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salty-rey · 3 years

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Singing for the Troops

Pairing: Fives x Reader

Words: 3948

Warnings: Fluff! Open-ending (sexual mention???)

A/N: Hello everyone! This is the first time I do a fic for Star Wars, so I apologize in advance if I mislabeled certain ships. Or if I didn’t do the boys’ personalities any justice.

I was inspired by old performances/entertainment for the Allied troops in WWII, and after watching Christina Aguilera’s Candyman music video. Then I thought, “do the clones get any kind of entertainment like this?” So I took it upon myself to make a fan fic!

Hope you guys like it!

I don’t know how to end a fic....

Playlist: Something’s Got a Hold On Me | Candyman | Ain’t No Other Man

Your dream is to become a famous singer, and you have been working hard for years to reach this goal. You have been visiting various bars and cantinas, singing for patrons whenever the owner allowed it. Even if you were paid or not, you still sang. If a bar had an open mic night, you were there. Out of all the bars you’ve been to, 79s has always been a favorite. It was always packed, and the owner was happy to have you sing for the guests. It always brought more patrons, which meant more money for the establishment. Plus, you were even paid, unlike previous locations.

After a few months of you visiting 79s, you attracted the attention of a particular ARC trooper. When you finished your playlist of songs, both originals and covers, you were given a glass of whiskey.

“Compliments from the ARC trooper,” the droid server told you before gesturing to the said trooper in blue.

Looking over, you spotted the clone who raised their glass to you, sending a wink your way. Even though they all share the same face, this clone had a distinctive number tattoo on the side of his head and a classic goatee hugging his chin. It wasn’t the first time that someone bought a drink for you. Troopers before had attempted to grab your attention, even tried to get lucky for a night, but you brushed them off. But there was something about this trooper that was welcoming. Perhaps the way he smiled at you or the way he spoke to you. He was causal yet not dull. Flirty, too but it didn’t make you uncomfortable. You become bashful at his witty comments. It felt as though the two of you were long-time friends.

The ARC Trooper introduced himself as Fives and greeted you to his fellow brothers. There, you met Echo, Jesse, Kix, and Hardcase. They all serve under Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker, aka “Skyguy,” as to how Padawan Learner Ahsoka Tano calls him. They had stories to share with you; their missions on other planets engrossed you. In turn, you told them about your dreams to become a singer.

“It’s silly, I know. Been lectured by my parents for years.” You lightly laughed, only to become surprised at the boys’ reactions.

“No dream is silly!” “Anyone who says otherwise is just jealous of your voice!” “I don’t know what it’s like to have parents, but they should be supportive of you.”

“If that’s your dream, then go after it. To kriff what other people say.” Fives huffed before fully turning to you. “Who can say that they had dreams but didn’t achieve them because they thought it was unrealistic? I’m going to see you on a big stage one day, and I’m going to say, “That’s our songbird.” Because you will always have us cheering you on.” The trooper said with a soft smile.

A blush crept onto your face, and a smile was spreading cheek to cheek. “Thanks, Fives!”

After that night, you and the boys exchanged your private commlinks. Soon enough than anyone would like, they were shipped back to the battlefield. While they were away, if there were any downtime between missions and work, you would hear your holoprojector beeping. You spent hours talking to each trooper, glad to see that they were doing well. Fives was the one who spent the most time with you, almost talking the night away. He would only stop when he saw your head dipping and your eyes blinking to stay awake.

“Go to sleep, songbird. I’ll talk to you as soon as I can. With any luck, we should be landing back to Coruscant within the month.” So fives said, his holo-imagine occasionally flickering due to the distance.

After letting out a yawn, you rubbed your eyes and smile at him. “Okay. Be safe out there, okay?”

“Anything for my songbird,” Fives smirked. He then bid you goodnight with a soft smile, and he was gone.

Within the month, the 501st had returned to Coruscant, and you met up with the boys back at 79s. The bar 79s was packed as usual, especially on a weekend evening. Troopers from all kinds of battalions were here, drinking and dancing, retelling stories with their brothers and civilians. The music was pumping, and the dance floor was full of slightly or fully intoxicated soldiers.

Tight hugs and smiles were exchanged when you were reunited with the boys at the bar before entering and finding an empty booth for you all to sit. Echo had left the table to get everyone their drinks as you and boys caught up.

“I heard that there this campaign being made for singers by singers and that they want to sing for you troopers.” So you told them, raising for your a bit so that they can hear you over the music.

Singing for the Troops was a campaign created by independent singers on Coruscant. Singers who supported the clones and believed that the troops deserve a moment of peace and perhaps experience some form of normality, which may be entirely new to them. What clone can say that they have been to a concert? Plus, it would give the artists a moment to shine and perhaps score big with a sponsor. It’s a win-win situation!

“The campaign reached several Republic-allied planets, encouraging other singers to sign up. Not just that, but it’s was being crowdfunded, and it reached its price goal! Also, I heard that a famous singer is the main supporter of the campaign,” you informed as Echo passed around everyone’s drinks.

“You should sign up!” Kix said after taking a sip of his drink.

“I don’t know. I never sang for a large crowd. Let alone been off-world.” You replied nervously, your hands fiddling with the glass of liquor.

“That never stopped you singing at bars!” Hardcase responded before downing his drink in one gulp.

“Just imagine that you’re singing to us! We already have the same faces.” Jesse joked before wincing at the sudden punch to the shoulder.

“Look, songbird; you’re a great singer. And you’ve sung in front of countless drunken troops. So singing in front of a bunch of sober soldiers will be easy,” Fives chimed in, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table. “All those other singers will be lucky to have you join them.” He said before winking, a smirk on his face.

Your cheeks felt warm, and it wasn’t because of the liquor. “Thanks, Fives.” A soft smile formed on your lips, happy to hear his compliments. You then sighed before downing the rest of your drink. “Alright. I’ll do it!”

“Alright. A toast to (Y/N)!” Kix cheered, raising his glass, and the rest joined in.

The next day, you wasted no time in signing up for a chance to sing in the campaign. The requirements are to submit a recording of your singing, and if you are selected, you will receive a message at the earliest notice. When you waited for a response, you and the boys roam the upper mid-levels of Coruscant, taking time to hang out before the boys were shipped back to war. It always felt bittersweet saying goodbye, but you knew that it wouldn’t be for long.

It will be much longer.

Arriving at your apartment from working your day job, you noticed that your holoprojector was blinking; someone left a message for you. A tightening sensation was felt in the pit of your stomach, your heart racing as you approached your holoprojector. You stared at the blinking light. Did one of the boys leave a message for you? No, they know your schedule, so it possible it isn’t them.

Is it from the campaign? Your heart hammered hard against your ribcage as your hand reached over. Then, what felt like many minutes, you finally pressed the button, the image of a well-dressed man appearing.

“Evening, miss (Y/N). I am the manager of the campaign Singing for the Troops, and I’m here to congratulate you. You have been selected to be one of our singers! We hope to hear from you soon.” The recording ended with a courtesy bow from the man, leaving you standing there in shock.

Did he just say that you were accepted? Does that mean you get to go off-world and sing?!

A squeal of joy echoed throughout your apartment, you jumping in place. “I did it!!” You cheered before reaching for your holoprojector. You had to tell the boys! You had to tell Fives!

After several minutes to reach them, no one answered your calls. Your smile slowly turned into a frown before sighing in defeat. “They’re at war, (Y/N)... they’re probably outside of their base. I’ll just leave them a message about the good news.”

Later in the day, you contacted the campaign manager and agreed to meet with them for further instruction. The plan was to visit various battalions and sing for them during downtime. It will be difficult, and the campaign will have to plan, seeing battalion will go first. During those long weeks of planning, meeting other artists, and vocal practices, there still was no response from the boys. It wouldn’t be the first time you didn’t hear from Fives and the others, although you couldn’t help but worry.

“Once everyone arrives onto Coruscant, we will first visit the 104th Battalion,” the campaign manager informed everyone via holoprojector.

“The Wolfpack Co.,” you whispered to yourself. Fives told you about this battalion, having pointed a couple of them out back at 79’s. Fives said to you that the unit within the 104th was a serious, no-nonsense type of group. Entertaining this group and the rest of the battalion will be a challenge.

The manager continued to list other battalions and legions until one of them caught your attention. “501st and finally, the 212th.”

“Bottom of the list...” You whispered, frowning lightly. How long will it take for you to reach the 501st Legion?

The meeting concluded with a buzz of excitement. It was happening. For reals! In a few days, you will be flying out of Coruscant for the first time, following your dreams.

Before the faithful day could arrive, you decided to reach the boys once more. You sat with anticipation, your knee bouncing as you waited for someone to answer. Finally, after several beeps, the projector came to life, and standing before you was Fives.

“Fives! Thank the Maker,” you sighed in relief before glaring up at him. “Why hasn’t anyone returned my messages?”

The ARC Trooper lightly winced at your tone before smiling apologetically. “Sorry, songbird. The mission was a lot tougher than we first thought. But we finally liberated the planet from Separatist control. The boys and I are fine. I’m sorry for worrying you.” He said, frowning and eyes cast downward.

You opened your mouth to speak before shutting, looking away as well. “No, it’s not your fault. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped at you. We’re at war, and I know that you won’t always be there for our calls. I just....” You began to say but couldn’t finish your sentence.

“I know.” Fives stared at you, eyebrows knitted. “(Y/N)?” Looking back up, he was now smiling at you ever so sweetly that it made you blush. “Congrats on getting picked. I knew you would get in.”

You blinked up at the ARC trooper before smiling. The two of you spend a couple of hours talking, quickly making up for the lost time. You told him the battalions that you were going to visit, and he groaned in annoyance. “Why do we have to be at the bottom of the list?”

“I guess the 104th battalion are in dire need to put some smile on their faces—especially that sourpuss Wolffe.” You teased, causing Fives to laugh.

“That’s going to be one hell of a challenge. I don’t think I saw Commander Wolffe smile before.”

“I welcome a challenge. And I’ll sure be the one to turn his scowl into a grin.” You puffed out your chest in pride.

Fives chuckles at your comical posture, lightly shaking his head. “If anyone can, it’s you.” You relax, returning to an upright position, looking back up at the trooper. The two of you stare at each other in silence, observing each other’s features.

His armor was scuffed and dirtied. There are new scratches and dents throughout, roughing his paint job. His face looked tired, yet there was a glow in his eyes, staring at you in what it appears to be loving.

“I can’t wait to see you again, pretty girl,” Fives spoke, breaking the silence.

That was a new nickname, and it caused you to blush once more. Despite feeling embarrassed, you smiled back. “Me too. Take care, okay?”

“Anything for my songbird,” he repeated all those weeks ago.

Who knew participating in a singing campaign would last for so long. Then again, the war is still going on, so landing on Star Destroyers only happens when the surrounding area was safe. But it was all worth it. Seeing the joy on the troops’ faces and feeling their excitement as the music vibrated throughout the hanger was rewarding.

Working with the manager and group of artists was a great experience as well. Many of the singers were friendly, sharing their stories of how they got into music. Many of them were humans; one was a Twi’lek, another was a Pantoran, and a couple more alien species. Listening to them sing in their native tongue was thrilling, giving you goosebumps at the realization that there are so many cultures out there. So much more for you to learn, and what better place than here.

As the list of locations was getting shorter, you felt more nervous and excited as you got closer to the 501st legion. You were going to see Fives and the others soon. It’s been months since you last saw them. I tried staying in touch with them via holoprojector, but it was getting more complicated since you were busy as well. But that will all change as you near the Star Destroyer that the famous boys in blue occupied. Although, you were nervous for an entirely different reason. You would do something big, having already talked about it to the manager, band, and fellow singers would help be your backup singers. You’re taking a big chance, and there’s no turning back now.

The ship that you and the rest of the artist travel on docked, allowing the whole group to exit. The hangar will house the concert. That same space will also enable the troopers can dance and sing along. In a matter of hours, the soldiers set the stage, and the singers filed onto the hanger. Just like every other Star Destroyer, the stage is decked with standing spotlights and a curtain to act as a background. It also shields the rest of the group whenever they’re not performing.

You watched your fellow singers perform on stage, peeking from the corner of the curtain where the rest of the artists prepared themselves. As the crowd cheered and danced in place, your eyes scanned around the group. But at your current angle, you can’t see past the first few rows of troopers. So the only way to spot your boys is when you perform on stage. And it was happening real soon.

Three more singers performed, some of them accompanied by background singers or dancers. Then, it was your turn.

“Now, please welcome (Y/N)!” The manager introduced, and the crowd cheered as you walked on stage. Dressed in your performance outfit, you approached the microphone stand. Your eyes quickly scanned around the group, searching until a voice rang out from the sea of white and blue.

“That’s my songbird!!!”

Your eyes snapped to the source, and you softly gasped. There he was—your favorite ARC trooper.

Fives was waving his hands at you, a broad grin on his face. Standing by his sides were Echo, Hardcase, Jesse, and Kix. They were waving at you too, whistling and clapping their hands. They were all here. They are all safe and sound. You felt a weight come off your shoulders, blinking your eyes to fight back the tears.

Gripping the microphone, you paused for a second before opening your mouth. Your voice projected throughout the hangar as you sang out your first couple of lyrics. “Oh, sometimes I get a good feeling, yeah/I get a feeling that I never, never, never had before no, no/And I just wanna tell you right now that I-/I believe, I really do believe that/Something’s got a hold on me.”

“(Oh, it must be love),” your backup singers sang softly after you. Drums began to play. A soft bass followed along as you continued to sing. Your feet carried you around the stage, feeling the beat. The large crowd of troopers resumed their dancing, stomping their feet and cheering as you reached the middle of your song. Standing at the center of the stage and facing forward, your eyes then locked to Fives’s as you sang out the next couple of lyrics.

“My heart feels heavy, my feet feel light/I shake all over, but I feel alright/I never felt like this before/Something’s got a hold on me that won’t let go/I never thought it could happen to me/Got me happy when I’m in misery/I never thought it could be this way/Love’s sure gonna put a hurting on me.”

The whole time, neither one of you broke eye contact. You can see the look of surprise appearing on the ARC trooper’s face before shifting to one of love, a smile decorating his face. The other boys looked surprised at your words before looking at Fives. It was evident that their brother had a thing for you since day one, but to have you tell him of your feelings ---incredibly so bold like this--- was shocking. But they began to cheer, Echo smacking Jesse’s back as his brother rolled his eyes before depositing a small number of credits.

You grinned at the end of your song. Then, having witnessed the reaction from the boys, you blushed a bit. Glancing back at the band, you nodded your head. Drums began to play, followed by a couple of trumpets. “I met him out for dinner on a Friday night/He really got me working up an appetite,” you began to sing, moving your hips to the beat. The crowd started up again, dancing along to the sound of your voice. “He’s a one stop shop, makes my cherry pop/He’s a sweet talkin’, sugar coated candyman!”

“Well, by now, I’m getting all bothered and hot/When he kissed my mouth, it really hit the spot/He had lips like sugarcane/Good things come for boys who wait!” So you sang, smiling at Fives, who smirked back at you. The crowd was getting excited as you moved your hips rather proactively, your confidence rising after seeing Fives’s responses to your words.

“He’s a one stop shop with a real big (ugh)/He’s a sweet-talkin’, sugar-coated candyman.” The crowd wolf-whistled at those words, but your focus was on Fives. You can see him biting his bottom lip, eyes heatedly watching you now.

When the song finished, the band continued onto your final piece. You had perfectly planned this night. Your choice of songs were different than the ones from previous performances. This was your love letter to Fives. You love him, and it appears that he feels the same way. You don’t know when will be the next time that the two of you will see each other. You would have loved to tell him your feelings differently, but like how you said before, singing is what you know best.

“Ain’t no other man can stand up next to you/Ain’t no other man on the planet does what you do/You’re the kinda guy a girl finds in a blue moon/You got soul, you got class, you got style with your bad ass/Ain’t no other man, it’s true/Ain’t no other man but you!”

Your performance ended with a loud round of applause. You were softly panting, sweat trickling down your neck, eyes watching Fives. He was clapping the hardest, using two fingers to whistle. A bright smile came to your face, thanking everyone before retreating to the back of the stage.

“What are you waiting for?!” Jesse shouted, a smirk on his face before lightly shoving Fives. “Go after her!” Echo encouraged, followed by a thumbs up from Hardcase and a nod from Kix.

Without wasting another second, Fives rush past his brothers, being careful not to bump into anyone as the next singer came to the stage. It didn’t take him long to reach the side of the stage, but two non-clone guards stopped him. “Sorry, sir, but no one is allowed back here.”

“It’s okay! He’s a friend,” you quickly intervene. The guards relaxed, allowing you to approach the ARC trooper. All that confidence from being on stage was dripping away. Now, your heart was racing, and your cheeks felt like they were on fire. Fives smirked as your cheeks darken in color, your blush reaching down your neck to the tips of your ears.

“Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed now, cyar’ika.” Fives chuckled as he took his hand in his.

You laughed nervously, letting Fives pull you away from the group of singers and towards a more secluded area of the hangar. “M-maybe a little,” you admitted before rounding a corner. Both of you were now hiding the two of you behind a starfighter, Fives gently pressing you against a stack of heavy crates. A hand laid on your hip while the other laid on the containers, trapping you in place. “I told you never sang in front of a large crowd.”

“Could have fooled me,” he responded as his hand on the crates moved to cup the side of your face. You slowly relaxed under his touch before gently leaning into his palm, looking up at him with hooded eyes.

“I meant every word, Fives.” You said in a hushed tone, your cheeks still flushed. You raised your hands up, before wrapping your arms around his neck, gently pulling him down to you, until the tip of your noses brushed. “I love you.”

“Say it again,” Fives moaned, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you flushed against his armor.

“I love you, Fives.”

What little space was between you two was gone, as Fives leaned forward, capturing your lips. It wasn’t a light kiss nor a deep one, but still full of passion. It was something that the two of you wanted. A moan escaped you as Fives pressed his tongue into your mouth, your hands moved to cup his cheeks, his hand cradling the back of your neck. “Ner cyar'ika laar senaar,” he purred against your lips after parting to breathe, before pecking your lips a couple of times. Hearing speak in Mando’a caused you to shiver in excitement, which he felt against his hands.

“You liked that?” He growled before nipping your neck, causing you to gasp. “There’s more where that came from.” You then felt his hips press and grind against yours, releasing another moan from you.

“There a few more singers left. Plenty of time for it,” you smirked before taking his hand. “And I know the perfect place where you can show me everything.” You both raced back to the ship that you arrived in. You both definitely had enough time, returning back to the hangar but the way you were walking, it was obvious what had occurred.

You didn’t care how the boys teased you, or how the other singers looked shock, or flustered. You are in complete bliss, having Fives at your side and holding his hand for the rest of the evening.

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A/N: Thanks again for reading! I have another fan fic in mind, but I should really focus on my finals first!

Ner cyar'ika laar senaar = My darling song bird

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god-of-dust · 3 years

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after much deliberation, i decided to post what i wrote of chapter 2 and 3 of Trick Me here. this will probably never end up on ao3 because of Reasons, but someone might enjoy reading it and i definitely enjoy the validation. (also, leaving this to rot in my folder seems like a waste.)

this is rated T, no particular warnings apply besides tom’s occasional murderous thoughts.

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There’s no sign of Potter. Figures. Tom glares at the suit of armour as if it’s the one meant to carry the blame for this situation.

Disillusionment Charm firmly in place, he leans on the rough stone wall and resigns himself to wait.

“You’re early. Why am I not surprised?”

In a split second, Tom turns in the direction of the voice and points his wand towards... the empty corridor?

Then Potter’s head—only his head—emerges from thin air.

“Jumpy, too. Again, not surprised,” Potter says, smirking. Then he moves, revealing the rest of his body and the rippling fabric of a cloak.

An Invisibility Cloak. No wonder Potter can get wherever he wants without getting caught. “Where did you get that?” Tom asks, envy colouring every word. That kind of Cloak is worth thousands of Galleons, which is more money than Tom has ever possessed in his entire life.

The things Tom could do with one... he’d have no need for permission to slide beyond the wards of the forbidden section of the library. While certainly tame compared to what a collection from a Dark pureblood family would hold, there are also many old books there that Tom has been dying to get his hands on since he’s seen their titles and felt the power they contained.

“Family heirloom,” Potter says with a shrug.

Of course Potter has a family that provides for him, and of course he has the gall to shrug, like it’s absolutely normal to carry around an object this valuable and use it to go to the Quidditch pitch at night. It’s maddening, to witness this utter lack of ambition in someone who has so much at his disposal and wastes it so pitifully.

He reaches out to touch the fabric. It’s soft and perfect, spells woven so beautifully that it appears not to be enchanted at all. He refuses to believe that this Potter is the one who cast them. “What kind of spells does your family use to prevent the magic from fading? How frequently do you have to refresh them?”

Potter only smiles and shakes his head. “You and Hermione would be amazing together if you just stopped being an arse to her.”

Tom glares at him. His thoughts on that particular topic must be crystal clear, because Potter laughs that full-bellied laugh of his. “You haven’t answered my question,” Tom insists.

“Do you want to stand in the corridor all night discussing my cloak? I thought we had Quidditch to play.”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Tom says: “Fine.”

“Get under here, then,” Potter beckons, holding a side of the cloak open for Tom to slip under and cover himself.

Sliding in the offered space, Tom instantly becomes very aware of how close they have to stay for them both to be concealed. Wonderful, he thinks, just wonderful. Just what I needed: more contact with him.

He lets Potter lead the way outside; after a bit of fumbling, they find a rhythm that allows them to walk in sync without constantly bumping into each other’s shoulder.

“Thank Merlin you’re shorter than Ron. His feet try to peek out all the time, it’s an absolute nightmare.”

Are his friends all he can talk about? Tom vaguely wonders, before noticing the route they’re taking. “The Quidditch pitch is the other way.”

“We’re not going to the pitch,” Potter replies.

Tom stops in his tracks, making the cloak tangle around Potter’s form; unsurprisingly, it only takes a moment for the miraculous Golden Boy to recover his balance. Tom, voice strained with the effort to keep it under control, hisses: “If you’re trying to trick me, Potter, I swear—”

“I’m not,” Potter interrupts. “The pitch is too open and couples go there to shag all the time, so the chances of someone seeing us are too high. I’m taking you to a place only I and my closest friends know about.”

Again with his friends. “Are you really so arrogant as to believe you’re the only one that knows anything about Hogwarts?”

