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onlyfortheplot · 4 years ago

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Oya Oya Oya?

Enemies to Lovers AU ☆ Angst to Fluff

Pairing: Kuroo Testorou x Fem!Reader

Summary: She "hates" his guts, but she can't dent he is a little smarter than her, in Chemistry. And when she is "forced" to be his Study Buddy, what will happen?

Warning: Angst! ┐(‘～`；)┌

Author's Note: Hi! This is my first fanfic, for the Haikyuu community that I am posting. But, I usually post on my actual blog, which is in my bio! (づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ SO GO CHECK IT OUT!!!!Also @thesecretlifeoflilly this one is for you REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

She glared at the raven-haired man as he gave their teacher a wide grin. His grin grew slightly, dimples poking in one corner of his mouth, as the teacher gave him his paper. She clenched her pencil tightly as the dreaded words were sounded.

"Congratulations, Kuroo-san, on your third perfect score!" he said, patting Kuroo firmly on his back, murmuring another, private, congratulations. She clapped, begrudgingly, along with her other classmates as the bed head man bowed slightly and thanked the teacher for his kind words. She scoffed at the scene, leaning forward, covering her own paper from unwanted eyes.

She looked down at the horrible, red mark scrawled on one corner of the paper. C-. She wanted to scream in frustration. How many hours had she studied for this exam? How many nights had she spent, carefully reviewing and memorizing her notes and yet... C-. It was almost laughable. She groaned, covering her mark with the palm of her hand, pushing it away from her sight. Out of sight, out of mind.

She turned her eyes back to the tall man, who had finally returned to his spot in class, two seats behind her. She narrowed her eyes, covering her paper from his peering eyes, as he walked by. He stalled, slightly, at her desk, quickly glancing down. His mouth twitched at the defensive covering. He gave a low laugh, before sitting at his own desk.

She scowled at the action. Fine. I may not be the best at Chemistry, but I am sure as hell passing Biology, unlike some dimwits. She peered over her shoulder, across the person behind her to Kuroo, who, to her surprise, was already staring at her. She quickly averted her eyes, heat running to her ears, as she changed her attention to her teacher, upfront.

"Overall, I am satisfied with the results of this test," he gave a look to Kuroo, nodding in satisfaction, "but,some of you need to spend less time gawking and more time listening." Y/N flinched, looking around at her classmates, who were already looking at her with an amused look. She cowered slightly, bunching over her desk, peering over her arms to look at her teacher. Except, he wasn't looking at her. Yet, at least.

"I know some of you are much more capable than the mark you have received. And I know that some of you," he was staring at her now, giving a pointed look as he continued, "just need that extra push." He finally took his pinning glare of Y/N, indicating the end of the small talk, or rather a reprimand from her perspective. She felt heat rush from her ears to her cheeks. A few snickers echoed behind her. She urged herself not to whip around and pin them with her own glare. The snickers stopped, however, as their teacher finally started their new lesson.

She slapped her cheeks, twice, pushing her focus from the small snickers, and the poor grade underneath her arms, to the board. She reached over, to her bag, pulling out a looseleaf paper and a pen. She fumbled with her pen, trying to firmly grasp it.

She watched, hopelessly as it rolled over her desk and behind her. She cursed, quietly, as she glanced at her teacher, who motioned for the chalkboard with a ruler. She looked around her before reaching behind her for the pen. She stretched, fingers almost touching the tip of the pen. She groaned silently at the stretch.

Almost got it. Almost—

She flinched as another set of fingers brushed hers as they picked up her pen. She quickly sat up and peered over to where Kuroo held out the pen, a small smirk decorating his face. She glared, her mouth curling into a scowl, as he waved the pen at her.

"Hand it over, Kuroo." she harshly whispered, peering over to her teacher, who merely continued on with his lecture.

"If you say please." he grinned, pulling back his hand as she slightly lunged for it.

"Give it back now, you overgrown feline." she snapped, "Or I��"

"Is there a problem, Ms. L/N?" She quickly turned around, anger still flaring in her veins, as she met her teacher's stare.

"No, sir, of course not." she smiled.

"Then why have you turned around, with a blank paper in front of you?"

She blushed, murmuring a small apology, as she rummaged the bottom of her bag for a slightly smaller pencil and started scribbling furiously.

"Good. Now, class..."

She didn't turn around after that, making it a point not to look anywhere but, her teacher, the board, and her paper. She did not want to deal with her peers questioning glances, the small snickers that echoed with small conversations. And she certainly did not want to see the raven-haired boy with a certain smirk. She gritted her teeth at the thought of him. So self-absorbed. So—

She almost yelped when the bell rang, she had not realized class had ended. She ducked her head down, shoving her notes and test paper into her bag. But, before she could take a step out, she was stopped by her teacher.

"Ms.L/N, if you could stay back." She gulped, tucking her hair behind her ear, ignoring the stares of her classmates'.

"And Mr.Kuroo." She snapped her head up at the name. She felt blood rush back into her cheeks.

She turned around slightly to see if he had, in fact, stayed. Something in Y/N's stomach churned as she saw his figure leaning against the doorway, his head was almost touching the top. His hands were wrapped in front of his chest, his muscles moving under his shirt. She quickly averted her gaze, focusing on his smile, or lack thereof. Where a nonchalant smile usually rested, a grim line appeared. Obviously he didn't want to be here either.

She felt her chest lurch slightly at the thought. She gulped as he pushed himself off the doorframe, his normal smirk forming on his face as he walked towards their teacher.

"Yes, sir?" he kindly asked.

"It has come to my attention," Y/N internally groaned, as she readied herself, " that both of you need help in different subjects."

"Huh?" Y/N blurted out, as Kuroo's own mouth lay agape.

"Kuroo, you might be doing well in my class, but Biology does not seem to be your strong suit." he ignored her interruption. "And you, Ms. L/N, may not be doing well in my class, but I can't say the same about Biology."

Both their mouths were agape as their teacher continued.

"Sir, what do—"

" It also evident, to everyone, that they are some unspoken emotion between you two." he looked between them as if finding the emotion itself.

"Both of you excellent students, but I want you to become stronger. Be it, in studies," he paused, as he stared them down, "or in social interactions with your peers."

He wrapped his hands behind his back, turning around, as he continued.

"This is why I want you two to become study partners."

They were both speechless. Their mouth lay agape as they stared at his back. It was Kuroo, who broke the silence in the room.

"Study partners. With her." he pointed at her in a frantic fashion, "Sir, with all due respect she can't even stand to be in the same room as me."

"Me?" she screeched, pointing a firm finger into his chest, "What about you Mr. Perfect, always looking down at me."

He waved his hand around berserkly, "You're a midget, I can't look up to you!"

She gave him an incredulous glare, huffing as she turned away from him in a childish way. She pouted, stomping her foot.

"Sir. I have more of a chance passing without his help." Kuroo let out a sound of agreement.

"No. This is an order, Ms. L/N. If you see it as a punishment, then so be it." he didn't turn around but waved a small hand in dismissal. Y/N scowled, as she stalked to her desk, scooping her backpack, and flinging it over her shoulder.

"Fine. Kuroo, do you have practice today?" she snapped, turning around slightly. A flash of shock rang in his dark eyes but was soon replaced with a look of nonchalance.

"No, not today, its break day."

"Great. Me. You. Library. After school."

"Okay."

"Okay." She whirled around, walking out, hand firmly clenching her backpack.

"Good luck, young man." He gave Kuroo a firm pat, a glimmer of light sparkled in his eyes. Kuroo gave a small nod of thanks, taking his own backpack in his hands, looking at the door. A blush, furiously made its way to his face. Good luck indeed.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The day had gone by, without any other unnecessary interactions. In the hallways, they had passed each other with an obvious point to ignore the other. In the few other classes they shared, there was nothing more than a small nod, here and there. Y/N's friends had grown suspicious, looking between her and Kuroo, for a clue of what had happened. The pair had been unusually quiet, no small bickers, not even the usual taunts from his side.

Nothing had happened, she had assured her friends, but the gripping looks still continued. She clenched her books as she neared the library. Her heart-beat soared as she touched the handle of the door. It quickened even more, if possible when a familiar pair of hands laid upon hers. She quickly flung her hands back, stepping back. She looked up and could have sworn a look of hurt flash through his face. But, when she blinked, looking back up at him, his usual grin was placed, his dark hair covering his eye. She snorted, of course, he wouldn't be hurt.

"Kuroo." she gave a nod.

"L/N."

It was awkward, they stared at each other, as they edged closer towards the door. He gave a loud cough, as he gripped the door handle, flinging it open. She blushed, giving a small thanks, before rushing into the library. Cool air swept her off her feet, the heat that had run into her cheeks, for the nth time today, finally left. She felt free. She took in a deep breath, before scrambling off to find a spot to sit. Kuroo walked slowly behind her, hand curling around a couple of books as the other was shoved deep into his pockets.

"Kuroo, with your long legs, you would think you would be faster," she smirked, hand laying on her hip as she pointed to an isolated spot in the library, surrounded by bookshelves, and a singular table in the middle.

"Very private." he wiggled his eyebrows, as she quickly walked towards the table, placing his books in the middle.

"Yeah, yeah you overgrown cat." she rolled her eyes, placing her own books in the pile, "What do you want to start with."

"Let's start with Chemistry." he offered, taking a seat as she took her own.

"Great." she clapped her hands together, a sly smile growing on her face, "Biology it is then."

Kuroo groaned leaning back into his seat, hand covering his eyes.

"Why, Chibi-chan?" he whined, "Why would you hurt my poor heart."

"Don't call me that," she said, failing to keep the small smile of her face, "Also because I said so."

"Chibi-chan, Chibi-chan," he repeated in a sing-song voice, Y/N fumed, grabbing the Biology textbook and chucking it at his head.

"Stop talking, Rooster-kun, and start reading today's chapter." she took her own book and flicked to the page.

"Okay, let's start." she clapped her hands again, as she skimmed over the page, "Today's lesson was mediocre, and the homework was pretty simple."

"Only you could find Biology easy." But, he skimmed through the page, eyebrows raised in confusion, "This makes no sense."

"Its cellular reproduction. We are merely reviewing the parts of the goddamn cell." she deadpanned, "What can you not understand. " He gave her an annoyed look, rolling his eyes.

"Quick, Chibi-chan, name all the noble gases," he said, peering at her. Y/N stuttered for the answer. She closed her eyes, trying to remember each element.

"Uhhh, I dunno. Its the last row in the table. Um." She hummed a small tune, under her breath, as she fought to remember.

"There's Hydrogen and Helium. Then Lithium, Beryllium. Boron—"

"See, L/N, we all have something we find easy and not." he prodded her with his pencil. "To help someone else you have to understand that."

Y/N blushed, her heart pounding in her chest. Since when was he like this. Heat flushed in her neck. She looked to the side, as she mumbled words under breath.

"What was that Chibi-chan." he leaned forward, smirking.

"Here." she blurted, shoving a textbook under his face, pointing at a picture of a cell.

"Which cell is this, plant or animal." she asked, refusing to look in his eyes, "Remember there are parts in a plant cell that are not in an animal's."

"Animal, I think." he peered at the blob of a cell, looking up at Y/N to confirm.

"Good. Now, without looking at the names, tell me what each part is called and their function."

"L/N," he said, urging her to look at him, "We are in high school, I assure you I know this much at least."

"No." she snapped her eyes to his, "Biology is more than memorizing, you have to understand why and how." He tilted his head, as he assessed the blushing girl in front of him.

He smirked.

"Teach me then, Chibi-chan." he watched as a small smile formed on her face, as she leaned forwards, pointing at certain parts of the picture, lecturing him. He leaned against his palm as he stared at Y/N.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

"What do you mean, you can't come today. This is the third time, Kuroo." she pressed a hand onto his chest to keep him from moving. She looked up at him, anger and worry squirmed in her stomach. She wanted, so bad, to cuff her hand onto his cheek, and rub his dark eyes. She leaned in, closely analyzing the man in front of her.

Dark circles appeared under his eyes. His eyes. They were dark. Not the darkness she was used to. The one with the small star of amusement. No. This was a starless night. His mouth curled into a snarl as he tried pushing past her. She pushed harder, urging him to look at her.

In the long weeks, they had studied together they had formed a friendship of sorts. It was something she cherished. But, looking at him, now. She couldn't help but feel worried. This past week must have been hell for him if he wouldn't even smile. She furrowed her brows as she stared at him, catching her bottom lip with her teeth. He had been like this since she came. She felt a tug of the carefully leashed emotion in her chest. That hag. She scowled at the thought of her. She did nothing good for him, only acted like a leech, taking his energy and power away for herself.

She gritted her teeth at the remembrance of their first meeting. A few days into their relationship and that woman had acted as she already owned him. She wanted to slap some sense into his face, but one look at him and she had decided otherwise. Especially at the small smile, he gave her, one that he never gave me. But, Y/N had smiled, hiding the throb in her chest, making small talk with his new girlfriend. She had decided then, to try and suppress her emotions, to keep them on a short leash. But, sometimes, she couldn't help it. Especially now. Where he looked as if his life had been sucked out. She was no good for him. And Y/N had tried to tell him, but that didn't end well either.

That had been the first time he rose his voice at her. She flinched at the thought, moving her hand from his chest.

"I'm okay, L/N." No, you're not. "I'm just fine." Are you, really?

"Okay," she whispered, stepping to the side allowing him to leave. "See you whenever, Kuroo-kun."

Her head drooped as tears pooled in her eyes, avoiding odd glances. She felt hollow and out of place. She had realized, with a drop in her stomach, without their 'study dates', she didn't really have much to do. She wanted to cry, so bad. The hole in her chest, growing bigger.

"Y/N-chan?" a hand gripped her shoulder, she turned around.

"Yaku." she said, softly, "Hi."

"I saw what happened." he shifted, pulling her towards him, "You know he isn't mad at you."

She gave a solemn nod, leaning into his touch, burying her face into his neck. He patted her back, pulling her away from the gazes and into a corner.

"We have a game today." he offered, flinching as she whipped her head up. Her eyes were shimmering with tears as she looked at him with shock.

"What- he- really?" she sputtered, fuming at the fact he couldn't even text her that.

"He didn't want you to come." Yaku awkwardly shifted in his feet, "He said it would be bad if you came." She gritted her teeth. Her tears were long gone, replaced with a shimmering layer of rage. How. Dare. He. She gave a low chuckle, giving Yaku a firm pat as she gave a wide smile. Yake gave a small sound of shock, backing away.

"Thank you very much Yaku." she turned away, her head high, "See you at the game!"

"Oh god, she's terrifying," he whispered as she walked away.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

She didn't have a plan, not really. She just went, not early, but just at the right time where she could still choose her own spot. She looked down, to see who was down on the court. But, she couldn't see him. Not Kuroo. But, she saw Yaku, who gave her a surprised look. She gave him a big thumbs up, leaning back into her seat. But, when she looked back, she saw Yaku frantically waving at her. She raised a brow, as she watched.

Come down, he mouthed. Oh. She sat up from her seat, and quickly made her way down, dodging the people who were still looking for a seat. She was panting when she arrived.

"What, happened? Where's Kuroo?" she said, between breaths. Yaku gave her a worried glance, as he skimmed the audience.

"Have you seen Mikka-chan?" he asked, squirming. She gave him a pointed glare.

"Why would I talk to that wretch."

"Kuroo said he was gonna talk to her before the match." he whispered, "And he hasn't returned." Y/N scowled.

"I can't believe the balls of that woman." she gritted her teeth, "Which way did they go."

Yaku pointed at the gym doors, leading out into the hallway. She gave a small nod, before sprinting off into that direction. She flung the door open and stepped into the hallway.

She walked around, looking for any signs of Kuroo and Mikka. She stepped quietly around a turn, glancing behind her and in front of her. No sign of them. Unless...

"What the hell, Testorou." Ah, found the raging pigeon. She tiptoed her way to the sound, making sure no one was following her. She crept behind a wall, peering out.

"I can't believe you would do this to me." Mikka was sobbing, rubbing her eyes as tears traveled down her face. "Why?" Kuroo stood in front of her with a deadpan look, he had already changed into his volleyball wear, his shorts fitted his legs, bunching up, as he flexed them.

"Look, Mikka, can we stop—"

"No. It's not fair." She pouted, stomping her feet, "You can't just break up with me now, what do I tell everyone?"

Y/N gagged. How dare she. Bad pigeon.

"No. Mikka. You care too much about what everyone else thinks. And before you say another word," she snapped her mouth shut, "this is final. I don't care if you still want to be together."

Y/N flinched, even in the words weren't directed at her. She watched as the words hit the mark.

"It's all because of that pathetic thing you hang out with." she fumed, brushing her tears from her face.

"What?" Kuroo asked quietly.

"That Y/N arse. She did this. She made you break up with me."

Y/N bit her hand to stop herself from laughing. Oh, if she only knew what I wanted to do to her.

"Don't talk about her like that." he snarled, "She's ten times the person you are."

Y/N felt similar heat rise into her necks, the heat that always occurred around him.

"So, this is what it's about. You love her, not me." she spat, "You're disgusting."

He gave a low chuckle.

"So what if I do, going to cry Mikka?" he asked, eyes narrowed at her. Y/N felt her heart quicken as she heard the confession. Does he love me?

"Honestly, I never liked you anyway." Y/N paused, as she heard the words, "You are a waste of time. Like, I don't know why I would ever date a disgusting, ugly thing like you."

She snapped. The tight leash she had one the feelings in her stomach, snapped. She lunged at her, pinning her to the opposite wall. She felt every ounce of jealousy and wrath in her stomach.

"Say that again, you wretch." she gave her a sickenly sweet smile, "I dare you."

"Let me go you crazy—"

"Oh, what was that Mikka-san?" Y/N's smile grew, "Beat the life and soul out of you? My pleasure." She drew an arm back, getting ready to slog her head. But, a hand firmly grasped her own, prying her off Mikka. She growled as she shoved their handoff. She turned around, looking menacingly at Kuroo.

"Don't you dare stop me, Kuroo Testorou or I swear to the gods I will spike a volleyball up your—"

He grabbed her waist drawing her against him. She felt the steady beat of his heart against her back. Her eyes fluttering at the warmth as he whispered soothing words into her ears. She leaned into him.

"Let it go, Chibi-chan."

"But,—"

"Disgusting wretch." Mikka spat out as she grabbed at her heart, "I hate you."

She continued to swear as she stalked down the hallway and out of their sight.

"Out of sight, out of mind." Y/N offered to Kuroo, who had buried his nose into her neck, leaning down into her.

"Sure," he answered, voice muffled as he spoke into her hair. She laid her hand onto his, rubbing soothing circles into his hands. But, her own trembled slightly. The adrenaline and the former confession were enough to make her knees buckle.

"I guess you heard," he asked, backing away from her.

"I mean you weren't being quiet." she huffed, turning around.

"So."

"So?"

"Aren't you going to, I dunno, say anything." He raised his hand, rubbing his neck. She watched as his shirt hitched up.

"Well, yeah." she said, moving closer, "I mean that was a lot." She watched as his eyes darkened as a flash of hurt lightened his eyes.

"I mean, come on Kuroo, how can I not say anything." she deadpanned, hiding the smile that threatened to reveal itself.

"Yes," he said, lowly.

"How could you not," she took in a deep breath, "tell me about your volleyball game!"

She held her hip, as she sashayed her way to him. He gave her a confused look, tilting his head.

"I had to learn from Yaku, that there was a game today!" she pressed a finger into his chest, "Explain, now."

"I—"

"Nevermind, explain later, you have a game to play, Captain," she smirked as Kuroo gaped at her.

"But, what about—"

"Oh and by the way me too." she winked, before twirling around back to the gym. Kuroo stood there for a good minute, as he watched her walk away. It hadn't hit him. Yet.

She smiled as the sound of sneakers squeaking on the hallway followed her. A hand grabbed her arm pulling her into them.

"Finally, Testorou," she said, slightly muffled as he pressed her into him. His face was hidden in the crook of her neck as he gripped onto her waist.

"Goddamnit Chibi-chan, did you have to do that." She laughed, pulling his face up, so she could look at him. She cupped his cheeks, brushing the dark circles under his eyes.

"I've always wanted to do that," she whispered, staring into his eyes.

"And I've always wanted to do this." He grabbed the back of her head, bringing his lips onto hers. It wasn't long, at least not too long. Still, she was slightly out of breath when he released his hold on her. She leaned into him, foreheads resting onto each other.

"Tetsu I—"

He stopped her again with another kiss.

"Tell me after I win the game." she giggled, batting his chest.

"But—"

"Oya, Oya, Oya?"

They pushed away from each other, coughing.

"Kuroo Testorou."

Y/N sheepishly looked at Yaku, who stood watching them, with a mix of anger and amusement.

"Wow, Captain, took you long enough." Lev grinned, letting out a low whistle as he eyed the both, "But, I have to say that—"

"Shut up, Lev." Yaku kicked his ankles. "And you." he pointed at Y/N a look of disappointment flashed on his face.

"I told you to find him, not his lips." Y/N blushed at the words.

"Shut up, you midget," she shouted, furiously hiding her face in Kuroo. He chuckled, wrapping his arms around her shoulders.

"What is this."

They all turned around, to where the Nekoma Coach, stood. Anger radiated off him. Kuroo, grinned slightly as he patted Y/N's head.

"Guess I got a game to win, don't I Chibi-chan."

"You have to pay to win, you idiot," she responded, ducking under Kuroo's attempt of a hug. She gave the coach a sympathetic look, before walking into the gym.

"Nekoma Nekoma neko neko Nekoma!"

Y/N joined in the cheers as the team finally walked into the gym. She giggled as Kuroo gave her a flying kiss. She pretended to catch and threw one of her own. She felt a few taps on her shoulder.

"Hi." she stiffly said, to her friends who had grouped around her.

"Oya, Oya Oya?" they asked, prodding her for information. A few looks of annoyance were thrown their way as several friends screeched as she gave a short recount of Mikka.

"Wait what?" Y/N stiffened more as multiple people grouped around her, wanting information.

Dear gods. she prayed silently, Please kill me. She forced a small smile as she gave another small explanation. She peered behind them to the court. Kuroo, to no surprise, was looking at her. He gave her a small wink. She smirked blowing a kiss and holding a big thumbs up.

"Nekoma Nekoma neko neko Nekoma!"

#haikyuu #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagines #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x you #kuroo scenarios #kuroo testuro #kuroo #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu agnst #haikyuu!! angst #haikyuu!!#haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #kuroo tetsuro imagine #also lilly this one for you

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saladejin · 5 years ago

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Call An Uber? | 01

BTS x Reader | idolverse au, uber driver!Reader, translator!Reader | Fluff, flirting, super slow burn, angst and hurt/comfort, mature themes and eventual smut

Summary: Your normal life with a normal, yet inconsistent job gets drastically changed when your dreams come true. Sounds boring right?

What happens when all of this occurs, but you’re still doing something you love AND getting a large sum for it? Now there’s something to think about, and it’s definitely not what you’re thinking.

Warnings: Mild swearing, hysterical fan behaviour

Word Count: 7.1k (Chapter 1 is longer than usual)

A/N: Okay, so in my next phase of finally crossposting my works to tumblr, I’m adding this massive multi-chapter fic.

I began this slow-burner (emphasis on slow-burn) a couple of years ago, so it’s easy to see how my writing has changed and evolved throughout.

Basically, I wanted to imagine what it would be like to have one of those ‘chance encounters’ every fan has thought of at least once. Thus, this fic was born, and though it is full of coincidences and wishful thinking, I always try to work realistically to make it enjoyable (and not as foolish as the premise makes it sound).

I hope you enjoy the ride, and feel free to check out the rest on my Ao3 in the meantime while I try my best to transfer everything in an orderly fashion! <3

»»————- << masterpost | next >>　————-««

Reader 1st person POV

Imagine being asked to remember the most boring day of your whole existence. If you're anything like me, then it's a bit hard to recall...but for once I was certain.

Today was that day.

Or it was, until something outrageous happened. Something so unprecedented and so unbelievable that I struggle to recall it at all.

I suppose I'll give it my best shot anyway.

A clear and uneventful morning leading straight into the annoyingly peaceful afternoon, and I had still only picked up and dropped off a measly number of people. Yes, being an Uber driver had its ups and downs, and I had been one for about a year and a half already. It paid decently enough most of the time, and the job just worked hand-in-hand with the flashy new car leaving a gaping hole in my bank account.

Despite all these alleged perks, today had been an obviously gruelling exception.

The lack of activity could be blamed on a number of scenarios, for instance a public holiday or event stirring attention somewhere else. Whatever it was, it was decreasing the number of customers in this usually bustling city of Seoul much to my dismay. I needed good cash, and I’d been working my ass off lately in order to get exactly that. Even closing myself off to social media and other forms of communication with friends helped me focus solely on working nowadays.

I need a real job…

Then suddenly, even as cliché as it sounds, God decided to answer all of my prayers. A loud ding emitted from my phone and I almost veered off the road in sheer astonishment.

“Thank the Lord!” I pulled up quickly onto the curb and examined the Uber request, almost questioning if I had imagined the whole thing out of desperation.

The name read ‘J’. Literally just the letter, boldly sitting in the middle of my screen. I raised an eyebrow, and normally would have considered declining the request if it seemed too prank-worthy, but I needed this job. I didn’t think the person had even registered or used the service before, as there wasn’t a clear rating to be seen anywhere. Once again...I needed this job.

The pinpoint appeared nearby, and luckily it was only about a five-minute drive to reach the destination. It was located just outside a large shopping mall in central Seoul, and even though this was a seemingly quiet day, it shouldn’t have been this empty. There were of course a few groups of people and individual shoppers wandering about, in and out of the entrance looking for easy buys. Even so, I knew this place to be quite popular and to say I was astounded would be an understatement.

