stood up and wrested him in the direction of the seat.

Launchpad gave in and sat down, taking the control yoke in his big hands. Then he closed his eyes and frowned.

"What are you doing now? Don't fly with your eyes closed!"

Launchpad's eyes shot open, and he got up and pushed past her. "I'm going to check the fuel."

"The gauge is is right there! It's…" Della frowned "… still full?"

"She feels a bit light."

Della sat down and tapped the gauge. "Launchpad, did you glue the needle in here?" Out of all the annoying things he'd done today, somehow, this wasn't so bad. She just didn't understand why he did some of the things he did. At least she'd put in the fuel herself. If she'd let Launchpad do it, she'd be real worried right now.

"Felt a bit light…" Launchpad climbed down the ladder to the cargo bay and paused above the fuel tank. He opened a panel in the floor, which shouldn't have opened, but he'd probably modified it so he could easily access the fuel tank. Instead of, you know, simply using the gauge which was right there on the console.

Della punched the gauge, not hard enough to break it, but just give it a really good whack. The needle jerked itself free and dropped. She waited for it to settle. They were probably still above three quarters, at a guess. The needle stayed almost smack down on empty. Maybe that's why he'd glued it; it was broken. Unless she'd just broken it, but Launchpad couldn't really blame her after he'd glued the thing. She leaned over the railing. "Launchpad, why did you put glue in the gauges?"

Launchpad popped his head out of the hatch. "How much fuel did you put in?"

"Why'd you glue the stupid needle in the fuel gauge? Now it's broken! At least I know how much I put in, and she should still be nearly full…"

"The tank's nearly empty. I mean, we've still got a bit, but if that storm doesn't clear like now we'll have to go back, and…"

"Good lord, no, we are not going back. And we don't need to…"

"We're nearly empty!"

Della's hands balled to fists at her side. "I know what I put in! We'd both know if you hadn't screwed with the gauge, why, why do you even…"

"Because it reads low!" Launchpad exploded. "And everyone always leans over my shoulder and says Launchpad we need fuel now, and I tell them she still feels right, and they just tell me Launchpad you don't know how to fly the plane! But I know what it feels like! I glued it so everyone would stop telling me how to fly my plane!"

"The Cloudslasher is mine! I know how much fuel I put in her; she's nearly full!"

Launchpad flung his hands at the hatch. "I know how a fuel tank works. That's how I can tell she's nearly empty."

"Urgh! You're as bad as the mechanic. I know how many gallons my own damn plane takes!"

"Liters."

"We're American, LP. I know how many gallons…" Della slowly lowered her arms. Back at the airport, she'd been in such a fluster. "Oh no."

"Nuh, but I think in Australia they use metric. It's weird. So the numbers on their stuff are different… or the fuel fills up a different space in the tank or something. So I normally just tell them to fill it up. It's less confusing."

Della put a hand to her forehead. "The fuel truck was reading litres. The mechanic put in way less fuel than I thought."

Launchpad's shoulders slumped. "Guess we got to go back."

"Yeah. So I'm stuck with you for even longer."

"Hey, I'm trying to be nice. You were the one who screwed up fueling the plane."

"I would've known if you hadn't messed with my gauges! Seriously? People wouldn't keep telling you you don't know how to read them or tell you you forgot fuel… if you weren't… if you weren't such a bad pilot. Why does Scrooge even employ you!?"

The aeroplane lurched. Della's eyes widened. "Who's flying the plane?"

"You're supposed to be! You're just as bad a pilot as I am, you know that, right? But at least no one's going to fire you because… at least you're actually part of the family!"

"Can we raincheck this?" Della ran back to the console, and Launchpad followed. Della slid into the pilot's seat, grabbed the yoke and steadied the plane. Outside was nothing but red. They were practically on the edge of the storm now, far closer than they'd been when Della had left the controls, and she wasn't sure how either they or the storm had moved so much. The engines whined, louder than usual. The dust couldn't be good for them.

Launchpad gripped the back of the pilot's chair. "I think we gotta put her down! She's getting sandblasted up here."