This time, Potter is the one who stills abruptly. He turns to face Tom, noses almost touching under the cloak, eyes ablaze with an emotion that Tom has never seen on him: genuine, unfiltered anger. “Listen, Riddle. I offered my help, but what I didn’t offer was being target practice for your fucking abrasiveness. You want to learn Quidditch? I can teach you. You want to act like a bastard? Go do that somewhere else, because I’m not afraid to punch you in the face if you insist on constantly accusing me of imaginary crimes.”

“As if I’m not able to defend myself from your punches,” Tom snarls.

Potter’s eyes narrow. “Were you even listening to me?”

There’s nothing stopping Tom from hexing Potter into the next century; nothing, except for the fact that he’d be expelled and then the whole Potter clan would ensure that he’d rot in Azkaban for an indeterminate amount of years. Right now, it seems like a minor price to pay.

He keeps his twitching fingers away from his wand. He needs to hold himself in check if he wants to avoid Potter’s suspicion. After a steadying breath, he says evenly: “I was. My words were... out of line. I apologise.”

Silence stretches while Potter stares at him. Then he turns on his heels, facing away, and they resume their walking.

It takes them a few minutes to reach the boundary of looming trees that students are supposed to never cross. “Is this secret place of yours really inside the Forest?”

“Yeah. That’s why I’m reasonably sure that no one else has discovered it. A wrong turn would take them either into an Acromantula nest or in centaur territory,” Potter explains, navigating with sure steps amidst trunks and twigs and weeds and bushes as if he owns the place.

Both options are incredibly dangerous, for many different reasons. Not even the Headmaster has jurisdiction over the creatures in the Forest, and any reckless student who wanders too far is responsible for their own fate. Over the years, Tom has done a little exploring of his own to gather herbs, shed fur and other potion ingredients, but he never went as deep inside as wherever Potter is taking them now. “How did you discover it, then?” Tom asks while memorising the convoluted trail so that he’ll be able to return later. The potions he could brew with even a small vial of Acromantula venom, or some eggs... he has to find out more about those supposedly wrong turns.

“I followed my nose,” Potter says with a mischievous smirk, previous anger washed away like a leaf in a river. “And perhaps I had a bit of help.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Well, sorry, but I’m not going to divulge my secrets to anyone who asks... besides, you’re smart enough; perhaps with time you’ll figure it out on your own.”

Focus still firmly placed on their surroundings, Tom ignores the compliment. He has no use for Potter’s pretense.

A large clearing suddenly materialises before them, encircled by towering trees whose foliage forms a protective half-dome high over their heads. Ancient magic caresses Tom’s skin, making him shiver with anticipation. There’s a circular area in the center, large enough to hold a dozen people, empty of any grass or stone; Tom is certain that someone has built it that way on purpose. He steps closer, prudent and fascinated in equal measure. “What is this place?” he wonders, eyes wide and searching as he studies the stone while taking in the feeling of rightness and inspiration the space emanates.

“Somewhere where we can have all the privacy we want,” Potter says lightly as he slides off the cloak from their shoulders. To him, this secret spot humming with magic that vibrates in Tom’s blood and bones must be just another day, just another priceless thing dropped on his lap that he wields without a care.

After enchanting a few Lumos spheres to hover around them, Potter extracts a small object from his pocket, lays it on the even ground and enlarges it with a wave of his wand, revealing it to be a trunk. Then he points to a twisted root that peeks out from the soil and transfigures it into three Quidditch hoops, about three meters high.

“I assume you know about Quidditch roles and rules even if you’ve never played, correct?”

“Yes.” Tom’s skimmed through a Quidditch book, if only not to be completely unprepared when it came to playing his part in this charade. He will carry his plan forward and rip the rug from under Potter’s feet, even if it involves studying a few tedious rules of a tedious sport.

“So, you can probably imagine that every role requires different skills, which is why we’ll explore every one of them and gradually build up your stamina and reflexes while you discover what you’re naturally good at.” He scratches at his head contemplatively. “When was the last time you rode a broom?”

“First year flying classes. I was average at the basics and never tried anything more elaborate.” Tom isn’t eager to recall most of those memories because, in truth, it had been humiliating to realise how far behind his peers he was. Unlike them, he’d never had a broom of his own to practice and his confidence had faltered when he needed it the most. The broom’s magic had caught on his hesitation and thus his performance had been lukewarm at best.

“Yeah, I can imagine it wasn’t pleasing for you. Hermione was the same. You really can’t stand it when you don’t excel at something, huh?”

“I doubt anyone enjoys the feeling of being incompetent.”

“Good point,” Potter admits, “but that’s not the attitude you need right now. You always have to start from somewhere and build from there, even if that starting point isn’t as glorious as you’d like.” He squats to open the trunk; it contains a clearly well-loved yet also well-kept set of Quidditch balls.

Tom eyes suspiciously the Bludgers struggling against the chains holding them in place.

“Since we’re starting from the basics, tonight we’re both going to play Chasers, which means that we’ll pass the Quaffle between us and do our best to score through the goals. Of course, there’s more to being a Chaser than this, but it will be enough for now. Before that, though, I want to see you on a broom.”

“I don’t have one. I presumed we’d use one of the school brooms,” Tom says, crossing his arms, mild irritation colouring his tone.

Unbothered, Potter reaches again into his pocket to produce two shrunken brooms. “I brought my Nimbus. It’s very good, especially for a beginner, with quick responses and great stability.”

He holds out his hand and Tom takes the now appropriately sized broom. “...Thank you.”

“Wow, you’re really making an effort into being polite. I appreciate that,” Potter says, apparently pleased. “But now, Riddle, show me how you ride.”

There’s nothing in Potter’s smile and in that particular phrasing that Tom could possibly care for. He straddles the broom and pushes himself to hover in mid-air, one meter from the ground and then one more; feeling how precarious and uncertain his posture is, he does his best to correct it.

“Good. You don’t seem to be struggling much. Are you afraid of heights?”

Tom shoots him a venomous look. “No.”

“That’s one less thing we have to worry about, then.” Potter jumps on his broom and rises too, graceful as a phoenix. Bastard. “Let’s try some loops.”

Tom nods and watches as Potter demonstrates a few simple figures: circle, spiral, figure-eight. They seem easy enough, but when Tom tries to follow Potter’s directions his broom moves in shaky zig-zags instead of the smooth curves he expects it to perform.

“This broom isn’t working,” Tom snarls. He looks at Potter, who’s certainly dying to make fun of him... only to find no trace of sadistic glee on his expression.

Potter circles around him, examining him from head to toe with furrowed brows, almost hawk-like in his focus. “You’re clenching your thighs and hands too hard. The broom reads that as a sign for ‘straight line’ and ‘speed’, and right now that’s not your objective. For curves like these, you have to flow with the movement and lean into the direction you want without overbalancing.” His posture is relaxed, bordering on lazy, as he flies in a large, slow circle for Tom’s sake. “Like this.”

Tom imitates him as best as he can, loosening his grip. “What if I want to achieve a fast curve?”

“Fast curves are more advanced. We’ll try those later.”

Tom tries again with a figure-eight, and he’s surprised when he finds that the broom’s following the path he intended with increasing ease.

“See? Way better,” Potter beams. He looks like he’s genuinely enjoying this.

After a few minutes of loops, Tom’s acquired a mild amount of confidence in his form; at least the feeling that he’ll tip over every time he steers the broom has lessened until it’s nearly gone. Seemingly satisfied, Potter instructs him on how to repeat the same figures with a single-handed grip, then handless, as he explains: “You’ll need your hands free for the Quaffle.”

Even while going through boring drills at this insignificant height, there’s an undeniable thrill to flying, to acquiring control over something as elusive as air. “One day,” he declares, “I’m going to invent broomless flying.” Perhaps a variation of Wingardium Leviosa, combined with a Feather-Light Charm... yes, he’ll do it, and succeed.

“That would be amazing. And honestly, if anyone could do that it would be you.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Tom scoffs, close to amused. Does Potter really think that compliments will have any effect on him? Tom’s too acquainted with the subtle art of manipulation to take any of Potter’s amateurish attempts seriously.

Potter rolls his eyes. “It’s not flattery, it’s me making an observation. Every single person in Hogwarts knows that your knowledge and control over magic are impressive.” Smoothly diving forwards, Potter reaches for the trunk and grabs the Quaffle inside it.

“Catch!” he says, and throws the ball at Tom.

Instincts rearing up before he can think, Tom steers sideways to dodge, but he’s too quick, too sudden, the broom refuses to cooperate—fuck, he’s lost his balance, he’s going to slip off and fall on his face like a bloody—

An arm slides around his torso, holding him up. A steady hand over the handle of his broom stops its lurching. Tom is barely breathing, his mind catching up to the fact that he’s not going to become one with the forest soil.

“Shit, Tom, I’m sorry, I thought you were ready, I should have warned you—”

Heart still finding the way back to its regular beat, Tom interrupts Potter’s rambling: “It’s fine. Nothing happened.”

“Well it was a stupid thing to do, and I won’t do it again,” Potter insists, wide eyes painfully green even in the dark.

“Just drop it, will you?” It’s embarrassing enough that he ran away from a Quaffle like it was the Killing Curse; Potter’s self-flagellation is just rubbing more salt on the wound. As if he hasn’t done it on purpose anyway, the fucking prick.

With a sigh, the arm around Tom tightens briefly before Potter releases him. “Do you want to stop? We’ve done a lot already. You’ve been great.”

More useless flattering.

“Let’s try again,” Tom orders. He wants to challenge Potter, confuse him, shock him, give him a lesson that he’ll never forget. The plan to ruin his reputation isn’t enough; the matter has become personal.

Uncertain, Potter nods. This time, when the Quaffle comes towards him Tom catches it, albeit unsteadily. A victorious glint in his eyes, he does his best to throw Potter off-balance by flinging the ball back at him.

The back-and-forth of the Quaffle between them slowly acquires a flow. Potter accepts Tom’s viciousness and in turn pushes Tom’s limits, building his reflexes with progressively more elaborate throws, flying around him in circles like an annoying snidget. Tom fumbles, stumbles, grumbles, but he manages to avoid another fall, and he even scores a few points through the unprotected goals.

By the end of the lesson they’re both sweating—disgusting—and Potter is positively radiating joy.

Tom can’t say the same about himself. His performance’s been nowhere near satisfactory, his dexterity and form nowhere near Potter’s. While he still holds no interest for Quidditch, he also can’t stand the thought that Potter can have this golden opportunity to gloat over him. There’s no way that Tom will accept being considered inferior to anyone.

“So, uh... how was it?” Potter asks once they’ve dismounted, self-consciously running a hand through his hair. It looks like a habit of his.

“You’ve been patient,” Tom concedes. It’s true, at least on the surface: Potter’s been nothing but helpful and tolerant of every mistake, adapting his teaching to Tom’s pace with flawless precision. “I could have done better.”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” Potter says, “will you stop with the self-deprecation? You’re learning. It’s all part of the process. Believe me, I’ve seen worse.”

Tom hands the Nimbus back to Potter, who’s extinguishing the enchanted lights and reverting the goal posts back to their original shape. “You’ve also seen best, I reckon.”

Potter huffs in annoyance as he takes the broom and stores it away along with the rest of the equipment. “Yes, and it doesn’t matter. This isn’t a competition. The whole point of us being in the middle of the forest instead of the pitch is that you can be away from judgemental eyes, so could you please stop being your own worst critic?”

“We should go.” If Potter considers having standards the same as self-deprecation, then Tom has nothing else to say. “I can find my way back.” He turns to follow the hidden trail that led them here.

“Wait,” Potter says, interrupting Tom as he was about to cast a wordless Disillusionment Charm on himself. “Do you want to do this again? More lessons?”

Does Tom want to? Is the headache of spending time with Potter worth it?

Like a sharp edge, a thorn stuck in his side, Potter’s words echo in his head. This isn’t a competition. But it is, in a way—it’s Tom’s endurance against his desire to chalk up the whole plan as a failure and sweep it under the rug.

And Potter is still an issue—he still needs to go down in flames, and Tom is the one who has to ignite that fire.

He straightens his back. I won’t quit now. “Same time, next Saturday?”

“I’ll be here,” Potter says. It sounds like a promise.

[missing scene with Tom and snake-Harry]

At half past eleven on Saturday, Harry prepares to slip away from the Gryffindor dormitory under his Cloak.

“Ron, hey,” he whispers in the darkness of the dormitory, shaking his friend’s shoulder.

Still more than half-asleep, refusing to open his eyes, Ron mutters, “What?”

“I’m going out, will probably be late again. Don’t wait for me, okay?” He’s a little ashamed of taking advantage of Ron while he’s in this state, knowing that he won’t ask questions.

“Yeah, yeah—g’night, mate,” Ron says, words slurred as the dream world ensnares him again.

Then Harry leaves, sliding through the many corridors of the castle as if he were in his Animagus form, until he crosses the entrance; outside he can run, free, breathing in the cold wind that chills his face and lungs. He feels so light, like the world is full of exciting possibilities, like he’s on the hunt for something marvellous.

Yes, he hates hiding these nighttime escapades from his friends. However, he also loves the secret thrill of this undefined thing he and Tom have, this strange agreement that’s neither friendship nor rivalry, while not being neutral either. He knows, he can see that Tom—and how weird it is, that he already thinks of him as such—still despises him... yet he’s also invested in Harry in a way that goes beyond simple hatred or spite.

He could have used many excuses to get his hands on Harry’s Firebolt and sabotage it. He could have cursed Harry himself, especially with how close they’ve been, and Harry has no doubt that Tom possesses a sizable arsenal of slow-building, undetectable curses that would have sent Harry to his grave with no one the wiser.

But then, how absurd it is that Harry’s still not afraid to know that a part of Tom, a loud and powerful one, would rejoice in his pain and in having caused it?

He’s certain that Tom Riddle’s bite is deadly venomous, and he’s been thirsting for Harry’s blood for a long time. The bane of his existence, indeed.

Yet Harry saw something else during their time together: the fierce competitiveness, the stubbornness, the drive towards excellence, the desire to be greater than anyone... and also the insecurity, the self-loathing, the fear hidden behind harsh perfectionism, the sense of not being enough, of having to push himself harder, of not belonging anywhere, of being unloved and unlovable.

Tom Riddle is human and flawed. And he has bite, yes, but along with the venom comes a blazing fire that he keeps carefully concealed under his detached, polished façade. Harry wants to witness more of that fire, wants to bask in it, wants to revel in the privilege of being the one who can bring it out.

He knows what Tom could do, the potential of his cruelty. However, night after night, he discovers an inescapable curiosity for what Tom will do.

A laughter, full and thrilling, shakes Harry’s body as he skips through the forest, jumping over traitorous roots and avoiding thorn bushes intent on drawing blood.

Tom, of course, has already arrived.

Harry admires the transfigured goal posts, smoother and more symmetrical than how his own half-arsed magic would ever mold them, and thinks, This is going to be fun.

“Eager?” Harry can’t help but tease.

Tom gives him one of his looks. “I don’t like wasting time.”

“Of course. Let’s get to it, then.”

Like last time, Harry offers Tom his Nimbus; they warm up by playing with the Quaffle, letting Tom reacquaint himself with the feeling of flying by revisiting a few of the trickier turns. Tom’s control over the borrowed broomstick is still shaky and hesitant, which he clearly hates with a passion, but he’s also improved considerably in a small amount of time.

This may be the one thing in which Tom Riddle isn’t a natural. However, for some reason he’s actually putting in an effort to learn, which leaves Harry wondering why. Merlin knows Tom’s mind works in mysterious ways, and even after spending a few nights with him as a snake and witnessing his unfiltered rants Harry’s not closer to understanding his convoluted reasoning.

“Tonight I think you could try your hand at playing Keeper.”

Tom, always straight to the point, immediately flies towards the transfigured hoops and circles around them. “On a practical level, how is it different from playing Chaser, anyway? The ball is the same, it’s just a matter of catching it as we’ve already been doing.”

Harry feels an appraising smile rise on his lips. “Interesting question,” he replies, turning the Quaffle in his hands. “I believe the main difference is in the freedom of movement. As a Chaser, you can follow the trajectory and position of the Quaffle and other players in the way that’s most convenient for you, while as a Keeper you have to stay in a confined area, since leaving the goals unguarded equals failure. You need sharper eyes and quicker reflexes, which is why I considered it more advanced.”

“But the smaller area should make it easier, not harder,” Tom says with a small frown.

“Theory is theory, practice is practice. You’ll see by yourself.”

“Let’s begin, then.” He looks impatient, and Harry privately thinks that it’s kind of adorable. Perhaps my love for Quidditch is rubbing off on him. Or perhaps he’s just that competitive.

So Harry begins throwing and Tom begins to understand Harry’s point as the Quaffle slides under his guard and passes easily through the hoops time after time. With sweaty hair plastered to his forehead, eyes aflame and gritted teeth, Tom struggles to prevent Harry’s craftiness from allowing him to score yet another point. He’s only managed to catch five out of twenty-four throws.

“You have to keep in mind that I’m not an actual Chaser myself,” Harry says, immensely enjoying the murderous look on Tom’s face. “This could be way worse.”

Tom stills, holding the ball as if he wants to strangle it. “You do so love to make fun of me,” he snarls. “Idiot Tom Riddle, who’s never learned to play Quidditch, who can’t even catch a bloody Quaffle. Must be so nice to sit on your throne and laugh at my pathetic attempts.”

The aggressiveness in Tom’s tone makes Harry feel all kinds of ruffled, and perhaps he should be keeping his mouth shut, but when has he ever listened to reason? So he says, “I thought you had more spine than this, for someone who sits on his throne and laughs at others all the time.”

“What?” Tom says, eyes narrow and voice sharp as a potioneer’s blade.

“You heard me. Is it fun, being an arsehole to Hermione and who knows how many others? How does it feel when you are the one whose efforts feel inadequate, Tom?”

“It’s Riddle, to you.”

“Well then, Riddle: how does it feel? And mind you, I was teasing you as I would with a friend, but I could also be cruel and cutting like you. I could get on the same level of ‘polite bastard’ you seem to revel in.”

The look Tom gives him is utterly blank, which could be seen as an improvement over being murderous, or could also mean that he’s so much more murderous than usual that he’s already on the phase where he’s choosing how to dispose of Harry’s body.

Harry sighs. This is all pointless. Tom hates him, will always hate him, and they’re just dancing around each other waiting for the perfect opportunity to... what? Tom is most likely waiting for Harry to lower his guard enough for him to strike undetected, but what does Harry want? What’s his excuse for being here?

Perhaps this time his curiosity is better left alone.

“Forget what I just said. I’ve been an arsehole,” Harry says. “We don’t have to do this if you’re so frustrated it makes you miserable.”

“Is this what you think of me? That I go around lording my knowledge over people?” Tom doesn’t sound angry—he just stares at Harry like he’s speaking in a different language.

“From what I’ve seen of you... well, yes,” Harry says, uncertain. He feels like this whole conversation is balancing on a very delicate thread. “It’s not overt, but you do act superior and rub your grades on other people’s faces, with those condescending smirks and such... and I don’t believe that you don’t do that on purpose.”

“I—do that,” Tom admits quietly, almost disturbed by the revelation. Even more interesting, he appears to be honestly considering it. “Perhaps... it’s a bit excessive.”

“We all know you’re the most skilled student in this school anyway. It’s not just about grades—you clearly have a touch, a passion for magic that can’t be found in books and that most of us can’t hope to replicate.”

Tom’s eyes catch Harry’s then, a blazing intensity passing between them that makes Harry feel… funny. “You’re telling the truth. You do think that.”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”

“Not coming from you.”

Harry frowns. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You—” Tom pauses, raking a hand through his already mussed-up hair. He looks more unbuttoned than Harry’s ever seen him. “I’m not sure.”

“That you wanted to murder me in my sleep, probably,” Harry says unthinkingly. He knows that Tom has never been confused on his opinion of Harry; he’s heard enough dramatics when Tom’s spoken to him as Ezra, long tales on how insufferable Harry is, and how much of an attention-seeker, how brainless and privileged, and so on.

Surprisingly, Tom laughs. It’s brief, blink-and-you’ll miss it, but it’s happened.

Tom Riddle has laughed.

“I might have considered it, yes,” Tom confesses, not even remotely apologetic.

Harry is shocked and more charmed than he’d like to admit. “I don’t know what to do with this sudden honesty.”

Tom shakes his head, and he’s still smiling—not smirking, but smiling—and he looks as unbalanced as Harry feels. “Neither do I.” He locks eyes with Harry, and for a few brief seconds there’s that intensity again; then he breaks the spell to Accio the Quaffle from where he’d dropped it. “Let me try again.”

“Sure,” Harry says, quietly thrilled.

[missing scene with Tom and snake-Harry]

The trunk containing Potter’s Quidditch equipment sits on the forest floor, lid open. Tom studies the set of chained Bludgers and lifts an eyebrow. “Last time you said that in this lesson I was supposed to ‘learn my way around a Beater’s bat’.” The unspoken question of why Potter hasn’t handed him any bat yet hangs in the air.

“Yeah, I said that, but then I realised that Bludgers might not be the best idea right now,” Potter admits, shrugging. “You’re probably already familiar with how they work from a spectator’s point of view, but this is another instance of theory being very different from practice.”

“In short, you believe I’m not able to undertake this particular task,” Tom says. Of course Potter wouldn’t consider him worthy enough for the scary, angry balls, not when Tom still struggles with inconsistent balance and shaky steering at the best of times. Furthermore, Potter’s famed superior abilities allow him to keenly judge the depth of Tom’s incompetency and find him wanting.

Unimpressed by Tom’s logic, Potter rolls his eyes. “Is it necessary for you to be so dramatic?”

“Don’t bother with lying. We both know it’s the truth,” Tom insists. He has no patience for this display of futile denial.

“It’s a distorted version of the truth, so you can beat yourself up for not being perfect enough, or some crap along those lines. Yes, it’s probably not safe for you to engage with Bludgers yet. No, it doesn’t mean that you’re useless of whatever you’re telling yourself.”

“You seem awfully confident in your ability to interpret my thoughts.” Out of ingrained habit, Tom reinforces his Occlumency shields. While it’s unlikely that Potter has the wits and finesse to master the delicate art of Legilimency, he’s also revealed himself to be unpredictable in many occasions. Better safe than sorry.

“Maybe you’re just obvious,” Potter says dismissively, before tapping his wand on the small set of chains that holds the Golden Snitch in place at the center of the trunk. The ball springs free, only for Potter to catch it immediately with practiced ease and a gleam in his eyes that promises nothing good for Tom. “Tonight we’re Seeking.”

“Will the Snitch’s movements be restricted to this clearing, or will we have to follow its path amongst the trees?”

“Only the clearing,” Potter confirms with a small smile.