There must be something going on in the city somewhere.

Making a grab for my phone about three minutes after looking around for ‘J’, I considered sending him or her a text to ask where they were. The place was basically empty, so spotting someone on the lookout for their ride shouldn’t have been too difficult.

“They mustn’t be out yet.” I clucked quietly to myself, typing out a message to indicate I had arrived.

The gentle hum of my engine was the only sound accompanying me as I waited. After another thirty seconds, I received a short reply of “there soon”. I glanced at the simple words a second time before lightly scoffing.

“Okay ‘J’, I’m in no rush.”

Still amused over the less than eloquent reply, I leant back into my comfortable leather seat and hummed to myself to pass some time. I would’ve usually had the radio going, but for now I wasn’t really in the mood for any background distractions. I liked silence when it was comfortable, and especially in a place such as this shopping mall, it was rare to come by.

The reverie was soon shattered when faint sounds of various screams erupted from somewhere in the distance, and I instantly jerked my head up with squinted eyes to observe the area. Tinted car windows revealed just enough of the area to discern an overall lack of movement.

The paved courtyard outside the mall wasn’t occupied by a single human being, which was even stranger than before. The only moving things I could eventually see where a couple of dirtied napkins being thrown around in the slight breeze, and a ripped paper cup from a popular juice bar rolling around caught in the same fate.

The frantic screaming continued. Should I be worried? The shouting wasn’t in terror or anger, that much I was sure of. I usually would pin it on some brawl breaking out nearby, but these sounds where mostly female when I listened closer. In any sense, it definitely sounded extreme.

I wondered briefly if there was some massive sale happening at a famous clothes brand down the street, causing a flurry of panic within female shoppers. The anticipation from the sounds caused me to tap my fingers on the steering wheel in curiosity.

Then it happened. An enormous group of Korean women and probably a few men, some looking fairly young, flocked around the corner of a building in an intense hurry.

Was the sale here or something??

My eyes widened in shock, as the group only seemed to be growing in numbers. Many were holding their phones out, as if recording something, and I scanned the rapidly moving crowd with anxious eyes to spot the source of the commotion.

Two well-dressed men seemed to be caught in the centre of it all. The pair that stemmed this chaotic crowd were clad from head to toe in designer clothes, including darkly coloured masks and sunglasses, not to mention the hoods covering their heads. The shorter of the two donned a lighter colour palette through a milky white button-up, while the other was dressed in a charcoal black hoodie and black ripped jeans.

They appeared to be trying to escape the bundling mass of people, as they moved quickly and swiftly ahead of the horde in their haste. I gripped the wheel in surprise. The screams where deafening and I could feel them grating my nerves. I hoped my client would not be caught in this mess. I wanted out, and I wanted out as soon as possible.

Maybe they’re famous, maybe idols?

A small excitement sparked at that thought, but I was still daunted by the scene playing out in front of me. If they were idols, I felt incredibly sorry for them. This was a clear breach of privacy and personal space, and they didn’t deserve it at all. This was the reason for hatred against K-pop fandoms all around the world.

“Who do they think they are?” I found myself muttering, eyebrows furrowing in disappointment.

Suddenly, the more brightly dressed man glanced around and pointed directly at my car, turning to his well-built friend to shout something following a flurry of gestures. I stiffened and my breath hitched when both started sprinting towards me, their fans following desperately to try and at least touch them.

Oh no.

My breathing sped up and the situation finally dawned on me. The empty mall, the shady name and blunt text response. The timing…

I unlocked all my doors and gripped the wheel harder, if that was even possible. The mass of people followed the two guys as they drew closer to my car, and I prayed to God that they didn’t leave any scratches or dents by the time I was gone. The one that acknowledged me first reached the car, and I jumped slightly when he opened the passenger door and clambered in swiftly. The other darkly dressed one threw himself in the backseat next and I jumped again when both doors slammed shut simultaneously.

“Hello!” The first guy cleared his throat from where he sat next to me and I could see he was bouncing his knee in apprehension, obviously wanting to scoot the fuck out of there, but still trying to be polite towards me. His breathing was shallow, and I could see large beads of sweat rolling down the side of his half-hidden face. I was in no mood to sit around and ponder about him.

“To hell with this!” I exclaimed with a squeak, and the second after the passenger door closed I shifted the gearstick and floored the pedal. Making sure that no people were in my way before skidding slightly around the pick-up bend. Only the sound of one singular hand slapping the boot of my car made me wince, but I was glad there was no other physical contact on my precious red Hyundai.

Only the sound of laboured breathing could be heard amongst sighs of relief as we pulled away from the mall. I looked into the rear-view mirror to see some people giving a hearty chase down the road, but most of the fans had broken away and were just waving towards my car as we rolled down the street.

Adrenaline was pumping through my veins, and I could feel a small smile resting on my face at the thought of escaping something like that. What a turn of events for this tedious day! A muffled gasp caught my attention and I looked into my mirror again to see the darkly dressed guy’s eyes screwed shut as he laughed breathlessly, one hand slapping his knee. His friend was just leaning his head back against the headrest as he gulped in large breaths of oxygen through his plump lips. They had both pulled down their masks and lifted their shaded glasses to catch their breaths, but the sight caused my own eyes to widen dangerously.

Holy shit on a stick, Park Jimin and Jeon Jungkook are sitting in my car. What in the ever-loving…

My breathing hitched at the realisation, but I continued to drive steadily. The thing I needed to focus on most of all was getting away from the crazy population of the city. I knew internally I was freaking out a little at the thought of members of my favourite boyband sitting in my own car, but I kept it under wraps knowing they would definitely not appreciate another bout of whatever that shemozzle was before.

I guess nothing goes unnoticed when you’re that famous. Why the hell were they alone?

Jungkook stopped laughing as he looked at my wide-eyed and slightly terrified expression. He suddenly grew apologetic due to his unexplained laughing.

“Sorry, uh, just how you drove off… sorry.” His voice died down as he gradually started to regain his composure, and I watched a shy demeanour suddenly take over his form, as if he had been hit with a realisation of overstepping his bounds. Jimin just turned and glanced pointedly at him, and then back at me to search wearily for a response.

“No it’s fine, I’m just a tad shaken,” I huffed out an exasperated breath, amusement showing on my features at the maknae’s sudden behaviour change. The idol next to me cleared his throat as I turned another corner, luckily no traffic barred my way and I was easily able to fly down the main road.

“We’re very sorry for what happened back there, that was probably quite troublesome for you. We apologise for the inconvenience.”

“Seriously don’t worry. You guys definitely needed an escape from…that. I’m glad to help, honestly.” I smiled to ease any worry radiating from the two flustered boys. “J, right?”

I glanced upwards into the mirror to lock eyes with Jungkook, not missing the way Jimin tried to conceal a smirk from the younger member. “Ah, he’s not that creative with names it seems.”

The older boy’s melodic speaking voice caused my lips to part in an involuntary breath of awe. I had always loved Park Jimin’s voice, whether it be singing or speaking or doing literally anything. Jungkook’s amused exhale and gentle chuckle also made me quite soft.

“Ah, sorry about my rude message too.” He looked downwards and bowed slightly. I noticed how politely he spoke and my insides turned to jelly once again. I felt warm and fluffy from their pleasant mannerisms.

“Don’t worry guys, how could I expect an essay when you were running for your lives?”

The two boys couldn’t contain their amused smiles as they exchanged another glance, seemingly conflicted. I could tell they didn’t know quite what to do with themselves in this situation, as they surely seldom had to get rides from anyone else other than their own personal drivers. I saw Jimin’s brows crease in concentration next to me, as if he was trying to figure out how to maintain his sense of professionalism. His hands fidgeted with the hem of his shirt anxiously.

“You guys may want to start with an explanation, if that’s alright?” I decided to help them out a small bit. If I could establish a comfortable atmosphere here, it would be much easier to converse and work out what to do.

“I notice that you put the next street over as your destination, but I’m fairly sure you’d both want to go further than that.” I made my point with a raised eyebrow and gestured to my phone sitting on the dashboard, destination showing clearly across the bottom of the screen.

Jimin clicked his tongue and leant in to read my phone more clearly. My skin tingles at his closer proximity.

“Seriously Jungkookie, any other place would’ve been better,” he eventually spoke, and although his tone was whiny with complaint, I could see the traces of a smile dancing across his features. He was obviously trying his best to remain stern.

“Ah, sorry hyung. I didn’t have all that much time in this case, did you forget?”

The cheek of this boy.

Jimin turned around and pointed at the younger boy while failing to hold back a giggle.

“Oi, show some respect you brat.”

Jungkook was snickering to himself, and I couldn’t help the smirk from tugging at my lips involuntarily. The group these guys came from always had this certain dynamic of playful teasing that won over so many fans. I included myself in that list honestly, as I always managed to have a good laugh watching their energetic interactions. It made me feel so youthful, as though an inner child would come out to play even though I was still adolescent at the age of 22.

They were fine joking around with themselves for a bit, but I could tell they were still very conscious of me and my presence in the car. They stopped chuckling and Jungkook cleared his throat noticeably in the back, silently handing over the responsibility of the situation to his elder.

“Um, sorry about that as well,” Jimin began to launch into a heartfelt apology, his bouncy blonde hair lowering with his head in a meaningful bow. I stopped him softly with a smile and made steady eye contact for a couple of seconds. His oak-brown eyes were confused, and I knew he was trying his best to deal with the situation properly. Just as his leader would.

“It’s fine, no more apologies please,” I requested warmly, easing the tension as he leant backwards in his seat to relax.

“I just want to know how you both ended up there, if you don’t mind sharing that is. Also feel free to give me somewhere to drop you both off.”

Jimin glanced over at me once more as if calculating my chances of being a threat. I made sure to keep my expression calm and clear while focusing on the empty road in front of me.

“Do you know us?” the sudden question from behind caused Jimin’s head to snap backwards, and my heartbeat to speed up incredibly. It wasn’t an accusing tone Jungkook used, but more on the curious side. Jimin still showed slight disapproval before turning his gaze back to me, a newfound curiosity also flashing across his features. It seemed he became a little shy after the topic of their fame rolled around, but I could tell he still wanted to know pretty badly.

“I’d consider myself a pretty big fan, not insane but you get what I mean,” I managed to force out, swallowing the lump in my throat at the thought of explaining my admiration for them.

They were literally sitting in my car and I never thought I would be shy, but here I was with an embarrassed blush alighting across my face. Jimin widened his eyes next to me, his mouth parting slightly in his shock. Jungkook inhaled a sharp breath before letting out another hearty chuckle.

“Wow! I never would have known.”

“Neither, I guess you must not be as emotional as many ARMY are when they see us,” Jimin smiled at the thought, and it was easy to say he didn’t mean anything bad by the comment.

“I’m just here to do my job. I’m not usually one to express my emotions that intensely, but I’ll let you both know that you’ve made my entire day.”

I saw Jimin turn his radiant smile towards me with an abashed sound falling from his lips. “Thank you, you’ve done so much for us already. Thank you for rescuing us.”

I saw him throw a questioning glance at Jungkook, who in turn squinted his doe-like eyes in confusion.

“It’s (Y/n). You can use honorifics if you want, but I don’t care much for them,” I explained softly, easing his sudden bout of guilt for not even knowing my name.

“Ah, thanks once again (Y/n)-ssi.”

Both of the boys were nervous, as they had just learned that I was a fan and were probably expecting me to flip out on them at any given moment. I knew Jungkook was shy around girls especially, but even he was kind of uncharacteristically silent in the back.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to freak out on you,” I assured them, keeping my eyes fixated on the road with a mostly amused expression. “I’m curious as to why you guys were alone with no protection out there. That usually doesn’t seem to happen.”

“No, definitely not,” Jimin sighed and I heard Jungkook hum in agreement.

“We didn’t mean to get separated from the others, we were all meant to just be shopping,” Jungkook huffed, and I could tell the young man was still shaken from his escapade from the mall. His large dark eyes were still slightly widened from the adrenaline spike.

“Yeah, everyone was together, and then we weren’t. Then the fans appeared and all we could do was run. Jungkook had to download Uber and make an account and everything on the spot. Lucky you were there because our drivers weren’t going to be around until a few more hours,” Jimin provided, his voice rough and raspy with weariness and relief. I could tell the shorter member was finally beginning to relax in the presence of the vehicle.

“Shit, I gotta call the Boss!” Jimin whipped out his phone and groaned when he discovered a couple of missed calls from his manager already.

I gave him a nod to let him know he could make the call safely. I wouldn’t record it or anything shady like that, I respected them too much and it wasn’t in my nature at all. Jimin gazed over a final time before finally deciding to place his full trust in me. I was already driving the car he was hitching a ride in, so trust honestly couldn't have mattered less when both of their lives were pretty much already cradled in my hands.

“I’d like to thank you as well (Y/n)-ssi, you really did save us back there,” Jungkook commented quietly as he leaned forward so I could hear. Neither of us wanted to interrupt Jimin as he fell into a heated discussion with his manager, or possibly Namjoon from the sounds of his replies over the phone.

“It’s okay Jungkookie, I know you guys deserve a much-needed break after all that. Sit back and enjoy the ride is all I'll say,” I said with a sigh, and finally decided to relax as well by releasing the tension in my muscles to sit more comfortably. I noticed Jungkook smirk cutely at the nickname accidently slipping out, and was just glad that he didn’t find it inappropriate.

“No, I swear she’s fine. She won’t do anything like that hyung,” Jimin’s suddenly louder response caused my smile to drop and my eyes to swivel around to the blonde boy. His temperament had grown agitated and I could see he was having difficulty trying to convince his managers and group leader. His round cheeks were blown out in exasperation, and I could clearly read the worry flitting across his expression.

“Jimin-ssi, if he wants to talk to me he can,” I offered softly so I didn’t spook him, raising my eyebrows in encouragement. We’d travelled a fair way, so pulling over was an option even though it was probably still too dangerous to linger in one place for long.

“No thanks it’s fine, I do trust you.” Jimin shook his head and I couldn’t help but smile at his kind, yet stubborn nature. These boys had no idea who I was, yet they put their faith in me and my driving ability for longer than they even needed to.

Jimin finished up with his call after another few minutes of stressed reassuring.

“Um, (Y/n)-ssi? I have an address I need to put in. If that’s okay.” He turned to me after letting out an explosive sigh, and I nodded towards the phone resting on the dashboard.

“Go ahead, distance isn't an issue.”

Jimin smiled at my response and shyly reached forward for my phone, still trying to be respectful.

“Hyung said it would be ideal if you dropped us off somewhere nearby the dorms so there’s no suspicion, but apparently all nearby areas are swarming with fans trying to figure out what’s going on.”

“Shit,” I breathed, the full realisation dawning on me. If their fans found out who I was, I wouldn’t be left alone for a while. I could imagine receiving threats and loads of unwanted attention, possibly not even being able to leave my house for a few days at the very least.

“So, you’ll have to drop us at the actual dorms then.”

“What?” I questioned in an instant. That sounded like the dumbest thing I’d ever heard.

“Isn’t that the area where most of the fans would be?”

“Well, most likely, but there's security.” Jimin ran a hand down his face as if trying to rub away the sudden bout of stress brought on, and I could fathom just how tired he was from all the rambunctious disorder.

“Why not drive you somewhere far away and get your driver to pick you up or something?”

“I did suggest that, but they just want us back as soon as possible so they can calm everyone down. I don’t mean to be rude, but they can’t exactly know or predict what you’ll do.”

That definitely made sense. Watching another car pull out of the building might also cause the fans to suspect the worst. They could even believe that I kidnapped the two band members instead of saving them. Well, that and there was absolutely no reason for their company to trust me with two of their idols that much.

“Okay, but one of you lend me a mask or something. I’m not going in there with a death wish.”

Jungkook chuckles from the back seat, and I’m slightly startled due to not hearing from the younger boy for a while.

“You’re right though, here you can use mine. I have my hoodie anyway.” A hand appeared next to me holding a familiar black mask, the faint but fragrant smell of a rare cologne wafting around me at the action. Of course, anything he’s worn would smell this expensive. Seeing how normal they can act, it’s hard to remember just how rich they actually are.

“Thanks.” I slipped on the mask and the smell was now stronger. I almost swooned.

“It’s actually not as far as I thought,” I commented when the map displayed the route to take. I knew the traffic was most likely to be more congested in this area than the city mall was before, so I decided to take a couple of back routes.

“Good plan,” Jungkook piped in with a nod and I saw the excited grin plastered on his face.

“What are you so happy about?” Jimin scoffed with a raised brow.

“I dunno, just this whole thing is so… exciting? Nothing like this has ever happened before,” Jungkook replied while trying to smother his grinning, but failing miserably.

“True, you guys would usually be living a careful life, right?” I decided to join in. Jimin and Jungkook didn’t seem to be shy or guarded around me as much as they were, but I knew they were still keeping face amongst all the drama.

“Of course, we don’t want our precious fans to worry about us,” Jimin went on in a level tone, his hand flying up to emphasise his point. I still couldn’t get over how captivating his voice sounded in person, and how it was this close to me...

“Speaking of fans, you’re an ARMY?” Jungkook’s cheeky lilt gained my attention and caused me to look up and lock eyes with him in the rear-view mirror.

“What of it?”

I try to suppress my sharp exhale of amusement, but fail miserably as well. Kookie’s adorable expression of playful confidence, bordering on egotistical even, made the laughter bubble up.

“Well, obviously you’d have a favourite, a bias.”

The question causes me to now laugh loudly, smacking the wheel once.

“Ah, I should’ve seen this coming honestly.”

Jimin clicked his tongue at his junior band member. “As if it matters.”

His voice is also playful, and I can tell he’s just as curious as the maknae by how he looks across at me with raised eyebrows and a small knowing smirk adorning his full lips. They were both taking this as a joke, and I was not going to be any different.

“Of course it matters Jimin, this is the question that decides my fate,” I feigned offense, and watched as his smile caused his eyes to disappear in the cutest, squishiest way imaginable.

Before I could say anything else, an embarrassed blush swarmed my cheeks as I spluttered, “Oh crap, I forgot the honorific.”

“Its fine,” Jimin assured. “You mentioned you don’t care for them before, so I can live without it.”

I smirked at him and shook my head slightly. “You’re actually too nice.”

His melodious chuckle was then interrupted by the mischievous maknae in the back.

“Hey, don’t change the subject hyung. Who’s your favourite member (Y/n)?” I noticed he took instant advantage of the honorific drop, and almost slipped an amused snort.

“Well it’s not either of you, that’s for sure.”

I knew they could tell there was a certain level of sarcasm in my tone, but they still let out varying noises of defeat.

“What, no way. It must be Jin-hyung then,” Jungkook groaned and I couldn't contain a giggle. His narcissistic nature was showing, and this time I wasn’t even sure if it was a joke or not. Jimin chose to pipe in as well, obviously enjoying the mystery that was my ‘supposed Bangtan bias’.

“Nah, I reckon it’s Tae. She’s weird enough to be a perfect match for him.”

Oh my, he really went there.

Both of the boy’s breath hitched, as if they thought I was going take offense and kick them out on the curb.

“Honestly, if you think Tae’s weird then I’m a whole other level. Although I guess I can never know who you guys are behind the screen.”

Jimin visibly relaxed after hearing me take the joke, but then grew serious again after my last comment.

“We’re fairly genuine to our fans, as much as we can be,” He defended, but wasn’t insulted. Jungkook nodded in agreement from the back, still smiling from the joking around that happened before.

“Of course, that’s why you’re one of my favourite groups, but you have to admit it is kind of impossible for someone like me to make a judgement on someone I’ve never met.”

“That is true, I guess. We really do try hard for you guys. I never thought super hard about that,” Jimin looked upwards as he pondered, and I felt proud that I’d gotten more than enough glimpses of both their true natures just from this simple car ride. Though, realistically they could be phenomenal actors and I wouldn’t know any different.

“We may be one of your favourite groups, but I’m still waiting for the member~,” Jungkook started lowly from the back, his sentence breaking off into his famous high pitched giggle when he saw my deadpan expression staring him down in the mirror. Jimin joined in and I sighed in defeat.

“Okay. I don’t have one.”

There’s a small silence, but both boys explosively let out sounds of understanding.

“Ah, you’re one of those.”

I was about to question what Jimin meant, but Jungkook cut me off.

“I was just about to pin her as a Yoongi stan.”

The sudden and serious statement made me cackle, although the sound was muffled by the black fabric of the mask over my mouth.

“Oh boy, you have absolutely no idea. My best friend…” I trailed off as laughter gripped me, almost causing me to veer off the road uncontrollably.

“Jesus Christ, watch out!” Jimin breathlessly squeaked as he made a grab for the wheel to steady the moving car. I gripped the wheel harder in fear, but amusement washed over me once again.

“Hyung did your voice just-”

“Shut up.”

I couldn’t stop the amused snort, but managed to regain control. My chuckles were now borderline wheezes, and I could hear Kookie in the back sharing the same demise.

“As I was saying,” I began, but erupt once more as the memory of Jimin’s voice crack surfaced back to the front of my mind. Jungkook is in shambles, but Jimin is just sitting with his head buried in his hands next to me, shoulders shaking as he tries to avoid his inevitable embarrassment.

“Stoooop.” He drawled it out and reached behind him to smack the chortling maknae on the knee somewhat harshly. I knew he hated the fact that he just got embarrassed in front of some stranger, who had also been established as a pretty avid fan. Poor Chim.

“You forget I’ve seen videos of your many embarrassments,” I offered in between chuckles, and caught the moment his face scrunched up in an adorable cringe. A sigh of defeat fell from his lips. “Yeah, I give up.”

He still chuckled and shook his head, the tinkling sounds causing me to bring a hand up to clutch my chest dramatically. Both boys laughed cutely once again at my reaction, Jimin’s eyes disappearing as he covered his face with one small hand.

“You sure you’re not a Jimin stan, noona?” Jungkook chimes in. I raised a brow and decided to skilfully avoid the question.

“Ah, so you picked up that I’m older than you?”

Jungkook stopped, his jaw going slack at the sudden question, and I found myself face to face with his widely memed blankness instead. I almost can’t contain myself.

“Oh, yeah maybe? It kind of actually just slipped out.”

I find myself giggling at the return of his shy persona, and he smiled bashfully at the floor in response. His tongue pushed out one of his cheeks in shame.

“Yah, don’t assume such a thing,” Jimin chuckled, obviously grateful that the heat was finally off of him.

“Don’t worry, I’m the same age as Jiminie I believe,” I decided to help the poor boy out, craning my neck forward to check the next turn off for oncoming cars.

We were actually almost to the destination, and the trip had flown by way too quickly. After Jungkook made a noise of comprehension, Jimin looked around suddenly and grunted in surprise.

“Crap, I was meant to call Namjoonie back a few minutes ago.”

“What are you doing hyung?” Jungkook chided in flippant scolding, to which Jimin responded with another angered slap. He brought out his phone and dialled a number quickly, obviously not concerned that I could very well easily read and memorise it in two seconds flat.

As If I would anyway.

I fell silent as Jimin waited for the phone call to connect.

Jungkook 3rd person POV

Jungkook also waited, breathless at the thought of how dire the situation was to their careers as a whole. This was such a strange occurrence to the famous band members, and he thought about how normal and relaxed the car ride had actually been when compared to how awkward they thought it was going to turn out.

When Jungkook had made the Uber request originally, he and Jimin were prepared to face the worst. Anyone who had the opportunity to drive a car unsupervised with two famous idols in tow could easily turn the tables and expose them more, or maybe even do worse things…

He shook his head at the thought and silently swallowed the bile rising in his throat. He glanced over to your form sitting in the driver’s seat, stiffened slightly due to the very important call being made.

You had been nothing but kind and understanding so far, not to mention hilariously easy going. Jungkook found himself respecting you immediately. You could have freaked out and demanded autographs or photos from them at any time. You could have decided to not drop them off where they wanted and just continued to drive for eternity. You could have even taken them anywhere you wanted to, but no, you listened to them, respected their privacy and even agreed to risk your reputation to drive them into their dorms where countless fangirls could eat you alive if they found out.

You were just amazing, and Jungkook knew his hyung felt similarly. Well, considering how he defended you without question before when Namjoon probably jumped to conclusions, it was evident that Jimin trusted you too.

Jungkook was completely numb from bewilderment. Everything could have gone wrong for them in their haste to escape the mob of their excited fans, but it didn’t, and it was all thanks to you.

These types of people drive our purpose, we’re so happy to have reached you.

Although if he was honest, he wouldn't mind at all if you got all flustered and cute while gushing over him. Just a little bit.

Reader 1st person POV

I watched as Jimin jerked the phone away from his ear suddenly, a loud voice booming loudly through the tiny speaker to reach even my ears. Jimin’s face winced as he brought the phone back to his ear hesitantly.

“We’re so sorry for the mess Sir, but it worked out.”

I knew that he was most likely talking to his manager or director with how his language changed. He ruffled his blonde hair anxiously and continued to listen to the voice on the line, eventually digging his teeth into his bottom lip in another bout of anxiety.

“Wait, we’re almost to the dorms, she’s got a mask on and everything-” Jimin was cut off and my eyes darted in between him and the road ahead to try and figure out what was happening. His breathing sped up and I could see his own eyes meeting mine a few times worriedly.

What is going on?

We were getting close to the dorms, and I had already noticed how the housing had become wealthier the more I drove through the city. The streets were becoming beautiful and cleaner. I knew that the boys lived in most likely the richest place in the city, and this place was by far the definition of that.

One thing I also noticed is that there were a few groups of girls dotted here and there that were walking or sitting around the footpaths. Some even saw my car and started pointing and taking photos while jumping up and down.