Della squinted through the windshield. "I know… I know… but I don't know where the ground is."

"You gotta feel it…"

"I would use the gauges, but someone put stickers all over them!"

"Decals! You don't need them."

The Cloudslasher bucked again. "Aw, fooey, we're going to crash." The ground could be inches below them, and they wouldn't know. Or centimetres. Because, you know, bloody metric.

Launchpad huffed. "Yeah, we're going to crash. Big deal. So we may as well do it properly. Now, move." He grabbed Della's shoulders, picked her right up out of the seat like she weighed nothing, and placed her to the side.

"Hey, don't you dare pick me up!"

Launchpad sat down and grabbed the yoke. And then he closed his eyes.

"What are you…"

"Shh."

Launchpad's chest heaved as he took in a deep breath, and then he stilled. Della wasn't sure, but maybe the aeroplane was a little steadier. Relatively speaking. Outside the windshield, red dust ebbed and flowed. And, Della thought she saw a shape. A serpentine form; a snake in the sky. Between the red dust, it seemed to glisten with a rainbow hue.

Della grabbed Launchpad's shoulder. "Um, LP? Maybe you should open your eyes."

"It's too distracting."

"But there's a…"

The impossible flying creature was suddenly upon them, a giant rainbow-coloured snake that slammed into the front of the plane. It dwarfed them. The storm roared, the snake hissed and bucked as it tried to tear itself free of the metal beast that had rammed it. It was like they'd collected an angry fluorescent anaconda on their jeep's windshield. But this completely engulfed the nose of an aeroplane with loops of muscle, scales, and sharp spines.

Launchpad's eyes shot open. "Wha…"

The snake hissed and whipped its body free. The harsh motion triggered the prominent spines along its back, and they shot free and pelted like a hailstorm of arrows towards the windshield.

"Launchpad, duck!" Della hit the deck. A dozen spines punched straight through the glass and slammed into the back of the cargo bay. "What the crap…" Della shot back to her feet. The giant airborne snake was gone. The windshield was punctured by a dozen holes like someone had peppered it with bullets, but thankfully, it had not shattered.

"Hey, Della? You're going to need to crash this for me. I… can't reach the yoke." Launchpad clutched his shoulder. One of the spines stuck out near his hand, and the other end had punctured straight through both him and the back of the pilot's chair.

"Oh shit, LP." Della shot to her feet and put her hand on his arm. "Are you okay?"

Launchpad winced, then took his hand away from the spine and swiped at the yoke. His shoulder seeped red around the spine and into his jacket. "It's okay… I can't really feel it. I just… can't reach. We're losing control again."

Heart pounding, Della moved in front of him and grasped the yoke. Just don't look. She had to concentrate on flying the plane. Landing in one piece was the first priority. But she couldn't read the instruments, and she couldn't see anything… and then she was going to have to deal with that spine in Launchpad's shoulder, and she wasn't even sure how bad it was, and…

Launchpad reached out and squeezed her arm. "Close your eyes. You don't have to keep 'em closed. It'll just give you a chance to feel what the... the Cloudslasher's doing. You can't see outside anyway."

"Okay…" Della closed her eyes. It was certainly less distracting. She tugged the yoke slightly up, lifting the nose of the plane.

"There you go…"

"What about the ground?"

"Hopefully, it's not red too."

Della squinted as she cautiously cracked open her eyes. She wasn't sure, but maybe the hue outside and below them looked darker. She tugged the nose up slightly. The plane let out a crunch of tortured metal, and the impact flung Della into the console.

***

Chapter 3

[prurientpuddlejumper]

You’re a Mean One, Mr. Kneef (Part 1)

Part 2 ->

For @thatesqcrush​​​’s Holiday Bingo! Filling the Grinch/Scrooge square

Bryan Kneef x Female Reader

Warnings: NSFW. No smut, just a... situation in which Bryan has zero sense of shame. Honestly it’s straight-up workplace sexual harassment. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

1,576 words

Festive lights were strung around the offices of STR Laurie, but their merry glow added no holiday cheer to the hearts of all of those forced to come into work on Christmas Eve. Everyone was supposed to have the day off, or at least get a half-day. However, the sun was setting over the Chicago skyline, and at least a dozen paralegals were still frantically toiling over the enormous workload dumped on them last minute by one Bryan Kneef.