Tom lets his gaze roam to evaluate the length and breadth of the space. The shiny surface of the ball would be easily discernible against the dark background. “Seems feasible.”

The smile on Potter’s face grows wider. “Let’s begin, then.”

What followed were blurred hours of Tom fumbling his way through sharp turns, desperately trying to keep himself from losing his grip, then losing it anyway at every attempt to catch the blasted ball, then trying to regain his balance, then remembering to loosen his posture, then failing at commanding his limbs to go on a single direction, thus dipping downwards at uncontrollable speed until he would have surely eaten grass if not for Potter’s steadying hand.

Once they finally touch the ground, Tom flings away Potter’s broom, rage painting his world in red. He doesn’t give a single fuck about the bloody stick of wood and the bloody Snitch, he’s bruised all over the place and he’s sick of this, he won’t stand a single second of humiliating himself any further, he’s utterly and completely done. “How do you fucking do this?” Tom roars. “Why would you willingly subject yourself to this torture?”

“Uh, T—Riddle—”

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Tom goes on, ignoring him. “Why I even considered to accept this whole ordeal as if it deserves any of my time.”

“Riddle, I told you, this isn’t an obligation,” Potter says. “We can stop, it’s okay.” He’s dismounted too, and he stands there, slowly and cautiously inching towards Tom.

‘It’s okay’—as if Tom needs to be soothed or, worse, coddled. The infantilising undertones make Tom want to tear Potter to shreds. There’s a Cruciatus on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be unleashed, waiting for him to reap Potter’s pain for witnessing Tom making a fool of himself and daring to treat him like a volatile child. I doubt he’ll be so entertained when he’s contorting on the ground, screaming his lungs out, he thinks savagely, extracting his wand from its holster.

As the first syllable of the curse leaves Tom’s mouth, red light charging on the tip of his wand, Potter is fast—he crouches and rolls away from its trajectory, touching down over the stone in the middle of the clearing and drawing up a Shield Charm strong enough that Tom can hear it crackling like lightning. “What the fuck, Riddle?” he snaps, but there’s no surprise or fear on his face, only the sharp focus of a seasoned duellist.

Unfortunately for Potter, a mere Shield Charm isn’t enough to deter Tom; many Dark curses are designed to eat through them like a parchment set aflame. He smiles, all teeth, and Potter seems to sense his intentions, eyes narrowing.

Then the unthinkable happens.

Potter casts non-verbally at the same time Tom’s spell almost strikes home; the jets of their magic meet in midair and twine together in a single stream of pure gold light. Birdsong erupts, filling the space with an otherworldly melody, while luminous threads of magic are birthed from the stream like a spiderweb, surrounding Tom and Harry in a dome until the forest disappears beyond the shimmering brilliance.

What in Salazar’s name is this?

The entirety of Tom’s world is reduced to this moment in time, to Potter’s green eyes reflecting the light. Mesmerised, Tom watches as beads of light appear in the stream of their magic. His wand vibrates and he clutches it harder; the beads gets closer and closer to its tip, and Tom feels the light whispering at him to accept sanctuary in its song, to let it wash away his anger, to cease fighting, to surrender, and his whole body becomes weightless, being gently lifted from the ground by this invisible, absurd, liminal force—

And suddenly it ends.

The light disappears, leaving them to adjust to the night again: the link has been broken. Tom aches for it, deep in his bones. He can already tell how the echoes of that melody will haunt him for many nights to come.

He and Potter stare at each other, feet back on the ground, eyes wide, breathless and at a loss for words.

“What was that?” Tom breathes. “What did you do?”

Potter shakes his head, bewildered. “I have no clue. I just—stopped it.”

“You stopped it?”

“I think so.” Potter crawls towards a point to his side, scanning the grass back and forth until he recovers his wand from where he must have lost it when he interrupted the contact.

“Why?” Tom asks, unable to keep the word inside his still pounding chest. Why would you commit such a blasphemous act?

“Because—whatever it was, I’m not sure either of us was prepared for it.” He’s holding Tom’s gaze, straight on, in a way that reaches deep under his skin.

Unnerved, Tom skims the surface of Potter’s mind and finds a confusing jumble of... something. Too many somethings, all swirling in dizzying patterns. Wonder, doubt, curiosity, wariness, joy—all underlined by the same pure bliss that has enveloped Tom under the dome.

This magic is messing with my senses. “Don’t speak to me ever again. We’re done,” Tom says, with as much vicious strength as he can muster, rising on wobbly legs.

Potter sits in the grass and says nothing, making no move to stop him.

Tom can feel the weight of his gaze all the way to the castle. Once he reaches the dungeons, the Slytherin common room and finally his own bed, he realises how not a single part of his plan has worked out as expected.

His wand, who’s been a faithful companion since he was eleven, has acted in a way that was absolutely mystifying. Still shivering with the residue of that golden magic that doesn’t let go of his limbs, Tom performs a series of spells only to have the proof of what he already expected: the wand responds as usual and nothing is out of the ordinary—not now, not anymore. But if that unreal... thing wasn’t a malfunction, or caused by a curse, then what was it? He’s never heard of anything like it.

For the first time in what feels like forever, Tom’s out of his depth.

He thought he’d ruin Potter’s reputation, only to end up tired, bruised, with his magic acting up unpredictably and his thoughts scrambled beyond recognition. He thought he would teach Potter a lesson, and yet he lost himself in birdsong and light, giving away his power like an utter fool, until Potter was the one to separate them. And isn’t it funny that the reckless Gryffindor poster boy was the one who acted appropriately, while Tom has been too weak, too compromised? Weak, his mind provides.

How could it all have gone so wrong? How could Tom have lost the guidance of his own compass so completely?

For the briefest of moments, he wishes for Ezra’s presence; the snake has no interest in what he calls ‘complicated human affairs’, and his snark would help to keep Tom grounded. And isn’t this another sign of Tom’s weakness, to need another—an animal—to recover his balance?

He rubs his eyes, feeling both keyed-up and drained to the bone. A restless night awaits him.

However, he refuses to surrender to the hold of these thoughts. It’s completely useless to wallow in defeat and waste any more time contemplating this utter failure. Whatever happens next, whatever stunt Potter pulls that could interfere with Tom’s position in Slytherin, he’ll deal with it. Tom is cunning and capable enough to adapt to what fate has in store for him, as he’s always done.

He digs into his potion stash for a vial of Dreamless Sleep.

Potter can rot.

Harry crosses for the millionth time the opening sentence of his Potions essay. His parchment has turned into a blot of ink and he sighs, his wand to vanish the black stain. Then, he stares at the blank scroll, mind empty of coherent thoughts, unable to string together the meaning of a single line in the open book before him.

“I need help,” he finally says to Hermione, almost begging. They’re sitting, along with Ron, in their usual corner of the library. “I know, I know, I should write my own essay, but this isn’t—Hermione?” Harry hesitates, as he sees her casting a sturdy Muffliato around their table, the usual sign that a serious conversation was about to happen. Harry shoots a questioning look at Ron, but for once his friend appears to be on the same page as Hermione, leaving Harry out of the loop.

“Harry,” Hermione begins, with a concerned tone and furrowed eyebrows, “what’s going on? You’ve been distracted and spacing out for days, like you can’t focus on anything. It’s the third time you’ve asked for my help this week—even with difficult assignments, it’s not usually that bad.” She’s studying Harry’s face like she would a particularly complex Arithmancy equation, looking for the familiar tells that will betray his secrets.

Even though he knows perfectly well that she’s right, and that he did in fact intend to have one of those conversations, Harry protests on principle: “It’s Potions, you know how much I struggle with it! These essays are an absolute nightmare!”

“Yeah, mate, but maybe it would help if you read from the Potions book, instead of the Defense one,” Ron suggests, tapping his index finger on Harry’s book.

Harry stares at him, mild horror creeping up on his face, before letting his eyes fall on the book. He closes it and, sure enough, the battered cover doesn’t lie. “Fuck,” he says, defeated. He pushes up his glasses to rub at his face. “No wonder it didn’t make sense.”

Unlike Hermione, Ron doesn’t seem bothered by Harry’s behaviour; he shakes his head in playful disbelief, but he seems more curious than worried, which is relieving.

“So, what is it?” Hermione says.

Here it is, the moment Harry’s been dreading since this whole ordeal with Tom has started: telling the truth to his friends.

Like many other times, he doesn’t have a proper explanation for acting the way he does; in true Marauder fashion, he’d just acted on impulse, following the trail of fun. Unlike those other times, however, an explanation will be needed at some point.

This doesn’t mean that he isn’t also feeling quite defensive about this particular issue. After all, it’s not just about him; this is Tom’s business as much as it’s Harry’s, and Hermione won’t be happy to discover that her rival is involved. Harry still isn’t prepared for the fuss she will undoubtedly kick up.

And of course, predictable as the sunrise, Ron asks: “Is this because of whatever you’ve been doing when you sneak out at night?”

“Why are you being so secretive, Harry?” Hermione questions, leaning forwards and lowering her voice even though the Muffling Charm protects them from eavesdroppers. “Are you doing something that could get you expelled?”

“Hermione, I do things that could get me thrown in Azkaban on the regular.” Like being an unregistered Animagus, for instance.

And isn’t that another guilt-flavoured train of thought? The list of people that will need an explanation does include Tom himself. He’s warming up to Ezra in a way that he would have never allowed if he were aware of who hid behind the snake’s form. Yeah, Harry can’t say he’s looking forward to confessing that particular secret to Tom. After all, how can Harry admit to him that’s listened to his unfiltered rants and musings without Tom murdering him in cold blood? The Slytherin is already mistrustful enough, and lying by omission is one of the most dangerous things Harry could do, especially considering that Tom is a Legilimens.

Hermione waves an impatient hand to dismiss Harry’s point, snapping his attention back to the conversation. “You know what I mean, and you’re deflecting.”

Harry begins to open his mouth, but before he’s figured out what he’s going to say Hermione interrupts him again, voice gone soft: “Did you break up with your partner?”

“My what?” Again, Harry looks at Ron and finds none of the confusion he expects on his face.

“You have been disappearing a lot,” Ron offers with an half-shrug. “It was the most obvious conclusion.”

Harry gapes, stunned by the turn the conversation has taken. “Did you two really think that I have a secret lover? Why in the name of Merlin would I hide that?” If only they knew who my supposed ‘lover’ is. And isn’t that a thought, Tom being anyone’s lover, and Harry’s lover to boot? It’s too absurd, too unthinkable to even consider.

Yes, Harry can admit that Tom is handsome, and that he certainly doesn’t lack admirers; even with his poor eyesight, he’s not that ignorant of the Slytherin’s charms. However, Tom’s usual regal demeanour creates a distance between him and the rest of the world. Like a marble statue, Tom Riddle is meant to be admired while staying unreachable, and Harry can’t imagine him letting his shields down for anyone.

Except he did with me. Harry has been a witness to Tom’s temper, his cruelty, his smile. As obstinate as Tom has been with his will to drag Harry into the mud and his constant misinterpretation of Harry’s motives, he’s also let Harry see unflattering, vulnerable sides of him that many others would kill for.

How did that happen? What does this say about us?

“You’re spacing out again,” Hermione sighs. “But if it’s not a secret lover, then what is this all about?”

“I’ve been seeing someone. Not in that way,” he adds, before they can say anything. “But we kind of, uh, had a disagreement, and our magic reacted strangely and I was wondering if you knew something about it that I don’t.”

At the mention of an intellectual debate Hermione perks up, her posture instantly straightening. Harry tells them an abridged version of what happened in the clearing, glossing over the more incriminating details that could reveal Tom’s identity or the reason behind their fight.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve read about something like this before,” Hermione says, tapping her index finger to her lips. She bends to the side to rummage inside her magically expanded bag where she keeps a ridiculous amount of books—though Harry has to admit that, on occasions like this, having a portable library does come in handy. “I believe it was on a wandlore book I got last year. It’s hard to find any useful information on the subject because wandmaking is passed on through apprenticeship and very few masters have bothered writing down their knowledge, but I lucked on this tome that was gathering dust on a corner at Flourish and Blott’s, I’m fairly sure they didn’t even remember having it—ah, here it is!” she exclaims, showing them an ancient leatherbound volume whose title has faded completely. After a few minutes of leafing through the yellowed pages, she says: “I was right! Priori Incantatem, an extremely rare phenomenon that manifests when two practitioners bearing twin wands—that is, wands with the twin cores—attempt a duel.”

“So my... acquaintance’s wand has a phoenix feather core like mine?”

Hermione studies the book again. “Not just any phoenix feather, apparently. It has to be a feather from the same phoenix as yours, which I guess is why most wands don’t have a twin at all, or never meet their twin.” She lifts her gaze from the page to meet Harry’s eyes with her bright ones. “Harry, who is this person? This could be an amazing opportunity to study something that—”

“I can’t tell you, and they made it very clear that they don’t want me to speak to them ever again,” Harry says. Classes with the Slytherins have been... something. While outwardly nothing had changed between them, as they’d never interacted in the first place, Harry could feel the spiky coldness radiating from Tom as if it were alive and ready for him to try and cross it.

“But mate,” Ron interjects, gesturing vaguely at Harry, “wouldn’t they like to know about this? If my wand started shooting weird golden light during a duel, I’d be freaking out and thinking that my magic isn’t working or something like that.”

“I think they’re perfectly capable of researching this on their own.” Maybe that’s the reason behind their odd connection. Their wands... attract them to each other, or something.

Would Tom even want to know? The truth is... Ron is right. Someone like Tom, who prides himself on knowing everything and always being in control, must have been utterly shaken by his magic going haywire all of a sudden.

Harry’s choice is made.

A week after the last encounter with Potter, Ezra reappears in the dungeons just as Tom’s Prefect rounds come to an end.

Tom wonders at the snake’s ability to be so precise about his routine. Ready to cage his wayward almost-but-not-quite familiar again, this time with no intention of letting go, Tom lifts his wand in lieu of a greeting.

“Put that away, human,” Ezra hisses, and his tone is enough to still Tom’s tongue. He sounds stiff, his muscles tight and struggling against his obvious distress.

Eyes narrowing, Tom asks: “What happened to you?” If someone had dared to hurt his snake...

“Too many questions.”

“That was one question.”

“Pointless details. Follow me,” Ezra commands, before slithering down the dimly lit corridor, wasting no time to check if Tom is going after him.

Tom curses under his breath. Disrespectful, disobedient creature. He casts a silent Disillusionment Charm over himself and trails behind the sinuous shadow; the snake avoids the treacherous staircases, leading Tom behind faded tapestries and secret passages that he’s never encountered before. Spelling away the cobwebs to prevent them from sticking to his skin and hair, Tom finds himself thinking that not even Potter would have discovered these places—then banishes the reminder of Potter’s existence from his head entirely. The bastard doesn’t deserve a single crumb of his attention.

At this point he’s also wondering if Ezra is trying to get him in trouble on purpose. While the snake has never been particularly talkative and often acts oddly even by reptile standards, this mysterious demeanour is unusual and bordering on suspicious.

Ezra halts in front of a familiar, half-open bathroom door, flicking his tongue at the air; then, apparently satisfied, he slides inside.

More and more confused by this bizarre pseudo-adventure, Tom follows.

Once they’re under the greenish, dim light of the Chamber of Secrets, surrounded by snake-decorated pillars that hold up the vast ceiling, Ezra melts into the shadows and disappears from sight. The last shreds of Tom’s patience evaporate. “Ezra, what is going on?” he barely refrains from shouting.

He hears rustling from behind him, and when he turns in the direction of the sound his eyes fall on the pavement. There’s a book in front of him that hadn’t been there before. The cover is clearly old, black and unassuming, but it means very little for Tom. Wary, he extracts his wand. The Chamber is not a place in which one can trust random books appearing out of thin air.

It’s enough to distract him.

“Incarcerous,” a voice says—a treacherous, insufferable voice—and Tom is bound and constricted by ropes of warm magic that bring him to his knees. As if the humiliation wasn’t enough, he watches, powerless, as Potter waltzes in his field of vision and oh-so-casually disarms him.

“You utter bastard,” Tom snarls, like a flesh-eating curse, “release me.” The spell holds strong against his attempts to free himself wandlessly.

With a grin that shows too many teeth, Potter replies airily, “I don’t think I will. We have a lot of things to discuss, you see, and I don’t fancy being hexed.” His gaze turns sharp and he crouches in front of Tom, mockingly. “Besides, you deserve a little taste of your own medicine. Going around caging random snakes? Very rude, Tom.”

“What have you done to my snake?” No ropes will protect Potter from Tom’s ire. His magic is beginning to flare up, warming his skin, ready to set ablaze everything on its path.

Potter feels it, but all he does is sit cross-legged before Tom, unbothered. “Your snake?” he laughs.

“I caught him. He’s mine.”

“Putting me in a glass case and having a few one-sided conversations about how much you hate me is hardly enough to call me yours.”

Tom’s thoughts screech to a halt. The implication behind Potter’s words dawns on him, like curtains closing at the end of a play. It can’t be true, can it? Tom couldn’t have been so foolish—but wasn’t he the one who’s compared Ezra to Potter more than once? Oh, the irony. The cruelty of his misplaced belief that he could be himself with anyone, even an animal.

And then, Potter’s face opens, and his expression morphs into a genuine smile. Something travels down Tom’s spine at the sight. “You’re surprisingly warm, though. And you smell good under that posh cologne,” he says.

“You knew,” Tom says. “You knew all along that I wanted to sabotage you. That I despise you.”

“Yes.”

“You had no right.”

“You put me in a difficult position, Tom. On one hand, I was very aware of the fact that I was taking advantage of you; on the other hand, however... what was I supposed to do? Let you harm me out of the goodness of my heart? I’m not that self-sacrificing.”

#tomarry #tomarrymort #tmrhptmr #fanfic #yay writing #harry potter

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everythingsinred · 3 years

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Let's Talk About NatsuMikan: Natsume (pt.10)

WOW we did it folks. 10 parts to an essay that we're like. a quarter of the way done with. That's pretty great! More or less, by the time you finish reading this post, you'll have read 35k words worth of analysis and I'll have spent countless hours writing it. What amazing dedication we have to this manga! We should get an anime reboot as a reward!

Anyway, let's go crazy stupid trying to wrap up this arc, where we can see the extent of Natsume's selflessness. As we approach the end, something will happen to make Natsume's plans to distance himself from Mikan very difficult. Let us begin!

Also I've been forgetting to put trigger warnings up for these but I put them on the first few so hopefully you know they're all like that. Child abuse is a huge topic we'll cover throughout, as well as all the consequences that come with it, so be wary.

Chapter Forty-One

Medusa--Mihara-san--is amused to see that the frightening, powerful, and awe-inspiring “Black Cat”, who demonstrates a trained command of his alice despite wearing an alice-restraining mask on missions, is actually just a little kid.

Natsume doesn’t care about being impressive; he cuts to the chase, asking where Mikan is. Medusa makes his comments, but Natsume stays on his point: his new mission is to save Mikan, after all. Though keeping Mikan and Ruka safe had been his personal mission from the get-go. But just as Natsume isn’t interested in anything Medusa has to say if it isn’t about Mikan, Medusa isn’t interested in any topic that is about Mikan. So the small talk ends and Shiki is commanded to test the kids’ abilities.

Natsume cares about one thing right now and it isn't his DA alias.

They are in the midst of some kind of battle or standoff when Mikan reappears, safe. She calls out to them, excited to see them again. Ruka and Tsubasa are happy to see her safe as well, so they call out too. Natsume is not as thrilled. He’s good at staying on mission and keeping his attention on the dangers around him, like Shiki and Medusa, as well as the countless other Z members, all with mystery alices.

Mikan suddenly appearing and making herself known is dangerous, and she’s immediately under attack, unwittingly. He runs to protect her, using his alice as a barrier between them and the man who just tried to hurt her, but when he turns back to look at Mikan, he’s livid.

The art in this scene is so gorgeous, I could stare it forever. Look at how silky Natsume's hair is. Pretty.

Tsubasa and Ruka have never been on a mission like this. They were just eager to see Mikan unharmed. She was also just excited to see her friends again after being separated. But Natsume knows better. On a mission, you have to stay vigilant and always careful, and Mikan was careless. He yells at her, scolding her. But even through his emotions, he stays vigilant, protecting her even more when the enemy tries to take advantage of the distraction.

This is what he came for, not just to be the brains and keep them on track throughout the journey, but also to protect them, because that’s what he always does, what his priority always is. He will use his alice to ward off enemy attacks, and use his body as a shield, even if he winds up exhausted and bleeding and hurt. And he is.

But he still tells Mikan to stay behind him, to stay safe, so he can properly protect her this time, because he couldn’t do it before.

He doesn’t expect Mikan to get up and tell him that he doesn’t have to worry. She doesn’t want or need him to protect her; instead she wants to help him. She tells him, for once, that he doesn’t have to be the only one hurt anymore. He’s understandably surprised to hear this, because it means that someone other than Ruka has been paying attention. She understands that he’s been through the wringer, and she doesn’t want to just sit back and benefit from his effort without giving anything back. But more than just saying she’ll take on the brunt of things for him, she wants to help. She wants to be his strength, not a burden on him.

She has been noticing him, even the things he doesn't want her to notice.

This shocks him enough that it actually distracts him from his vigilance, and suddenly it appears that Ruka is in danger. He leaves her side just long enough for her to be captured by Shiki instead, and immediately teleported to Medusa’s side. They needed to get Mikan out of the way, after all, so that Medusa could use his alice, which he immediately uses to petrify Tsubasa’s leg.

Chapter Forty-Two

Right off the bat, we’re shown just how much the stakes have risen. Medusa’s alice is deadly, not just dangerous, and he’s already managed to hit Tsubasa with it. His next command is to have Yuka steal the kids’ alices, and to start with Natsume. It would make things easier on him, anyway, Medusa says, obviously privy to the idea that a child like Natsume wouldn’t want to be a child soldier at all, unlike Reo who mused that maybe Natsume would be more content with just a change of employer.

But Yuka makes it clear that her alice isn’t strong enough to steal all of the alices at once, trying to spare the kids from losing their abilities. So Medusa then goes to a Plan B, convincing the kids that his alice will only be temporarily affecting them until they agree to work for Z. After all, Natsume can’t really use his alice when Medusa has Mikan in his clutches. He’s been in this situation before, practically living in it, having the lives and happiness of his loved ones held over his head so that he will be pliant. Medusa comments that he loves torturing people like him, and he must not be the only one, since Natsume’s been tortured in this way for years now.

Ruka is hit in the shoulder while trying to shield Tsubasa from another attack from Medusa, and the shoulder region is particularly life-threatening, as it’s close to the heart and he might die from the loss of blood flow soon. Of course, this sets Natsume into berserk mode, but before he can use his alice, he coughs violently. This gives Medusa an opportunity to strike Natsume in his dominant arm, his left one.