“Well, there goes my anonymity.” I sighed and slumped further in my seat, as if to hide my face better than it was already hidden. The only sound as I drove onwards was Jimin’s occasional reply into the phone next to me. His responses were becoming less worried, but still sounded unenthusiastic.

“Yes, I understand, okay I’ll tell her,” Jimin murmured and I held my breath at the sound of the call being hung up. My curiosity was nothing short of burning, and I instantly turned to the blonde boy when he looked at me pointedly.

“Um, our manager needs you to come in with us so you can speak with him and sign some stuff.”

I look forward again and nod once in understanding. “Yeah, I knew this would most likely happen. Confidentiality, right?”

I crack a smile at the thought of actually going in and meeting the famous Bang Sihyuk, CEO and founder of Bighit Entertainment.

“Wow,” I breathed after fully wrapping my head around what was happening.

“I guess you never thought this would happen.” Jungkook chuckled from the backseat, and I scoffed in disbelief.

“Yeah it’s not every day you meet two members of Bangtan and their producer.”

The sarcasm was heavy, and the two boys grinned in amusement. Jimin leant forwards to rest his forehead on the dashboard in a weary manner. “Ah, I’m so sorry for forcing you into this mess (Y/n)-ssi.”

“What did I say about apologising? I love you guys and your music; this is the least I can do to repay you for all the happiness you have brought me.” My voice became emotional and quiet as I let out all my pent-up feelings. I didn’t know how exactly I could express my bundling thoughts into formed words, but I felt as though that might have been just enough to let them know how ecstatic I truly was that this miracle had happened to me.

“You must be an angel,” Jimin smiled at me so sweetly and genuinely that I had to rip my gaze away from him in order to prevent tearing up. I heard Jungkook sigh in awe at my words, and I looked up to see him smiling shyly at the ground before glancing forward.

“Devoted fans like you are the reason we have made it this far, (Y/n).”

Jimin turns his head and gives Jungkook a look that says 'Well that was fucking sappy' but I can’t help but smile wider and let out a tiny gleeful squeak unknowingly.

His words had caused my emotions to storm again, and I was so fortunate to hear them in person that I didn’t even know what to do with myself. I gripped the wheel tighter so I wouldn’t let go and do anything stupid. Since I had my mask on, they could only see my smile through how my eyes and cheeks bunched up, but unfortunately the mask wasn’t large enough to cover my entire face.

“Awe you’re so cute when you blush like that!” Jimin laughed loudly, reaching out to poke my reddening skin. I gasped and knocked his hand away softly with one of my own.

“Leave me alone, I can’t control it or anything.”

Jungkook was also sniggering in the back, his cheeky nature making a comeback as I shook my head to try and rid myself of the heat.

“Sorry for that noona.”

Now he was using the word to tease me, and I fought the urge to slap him like Jimin did before. “Silly boy, I swear you’ll never make me blush again.”

“You sure about that? I’ll accept the challenge.”

“And we’re here!” I dragged out the first word to hopefully try and cut him off. I could still hear him giggling in the back, his knowing smile holding an impish quality.

The sight before me was spectacular, if that was even enough to sum it up. The area in which BTS lived was absolutely breathtaking, and I knew that this was in fact one of the, if not the richest place in all of Seoul.

The gardens were marvellously well grown and maintained, while the architecture seemed to gleam and glow in the sunlight, too perfectly constructed to be true. Modern was also an understatement, as this place seemed borderline futuristic. To describe it in one word, glorious.

“I don’t even know if someone like me should go in there,” I stammered, my voice cracking multiple times in sheer astonishment.

“Don’t be silly, how else are we gonna get in there?” Jimin joked and I snorted lightly at his change of demeanour.

“Walk, silly.” I shared a cheeky glance with the maknae behind me when Jimin gasped.

“Rude, and here I thought you were a fan?”

“I’m joking Jimin, alright how do we actually do this?” I looked around and saw a parking space out the front of the main building. Jimin gestured towards it and nodded, giving me the go to proceed.

There were no fans lurking around this place due to the security, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to escape any photographers if they were there. Luckily we had only a few brief, yet concerning encounters with the fans while driving in to the complex itself.

If Kookie hadn’t given me the mask I would be dead meat cooking on a spit.

I parked the car carefully and fell back into my seat with a sigh. Jimin and Jungkook eyed me with concern clouding their features.

“We’re so-”

“Park Jimin, will you eventually heed my words?” I tilted my head and blinked rapidly at him with a smile on my face. He sees my playful, yet tired expression and shakes his head with an annoyed groan.

��I probably will never stop apologising for the trouble we’ve caused.”

I sighed again and exaggerated a pout, borderline mockery if you will. Jungkook let out a huff and a click of his tongue indicated the long-awaited comeback of his cocky attitude.

“Come on hyung, she already said it doesn’t matter.”

His tone caused Jimin to narrow his eyes towards the back accusingly, and I watched as the younger member sat back down, satisfied with the reaction.

“Thank you maknae,” I rolled my eyes and suppressed a chuckle at his scoff, catching Jimin’s amused and appreciative look. I observed around one more time before turning my gaze upwards to glance at the building next to us.

“Okay it’s now or never boys, run and don’t look back.”

171 notes · View notes

lyssismagical · 5 years ago

Text

you were my new dream

A Parkner & Irondad - Tangled AU

The paintbrush sweeps over the wall gently, adding wispy clouds to the light blue backdrop, and definition to the castle.

He could hear his father’s footsteps making their way down the staircase, shoes clicking against the stone. Shoes meant his father was going out. Again. Leaving Peter alone in the tower.

He drags the paintbrush once more across the newest addition to his walls of paintings, before tugging the curtain down over it just as his father rounded the corner.

“Hop on down from there and get some breakfast,” his father calls out, tossing an apple in Peter’s direction.

Barefeet easily hopping down to the floor, Peter catches the apple and takes a bite, slipping into his designated chair.

His father looked angry this morning, creases deepening between his eyebrows and along his forehead, curving down around his mouth.

“I’ll be out today,” he says shortly, dragging his chair up behind Peter’s and laying a hand flat in Peter’s hair without need for instruction.

Peter makes himself sing the song, feeling the power thrum in his very veins, glowing bright and young. Flower gleam and glow…

As soon as he finishes, looking over his shoulder at the wrinkles disappearing along his father’s forehead and mouth, grey hairs turning back to its regular dark brown.

“Father-”

“I have errands to run,” his father interrupts, standing up and stretching his shoulders.

Peter frowns, shoulders slumping. “It’s my birthday coming up.”

His father lifts an eyebrow, face set in annoyance like he couldn’t be bothered with trying to guess where Peter’s going with this. He tries not to let it hurt his happiness.

“Yes?”

“I’m going to be eighteen.”

Beck rolls his eyes, mouth curving down. “Yes? I’m well aware of your birthday, Peter.”

Frowning, Peter rises from his chair, following his father across the room as Beck prepares what he needs for his journey and errands.

“I wanna see the lights,” Peter blurts, freezing in his steps when Beck turns on him, anger flashing in his eyes like he already knows exactly what Peter means.

“The lights?”

Peter swallows thickly, anxiety thrumming in his chest. He rubs his hands on his old paint-splattered overalls. “The floating lights. They- They go up every year on my birthday, they fill the sky. My birthday is in a few days, I want to see them up close.”

Beck’s always looked scary when he’s angry, intimidatingly taller than Peter and shoulders broad. “Are you asking me to take you out of the tower?”

Don’t fight back, he knows that much. He knows not to fight back in these kinds of arguments, and it’s normally fine. He’s okay with not asking to leave the tower, with hiding behind the brick walls and saying goodbye to his father every week or two when there’s errands he runs without Peter. But this is his eighteenth birthday watching the lanterns fill the sky through the window.

“Just for one day. Just to see the lights. And then we’d come straight back and I wouldn’t ask to leave again,” Peter bargains, unable to stop himself from clumsily backing away.

Beck lifts an eyebrow. “You wanna try that again?”

His breath hitches, fighting back tears. He hates arguing with his father, hates losing every argument he does try to have, hates that he’s backing down again, but it’s not like he has much of a choice against Beck.

“I- I think I want new paint for my birthday?” Peter tries again gesturing at the walls filled to the very brim with his paintings. He wipes his sweaty hands on his overalls again. “The nice stuff you got for my sixteenth?”

Beck runs a hand harshly over his face with a long, exasperated sigh. “You know I’m not trying to be the bad guy here? I just want what’s best for us and that means staying here, where it’s safe, where you’re safe.”

Peter forces a nod. “I know.”

“Paint? That’s a three day trip, at least.”

“I know, I just- It’s better than what I thought before. I shouldn’t have suggested that, it was stupid. Paint is smarter.”

Beck sighs again, carefully brushing back Peter’s curls. “I’ll get you paint, you’re right. You’ll have enough food here to last you three days time. Stay here, stay safe, alright?”

Peter doesn’t say anything as Beck rounds up a new, bigger basket, filled with more essentials for the longer trip out. But soon enough, Beck is ready to go, sitting on the edge of the windowsill.

“I know you don’t quite understand right now, but the outside world is dangerous, Peter. Especially for you, especially with all this power. I’m just doing what’s best for you, alright? Keeping you safe.”

“Of course, father.” Peter offers a soft smile, slipping his hands into the worn fabric of his long sleeve under his overalls, hiding the shaking. “I’ll be here.”

“And I’ll be back in three days time.”

Three days.

He stands at the window, watches as Beck climbs down the side of the tower using the web ladder Peter made, walks to the edge of their hidden enclosure, turns back and waves at Peter, and then he disappears through the vines.

Turning back to his home, Peter tries to cheer himself up. Three days with the tower alone means he can sing as loud as he wants to, climb the walls, paint, and practice baking. He can even reread the three books on his bookshelf.

Three whole days.

Harley runs a hand through his hair, gently cupping his little sister’s face.

“I know you don’t like me doing this, but this is for the best, okay? I’ll be back before you know it, Abbie.”

She sighs, too young, too little, to be dragged into the politics, into the mess Harley’s in.

He knows what he’s doing is wrong. He knows he shouldn’t steal from the castle, from the King who’s still grieving the loss of his son, The Missing Prince. He knows it’s wrong to be pawning off the jewelry he steals from the castle for money or food or things to keep his baby sister happy, but he’d do anything to keep his sister safe.

“And if you get caught?”

“There’s plenty of food to last you here, and after that, I trust you to take care of yourself, to find help in the city. You know what the king would do if he found out.”

His fingers are careful, gentle as he twists a strand of her hair between his fingers. He doesn’t use her power, he doesn’t dare exploit her for her magic. He’s not cruel like that.

It was a bad situation. He was four, too young to be put in the situation he had been in. His mother was pregnant and very ill. The doctor they called in said it was likely that both her and the baby would die. But then word spread about the Queen’s pregnancy and how they found a magic flower that would heal her.

That’s where the thieving began. He snuck into the tower and stole just a few drops of the golden liquid. It wasn’t enough to save both of them, so now it’s just him and his little sister, now seventeen years old.

“Stay safe, you hear me?”

Harley offers a lazy smile, tossing his satchel over his shoulder. “Always am, Abbie. Hold down the fort.”

It’s not that the world is full of evil people, that’s nothing like the city, especially with the watchful eye of the Queen, keeping everything in order, but he worries about her. He worries that if she were caught, they might punish her for the Keener’s history of thieving. If anything, they were the bad guys, not the city folks. The only person who’d ever tried to exploit her magic was Quentin Beck, a man who wanted to use Abbie’s hair for his own good, nobody else’s.

He doesn’t keep her locked up in their rickety little home on the outskirts of the island, she’s free to do as she pleases, but she chooses not to go far, instead leaving the work to Harley. She prefers sticking to their little home, taking care of the sick people who come seek them out for her magic hair. She makes housecalls occasionally for those who can’t make the journey to find her and she never charges them, the only heart of gold in the Keener bloodline.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can. Don’t be worried if I’m not home in a couple days. I don’t know how long this will take.”

She grins, corners of her eyes crinkling and blue eyes shining in the morning sun. “I know. I’ll be here.”

Harley finally turns to the forest, back to the ocean curling up the sand. He takes a deep breath, promises himself he won’t look back, and starts his trek towards the city.

* Peter’s hands are shaking where they grip the stupid frying pan. There’s a man tied to a chair in the next room over. He knocked out a man who tumbled through his window that wasn’t Beck.

He was making himself some lunch and then the man had fallen through the window and Peter had panicked, swinging the pan.

And now there was a man in the next room over, tied to a chair, unconscious.

“Hello?” The stranger calls out.

Peter curses a few times under his breath, turning in a circle as he tries to come up with something. When he comes up blank, unsure what to say or what to do, he steels himself and walks into the main room, taking a deep breath.

The boy tied to the chair looks bored, if anything. Not scared by the synthesized webbing pinning him to the chair, not worried about the bruise forming on his forehead where Peter had hit him with the frying pan, not even vaguely concerned about his satchel missing from his side.

He simply lifts an eyebrow when Peter steps into his line of vision, corners of his mouth quirking up in a half-smile.

“How did you find me?” Peter demands, crossing his arms over his chest, trying to appear more confident than he is. “What do you want?”

“What do I want? What do you want?” the boy says, nose crinkling. “I’ve got places to be, darling.”

Peter can’t help the flush that touches his cheeks. He’s only ever spoken to his father, Beck, and to the animals that occasionally crawl up to his window like squirrels or birds. The closest thing he’s ever had to somebody calling him darling is reading the romance book on the shelf.

He runs a hand through his hair, relaxing at the power that runs from his fingertips to his chest. “How do I know you won’t tell anybody about me? How will I know that you won’t bring anyone else here?”

The boy sniffles like this whole conversation is boring him, but he’s starting to tug at the restraints holding him to the wooden chair.

“Why would I care about you?” the boy says, rolling his eyes. “Can you just give me my bag and let me get on my way?”

Peter takes a step back, hands on his hips. “You want your bag that bad?”

“It’s mine.”

And then an idea hits him with a brilliant clarity. “What do you know about the floating lights?”

The boy lifts an eyebrow, sinking back into the chair and giving up on trying to get out of the webbing. “The floating lights?”

“The- Uh, the lanterns?” Peter repeats, levelling his gaze like his heart isn’t about to beat out of his chest. “The ones that go up every August 10th.”

“The one’s for the Missing Prince?” the boy says, tipping his head to the side. “Eighteen years ago, the King and Queen’s son went missing. They send up lanterns every year on his birthday in hopes he’ll make it back to them.”

Peter ignores the way his chest tightens at the potential coincidence. But it wouldn’t make sense. Beck is his father. Not the King.

The boy looks intrigued, mouth tipping up in a sort of amused smile, fingers tapping incessantly on the arm of the chair.

“I want you to take me to see them,” Peter says, holding his chin high. “If you do, I’ll give you your bag back.”

“That’s not a fair trade.”

Peter shrugs, bottom lip sticking out. “What do you want?”

“You live here alone?”

It’s a strange question and Peter doesn’t know how much he wants to tell the stranger about Beck, but he figures it’s only fair. “My father lives here. Beck.”

“Beck? Like Beck? Like Quentin Beck?” The boy demands, eyes widening. “If so, then that’s what I want. I want your father to never hear that I was here or that you met me or that you know anything, okay?”

Peter nods. “Yeah, of course, your secret’s safe with me. Can I ask why?”

The boy smiles coyly. “Nah, better not ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to. Anyway, you wanna get me out of these? If I’m taking you to see the lanterns, we’re going to need to make the trek all the way to the castle.”

Peter scrambles to find the web dissolvent from under the sink, helping the boy up from the chair.

“I’m, um, I’m Peter.”

The boy smiles, corners of his blue eyes crinkling. “Harley Keener.”

* Harley watches Peter with a sympathetic sort of curiosity.

He’s only a few months older than Abbie, a couple years younger than Harley, but he looks at the world like he’s a child who’s never experienced any of it before.

The way Peter’s barefeet touch down on the grass, toes curling in the dirt like it’s incredible. The way he moves and laughs and dances in the yard like this is the most amazing day of his life, uncaring of Harley waiting for him at the edge of the field.

The way Peter smiles brightly, practically glowing in the midday sunlight, laughing as he splashes through the little pond, grinning up at the sky, rolling through the grass.

The way Peter takes it all in like he’s scared he’ll never get to see it again.

Harley would be lying if he said he didn’t think Peter looked like a god, beautiful and smiling brightly like nothing could hurt the happiness radiating off him.

He wasn’t about to get attached to this random boy he found in a mysterious secluded tower, especially since the boy happened to have Quentin Beck as a father, apparently. Beck who’d been trying to get his hands on Abbie for as long as he could remember. When Beck found out that Abbie had a tiny bit of the magical flower’s abilities, Beck had wanted her for his own, to use her capabilities of curing illnesses and keeping people young.

Briefly, he worries about Peter, but he figures it’s not his problem to worry about the strange boy.

“You ready?” he calls out, arms crossed and leaning against the stones.

Peter lights up even more, excitement shining on his face, and he skips, literally fucking skips over to Harley, grabbing his hand and turning to race through the thick vines hiding the field from the rest of the forest, dragging Harley along with him.

On one hand, Harley adores seeing Peter radiating this kind of joy. It reminds him of a different time, a time where he wasn’t thieving, wasn’t parenting his little sister, wasn’t trying so hard just to get food on the table every night. It reminds of a time when his parents were still alive and he was allowed to be childish and innocently happy like Peter is.

But on the other hand, it makes Harley want to take Peter back to Abbie and his home, to hide Peter away from people like Beck who he knows is a bad man despite what Peter might think about his father. It makes Harley want to keep Peter safe from the true horrors of the world, from grief and ugly dark emotions, because he wants, terribly badly, to keep that shining joy on Peter’s face.

“This is the best day ever!” Peter exclaims, touching absolutely everything he can get his hands on. “Oh my gosh! Thank you so much!”

Harley tries his best to suppress a smile. “Only keeping my end of the bargain, darling.”

He watches Peter flush, a gentle blush spreading across his cheeks and nose, brown eyes sparkling beautifully.

This is considerably low on Best Days Ever for Harley. Getting chased through the forest by the guards after stealing a crown from the castle, isn’t exactly ideal, especially since he’s now met the son of the guy who’s been making Harley’s life a bit hellish lately.

They’re walking through a forest. That hardly ranks as a great day, but apparently it’s Peter’s best. That says something about the life he’s lived. It makes Harley’s chest ache thinking about a life spent cooped up in that dark tower with Beck.

So he makes a stupid joke about how circumstances brought them here of all places, reveling in the way Peter lights up in a smile, hands brushing over the trees as they walk together.

He makes it his personal goal along this strange journey they’ve embarked on, to make Peter smile as often as he can.

* “This is no longer the best day ever,” Peter admits, words echoing in the cave they’ve ended up in.

Chased by royal guards who are after Harley. Peter had no idea he’s on a journey with a Wanted Man, but he finds that he doesn’t care too much. He doesn’t really have the capability to make informed decisions about Harley or about the guards who chased them if he hasn’t spoken to anybody outside of his father ever. So, he finds he doesn’t mind.

What he does mind is the water slowly filling up the cave they’re trapped in.

Harley, eyes wide with panic and hands fumbling against the rock walls for an exit, sends a glare in Peter’s direction.

“I guess he was right,” Peter mutters, pushing himself higher up the back wall of the cave as the water continues to rise rapidly. There’s only a matter of minutes before they’ll run out of space.

Harley dives beneath the water, searching for an exit, a way out, but they’re trapped.

Peter, for his part, isn’t as scared as he thought he would be. He’s always been trapped. Maybe not in a life or death situation like he is now, but that tower had been the only four walls he knew for his entire life. He got to feel grass under his feet, he got feel the sun on his skin, he got to touch the trees, he got to meet Harley, a real human being that wasn’t Beck.

This isn’t the worst way to die, he figures. He could’ve died in that tower without having experienced anything.

On the other hand, though, if he had never left that tower, if had just let Harley leave without making any bargains, they wouldn’t be in this situation at all. They wouldn’t be dying.

Harley resurfaces, gasping. “It’s pitch black down there, can’t see anything… Who was right?”

“My father,” Peter says, head touching the cave’s roof as the water rises to their hips. “He was right about not leaving the tower.”

“He was not right,” Harley spits. “He had no right to keep you locked away from the real world.”

Peter shrugs, blinking back the tears as he accepts their fate. “If I had listened, we wouldn’t be dying. You wouldn’t be dying.”

“Your father’s been trying to take my sister from me for the past couple years,” Harley admits. “The truth may as well come out if we’re on our death beds.”

The water’s up to their shoulders now, rising fast.

“What? Why?”

Harley looks over at him, barely discernible in the darkness of the cave. “I don’t know how much you know about the city’s history, but my sister had some of that magic flower juice. Now Beck wants to use her for selfish reasons.”

“Magic… I have magic hair that glows when I sing!” Peter exclaims, eyes widening. “Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine-”

And the water goes over their head, completely filling the cave.

But Peter’s curls light up, filling the cave with golden light. Harley spots a section of the wall that’s filled with loose rocks, tightly packed together with a thin stream of water slipping between them.

He swims over, Peter in quick pursuit, and they both claw at the rocks, pulling them out of the way.

But Peter didn’t have the time to take a breath before the water had risen over their heads, so his lungs are burning and his hands are too slow and uncoordinated as he pulls another rock out of the way.

He watches the rocks fall, the water turning into a waterfall as it rushes through the exit, before his vision goes dark.

It’s not long before he jerks awake, coughing up the bit of water he’d inhaled. He’s held against Harley’s chest, curled up in the mud right beside the water that he assumes Harley had pulled him out of.

He can’t help the laugh that escapes him as soon as he’s through with his coughing fit, and his fingers curl into Harley’s soaking wet shirt.

“That was insane,” Peter says, breath catching on another laugh, probably more hysterical than anything.

“You’ve got magic hair,” Harley replies.

“Yeah. Always have.”

“My little sister’s does too.” Harley’s arms tighten around Peter, chest still heaving for air. “I tried to cut it off when she was little, tried to make it normal, but nothing worked. That’s why Beck’s been trying to take her from me.”

Another person with magic hair, with powers, like him. Beck always told him he was the only one, that the city would think of him as a mutant, as a freak and they’d use him for their gain.

He doesn’t want to turn on Beck, he doesn’t want to know of the life Harley’s sister lives with the same powers, but he needs to know.

“Is she- Is she allowed this freedom?” he asks, voice quiet and weak. He’s always just blindly believed Beck, believed that the world was a scary place and that what Beck was doing was for Peter’s safety. But he never once mentioned Harley’s sister, he lied about Peter being the only one with powers.

Harley swallows thickly, looking over at the river. “Yeah. I’m her only guardian and I let her do whatever she wants to as long as she promises to be careful. The only one who’s ever tried to hurt her was Beck.”

Peter’s chest aches, mind blurring through all of the lies Beck told, all of the times he’d made Peter believe that he was alone, all of the times Beck told stories of the cruel world.

As much as he wants to ask Harley for advice, ask him how he’s ever supposed to go back to the way he lived after they see the lanterns, ask him if he’s meant to leave Beck, he can’t. Harley doesn’t like him. Harley’s only tolerating Peter for his own benefit.

So instead, he pulls himself out of Harley’s arms and drags himself to his feet, tucking his shaking hands into the pockets of his soaking wet overalls.

“We should keep moving,” he says, clearing his throat.

He kind of wants to cry. This was supposed to be a one time thing. Just a short trip to the city and back with Harley before he’d go back to accepting his life with Beck in their tower. But now?

Now he doesn’t even know whether or not Beck is a good guy. He doesn’t know who to believe. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. And worst of all, he feels like he has nobody to turn to. He only knows two people to begin with, but he doesn’t know if he can trust either of them.

“Yeah, of course,” Harley murmurs, following Peter to his feet. His eyes narrow and his mouth is set in a frown, crossing his arms in a standoffish way like he doesn’t know what to say or how to say it, like he wants to ask questions but doesn’t know if he can.

Peter sets off again, keeping a few feet ahead of Harley to hide the tears that threaten to spill.

Harley doesn’t say a word.

* “We should stop,” Harley says after a long few hours of walking silently through the forest. “Get some rest. We’re nearing the bridge to the city and we won’t be able to sleep there.”

He nods at the tree they’ve stopped at, where a picture of his face is pinned. A Wanted Poster.

“We’re almost there,” Peter argues. He’s upset and he’s tired and his chest is still aching, hands still trembling.

“The lanterns go up tomorrow night. There’s no point in going into the city until then.”

Harley reaches for Peter’s shoulder, probably to try to comfort him, but Peter moves away from the outstretched hand, digging his fingernails into his palms to try to stop the tears that are dangerously close to falling.

He offers a pathetic attempt at a smile, and nods. “Yeah, okay, we’ll spend the night here.”

“Peter-”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Peter mutters, finding them a clearing to set up. “Could you get us some firewood?”

Harley frowns, obviously wanting to say more, but he thinks better of it and turns away.

As soon as Harley’s out of sight, far enough away that Peter can’t even hear his footsteps in the crispy leaves, a shadowy figure appears just in Peter’s peripheral vision.

He spins around, eyes wide as he takes in the cloaked figure.

“What do you want?” He says, voice cracking and showing his fear. He can’t really protect himself. Harley might as well be the weapon, the only one capable of negotiating or running or fighting if they have to. Peter’s got nothing.

The shadowy figure steps into the barely-there light of the rising moon. He pulls his hood back and reveals his face. It’s Beck.

“Father?” Peter says, voice lifting an octave as nerves and fear flood through him. He had one rule to follow: stay in the tower. And yet, here he is, soaking wet, chest aching, and in the middle of the forest.