It didn’t seem like a particularly important case or a particularly critical motion, but according to Mr. Kneef, it was worthy of an all-hands-on-deck situation that would make as many employees as possible miss dinner with their families.

In fact, as you glared over the top of your monitor at his office—the curtains drawn and the lights dimmed within—you were pretty sure he wasn’t even working on this “important” case. He was probably fucking napping. This was all some sadistic Scrooge-like tactic to make everyone miserable just because he didn’t have anywhere to be tonight.

As the angled light streaming in through the window turned dusky orange with no end to the work in sight, you’d had enough. You stood up, marched across the office, and barged through Mr. Kneef’s door without knocking, certain you were going to catch him with his eyes closed on the couch.

Instead, you caught him behind his desk, furiously masturbating to porn.

He stopped, but unlike a decent human being who would yelp in surprise and frantically sputter apologies for being caught dick-in-hand, he wasn’t startled by your entrance and made no particular hurry to cover himself. He clicked a button on the keyboard, and the rhythmic sounds of moaning stopped.

His eyebrows raised at you impatiently as if you’d interrupted him on a phone call.

You slammed the door behind you—the rest of the office didn’t need to hear this.

“What the fuck, Mr. Kneef? This case is so important we have to work through fucking Christmas, and you’re in here jerking off?”

“Your point?”

“Fuck you!”

His lips pushed up into an excessive frown that made his beard bristle, and he raised his brows, not disagreeing and seemingly impressed with your audacity.

“Fine. Come here.” He patted his lap, smirking, legs spread wide in his leather chair. His semi-hard cock was still sitting naked and pink outside his deep navy dress pants.

Now he’d crossed the line into making your skin crawl.

“OK, I’m calling HR.”

He scoffed and tucked himself back into his pants. “You said fuck me.”

He wasn’t swayed by your threat to report him—what was important was that you had been the first to blink. You didn’t really look offended, anyway. If you had blushed like a nun and hidden your eyes when you walked in on him, he wouldn’t have been so provocative (he wasn’t a complete monster). If you had fucking knocked, you wouldn’t have walked in on anything. But you had the balls to barge in and dress down your superior. The number-one asshole of the firm was not about to let you challenge him and win.

You closed your eyes and tried to compose yourself, ignoring the flush of heat surging behind your ribs and pooling between your legs from his sleazy request. Ew—body, what? Don’t be gross.

“So. You have a problem with the work I’ve assigned you?” He set his elbow on the table and rested his beard in his hand. His voice was as casually mocking as ever, as if this whole situation was perfectly normal.

“Yeah. It’s bullshit. We’d all like to go home if this motion isn’t so vitally pressing it can’t wait until Monday.”

“I see.”

“Don’t you have anywhere to be?”

There was a twitch in his face at that. He tried to remain as callous and inscrutable as ever, but the question revealed a tension that wasn’t obvious before. Beside his computer was a bottle of Scotch and an almost-empty glass. Next to that was a small rectangular box, neatly wrapped with shiny silver paper and a gold bow. He glanced down at it, and he looked, for a brief instant, sad.

He wasn’t so intimidating when his cold eyes turned pitiful like that. Almost like he was human.

In contrast to his distasteful personality, his eyes were a beautiful, delicate green even in the dim light. It was enough to make you admit how handsome the lawyer was—the dark beard, the flecks of silver streaking through his flawlessly-styled hair. If he turned out to have actual human feelings beneath the swagger, you might even like him.

You sat down in the small chair opposite him at his desk. His eyes had already retaken their cold, mocking air, but you tried appealing to the hypothetical inner-human in him anyway. “Do you have any Christmas traditions? A family you want to see? You must at least remember being a kid—how special the holidays are at that age. Dana has two kids waiting at home, and this is the only time of year Paul gets to see his nephews.”