He tries to use his alice, despite being at a new disadvantage, and still angry from what’s happening to Ruka. So his leg gets hit too.

Medusa gets temporarily incapacitated by Mikan’s nullification, so he sends Yuka to steal Natsume’s alice, which should be a walk in the park because he’s lost control of his arm and leg, so he can’t run away.

It’s here that Natsume reveals to the reader the secret he’s been keeping for the past few days, the one that we must now keep as well, that Mikan is Yuka’s daughter.

This is another one of those situations, where the stars align in all the wrong ways. Something you've always wanted is within grasp, but there's too many reasons not to take it.

Natsume stands there, unable to move, and ponders his situation as Mikan desperately screams for him to run away.

He wonders if he was waiting for this exact moment, if that’s the reason he came along at all, so that he could meet Yuka and have her steal his alice away.

Earlier, Natsume left a conversation about losing alices because it was too painful. He doesn’t feel the same way about his that the rest of them do. It’s not some fond part of him that he can’t stand to lose. He hates it. It’s been a hindrance since the day he was born. People of all sorts of organizations, including the government operated Academy and terrorist organizations like Z, have coveted his power. It’s put his loved ones in danger. It’s made his life a living hell. He’s been robbed of a fun childhood, of smiles and friendship, of peace. It’s stolen opportunity from him, so he can’t even feel free to pursue a crush, or make bonds freely, or let himself laugh. It stole his future from him, and he dies a little bit more every day. He won’t live long enough to go on a date, graduate, get married, get a normal job, have kids, grow old. He might not even make it to middle school, and he knows it. He lives his whole life in eternal emotional, physical, and mental agony. He’s always under the gun, always careful, always selfless, always defensive.

Why would anyone want that?

And this is his chance to lose it all. Things could be easier, better, safer. He could lose it and finally exhale. He could go back home to his dad. He could be an actual kid for once. Yuka could steal his alice and all of his responsibilities and the deadweight he’s been carrying on his back for his whole life could be gone.

Of course he almost lets her steal it.

But Mikan has been screaming in anguish for him to run away, and he remembers what she said when she saved him during the Reo Arc: that it was too late to give up, and that they should return to the academy together, because a bright future must be waiting for them.

And because of that, Natsume makes his first move to escape Yuka’s alice.

Does Natsume really want a future if his friends and loved ones would still be in danger? Would it be worth it if he was safe, if it came at the price of their safety? If Natsume doesn’t use his alice to keep them safe and protected, then who will? Who can?

Natsume smacking Yuka’s hand away isn’t selfish. It’s not him realizing he wants to keep his alice, that maybe deep down, he might actually love it. It’s not dear to him in any way. It’s still the thing that wears his body down and forces him to cough up blood. No, this act is selfless, yet again, because his own happiness and even his life come dead last to him. He has to keep them all safe after all.

Yuka snatches his wrist anyway, ready to steal his alice away, until she realizes she can’t. Mikan is using her alice from all the way across the room to protect Natsume.

So basically, the idea of Natsume leaving the academy causes this kind of reaction in Mikan, something Natsume has no choice but to see for what it is: fondness.

He looks at her with surprise, because this is an act of affection. Mikan has just used her alice to keep him with her. His life isn’t in danger, but she wants him to stick around. Now more than ever, Natsume can see proof that she cares about him, even despite all the bullying he’s done, despite all the mean words he’s thrown her way, even after he told her cruelly that he hates every single thing about her. Up until now, Natsume had no reason to believe she was doing anything but tolerating him, and though that was the outcome he was working for, deep down he does want the girl he likes to have some fondness for him too. This is the first time Natsume can really see that he means something to her too, as more than just a classmate or a partner. He is someone she doesn't want to part with.

And Mikan has fulfilled her wish, to be Natsume’s strength, because now Natsume is able to yell at her to duck and blow up the wall behind her.

Usually such huge explosions are the result of him at his angriest, using his ability to punish the people who hurt his loved ones. He’s probably also done similar things on missions, maybe even when he’s completely calm. But this time Natsume is weaker than ever, his dominant left arm completely out of commission, unable to move, under duress. He finds the strength to cause that explosion because of Mikan, because she wants him around.

While everyone is distracted, Natsume tells Yuka to go help Mikan, hinting that he knows her secret.

So Yuka stabs Mihara-san and has the petrified kids lick his blood off the blade. It’s confusing to the other kids why she would do this, but Natsume knows exactly why.

It would be interesting to see more interaction between Yuka and Natsume. Surely Yuka knows that Natsume is Kaoru’s son? It would be interesting to see if she noticed that his name matches Mikan’s. What does she think of him? What might their dynamic be like? I will always mourn that we’ll never find out.

Chapter Forty-Three

This chapter is the one that should officially designate this manga into the “tragedy” category. Yes, there’s been some heavy and deep stuff so far, most having to do with Natsume and the heavy abuse he deals with, but even with all that it’s managed to be mainly a cheerful and upbeat story. This chapter makes it clear that horrible and heart-wrenching things can and will happen, that we can’t count on a happy ending every time.

The kids are close to escape. They’re about to head through a warp zone back to school, and it’s urgent they move fast because the hide-out they’re in is currently imploding. Unfortunately, Mikan has dropped the antidote to the bullet that hit Hotaru, so she refuses to leave until she’s retrieved it from under a pile of rubble.

Pengy finally has a chance to prove itself, wriggling under and saving the antidote for Hotaru. It has helped Mikan, and because that’s the best thing someone can do, Natsume is grateful.

Natsume's smile (even a small one like this) has incredible powers, like giving robots a feeling of self-worth, making his classmates fall in love with him, and making me think he is a good boy. It would be irresponsible to overuse it.

Just like when Tsubasa showed his worth back at the high school division when he used his alice to help Mikan, Natsume has a new respect for Pengy, who was able to do something amazing to help the group, and Mikan especially. So he gives Pengy a slight smile. It’s really subtle and nothing outstanding on anybody else, but it’s a rare thing to get from Natsume, even for those whom he loves. “I guess you can be a little useful,” he says. This is the best sign of appreciation someone can get from him, and Pengy glows for a moment (ahh… the power of Natsume’s smile), until things fall apart.

The floor gives way under Mikan’s feet. They’re able to pull Mikan up, but Pengy is still too far to reach. Despite Mikan’s desperation, Pengy understands that they’re wasting time trying to reach it. Finally, after Pengy has proven its use to Natsume, it refuses to be a hindrance again, and sacrifices itself so that everyone can safely return the antidote to Hotaru.

They’re all through the tunnel, hit with the knowledge that Pengy is gone. They all react somewhat differently, but Natsume feels guilt.

Pengy's smile has evil powers because it makes me cry.

Natsume had considered Pengy a robot, something unfeeling and mechanical, just a useless thing Hotaru made once. It was something that could be discarded, and after it had proven to be troublesome, he’d even advocated that it should be discarded. He’d considered it useless all along, but when it really counted, Pengy was able to save Mikan and the antidote. It proved not only that it could be useful, but that it wasn’t just another mechanical robot. When Natsume smiled at it, it smiled back. And in its final act of sacrifice, it acted out of love for both Hotaru and Mikan, and Natsume feels sorry for what he’d said about it.

Natsume has a habit for establishing a bad impression of someone, and then having that person work hard to prove themselves to him. Pengy is one example, but he’s like this with Tsubasa, Mikan, and all sorts of people at first. People (and robots) that he despises until they show him what they’re really made of, winning his respect and sometimes even affection. It makes sense he would be so distrustful, seeing the life he has to live. Trusting the wrong person can get you hurt sometimes, and can lead to disaster. And having something useless like Pengy can cause a mission to fail. But Natsume is sometimes wrong about his first impression of a person, and the same qualities that could lead him to believe something is useless or annoying can end up being strengths that he respects.

Chapter Forty-Five

Yes, I skipped 44 because that’s more noteworthy as a Mikan chapter. Natsume doesn’t do anything I found particularly intriguing and I didn’t want to make anything up or repeat myself. In fact, for the rest of this arc, there’s very little left for me to say, so I apologize if this is a short analysis to conclude with.

The first thing we’ll address is the ESP and Persona discussing the insubordination that has just occurred. Yes, an injured student has safely recovered, and a Z hideout has been destroyed, but it wasn’t their plan for things to happen that way. Narumi needs a warning, for one. Natsume, according to Persona, needs simply to be punished back into obedience. From the way Persona talks about him, we can see how little he thinks of Natsume, how easy he can be to manipulate and control, which is all he is good for anyway. To them, Natsume is nothing more than a pawn in their game. Sure, he’s a useful pawn, the Black Cat that strikes fear into the hearts of the school’s enemies and successfully completes his missions even with a punishment mask on, but he’s still just a pawn. Nothing more.

While watching Mikan and Hotaru’s reunion, Tsubasa teases Natsume about joining the group hug. Natsume ignores him, and makes to walk away, but stops just long enough to toss his healing alice necklace to him. Tsubasa can borrow it to make up for having Subaru put Natsume’s injuries first. He makes it clear that he doesn’t want anybody looking after him, and that might seem like a snub, but this is kindness too. Natsume calls Tsubasa by his name, though he’ll do his best to avoid ever saying it again, and lends him a source of comfort and healing to pay back Tsubasa’s compassion. This is a growing moment, because Natsume has opened himself up to the idea that he could care about more people, even if it means more to lose.

Saying people's names is another rare magic from Natsume, I guess.

Natsume has learned things on this mission too, just like Mikan has. He’s a bit more open-minded now. He judged both Tsubasa and Pengy, and ended up changing his mind about them both, even if only by a little. He’s also discovered that Mikan has affection for him too, and it will completely undo all the effort he’s so far tried to make in distancing himself. It’s one thing to stay away from the girl you like when she hardly stands you. It’s another thing when she enjoys your company, and your feelings are turning into love. His feelings have intensified, or maybe they were always so intense but are just newly solidified, as he’s not hiding from them as much anymore.

He won’t be able to distance himself from her anymore, so he’ll completely stop trying.

Conclusion

Natsume has realized that Mikan holds a degree of fondness for him too, and because he is now very deeply in love with her, he will not be able to stay away like he'd resolved to before. Tomorrow we will begin our essay with Natsume's birthday, a very exciting way to start looking at his new approach to his relationship with Mikan.

The last essay (pt. 9) in particular inspired people to tell me that they were learning new things about Natsume, and as a result even loving him more, and that makes me so happy! Natsume is one of my favorite characters ever, and I want people to love him as much as I do! I love when people leave comments or questions! Really, I'm just so happy and over the moon that people are reading and enjoying, because again--this is a LOT of words. It's a long essay, and it means so much not just that people want to read about Natsume and his feelings for Mikan, but that they want to hear what I have to say about it! Thank you so much for supporting me! Isn't it exciting that we're about a quarter through? <3

I can’t put a song in the tags cuz I have too many tags. So. Church by Fall Out Boy.

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#gakuen alice #alice academy #hyuuga natsume #natsume hyuuga #natsumikan #sakura mikan #mikan sakura #my meta #ga #mine #ga meta #ga meta: nm #ga meta: manga #ga meta: manga nm #let's talk about natsumikan #let's talk about natsumikan: natsume #yes natsume is a leftie and i will bring it up a thousand times #hes left handed. as if he wasnt oppressed enough #might make an appreciation post for natsume being left handed #also his cute little smile! he is BAbEY #hes my son i will protECT him #also! when it comes to picking the title pictures.... its so hard #i try to pick pictures from the era #particularly a chapter cover from the arc that i like #sometimes im not lucky and theres not a grand selection #i also have to save some pics for mikans essay. so. limited options #i really am trying to do my best here and include good pics!#i was gonna pick a lil snippet from the aeiou book but i dont have any good quality images of that book so the pic i got was grainy #i chose this instead. closer to the era i think #could be better. im sorry

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jikookuntold · 3 years

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Jungkook and His Cover Songs: Is “10000 Hours” about Jimin?

Disclaimer: The following post includes theories, lyric and numeric analysis, plus my personal opinions, so please don’t take anything seriously. I’m too lazy to upload photos and videos for the moments I mentioned here, but I’m sure you know about them all. Any Jikooker must know. And I’m not Korean or a Korean culture expert, I just know as much as any Stan Twitter ARMY knows about their culture.

Anyone?

Maybe one of the biggest Jikook moments of 2021 so far, is where Jimin jumped into Jungkook’s hug, in Lee Hyun’s Vlog. But the other moment on that Vlog was even more significant; Jungkook was singing “Anyone” from Justin Bieber’s new album, and Jimin was harmonizing with him while holding on his shirt. I don’t want to mention their interview moment singing “Peaches” because I know this song is super popular in South Korea right now and somehow it doesn’t count as a moment. But it’s safe to say that Jikook has something special with his songs, and JK in particular always was invested in him.

JK & JB

The reason behind Jungkook’s devotion to Justin Bieber was always a big question for me, and I got my answer not long time ago. Jungkook’s playlist for Melon Radio Station included a song from JB’s new album named “Lonely”. This is one of the most personal songs any artist can ever make, and JK recommended it to his audience. Here are the lyrics of “Lonely” by Justin Bieber:

Everybody knows my name now

But somethin' 'bout it still feels strange

Like lookin' in a mirror, tryna steady yourself

And seein' somebody else

And everything is not the same now

It feels like all our lives have changed

Maybe when I'm older, it'll all calm down

But it's killin' me now

What if you had it all, but nobody to call?

Maybe then you'd know me

'Cause I've had everything

But no one's listening

And that's just lonely

I'm so lonely, lonely

Everybody knows my past now

Like my house was always made of glass

And maybe that's the price you pay

For the money and fame at an early age

And everybody saw me sick

And it felt like no one gave

They criticized the things I did as an idiot kid

What if you had it all, but nobody to call?

Maybe then you'd know me

'Cause I've had everything

But no one's listening

And that's just lonely

These lyrics made me think of one specific thing, the thing that JK and JB have in common: They started their careers at a very young age, and their lives have been under the scrutiny of so many people. These people judged and criticized them but never tried to understand them. The lyrics are straightforward and leave no place for interpretation. By recommending this song, JK showed that he had (and probably still has) the same experiences in his life, and I think the reason he recommends or covers JB’s songs more than any other artist is that he has many things in common with him, and feels connected to his songs.

This can lead us to another theory: By covering a Justin Bieber song, Jungkook shares something about himself with us, something that he can’t express directly.

Jungkook is interested in JB’s songs, but he is not the only one. As I said earlier in this post, Jimin shares the same taste with Jungkook, and my receipt is not just that “Anyone” or “Peaches” harmonizing moments, but also Jimin’s Spotify playlists. Since 2017 (or earlier, I’m not sure about this part) he has added some JB songs to his official playlist, and even his current playlist (July 2021) has two JB songs. And also let’s not forget the fact that Jikook as a subunit started in 2014 with a JB cover. Yes, I’m talking about “Mistletoe” and as you may know, Jimin translated the lyrics of this song to Korean.

10000 Hours

Nearly 700 words and I haven’t started yet! The subject of this post was supposed to be the connections between “10000 hours” cover and Jikook but this prelude was necessary to clarify all the aspects of the topic and we find out how JB is special for JK and Jimin and how they (especially Jungkook) feel connected to him. Anyways, back to 10000 hours:

Dan + Shay and Justin Bieber released this Grammy winner song in October 2019. Here are the lyrics:

Do you love the rain, does it make you dance

When you're drunk with your friends at a party

What's your favorite song, does it make you smile

Do you think of me?

When you close your eyes, tell me, what are you dreamin'?

Everything, I wanna know it all

I'd spend ten thousand hours and ten thousand more

Oh, if that's what it takes to learn that sweet heart of yours

And I might never get there, but I'm gonna try

If it's ten thousand hours or the rest of my life

I'm gonna love you

Do you miss the road that you grew up on?

Did you get your middle name from your grandma?

When you think about your forever now, do you think of me?

When you close your eyes, tell me, what are you dreamin'?

Everything, I wanna know it all

I'd spend ten thousand hours and ten thousand more

Oh, if that's what it takes to learn that sweet heart of yours

And I might never get there, but I'm gonna try

If it's ten thousand hours or the rest of my life

I'm gonna love you

Ooh, want the good and the bad and everything in between

Ooh, gotta cure my curiosity

Ooh, yeah

I'd spend ten thousand hours and ten thousand more

Oh, if that's what it takes to learn that

Sweet heart of yours

And I might never get there, but I'm gonna try

If it's ten thousand hours or the rest of my life

I'm gonna love you

And I'm gonna love you

As you can see, the lyrics are 100% romantic, and the singers including JB, have dedicated this song to their lovers. Also, their girlfriends/wives have a cameo in the MV, which leaves no place for speculation for the context of the song: Even though the uncertainties always exist and no one knows about the future, our love is strong and will stay strong regardless of time.

The Cover and the Theories

Nearly one year later, on July 28th, 2020, Jungkook surprised ARMYs with a short video he tweeted at 11:56 AM. That video was a 49 seconds cover of 10000 hours. A few minutes later, he deleted the tweet (apparently with the advertisement excuses, because it was tweeted from an iPhone and they have a contract with Samsung). Later that night, Jungkook released the full version on Sound Cloud and tweeted the link at 11:47 PM.

Jikookers discovered numerous theories that day about the times of both tweets; if you add the digits of the time, the result is “13” for both tweets 1+1+4+7=13, 1+1+5+6=13, and as you already know “13” is Jikook’s magic number. Also, the first video he tweeted was 49 seconds and 4+9=13. But in my opinion, this theory is not strong. I know that numerology is very popular in Korean culture but still, all of this can be coincidences, but the other things I’m going to bring up are most likely not.

28th July 2020 was the 7th anniversary of the first Jikook selca posted after debut. This also might be a coincidence and to be honest, it cannot be a strong link to make a connection with Jikook, but worths sharing.

The next thing that many Jikookers also pointed out, was related to the title of the song. The lyrics say “10000 hours and 10000 more” and 20000 hours after the 28th of July is 8th November 2022. As you may know. Jikookers believe November 8th is a significant date for Jikook. I believe this can be a coincidence either, and it’s very unlikely of Jungkook to do such calculations (Koreans are interested in numbers when it comes to days and dates, but counting hours is not usual in any culture. Other than that, I’m still doubtful about the origins of the November 8th theory because we have nothing other than two tweets and G.C.F Tokyo release date and their hotel room in Tokyo which still can be coincidental). But I don’t deny these theories because even as a coincidence, it’s still very interesting.

And the next theory is connected to the “Red Moon”. On 27th July 2018, a total lunar eclipse happened all over the world, which became known as the red moon. At that time, BTS were in Malta, and on the same night, Jikook were watching the red moon on a boat. They shared plenty of photos and videos of that moment and I’m sure as a Jikooker you have seen them all and you know that night had a very romantic mood (BigHit words, not mine) for Jikook. So, a second anniversary for that night and the day after that night can be a significant date to release a very romantic cover. Is this a coincidence too? I think we had many of them already.

And last but not least is something connected to Korean culture. You probably know that 1000 days anniversaries are very important for Koreans and they celebrate them along with real anniversaries of the important dates in their lives. And guess what? 27th July 2020 is 1000 days after 31 October 2017. This day is the day Jikook’s travel to Tokyo ended and they posted their couply mirror selca on Twitter with flower bouquet emoji. Despite the one-day difference (the same case for the red moon anniversary), this is not a minor event or small coincidence. I believe Jungkook posted “10000 hour” cover for this reason and based on this, the other theories I mentioned earlier can be true either.

The lyrics hit different if you read them again, after knowing this fact. Right? I don’t want to make this post much longer but before wrapping up, I want to talk about the lyrics of “Anyone” by JB (the song Jikook were harmonizing in Lee Hyun’s Vlog):

Dance with me under the diamonds

See me like breath in the cold

Sleep with me here in the silence

Come kiss me, silver and gold

You say that I won't lose you

But you can't predict the future

So, just hold on like you will never let go

Yeah, if you ever move on without me

I need to make sure you know that

You are the only one I'll ever love

(I gotta tell ya, gotta tell ya)

Yeah, you, if it's not you, it's not anyone

(I gotta tell ya, gotta tell ya)

Looking back on my life

You're the only good I've ever done (ever done)

Yeah, you, if it's not you, it's not anyone (anyone)

Not anyone

Forever's not enough time to (oh)

Love you the way that I want (love you the way that I want)

'Cause every morning I find you (oh)

I fear the day that I don't

You say that I won't lose you

But you can't predict the future

'Cause certain things are out of our control

Yeah, if you ever move on without me

I need to make sure you know that

You are the only one I'll ever love

Only one (I gotta tell ya, gotta tell ya)

Yeah, you, if it's not you it's not anyone

(I gotta tell ya, gotta tell ya)

Looking back on my life

You're the only good I've ever done (I've ever done)

Yeah, you, if it's not you, it's not anyone

It's not anyone, not anyone

Oh, oh, oh, oh

If it's not you, it's not anyone

Oh, oh, oh, yeah, whoa

Yeah, you are the only one I'll ever love

(I gotta tell ya, gotta tell ya)

Yeah, you, if it's not you, it's not anyone

(I gotta tell ya, gotta tell ya) gotta tell ya

Looking back on my life

You're the only good I've ever done (ever done, oh, yeah)

Yeah, you, if it's not you, it's not anyone

If you read the lyrics, you will notice that the context is very similar to “10000 hours”. It talks about the uncertainties of a beautiful love or in other words: No matter what the future brings to us, this love will last forever.

This context of uncertainty and unknown future for a romance is a common concept in many of the songs Jungkook has covered and it’s not limited to the Justin Bieber covers he has done and maybe this concept can be the topic for my next analysis.

#jikook #jikookanalysis #jimin #jungkook

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ibijau · 3 years

Text

Epilogue of the Nomad Nie AU // On AO3

The Lan family comes through the Nie's domain again

After what happened during their last commercial expedition, it took Lan Wangji great effort to be allowed on this one. His uncle, plagued with guilt over being forced to leave Lan Xichen among blood-thirsty barbarians, hadn't wanted to risk his other nephew. Lan Wangji, stubbornly, had insisted for weeks, arguing about experience, about precedence, about simply wanting to, until finally his uncle gave in, as he’d always known he would.

The journey hadn’t been easy. They’d had to hire a new guide after the old one tried to double cross them. That new man, that Wei Wuxian, was extremely irritating at times, but even Lan Qiren admitted that he understood the nomads’ languages better than old Su She had, and that he knew safer passages as well. It wasn’t unlikely that if they’d worked with Wei Wuxian that last time, Lan Xichen wouldn’t have been lost to them.