“I’ve been tracking your movements since you fought those guards a few miles back,” Beck says, keeping his voice low. “I didn’t think you’d run off at all, let alone run off with a criminal. You know that’s what he is, don’t you?”

Peter nods silently, tears threatening to spill as he shoves his shaking hands into his pockets.

His father takes a step forward, expression softening. “I’m sure you’ve had a good time skipping through the woods with a wanted criminal, but come home, honey. We can put this whole stupid trip behind us.”

“No!” he says, surprising even himself. “I think… I think he likes me.”

Peter expects anger, he expects Beck to lash out, to force him home, but none of it comes. Instead, Beck runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Likes you? He’s just using you, Peter. Once he gets this back, he’ll leave you.”

Beck tosses the satchel at Peter and it lands at his feet, crown glittering offendingly in the moonlight.

“How did you-”

“Give that to him, see how long he stays,” Beck says. His voice is soft, gentle, as he smooths back Peter’s damp curls. “And when he leaves you with what he wants, you can still come home. To me.”

Peter shakes his head, pulling away from Beck’s hands. He hates that Beck’s being nice. It just makes everything more confusing. He doesn’t want to be locked up in the tower but he can’t be sure that Harley won’t ditch him as soon as they’ve made good on their deal.

“He’s not going to leave me.”

Beck offers one final smile, sympathetic and worrying, and then he pulls his hood over his head and disappears into the shadow.

“Hey, darling?” Harley calls out. “Could you come help me with some of this?”

Peter hurries into motion, hiding the satchel behind a tree before hurrying over to help Harley build and light the fire to keep them warm and hopefully dry them before their trek to the city in the morning.

Soon enough though, Peter lies down in the grass, upset that the childish joy of feeling grass has faded away, and upset that he can’t seem to come up with any good solutions to all the problems this journey’s created.

He watches the moon rise into the sky, stars sparkling, as Harley finished up with the fire a few feet away, making sure they have enough wood to last them the night.

Eventually, Harley lies down beside Peter, just enough space between them that they don’t touch, but close enough that Peter can hear Harley’s heart.

“I couldn’t possibly understand what you’re going through, but this isn’t about the deal anymore,” Harley says, eyes tracing the sky. “I don’t care about you keeping your end of the bargain, I’m not doing this for that anymore. I’m doing this for you.”

“Why?” Peter voice breaks, and he lifts his shaking hands to press the heels of his hands over his eyes. “Why do you care? What’s so special about me?”

Harley turns his head to look at Peter. “You’re the nicest person I’ve ever met, Peter. You’re smart and you’re brave and you’ve just been dealt a lot of poor hands in your life, that’s not your fault.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Peter admits quietly, looking over at Harley through his glassy eyes.

“I can’t make that decision for you, darling. For now, you can sleep and tomorrow we’ll see the lanterns, and then you can decide to do whatever your heart desires, whatever your next big dream is.”

Peter frowns because that doesn’t answer any of his questions, but it does help relieve some of the stress that had been tying his stomach in knots. He lets his hands fall away from his face and instead, he grabs Harley’s hand.

The thief intertwines their fingers, sending a grin at Peter before closing his eyes. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

And even though Peter doesn’t know what in the world he’s going to after tomorrow, even if he’s terrified that this isn’t going to live up to what he’s dreaming it’ll be, even if he’s scared that after tomorrow he’ll never see Harley again, he still closes his eyes with hopeful anticipation.

* Harley feels like his universe has flipped upside down as he spends the day with Peter in the city.

He’s rarely ever been in the city for good purposes, normally thieving or running from the royal guard or from Beck, he spends most of his free time at home on the edge of the city in their little shack they call home.

But this?

Not only is he helping Peter achieve his dreams of seeing the lanterns, he keeps doing things that surprises even him. He buys a loaf of bread for lunch with the few coins he has. He dances with Peter in townsquare with a few other civilians who either don’t recognize him from the wanted posters that litter the city or choose not to report him.

Harley even takes Peter to the library, explaining quietly that his mom used to read to the children at the library when Harley was little.

And Peter, who’s never seen the city before, is lit up like a star the whole day, grin never falling from his face.

There’s this nagging feeling in his chest that he tries his best to ignore because he finds himself staring blatantly at Peter all throughout the day. Watching him smile brightly or ramble excitedly about everything and anything or watching him dance around the townsquare to the folksy music, smile never leaving his face, laughing breathlessly when Harley trips over his own feet.

Either Peter doesn’t notice Harley’s stare, or he does but doesn’t realize what it means. Either way, Harley doesn’t stop staring. He doesn’t care if Peter sees or anybody else sees him, smiling back at Peter like he’s hopelessly in love.

There’s some anxiety that twists in his stomach. There’s still a good chance Peter’s only using him to leave the tower, and as soon as he’s seen the lights, he’ll make good on his end of the bargain and that’ll be it. There’s a chance that Peter won’t want to stay with him in the city. There’s a chance Peter will choose his tower and Beck over Harley and freedom.

“C’mon, I’ve picked a good spot,” Harley says, reaching out to loop his arm through Peter’s. There’s a flash of confusion that flickers over Peter’s expression, but before Harley can dwell on it, Peter’s grinning again.

“Lead the way, Harley!”

They walk out to the edge of the city where the boats are docked and Harley guides Peter to one of them, helping him into it before he slides in after.

Harley does the rowing while Peter looks around in the same childishly naïve way he had earlier. It’s hard for Harley to even imagine the kind of life Peter’s lived, cooped up without being allowed to leave ever.

Harley’s lived the opposite, growing a garden with Abbie near their home, going swimming in the ocean, running through the forest (away from royal guards, maybe, but still), campfires every weekend.

“Look!” Peter exclaims, attention turning to the sky as the first of the lanterns are raised, the emblem of the city, an upside down triangle in a circle, glowing bright.

He finds that he has a lot of these moments where Peter watches the world with his childlike wonder and Harley watches Peter.

“Here,” Harley murmurs. “I’ve got you another gift.”

From underneath his bench in the boat, he reveals the two lanterns he’d bought in the city earlier without Peter realizing.

Peter’s eyes widen and the browns of his irises are sparkling as lanterns begin to fill the sky around them. His cheeks are flushed a beautiful pink, and he’s sporting a wide smile like his days just keep getting better.

Harley’s never participated in the lanterns, not since the first year after his mom died and he took Abbie, just a baby at the time, out to see them. They couldn’t afford lanterns, but it was nice enough to watch. Sometimes, they’ll still sit out on the beach just beyond their cabin to watch them, but even then, it’s not really tradition.

“I figured you’d want to participate,” Harley says, offering a smile as he lights the lanterns and hands one of them to Peter who’s practically glowing with excitement.

Peter’s smile is one Harley doesn’t think he’ll ever forget as they lift their lanterns into the sky together. They watch as their lanterns join the thousandth of others that join the King and Queen’s in the sky above, lighting up the city.

“Listen,” Peter says, eventually. His hands are trembling, just enough that Harley notices, and the thief takes one of his hands, intertwining their fingers. “I was scared before, I didn’t think you’d bother sticking around once you had what you needed, but, the thing is, I’m not scared anymore, you know what I mean?”

From under his own bench, Peter lifts up Harley’s satchel. The one he’d taken when Harley had mistakenly stumbled into his tower to hide from the royal guards. The one that contained The Missing Prince’s Crown, the same crown that would feed him and Abbie for weeks.

But Harley doesn’t care. He doesn’t want the stolen crown, he doesn’t care about the deal they made. He cares about Peter. No matter how much he tried to convince himself it would be better if he didn’t.

“I’m starting to,” Harley says, pushing the satchel away.

Even if Harley grew up with all the freedom in the world, Harley never knew what it felt like to care. He only ever let himself care about Abbie, anybody else was too much of a hassle, there was too much to bargain.

But Peter grew up loving everything and anything, heart so full of love to give.

Harley’s starting to get it.

With his free hand, Harley cups Peter’s face watching the younger boy blush, a shy smile touching his face. Harley leans forward, recklessly uncaring about consequences.

Their lips are about to touch when Harley sees two figures on the land across from where they’d started. One of the figures points at Harley, crooking their finger.

Harley squints and he makes out both their faces. Beck and Abbie.

Abruptly, he pulls away from Peter, hands fumbling for the oars. “Sorry, I just- I remembered something. Got places to be, people to see, you know.”

It’s obvious that Peter doesn’t know and there’s hurt flashing in his eyes as he nods like he gets it.

But Harley doesn’t have the time to explain it all to Peter. As much as he was starting to like Peter and as much as he really did want to kiss him, Abbie comes before everything.

“Stay here,” Harley says, almost beggingly because as much as he’ll play it off as nonchalant, he doesn’t want to lose Peter to Beck. He doesn’t want Peter to go back to living, cooped up in that tower. He doesn’t want to stay goodbye. “I’ll be back. I promise.”

For good measure, he picks up the satchel. It doesn’t have much, but he hopes he can bribe Beck into giving Abbie back.

“What do you want?” Harley demands as soon as he’s out of earshot of the boat and Peter.

Beck steps out of the shadow, flipping a knife in his hand. “What I want is simple, Mister Keener. I want my kid back. The one that you took from me.”

“I didn’t take him. He asked me to show him to the city.” Harley barely manages to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He has to play it safe with Abbie on the line.

“Well, I have a feeling he’d choose you over me, and we can’t have that, can we? I need a magical child, so it’s either Peter or Abbie, Mister Keener. It’s your choice, really.”

And it’s unfair, it’s cruel to ask Harley to pick, and it’s worse that he knows who he has to pick. “What do you want me to do?”

Beck laughs coldly. “Take your precious satchel and take the boat back to the city. Turn yourself in to the guard. In return, I’ll send Abbie on her merry way and take Peter back to the tower with me.”

“And if I don’t?”

Beck snaps twice and two men show themselves from nearby. They’re both tall and broad, sporting the same cold smiles as Beck. “I’ll track you both down. I’ve got plenty of contacts within the city.”

“And what? You kill us?”

One of the men shrugs. His voice is low when he speaks, “Turn you in and keep the girl. I could use some extra cash with that hair.”

Harley squares his shoulders, clenches his jaw and nods. “Fine. You win, Beck. I’ll go.”

“Good. It was nice doing business with you, Mister Keener.”

Harley lied. He got on a boat the moment he got his stupid satchel back. Didn’t even bother to say goodbye.

Peter only had to make it a few miles into the forest, alone and hurt, before Beck found him, wrapped him up in his cloak and a warm hug, and escorted him the rest of the way back to the tower.

As much as Peter desperately wants to believe Harley, wants to believe that there had to be a reason behind Harley disappearing like he did, there’s no reason he should believe a criminal over his father, the one’s supposedly been trying to keep him safe for his entire life.

“I’m sorry this happened to you, Peter,” Beck says when they make it back to the dark safety of the tower. “I really wish he was a good guy, but you shouldn’t have gotten your hopes so high. He’s just a criminal who wanted to sell that crown for money. He didn’t care about you, but I do. I care. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Peter tries to offer a grateful smile through the tears that fill his eyes. “I know. It still sucks.”

In an attempt to help, Beck reveals a box on the table. “I got you that paint you wanted. You’ve got enough to last you at least the year.”

It doesn’t make Peter feel even remotely better. Painting for the year, means that he’ll be in the tower for the year. Cooped up and trying to waste his time painting the walls.

But he sees the attempt at a peace offering. “I’m going to, um, head up to my room. I just want to be alone for a little bit?”

His father smiles gently and brushes back Peter’s curls. Peter can’t help but to miss Harley’s touches. “Of course. I’ll make you some dinner.”

Peter nods and tries to smile back before he ducks off to his room.

He collapses into his bed, trying to stifle his cries as best as he can in his pillow. Harley lied, he betrayed him, he made Peter feel like he really cared. And despite all that, Peter misses him.

His hands are shaking again so he stuffs them in the pockets of his dirty overalls, only to feel something.

A handkerchief. One that Harley had bought him in the city that morning. It’s just a simple blue cloth with the city’s symbol, an upside down triangle in a circle, embroidered into the center in gold.

He holds it up above his head, squinting at it through his tears.

A memory of a man with the same symbol on his shirt, smiling down at Peter. There’s a crown sitting on his head, a crown that looks remarkably similar to the one Harley had stolen.

Peter jerks, blinking up at the ceiling where the same symbols shine down on him, incorporated in all the paintings covering his room.

“That’s The Missing Prince, it’s what the lanterns are for,” Harley had said when he saw Peter looking at the mural. “He disappeared when he was a baby. The King’s still hoping he’ll make his return one day.”

“I’m going to keep you safe, il mio bambino.” It’s the King, the one in his memories.

Peter, clutching the square of fabric in his shaking hands, stumbles up to his feet. It’s the answer to all his questions, but he doesn’t know if it’s the answer he wants.

“I’m The Missing Prince,” he says out loud like it’ll make it feel real.

He remembers the story Harley told of the Missing Prince. How somebody had broken into the tower and stolen the prince right under everybody’s noses, how there were search parties for two years straight through the city and forest in search of the prince before The Queen decided if they hadn’t found him yet, they probably never would.

Peter remembers the stories and if he’s right about being the missing prince, that means Beck kidnapped him. That means all these years of being locked in the tower with Beck were so nobody would find him, not to keep him safe. It was for selfish reasons.

That means that maybe Harley was right all along. That means that he’s living with a villain.

He makes it out into the hallway when he sees Beck, standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“Is everything okay?” Beck says, the picture perfect caring father.

“I’m the missing prince,” Peter repeats, channeling as much confidence as he can. “Aren’t I?”

Peter’s seen Beck angry before. Normally when it had been too long since he’d used Peter’s powers for his own good, but never like this. He’d never seen Beck look this angry.

“Do you even hear yourself?” he asks, glaring at Peter as he starts up the stairs towards him. “What did that criminal get into your head?”

“All this time,” Peter says, clenching his trembling hands into fists as he meets Beck halfway. “All this time, I was hiding from people who would abuse my power, but I should’ve been hiding from you.”

Beck rolls his eyes like Peter’s just a child throwing a stupid tantrum. “And where will you go? Your criminal can’t help you now.”

“What did you do to him?”

“He’s turned himself in to the guard,” Beck replies, voice sickly sweet. He reaches out and touches Peter’s hair. “He’s to be hanged for his crimes.”

Peter freezes, shock running him cold. Harley’s going to die.

The man he once called his father, once loved like family, smiles down at him cruelly, and Peter shoves him away, doesn’t want him touching Peter’s hair, doesn’t want him so close.

Beck stumbles and falls down the stairs into the vanity where the mirror shatters across the floor.

“No!” Peter shouts, frozen in place. “I won’t let you use my power anymore! I won’t let you keep me here!”

But Beck smiles coldly, picking himself up from off the floor. “You say that like you have a choice.”

* “Hey!” Harley shouts, uselessly trying to pull away from the hands on his arms. His wrists and ankles are cuffed, he’s being taken to his death, but all he really cares about is Peter.

Peter, the sweet naïve boy who just went home with an awful man. A liar. Somebody who threatened Abbie and forced Harley to turn himself in. All he cares about is needing to get Peter out of that tower and safe.

They drag him out into the dirt pit where his execution will take place. One of the royal guards starts reading the list of things he’s done, the majority of them thieving and resisting arrest, all of which he’s aware he’s done. He gets that they’re just following protocol.

“Wait,” Somebody calls out, voice calm and commanding.

Everybody turns their heads up to where the voice came from and there’s a collective gasp as they recognize the man standing tall in the stands.

The guards holding Harley’s arms drop to one knee, a sign of respect for the king that stands strong.

Other than the day of the lanterns, the King never makes appearances in public, leaving all of the responsibilities up to the Queen.

“I’m officially acquitting Mister Harley Keener of all charges,” Tony Stark says, expression never changing from the uncaring mask of the King. “I would like to speak with him.”

Harley doesn’t do much but stare at the King as his cuffs are all removed and he’s given a not-so-gentle shove towards the stairs out of the stadium.

“What? I don’t understand. Sir, not that I want to die, but I don’t deserve to be acquitted after I’ve done nothing but cause harm to your city,” Harley argues as soon as he gets up to face the King.

Up close, Tony is obviously unwell. He’s pale and the dark circles under his eyes tell a story of their own. He looks wearily at Harley like he couldn’t be bothered to try to explain his thought process.

But he sighs and beckons Harley to follow as he starts walking. “A certain someone showed up at the castle gates demanding to be heard. She’s well-known around the city.”

“Abbie.” Harley doesn’t need to think twice. There are not many people who would vouch for him. The list had been up to two people as of yesterday, but he assumes Peter hates him too after what went down.

The King smiles. “Yes. She was quite the character. Down to earth, but the most stubborn person I’d ever met. She said you’d been stealing food for her, and you pawned off all the jewelry you took from the castle for food as well. That doesn’t sound so bad, does it?”

Harley has no idea how to answer a question like that. “I’m sorry about your son. I can’t even imagine how hard that would be.”

“That’s actually what I’m here to ask you about,” Tony continues, leading them towards the bridge that connects to the forest. “I know you’re one to do a lot of travelling to make your money and to stay away from my guards. You’re quick on your feet, obviously a smart guy.”

“You want me to find him, don’t you?”

There’s already some thought that it could be Peter. It would be fair to assume as much. Same first name, same magic. But Abbie has magic too, he can’t jump to conclusions. Not with something this important.

Tony offers another weary smile. “I would forever be in your debt. I know it’s been eighteen years, but… I just need closure.”

“Take care of my sister, would you?”

As soon as Tony nods, Harley takes off into the forest, only one thing on his mind.

* Peter flinches when he hears Harley call out.

He’s alive, at least, but he won’t be for long if he does this.

“Peter!”

The prince listens to the sound of Harley scaling the side of the tower, unable to do more than make muffled cries through the gag in his mouth.

Harley lands on the ground, eyes widening at the sight of Peter, chained to the ground and gagged. He’s sure he’s bruised, right eye swelling shut and blood filling his mouth, but he doesn’t care. He just wants Harley to run and never look back if it keeps him safe.

There’s nothing he can do but cry as Beck steps out from the shadows behind Harley and plunges the knife into Harley stomach.

The blood spreads almost instantly, flowering out on the front of Harley’s dirty shirt.

Peter sobs, pulling uselessly at the chains that hold him down. If Peter had never asked Harley to take him to the city, if he’d followed Beck’s rules, maybe Harley would still be okay. He could’ve lived out his life, however long, with Abbie.

Instead, he’s going to bleed out in this awful tower that’s built on nothing but lies.

“Look at what you’ve done, Peter,” Beck tsks, tossing the knife to the floor carelessly. He crosses the room to grab Peter’s chains, pulling him towards the trapdoor that leads out of the tower. “We’re leave and I’m going to take you somewhere where nobody will ever find you again.”

Peter lets out a muffled shout, pulling at his chains and fumbling to get to Harley who’s fallen to the ground, curled up and bleeding.

“Stop fighting me,” Beck mutters, yanking Peter backwards, hard enough that his gag comes loose.

“I’ll never stop fighting you!” Peter cries. “I will never stop trying to get away from you. Unless you let me heal him. Please, if you let me heal him, I’ll go with you. I won’t run, I won’t fight. I’ll be what you want me to be, just let me heal him.”

Harley groans out a muffled argument, but it falls on deaf ears.

Rolling his eyes, Beck grabs another set of chains to match Peter’s, and after making sure Peter’s secure, Beck ties Harley to one of the support beams among the broken glass.

“Just so you don’t get any ideas,” Beck hisses, making sure the chains are tight around Harley.

As soon as his chains are loosened, Peter hurries right to Harley’s side, carefully pulling his shirt up to assess the wound.

“Don’t,” Harley wheezes, pushing Peter’s hands away.

“I can’t let you die.” Peter’s voice breaks and he tries his best to keep his tears at bay. It’s for the best.

Harley’s glassy eyes meet Peter and through his coughs, he lifts one of his hands to cup Peter’s cheek. “You’ll die if you go.”

Peter tries his best to smile reassuringly through his tears. “I have to do this.”

Harley opens his mouth to argue when Peter’s hand closes over a piece of sharp glass and he holds it up, turning to crouch protectively between Harley and Beck.

“You can’t win if we both die,” Peter says, eyes wide and glass trembling in his grip, digging into his palm.

“Darling, please-” Harley chokes out, reaching out to stop Peter.

But Peter doesn’t dare look back, keeps his attention on Beck’s cold gaze. That’s why, he doesn’t see Harley grabbing the bloody knife from the floor.

Without a second thought, Harley throws the knife with the last of his energy.

Beck doesn’t have the time to react and the knife hits it’s mark in the center of his chest. He sinks to the floor, blood pooling beneath him.

“Harley!” Peter gasps, dropping the glass and grabbing Harley’s shoulders. Harley’s eyes are closed already. Harley died for him. “Please, please no. You can’t have him. Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine. Make the clock reverse. Bring back what once was mine.”

When nothing happens, when the wound doesn’t heal like it was supposed to, Peter gives in to the tears and he leans his forehead against Harley’s chest as he cries. His power can heal wounds, it can keep people young, but it can’t bring people back to life. There’s an extent to his power.

“Bring back- Bring back what once was mine,” Peter whispers again, voice breaking as more tears spill down his cheeks onto Harley’s shirt. “Please.”

And then, like a miracle, Harley sucks in a breath, eyes fluttering open.

“Harley!” Peter breathes, eyes widening as the golden magic swirls in the air around them, and they watch as Harley’s wound stitches itself back up. His magic might not be able to bring people back to life, but love is a special kind of magic.

The prince throws his arms around Harley’s neck, tucking his face in the crook of Harley’s shoulder as he tries to get a hold of his crying. Harley’s arm wraps around his waist, and he presses a kiss to Peter’s temple.

“We’re okay, darling,” he murmurs, hugging Peter close like he’ll never let him go again. “It’s going to be okay.”

But it’s not okay. Not really. They’re covered in blood, Harley killed a man, the same man that stole Peter’s childhood from him. The same man who’d stolen the past eighteen years of his life and kept him hidden in a tower when Peter could’ve been with his parents.

“You were my new dream,” Peter admits, hands curling into Harley’s shirt. “After the lanterns, you were- All I wanted was you. You were my new dream.”

“And you were mine,” Harley says, sighing in relief and pressing his lips to Peter’s forehead.

It’s not okay, but they’ve got each other and that’s all that mattered.

* “I’m scared,” Peter says, squeezing Harley’s hand. He’s yet to heal himself, yet to change out of the same pair of overalls he’d been wearing since the beginning of their adventure which are dirty and bloodstained and ripped. He knows he must look like a disaster, but Harley smiles at him like he’s the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.

“It’s going to be okay,” Harley replies, squeezing Peter’s hand back. He’s said that a lot since they left the tower a few hours earlier.

Harley pushes open the doors to the castle where the King and Queen are waiting.

Peter remembers the King. He remembers his dad, even if it is only a single memory.

“Peter?” he says, eyes widening and jaw dropping. He crosses the room slowly as if moving too fast will make Peter disappear.

“Hi, Dad,” Peter says, blinking back tears.

His dad’s there immediately, drawing him into a warm hug, the kind of hug Beck never gave him, and kissing the crown of his head. “Il mio bambino.”

And then his mom is there, hugging from behind and holding him just as lovingly. Peter’s knees buckle at the sheer amount of love he feels, the relief of finally being reunited with his parents, and they all sink to the floor, drawing in close.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Harley with his arm around a girl’s shoulders, a girl who he assumes is Abbie, both of them pretending to give the family space.

But Peter reaches his hand out, offering a watery smile, and when Harley takes it, he pulls the two of them into the hug.

“You’re part of our family now too,” Peter says certainly, smiling so wide he thinks his face will break. He’s only had this family for sheer minutes, but it already feels so much better, warmer, more loving, than Beck and the tower had ever been.

At last, Peter sees the light. It’s warm and real and bright. The world has shifted.

Now that he has them.

Taglist: @littlemissagrafina @spideygirl2003 @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @tonystarkweneedyou {Let me know if you want to be removed or added}

#lyss writes #parkner #parley #irondad #harley keener #peter parker #tony stark #Irondad and Spiderson #irondad fic #parkner fic #harley keener/peter parker #Tangled AU #this is my first time with a taglist which is pretty cool

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great-jenna-bake-off · 4 years ago

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Season 3 Episode 9: Fraisier Cake

I thought working from (and spending literally all my time at) home would give me more time to bake, but then I got a puppy and my life got turned upside down. She's very cute, but man does she take up a lot of time that I could otherwise be spending baking. Or eating. So maybe it's for the best that I got a puppy.

Anyway, I finally managed to get my act together long enough to make my next bake: a Fraisier cake. We're getting toward the end of the season, so the technical bakes are getting harder and more esoteric. I have certainly never heard of a Fraisier cake, let alone eaten one, but at first glance it didn't look... that hard? It's basically a sponge cake with some creme patissiere, decorated with fresh strawberries and marzipan. How hard could that be? (Famous last words...)

https://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/fraisier_cake_75507

The first step was to make the actual cake portion of the Fraisier cake. The recipe calls for "self-raising flour", and after a few recent improvisations with less than ideal results, I decided to just shell out for the actual ingredient. However, this new strategy hit a speed bump when the recipe called for an "electric hand whisk", which, as mentioned previously, I do not own. No matter; surely I could kick it old-school and rely on my own brute strength to mix the cake ingredients by hand as they heated on the stove top.

This will definitely not create any problems for me down the line...

Editor’s Note: If you’re thinking to yourself, some of these pictures seem smaller than usual, you would be correct. If you’re also thinking to yourself, Jenna is probably too lazy to figure out how to resize them and make them consistent, you are also correct.

According to the recipe, I would be done when the mixture had doubled in volume and was pale in color.