“You think I give a shit about sob stories? They have a job to do. If they don’t like it, they can quit.”

“Fine”—Screw playing nice—“How about this: I can call HR about the porn on your work computer.”

He glowered back at you, appraising the sincerity of your threat. “The whole HR department is eating turkey right now. So, you can file a complaint on Monday. Maybe I get a warning? Won’t help you tonight. Sorry, sweetheart. Finish the motion, you can go home.” His piercing eyes stared at you, waiting. “Will that be all?”

Instead of retreating in an indignant huff as he full-well expected you to do, you shoved aside a handful of papers and the Scotch bottle to clear a spot on his desk, and sat on it so you were looking down on him, thoroughly invading his personal space. “What do you want? Why are you doing this? Don’t pretend it isn’t out of spite. Let me guess… you didn’t want to spend another Christmas alone getting sad-drunk on expensive whisky, so you decided to do this instead of pick up a hooker?”

He glared harshly but otherwise didn’t react.

“How about this? I’ll take one for the team and go drinking with you—just tell everyone else they can go home, Ebenezer.”

He rolled his eyes contemptuously and explained in no uncertain terms that that was not going to happen. But maybe it was your flirtatious body language, or the stubborn way you refused to back down, or that you weren’t intimidated by him like every other subordinate around here. Maybe he was just lonely. But you were irritating in a way he liked. And just desperate enough to do him a favor.

“If we left together, we would not be going out drinking,” he growled.

You rightly mistook it for an invitation to bed—because he deliberately intoned it as such to rile you up, so when you spat, “Fuck you!” he could feign innocent victimhood.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he said. “I do have somewhere to be tonight—a family dinner. If you are serious about wanting to get me out of here, that’s where we’d go.” Of course, if you’d jumped at the offer to fuck him, he would have accepted that, too.

Now you were just confused. “You want… to take me to meet your parents? Why…?”

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, already kicking himself for what he was about to tell you. But fuck it. You would have to find out if you were going to help, and he could use you and your massive balls to solve his little dilemma. Ovaries? Yeah. Your big brass ovaries.

“My parents are expecting me to show up with my long-term girlfriend. They have been... annoyingly eager to meet her tonight, and she just fucking dumped me.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry.” Being dumped sucked. Not that you’d ever take it out on a dozen coworkers, but assholes grieve differently. “How long were you together?”

“Three months.”

You blinked. “Oh my god, that is not a long-term relationship. Jesus, what standard are you going by? One-night stands?”

He bristled at the question, and you had a distinct impression that—yeah—the comparison was one-night stands.

“Irrelevant. I don’t want to spend the entire night fielding questions about what happened, sitting through my dad’s relationship advice, and dodging pitying glances.”

“So you invented a work emergency. Classy. Never thought I’d see the great Bryan Kneef, lady killer, on his knees over someone he dated for three months.

“I am not broken up about it,” he snapped. “I just don’t want to deal with the bullshit from my family. So, you want to get out of here? Pretend to be my date for a few hours. You don’t have a problem lying, do you? We can break up after New Year’s. Deal?”

“You’ll let everyone else go home?”

He protested and made a counter-offer, but after much bargaining and negotiation, he finally gave in and agreed to your terms.

And that was how you saved Christmas and became the unsung hero of the entire office. None of your coworkers would know the sacrifice you made for them, the awkward dinner you had to endure, or all of the illuminating secrets you would learn that night about the biggest asshole at the firm.