It was because of Lan Xichen that Lan Wangji had been so insistent on accompanying his uncle on this expedition. He had always been close to his brother, and until he knew for sure that Lan Xichen was fine, that he was treated decently, he would know no rest.

After some weeks of journey, their group finally arrived at the spot where the Nie had demanded they should meet them next time they travelled in this region. Lan Wangji prepared himself to wait a long time, but barely a shichen and a half had passed before they spotted a group of riders coming their way. There was some nervousness at first, in case the nomads’ situation had changed since last time, but as the riders came closer Wei Wuxian confirmed those were indeed Nie, and Lan Qiren soon recognised the Khan who had stolen his nephew.

Not long after, two dozen riders came to stop before their camp, led by the tallest man Lan Wangji had ever seen in his life. Next to that giant Lan Wangji guessed to be the Khan, there were two slimmer silhouettes dressed as richly as could be among nomads, as if they were treating this encounter as a great event. Lan Wangji barely looked at them, searching through the group of nomads for a sign of his brother, finding none. Fear seized him at the idea that Lan Xichen was unallowed or unable to be present, and a glance at his uncle told him that fear was shared.

They watched the Nie dismount, the Khan and those two companions coming closer while the rest stayed back, watching the merchants warily. Stopping in front of Lan Qiren, the Khan said a few stern words at him. Before Wei Wuxian could start translating, one of the two Nie with the Khan did it, in a voice that made Lan Wangji shiver with emotion.

“Khan Mingjue is pleased to find you well again, master Lan,” the man said. “He hopes your travel was pleasant so far, and that it will be peaceful in the future. We have brought provisions to share with you as a gift, as well as some precious items you might be interested to purchase. There’s some really beautiful furs,” the man added in a warmer inflection. “They’ll be easy to trade along the way, and even if you have to take them home I think they’ll fetch a good price.”

“Xichen?” Lan Qiren gasped.

The man smiled and laughed softly, a hint of surprise on his face at the idea he might not have been recognised.

Now that he knew, Lan Wangji couldn’t doubt that this was his brother. It certain was his face, and his too rare laugh. But the rest of him just looked so different that the confusion was natural, surely. After all, Lan Xichen was dressed in the exact same manner as the other Nie around him, and had even done his hair in the same manner as them, decorated with braids instead of tied in a respectable bun. Not only that, but his skin was nowhere as pale as it used to be, as if he’d been working outside in the sun. Lan Wangji might have been outraged on his behalf, if only Lan Xichen hadn’t been smiling so brightly.

“Uncle, it’s good to see you again,” Lan Xichen said, bowing before Lan Qiren. He then noticed that his brother was there as well, and his face illuminated. “Wangji, you came too! I’m really glad. Uncle, brother, I must introduce you to my husband, Huaisang. Huaisang, these men are my family.”

Lan Qiren went pale upon hearing the word husband. Before he could say anything, the smaller man next to Lan Xichen bowed before them as elegantly as if he’d been raised in the imperial palace (he’d trained for this, Lan Xichen later said, eager to make a good impression) and spoke to them in perfect Hanyu.

“I am honoured to meet my husband’s family,” Huaisang said. “I hope we can all get along for many years to come.”

Lan Qiren gaped at his nephew’s spouse, opening and closing his mouth a few times. Then, realising that a mere barbarian was showing better manners than him, he regained control of himself and nodded at the young man.

“I am pleased to meet you as well,” Lan Qiren said in a voice that could hardly have been more displeased. “Although it was my understanding he would be marrying a woman, a Nie princess?”

“Su She wasn’t nearly as good as he thought he was,” Lan Xichen explained, while his husband tried to contain a giggle. “I’m glad you hired someone else this time. I told you back then that it was the Khan’s brother who wanted to marry.”

Lan Qiren looked devastated by the news.

“Xichen, we’ll buy you back. No matter the price…”

“What for?” Lan Xichen asked with sincere surprise, taking his husband’s hand. Huaisang’s expression, which had hardened for a moment, relaxed again. “Uncle, don’t you worry about me, I’m really fine. Though I have a list of things I’d like you to bring, next time you come here. It’s so hard to get paper here, you see, and I’m teaching Huaisang to paint… he’s really quite good, you know.”

Huaisang preened at the compliment. Lan Qiren, too stunned to say anything, just nodded. He hadn’t expected to find Lan Xichen in such high spirits, and neither had Lan Wangji who, in the privacy of his mind, had imagined three dozens scenarios in which he would have to rescue his unfortunate brother from the cruel villains who kept him from his family. He had prepared himself to find Lan Xichen desperate at worst, resigned at best, but instead he found him… happy.

The idea was odd to Lan Wangji.

His brother, in his mind, was a serious person, a kind one, hard-working, dedicated to the family business, caring also when it came to Lan Wangji himself, but he wasn’t sure happy was a word he’d ever have used to describe Lan Xichen. At best, his brother had seemed satisfied with his lot in life, and aware that others weren’t as lucky at him. Since he hadn’t been miserable it had been enough for him, and Lan Wangji hadn’t paid it any mind.

So it was odd to see the way Lan Xichen’s face illuminated every time he looked at his husband, or when he explained he had his own horse. His countenance was more animated than it used to be, his smiles came more easily, he spoke with more spontaneity.

He really was happy, and Lan Wangji wasn’t sure how to feel about it, when that happiness had only been found once far from home.

“Lan Zhan, your brother is not at all what I expected!” Wei Wuxian told him later and they inspected some of the merchandise the Nie wanted to trade. He was standing far too close to Lan Wangji, as he tended to do. “Since you said he’s the oldest I thought he’d be even more stern and boring than you, but he’s actually quite fun!”

Early on, Lan Wangji would have asked their guide why he insisted on pestering him, if he found him so boring. He’d learned the hard way that it was impossible to get a straight answer out of Wei Wuxian. Unless he was working, that man just never took anything seriously at all.

That night, Lan Wangji found that he didn’t mind. Maybe being serious wasn’t such a virtue after all. If letting go of restraint was doing such good to his brother, then surely relaxing a little couldn’t be bad.

“He’s really nice to chat with,” Wei Wuxian insisted, looking at Lan Xichen who was now talking with Lan Qiren, probably still discussing business, Huaisang nodding here and there at their side. “His husband isn’t half bad either, I guess.”

Lan Wangji nodded. That Huaisang stood out like a sore thumb among the Nie, but he seemed decently clever and not too ugly in spite of a somewhat nasty scar on his neck. He wouldn’t have been Lan Wangji’s type if he’d had one, but Lan Xichen seemed immensely fond of him, and that was what mattered.

“How awful though,” Wei Wuxian whined, poking at Lan Wangji’s ribs as if they were friends. “I’ll be out of a job if those nomads start learning Hanyu. Hey, Lan Zhan, you’ll continue hiring me even if you don’t need a translator, right?”

“Hm,” Lan Wangji replied. “I will.”

Wei Wuxian cackled at that promise. Lan Wangji didn’t bother reminding Wei Wuxian that he did far more than just translate and was the best man they could have hired for the job. All his attention was on his brother and that husband of his.

It was good to see Lan Xichen this happy.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #lan wangji #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes #Nomad nie #a huge thank you to everyone who read/liked/reblogged/said stuff in the tags!!#this fic wasn't one I'd planned to write but it sure was a lot of fun

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cupidcreates · 4 years

Note

yay! I’m gonna rapid fire send a few short ones but there’s no rush in getting them all answered! okay so you’ve mentioned that suki’s love language is touch, but what about everyone else? -😌✨

Ooooh! Good ask! I’m assuming you want the L.Y.E cast but I’ll add a few extra characters into the mix. I’ll do just the male characters for this post and do a female list at another time if y’all want it!

I also separated giving/receiving love languages because a few characters I feel would give love different to how they would like to receive it.

(Also this took SO LONG to finish I’m sorry for making you wait!)

Love Languages

💥Katsuki Bakugou💥

Gives in Touch / Receives in Touch

Receiving: As I’ve said before, Bakugou’s love language is touch, and as I’ve also said he’s super uncomfortable with people touching him casually because he just expects physical contact to hurt in some way or another. So once he does get a SO it’ll take a while for him to open up to any sort of physical affection, especially in public. At the start of the relationship the best they’ll get is holding hands, and even that is more a possessive gesture than anything else, it’s meant to signal to anyone passing by that this person is his and his alone.

However, after a bit of time Bakugou will open up to his SO and allow himself to accept the affection they give. It’ll start with the hand holding, progress into accepting hugs without complaint, to even letting his SO play with his hair while he lays in their lap and tells them about his day. It’ll eventually become apparent that Katsuki loves to be touched, craves it even, though he’d never admit to this outright. It’ll take a while to get there but gain his trust and he’ll accept any sort of physical affection his SO has for him.

He’ll still never tolerate anything further than a chaste peck on the cheek in public though. He loves the gesture don’t get him wrong but Pro-Hero Ground Zero (Bars Dude ✌🏽) does have a reputation to uphold you know.

Giving: Katsuki loves to be touched sure but he also loves to touch. Similarly it’ll take time for him to get comfortable with giving physical affection but once there he can’t help but wrap himself around his SO nearly all the time.

If he’s out with them he’s got an arm around their shoulders or their waist.

If he’s home with them and they’re doing something he’s right there next to them, bumping shoulders so frequently he might as well just press himself to his SO and stay there. Or he’s behind them, arms wrapped around their waist and head on their shoulder watching whatever they’re doing.

If they’re laying down or relaxing in anyway he’s laying under them, next to them, on top of them, doesn’t matter to him as long as he’s there with them. Katsuki has never been good at expressing his feelings verbally, so he Koala’s himself to their form and just hopes all his emotions can transfer through his body and into theirs and they can understand how much he loves them.

🥦Izuku Midoriya🥦

Gives in Gifts & Words of Affirmation / Receives in Words of Affirmation

Receiving: Listen, after a childhood full of being looked down on a belittled for being Quirkless, Deku has developed something of a mental blockage about his own self worth. The fact that the most common way for people to refer to Deku is as “The Plain One” doesn’t help his inferiority complex. Even after years of having One for All he still has lingering doubts about his capabilities and desirability.

So when his SO tells him something they like about him, even if it’s something as simple as “I like your outfit today” he is over the moon about it and won’t stop thinking about it for the rest of the day.

He’s more than a little embarrassed about it, he thinks it makes him narcissistic and shallow in a way, but he simply can’t get enough of the praise his SO gives him (maybe or maybe not has a praise kink like who knows ya know).

It gives him a rush to hear it, to know that he means something to someone, to know he’s appreciated, loved, and desired by at least one person. A simple “I love you” is all he needs to make his day, any sort of affirmation is the highlight of his week and he craves it like a starving man craves food.

Giving: Izuku loves to compliment his SO, but he also tends to assume that they, unlike him, already know their value. He doesn’t think his words hold nearly as much weight to his SO as their words do for him. So while he’ll definitely lay on the verbal affection pretty thick he’ll also supplement it by going out of his way to never let a week pass without getting his SO a gift.

It’s usually something small, just something to let them know he was thinking about them throughout his day. Since Izuku never let his fanboy behavior of obsessively taking notes go, he definitely knows his SO’s favorite everything ever so they can expect to frequently receive their favorite candy, flowers, etc, on a regular basis.

❤🤍Shoto Todoroki🤍❤

Gives in Gifts & Quality Time / Receives in Gifts

Receiving: Now Gifts as a love language often get a bad rap for being the choice of the rich and materialistic; it’s seen as the shallowest of the love languages by a non-insignificant number of people. Shoto, however, is not interested in expensive and highly-sought after gifts like cutting-edge tech, lavish jewelry, or any other similar staples of wealth. He’s too used to his father getting him things like this to try and win his affection and display the affluence of the Todoroki family. No, Shoto’s not interested in that, Shoto loves gifts that indicate the giver was thinking about him.

What I mean by this is that if someone were to give Shoto a nice watch as a gift he’d say thank you and would definitely wear it but wouldn’t give it a second thought; but if someone where to give him something they hand crafted, like a painting, a ceramic vase, or hell even one of those shitty friendship bracelets everyone who went to bible camp had to make, Shoto would cherish it like it was his own child. He’d be up thinking about it for weeks, completely overwhelmed by the genuine love behind the gesture.

If his SO is not the creative type and isn’t prone to making things, they can still achieve this same affect by just getting him something he likes. Pop in to his agency with some cold Soba or his favorite candy? He’d be flustered to the point of needing to take his lunch break early just to calm down. To Shoto, the ultimate display of love is taking time out of one’s day to make him something or bring him something he enjoys.

Giving: As much as Shoto dislikes the giving of expensive gifts as a way of showing love, it’s really one of the only ways he knows how to express it. Gifts were they only way he was shown affection as a child, so gifts are the only language his brain really understands. He’ll get his SO anything they could possibly want, anything they even vaguely express the desire for they’ll have in a heartbeat.

His SO was talking about a cute outfit they saw the other day that was slightly out of their price range? Consider it theirs. Were they thinking about replacing their old laptop? He’d get them a new one shipped to their address in less than a week. Even if they just need their tires replaced Shoto wouldn’t hesitate to get it taken care of.

Naturally, this can be incredibly overwhelming and discomforting, especially if his SO isn’t wealthy to begin with. So when it becomes apparent that his SO is uncomfortable with this indulgence his backup way to show affection is to spend time with his SO. Shoto is an excellent listener, and there’s nothing he loves more than to listen to his SO tell him about their day.

Shoto is attached by the hip to his SO most days; when he’s not at work he’s with them, doing his best to fill their average days and menial tasks with fond memories together. He turns a regular night at home into a cluster of warm and loving moments by spending as much time with his SO as possible. He simply cannot fathom ever wanting to be apart from them.

💜Hitoshi Shinsou💜

Gives in Acts of Service / Receives in Words of Affirmation

Receiving: Hitoshi Shinsou has a lot of self-doubt, even after years of training and proving to himself and others that yes he can and will become a Pro-Hero, he still cannot overcome the lingering sense of uncertainty about himself and his abilities. Imposter syndrome who? Hitoshi’s never met her and yet she lingers on his shoulders and weighs him down even after all these years.

So when Hitoshi does finally open up and start dating someone, he’s not entirely sure how to handle being frequently told that he’s loved. Being complimented on his appearance sure, he thinks he’s cute enough and dresses well; but being told something like “You did great on your last mission! You really handled the situation so well” or “Your cooking is excellent, you always know exactly what I like!” will send him into a mini identity crisis.

He never really thought he did anything exceptionally well, and yet here is this person telling him he’s doing everything exceptionally well? It doesn’t make sense to him but that doesn’t mean he won’t eat the praise up and revel in every kind word.

Giving: Hitoshi has spent so much time focused on his Hero Career, (working twice as hard for half the recognition someone with a flashier quirk would get, yes I’m still bitter) that he’s spent very little time getting to know other people. Mr. “I’m not here to make friends” has suffered in Human Interaction department because of this, getting close to other people is not his strong suit.

So once he does get an SO he’s not entirely sure how to let them know he loves them? Sure he can tell them but actions speak louder than words right? So he takes to doing things for them whenever he gets the chance. If they work at the same agency he’ll handle some of their paperwork for them. If they live together he’ll be sure to keep up on the laundry and dishes, even if he’s the one doing them most of the time. He doesn’t mind taking responsibility for the chores, it’s how he shows his love.

Hitoshi might not have the best intuition when it comes to other people but one thing he does know is that everyone likes to have their work load lightened, even if it’s only a little bit. So any chance he’s got to do that for his SO he’ll take it in a heartbeat.

⚡Denki Kaminari⚡

Gives in All of them / Receives in All of them (lmao)

Receiving: There’s no one more familiar with rejection on this list than Denki Kaminari. Much like Mirio he’s a natural flirt, but unlike Mirio he lacks the overwhelming brightness and charm that lights up the room the second he walks in. Because of this Denki has become rather close with the concept of being curved.

Denki doesn’t let it get him down; he’s got a very easy going personality, so it’s not like he’ll never find someone! It’s only a matter of time before he comes across someone who likes him for him, right?

That was easy to believe back at UA, but he’s an adult now with a flourishing career as a Pro-Hero and yet still can’t seem to find someone. The last thing he wants is for this to make him bitter and reserved, but it becomes increasingly difficult to deny that it hurts. Is there something wrong with him? He can’t help but feel like he’s just unpalatable to the majority of the population.

So when Denki does manage to find an SO he’s over the moon about it. He’s so desperate for any type of affection that he’s open to any kind of love his SO can give him. Is their language gifts or words of affirmation? He’ll cherish every present and kind word they can give him. Is their language Quality Time or Acts of Service? They can expect him to never leave their side, or to shower them with praise and thanks, never letting them forget how much he appreciates them and all they do for him. Is their love language touch? They’ll have full access to his body 24/7, anytime, any day, just say the word. Denki just wants to be loved so badly.

Giving: Just as Denki is open to receiving any kind of love, he’s also open to providing any kind of love. If his SO wants gifts he’ll go bankrupt just to shower them in any material possession they want. If they want his time he’ll give it to them, his touch his hands will never leave them. If they want his praise he’ll be sure to never shut up about them and their accomplishments, if they like acts of service than call him Nicki Minaj because yes he’ll do the cooking, yes he’ll do the cleaning.

Anything his SO wants he’ll do it for them, he’d let them walk on his face as they come in the door if they wanted to. He can’t stand the idea of his SO leaving him, he’d die before letting go of the love he has with them. He’s convinced that if they leave him he’ll never find it again, at the end of the day he might just be right.

💎Eijirou Kirishima💎

Gives in Words of Affirmation / Receives in Words of Affirmation

Receiving: Eijirou Kirishima is not full of himself, not in the slightest, but that doesn’t stop him from getting butterflies every time someone compliments him (especially on his quirk or pro-hero work). He knows he’s not as flashy as others in his field, but he’s making due with what he has. If anything, he’d just like to have his hard work recognized every now and again.

Eijirou dislikes that his love language is words of affirmation, but he can’t deny the fuzzy feelings he gets when his SO praises him, or compliments him, or even just tells him they love him. Much like Denki, Eijirou just needs to be loved to feel fulfilled, and he’s not one to question the motives of the people he cares about. So just telling him how appreciated and loved he is will make him believe it. Just being the world to one person is enough for him.

Giving: Likewise, Kirishima will give back all his lover gives him tenfold. He knows there’s not enough kindness in the world so any chance he gets to tell his SO how wonderful they are and how much he appreciates them he’ll take it. Kirishima loves to see his lovers face light up when they receive a compliment from him, even if its something small like how nice they look that day. It’s like an addiction, he can’t get enough of the pure unadulterated joy.

🥢Tamaki Amajiki🥢

Gives in Words of Affirmation / Receives in Quality Time

Receiving: Tamaki Amajiki is an introvert, that much is readily apparent after meeting him for the first time. He wouldn’t call himself a loner per say, he just prefers solitude to spending time in big social groups. He’s got a very small social battery, it gets depleted very quickly and takes a while to re-charge.

So when Tamaki’s SO offers to spend some time with him and a day he had scheduled to be alone he’s every so slightly disgruntled about it. He loves his SO with all his being but he really does need the time alone.

Of course he can’t turn them down though, so he just makes peace with the fact that he’ll have to re-work his brain to get into the “human interaction” mode again for a while longer that day.

That is, until it becomes apparent that actually he loves to be alone with his SO. Anything he had planned for that day is made infinitely better with their presence. Anything from reading, to shopping, to just cleaning house, he’s not sure how they do it but the tasks just somehow become exponentially more palatable and enjoyable with his SO around.

Tamaki quickly starts to take little blocks out of his day just to spend with his SO, even if it’s just something small like getting a coffee together and chatting for twenty minutes outside the café. Life is just better with his SO around, easier with them around, and he every time he has to leave he’s counting the minutes till he can come back and see them again.

Giving: Tamaki has never been good with words, but that doesn’t stop him from needing to shower his SO in praise and love. He just can’t hold back whenever he sees them, he has to pay them a compliment on something, even if it’s just what scarf they chose to wear that day. He just needs them to know that he sees them, sees the effort they put in every day, and admires their dedication and work ethic.

Tamaki hates that his stutter gets in the way of this, but another thing he loves about his SO is that they never seem to mind. They don’t get irritated with him about it, nor do they tell him to just spit it out. It really helps his anxiety and nervousness and he can’t help but bring it up every time they meet as well. He knows he sounds like a broken record, but it kills him inside to think of his SO going even one day without knowing how wonderful and special they are to him.

☀Mirio Togata☀

Gives in Quality Time & Touch / Receives in Quality Time

Receiving: Much unlike his best friend Tamaki, Mirio is an extrovert through and through. He loves spending time with people and can’t get enough of being around them. He’s invigorated by company and is always open to making new friends.

That being said he also makes it a point to make time for the most important people in his life, and the best way to let him know that he’s cared for is to return the gesture. Nothing excites Mirio more than getting a text or a call from a loved one inviting him out to spend time with them. He’s so ecstatic that someone would not only be thinking of him, but actually want to take time out of their day to see him. Just wanting to be around him is the quickest way to his heart.

Giving: Mirio loves spending Quality Time with his SO, not a week goes by that he doesn’t plan a date with them. He pulls out all the stops as well, romantic picnics atop a hill, stargazing on the roof, catching a movie, or even just going to the beach for an afternoon. Mirio will never cheapen out on a date, he wants the time with his SO to be memorable so he’ll put his heart and soul into treating his SO right while out with them.

Mirio has also gained the reputation of a flirt, and for good reason. He’s incredibly charismatic and charming, the only thing smoother than his words and cheesy one-liners is his hands. He keeps them soft and moisturized so he can run them over his SO’s body with little to no resistance.

Mirio loves capital L LOVES touching his SO. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t have his hands on them if he can help it. He wants his SO to feel cared for, appreciated, and above all loved to the highest degree, and if that means he gets to grope them for hours on end to prove that then so be it. If his extended deep tissue massage ends up getting more physical than he had first intended it to be than no one will hear him complaining about it. It definitely wasn’t his plan in the first place...

🦅Keigo Takami🦅

Gives in Touch & Gifts / Receives in Touch

Receiving: Keigo’s had a hard life, which is to be expected of a man taken in by the Hero Commission at such a young age and essentially turned into a pawn. He’s not used to letting people get close to him, for both their safety as well as his own.

It’s highly unlikely that he’d end up with and SO, but Keigo’s never been good at telling himself no, so should he find someone he really wants to pursue he’ll do it, consequences be damned.