Looks pale to me?

Next, it was time to add the all-important self raising flour.

Gently folded in as to keep in the air that I painstakingly whipped up by hand.

And voila; cake batter was ready to go into the oven.

Looks good so far!

I thought I was off to a good start, but as soon as my cake came out of the oven, I realized I was in trouble. The recipe specifies that the cake should be about 2 inches in height, as you need to slice it in half to make two layers. Mine was... not.

It's like... half an inch, maybe?

Uh oh. Maybe that hand whisking didn't do the trick after all. Still, the cake looked reasonably tasty, so I decided to just move on and start my creme patissiere. First, I had to boil my milk and vanilla pod.

This smelled really nice.

Then it was time for some more whisking: this time of eggs, cornflour, sugar, and kirsch, which is a cherry-flavored brandy.

Fun fact: kirsch is pretty disgusting on its own. Wilson volunteered to drink what I didn't use in this recipe, which was fine by me as it tasted like nail polish remover. Do not recommend.

Finally, I had to whisk the egg mixture and the hot milk together.

My whisking arm is getting a workout today.

Then, I needed to put the mixture back on the stove and watch it very carefully, as in about four minutes the mixture would thicken very quickly. Well, four minutes came and went, and nothing happened. I diligently kept my eye on it, but it definitely did not appear to be approaching a texture that was "thick enough to pipe", per the recipe.

Nothing happening yet...

So finally, I committed a cardinal GBBO sin. I took my eye off the stove for JUST A MINUTE to wash the dishes. And when I came back, my creme patissiere had turned into this:

Uh oh.

I have never made a creme patissiere before. But I have eaten it, and I know it's not supposed to be THIS thick. It's supposed to be velvety and creamy and delicious, while this was more of an... eggy gloop? But hey, it was certainly thick enough to pipe. Maybe the next step of adding butter would help.

Spoiler alert: it didn’t!

So my creme patissiere looked like mashed potatoes. If I were on the show, this is where I would realize I had gone horribly wrong and would toss this creme in the bin before starting over. But, given that I would not actually be serving my food to Paul and Mary, I decided to soldier on. After all, at least my creme was thick enough to pipe. Maybe this was what I was supposed to do after all? So I stuck the creme patissiere in the fridge to cool and crossed my fingers that I would somehow have a delicious, smooth creme when it came out.

Maybe this doesn’t look so bad??

The final step before assembly was to make a lemon syrup, which thankfully was pretty simple after all the missteps I’d already made in this recipe. However, I soon found myself facing another problem: I needed to roll out a layer of marzipan to put on top of my cake, but I had left my rolling pin at Wilson’s house (we made a chicken pie). Luckily, I had a substitute:

When in doubt, break out the wine.

And hey, it actually did the trick.

Who needs a rolling pin?

Finally, it was time to put my cake together. First, I faced the problem of slicing my extremely thin sponge into to layers. I took a deep breath and hoped for the best...

Not actually that terrible.

With some creative construction work, I was able to get two fairly even layers.

No one will ever know.

And now, it was time to stack. In an ideal world, I would have had a strip of acetate plastic to line my springform pan with and had a beautiful, clean surface to work on. But I didn’t even have a rolling pin handy; obviously I don’t have acetate lining around. So plastic wrap would have to do.

If it works, it works.

Then it was time to turn my attention to my strawberries. I picked out the prettiest, most evenly sized ones I could find, and halved them.

At least these turned out pretty.

And then, it was construction time. First, I put in a layer of cake, brushed it with lemon syrup (my pastry brush was also at Wilson’s, so really I spooned on the syrup), and then added a “little crown of strawberries”, as per the recipe.

Regal.

Next, it was time to see if my creme patissiere had magically transformed into the right texture in the fridge.

Nope, still lumpy. But at least it was pretty solid...?

I added some more chopped strawberries on top.

At least the strawberries will taste good.

Then it was time for the rest of my “creme patissiere”, if you can even call it that at this point.

So lumpy.

And then finally, I put on the other half of the cake, spooned over some more syrup, and topped it off with my marzipan. The recipe specified that I should melt some chocolate and make “pretty” decorations, and honestly I kind of wanted to call it a day given all my struggles and just forgo the chocolate. But in the spirit of the competition, I gave it a go anyway:

There is no design to this chocolate, this is the epitome of winging it.

I left the whole godforsaken mess to cool in the fridge overnight. In the meantime, it was time to check in with the bakers to see if they’d fare any better than I did with this Fraisier cake.

***

Mel starts off by referring to a Fraisier cake as a well-known celebration cake, which is certainly news to me.

Must be more popular in the UK, I guess.

The bakers start off by making a genoise sponge, and surprisingly, James chooses to whisk his by hand as well.

Dedication.

However, after seeing Dani’s batter, I can see that I have clearly not even come close to whipping mine for long enough.

This explains the lack of volume in my cake, I guess.

Dani struggles with the creme patissiere, though - she says that hers has “cellulite”.

It’s lumpy like mine, but I never thought to sieve it.

As always, James seems to know exactly what to do.

Such smooth creme.

All the bakers, however, struggle with setting up the acetate.

This makes me feel better about my plastic wrapped cake.

When it comes time to assemble, I can see that my creme is indeed thicker than the bakers’, even Dani’s.

Much more pipeable.

However, this may not be such a bad thing after all - Dani’s cake starts falling apart as soon as she takes it out of the pan, as the creme isn’t set.

Melty cake is never a positive.

In the end, James takes home the gold in yet another technical, with a perfectly risen sponge and a nicely set creme patissiere.

That does look pretty celebratory.

***

It was time for the grand unveiling of my own cake. Would my thin cakes and lumpy creme prove to be my downfall?

First, here’s Mary’s perfect Fraisier:

And here’s mine, complete with chocolate decor:

You can definitely see that the creme isn’t the perfect smooth texture, and my bottom cake especially is a little narrow. But maybe it’s not quite so far off? As always, my judges would be the final arbiters.

***

Matt’s Review: I get the sense that, as time goes on, the bakes are getting harder and harder to transport. So upon Jenna’s arrival I was already impressed that the cake was holding together as well as it did. And that turned out to be important, because the pairing of the layers was the key to this one. I’m always impressed when a food can take a flavor I normally don’t like and recontextualize it in such a way that I become a fan. In this case, that flavor is almond. I really struggle with that flavor normally, and this bake doesn’t disguise it at all. Instead, it pairs it perfectly with the other layers. I think Jenna did an excellent job with all the ratios — this could easily have become a “dislike” for me, but instead it was a joy to eat. All in all, two thumbs up. The cake, and Jenna, made my quarantine a little sweeter.

Wilson’s Review: Well, the consistency is a little off on the creme patissiere. That can be a bit tricky, but the cake is a bit flat, looks like something went wrong with the mixing. Really should be past those kind of errors by now. I like strawberries, and the chocolate added an element of richness that contrasted brilliantly. As for the sponge, while not the prettiest I’ve ever seen, it does taste good - nice and airy. Overall a nice treat for a mid summer snack, once one gets past the first impression.

***

Final Thoughts: The creme patissiere was definitely a bit eggy, which was less than ideal. But all in all, this cake tasted pretty good and looked pretty fancy. The cake layers still felt airy and yummy even though they were thin, and the fresh fruit made for a nice treat. I will absolutely need to practice my creme patissiere though, and remember to NEVER take my eye off the stove. Rookie mistake.

#GBBO #great british bake off #Mary Berry #fraisier cake

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the-black-birb · 5 years ago

Text

2. Early Years

pairing: Ennoshita Chikara x Reader

masterlist

synopsis: The neighborhood boy upgrades from stranger to friend.

With little to keep you amused inside your house and the threat of autumn breezing through all too soon, you had made a habit of sitting outside on your porch, lemonade in hand. Often, you’d sit with a game or a sketchbook to keep yourself busy, but you always found yourself drifting off.

Lately, you’d stop seating yourself on the steps outside your house, where rogue volleyballs would often land, and instead found yourself on top of the trashcan where you could swing your legs freely. You had definitely not sat there because it gave you an easy view over the fence, into the yard of your neighbors. Certainly, your concerns were completely separate from the boy who always stopped by your yard to pick up the volleyballs that flew your way. You hadn’t noticed the way he always asked how your day was, or made sure no matter where the volleyball flew it did not hit you. No, you hadn’t noticed at all.

Yet summer was nearing its end and though you’d been opposed to it at the start, you found yourself wishing you could spend just one more day outside, watching the neighborhood boys play carelessly and listen to their harmless chatter. The solitude you’d felt at the beginning, missing your old friends and school, was soon replaced by the nerves of going to a new school. A new environment, new people, and new challenges. You shivered at the thought of it. Not to mention, the time you’d spent gazing mindlessly at your prince charming would now be spent inside with a notebook in front of you.

You were not pleased, to say the least.

The setting sun and the familiar creak of your mother’s car pulling into the driveway reminded you of the days end, startling you to get off the trash can and instead find you way inside. You huffed, realizing that not a single volleyball had landed in your yard today. The neighborhood boys were getting better, but at what cost?

Still, the arrival of your parents brought new concerns to your mind. Your mother had told you earlier today about some surprise guests, but had opted not to tell you who, to your despair (you see, you’d never been patient enough to like surprises). But to a bored child guests meant an excuse to fuss over your appearance and if dinner was starting soon, you had limited time to put yourself together.

Rushing to your room, you were quick to put a brush to your hair and dress yourself. You had no idea who your special visitors were, but you were certain by the end of the night they’d know who you were. So, you wore your favorite shirt (the one with the cute yokai from the cartoon you watched) and your bright purple shorts that always made you stand out (a few years later, they’d be the bane of your existence. Whenever you looked at them in photos you’d cringe, wondering why your mother let you wear them. But right now, they made your confidence skyrocket and that was all that mattered). Finally, with the daffodil pin your father had gotten you from the carnival pulling your hair back, you were ready for the night. With the confidence of a gymnast getting to their floor, you strut out of your room to greet whichever strangers dared enter your house.

And immediately, you shrunk back into your shell.

Because standing in front of you was quite possibly the most beautiful person you’d ever seen. In your doorway was a woman, average in all sense of the word, and next to her stood the boy whom you’d spent the majority of your summer watching.

Even with all the yelling from his yard, you’d never quite ascertained what his name was and each time he’d come over to retrieve his volleyball you were all too scared to ask. But there was no doubt that the young boy, just a bit taller than you with neat black hair, was the same one you’d been observing.

Face hot, you made your way over to your mother who had been waving you down for… well, you weren’t sure how long. With trained nervousness, your grabby hands wrapped around her legs wear you stood behind her, staring wearily at your so-called guests.

“[F/N],” she laughed, tugging you out from behind her. She’d never been fond of your shy habits. “C’mon, greet our friends!” You weren’t sure what qualifications they met to become your friends, but you were certain your mother would never give up so you found yourself bowing your head and mumbling a timid “welcome,” and letting your head hang to the ground.

Stepping into your view of the ground were two unfamiliar feet in a pair of beat up sneakers. You raised your eyes to see the familiar smiling face of the neighbor boy. While every atom in your body screamed at you to avert your eyes and find your way to your mother’s side once again, his charming smile seemed to overload all of your senses.

“I’m Chikara,” he grinned. “I see you when I play volleyball sometimes.” Oh, you knew he saw you.

“Chi…ka…ra?” you tried out his name on your lips, handling it delicately. For so long you’d waited to know who he was, this all felt too easy. But his name sounded so right on your lips, you didn’t dare question it for a moment.

“I’m [F/N],” you replied shyly and before you could add anything, his hand was firmly in yours. He had a determined look on his face, like he’d been waiting for this chance to show off his skills. His whole face wound up like he was super focused and suddenly you found yourself laughing at him. You stopped, wondering if he’d be offended, but he just started chuckling with you.

With that, your nerves disappeared.

Dinner was relatively easy as your parents covered all the talking for you. Occasionally, your parents would bring up an interest of yours, like the sketches you made or the games you played, and you’d answer with a “yes” or another sort of agreement, but you were left mostly to your own devices. Chikara said across from you, sandwiched between his parents, and although neither of you had much of a chance to talk, he’d make faces across the table at you everyone in awhile to make you laugh. It was comfortable.

Before they could leave, both your parents went into another room to discuss something secret. Your grumbled. Although the company was pleasant, surprises really were no fun.

The silence between you two sat heavy. From the night you’d assessed that Chikara was, without a doubt, delightful to be around. He was funny and had a cute smile and was overall a ball of sunshine. But that didn’t mean he was easy to be around. When he was here, all your words got flustered and mixed up and you felt your stomach doing backflips. So when your parents were gone, you found yourself unable to do much but sit and fiddle with your thumbs.

“I like your shirt,” was his comment that finally broke the ice. Your head shot up, excited to talk about your favorite show.

“Oh yeah?” you asked. “Do you watch it to?” You were bouncing with energy, hoping you’d found someone to indulge in your fun with. Instead you were meant by a sheepish chuckle.

“No, I just thought it looked cute.” Suddenly, your face felt warm. “What channel is it on?” Oh. Soon, you were off talking a mile a minute about the cartoon. It aired every night, the perfect way for you to end your summer evenings, and so you’d watched it religiously. Even with your suddenly fast paced speech, Chikara nodded calmly, following along with you. He was a wonderful listener, you deduced. Another lovely trait to add to the list.

Before you could finish explaining to him why the character on your shirt was the best, your parents were back in the room.

“Now, now, [F/N], let’s calm down,” your father pestered you into a seat where you could all talk freely. Your mothers eyes shone with an excitement you thought was a bit concerning, but you couldn’t ignore the proud look on Chikara’s mother’s face next to her.

A hush fell on the living room as it became clear your mother had something important to share with the group (or rather, with you and Chikara). “We’ve decided,” she announced. “Since [F/N] is unfamiliar with the town and school, Chikara should walk her to school for a bit!”

Your parents cheered together, trying to act like this was a huge moment or turning point. You didn’t really understand why because Chikara was, at this point, just another kid and it was not as if you were spending your whole life with him. Quietly you tried to ignore the excitement rising in your chest and the thought that even if it was not the rest of your life, all of your mornings for the next few years was still a fairly significant chunk of time to spend all with one person.

Next to you, Chikara seemed unfazed by the preposition. Whether his mother had told him in advance or he had the intuition to guess what tonight was about, you were never really sure of. But he had no hesitation in turning to you with a now familiar smile and reaching out to shake your hand once again. “I guess I’ll be seeing you around a lot more, neighbor!”

His hand was warm.

To say the two of you saw each other more was likely an overstatement compared to the time you spend observing him from your lawn. But now instead of being separated by a fence, you were walking side by side and actually talking to one another.

Chikara was, as you had decided early, a delight to be around. As he’d been in school one year more than you, he taught you about all sorts of things in school, like how to get to lunch early by taking a shortcut and how to ask questions so teachers like you. It felt like most of your walks were really him talking at you. As much as you found comfort in his presence, you still had plenty of walls that made you weary of getting too talkative.

On occasion, though, he’d find one topic that made you start rambling nonstop. Sometimes it was a show you’d seen on TV or an assignment you had in school, but somehow you always missed the affection in his eyes when you went on your long tangents. You never managed to see the way all his features softened as he let himself take pleasure in simply listening to you.

Even now when you had certainly walked the route to school enough times to know the way with your eyes closed, he chose to join you. You’d never complain, of course. It was far easier to walk together every morning than to break routine and his presence always made you feel lighter. But these past few days he’d noticed your steps seemed to drag and your energy faltered. As he talked to you, there were less topics that made your eyes shine and sentences spilling out of you.

“What’s wrong?” Chikara asked on the way home, clearly noticing the shift in your behavior. You’d always been fairly simple minded so he was certain if something was bothering you, he could fix it immediately.

You mumbled over your words, not willing to admit to what had been on your mind. Chikara shrugged. “If you’re gonna act like a ghost I guess I could walk on my own…” he teased, pacing ahead of you.

“Wait!” you called out, immediately realizing you’d been lured. Chikara looked at you with a quietly condescending smile that read I knew that would work. You huffed.

“They’ve been teaching us to read…” you explained quietly. “It’s hard.” You weren’t used to failing grades, but you also weren’t used to kanji.

The expression on Chikara’s face wasn’t one you were really familiar with. His bottom lip jutted out like he was deep in thought, but his eyebrows remained relax. His silence gave you a moment to appreciate all his features, which you greatly enjoyed to do.

“I’ll tutor you,” he decided, without giving you time to agree. Soon, he was walking at a brisk pace towards your houses.

“Huh? Wait up!” you hurried towards him. “What’s the rush?” He’d never been one to argue with the pace you set, so you weren’t sure why he was speed walking out of the blue.

“You want to get better fast, right?” was his deadpan answer.

Your mother was more than happen to have Chikara over. Quickly she was making some refreshing lemonade to quench your mind while the two of you worked. Regardless of his own work, Chikara was fully focused on helping you read better.

Despite his kind disposition, when he came over to work with you he was more like a dictator.

After your initial surprise wore off, it started to make sense. He was a model student who got flawlessly good grades, but it wasn’t until now that you realized why. Even at such a young age, he had a bounty of ways to study and focus that had you improving at a lightening fast rate. Learning comes from repetition; he’d drilled into you. Find words wherever you go.

Your study dates (as your ecstatic mother had taken to calling them) became fairly routine in addition to your walks together. Even though your grades had improved, there were still plenty of uphill battles and Chikara, one year your senior, was the perfect person to help you through them.

Still, you wanted to make your understanding more fluid and frequent. You stayed up at night, restless to improve, and found yourself looking around for solutions.

There wasn’t much you did without Chikara staring down your shoulder, but you wanted to prove you could learn without him, too. Letting your mind wander, you stared out your room window trying to pull a plan out of thin air. You stared up at the night sky and all the stars. Find words in constellation? No, that wouldn’t work. Maybe you could find a book to read? But that was frustrating, and it took so much time. Instead, your eyes found the house next to yours and the lights still on from the room that mimicked the position of yours. Suddenly, a plan emerged.

You scavenged your room for an old sketch pad and a dark black marker. On the page in front of you, you wrote a simple message.

Hello. Speak to me?

You found yourself at the window again, opening it this time. Your eyes searched your room for something disposable, yet useful. Grabbing a spare toy from an old happy meal, you chucked the hard-plastic dragon out to hit the window next to you. You tried to stifle your laugh so as not to alert your parents that you were, in fact, still awake.

To your delight, the curtains opened and a familiar, slightly sleepy, Chikara looked out. You proudly held out the sketchpad for him to read, hoping he’d pick up on your strategy.

A proud look shone in his eyes as he walked away from the window. With baited breath you waited for his arrival, hoping he’d come back to indulge you. Never one to disappoint, he soon entered you field of view again with a whiteboard and marker.

Hello. Trying to study?

You grinned proudly at him, rushing to write your response.

Yes. Help me for a bit?

Although your vocabulary was still fairly limited in terms of what you could read on paper, you found yourself talking deep into the night.

A few mornings later, your father pointed out the growing bags underneath your eyes.

With words constantly surrounding you, reading comprehension was soon the least of your worries. Still, you and Chikara kept up your routine of talking through the window even long after he’d stopped coming over for you “study dates” and you hadn’t had a single day that you arrived at school without him beside your side.

Although you’d quickly learned to ignore the butterflies roaring in your gut whenever Chikara smiled and the way you always grew warmer around him, you never stopped appreciating Chikara’s presence next to you. While you grew tumultuously, he was always your rock and anchor to pull you back down to Earth. Sometimes, you’d look at the boy next to you and wonder how you let him remain a stranger. Now, you could not even begin to imagine life without him.

Until, you were forced to.

Taglist: @yogurtkink @scrooodles @heccingdead @unhappyraspberry @desi-studys @fait-de-fleurs @adoring-obi-wan @ryuujisblog @hqkeiji @babiekeiji

#lemonade #ennoshita chikara x reader #ennoshita x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu x you #haikyuu ennoshita #haikyuu ennoshita x reader #haikyuu ennoshita chikara #haikyuu ennoshita chikara x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu fanfiction

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jackdawyt · 4 years ago

Video

youtube

Dragon Age: Inquisition is one of my favourite games of all time. I love everything about this game, from the compelling hero’s journey, to the roster of lovable characters, to making the Inquisitor my very own unique protagonist. Few games compare to the experiences and tremendous moments that Inquisition provides, not to mention the Trespasser DLC which revealed the true intention of the game’s villain, and paved the story forward for future titles.

I think it’s rather telling how good this game is, considering we’re still talking about it nearly 6 years later after launch, discovering new theories and mysterious hidden deep within the lore. Heck, if Dragon Age: Inquisition was a mediocre experience, I don’t think I’d have a YouTube channel today with thousands of recurring views weekly talking about the game, and where the story is going to go since the events of Inquisition.

However, there is something critical that I feel is necessary to discuss regarding Dragon Age Inquisition’s original marketing demos and the expectations they set for the finished game.

Following up to the launch of Dragon Age: Inquisition, I used to obsessively re-watch the first original gameplay demo shown at Pax Prime 2013. At the time the game was in its pre-alpha build, however, there were many impressive features and dynamics showing just a glimpse of what we’d come to expect once we got our hands on the game.

In retrospect, these promises were scrapped before the finished project released.

This post is not meant to be a negative outlook, poking holes at BioWare’s effort, but an investigation and critique into BioWare’s game design, more specifically, the cuts the developers made tackling Inquisition’s complicated release, and how they’ve learned since.

For the uninitiated, Dragon Age: Inquisition released in November, 2014, a month after the next generation of consoles launched. As the game was jammed in-between two gaming generations, it was designed to ship on both the previous generation of consoles (Xbox 360/PS3) and the current generation (XB1/PS4).

In order for the game to predominantly run on the lower spec consoles, many gameplay cuts, downgrades and setbacks were made to the final project.

I’m not talking about conceptual ideas in pre-production that were drafted for the game, like The Architect making a cameo appearance in a “Here Lies The Abyss” alternative twist, or the Hero of Ferelden, Hawke and The Inquisitor meeting up in a potential drafted prologue. Of course, there were plenty of ideas, concepts and story threads that were canned and reworked because the developers had better, and frankly more relevant plans for the game.

I’m talking about actual features and mechanics that were incorporated and designed into the vertical slice demo that was shown off to the fans at Pax Prime 2013, and then were removed later on just before launch.

I would like to point out that the gameplay I’m going to show was alpha footage, and the developers made sure we all understood that it could easily change, nobody lied to us. If anything, BioWare were so eager to show off the next Dragon Age game, that perhaps this was the biggest detriment to the project.

I’ll have the full Pax gameplay demo linked for those who want to watch it fully. But without further ado, I’m going to be revealing the Dragon Age: Inquisition we almost got.

Cut Content:

The demo starts with a significant cut, originally Dragon Age: Inquisition would’ve featured stunning party member cutscenes when entering new areas for the first time. We see Varric, Cassandra and Vivienne discussing how prepared they are since the Inquisition formed. Varric banters that he’s outnumbered by the ladies once again.

We can assume that these dynamic banter cutscenes based on your party members were replaced with Scout Harding’s area report.

The models and textures for the characters and armours look very different too. Cassandra has a more angled facial structure, like her original concept art. And, the Inquisitor’s armour and textures don’t even exist in the final game, I remember attempting to recreate this look, a thousand times over, however, no fabrics in the game have this orange texture.

Helmets also appear in conversations, which is a huge pet peeve of mine, I’m still upset to this day that we can’t see helmets in conversations and there’s no mod to fix it. However, they added this feature in Mass Effect: Andromeda, so maybe we’ll see it in the future.

In general, this demo showed that there was going to be a lot more cutscenes when entering new areas, in party banter, and for minor conversations with smaller characters.

Upon inspecting the gameplay, we can see the camera’s placement was significantly adjusted. The demo had a third-person feel, whereas the game ended up with a pulled back camera, probably to suite the tactical camera for combat. Fortunately, there are mods that actually fix this issue.

The UI has evolved since the demo, there used to be a Skyrim-esqe navigation compass that was replaced with a radar. And the party member icons are different, but that’s just nit-picking.

The combat is more or less the same, however, it does seem more reactive and heftier in the demo. Most likely because the camera is more zoomed into the action. There are some tweaks though, the enemies react more to the Inquisitor’s attacks, the stumble, flail and even run away, as opposed to just taking the damage and then attacking you back.

However, minor these cuts may seem to you; they did change the game a fair amount adding more immersion to the overall experience.

Even so, the most obvious and upsetting cut when watching this demo regards the entirety of Crestwood, the area has been dramatically reduced in the final game.

In this demo, the Inquisitor is given a conflict. One of the Inquisition’s soldiers asks the player how does the Inquisitor want to handle their armies' movements throughout the area.

The Inquisitor could send the Inquisition army to save the town of Crestwood.

They could lead the soldiers to tend to the nearby wounded.

Or they could bolster every solider to the Keep, leaving both the wounded and the town of Crestwood.

Each choice had a consequence, and both Mike Laidlaw and Mark Darrah spoke on having multiple ways to approach the situation. For instance, in the demo’s scenario the Inquisitor decides to leave the town while it’s under siege, instead, they find a secret entrance towards the Keep. Using Antivan Fire, they burn the invaders’ boats which would prevent them from escaping after their attack. The Inquisition take the Keep, and head back to the ransacked town filled with newly fresh corpses. A dynamic cutscene of Varric mourning the dead plays out, adding emotional impact and weight to the decision the Inquisitor just made.

And this was just a side questline...

The demo ends with the developers reiterated the tactical and dynamic approaches when showing the Inquisition taking over the Keep at The Western Approach.

According to Mark Darrah, you could weaken enemy defences by doing things like drawing out the troops or poisoning their wells.