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

Tags: 

@beccabarba​ / @caked-crusader​ / @itsjustmyfantasyroom​ / @thatesqcrush​ / @dianilaws​ / @permanentlydizzy​ / @mrsrafaelbarba​ / @madamsnape921​ / @astrangegirlsmind​

[quill-pen]

~HC: Characters ages in 'Scrooge: A Christmas Carol'~

Ebenezer Scrooge: 50

Boy Ebenezer: 11

Young Ebenezer: (at time of Christmas party) 22; (at time of break-up) 26

Harry Huffam: 28

Hela Huffam: 24

Bob Cratchit: 30

Ethel Cratchit: 30

Tom Jenkins: 29

The Hannahs (Festive Fund ladies): Mid-late 40s

Marley: technically 77 (died at 70)

Flashback Marley: 51

Mr. Fezziwig: 64

Mrs. Fezziwig: 55

Isabel: (at time of Christmas party) 19; (at time of break-up) 23

Jen: (child Jen) 7; (at time of death--married young) 18

Mr. & Mrs. Cratchit (Bob's parents): Late 20s-Early 30s

And the most important character of all:

Prudence: 8 (She's going to be an insanely long-lived dog because screw you. I'm still not convinced she's even truly a dog.)

[paraster]

"The Last Adventure!" live thoughts / bingo results

BRIEF SPOILER-FREE REVIEW

While there were a few moments I found questionable, this was overall a great finale, paying off long-standing plot threads in mostly-satisfying ways and giving us a boatload of sweet or awesome moments. I'm not sure whether this would stand alongside the best of the series, but it was a fun ride and a good conclusion.

Okay, using the theme song for the band performance is just charming.

Uh...I knew Don Karnage would probably be working with F.O.W.L., but I didn't expect himm to sit in on the board meeting.

Webby's "best family" line is still extremely sweet.

"Okay, that one was a bit of a stretch." Ah, Dewey

Is Gyro trying to contradict the others...?

Unsurprised Beakley doesn't trust the clones...

"You've already got sisters." ...kinda hurts Weblena, but I still really love this.

"We were created from you! We think..." Hmm...

Yeah, they're REALLY laying the "Webby meeting the triplets" parallels on thick.

"We're like...family." This DEFINITELY reads like trying to manipulate Webby.

"COUGH UP THE INFORMATION, BENTINA!" I'm Huey

"But you aren't REALLY related to them." NOPE DO NOT TRUST THEM

Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Vanderquack...what are YOU hiding?

I get that Lena hurt June, but you could show a LITTLE sympathy for how she was hurting Lena, Webby! Did they get in your head THAT quickly?!

That was a sweet Donald and Della scene OH HI JUNE

Aww. I like that Beakley monologue about Webby's parents. (Though my instincts say it was partially a lie...)

"I'll tell you everything...if I survive." Okay that was neat

Ah, so the clones are being manipulated, too...

Okay, wasn't expecting THAT to be how the bounce juice paid off

AAAHHHHHH WEBBY IS A GENIUS (can't believe I didn't realize that earlier)

Nice job subverting the "don't let the kids come" trope

Bradford...in a ...woodchuck uniform?

HOW DID I CALL THAT FINCH WAS BRADFORD'S GRANDMA?

That's about the most casual way they could reveal the other Buzzards were clones

Pepper is still a sweetheart

Aww sweet Lil' Bulb moment

Scrooge seems to finally accept magic and Lena is awesome

Was not expecting this from Manny...

Never change, Violet

Oh, Bradford is VERY good at manipulatng Huey.

Project April...so that's how it is...

Oh that was a COOL teamup.

Well, looks like the people who wanted a less dumb Steelbeak got their wish.

I legitimately was not expecting Ludwig to still be alive.

A void that can destroy anything...simple, but makes sense.

HOLY CRUD WHEN WERE THEY ALL CAPTURED

WOW. Not many people can use their own leg as an axe.

Best dogfight in the series.

All right...the moment of truth...

"Welcome home...April..." Most chilling line in the series.

Uh...Bulb B.O.Y.D. is one way to diffuse the tension.

Well...I was so certain the Papyrus of Binding wouldn't be relevant again...at least this proves Webby is the "rightful heir."

Lena is still cool

OKAY Manny is EVEN WEIRDER

I wanted a Lena/B.O.Y.D. teamup, but Gosalyn/B.O.Y.D. is still cool.

Nice Guidebook payoff. And brother hug. And pilot callback.

Uh...armored Bradford? (Nice job hating the Mysteries, Bradford.)