Keigo’s never had a normal romantic relationship with someone, but it doesn’t take long for him to find out that his favorite part of it is being physically intimate with his SO. He loves having their hands all over him, it sets his skin alight and electrifies him in a way he’s never felt before.

Touching doesn’t have to just be sexual either, he can spend just as long cuddling with them, wrapping them in his arms and dwarfing them as he covers them with his wings.

Speaking of his wings, he absolutely loves when his SO touches them. He leaves a feather or two with them every day, just so he can always be touching them in one way or another. He loves to be on patrol and feel them gently stroking it, running their fingertips over it or brushing it across their skin. He nearly plummeted out of the air the first time he felt them kiss it. Keigo would rather pluck each and every feather out of his back one by one than not be able to touch his SO again, he couldn’t even bear the thought of losing their physical affection.

Giving: Keigo isn’t one to take without giving back, so touch for touch Keigo will match his partners affections. He’s definitely into body worship and can spend hours on end just running his hands over their body, mapping every inch of them under his palms. His favorite pass-time is to sit and massage his partners back and shoulders while they tell him about their day. Any excuse to have his hands on his SO he’ll take it.

Keigo sometimes doesn’t feel like that’s good enough though, he feels like when he offers touch as a form of love he’s simply offering himself to his SO. That just won’t do for Keigo, that’s just not enough in his mind. To him it’s pompous to assume that he’d be enough for anyone at all, no matter how much is SO might tell him differently.

So to supplement this he’ll shower his SO in gifts, often of the more expensive variety. What’s the point of being a famous and wealthy pro hero if he can’t spoil the people he loves. He definitely has some bird like tendencies as well so his SO can expect to get a lot of random gifts with “It was shiny and I thought you’d like it” as they explanation behind it.

🔥Touya Todoroki🔥

Gives in Acts of Service & Touch / Receives in Acts of Service

Receiving: Listen, Touya is used to people only doing things for him out of hear or because they need something from him in return. He ran away from home and was presumed dead from a pretty young age, so he’s had alot of time to figure out that if he wants something done he’s either doing it himself or threatening someone to do it for him. People don’t do things for Touya because they like Touya, they do it because they fear Dabi.

So when he, against his very nature, decides to settle into a relationship with someone he’s not entirely sure how affection is displayed between partners. So he’s reasonably skeptical when his SO starts to just do random nice things for him, like cleaning up a mess he’d left for later or bringing him dinner when they knew he missed lunch and breakfast.

He just can’t fathom why his SO would do something like this on a whim, and just decides to bring up that if they needed him to do something for them, they didn’t have to butter him up like everyone else did. Needless to say he was surprised when they told him they just do these things for him because they love him.

Well he’s not entirely sure about that but he’s never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth now has he? Since they last person to genuinely give a shit about him was his mother Rei and brother Natsuo he’s not about to let someone who says they love him go. Especially not if they continue to do nice things for him.

Giving: Touya Todoroki would never deny being an absolute asshole, he just doesn’t give a shit about anyone or anything most of the time. That being said, he’s not one to be in debt to anyone either. If his SO is performing acts of service for him then dammit he’s going to do the same.

He can’t help with things like house work (not that he would if he could) but he can definitely do things a little more underhanded than what his SO is comfortable with. Should his SO need something they can’t afford they can consider it theirs as long as they don’t ask where it came from. If they’re having trouble with someone at work, be it a manager or just a co-worker, they needn’t worry about it for long. Again, just don’t ask where that person might have gone off to...

Another thing about Touya is that he despises being touched, absolutely hates having anyone's hands on him for almost any reason. If you’re not fucking then don’t touch him without expecting fiery repercussions.

That being said, Touya also knows (or at least he assumes?) that most healthy couples enjoy touching one another, even when they’re not fucking. So he’ll suck it up for his SO and let them cuddle into him on a cold night, but he’ll make it a point to bitch about it the entire time.

🎮Tomura Shigaraki🎮

Gives in Quality Time and Acts of Service / Receives in Touch

Receiving: For very obvious reasons Tomura Shigaraki does not touch people, not unless he intends to harm them of course. His biggest fear is hurting someone he cares about simply because he couldn’t keep his hands to himself.

Fortunately for him he rarely lets anyone get close enough for this to be a persistent problem for him, occupational hazard of being a villain you know; but should he manage to find himself an SO he’ll quickly be overwhelmed by the need to touch them in some way or another. Even if it’s just letting them sit in his lap for a minute, he desperately needs to be in contact with this person who (against their better judgement, in his own opinion) has seen past his flaws and enjoys being around him.

A loophole is quickly found though, he can’t touch his SO, but his SO can certainly touch him. He absolutely loves it when they do it as well, any sort of physical affection he eats up with a rabid fervor. It can be something as simple as brushing their knuckles across the back of his neck as they pass behind him that’ll make him go absolutely feral. Their touch is like a drug and Tomura is hooked.

Giving: While Tomura would love to express his affection with touch he’s really just not able to do so without getting sick with anxiety. So instead he makes sure to spend as much time around his SO as possible. Being a villain gives him quite a lot of down time, these evil plots don’t just appear out of thin air! So while he is planning his next move he goes out of his way to include his SO, or at least make sure he’s near them while doing so.

Having his SO around near constantly not only ensures that they’re safe but also helps to make the time he has to spend around the rest of the LOV more bearable. His SO really is the only person he can tolerate for an extended period of time.

That being said, should his SO need help with anything Tomura will gladly oblige. He’s not one to help with dishes or cleanup, but say his SO needs someone to disappear quickly? He’s got no issue getting his hands dirty and reducing said person to dust. Tomura would dust the entire world if it meant his SO would be happy.

#answered #love langauges #mha #bnha #katsuki bakugo #izuku midoriya #shoto todoroki #hitoshi shinsou #denki kaminari #eijiro kirishima #tamaki amajiki #mirio togata #keigo takami #touya todoroki #dabi #tomura shigaraki #extra stuff #headcanon #ask prompt

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redinkofshame · 3 years

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Exotic Vacation

I based #2 on the AU list on my own honeymoon. I’m sorry the prompt never gets to the actual vacation part of the vacation… But if I added all the semi-public beach smex and threesomes this prompt would have been WAY too long.

So have some committed-relationship spice, with mirror smex.

2214 words, explicit

for @augustwritingchallenge

Read on AO3

Black Bikini Bottoms

Des and Solas hadn’t taken a honeymoon as newlyweds, as they had been new parents as well. They tied the knot at City Hall and promised each other they would take a trip for their first anniversary instead. But, between financial strain and Des’ separation anxiety, they’d called it off.

Now it was nearly their second anniversary and their daughter, Isla, was two years old, and Des was ready for a break. Cruise tickets for five days and four nights through Rivaini islands had been booked, plane tickets for her mom to stay here with Isla had been booked, and an appointment with a waxing salon so Des could get bikini-ready had been booked.

To be honest it wasn’t about the new bikini she’d packed so much as Solas seeing her in — and out — of it. Between work, parenthood, medical scares, and life in general, her and Solas’ s.ex life was all but non-existent, and she was hoping to change that, if only for the week.

The morning before was hectic — saying hello to her mother, goodbye to her daughter, and loading on the plane. They arrived late in Rivain and headed straight to their moderately-priced hotel room, where they both crashed. They did not have sex. (Thank goodness; she was exhausted.)

They were up before dawn on the day of their anniversary to begin the on-boarding process. Tickets, passports, suitcases, and a mandatory cruise ship safety lecture from the crew. It was after noon before they were free.

They managed to find their tiny windowless room well enough; it was on the lowest level and practically at the rear of the ship. After they’d checked that none of their luggage had gone missing in transit and settled a bit she sat on the bed. As it was practically the only place to sit her husband did the same. They chatted a bit, appraising the experience so far, and she scooted close, suggestively running her hand up and down his thigh as he commented on the excellent service and cheap booze.

Then a loud rumble started up, and they had to raise their voices to be heard.

He grimaced. “That must be the engine. I had not realized it would be so loud…”

Neither had she. Unlike Solas, she was a light sleeper and she was already starting to stress about the noise keeping her awake the entire trip.

But she was determined to break their dry spell. “It’s for the best,” she purred, running her hand along his chest. “Now we don’t have to worry about being too noisy.”

She pulled him into a kiss, trying to put heat into it. She wasn’t actually in the mood, yet, but she was sure she’d get there.

They kissed for several moments, nibbling on lips and necks. Neither mad a move to further, though, so they slowed to caresses. The longer it went the more painfully obvious it was that this wasn’t working for either of them. She moved her hand down and cupped hi, just to be sure, but she didn’t find anything significant.

She pulled back with a sigh and leaned her forehead against his.

He sighed as well. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired, we can still—”

“No, no, it’s okay. It’s not just you,” she admitted. She forced a smile and they stayed there a moment, heads together, eyes closed. Their hands found each other. She was trying not to get worked up over it, to blame herself, her body, to spit out something like ‘I guess we just don’t have sex anymore!’.

It was a shame. They used to have great sex. Like, really fucking good. Shouldn’t she be craving that? Would he, if she still looked like she did back then?

She reminded herself there was no reason to force themselves into some mediocre orgasms just because society said that their ‘honeymoon’ should be some kind of uber-romantic fuck-a-thon.

When she was sure she could open her eyes without getting teary she did so — only to find that while she was trying not to lose it the asshole was nodding off right where he sat.

“There’s a couple hours until our assigned dinner time,” she said, and his eyes popped open with a start. “Do you want to take a nap until then?”

“Yes. Very much so. But I would not

want you to leave you all alone on our anniversary…”

She waved it off. “I’ll nap for a bit, too, then I’ll just read. I brought a book.”

He didn’t need any more convincing and climbed under the covers. She got up and turned off the light.

She blinked.

“Holy shit.”

“Yes,” he agreed, sounding just as surprised as she was. It was dark. Like, completely lightless, even with elven vision. The blackout curtains in their bedroom at home had nothing on a windowless room under the ocean, apparently. “There’s no light from the hall; I suspect the rooms are water-tight.”

She hummed her agreement as she felt her way back to the bed. She didn’t bother setting an alarm; she never napped for more than an hour or so. With as loud as the engine was, she would be lucky to nap at all.

~~~~~

So, apparently, a cruise ship engine made for a wonderful white noise machine, especially when combined with the comforting darkness of the room. Des knew she’d over slept immediately. She didn’t bother trying to find her phone to check the time; they were out of service range and cross time zones. Instead she found the remote for the ceiling-mounted TV, which has a “channel” just to tell you the time and introduce you to the captain, as well as a few others explaining the islands they’d make port at in the coming days.

So much for a sixty minute nap; it had been six hours.

She hadn’t muted the TV fast enough and Solas stirred. “What time is it?” he mumbled. “Did we miss dinner?”

His tone told her that he already knew the answer.

“You could say that.”

“There’s room service, right?”

“I think they’re closed…”

“Well let’s try, at least.”

They did. The kitchen was closed, but uncooked meals were still available. Solas ordered a sandwich and she got the salad, and instead of eating a romantic anniversary dinner by the sea they ate in relative silenced in a room the size of a closet. At least wine didn’t require cooking.

C’est la vie. They went over their schedule for the next day, and which activities (‘excursions’ as the ship called them) they planned to hit. Once their plan was in place and the drinks were finished they went right back to bed.

With their good mood, full bellies, wine, and rest, Des thought they would ‘celebrate’ some more… But instead they wished each other a happy anniversary and went right back to bed. They did not have sex.

This time Des’ disappointment was genuine, and she allowed herself her tears. She might as well mourn the apparent loss of this part of their lives as Solas snored away behind her. Maybe they really were one of those couples after all. They had love, and family, and a life together, and sex wasn’t much of a part of that. And that was okay. But it also kinda sucked.

~~~~~~

The alarm woke them in the morning. Unlike the dinners that were scheduled in the dining room at the same time every night, breakfast would be buffet style for two hours on the upper deck, so there was no hurry. In theory. Des hurried anyway, excited to finally enjoy the view of glittering ocean for as far as her eyes could see as she sipped mimosas.

She was pulling out her outfit for the day (bikini included) when Solas invited her to shower with him. It was something they did pretty much whenever schedules allowed, so she didn’t expect any hanky-panky (and tried to convince herself she wasn’t disappointed when she was proven right).

He scrubbed her back and she watched him shave his head, checking him for missed spots. They got out and toweled dry.

She reached for her bikini bottoms but his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, grip noticeably firm. “Who said you’re allowed to get dressed?” he asked.

His wicked little grin was enough to send a tingle through her. “I can’t wait to see the incredible view,” she answered coquettishly. He didn’t bother with a response, just pulled her in and kissed her hungrily, almost immediately finding her tongue with his. His hands moved from her wrist to waist to grab great handfuls of her ass.

She tried to give as good as she got but she still had to wrap her arms around his neck just to keep her balance with the way her pressed into her, forcing her to back up until her butt hit the tiny vanity. She puled back to catch her breath, scraping her nails along his freshly-shaved scalp. He used the opportunity to go for her neck, sucking and biting as he pleased. She knew he was leaving marks on her but happily let him.

Des gasped lightly as his fingers traced to the apex of her thighs, teasing her. Fuck, it had been way too long… She canted her hips against his hand to prove how ready she was already, just in case it wasn’t super obvious.

It must have been because he hooked his elbow under her knee and lifted, speaking her open. She giggled in surprise but was cut off by her own hitching breath as he used his other hand to finger her. She buried her nose in the crook of his neck, clean and warm, until he murmured appreciatively in her ear, “Now there’s an incredible view…”

She turned to look over her shoulder only to see her own bare ass reflected in three different angles by the vanity mirrors.

Des smirked. She propped up her leg higher and leaned forward into Solas, arched her back to give him a pornographic view of his fingers disappearing into her cunt. He groaned and grabbed her ass with his now-free hand, lifting her higher still.

He worked her with those long, familiar fingers until she couldn’t take it anymore. He ignored her increasingly insistent noises of frustration — she knew he knew what she wanted, but the asshole always wanted to hear her beg for it. Finally she dropped all pretense and just said, “Dick. Now.”

He ignored her still, so she sunk her teeth into his neck, biting hard.

His surprise yelp was followed by a chuckle just before he grabbed her by the hips and spun her around. She met his grin with a smile of her own and bent over to brace her hands on the vanity table. She watched in satisfaction as his gaze dropped to her tits. Then she wiggled her butt to get him back on task.

He rook the time to run his hands up along her curves, all the way up to her shoulders and back, giving her ass a loud smack before finally aligning his cock up and — Fuck. Creators, she’d forgotten just how damn good when her husband fucked her with that big cock of his. The toys in her drawer at home had nothing on the grip of his hands pulling her hips to him as he thrust steadily into her.

She looked up at him in the mirror but couldn’t make eye contact as he was intently watching their bodies moving together instead. She’d been stupid to think he was tired of her body… He’d never said or even done anything to make her think he was no longer attracted to her, and the way he looked at her now was anything but disinterested.

She reached up to squeeze her own breast — that caught his attention. His eyes snapped up to hers and she continued the treatment, tugging her nipple for her own satisfaction, watching him watching her. Then she watched nothing at all as her eyes screwed up and she came for him, though she felt his heavy gaze even then.

He rode her through her orgasm, steady, controlled as always. Always, that was, until it was his turn. Once she opened her eyes again he dug his fingers into her and took her hard. She moaned with each thrust and it was all she could do to brace herself against the table as he lost himself, pounding into her fast, hard, deep.

She watched his face as he came at last, smiled when his eyes opened to meet hers. He smiled back and gave her ass another slap before pulling out. “Worth it for that view alone.”

She rolled her eyes and went to grab a washcloth from the shower, giving him one as well. Then her the bikini bottoms she’d been reaching for before, like a proper gentleman.

“Why thank you.” She grumbled as she started pulling them on, “Gonna get cum stains on it before I even get in the water…”

Solas cupped her face and pulled her into a long, satisfied kiss. Then he said with a smirk, “It won’t be the last time. Black was a poor color choice for our honeymoon.”

#solavellan #AU_gust #AU_gust_2021 #Solas #Des Lavellan #reposting because tumblr doesn't like my lemons

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moosoobi · 3 years

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Confessions

In the night: Chapter 2

T.Jeff- Hamilton: the musical

Y/N can’t hold all her secrets. She’s tired of hiding. The people deserve the truth. Here’s her confession: the one she should’ve told us long ago

I started to write this chapter the day after I finished chapter 1, yet before the first chapter was even published (time management queen). As I’m typing this message, I’m currently distracting myself from finals LMAO. Anyway, I wanted to finish this chapter as soon as possible to give some explanation of the events in the previous chapter, so I hope I do exactly that. I’m still manifesting that I articulate through this story smoothly, please give me feedback <3

MC (aka Y/N’s) POV

Modern au

Word Count: 5.4k

A few unrealistic realities, but I’m working with what I got

This chapter will most likely answer many questions about chapter 1

THIS CHAPTER OCCURS AT THE SAME TIME AS CHAPTER 1! all events in this chapter line up with the events of chapter 1

Disclaimers:

TW: violence, abuse, mentions of blood, themes of injury, itty bitty angst?

photo not mine <3

If you have any questions/concerns about this story, DONT BE SHY TO ASK ME! This is my first time writing a whole series, so I apologize if the plot gets confusing.

-Now Playing: Broken Clocks by SZA-

Where to start…

My attention was taken from Professor Washington’s lecture the moment I felt a pair of eyes attempting to pierce a hole in the back of my head. As I look back, I realize that it’s no one other than Thomas Jefferson, the spoiled francophile, or so people like the whisper, but gossip’s not my thing.

Upon being called out by Professor Washington, I couldn’t hold in my giggle as Thomas’s head ducks down in embarrassment. I suppose he sure knows how to lighten the demeanor in the lecture hall; It was a nice excuse to take my eyes off of Washington’s low-quality power-point presentation, but I appreciate that the man is trying.

This class feels like it’ll last forever, and I contemplate if I could just perish in my seat at this very instant, yet Thomas’s presence seems to make it worthwhile. I don’t know him that much, or maybe at all for that matter, but since he’s been seen with a Schuyler, the locals around here can’t seem to keep their mouths shut about him.

From what I’ve heard, he’s another silver-spoon raised boy representing Virginia up here in New York. A few scholarships here and there, as well as a trip to France for a semester. I don’t see what all the fuss is about; He seems like a pretty cool person, probably has an exciting life, and isn’t throwing away his shot. It’s odd, even with parents to piggyback off of, Thomas is very similar to a certain orphan I know.

“Class is dismissed” Is all I heard from Professor Washington’s mouth before that obnoxious but relieving bell sounds off.

Desperate to get out of this class, I hurry to put my stationery items into my burgundy-magenta backpack. You’d think after those turbulent years of high school that college would motivate me for fancier bags, but I can’t say no to my favorite color. It’s simple, won’t bring attention to my presence, unlike every other decision I’ve made in my life.

After I finally finished packing up, I can’t wait to take a breath of the fresh, polluted air of New York City. I quickly spotted my roommate's car within the crowd of vehicles next to the sidewalk. He’s on time, as always, to pick me up from class, and I’m grateful that he sacrifices his time for me, but it’s not like he had a choice. I toss my bag into the trunk, surely crinkling a few important papers. Upon reaching the door of his expensive car, my roommate greets me with joy to see me.

“How was class, Cherie?”

Lafayette, my roommate, shoots a smile at me, his white teeth are almost blinding, but he always says I’m exaggerating.

“Boring as always, but I’m still here, sadly” I say as I hop into the front seat of Lafayette’s car. He pouts in my direction

“Ahh, c’mon, don’t be like that.” Once he acknowledges the buckling of my seatbelt, he begins to power up the car. “C’est la vie, Y/N” I roll my eyes, my hatred for him grows just a little more every time he says that.

“Can we get McDonald’s?” I attempt to change the subject, earning a small chuckle from him. He prepares to drive off “You know I can't say no to you and your American junk food”

And so we begin to drive off

Lafayette and I indeed have a bit of history together. After I got mistakenly involved with Alexander and his clique, Lafayette was the next best (or worse) person to walk into my life. He’s sweet, charming, probably all the things Americans are not; the gentleman hails from France. Yet he’s so much more than that.

Ever since I caught his eye at that obnoxious high school party, he and I hit the ground running. Disclosing the events which took place in his-

our bedroom won’t solve the problem, but the stubble on his jaw and the way he holds the steering wheel with one hand nearing my thigh reminds me of the unresolved sexual tension between the both of us.

I’ve only been living in his apartment for a few months, an idea he proposed when I mentioned my dreadful rent. A nice view, nice coffee maker, and nice bedsheets were more than enough to convince me, but I know there’s more to that “nice” list that I shouldn’t disclose.

Though I know his intentions were good, I’m sure he invited me into his abode to protect me from Alex.

Since I began to band with Alex and his gang, Alexander’s been strict about getting me home on time. It wasn’t only because I was a helpless high school student, but also to prevent me from ratting him and his group out to the authorities.

Upon joining Alex's posse, a strict curfew has been placed on me, only to ensure I stay safe at night, or perhaps to make sure I don’t betray them.

Moving in with Lafayette made following this time limitation easier for me, especially since he volunteers to drive me home or takes a stand for me. If the unfortunate event of my arrival past my ‘bedtime’ timer occurs, Alexander ensures I pay the price.

Speaking of arrivals, Lafayette passes me a box of hot, salty fries and a smile spreads across my face. His eyes visibly soften as my entire demeanor changes.

“Have I ever told you that you’re the best person ever?” I spilled my thoughts while stuffing my mouth with fries. He lightly chuckles, watching me.

“Maybe a couple of times..” He prepares to drive off again “...too many times, actually.” he shot a wink at me.

Blood didn’t have any time to rush to my cheeks before I could slap the side of his shoulder, causing him to whine in discomfort. I sigh before returning my focus to the steaming fries in front of me. The tension grows, and so does the silence between us. Eager to break the tension, I propose an idea.

“Let’s go home?” we turn to each other at the same time

“Oui.”

---

I enter Professor Washington’s lecture hall and my attention is driven to the two curly-headed Virginians. I watch in secondhand embarrassment as Thomas Jefferson and his friend playfully argue in front of the entire class, seemingly a heated debate of the greatness of Mac and Cheese. One argues on behalf of the gooey pasta, while the other simultaneously retorts with a mix of “you’re so stupid” and “God help me”.

Feeling a rush of confidence and suaveness, my brain urges my body to intervene in their conversation. Maybe it was to make new friends, or perhaps to stop the class from staring at their dumb dispute, but I swiftly walk over to them. The next few words to come out of my mouth fell into place oh-so-perfectly.

“Hey, can I sit here?”