Then, once you claimed the keep for yourself, you’d get a quest called ‘This Water Tastes Funny’, in which your Keep's well was poisoned and you’d have to go find fresh water.

The Keep’s themselves were originally designed to have a lot more influence and reactivity throughout the world. Once captured, the Inquisitor could choose a dynamic choice for the Keep’s overall goal, if you had enough Inquisition agents.

The Keep could be specialised based on the Inquisition’s advisors. You could choose to run your Keep as a Military outpost, boosting fortifications. It could be a Keep of espionage and secrets, for information gathering, or you could make it a Keep of connections and merchants for diplomatic purposes. Each different speciality had a different advantage and aesthetic to suit its purpose.

Adding more choices and roleplaying values for making the Inquisition your own army, having a say in what aspects it should grow in.

That sums up the majority of the cuts made since this demo. I will say it’s unfortunate seeing these unfinished features that shaped the game in a completely different direction, that inevitably couldn’t make it into the finished project.

But I think it’s wrong to pin the blame of this cut content on anyone because the developers were tackling a console generation shift, and they wanted everyone to have the opportunity to play the game without having to get a new console. Can you really blame them for that?

Perhaps many of these features may be designed into a future title since the developers wanted them so much in Inquisition? And speaking of the future title, at least the next Dragon Age game won’t be coming out in between a console generation, it is being designed strictly for next-gen, so there shouldn't be any console setbacks and limitations.

Even still, when Dragon Age 4 does eventually get a gameplay reveal, don’t set your expectations in stone based on that reveal. The finished project will look very different. These days gameplay previews aren’t always accurate, and that’s just a dilemma of the entire games industry, not just EA and BioWare.

Wrapping up on a positive note, BioWare have learned from this experience, and they’re approaching Dragon Age 4 with a “show, don’t tell” strategy. They will be proceeding with caution when marketing and revealing the next Dragon Age game, and that may play a part in why we haven't and won't see anything official for a while.

I don’t think I could end on a better note then the Narrative Director, John Epler’s message about Inquisition’s development. John said: “A good 90% of 'bad' decisions are, in fact, the best decision at the time. Game dev is all about making the best decision you can at the time, with the resources you have. A lot of stuff you thought was weird or awkward came down to a gut call of 'this is the best I can make this and I trust it's good enough'. Sometimes we're right, sometimes not.”

BioWare decided to make these cuts to Inquisition because they realised it was the right thing to do for the entire project, perhaps they felt they couldn’t deliver these features to their full capacity, or they wanted a change of direction. They believe these decisions were made for the greater good of the game, and I commend them for that.

Dragon Age Inquisition is an incredible RPG with tons of personality, that not many games can even mimic. Although the game had some minor setbacks with the fair amount of content that was cut, the game is just as amazing without those initial features.

Like I said, perhaps we’ll see these mechanics in the next game, if not, then at least it has been a learning experience for BioWare, that they can utilise for the development of Dragon Age 4.

In any regard, let me know your thoughts down below on this gameplay demo relating to the finished game, and don’t forget to check out my latest news update!

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highkey-lowkey-as-hell · 4 years ago

Note

if you want to write it, a meet the parents fic but it’s kateva and angst to hurt comfort because i like my heart broken -cotmlc

THANK YOU, CO-PRESIDENT, FOR RELIEVING MY HORRIBLE, TERRIBLE, SOUL-CRUSHING BOREDOM

Also, seeing as this is angst, I’m switching the prompt up just a little. My headcanon is that Eva’s mom is the Best Mom and Kate’s parents are Trying (And Failing A Little But Overall Doing Their Best), so we’re getting Kate’s more-homophobic-grandparents instead for the Angst Factor.

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

Okay, yes, Kate was nervous.

Like, super nervous.

Eva had sworn up and down that she loved Kate no matter what, and while that did help her fear of losing her, she was still scared this afternoon was going to make Eva run away. Even if she didn’t, though, Kate was still expecting hell.

Her maternal grandparents were thoroughly convinced that Kate’s sarcastic, cynical, girls-and-flannel-loving personality was Just A Phase and she’d grow out of it and start wearing pink and giggling and liking guys any moment now. Obviously, that wasn’t happening. When she’d joined the cheer squad, they’d been so excited, Kate almost felt bad about disappointing them.

Almost. She didn’t actually feel bad about it.

Actually, her grandparents were one of the only things that told Kate her mom really and truly supported her sexuality. Sure, she was insecure about it, and had once asked her if she thought it was “just a phase,” but she always defended Kate whenever her grandparents asked if she was interested in anyone and she answered with “Bridget” or “Emily” or “Jennifer.”

Her mom’s mediocre support aside, Kate had been postponing this meeting for as long as she could. She and Eva had officially been together since February, and now it was July. She’d met Eva’s mother, uncle, and siblings, and Eva had met her parents and brothers. She knew for a fact that Eva had Chess’s letter tucked safely in a dresser drawer and that she reread it often. They even regularly said “I love you” now. And yet, her grandparents had only recently even learned Eva existed.

Just like always, Kate and her parents were hosting the Dalton family’s annual 4th of July party. Typically, Kate would be forced to greet everyone and then would run up to her room to read or play on her phone, or - before Derrick and Jack had left for college and gotten so distant - she and her brothers would be in the basement, playing video games Kate probably shouldn’t have been playing when she was ten. Today, though, was going to be a bit different.

Kate’s grandmother had recently joined Facebook without her knowledge, which proved to be problematic at the end of the year. Kate’s mom had made her usual post, congratulating Derrick on finishing his first year of grad school, Jack on his sophomore year of college, and Kate on her junior year of high school. The picture of Kate she had chosen to post was one Eva had posted to Instagram (and one she’d asked permission to use, which Kate and Eva both appreciated) (the caption was very sweet, irrelevant to this story, and was “GCHS cheer fucking sucks but at least I’ve got you, I love you so much”), which was a photo of the two of them after their last cheer competition. In the photo, Eva had her arm around Kate and was kissing her cheek, and it was very obvious that they were a couple.

Kate’s grandmother saw the photo.

Kate’s first reaction when her mom told her was to freeze and think fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck SHIT fuck fuck fuck - which she thought was a very logical first reaction. Her second reaction was freak the fuck out.

One thing had led to another, and now Eva had been invited to join the Dalton family Independence Day celebrations.

She showed up a little bit before everyone else, just because that’s how Eva was, and Kate dragged her down into the basement so she could rant about how scared she was.

“My cousins are just like Lily and they’ll love you and my aunts and uncles are great and Dad’s parents are pretty cool but Mom’s parents are going to hate you,” she ranted, pacing back and forth while Eva watched from the couch. “This might have been a really bad idea.”

“It’ll be fine, Katie,” Eva tried to sooth. “You’ve literally survived a stab wound, they can’t be much worse.”

“My grandparents meeting my girlfriend? Yeah, I think I’d rather get stabbed again.”

“I think you’re overreacting.”

“You won’t think that when they show up.” Kate stopped pacing and hugged herself, trying to calm her anxiety. “Promise you’ll stay?”

“I promise.” Eva stood up and hugged her, and Kate finally managed to breathe. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Kate wanted Eva to hold her like that for the rest of the day, but the doorbell rang and Jack shouted for them to come upstairs and it was time to face the music.

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

Her paternal grandparents showed up first and, like Kate predicted, immediately adored Eva. They’d asked her at least four dozen questions before Kate’s aunt showed up a few minutes later, and as her relatives trickled in, Kate began to suspect that this was turning into less of a “family Independence Day!” party and more of a “Kate’s actually gay and has a girlfriend now, wow, time to overwhelm her” party. She’d made a deal with Jack and Derrick beforehand, having predicted what would happen, and invoked it now, leaving them to entertain their relatives while Kate pulled Eva into the backyard and onto the porch swing, where it would take several minutes for questions to reach them and they had an excuse to be as close as possible.

Kate was hoping her mom’s parents might not show up when her grandfather appeared in the doorway and her stomach sank into her beat-up shoes. He zeroed in on Kate and Eva right away and walked toward them, taking up way more space than he needed to like always.

“Kate, it’s been a while,” he boomed, and Kate winced.

“Hey, Grandpa,” she said, trying not to sound too sarcastic. “This is Eva.” Eva awkwardly waved, then put her hand down.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said, and Kate felt really bad about dragging her into this.

“You must be Kate’s friend,” he nearly yelled (why the fuck did he have to be so loud?) and Kate nearly straight-up attacked him.

I’m basically in her lap right now! What the fuck do you mean, my “friend”?

Jack caught her eye from across the porch and gave her a sympathetic look before looking back at their elderly great-grandmother.

“Girlfriend, actually,” Kate corrected. “We’re dating. We’re a couple. Definitely not friends.”

“Right, of course.” Her grandfather winked at her, and she nearly screamed.

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

The day did not get much better.

When her grandmother came out, she was about as subtle as her husband had been about how she didn’t actually believe Kate and Eva were in love (maybe? In love felt a little bit strong, but it also seemed to be the best term for it and Kate didn’t have time to think of a better way to put it) and thought they were just good friends. Then, when she stood up to go and get her phone so she could show her aunt a picture of their cheer squad and Eva’s hand wasn’t covering her scar anymore, her aunt screamed and brought three people running, pinning all the attention on Kate in a really bad way.

After a few hours, Kate whispered something in Eva’s ear and stepped away, into the garage, trying to catch her breath and calm down. The door opened, and rather than being Eva or one of her brothers like she’d hoped, she opened her eyes to see her grandmother.

“I saw you leave and wanted to make sure you were okay, honey.”

“I’m fine, Grandma. Just needed a moment.” She clenched her teeth and prayed her grandmother would leave. She didn’t.

“Eva seems nice,” she continued.

“She is.” Kate almost started to hope that maybe, maybe, her grandmother would start to take her relationship seriously. “I’m lucky to have her.”

“You seem like really good friends.” Fuck, there it was.

“Okay, you know what? Knock it off!” Kate didn’t mean to blow up, but she couldn’t help it now. “It doesn’t matter how much you deny it, it’s not going to change the fact that I’m not the granddaughter you have in your head! I love Eva, okay? I love someone who’s name is Eva and not Evan. I love her and I’m a lesbian and I’m so tired of you not taking me and my relationships seriously like you do Jack and Derrick!” Then she stormed past her and up to her room, her eyes stinging with tears.

After about twenty minutes, there was a gentle knock on the door.

“Go away,” she mumbled.

“Katie?”

“Oh. You can come in.”

Eva opened the door and then closed it behind herself. “Are you okay? Your grandmother says you totally lost your shit at her.”

“I kinda did.”

“I’m not surprised.” Eva sat next to her, and Kate sat up and crawled into her arms. “They’ve been assholes to us all day.”

“I just really love you, Eva, and I want them to understand that.” Kate’s voice was muffled by Eva’s shirt. “I want them to take you seriously as my girlfriend and stop trying to deny it. I-I want them to accept that I’m not the perfect granddaughter they wanted. I’m not perfect.”

“And thank God. If you were perfect, how would I make fun of you for how atrocious you are at skateboarding? How would I keep you from fighting some people and watch you fight others?” Eva pulled her a little bit tighter and laid down, Kate still curled up in her arms. “I hate your grandparents, but I love you more.”

“Promise you’ll stay?”

“Promise.”

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

Everyone has that one relative who denies your sexuality, right? I’m not out to my family as lesbian, just as ace, and I still think they don’t quite get it. But hey, everyone’s got someone who has their back, right? I hope this was angsty enough!!!!!!

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twentiethcenturymoviesandtv · 4 years ago

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Carnival of Souls: Genre and Themes

A Haunted Heroine drawn to an Amusement Park of Doom, while being pursued by what appears to be The Grim Reaper? Can Carnival of Souls be anything but horror?

Every story ever created, no matter how unconventional, has to fall into at least one category of something we call genre. Put simply, genre is the sum of similarly themed parts that come together to tell a story. It’s shorthand, giving the audience a clue as to what kind of story they are about to see. And in almost every case, it’s never as simple as it seems.

Characters, storylines, settings, and even themes often correspond to different genres. As we’re seeing in our science-fiction study, a common theme is man’s relationship with technology, his own creations. With fantasy stories typically comes the central idea of ‘good vs. evil’. It’s actually rather helpful to evaluate the categorization of stories, in this case, film, as it not only sets up our own expectations of the story, it also helps us expand the boundaries of genres as their limits are tested.

All of this is to say that today, we’re looking at the elements of Carnival of Souls to decide, very simply, what genres it is, and what genres it is not, and more importantly, why. Let’s take a look. (Spoilers below!)

To start, let’s see how Carnival of Souls fits in with the genre most people seem to put it in: horror.

The story of Carnival of Souls is one of surreal horror. Our protagonist, Mary Henry, finds herself narrowly escaping death (she hasn’t, of course, but she doesn’t know that), and spending the rest of the film pursued by a haunted amusement park, creepy organ music, and visions of ghouls determined to chase her down. Stalked by a Silent Antagonist with a Slasher Smile, Mary is overwhelmed by nonsensical encounters. She doesn’t know what’s going on, and as a result, the audience is on edge too.

The horror element also has a lot to do with the ending. The Dead All Along trope is typically seen in horror films, occasionally in horror-comedies such as Beetlejuice or Topper. Traditionally used as one final, horrifying twist, this plot point is most effective in storylines that have kept up a sense of unease, which Carnival of Souls excels at. The entire story feels uncanny, the protagonist (and all the other characters) just a little bit off, rendering the mystery just that much more intriguing.

The protagonist, the creepy setting, the ghoulish antagonist all certainly render Carnival of Souls a horror film, but a horror film alone it is not. Remember that ‘mystery’ I mentioned earlier? That plays a part here too.

Throughout the film, there is a definite feeling of aforementioned unease as various unexplained things happen that draw the audience’s curiosity. Mary survives the car wreck alone and unharmed, with no sign of the car or the other passengers. She can’t remember what happened, and never seems to want to, but that doesn’t mean that there is no mystery. Mary’s storyline serves as clues to the audience, for them to piece together what has happened and why. How did Mary survive? Why is The Man after her? Why does she keep popping in and out of reality?

As the ending explains to those who had not already figured it out, the answer to the mystery is that Mary is already dead, again, despite the fact that neither Mary, nor any other character in the film are concerned with solving it. The puzzle is never addressed in the narrative itself except once in passing by the doctor Mary goes to see, it is there for the benefit of the audience, a rather curious styling for a mystery, but a mystery nonetheless.

The two genres, horror and mystery, blend together seamlessly, with the horror feeding the mystery and vice versa throughout the entire plot. This would be enough for categorization in and of itself, and indeed, Carnival of Souls is typically classified as a horror/mystery, but there’s a little more to it than that: for example, the genre that best bridges horror and mystery: Thriller.

The thriller’s purpose is simple: to get a reaction out of the audience. As such, many horror films also fall into the category of ‘thriller’, as do many mysteries. Their goal is to surprise, to startle, to intrigue, to build anticipation and anxiety. All of this, Carnival of Souls does well. Extremely well, in fact.

Whether it’s the slow, subtle sense that something isn’t right that extends through Mary’s organ practice or the jump-scare sudden appearance of The Man, or the edge-of-your-seat terror that comes with the horde of Undead chasing Mary from the Carnival, Carnival of Souls keeps the reactions coming. Through clever camerawork, music, and overall mood, the film keeps the audience jumping, even though the actual violence and scares within are fairly tame. The ‘thrills’ are not of a visual nature, they are mostly psychological, the uncertainty of Mary’s fate. Even if you are not outright frightened by the film, the tension is still there.

All of these genres are fairly obviously displayed within the film itself, and weave together perfectly. However, there is one more genre, one that Carnival of Souls could technically fall into, that doesn’t seem to fit at all: fantasy.

When we think fantasy, we tend to think of films closer to Ladyhawke, or The Wizard of Oz (both of which have already appeared on this blog!). Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, or Labyrinth all seem much more like fantasy stories than the grim, real-world Carnival of Souls.

However, fantasy does not automatically mean sword-and-sorcery style stories (say that five times fast!). As a matter of fact, boiled down to basics, fantasy is merely a story with an element of the extraordinary, and in that, Carnival of Souls seems to fit.

Right alongside with that ‘surrealist horror’ angle of before, there is an almost mystical element to Mary’s haunting. Unlike examples of science fiction, the haunting is never explained. Only the audience’s inference gives meaning to the pursuit of Death. It is never stated why The Man chases Mary, or why she sees him at all, it is our own interpretation that explains that it is because she has died, and no longer belongs in the world of the living.

All the same, does that make this film a fantasy movie?

Well, sort of. To be honest, this film is rather hard to figure out.

In many of the other genre articles on this blog, we discuss how to determine the genre of a film with elements of several. Usually, it boils down to two questions:

Question 1: What type of story is this?

Question 2: What type of hero/protagonist is this?

With that in mind, Carnival of Souls is…..hard to pin down. As I mentioned earlier, the basic story elements would make this film a Horror/Mystery/Thriller, but as for character? Mary is very hard to pin down.

Like I said in a previous article, Mary has very little personality to speak of. She is a loner, taken in bouts of hysteria due to the fear of being pursued by The Man. She has no drive, no motivation, and we know very little about her personality because her story has already ended. She is already dead.

She is alternatively cold and hot, intense or distant, as she fades in and out of reality. As such, we as an audience never get a good handle on her character. However, due to the way she is played, and the way she is framed within the narrative, it’s a little easier to tell her place in the story and how it affects the genre.

Her part in the story is to be haunted, to run, to be frightened, to be drawn to the carnival. Her part in the story is passive, reacting to the horror of her situation.

All of that is to say, Carnival of Souls is an effective horror/mystery/thriller, with a dash of fantasy, unique and memorable enough that this film stands out as something different nearly sixty years later.

Thank you all so much for reading! Stay tuned for next time, when we’ll be discussing the character(s) of Carnival of Souls. I hope to see you all in the next article!

#Film #Movies #Carnival of Souls #Carnival of Souls 1962 #1962 #60s #Horror #Mystery #PG #Candace Hilligoss #Sidney Berger #Herk Harvey

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love-can-be-as-cold-as-grave · 5 years ago

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Chapter 33: You’re All I Ever Wanted

[December 31, 2020]

Liv looked over her shoulder, mischievously grinning at the sleeping lump hidden beneath the black covers, an intricately tattooed hand sticking out from one corner. She turned back to peek through the glowing slit in the ebony curtains. I’ll never get sick of this view, she thought, watching the light snow falling in delicate flurries upon the already blanketed backyard. Pressed in to the sweeping blanched yard were the small imprints of birds and critters. Tucked to the side were their bicycles, hidden beneath a tarp, awaiting the spring.

Grabbing the corner of the curtains Liv pulled them back, basking the dark room in the alabaster glow of a snowy morning. “Up! Nouse ylös! (Get up!)” Smiling to herself she crossed the room to rummage through their ornate ebony dresser, wondering exactly how cold it was outside. Even after two odd years living in Finland, figuring out the right attire was still a mystery to Liv after LA’s eternal heat. It’s freezing right? Long sleeves right?

Annoyed grumbling came from the bed lump as it shifted positions, turning away from the light to face the opposite end of the room.

Liv slipped off her red checkered pajama pants, pulling out a pair distressed black boyfriend jeans. “Don’t make me go in there and get you!” She laughed, setting the jeans to the side and sifting through shirts. Yup, long sleeve is probably best. A sweater too?

The grumbling grew playfully louder, and with that Liv forgot changing altogether and crept towards the edge of the bed, grabbing the end of the blanket, lifting it up and squirmed her way under. The light shining in from the window illuminated the curled up figure beneath, peeking out from beneath his arm, smile twitching on his lips as she crawled her way up the length of his body, throwing a knee over him and straddling his chest, hands resting on the bed on either side of his face, caging him in.

Ville peaked out again from beneath his forearm, green eyes alive with amusement as he finally pulled his arm away, bringing both his hands to Liv’s forearms and running his fingers up and down them innocently. He stared up at Liv, fighting back a smile, admiring the sparkle in her rested eyes, the sensation of her long black hair brushing his bare skin, the small goosebumps of pleasure appearing on her forearms “Oh you’re up? I’ve been waiting ages darling. Did you forget that we were joining Jesse for breakfast before my meeting?” He grabbed her wrists, tugging them out from under her so that she fell onto his chest and rolled, changing their positions and pinning her down to the bed. “How could you Kultaseni?”

Liv laughed, stretching out her neck to give him a longing and loving kiss on the lips, smirking with amusement as she pulled away to see a hungry smirk on his pale face, setting off the slight wrinkles around his eyes, curly hair in messy tousles. “Oh no sir, no can do. We’ll be late.”

Ville rolled his eyes before lowering his head, running his nose along her jawline then slowly down her neck, “He’s my brother, he’ll understand.”

***

Ville watched with amusement as Jesse inhaled his enormous breakfast, raising a questioning brow as he took a sip of his coffee. They sat in a small cafe and bookshop in the heart of Helsinki. The cafe was filled with the inviting aroma of books and coffee and the low hum of sleepy new years eve patrons. Outside the snow continued to fall it’s familiar dance. The three of them sat in the corner, Liv and Ville next to each other, and Jesse across from them. After making it out of bed Ville had thrown on a white T-shirt, plain black hoodie, black jeans, and black coat, leaving his curls down in a mess.

"Mitä?(What?),” Jesse asked, catching Ville’s stare, “I'm bulking." Jesse mumbled, a forkful of eggs stuffed into his mouth. He had on a light gray sweater, dark blonde hair cropped short.

Liv let her hand rest on Ville's lap, fork half heartedly moving the fruit salad around on her plate. "When is your next match?" Her long black hair was down in its natural waves, falling past her shoulders, reaching down to her waist, the longest it had been for a while. She had on a tight fitting horizontally striped turtleneck tucked in to her black boyfriend jeans, black belt completing the look. Something seemed off with her that morning after they finally managed to leave the bed. Something was troubling her.

Ville took her hand in his, giving it a squeeze before interlacing his ringed fingers with hers, playing with the small shiny engagement ring. He knew exactly what it was. It was the same thing that had been troubling her for a while now. Moments of hopefulness, and then disappointment.

"Next week." Jesse smiled happily, oblivious to the concerned looks Ville was giving Liv from the corner of his eye. He washed down his mouthful with some milk. “I have to make sure I take it easy tonight. Two beers, tops. Okay maybe three, but that’s it or else my coach will kill me.” He took a bite of toast before gesturing with it towards Ville and Liv, “What do you two have planned tonight?”

Liv tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, placing her utensils on her plate having given up on the meal, and leaned back in her chair, taking her cup of tea in to her free hand. “Well this vampire hermit,” she nudge Ville gently with her elbow, “wanted to stay in and watch Night of the Living Dead,” she flashed him a smirk, “but I’ve convinced him to come out to a party at Jussi’s Helsinki apartment.” The smirk didn’t touch her eyes. She’s putting on a niceties for Jesse but her mind is elsewhere.

“Tyypilliesti! (Typical!)” Jesse laughed, just as the familiar sound of Livs ringtone began to hum.

Liv pulled it out, giving it a glance before stuffing it back in her pocket. He knew that expression, it was a business call but she didn't want to be rude by answering. Jesse wouldn't mind, he loved Liv like his own sister; she could do no wrong. "Just answer it sweetheart." He smiled. Two workaholics sit down in a cafe… Ville mused as Liv said her apologies to Jesse, grabbing her long black coat and stepping outside to answer it.

"So," Jesse snuck a look outside at Liv as she paced, talking with animation to, whome Ville could only assume was Siri, given the familiar expression of happy annoyance on her face as she spoke, "Aiotteko te tehdä teistä minusta setän, milloin tahansa? (Are you two going to make me an uncle anytime soon?)"

Ville took a deep breath, running his hands over his face, a little unsurprised with the inquiry. That was the million dollar question everyone seemed to be asking them since they had gotten married. He was thankful that Jesse at least had some tact and asked when Liv had stepped out. "There's been, um…" he interlaced his fingers beneath his chin, watching as the flurries began to cover Liv's hair with snow, her cheeks turning red from the cold, "There are some complications from the, the crash. We saw a physician in June and were advised to keep trying despite the chances being quite low.” A part of him had begun to feel the weight of guilt. They'd been trying since May, and despite having a doctor confirm Liv's fears they'd of course kept up their efforts, but that hopeful excitement had faded from Ville, leaving him jaded but supportive. He couldn't let himself get his hopes up any longer with each passing month, and he felt guilty for it. He simply did not understand how Liv could continue going through the same vicious cycle, the same eager anticipation and then crushing disappointment. It hurt him to realize that they may no longer be on the same page. Before leaving for breakfast, he had taken note of the extent of Liv’s investment, their washroom counter full of vitamins, a calender tracking her cycle, a small stack of books on conception. Maybe I am quick to lose hope, maybe I am being pessimistic, but I’m hurting twice as much as the time keeps passing, my own pain yes, but hers too. Perhaps we should take a step back, a break from the fixation of it so that we may begin to prepare ourselves for the realization that this may not happen for us...again.

Jesse wiped his mouth with a napkin, looking at his brother with seriousness. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. You could always adopt? Try some of that fertility stuff?”

Ville shrugged, looking away from Jesse and back towards Liv. She caught his eye with a glance and mouthed, ‘I’m sorry’ before turning back around. Ville looked back to Jesse, running a hand through his hair, “She doesn’t want to think about fertility treatments and the like, let alone try them. I’m trying my best to be supportive, and at this point I’m not sure I care as much about conceiving as I did, I’m more worried about her more than anything else.”

Suddenly the soft tinkling of the cafe doorbell rang as Liv hurriedly rushed back to her seat next to Ville, the snow already melting in her hair. “I’m sorry, there was a scheduling mishap and my shoot today got moved up.” She shrugged off her coat, the blush reddening further on her cheeks. “But they can wait cause I want to hear all about this match.”