Waaaaasn't expecting Glomgold! Or the others.

Oh, are we gonna get Launchpad as Gizmoduck?

F.O.W.L. was responsible for Della finding the Spear...so there's that theory.

Well...I shouldn't be surprised by Bradford betraying his agents like that...

I'm not sure how I feel about Webby being a clone of Scrooge...okay this little speech helps a bit.

YEAHHHHHHHH LAUNCHPAD

I knew he'd sign it...

I agree with Bradford...but it's still cool.

OH YEAH SCREW YOU BRADFORD

Okay it kinda hurts the found family thing but Webby calling Scrooge "Dad" is SO sweet.

I LOVE this credits sequence

EDIT: I didn't initially count May and June for "There is another traitor" since it was meant to refer to already-established characters, but you can feel free to count it if you want (which would allow for the only bingo).

EDIT 2: Apparently Manny's new form was a reference to Gargoyles (never saw it, so I didn't know), so mark "Another Disney property." Also, "And the adventure continues" does count on reflection, so there's another bingo.

[galoots]

Prompt: baby Donald meets Rockerduck & Jeeves? Who I imagine are kinda awkward wirh babies? Love your adorable writing!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18119300/chapters/57063241

^Comments are greatly, greatly appreciated!!

Rock Me No More, Mr. Duck!

———————————————————————————————————–

            “You bought a baby?” Rockerduck stared at the dribbling infant seated in front of him, trying to determine its purpose. Although Scrooge was his competitor, he was still, by any and all means, a financial genius. And much could be learned from analyzing the way in which he conducted his business.

            But if there was any logic behind Scrooge’s decision to incorporate a baby into his life, then Rockerduck failed to see it. The tax deduction granted for claiming a dependent was greatly outweighed by the costs of raising it to adulthood. Providing the ankle-biter with the basic requirements of care: food, clothing, childcare, and schooling, was a major financial stress in and of itself. And for what?

            “Does it shit lumps of gold or something?” Rockerduck asked.

            Scrooge pinched the bridge of his beak in irritation. He could feel a migraine coming on. “I didn’t buy him, Johnny. We’re related. He’s my nephew. And I’ve legally adopted him as my own.” There was a fleeting touch of sadness behind those words. “And he does not poo gold. All his poos have been quite normal, thank-you-very-much!”

            Rockerduck rubbed his chin in pensive thought. “But what’s your angle? How does the baby function into your yearly profits?”

            “He doesn’t,” Scrooge said. “He doesn’t make me any money.”

            “Then what’s the point?”

            Scrooge frowned. How could he explain this to a logical-to-a-fault man like Rockerduck? How could he explain this when it was motivated by the amorphous emotions of sorrow and love? How could he explain this when he barely understood it himself?

            Scrooge settled for a trite answer instead. “Well he’s awfully cute, isn’t he?”

            “I fail to see the appeal.” Rockerduck gave a noncommittal wave of his hand.

            “Well…” Scrooge said, “Why don’t you try holding him?”

            Perhaps this was something one had to experience to understand. Just as Scrooge had felt a gentle blossoming of affection upon first holding his nephew, perhaps Rockerduck would too.

            Rockerduck leaned towards his assistant, Jeeves. “There aren’t any paparazzi around are there? This would ruin my jet-setting, playboy bachelor image.”

            Jeeves looked up from the Palm-Pilot he was using to manage Rockerduck’s schedule for the day. He glanced around the club room they were socializing in. A pointless gesture really, since no paparazzo were allowed inside the club for Billionaire’s. “No, sir.”

            “Alright,” Rockerduck shrugged. “Let’s make this quick then. I have a meeting to attend at 3:15.”

            Scooping Donald carefully into his arms, Scrooge lovingly gazed into his nephew’s big, green eyes. He was confident there was no man on earth who could resist the tenderness of feeling his nephew could inspire. Donald smiled and reached for his uncle, babbling happy nonsensical noises all the while.