Upon sitting in between the two Virginians, they introduce themselves. The calmer, self-collected man among the two introduced himself as James Madison, while the bolder, upbeat man introduced himself as no other than Thomas Jefferson. Both of them seemed happy that I interrupted and decided to reach out to them, maybe one was a tad more excited than the other.

And ever since then, Professor Washington can’t seem to split up our trio. From childish jokes and a few inappropriate inferences, Thomas and James make great company. The idiotic smile that spreads across Thomas’s face whenever he’s capable of making James and I break our silence during class would become more annoying than Lafayette saying “C’est la vie” whenever I make a poor life decision.

Nevertheless, Thomas and James dangerously remind me of Alexander and his goons. The abundant amount of self-praise and cocky remarks said by both Thomas and Alexander is almost astronomical. In the case of Thomas and Alexander’s meeting, I’m sure they’d be the best of friends. But likewise, I could also envision the two attempting to tear each other's heads off, the chaotic clashing of two powerful minds.

They always know what to say and when to say it. I’ve never met anyone as clever as Thomas and James, and they’re even worse when they’re together.

“‘ ‘s Adams here today? Washington told me to turn in my papers t’ him.” Thomas whispers as he eases into his chair, Washington’s booming voice seems to become background noise to us

“Is he ever?” I reply, attempting not to giggle at my own response “I haven’t seen him since Washington initially introduced him to the class.”

“Maybe he’s jus’ sick or somethin’. Kinda reminds me of you, James'' His head of curls turns to stare down James, in which James replies by rolling his eyes

“He can stay home, he does the same amount of work there anyways.” James cleverly retorted.

And that seemed to be our last straw before bursting out in laughter. Thomas’s body flung forward as he laughed his head off, James ducking his head to hide his glee behind his laptop, and I quickly slap a hand over my mouth to prevent anyone around us from drawing suspicion. But apparently, Washington wasn’t having our disguises.

“Can the three of you even tell me what I just said?” Washington turns around from the board to scan the crowd, his eagle eyes find us quickly

The silence was all we could emit, and soon enough, He turned back to his lesson. I sigh with relief; the last thing I need is to get kicked out of a class I don’t even pay for.

…

...

“Washington sure got a shiny ass head. D’you think he uses shampoo and conditioner?” Whispered Thomas as he leans over to me

And just like that, we’re faced with the same struggle all over again.

—-

Lafayette adjusted the hot pan, erupting a few sizzles. The wall clock ticked, the hour arm froze pointing to the “11” written in roman numerals. Lafayette and I decided to agree on a home-cooked meal, and although it’s too late for an average dinner, yet too early to be defined as a midnight snack, I’m sure Lafayette’s cooking will satisfy me for the night.

“Y/NN, would you prefer salt on your omelet? Or did you decide to be healthy tonight?” He said holding a salt shaker in the air to steal my focus from the swirling red liquid in my glass.

My head lifts to meet his eyes. I tilt my head, the wine causing me to ponder for a little longer than I should’ve. He continues to stare at me, holding in a laugh, before I force myself to nod.

“Yeah.. a little won’t hurt” I hear him chuckle at my drunken dialect, but I know the French man isn’t about to lecture me about English “Your wish is my command.”

I watch as he conducts the kitchen perfectly. He knows where everything is, exactly what to add into the sizzling pan, maybe even the exact second to take the meal off the flame.

“I thought you weren’t a fan of monarchy?” the sarcasm was evident in my tone “but I appreciate the submission” I shot him a playful wink, to which he responds with a pompous smirk

A few sips of wine later, I recognize notification that has been staring back at me for hours.

1 Message from Thomas

A text from Thomas? And I’m barely seeing this now? I silently scold myself for giving into the wine before opening the message.

“Thomas: Hey this is Thomas from class, wanna come study with us at the library sometime?”

My eyes become glued to my phone. It was certainly necessary for me to reread Thomas’s text, I was unsure if the alcohol was beginning to make me see odd things, but I assured myself I was correct.

I could feel the blush spread across my face. Maybe it’s just the wine taking control, or maybe it’s the butterflies in my stomach forming every time I reread his message. A harmless invite, perhaps evoked from Thomas due to James stroking his ego, but I know James’ wouldn’t promote such a bold, straight-forward message. Though Thomas is known for his meticulous confidence and certainty, a message this simple could be notably deceiving.

But a little socializing won’t damage my self-respect. “Be bold, Y/N” is what I used to tell myself at the beginning of the semester, and what do I have to lose? I begin to type my reply.

“Y/N: yeah I’m down :) just send a time and place and I’ll be on my way”

Sent.

My introspection was soon interrupted by the screeching plate being slid in my direction by Lafayette, the steam circulating the meal

“Y/N, Mangeons.” My head comes up from my phone, my eyes meet his eyes momentarily.

“Thanks, Laf.” I reply before taking a fork from him and digging into the steaming meal ahead of me. Lafayette’s cooking never disappoints. Ever.

My body couldn’t help but pick up my phone every few minutes to respond to Thomas’s messages, Though they were just the details of the hangout-offer he previously proposed, I felt enclosed in my little bubble while texting him. Those few moments of interaction with him somehow made my day better. I’m sure even Lafayette could see my radiating energy, but I’m not sure how he took it.

We’re technically not a couple; a few hookups and moving in together don't make us an official couple, right?

“Merci, Laffy.” I watched as he visibly cringed at my poor attempt at french. “Let’s just stick to our mother tongues, angel.” He retorted. I laughed it off, yet inside his reply left a scratch on my pride.

---

Another class of absolute foolery and childish inferences, and I can’t help but laugh as Thomas, James, and I exit the lecture hall. The New-York cold hits us harshly, but being about a month into this semester, students already know what to expect.

It was indeed embarrassing, running to Lafayette’s car to remind him of your library study session.

“Alright, I’ll pick you up before your curfew, okay?” He asked with one hand on the wheel. His faux-leather jacket contorting around his toned arms made it difficult not to remember the moments they shared around midnight. The imagery of their candle-lit room appearing in her head as he sat at the wheel stopped her from replying for a moment.

“Y-Yeah sounds great. You’re the best, you know that?” She thanked him for sacrificing his time to make sure she arrives home on time.

“You remind me all the time.” He sneaks in a small wink between his sentences “I’ll see you tonight, Cherie”

Y/N smiled before turning around to prance over to her friends. Y/N heard the faint sounds of Lafayette driving off, sighing in relief

After briefly explaining my situation to the boys, we quickly head over to the library.

A woman in a coral-pink blazer and pants set is waiting impatiently at a table she rented out just for us. “What in the world took you guys so long?” She pressured for an answer

“C’mon Angie, that wasn’t even ten minutes.” Thomas rolled his eyes before removing his backpack and opening a chair for Y/N. Real smooth, Thomas, I can’t lie. He looked over to me, seeing stars in my eyes as I realize I’m standing next to the oldest Schuyler.

“You’re-” She interrupted me with a smile, sticking out her hand to shake mine

“Angelica Schuyler. And you?” I swear her name sounds familiar. I’m sure I’ve heard it around but I just can't place it. I do see her on my social media feed from time to time, and I must admit, she looks even more heavenly in person.

“Y/N L/N.” My hand meets hers in a firm handshake.

“Nice to meet you.”

—-

At first, I thought nothing of it.

Though Lafayette’s text at 7:30 (on the dot) did push me out of my zone, I did appreciate his promise to me.

Thomas on the other hand seemed disturbed by my sudden leave, but it’s not like he’d understand. Alexander would literally kill me if I were home late.

But Thomas and I would continue to hang out. His evening texts would slowly become a weekly routine. Whether it was a scary movie or an ice cream date for just the two of us, he always found a way to spend time with me.

“Don’t tell me that mint chocolate chip is actually your favorite flavor, darlin’.” He adjusted his position on the park bench and raised an eyebrow, his gaze focused on the green ice cream atop my ice cream cone “You might make me regret takin’ you out tonight” he chuckled and I couldn’t help but smile

“You know you love me” I jokingly retorted, scooping part of my ice cream with my tongue, and relaxing against the bench.

It’s very rare to get to relax like this. Not only am I a fully-fledged college student, but also one of Alexander’s goons. The weekends are merely just ‘weekdays: the sequel’, but add forbidden literature and alcohol to that equation.

I look back up to Thomas, seeing his disgusted face. “Wait.. are you actually against mint chocolate chip ice cream?” I cocked an eyebrow towards him

He shrugged before chuckling “I recall telling you of my unfortunate arguments while visiting England..”

“..so what does mint chocolate chip ice cream have to do with your political upheavals in a foreign country?”

He smirked in an ‘all knowing’ manner. “Well, Darlin, if you did your research—“

“—You’ve got to be kidding me—“I start to wonder why I even asked

“—you’d learn that the monstrosity in your ice cream cone, mint chocolate chip, originated in England.” He completed his statement with triumph “Ever since my disagreements in England, I swore to despise such a concoction until the day I die.”

I looked at him like he was crazy. “I can’t believe you did your research on English creations. You’re so dramatic sometimes” I respond

“Hey, I wouldn’t be a Jefferson if I wasn’t.” He stared back to his cone, the mesmerizing ice cream almost reflecting himself back at him.

We shared silence for a moment. Words were unnecessary when we were together.

“I suppose..” Jefferson started “...I might be able to tolerate mint chocolate chip ice cream, but only for you, though.” He turned towards my direction

My eyes soon met his. “Well, I’m honored to be your exemption, Jefferson.” I smile with triumph, recognizing my effect on him.

He swiftly takes my hand, his skin feels burning compared to mine. Our eyes remain connected as he dips his head down to kiss the back of my hand. I attempt to hide the fact that my heart stopped beating for a moment, but the breath hitching in my throat wouldn’t help me at all.

“Let’s drop the formalities, Darlin, you can call me Thomas now.” My hand remained between his. I try my best to keep my hand still, wanting to marinate in this moment forever.

A new feeling courses through my body. Something unfamiliar. Perhaps it’s the charm of a Southern Gentleman. Maybe the feeling of being treated right for the first time, something I’ve never experienced from anyone.

What have I ever done to deserve this chivalrous kindness?

‘What a gentleman’ I repeat to myself in my mind. What makes him so different from the others?

From a simple kiss, I suddenly crave more.

More than the unresolved sexual tension between Lafayette and I.

More than I was ever granted the opportunity to.

Maybe ‘more’ is what I deserve.

My mind bleeds with the thought of Lafayette, but Thomas seems like he has so much more to offer. What if I do deserve to be happy? I may not have earned it, but who gets to declare my right to happiness? I was once happy with Lafayette, but the times have changed

He’s just not him. He’s just not Thomas.

---

But no matter how much I enjoyed spending time with Jefferson himself, I was always the first one to leave. I had to.

I remember the way his smile would fall at the sound of Lafayette’s car horn.

The way his jaw tenses whenever my phone vibrates across the table

Whenever Lafayette came to pick me up, I also can’t help but feel a part of my soul crack within me.

“I’ll see you this weekend?” He kisses the back of my hand once more in an attempt to savor this moment, continuing to maintain eye contact.

“I’ll try, Thomas. Not sure if I’m busy.” I sigh with fatigue. “But I’ll let you know.”

“Alright. Get home safe, darlin’” I hear him stand from the park bench as I wander to Lafayette’s car, his eyes following my figure.

I hop into Lafayette’s car before taking one last glance in Thomas’s direction, watching as his figure begins to walk in the opposite direction that our car was heading.

“Ahh, Y/N. Don’t tell me you’re cheating on me” his sarcastic tone wouldn’t pierce deep enough.

I speak without thinking. “I do recall you claiming that you and I were never a couple, remember Laf?” My change in demeanor was certain to shut him up. And he did.

He’s just not him. He’s just not Thomas.

I remained turned away from Lafayette as we drove through the city. The memories built between Lafayette and I constantly falls like a house of cards, but I prefer to avoid the subject.

Lafayette felt otherwise, yet respected my choice.

He was the first to speak.

“Alexander needs me for a transport this weekend.” He stated, “I’m not sure when I’ll get back, so it’s very important that you get back from whatever plans you have before your curfew.” He takes a glance over to me and briefly meets my eyes

“Don’t test the waters, Y/N.”

Ah yes, the monthly literature transportation of Alexander’s gang.

The Notorious Sons of Liberty.

A popular group roaming the streets of New York. But instead ironically of selling drugs or performing homicide, they produce and sell illegal, banned literature and disperse them to the highest bidders.

How else do you think I pay for college?

Although gang violence isn’t really their thing, that doesn’t mean they’re not in possession of such weaponry and devices. I’ve never seen anyone take literature as seriously as they do.

They’re also known for their bold publicity stunts, which are indeed fun to watch from a nearby coffee shop. Watching Alexander, Lafayette, and some other friends, John and Herc, run from the authorities on a Sunday afternoon, accidentally laughing at the sight of John tripping over his own feet, Lafayette mouthing ‘help us out’ in my direction. Very entertaining.

On the contrary, their security on me has become tighter and tighter. I know they worry for the gang’s reputation over my safety, but it feels nice to imagine having a battalion of book-worm gang members watching over you.

“I know, I know. You guys can stop treating me like a kid” I attempt to contain a giggle to portray my seriousness.

He takes a glance at me before returning his attention to the road. “You cannot say that until you have another way home other than me.” He sighed rather loudly

“Be careful, or I might do just that, Lafayette.”

---

I sipped on wine and ate cheese at Thomas’s place without a care in the world on a Saturday night. Of course, I had to accept Thomas’s offer, I never knew how to say no to him.

Jefferson has sure been taking his sweet time to put a title on us. Now, I’m no philosopher when it comes to dating, but Ice cream at the park, fancy dinners, and wine and cheese sure sound romantic.

My night was going well. All until the 7:30 alarm on my phone rang, and before I knew it, everything began to go downhill

[events of chapter 1]

And next thing I knew, the cold New York air slapped my face, following the harsh slam of the apartment door.

As my adrenaline began to settle down, panic rushed through my body.

Fuck. At this rate, I won’t be home until after my curfew. Although my immediate instinct was to sprint my way home, those thoughts were quickly followed by the idea of passing out within five minutes. My apartment isn’t too far, but being fueled by wine and cheese doesn’t sound like the best idea.

“Don’t test the waters, Y/N” echoed throughout my head.

I begin to walk down the street before whipping out my phone to contact an Uber.

The small talk produced between my driver and I worked a bit to calm myself down, but that would all change the moment I walked through my apartment door.

Once I turn back around from locking the door, I’m met with exactly what I didn’t want to see at this very moment.

Lafayette stood staring at me, his lips pursed with anxiousness, recognizing my significantly late arrival.

Hercules, another good friend I’ve met through the sons of liberty, stood beside Lafayette. His mouth hung open in shock as he also recognized my mistake.

John, the group’s smallest yet mightiest, leaned against the wall, perhaps planning my fate right in front of me

And none other than Alexander Hamilton himself, sipping scotch on my couch, similarly to how I was not too long ago at Thomas’s place. The glare on his face quickly reminded me that I was in big trouble.

“Y/N, I thought I told you—“ Lafayette began but was quickly interrupted

“You’re late.” He swirled his drink before standing up. The clock ticked, and the hour hand notably passed the 8:30 symbol. I was not getting out of this one.

Although I feared for the following moments, I attempted to contain my emotions within myself. I kept my straight face for the time being. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me.

“I’m well aware.” That came out of my mouth a little too harsh for my liking

“May I remind you that being out past your curfew could severely damage our image.”

I saw John look over to Alex from the corner of my eye. The air became thinner if that were even possible, and I refused to meet his eyes.

“And I do recall reminding you of your consequences.” He walked towards me and I felt my heart froze. “Having you out so late could raise some suspicions among our competitors, L/N.”

I couldn’t find the right words and resort to nodding instead

“I always fucking told you—“ he harshly slammed his drink onto the table beside him “—not to test the waters—”

“—I-I know—“

“So why the fuck are you stumbling in here past your curfew?”

At this very moment, I wondered if I had pulled the last straw.

I couldn’t speak. God forbid I spat out the wrong words. Contained within my thoughts, I didn’t acknowledge Alexander closing the distance between us.

“Ow!--” I watched as Alex shoved me to the wall, the moment playing in slow motion in my head.

Lafayette’s throat grew dry “Hey, Alex, Calm dow-”

He was interrupted by the sound of Alexander harshly slapping me across the face. My hands quickly went to soothe what felt like fire burning my cheek.

“We do so much for you, Y/N.” Alex growled

The sharp pain in my side grew, almost echoing throughout my body. I could feel my body giving up on itself. I mean, this wouldn’t be the first time Alex has acted like this.

Occasionally, Alex would stop by Lafayette and I’s apartment just to ensure I was home before my curfew, and he wasn’t the most forgiving.

--He owns an apartment key and has every single one of his gang member’s location tracked on his phone. Sometimes I wondered what was so special about us to have to keep all of us in check 24/7--

One time Hercules and I went shopping a little too late after sunset, part of me felt like a reckless teenager, probably because I was. I still remember Alexander’s face when I entered my own apartment, he looks identical every time.

In an attempt to shelter me, my body curled into itself against the wall. I shrunk to the floor, feeling his shadow intensely stand above me.

“Arghh!—“ the sound spilled out of me when I felt Alexander’s shin connect with my rib cage.

My lungs felt punctured under the pressure.

My arms felt like they could give out any second.

Part of me had wished I’d stay at Thomas’s place tonight, even if it meant telling him the truth.

What a predicament I’ve gotten myself into.

I looked up, wondering if my torment was over until I was met with a —Crack— Alexander’s knee encountered my face.

It was only a moment before I could hear the shuffling of the others’ shoes. I prayed they were coming to help me out.

Alexander lifted his glass of alcohol, previously forgotten, and hauled it towards me

Crash!

The piercing shards of glass combining with the stinging alcohol were the last thing I needed on a Saturday night. I didn’t notice the tears falling from my eyes until now, and the way my heart felt like it was just on a rollercoaster.

I kept my head low, watching blood drip down my face and onto the floor below me. And apparently, I wasn’t the only one to notice.

“Alex! What the fuck?!” I heard Laurens yell

“Are you trying to kill her?!?” I recognized Lafayette’s scream

Before Alex was able to make another blow, Lauren and Lafayette were quick to hold him back, attempting to calm him down.

Hercules swiftly knelt beside me, the guilt was obvious in his gaze. I hated the pity in each of their glances towards me. He attempted to wipe away the blood from my forehead with a paper towel.

Alexander fought back against the two, trying his best to prove his point. There’s the Hamilton we all know, unwilling to stand down no matter the cost.

Hercules turned back to me, his words were ready to leave his mouth from the moment we reconnected eyes.

“Y/N..” He pulled me up and shoved me out of my apartment door. “..Run.” I almost stumbled into a nearby pole, but I began running, if running in my condition was possible, back to Thomas’s place.

—-

[events of chapter 1]

The next thing I knew, I woke up in Thomas’s bed beside him. I took a moment to soak in the feeling of his satin sheets. Part of me can’t recall the events before I passed out in front of Thomas’s apartment, or maybe my mind refuses to remember them.

The sun hasn’t risen yet.

I turn to my side and reach for my phone, wincing from the pressure applied to my rib cage.

The bright light of my phone hitting my eyes felt like I was transported to another dimension.

54 notifications:

12 calls from Lafayette 🥐

24 texts from Lafayette 🥐

1 text from Alexander 💡

3 calls from Mariah 💋

14 texts from Mariah 💋

“oh fuck..” I sigh, wondering how things will play out.

Out of curiosity, I open the message from Alexander. Perhaps it’s an apology? Maybe a reminder?

Alexander 💡: I know where you are, Y/N. Don’t drag your friend into this. Because I can.

Where I am? I ask myself

My heart dropped, remembering that Alexander tracks my location 24/7. He knows where I am at this very second.

By escaping to Thomas’s apartment, I’ve just dragged him into this mess I’ve made. If my worlds collide, it would all be because I ran to this exact apartment.

Panic once again rushed through my body.

I need to get out of here. I need to leave.

I slip out from under the sheets and grab my belongings. Unprepared for what’s to come, I steal one of Thomas’s jackets from his cluttered desk chair. I’ll give it back eventually, I thought to myself.

After I put on my shoes I take one last glance toward Thomas.

He seems so peaceful when he’s asleep, tangled in his blanket, not to mention his name-brand Mac and cheese pajama pants.

I’m sorry if I drag you into this, Thomas, you just wouldn’t understand.

Taglist <3: @kenmacrumbs @strayblades @laic2299 @ohsoverykeri

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whoistheasshole · 4 years

Text

My polyamorous partner keeps cheating. Am I holding her back?

Anonymous asks: my partner of almost 6 years is polyamorous and i am not, which has been a point of contention throughout our relationship. i have made it clear i only want to be in a relationship with one person at a given time, and she has told me this is fine. however, on more than one occasion i have found out that she has been secretly texting people on the internet, forming some kind of attachment with them and eventually sexted a few different people.

i will be the first to admit i am partially the asshole because i have primarily found out about this by snooping around on her phone and i know this is absolutely not okay. and every time this has happened i’ve been extremely upset and when we have talked about it she has told me that she feels really bad and didn’t mean to hurt my feelings, she won’t do it again and she just happens to have formed a romantic/sexual attachment to the person she is texting. i’ve asked her if she would like to break up so she can pursue these relationships but she has said that she would only ever want to be in a polyamorous relationship with me and another person, but i’ve made it very clear that won’t ever happen.

the most recent time has really hurt my feelings because i thought our relationship was in a really healthy spot, so i actually proposed to her last May and she accepted. i found out a few weeks ago that right before this she was secretly texting and possibly in a relationship with another woman online. she has claimed in the past she would have told me if i didn’t catch her, but she had over six months to tell me, and i not only had no clue but i literally proposed being married to her at the same time.

i feel like i have to ask, am i am asshole for not just breaking up with her so she can be in the kind of relationship she wants to be and snooping so much? or is she for not respecting my boundaries? i really feel like after this many times it’s just my fault and in the idiot for trying to tie her down. i love her a lot and would like to stay with her despite my feelings being hurt. i can be pretty sensitive so i blame myself for putting her in this position and feel like i’m being dramatic for being upset by this when it’s just on the internet. idk if any of this makes sense but your thoughts would be appreciated!”

Hi there and thank you for your question.

Let’s get one thing out of the way first: There is no such thing as non-consensual polyamory, your fiancé is cheating. She is the asshole.

It doesn’t matter who is polyamorous or monogamous in your relationship because your relationship is monogamous. That is the implicit, if not explicit, agreement your now-fiancé entered when she started this relationship with you. Her identity doesn’t change that.