***

Liv let her fingertips trace the designs on the graffitied wall. I don’t need to check. I don’t need to check.

“I forgot to ask! How was your christmas? Did your dad and grandfather enjoy Helsinki? What presents did you and Ville exchange?” Siri grinned as she zipped up the last of the carrying cases for their camera equipment, picking it up and adding it to a pile with the rest. She’d dyed her pixie hair a bright red and had on the oddest set of oversized striped overalls atop a green turtleneck.

Liv took a seat on the worn cushioned bench, crossing her legs at the ankles. They’d had a brief promotional shoot at Tavastia for an upcoming show. The entire place was a wealth of memories. She could almost imagine the guys, grinning and snarling back at her as she shot photographs for them there and the very same room.

How was my Christmas?, “It was really nice.” She smiled softly to herself as she remembered the satanic ornaments Ville had gotten for their tree. Her favorite has been the one he’d made himself though. He’d painted a white door on a clear ornament. On the door was a little 666 in red script, marking it as the lair of the beast. He’d filled the ornament with little squares of paper with scribbled lines, representing the pages and pages of lyrics she had, and still takes up in his notebooks. “Ville was a really good sport with everything, and everyone, even though this isn't his favorite time of year. Dad and gramps hated the cold, but I figured as much. They did love Ville’s moms cooking, but gramps liked the liquor cabinet more. My dad didn’t touch a single drop though. Joan has him on a health kick getting ready for his wedding. Gifts? I bought Ville a really beautiful guitar I found at auction that was once owned by Elvis. He was head over heels. I’m surprised it didn’t take my place in our bed. And Ville is going to take me to Budapest to visit the other half of my family in February, just before he’s back on tour with The Agents. Overall, good family time, good food, and fantastic husband who kept me from getting too stressed out hosting everyone.” Complete understatement, Liv thought. Ville had been some sort of super human, running around getting groceries, keeping her family entertained, helping her clean, calming her down, and most importantly, fronting the inevitable question. The question…

She got up, grabbing the equipment carriers and tossing a few straps over her shoulders, Siri following her lead. Overloaded with equipment they wound around the back corridors of the venue until they came to the back door that led out to the parking lot. Turning the handle with her elbows Liv held the door for Siri, the light flurries unrelenting on the cold December day.

Siri ducked past Liv as she held the door “Sounds about the same as mine, except no out of town relatives and a wonderful fiance, almost husband.” Trying not to tip over with the equipment under one arm she unlocked the trunk of her new pink Smart Car and began loading the gear into the trunk.

“How is Kosmo?” Liv smiled, remembering the frantic call she’d gotten from Kosmo a few months prior, asking for help choosing the right ring.

Siri laughed, grabbing the camera straps hanging off of Liv’s arms and tucking the cameras neatly in the trunk before shutting it and leaning back against the car. “He’s great. Keeps going on about wedding plans. I wouldn't mind an elopement! Oh and kids, he’s talking about kids! That man…” She chuckled as she shook her head.

Liv’s chest tightened at the word, teeth biting down on her lower lip. Kids… Even the mention of them was enough to set her off. The feeling of not being able to conceive was indescribable. It felt like a weight, crushing down upon her, this total feeling of being a failure, and having it tied so closely to the traumas of her past only resulted in her having to face them all over again. She’d been trying to cope as best she could, but each passing month brought its heartbreak. Throughout the ordeal so far she had learned the never ending nature of Ville’s supportive devotion to her. He came to every doctor's appointment, held her hand through it all, read books, bought vitamins and foods, he did it all, but she knew. She knew it was for her and her alone.

I don’t need to check.

There is a pharmacy just around the corner, I could just quickly stop in and buy a test. I have felt different lately. And my period is late. But then again, it was late the past four negatives too. No I won’t get a test. I shouldn't.

“Ville!” Siri grinned with her child-like smile as she spotted Ville walking across the parking lot in their direction, bundled up in his coat, a scarf, beanie, and backpack thrown over one shoulder. He gave her a wave of greeting.

Liv turned, watching with curiosity as he approached, her lips freed from her teeth as she smiled, “Well this is a nice surprise.”

He shrugged, wrapping one arm around the small of her back and giving her a kiss on the cheek, “I thought I could come escort you home since I finished my meeting early.”

Siri pulled open the driver side door, rolling her eyes with a smirk, “You two are disgustingly cute.” Siri laughed, hoping in to the car, “I’ll see you next week Liv, have a happy new year!”

They watched Siri carefully maneuver through the snowy lot and on to the road. The skies above a light grey, with nights blanket of ebony slowly arrive.

“So,” Liv said, turning to Ville, fingers playing with the strings on his hoodie, “What really brings you by?” He was easy to read when he had ulterior motives, his smile was always a little crooked when he was up to something, she’d spotted it immediately.

“Such a sleuth,” he joked, unzipping his backpack and pulled out a new pair of beautiful black gloves trimmed in faux leather. Liv took them, gingerly pulling them on with a brilliant grin. She’d been needing a new pair of gloves, and they fit perfectly. “I thought my dear,” he took her hand, wrapping it around his arm and guided her out of the parking lot, “that we could walk home along the pier.”

Both of their black docs shuffling in the piling snow they began to walk arm in arm. “Thank you, truly. These gloves are beautiful. But you do know it’s like an hour long walk right? But if you need that much time to spill the beans then sure darling, I don’t mind.” The streets around them were surprisingly busy. The snow was not one to slow a Fin, and with it being New Years eve, last minute preparations were being made by everyone as they rushed to and fro.

“Spill the beans, funny turn of phrase, I wonder where it…” Liv gave him a mock look of exasperation as they crossed the street and on to the pier, their breaths blowing out in pearlescent puffs. Ships tarped and bunkered down for the winter bobbed gently as the ocean gave it's push and wall against the port. “Alright I shall get to the point.” He stopped walking. “You seemed troubled this morning, and I suspect why. I know it’s been difficult for you, and I’m trying my absolute best to be the doting and supportive husband but I’m afraid I can’t do what you do. I can’t keep getting my hopes up every time. I am becoming worn out, and I don’t want that. I don’t want that at all. I want to be happy and eager, but seeing you crushed every month is taking its toll on me because I,” his eyes glistened with tears, “I can’t give you the one thing you want.” He took her hands in his, the sea breeze tugging at the loose strands of his curls sticking out from under the beanie. "Darling I think, and please listen to me, I think we should take a break from trying.”

She’d been staring at him with shock, trying to digest his words as he spoke with his heart, but that final sentence had broken hers. Her gloved hands slipped from his, and before she could censor herself, she spoke harshly, “You don’t want a child?

He shook his head, trying to take her hand again but she pulled back, "No that's not what I'm saying at all, and you know that. I'm both worried about you, about the stress, and honestly, I’m worried about myself too. You are paramount in my concerns, but I also am trying not to end up in such a place where I think of our efforts as a burden. Please, just think about what I’m saying and consider it will you?"

Liv looked away from his face, out at the cloud covered sea. She hadn’t realized the extent of is own pain in all this, nor the ramifications it could have. Am I selfish? Have I only been thinking about myself? I want us to be on the same page, I don’t want this whole thing to be like it’s become, clouded by what we learned at the doctor, what I feared. We should be, and stay happy and hopeful. It hasn’t even been a full year of trying, how have I let myself get to this, this point? He’s right isn’t he. Maybe we do need to take a breather from this. She took his hand in hers and nodded lightly.

***

He wasn’t sure exactly what reaction he’d get from her, but he hadn’t imagined the quiet, digestive, withdrawal. He took a sip of beer, smiling down at the christmas card they had received from Marcus. It was a sweet family photograph with Hanna and his two daughters, the whole family adorned in heartagram T-shirts and wild hair in a parody of terrible 80’s-style family portraits. He set the card back down on the mantelpiece and looked longingly at the stairs. After returning home she’d hurried off to their bedroom to get ready for the party, or at least that had been her excuse. He’d learned long ago to let her have her space, that she would talk to him when she was ready, something she’d been working really hard to do after their love story had picked back up again.

Unsure what to do with himself while he waited for her to finish getting ready he meandered over to the small studio and took a seat at their piano, setting his drink done on the floor. The sky had darkened quite quickly after they’d returned, and the temperature dropped further, the snow still falling in gentle whisps. He played a note, and then another absentmindedly, enjoying the sensation of the smooth ivory as he gazed upon the collection of posters, prints, and photographs around the room.

Situated lovingly across from the piano was a large print of one of their wedding photographs. It was his favorite one. Their wedding had been held in the fall in Oulun Hautausmaa, one of Finland's oldest cemeteries. It had been a bright sunny day, the trees casting shadows, the small group of twenty odd guests braving the cool breeze. Siri, who had passionately offered her services to take photographs during the day had captured the moment Ville had lifted up and pulled back the vintage lace veil Liv had worn. She was laughing with loving amusement, black hair in beautiful curls trailing down the bare back of her lace, sleeved, mermaid style dress, a small bouquet of wildflowers clutched in one hand. In front of her Ville held his mouth, overcome with emotion at the sight of Liv, his other hand clutching his chest. Seeing her coming down the aisle like some ethereal ghost had stunned him speechless, he’d never felt so incredibly overwhelmed before, and then to pull back the veil and see her blushing face, staring back at him with pure happy joy.

“You know, you still look at me like that.” Liv stepped in to the doorway, her mood lightened. She had changed into a simple, long sleeved, mid-thigh, fitted maroon dress, black hair styled in waves, and her lips rouged a dark red.

Ville grinned, unable to help himself as he scooted over on the stool, inviting her to join him. "And I always will. Come, play with me, we've got," he took a quick glance at his wristwatch, "fifteen minutes before our cab arrives."

A soft smile spread across her red lips as she crossed the room, sliding in to the space to the left of him, resting her head on his shoulder, fingers hovering over the keys.

He wished he had the ability to make her feel better, to do more than he could, but couldn't. Tragedy clings to you like a parasite doesn't it traagisesti kaunis rakkauteni. He waited for her to pick a song as he peppered the top of her head with kisses until suddenly she sat up and brought her fingers down on the keys.

[ https://youtu.be/ppWz9O78DgI ]

The note was deep and sombre. Ville stared, confused, unsure which song it was as she played the same keys in fast succession, before reaching her right hand across him, fingers sliding over the ivory. He recognized the notes instantly, smirking at her as she waited for him to identify the song. He took over from her hand, and together with firm hands they dug in to the keys, playing Liv’s favorite song. The sounds were harsh, and pounding with rough passion on Liv’s end as she put the weight of her body in to every note with closed eyes. Soon the song began to slow, and Ville took control of the melody, bringing in gentler, softer notes.They played together, riffing with each other, each knowing the notes by heart, souls pouring in to the piece.

This song would always have a special place in his heart, not only because he knew it was Liv’s favorite but because that night, the night Liv had let her heart lead, and not run from it, was the night he’d understood, truly, what love was. To love and be loved was not simply burning passions, nor heart wrenching adoration and infatuation, love is compromise, love is wanting to be the best version of yourself for that person, love is give and take, love is learning, learning together, and growing together. Now, he got to wake up every morning next to her, next to pure euphoric happiness, next to the person who challenged him, inspired him, made him feel humble yet invincible, the person who picked him up, who understood him like no one had before or ever would. And to think, they’d both almost lost each other.

Maybe I was wrong, he thought, the notes bleeding in to him, maybe we need to keep trying, do whatever it takes, persevere.

***

He handed the acoustic guitar back to Jussi, "How do you always rope me into playing when I come over?"

Mige rolled his eyes, "Oh please, you adore the attention." He swung back the rest of his beer before roughly placing the bottle down on the counter and scratched his beard.

"Maybe," Ville winked, wiping the sweat off of his brow with his forearm, the sleeves of his dress short rolled up, the top buttons undone.

"Hey where did zombie fucker go?" Mige asked, slumping down on a loveseat, grabbing a shinny 2021 hat and plopping it on his head.

Ville looked around quickly, unable to spot her in the room, "I'm not sure. And stop calling her that! She only accepts zombie lover, or Liv Valo." He gave Mige a playful punch on the thigh before leaving it side.

The party had been well under way when they'd arrived. The two story apartment was crammed with people, many of the guests were Finnish artists and other people in the music industry. After a winter of reclusive rehearsals and time off basking in the warmth of home, it had been a bit jarring for Ville to be thrown into the viper pit of socializing, but finding Mige there had been a welcome surprise. Liv had stayed by his side mostly, reminiscing with Mige, sharing gig horror stories with Jannah, a photography friend of hers, jumping on the piano at some point to play some Mozart, comparing tattoos with Jyrkie, but Ville couldn't help but notice that she seemed a bit off. Her energy had been less than half what it would normally be in these situations. Typically the social butterfly, she still was, but more mellow, not really present. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but she still had that look of sad contemplation in her eyes, despite the smiles on her lips. He wondered if she was still upset with him. Something was the matter.

She'd disappeared somewhere between Living on a Prayer, and Jailhouse Rock which were four or so songs ago, and so turning down another beer from Mige, Ville went looking for Liv. He pushed his way through the crowds of intoxicated and cheerful people, moving from the dining room to the kitchen, checking even the patio despite knowing Liv had quit smoking earlier in the year. He sighed, going back in to do another scan before noticing a line of women waiting outside of the hallway washroom. Giving them a shy smile he knocked on the door, “Liv? Are you in there?”

Amidst the blaring rock music coming from one of the rooms he could hear the door unlock, and, giving the women an apologetic look, he stepped in to the washroom, closing the door behind him. Liv sat on the edge of the small tub, elbows resting on her knees, her face clammy and pale. She gave him a weak smile.

“Darling is something the matter?” He crouched down to her eye level, brushing a loose strand of her hair out of her eyes. “Are you still upset?” She's either sick, or she’s been crying in here, he thought, unsure which it was, but wanting to make sure she was alright either way.

She shook her head, “No no, I just, I’m not feeling well. Ville this is different.” She took his hand in hers, casting her eyes down at the large silver rings on his fingers as she fiddled with them, words on the tip of her tongue ready to come out. “I was sick when we got back home. And I got sick again. I’ve uh, I’ve been throwing up…” She looked back up at him, trying to gage his reaction.

Throwing up? Throwing up. “Oh.” He managed to say. Could she? Without another thought he stood, extending his hand out towards her, “Let’s go and get a test right this minute.” Despite his sentiments earlier in the day he wanted to know. He needed to know. Being rational couldn't just erase the natural reaction to what Liv was telling him. He knew the possibility of disappointment was there, as it had been in the past, but he knew Liv, he knew if said this felt different, then it was.

Liv chuckled, a little taken aback by his reaction. "But today, you said…" She took his hand and carefully got to her feet, “And we’d miss the countdown.”

Ville unlocked the door, keeping her hand in his and leading her through the crowds gently, “Bullocks with the count down.”

***

Ville tapped his foot anxiously, heart feeling as if it would pound right out of his chest as he waited outside of the gas station washroom attached to the outside of the building. His stomach was doing somersaults. Alright, if it is a negative than perhaps we should see the doctor again, inquire regarding other options. I should take Liv home, maybe draw her a bath. Would her favorite bakery be open? No of course not… But what if it isn’t a negative? What if this is it? Really it.

Around him the flurries had finally stopped, street lights twinkling on the soft powdery snow.

The door slowly creaked open and Liv stepped out, her face blank, body bundled in a thick crimson coat, barrette atop her head, and worn doc martens. His poker face suddenly faltered to reveal a dazzlingly bright smile.

“Rambo!” Ville blurted out with a raspy laughed, grabbing Liv around the waist and spinning her as around them the sounds of the new year echoed in a chorus along the street with cheers and clankings pots and pans. Midnight had chimed.

“I’m sorry what?” Liv giggled, putting the capped test in her pocket and lacing her fingers in to Ville’s hair as he continued to hold her up in his arms, twirling her around the snow packed lot of the station.

“No, Hoff! No no, Ozzy!” Ville beamed as the two lovers basked in the glow of the stations outside lights, breaths billowing with white in the air, their happy giggles rising up in the raucous night.

Liv wrapped her arms around his neck, her happiness overwhelming, she knew, she knew it had felt different. “What on earth are you talking about?” She couldn’t stop chuckling as they spun and spun. She felt absolutely euphoric. A baby, she squealed internally, we’re going to have a baby! After everything. After that night of tears and pain, after heartbreak, after distance and passionate rekindling, after happy contentment, a child.

Ville felt lightheaded as he finally set her down, holding her chilled cheeks in between his hands, “Baby names my dear.” He was freezing. His boots were getting wet. But it didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered anymore but her and the marvel of a little bean growing inside of her. He brought his lips to hers, eyes glistening with happy tears as he wrapped her in his warm embrace.

Liv kissed him back passionately, tears of happiness also streaming down her face, before catching her breath and resting her cheek on his chest. “Poe?” She asked, peeking up at him with a grin.

“Poe huh? Yeah, I like that.” Ville smirked, kissing the top of her head and hailing a cab that he spotted passing by. He tossed his arm around her shoulder lovingly, looking into her beautiful hazel eyes as they trudged through the soft snow, another wonderful year behind them, an even better one ahead. “Darling?” He asked, barely able to contain his chuckles.

Liv looked up at him with utter contentment as they just about reached the cab, the wind picking up and stirring her hair, “Hmm?”

“I suppose,” he winked down at her as he nudged her jokingly, “we’ll never enjoy the silence now.”

#ville valo #him #h.i.m.#his infernal majesty #fan fic

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survivorparr · 5 years ago

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the sun and her moon, pt 3/?

aka, In Which Cathy is a Badass Goddess and Anne Quotes a Vine

Part One | Part Two

**definite tw for verbal/physical harassment on this one, sorry!!**

•

“Anne, I told you, no.”

“But I’m so hungry. Pleeeeease?”

“We haven’t got the time to make a stop.”

“Jaaaane, come on - you don’t even have to stop, just the van slow down and I’ll take my chances on jumping out!”

“Anne Boleyn!!”

“Hold on now, Seymour, I don’t hate that idea...”

Jane used the rear view mirror to shoot a chilling glare at Aragon.

“Anne, you don’t even know your way around this city! There will be no stops made by this van until we reach the venue.”

Anne let out a petulant whimper.

Cathy pulled her headphones out of her ears at last and leaned over Cleves to get a better idea of what was going on.

“What are you all on about then?”

“It’s nothing, don’t-“

“I think I’m going to starve, Cathy. Be a dear and convince Jane to pull over for food, won’t you?”

Anne was pouting, and her big, green-gray eyes had gone wide and sad. Cathy looked at her face, and then down at her watch.

“I do know the area a bit - I could get out with her, find us some food, and make sure she’s at the venue on time...” Cathy suggested.

Anne’s eyes lit up as Jane’s narrowed in suspicion.

“Alright then... I’m trusting you here, Cath. If anything goes wrong, it’s on you now.”

“Hear that, Boleyn? My life in your hands.” Cathy flashed a brilliant grin at Anne.

Anne didn’t have time to go weak, because Jane abruptly pulled the van over to the side of the street.

“Remember, 11:30 sharp!”

“We’ve got it, Jane.”

The two girls made their ways from their seats, down the aisle, and out the door of the tiny van.

“Right then, are you completely attached to the idea of breakfast?” Cathy asked.

“I wouldn’t say I’m married to it, no... What do you have in mind?” Anne countered.

“Well, I just happen to know of a Nando’s nearby opening soon. What do you think?”

“I think you’re brilliant and I didn’t know I needed chicken wings until just now. Lead on, MacParr,” Anne cried dramatically, pointing a long arm in the absolute wrong direction.

Cathy laughed and shook her head gently. She wrapped her fingers around Anne’s extended arm and repositioned it in the direction in which they should walk. Anne grinned sheepishly. “That’s why you’re in charge, yeah?”

The girls set out down the street side by side, hurrying past storefronts and other pedestrians. The streets were busy, and Cathy linked her arm in Anne’s tightly - to make sure she won’t get lost, of course. Jane would want me to.

After several minutes of weaving through crowds (Anne had never noticed quite how gracefully Cathy moved even when she wasn’t dancing), Cathy yelled “Shortcut” over her shoulder to Anne. A minute later, she pulled Anne into a refreshingly empty back alley. The street was narrow and lined with trash bins. The walls were high, contributing to the overall grim appearance. Anne might’ve felt uneasy if she had been walking here alone, but Cathy knew what she was doing.

Cathy turned the corner and found herself face to face with a man at least a head taller than she was. He was close enough to her face that she could taste the alcohol on his breath. Gin. She stumbled backwards, reaching out a protective arm to pull Anne behind her.

“S-sorry, erm, sir, didn’t mean to bother you,” Cathy stammered.

“Come now, a woman as good-looking as you is surely never a bother... And a matching set? Even better...” The man did nothing to hide his eyes as they roamed over Cathy and Anne. Cathy shuddered as Anne broke free of the arm she’d been using to hold her back.

“Right, well, we’ll just be going then.” She grabbed hold of Cathy’s hand and started to make her way around the man.

“Hold on, don’t I know you?”

“Don’t think so mate. We’re kind of in a hurry, so if you could-“

“Yeah, I do so! You’re that Anne Boleyn chick, the singer from that group! Aren’t I in luck - rumor has it you’re quite the little tart...”

Anne froze on the spot and her blood ran cold.

“Yeah... and this is one of your little ladies in waiting, is it? Well, I’d rather have the whole group of you, but if I have to pick and choose, at least I’ve got me the sluttiest one.”

Under her eyes, Anne’s cheeks burned red with shame, but she found herself unable to speak or move. The man was advancing on her now, he could surely touch her if he really wanted.

Cathy put herself between him and her friend.

“What did you call her? Don’t you even dare take one step closer,” she threatened.

“Ooh, this one’s feisty. I like feisty. I think I’ll let you watch as I have my way with your friend,” he continued, slipping an arm over both of Cathy’s shoulders and pulling her next to him. Anne wanted to scream but she could only watch, paralyzed with terror.

“You will do NO such thing,” Cathy growled. In the same instant, she used her outside hand to firmly pin down the hand resting on her shoulder, and swung her inside arm straight up in the air. She pulled it down hard behind both her and the man, brought it back to her side, and squeezed hard. Finally, she stepped forward and twisted her torso away from where she had his shoulder trapped, eliciting a gruff shout.

“Whoa! Alright, I’m sorry, let me go!”

Cathy stared at the man doubled over in pain. She kicked him in the shins, threw an arm around Anne, and ran as fast as she could.

As soon as they were properly out of the alley, Cathy stopped and steadied Anne. Her eyes had glassed over and her expression still suggested shellshock, but she appeared to be otherwise unharmed.

“Anne?! God, are you alright, please say something, please??” Cathy shook her frantically by the shoulders.

“That... that... that man was at least six feet tall, and you utterly destroyedhimwhatthefuckcathy”

Cathy chuckled in relief and tucked an errant strand of hair back into place behind Anne’s ear. “You’re alright.”

“Well yeah, bloody thanks to you! Woman forgets to tell us she’s a damn WWE fighter, that’s all,” Anne muttered under her breath.

“Anne,” Cathy began, looking at her friend with dark, serious eyes. “I have to ask...”

“I’m fine, Cath, it was awful, but it’s over. Promise,” Anne said earnestly.

“Well that’s great, but I was going to ask if you still wanted to get chicken.”

“Oh... yeah, actually, I think I do”

“Me too.”

•

For the record, she really did seem fine. In the dressing room, as she gnawed on her wings and did her makeup, Anne regaled the others with the tale of Catherine’s extraordinary bravery. Possibly, she even exaggerated a little bit (“Hold on, I did not bodyslam him to the ground”), but the others were just thrilled to see her safe and still so animated.

For her part, Catherine did not mention to the others the way Anne had frozen up in the alley. She thought it was best that that remained between the two of them.

•

Anne danced and sang her way through both shows (and instigated tons of backstage chaos) without any sign that the morning’s events had affected her at all. She laughed and joked all through pizza night with the girls, too.

The only thing that felt any different was the way Cathy sometimes stared a little too long, like she was worried or checking up on her. Anne found herself avoiding her friend’s gaze. It’ll all go back to normal soon, she told herself.

It wasn’t until Anne took her leave and excused herself to bed that she realized just how far from normal things truly were. Lying there in her room, staring up at the ceiling, she couldn’t stop the constant barrage of words circling in her mind - “tart... slut... have my way with you...” She squeezed her eyes tightly shut as another too-shallow inhale caught in her ribcage. Hugging her knees to her chest, she fought back the hot tears she knew were coming.

No. She wouldn’t. She had already let her fear take over once today.

Anne sat up in bed and noticed she’d been sweating. Her damp t shirt was cool against her back. She ran her fingers through her hair, twisting it up into a messy knot of a bun.

Water.

Ruled by her newly realized thirst, Anne crept to her door and peered down the dark hallway. The others would be asleep by now, and she didn’t want to wake them. If she could just make it to the bathroom, she could refill her mug.

She set out down the hallway, pressing her feet ever so carefully into the soft carpet, taking deep breaths to keep her racing heart subdued. Almost there.

Suddenly, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

She turned sharply, putting up both hands in defense. “Do NOT mess with me,” she hissed. “I have the power of God and anime on my side!!”

“Mate, what the hell are you on about?”

Anne’s eyes adjusted.

“Cathy?!?

•

#six #sixthemusical #six the musical #anne boleyn #catherine parr #parrlyn #millie o'connell #maiya quansah breed

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elizabeth-234 · 4 years ago

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A Night She won’t Soon Forget

Hi Friends! Thank you so much for sticking with this story. Hope you like this new chapter.