            Rockerduck made a stiff approximation of the cradle hold he’d seen his parents use with himself in old family photographs. Scrooge lay Donald carefully in Rockerduck’s arms, gently guiding the younger man’s hands to cradle Donald’s head and bottom. Pleased with the work he’d done to ensure Donald was properly supported; Scrooge withdrew his hands. No sooner had he pulled away than Donald crinkled his face and begun to wail.

            “Huh,” Scrooge said, “that doesn’t usually happen.”

            Squirming wildly in Rockerduck’s grasp, Donald sobbed and screamed at the duck holding him.

            Rockerduck’s whole frame seized up with panic. “Why is it doing this?” His face was a twisted mosaic of horror. “Make it stop, McDuck.”

            “I can’t really—“

            “Command it to stop, McDuck!” Rockerduck yelled. The consternation only made the distressed infant cry harder.

            “Try rocking him back and forth.” Scrooge gave a weak smile, hoping Rockerduck wouldn’t agitate the baby anymore than he already had.

            Rockerduck jerked his arms side to side like a robot with rusted joints. It did little to calm Donald down.

            Jeeves, no longer able to focus on his secretarial work, shot them an annoyed look.

            The herky-jerky motion of Rockerduck’s motions caused the baby’s tears and snot to fly onto the fabric of his expensive looking suit. Rockerduck cried as if he’d been mortally wounded. “Look at what your baby did, McDuck!” The liquid soaked into wherever it landed, turning the fabric a darker shade of brown. “This is a Giorgio Armani suit! And he’s getting his disgusting baby snot all over it!”

            Jeeves sprung from the chair where he was seated as if the cushion had suddenly turned to hot coals. He took a large step back from the fussy infant and his equally fussy boss.

            Scrooge tried to mitigate the situation the best he could, gesturing calmly to soothe the agitated pair. “Just calm down and hand the baby—“

            “My father bought me this suit for my eighteenth birthday, McDuck!” Rockerduck continued to rave, shouting too loudly and too close for Donald’s liking.

            “Johnny, just give the baby—“

            Rockerduck pivoted towards Jeeves to bark at him. “Jeeves, take this baby this instant and get it far, far away from me!”

            Jeeves screwed his face up in disgust at the suggestion. “You do not pay me enough to touch that thing.”

            Donald was kicking his feet wildly now, his face red with exertion, and his tiny fists clenched tightly and shaking in the air as if he were cursing God himself.

            Forgetting social decorum, Scrooge seized his infant nephew from Rockerduck’s violently oscillating death grip. With a smooth and practiced motion, Scrooge lifted Donald to an upright position, resting his head upon his shoulder with one hand supporting his head and neck and the other hand supporting his bottom. Now in his arms, Scrooge held Donald securely, his heaving belly pressed against his chest. Rocking him with a slow gentle motion, Scrooge stroked his nephew’s head with a steady sedative caress.

            Almost instantly, Donald relaxed into his uncle’s grasp. His sobs slowed to small, hiccupy gasps as he began to catch his breath. Donald buried his tear-streaked face into the soft alcove of Scrooge’s neck. His breathing evened out as Scrooge quietly shushed him—a low drawn out sound that lapped at his ears like the ocean’s waves upon a beach. For a moment, the world narrowed down to the two of them. The moment enclosed around them like a mother’s arms around her child.

When Scrooge opened his eyes again, Donald’s cries had ceased, and his tears had dried. Scrooge was welcomed with the sight of Jeeves furiously dabbing at his employer’s suit, while Rockerduck waggled his hands from side-to-side, as if disgust could be shaken off.

            Scrooge exhaled deeply. He’d seen Donald get antsy around strangers or grow upset when parted from his or Duckworth’s hold, but the extent of his reaction was usually limited to falling strangely quiet and trying to hide. The near-instant repulsion he’d exhibited upon being held by Rockerduck had far exceeded what Scrooge had ever seen before. It was if the two of them were magnets with like poles actively repelling one another. In all his days, Scrooge had never seen a man so hated by an infant as Rockerduck.

           It was almost impressive. 

           Almost.