Now is it, generally, ethically, right to snoop around somebody’s phone (barring some kind of emergency)? No. Is it the right way to deal with suspicions about your partner’s fidelity? Also no, given how many people are out there and jealous for reasons that say far more about them than about their partner. But do I think this is the pertinent point we should focus on in this situation? That’s another resounding no. Using unsavory methods to find out that your partner is cheating doesn’t change the fact that she is cheating.

It would be easy to look at all of these instances of infidelity as singular events, “challenges” in your relationship or maybe “communication issues” that you can overcome if both of you work hard together or some such nonsense. But then we’d be implying a) that this is a problem that both of you are contributing to and b) that there was a way to ensure that your fiancé will stay faithful once and for all. I want to suggest a different point of view: The price of admission for this relationship is that your partner cheats regularly. It might stay online, she might never meet these people (as far as you know), but she cheats and she also doesn’t fess up, unless you find out. And this is as good as it gets. So when you want to know about your future together, look to your past. The rosy vision where you have a big talk, she finally understands how much her actions hurt you and you can trust her going forward is unlikely to materialize. Your future must be extrapolated from your experience of 6 years together. You proposed to her and she lied to you for more than 6 months!

Sometimes the thing we need to grieve is not what was almost in our grasp, but that somebody is fundamentally incapable of giving us what we are looking for.

The last thing I want to touch on in my answer is your last paragraph. You ask if you are holding this whole adult human being back by not breaking up. You call yourself an idiot for being cheated on several times. You write you’re sensitive and dramatic. Please take a moment to read this comment.

Ready? Okay.

Does that quote resonate with you? Are you in an Origami shape right now, trying to tuck in your elbows so as not to bother anybody by sticking out of the box?

I am not asking this because I want to put you on the spot or even to insinuate that your fiancé is emotionally abusive. I wouldn’t know and she doesn’t have to be. But whatever has happened over the last years has lead you here, where you are taking on that much blame for what another person has put you through. A person, I might add, who is perfectly capable of breaking up with you, if she needs to not be in a monogamous relationship. Maybe, unlike in the above story, you don’t want to avoid anger, instead you’re trying to make the uncontrollable controllable, to be the most perfect partner who can make your fiancé stop sexting other people.

The truth is: That has always been in her hands.

Dear anon, please try to move your arms and toes and check if you’re bumping against any walls. If that’s the case, I would like to give you permission to stretch as far as you can and really ask yourself where you want to be and how you want to feel in 5 years. And then take it one day at a time to get there.

On a practical note: If you need space to suss out how you feel about all of this and what you want to do next, put all wedding plans on hold. Do not get pressured – by society, your fiancé, family or yourself – to ignore your concerns and to go ahead with this life-altering step while you are conflicted about your relationship. Any temporary pain, cost or embarrassment is much more bearable and way less complicated than waking up the day after your wedding and realizing that you’ve made a big mistake.

Take care.

#advice #relationships #polyamory #cheating #post #questions

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nooneelsecomesclose17 · 3 years

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I’ll leave what I’m chasing - part 6

This is the part that kind of started the whole fic. I wanted a fic where Sarah went up against Chas. It’s kind of got out of hand, but here it is. I’m the most nervous about this part!

(AO3 link)

“I’ve been thinking.” Sarah announces after their food has arrived.

“Always a worry.” Robert snorts back a laugh at Aaron’s reply, his husband innocently eating his meal as if he hadn’t spoken.

When they’d arrived the pub had fallen into silence and he still felt uncomfortable, as if everyone was watching, judging. Aaron’s hand had been firmly in his until their food had arrived and that had helped, but now he can’t help notice Chas’s glare in his direction from where she’s standing talking to Sam and Lydia. Sam, bless him, had raised the glass he was holding in his direction when they’d walked in but Chas had said something so he’d put his head down and that was it.

A few people had come over to the table and said hello, some he knew, some he didn’t, but he’d plastered on his fake smile and made polite conversation, mind whirling with thoughts of what they thought of him. He wished he didn’t care so much, wished he could ignore the looks, the whispering. Chas had let Bob serve Aaron and he’d seen the look he’d given his Mum, a mix of disappointment mixed with indifference and he’d just felt bad about the whole thing all over again. If it weren’t for Aaron he would’ve left by now.

“Rob, you listening?”

“What? Sorry.”

“I was just saying, your sister is back next week, so I was thinking, how about having Ana christened?”

“Why?” He’s trying not to think about seeing Vic again, they’d not exactly parted on the best terms and he couldn’t help but feel this trip back to their Gran’s villa in Spain for a couple of months had been timed just so she could avoid him despite his Mum’s assurances that it wasn’t

“Because it’s nice, and it’d show everyone that you’re a family.”

“What happened to not caring what everyone thinks?”

“Nothing wrong with showing them you’re settled though is there. Besides, like I said it’ll be nice to have a family occasion, and don’t tell me you won’t like the chance to show her off. You could always have Seb christened too if you wanted as Rebecca never got round to it.”

“Do you get a deal, two for the price of one?”

“Charles might actually offer that.” He looks across at Aaron, who surprisingly looks interested in the whole idea.

“Who’s Charles?”

“The new vicar.”

“New vicar? What happened to Harriet?” He hates this, hates that he doesn’t know the people in the village any more, that’s he’s totally disconnected from everything that’s been happening.

“It’s a long story. Charles is ok though, he and his son lived next door for a couple of months until they found a house in the village. You’ll like them.”

“So, the christening? Shall I talk to him about dates? The weather’s nice, we can have people back to the house after.”

“What’s this?” Robert’s annoyed that he jumps at the sound of Chas’s voice as she appears at the table. She makes a show of clearing their glasses but he’s not convinced, he’s sure she’s just being nosy. He sees Aaron look at Sarah, and he’s willing her not to answer. He knows her better though, there’s a glint in her eye.

“We’re talking about a christening for Ana and Seb.” She tells her and turns right back to them, effectively dismissing Chas and a part of him wants to laugh.

“Nice. Where are they then?”

“With their Grandma. Less likely to hear things they shouldn’t with her.” He can’t help himself, hopes Aaron doesn’t mind, the hand on his knee says he doesn’t.

“Are you going to let him speak to me like that?” He catches his Mum’s look, telling him to leave it to Aaron.

“He’s not saying anything that isn’t true, Mum. What do you think it would’ve done to Seb to hear those things you were saying? It was bad enough that I heard them.”

“I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true and you know it. Maybe I’m not the one that needs keeping away from them.” He’s not quick enough to stop Aaron jumping to his feet.

“Don’t! Those children are loved and safe and that’s all any kid needs.”

“With him as a father?”

“That’s enough.” Aaron’s voice is quiet, almost a whisper. “I told you I won’t have you talking like that. Come on Robert, let’s go home. Sarah, I’m sorry, I know you wanted to try and have a nice dinner but I’m not staying here and listening to this.”

“Of course not love. You go on ahead, I’ll collect the children from Diane and bring them home.”

Robert follows him, almost in a dream, still a little stunned. It’s not like Aaron hasn’t stood up for him before but even so it’s still a surprise to him when it happens.

“Aaron, wait!” Chas’s shrill shout makes him wince and he waits for Aaron to go back like he would have done once upon a time, but he doesn’t, he holds onto his hand a little tighter if anything.

“Ignore her. We’ll get the kids and when they’re sleeping we’ll curl up in front of a film.”

They’re halfway home when he realises he’s left his jacket, assures Aaron he can fetch it himself and tells him to pick the film while he waits. The pub is quieter when he gets inside and as he pushes the door open he can hear why.

“...does whatever he wants. He can’t go around hitting people with shovels and expect to get away with it. I’m just looking out for the children.”

“No you’re not. You’re just holding a grudge you’ve had for years. You never wanted Aaron with Robert, and ok maybe he made mistakes in the past, but not this. They should’ve given him a medal for it, not locked him up.” It makes him feel warm inside hearing his Mum defend him. She always has, but for so long no one else did and now he knows he has Aaron who will always be there.

“He hurt someone!” He winces at how high her voice gets. He should leave, go home to Aaron, but something stops him, something makes him want to hear what she says.

“A rapist who had harassed my daughter for weeks, who taunted Robert to the point of breaking. I’m just sorry I wasn’t holding the shovel myself.” He almost laughs because he knows if she’d been in the village she would’ve done the same as him. It had only been Vic and him assuring her she should stay where she was that stopped her coming back.

“You can’t just take the law into your own hands.”

“Well that’s rich coming from a Dingle! Do I need to point out to you that you sent your brother round to deal with your ex? That you graffitied his car? I always knew you were a hypocrite Chas Dingle, but I never realised quite how much of one you are.”

“You don’t know anything about any of that. You weren’t even here back then!”

“No, I wasn’t, but I still have friends here. It’s really no skin off my nose what you do, but if you don’t want to lose your son and your grandchildren then you’d better do something about your behaviour towards Robert because Aaron’s not going to change his mind”

“Not with you and your son poisoning Aaron against me.”

“Oh Chas, he doesn’t need us to do that, you do a pretty good job yourself. If anything Robert wants you both to make up. This is all Aaron, because despite what you and Paddy think he’s an adult and fully capable of making his own decisions and has been for a very long time.”

“How dare you! You’ve only been here a few months and you think you can come in here and lecture me.”

“Oh I dare. I dare because I’ve talked to him, because unlike you, I’ve been there for him when Ana wouldn’t sleep, when Seb played up because he didn’t understand where his Daddy was, when he just wanted his husband. Where were you?”

“Where was Robert more like. Aaron wouldn’t have been in that state if he’d not cut him off. Left him alone to deal with a newborn baby and his son. In my book you don’t do that to the people you love.”

“Well, I guess you’d know more about that than me. At least when I left my husband my kids knew where I was.”

“Mum.” He’s quiet, but she hears him because the pub is quiet, too interested in the show that’s playing out in front of them. He has to stop them before it turns into something more ugly that they can’t come back from. Not because of him, he can’t handle it. The rest of the customers are agog at them and he’s surprised no one is trying to defend Chas. There’s a couple more Dingles in, but even they’re keeping out of it which surprises him. “Let’s go.”

“I’m sorry love, but it needed saying.” She leaves Chas standing there, fury all over her face and joins him at the door. “Am I in trouble?

He wants to hug her if he’s honest with himself but he doesn’t, just wants to get out of the place. When they’re out on the street he does, holding on that little bit longer. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t say anything that isn’t true.”

“Did leave him though, didn’t I? She was right about that. I left him, and I left Seb.”

“She’s got no room to be lecturing anyone on leaving a child. Or anything else for that matter.”

“How much did I miss out on?” He links his arm in hers as they make their way to pick up the children.

“Oh not much.”

“Oh great. You really went to town didn’t you?”

“I gave as good as I got, yes. Robert, I’m not going to stand by and let her say those things. I’ve not been here all the time I should have been, I’ve a lot to make up for.”

“And you’re doing that by going toe to toe with Chas Dingle? You know, you really don’t have anything to make up for Mum.” He pecks her cheek. “Thank you anyway.”

#robron fic #look away if you love chas #i promise there'll be some actual aaron and robert stuff soon #but sarah has all this stuff to say and she won't be quiet

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iamakiller · 4 years

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owl always love you

Wordcount: 2000

Notes & Warnings: It has been far too long since I shared any of my fiction with you, hasn’t it? Well, how about five unhappy memories of Valentines past, and one that went perfectly to plan (... or did it?)

As for warnings, there is no sex at all, but there is an unfortunate accident, and a hint of murder. Hmm, I must be going soft in my old age ...

Five unhappy memories ...

Charlie is four.

Today feels like a very special day. There were flowers and a card on the kitchen table this morning, and no arguments over breakfast. It was almost like last night’s fight didn’t happen.

At preschool, the classroom has been decorated with red and pink hearts because it’s Valentine’s Day. The teacher reads the class a picture book about an owl who was looking for love, and then they all do a craft based on the story. The teacher has drawn the owl’s face and body on card for everyone, but they have to color it in and try to write a message on the owl’s tummy. Charlie writes “Owl always love you Mommy” in purple crayon – his mother’s favorite color.

The next part of the craft is very hard. They have to trace the outline of their hands onto card, color it in, and then cut it out. They stick the hands onto the owl with glue, and fold them over, and it looks kind of like wings. Charlie is very proud of himself, because he did it without any help, and unlike the boy who sits next to him, he didn’t try to eat any of the glue.

At going home time, he presents the card to his mother. She glances at it, and puts it in her handbag.

“Do you like it, Mommy?” Charlie asks, but she doesn’t say anything. Maybe she didn’t hear him.

The next morning, he finds it in the trash.

Oh.

Well, it wasn’t very good, he realizes. His coloring wasn’t neat enough, and one of the thumbs was missing because of a mishap he had when he was cutting it out. Maybe if he’d tried harder, she would have liked it.

Maybe if he tries harder, she’ll like him ...

Charlie is eight.

Valentine’s Day has been the main topic of conversation on the playground ever since the beginning of February. It’s not like anybody ever talks to Charlie, but there are some advantages to being invisible. He hears everything. He knows exactly who is getting a Valentine, and – most crucially – who isn’t.

On the night of February thirteenth, he stays up very late. It isn’t like anyone is checking what time he goes to bed anyway, so he pulls together the materials he’s “borrowed” from his teacher over the past few days, and works until the early hours of the morning.

The next day, everyone in the class has at least one little handmade card on their desk by the end of the day.

… except Charlie.

And that’s one of the disadvantages of being invisible.

Nobody knows he exists ...

Charlie is thirteen.

According to his research, it is puberty that has turned the majority of his classmates into mindless, giggling idiots. Thankfully, he seems to be immune to this plague, and the hours he spends staring at the long, golden hair of the girl who sits in front of him in class is perfectly normal, thank you very much.

Melissa is the prettiest girl in the class by far. Charlie thinks she looks just like an elven queen ... if Galadriel had a Midwestern accent and a mother who was the head of the PTA. She is also constantly accompanied by a group of four uglier girls, who all stare at Charlie as he makes his approach, the poem he wrote for her clutched in a hand that seems to be permanently sweaty these days.

She accepts the token of his affection with the carelessness of one who is accustomed to such things, and doesn’t even say thank you. At lunchtime, Charlie overhears her reading excerpts of it to her gaggle of friends. She tosses her lovely, blonde hair back, and laughs scornfully, before tearing it up into tiny pieces and leaving it on her lunch tray for the cafeteria staff to clear away.

And suddenly, Charlie realizes how ugly she is.

At the end of February, poor Melissa has a terrible accident. One of the teachers finds her unconscious at the bottom of the stairwell hours after school has finished for the day. She must have tripped and fallen down the stairs somehow.

She makes a full recovery, but she never remembers what happened that day ...

Charlie is seventeen.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come to the dance?” asks cousin Pat from where he’s leaning in the doorway of Charlie’s bedroom. He’s dressed to impress, and Charlie can smell the terrible cologne he’s wearing from all the way on the other side of the room. “I can wait for you to get changed, I don’t mind.”

“I’m too busy,” says Charlie, staring up at the ceiling. Soon, it will be time for him to turn over and stare at the wall. “And I don’t like parties.”

“I don’t like parties either,” Pat reminds him, fidgeting with the cuffs of his blue button-down. “But you’ll never meet someone special if you don’t leave your room.”

Charlie responds by making a noise like someone being sick, and turns over to show Pat his back. “Bye. Have fun at the shitty Valentine’s dance.” He can feel his cousin’s gaze on the back of his head – can picture the annoying look of concern on his face – but he doesn’t move or say anything, and finally he hears the door close, and then Pat’s footsteps lumbering down the stairs.

Fuck Valentine’s Day, Charlie thinks. Fuck parties, and fuck ever finding someone special.

Charlie is 27.

This might be his first ever Valentine’s Day in a relationship, but he’s done his research into What Women Want, and blown a small fortune on trying to make the day special. A hundred red roses, delivered to Nicole on set. Reservations at the hottest restaurant in town. A pair of Chanel earrings, so expensive he actually choked on his own saliva when they told him the price, and had to be brought a glass of water to help him recover.

At the restaurant, Nicole opens the earrings, and stares at them for a long time. Her expression is completely unreadable, which is usually the case with her. They have been dating for two and a half months, and with every day that passes, Charlie feels like he knows less about her, which should surely be impossible.

“Don’t you like them?” Charlie asks, after the silence has gone on for so long that even the people at the next table have glanced over to see what’s going on.

Nicole closes the lid of the box with a snap, and looks up at him. “So you aren’t going to propose to me, then?”

Charlie blinks. “I – Wait, what?”

And then it all goes south very quickly from there.

The next day, there’s a blind item online about it:

Which C-list celebrity currently filming a procedural drama in New York was seen arguing with an unknown male at a local celeb hotspot last night? With a string of broken engagements already behind her, it looks like this feisty young starlet is single once more after dousing her hapless companion in Veuve Clicquot!

Unknown? Hapless? How rude!

He complains at length about the injustice of it all to the cocktail waitress he brought home last night, after he had sloped off to a bar to drown his sorrows and soothe the burn of his humiliation. Naturally, she has nothing to add to the conversation – having passed away six hours or so ago – but he appreciates her presence nevertheless. So much so that before he prepares her for disposal, he takes out her fake diamond earrings, and replaces them with the Chanel ones.

“I know I’m a day late,” he tells her. “But … happy Valentine’s Day.”

It’s the thought that counts, anyway ...

And then ...

Charlie is 37.

He is awakened at 5:30 a.m. on Valentine’s Day morning by his son barging in to the master bedroom. Without saying anything, Henry climbs onto the bed next to him, and falls asleep almost instantly. Charlie throws an arm over him, in the hopes of stopping him from tossing and turning like he often does.

Behind him, there’s a rustle of sheets “What’s happening?” Kitten asks, her voice thick with sleep.

“We have our usual Sunday morning visitor,” Charlie mumbles. “It’s still early, go back to sleep.”

A leg hooks over his, an arm curls around his middle, and Kitten lets out a happy sigh before falling asleep again.

Charlie closes his eyes, but it barely seems like a moment has passed before he’s being shaken awake by a very excited Henry. “Dad. DAD! Can we give Britt the card now?”

The digital display on the clock says eight, still an ungodly hour to be awake on a Sunday, but when Charlie rolls over, Kitten is already sitting up against the headboard, with her phone out. “A card?” she says, feigning surprise, as though she wasn’t banned from the kitchen for four hours the previous day, and hadn’t noticed the layer of glitter Henry was covered in when he emerged, which necessitated a dreaded bath.

“If we must,” grumbles Charlie, astonished at the speed with which Henry scrambles out of bed and sprints out of the room. He thunders downstairs, in search of the spot where they left their work of art to dry out after its completion.

Charlie rolls over onto his back, and stares up at Kitten. “Remember last year, when we stayed in bed all day?” he asks, mournfully. “That was the best Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had.”

“Mm, same.” Kitten leans down to kiss him, probably intending it to be just a peck on the lips. But Charlie wraps his hand around the back of her head to keep her there, deepening the kiss until a gagging sound from the doorway interrupts them and they break apart to find Henry watching them from the doorway, looking slightly green.

“You guys are gross!” he scolds them, in a tone not dissimilar to Sandra when she is upset about something.

Charlie sits up, and scowls. “That’s not in keeping with the spirit of the day.”

“The spirit of the day is chocolate,” says Henry, approaching Kitten’s side of the bed, with one hand behind his back. “Ta-daaaaa!” he shouts, and pulls out the card, waving it in her face. A hefty sprinkle of glitter falls on the sheets, and Charlie winces.

“This looks very impressive,” says Kitten, glancing sideways at Charlie to check his reaction to the glitter, and stifling a smile. “Can I take a closer look?”

On closer inspection, the card is very large, and is a rather well-drawn and extremely glittery looking owl which looks to be a combination of about three different species. Its wings – which look suspiciously like the outline of Charlie’s hands – are wrapped around itself.

“Open it, open it,” says Henry, climbing onto the bed, and bouncing slightly, causing more glitter to be dislodged.

When Kitten carefully opens the wings, she finds another, smaller pair of hand-shaped wings underneath. “Yours?” she asks Henry, who nods vigorously. When she opens those, there is a ridiculously tiny pair of hands underneath. One has been colored blue, and the other pink.

“Little B,” says Henry. “We looked up online how small their hands would be. I drew them, and Dad cut them out. He said we should do one hand in each color since we don’t know whether Little b is a boy or a girl yet. And wait, there’s a message. Read the message!”

“Owl always love you,” Kitten reads, her voice trembling slightly. “From Charlie, Henry and Little B. Oh Henry, thank you! The owl, the hands, the sweet message. It’s perfect!”

She pulls Henry into a hug, which he tolerates for a moment or two before asking, “Can I go watch cartoons now?” with all the tact typical of an eight year-old boy.

“It was all Henry’s idea, of course,” says Charlie, once the young man in question has bounced out of the room. He tries to brush some of the glitter off the bed, and succeeds only in getting it stuck all over his hand. “I was but an unwitting accomplice to this madness.”

“Is that so?” asks Kitten, with a smile. She sets the card on the nightstand so she can see it, and curls against Charlie, who wraps an arm around her shoulder, and rests his other hand on her stomach. “You know, it reminds me of this book I read when I was little. About an owl who was searching for love. It was a really cute story.”

“Never heard of it,” says Charlie, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “But it sounds like a real hoot.”

“Oh god, not the owl puns.”

“There’s plenty more where that came from,” says Charlie, but somehow he finds himself lapsing into silence instead of releasing the string of dreadful jokes that are on the tip of his tongue. “Do you -” he begins, and then sighs, and runs his hand through his hair, inadvertently spreading multi-colored glitter quite liberally through it. He chews on the inside of his cheek before continuing. “Do you really like it?”

Is it good enough?

Am I trying hard enough?

Do you like me?

A gentle hand against his cheek brings him back to the present. “I don’t just like it, I love it,” Kitten reassures him. “And I love you very much, too. I know it’s a little rough at the moment with me working from home, but I’m still feeling very lucky. Who would have thought six months ago that we would be here? We’ve come so far, Charlie. I’m so proud of us. I’m so proud of you. Especially now you’re back in therapy again.”

Charlie holds her a little more tightly, and she tucks her head under his chin and settles her hand on his chest, over his heart, which is beating too quickly for his liking. “I’m trying, my love,” he says softly, taking slow, deep breaths to try to control the speed of his heart. “I never want to let you down again ...”

He closes his eyes, breathes in Kitten’s familiar, comforting scent, and tells himself that he’s just holding her, not clinging to her. I’m okay, he tells himself, over and over again. We’re okay.

I just have to try harder, and it will all be okay ...

#valentine's day #tw: bad parenting #tw: assault #tw: implied murder #B+C #direnightshade #tw: pregnancy #tw: angst #glitter should have a trigger warning

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