Previous Chapter Two: A Day in His Life

Chapter Three: A Day When Someone New Comes to Midtown

Eleven months later

“Everyone up and downstairs in no less than ten minutes. We’ve got a full day today.”

Penny stifled a groan, raising her arms above her head. She tested the limits of her pinched muscles, stretching her arms back further until they protested. Her back kindly reminded her of the punishment she’d received yesterday with another pinching of objection.

Today was going to be a day of avoiding things. She made sure not to look at the empty bed beside her as she got in the line to wash up. At the sink she avoided looking in the mirror and at her jagged haircut, instead concentrating on scrubbing the last of the grim from under her nails that was still there because her cleaning the previous day.

The skin of her palms stung when the cold water hit the scratches and she wished for the thousandth time she hadn’t tried to run away. Penny scrubbed at them careful to get the dirt embedded in the cuts out. The window latch had wood splinters flayed off it and Penny’s hand was the victim when she tried to climb out.

Mrs. Delores caught her in the end. The punishment was one Penny wouldn’t forget for a long time and when Betty came to let her out, two days had passed by. Betty had handed her a spare rag to wipe the tears and sweat off her face but gave a grimace that spoke volumes.

It wasn’t that the punishment was the worst she’d experienced but there was something in being left alone in that room in the basement which made Penny tick. It was the waiting. Every sound and footstep by a mouse sent her imagination spiraling. It didn’t matter if her eyes were opened or closed, Penny was left waiting in that chair, waiting for mercy. She was alone with her thoughts as sickly company.

With her parole, balance became her motto. She stored all her plans of running away in boxes in the darkest corners of her mind. But not all the evidence of it was gone. Her hands had an almost constant tremble now and one of the days when drew the short straw, all she could do was clutch the door knob at the top of the stairs. Not even Mrs. Delores’s menacing fist could make her go down to the basement and her stomach unclenched when Flash gave in to her pleading and offers of her bread for the next week to switch chores.

The next time Mrs. Delores stood at the top of the stairs and watched as Penny went to the basement. She grabbed the rags and scrubber, and ran back up wincing at the stare Mrs. Delores was giving her. Flash couldn’t trade with her anymore, the woman said with a smile.

Penny finished getting ready for the day, making due with no toothpaste, and headed downstairs.

Today was the day and alone she shivered but hefted the bucket into the second room in the basement. Her eyes were drawn to the chair in the corner and as water rose in the receptacle, Penny wiped away the tears at the edges of her eyes. The stairs creaked, the bucket hit each stair on the way up, and she made sure to skip the fifth step, but she couldn’t get away fast enough.

As she scrubbed Penny imagined Mrs. Delores sprinkling dust and grim on the doors when all of the children were sleeping, laughing at all the chores they would have to do the next day. Everything at Midtown was dirty no matter how much they worked.

The front door opened interrupting her musings, and a gust of winter air flew in, bringing Mrs. Delores along with it. Melted snow dripped off her coat and onto the floor Penny just cleaned. She shoved her umbrella as well as her gloves in the hooks by the door and turned. Her eyes landed on Penny who, mop in hand, was frozen in the entry hall not five feet from where Mrs. Delores stood.

It was their first union since and Penny flinched at the women’s voice.

“What are you doing, girl?” She looked down hiding her pale face and growing apprehension.

“I’m washing the floor, Ma’am.”

Mrs. Delores snorted.

“Not a very good job if I have anything to say about it and we both know I do. We have a guest coming later this afternoon and it wouldn’t do for them to see this shithole or any little rats, for that matter.”

Her nickname brought a grimace to her face.

The first couple months she was at Midtown, Penny went through a scavenging period. She would store small stockpiles of food in the dorm in case, and many times rightly so, there was not enough available. When some rotted the other kids told on her and Mrs. Delores look of glee preceded the birth of her new name.

Penny never really stopped scavenging, she was just better at hiding it now. The years had taught her what to take and how much would be needed. Ned would help her when he was there and never laughed at her for the unshakable habit. He’d also stop anyone from calling her rat including stealing all of tiny William’s undergarments after a particular vicious attack against Penny.

Without thinking her hand came up to grab the sheared ends of her hair, barely maintaining Penny’s natural curls and giving her the overall effect of looking like she had rat’s nest festering on her.

Nodding, Penny informed Mrs. Delores she would be done in time. It was implied she would long be out of the way when any visitor came.

The door to Mrs. Delores’s office snapped shut and Penny exhaled. Left alone again with only the mind-numbing work of the mop, her thoughts were free to their whimsy. They wandered about their standard path, ignoring the aches in her stomach, to thinking about a women she saw at the market. Her coat had such fine detail Penny couldn’t help but stare at the lace sewn on the sleeves. The woman who was walking by looked down at her and Penny felt seen in a way she rarely did. Her gaze bypassed Penny’s hair and too large ears, and instead she met Penny’s eyes in a direct manner.

Penny answered that Delmar’s was the place to buy meat and bread for the best price. The comment earned her a smile and even more worthwhile, an apple. She’d eaten it without haste once she reached the alley by Midtown, though she was loath to let something so beautiful be ruined. The skin of the apple was dark red. Red like the coat Mrs. Delores was wearing this afternoon and the anger sprouting on her cheeks when her eyes landed on Penny.

Who was their guest? No one came to Midtown; no one unexpected at least.

All the people had their set schedules and prompt times for arrival and departure. It was nearly unheard for someone to come without announcement and even more unusual for Mrs. Delores to be so upset by it.

Mr. Stevens arrived in a punctual manner every week to drop off groceries and pick up the laundry. His beard matched the bristles on the mop she was holding and though his nature was gruff, he would sometimes bring small treats to whoever was helping with the laundry. He gave Penny a piece of bubblegum which her and Ned split as they hid between their beds before dinner one night.

The representative from the state, Mr. Morita, came for a yearly inspection of Midtown and its charges. The leadup to those visits were punctuated by late night cleanings and freezing baths. The workload was much but they ate better that week than any other in the year. Mrs. Delores also made sure to be more pleasant to them. She wasn’t nice per se, but her presence wasn’t as omnipotent. The office door remained closed tight as she filed paperwork and prepared for the questions Mr. Morita was sure to ask.

The final people who came were the prospective parents, but they were few and far between. Midtown was located in the part of town where the locals couldn’t afford to take in another mouth to feed and people from different neighborhoods wouldn’t want to visit.

When they did come silence fell on the orphanage and against Penny’s efforts, hope rose in her chest, seeping through her veins and flowing into her heart only to end up in expected disappointment.

These were the only people who came to Midtown.

No one came as a guest.

A sliver of light fell through the crack of the door and onto their faces.

Flash’s chin dug into the top of her head and Penny’s elbow jabbed into Betty’s stomach but no one moved. Each child’s eyes were glued to the figure standing in the office.

The sound of her heels clicking on the floor like a dinner bell, called all of them to the landing on the stairs. Penny caught sight of a pair of elegant, black leather gloves and a vibrant green-toned cloche hat. She was sure she had never seen anything so fine until the woman took off her hat and the blonde curls pinned to her head were revealed along with the loveliest smile Penny had ever seen. The woman looked up at the sight of them pressing their faces between the banisters and winked at them.

Now they stood staring from the doorway, shushing each other and watching as the woman paced back and forth leisurely as Mrs. Delores looked through some papers. The woman appeared displaced next to the worn carpet and stacks of old paperwork.

They were enchanted by her, by the way her curls were pinned in neat arrangements to her head and how she walked with sure, strong steps. Her voice completed the spell and the children pressed closer all wondering how someone so beautiful could be there.

Mrs. Delores, on the other hand, was not beguiled. Her tone was bordering on how she talked to the children and they could hear her nails tapping against the desk. Penny would have given her dinner to hear the first part of their conversation.

“All the paperwork is there, Olivia, wasn’t it?” From her vantage point Penny couldn’t see the woman’s face but could hear the low tone in her voice. “We’ve went through the proper channels…”  

“I can see that.” Mrs. Delores said, pausing for a moment before bottles clinked together. “Can I offer you anything?”

At the lady’s headshake Penny heard a sigh and saw Mrs. Delores come around to lean on the front of her desk, glass in hand. She pointed at the woman and liquid sloshed over the edge.

“What I want to know is why you’re coming in here with your bougie clothes and bossing me around. I’m not stupid and I know Midtown ain’t the best orphanage around. These kids are downright miserable no matter what I do. So why does this Mr. Stark want one? Hmm?”

The woman walked forward and everyone pressed closer to the door. She took the papers off of the desk, flipping through till she handed them back to Mrs. Delores, pointing at a certain section.

“You’ve answered your own question. The state of this orphanage is precisely why it’s been selected by our board. This is a win, win situation. I’ve seen the statistics of Midtown and you’re low for the year. Well, you’ve been low for longer than a year. I believe it’s been since your husband died?”

“Don’t,” Mrs. Delores said. “Don’t bring him into this. I’ve done my best with this hovel. It was his dream and I’ve kept it running without question or thought of myself.”

Her words were low and flat, and Penny strained forward, careful not to touch the door so she could see Mrs. Delores’s face.

“Be that as it may, you’re in trouble and this will give you the publicity you’re looking for. There’s also the added bonus we’re willing to pay.”

Mrs. Delores looked at the pages in her hand again and the two stood in silence as the children looked on unseen from the shadows until Betty crowded in forward.

“What’s happening?” She said and pushed Penny into the door which creaked open. Both women looked over and the children froze. All of them stared at the red overcoming their headmistress’s face but Penny looked at the woman.

Her eyes turned to fall on the children and found Penny, who was the farthest into the room. A full smile crossed her face. It was a smile Penny knew no on at Midtown or the neighborhood surrounding them would wear. The smile spoke of a type of happiness she would never get to know, one she didn’t deserve to know.

Mrs. Delores stalked forward. Her words were quiet and incited action with their underlying threat.

“Get upstairs. I’ll call you lot down to talk after our… guest leaves.”

Elbows and legs tangled together as they scrambled to the dorm. Penny heard them talking in low tones as she walked up the stairs behind everyone. She looked back to see the woman grabbing her coat and heading toward the door. The light from the street filtered into the hallway, illuminating the woman’s lone figure. The curls in her hair glistened, taking on the appearance of moonbeams, until they disappeared from view behind the closed door.

Penny pulled the sheets over her shoulders, tucking the other end underneath her toes.

Careful not to disturb the sheet from its place she stuck her arm out of a hole in the side and wrapped it under the wire frame of the bed feeling around on the flooring until she came to a notch in the wood. With pressure from her hand, it moved and Penny slide the wood aside, grabbing the tin box from the space below the floorboard.

Penny pulled it into the hole in her makeshift sheet tent and opened it. Her fingers traced the few matches scatted in the tin but left them there. A stale slice of bread, still edible, was crushed in the side but again she didn’t pick it up. Penny smiled when her fingers brushed against the pages and she thumbed them. The book was torn around the edges but she pulled it out of the tin and pressed it against her chest.

When she showed the book to Ned for the first time he had told her it was full of poems. They’d been able to get through some of a couple but most were beyond their abilities. The greatest gift he’d been able to give was a translation of the names inscribed in the front.

One Richard and Mary.

Penny’s parents.

She cradled those names close to her heart every time a couple left empty handed from the orphanage and she was still under her thin sheet. It was only during those late hours with the pages under her hand that the hope extinguished before was kindled into a small flame.

Someone had to care for her. Someone had to be coming.

The book was proof and she knew them with a certainty that was gone from every other aspect of her life. They were the words she said over and over as the moon illuminated the threadbare sheet overtop of her.

Penny brought the book over her heart.

“I promise I’ll be good. I won’t try and escape again.”

A tear slid down her face and onto the pages of the book. She sniffled but continued to whisper to it, hoping it would answer her words.

“Please, please let them find me. Let them take me away from here and this place. Let someone love me.”

At the same moment, miles away in an office the opposite of the one she’d been in earlier that day, Pepper Potts sat at her desk overlooking the signed paperwork for Midtown Orphanage.

The fire in the hearth caught her eye and a mop of red curls came to mind.

Note: Here are some interesting resources I found while researching for this story, if you are interested!

Pepper’s hairstyle - I was thinking the one that said "Ginger Rogers right curls pinned up and to one side" photograph.

Pepper’s Cloche Hat

Bubble gum - Bubblegum was actually invented in 1928 so it would have been relatively new here!

Taglist (send me an ask if you want to be added :)) -@warmwithafewfrostymoments @whatisthou

Thank you for reading! Please leave a review and let me know what you think! :)

Next Chapter Four: A Day Gone Wrong

#A night she won't soon forget #fanfiction #spiderman fanfiction #ao3 #annie AU #spiderwomen #Peter is female #female Peter parker #penny parker #Marvel fanfiction #spiderson #irondad #my writing

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all-hail-the-witcher · 6 years ago

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questionable government spies: chapter 12

well well well

here we meet again

its only been like huuuuuuu one two seven eleven months

jk 4 I think

anyway todayyy is the 1 year anniversary of this series that so many of you seem to enjoy for some reason

I would like to personally thank my physics teacher for not yelling at me for writing this every day last year in her class, twitch for keeping The Secret and especially fizz n mikey for doin the Encourage and also my sister for putting up with my planning sessions and editing my stuff

its gonna get Spicy kids

but not tonight ;)

HERE IS THE MASTERLIST or you can find it under #spy boys

_________

ship: blush, eventual spruce, the usual

words: 1979

warnings: lots of Bad sex jokes, alberts arm muscles, and black lace underwear

editing: yahhh

_________

quick recap: spot is working with al n race to take down The Gang. they just had their first Official Mission at a factory stealing fake snow and used oscars computer to email the person behind the gang. race has a sprained ankle and is very far gone for spot. Albert and Romeo work at medias coffee shop. blink and much are older than everyone by a few years and work as doctors at the fbi hospital.

________

Race pulled his blue scarf tighter around his neck as he hurried along 8th avenue. Curse Manhattan for being so cold and windy. He definitely hadn’t missed this part of living there.

Finally he stopped outside Medda’s coffee shop and dug around in his bag for the copy of Albert’s key that he had made. It was after 6 so Romeo and Albert were likely already beginning to clean up. Quietly, he unlocked the door and snuck inside.

There was whistling coming from the kitchen which Race immediately recognized as Albert and it was being accompanied by the most horrible off key singing that could only be coming from Romeo. Race smiled as he discarded his dance bag and scarf near the door, pulling his black trench coat around himself tightly as he inched in the direction of the kitchen.

He peeped around the corner and was greeted by the sight of Romeo pretending to be Cinderella as Albert acted out Prince Charming - or, at least that’s what it looked like to him - and had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. He backed up several feet to get a running start and launched himself into the kitchen, thrusting out his arms so his trench coat looked like wings and screamed menacingly before landing in a heap on the floor.

Romeo let out a yelp of surprise and there was the sound of a gun clicking.

“FBI. State your name, and get up slowly with your hands in front of you,” Albert spoke in a well-practiced tone.

Race dramatically flipped up off the floor. “GOTCHA!!” he screamed triumphantly, jumping in circles around his friends.

“Race?” Albert said disbelievingly, withdrawing his gun and putting it back in the holster. “What are you doing here? How did you even get in here? And why can’t you knock like a normal person?”

“I just wanted to see if you still remember the procedure for a 995,” Race smirked as he brushed himself off.

“A 995 is a self reported kidnapping,” Albert sighed. “Sudden entrance of a possible dangerous person is a 741.”

“Same thing,” Race said as he shrugged off his coat.

“It’s not the same thing!” Albert groaned. “They are two very different procedures which you would know if you stuck to- wait a second. Are you wearing dance clothes?”

Race looked down at himself as if noticing his clothes for the first times and Romeo stifled a laugh. “Oh, would you look at that,” he mused, “it would appear that I am.”

“Race,” Albert said, closing his eyes and pinching his nose. “You’ve got a sprained ankle, you shouldn’t be dancing. I told you not to dance today!”

“And I didn’t listen!” Race sang dramatically, doing 5 pirouettes for emphasis. “Really though, I’m fine. I’ll ice it when I get home. But I wasn’t about to pass up having a closing-up-shop dance party with Romeo again.”

“Oh!” Romeo said excitedly, jumping up and down and clapping his hands. “Can we?!”

“Why else am I here, broski?” Race winked, completely missing Albert’s look of complete and utter disapproval in the background.

“To annoy the hell out of us?”

Race considered. “Well, yes that too, but mostly to have a dance party,” he smirked. “Let’s just get out of the kitchen before Medda appears out of thin air and slaps me for being in here.”

“Oh shit, you right, you right,” Romeo said, chasing Race out of the kitchen with a spatula. Albert followed them out a few minutes later, shaking his head and smirking.

“Aright.” Race hopped up on the counter and opened his phone to Spotify, pulling up his and Romeo’s “Trash Pop Playlist” as Albert had so lovingly named it. “Let’s get this party started.”

“Aren’t you going to help us clean?” Albert called from the table he was wiping off.

“Nah man,” Race said, jumping off the counter as Party In The USA began blaring through the shitty bluetooth speaker. “I’m not an employee so therefore it’s not my job. Suck it.”

“Suck it?” Albert asked, his face screwing up in confusion. “What is there to suck?”

“DEEZ NUTS!” Race screamed, launching himself across the room in a single bound and tackling Albert to the floor, effectively using his elbow to pin him down as he stared deeply into his eyes. “You want some?”

Albert blushed furiously as his eyes looked everywhere but at Race. “Um, no….?”

“You sure babe?” Race winked, drawing out his words for extra emphasis. “Nobody can keep their hands off of this bod.”

Albert squirmed under Race’s hold. “I’m ace?”

Race rolled his eyes and crawled off of his friend, reaching down to help Albert up. “Ah yes, you have discovered the one loophole to my apparent charm.” He peeked over Albert’s shoulder and smirked. “Still got a nice ass though, babe.”

Albert slapped him lightly on the shoulder before returning to wiping the tables.

“Is it just me or is it getting hot in here?” Romeo asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Shut up and sing your Miley Cyrus crap,” Albert mumbled as he shot Romeo a look from across the room.

“ITS NOT CRAP!” Race and Romeo screamed at the same time.

Luckily for Albert though, the song changed before he could argue more.

Unluckily for Albert, the next song to play was Power by Justin Bieber.

Extra unluckily for Albert, Race and Romeo had an extremely shitty hip hop dance that went along with this song.

And most unluckily for Albert, the two of them had just jumped up on top of one of the - freshly clean, mind you - tables and begun to perform the nightmare choreography.

Race watched with a smirk as Albert rolled his eyes when he and Romeo reached the chorus. Just to annoy him, he kicked his leg extra hard so that his shoe flew off his foot and landed on the table Albert was cleaning.

“HEY!” Albert yelled, whirling around, his face hot with anger, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips like he was fighting the urge not to laugh. The very look on his face caused Race and Romeo to stare at eachother and double over laughing. “Keep your shoes on you dumbass.”

Against his better judgement, Race jumped down from the table and strode up to Albert, flexing as he could without laughing - which wasn't very hard. “What did you call me bro?” He asked in his best tough guy voice, sticking his chin up for good measure.

“You heard me,” Albert countered, also flexing, although his arm muscles were much more impressive than Race’s - curse his love for benching. “No shoes, no shirt, no service.”

Race flicked his eyes over to where Romeo was still standing on the table. He had pulled out his phone and was definitely recording. Race bit his lip, knowing that this next trick he was about to pull would be forever documented on snapchat and played on an endless repeat until the day he died. Oh well.

“Really now?” And with one aggressive yank he pulled his shirt over his head, causing it to rip a little, which he honestly wasn't even mad about, it just added to the overall effect. “Cause I’ve now got no shirt, no shoes, and I’d still get service.”

“You technically have one shoe still on,” Albert pointed out rather unhelpfully and Romeo scoffed behind the camera.

“Well then, if you're going to be so painfully literal,” Race turned around and did a glorious hitch kick, effectively wailing his other shoe off of his foot and behind the counter somewhere, ignoring the small crash that came with it. “There. No shirt. No shoes. And I’d still get service.”

“You're just quoting that Pitbull song,” Romeo whispered from his spot on the table.

Race flipped him off without taking his eyes off of Albert.

“That’s all you got?” Albert scoffed. Before Race could blink Albert’s shirt was on the floor and he was being thrown back and pinned on one of the table tops. “How’s that for service?” he winked.

“Is that all you got?” Race imitated Albert’s voice from earlier and raised his eyebrows.

Albert opened his mouth as soon as the door banged open and Mush’s booming voice filled their ears.

“Hello kiddos! The voices of reason have arrived and-” out of the corner of his eye Race could see Mush’s eyes flick over to where Albert had him pinned against the table. “-not a moment too soon apparently. Please, for the love of god, what the hell are you two doing? Are we shooting for the cover of Playboy and nobody told me? I would have brought my black lace underwear!”

“Hi Mush,” Romeo waved, still perched on the table.

“You have black lace underwear?” Blink asked, coming in the door behind Mush and shaking out his long dark hair like a dog would, effectively splattering snow and water all over his boyfriend. “Why haven’t I seen it yet?”

“Cause I’m saving it for after the wedding that's why,” Mush said, sticking his tongue out at Blink who rolled his eyes in annoyance as he pulled off his coat.

“YOU'RE ENGAGED?!” Race screeched, pushing Albert off of him as he ran forward to Blink and Mush, not caring that he was still shirtless and shoeless. “Who has the ring? Who proposed? When’s the wedding? Can I be the flower girl, I’ve always wanted to be a flower girl!”

“Whoa! Hold on bean stick!” Mush laughed. “Of course you can be our flower girl, first of all. I was going to ask you today actually.”

“He was,” Blink confirmed, putting his arm around Mush’s waist protectively as Albert and Romeo walked over. “And I proposed to him on our anniversary last month at the diner where we had our first date.”

“Awwwwww,” Race sighed and he saw Albert crack a smile.

“I cried,” Mush volunteered.

“Yes you did baby,” Blink said affectionately, leaning in to kiss his fiancee.

“Ew,” Albert groaned. “Take your pda elsewhere, some of us are trying to have a nice time here.”

“You're literally shirtless,” Blink pointed out and Albert looked down at his chest as if noticing it for the first time.

“Oh. Well…”

“Why don't you tell them what you were up to, hm?” Romeo raised his eyebrows.

“I was teaching Race a lesson in how to properly receive restaurant service,” Albert said confidently.

Blink looked confused at best and Mush looked intrigued. Romeo laughed and Race shook his head, suddenly remembering that he didn't have a shirt on either. Or shoes…

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Albert said. “I have to go get my shirt.”

“Hurry back,” Mush called. “I want to hear all about your field agent adventures. I feel like I haven’t seen you guys since I lectured you on the detriments of blowing up the weapons lab.”

•••

Albert had just finished recounting the time where they had accidentally released 100 five dollar bills into circulation when there was a knock on the window. Race looked up, surprised to see Spot standing on the other side, dressed haphazardly in adidas pants and a tank top despite the cold weather, a wild look in his eyes. He could almost ignore the butterflies swirling in his stomach as he noticed how toned Spot’s arms were. Almost.

Across the table, Albert made eye contact and the two of them rose while Romeo quietly explained to Blink and Mush what was going on.

Albert unlocked the door silently and Spot was on top of them in a second. Before Race or Albert could even get a word out, he was blurting out the reason for his unexpected visit.

“Thank god you guys are here,” he huffed, almost as if he had run there. “We got a response to our email.”

________

ooo a cliff hanger we Stan

DONT YOU GUYS LOVE BLUSH I DO THEYRE GREAT

also my sister said I used the word smirked too many times but I was too lazy to fix it

what do we think is gonna happen next yall

feedback is always appreciated hmu to be on the taglist

tag list @fairly-awkward-trashcan @well-the-kids-do-too @racetrackcook @bouncyscreamingnewsboys

@ughwaitwhat @aw-jus-let-em-try @ben-cook-can-cook @the-woild-is-my-what-now @tommy-s-s0cks @voice-foundshoe-lost @galaxy-tree @stopthe-presses @ridin-in-style @pinecovewoods @i-got-no-clue-what-im-doing @bencookisagod @be-more-chill-evan-hansen @hellasoulless @stellar-alpaca @saxoph-ella @smolcanadiankid @disney-princess-sized @the-newsies-justice-for-zas-blog @insane-tomato @spot-conlon-king-of-brooklyn @have-we-got-news-for-you @thatfancyclam @myidkwhatmynameisblog @legoflambwrites @that-one-newskid @not-a-scab @albertdasillvaprotectionsquad

@entschuldigung-bitches

@thebroadwayaesthetic

@tea-and-theater

@thomasbeingthomas

@seasickdolphin

@auspicioustarantula

@newsies-of-ny

@mrs-higgins

@sunshine-e-cigarettes

@spot-me50-papes

@santafe-cafe

@papesdontsellthemselves

@king-of-new-yoirk

@deathcast-s

@the-poodles-of-pulitzer

@hopefully-not-the-ghostbusters

#spy boys #saphie scribbles #ralbert #spruce #blush #sprace #lkasdgfjkhgsf #I lov this series guys

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douxreviews · 6 years ago

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Cloak & Dagger - ‘Shadow Selves’ Review

"What if I just want to hurt people?"

Well, this one certain gives us a few things to unpack.

Cloak and Dagger catches up with some supporting characters, while bringing us up to speed on what Mayhem has been up to since last season's finale. Oh, and gives us a mediation on the essential nature of self, as you do.

The 'shadow self,' according to Jungian philosophy, are those parts of one's personality that you reject or choose to not know about. That's a horrific oversimplification, and I apologize to any psychology students who might be reading this. It's not really my field. I had to google just to confirm that much.

Most obviously this is a reference to Brigid and Mayhem, implying that Mayhem is that shadow self that Brigid has always had inside of her, neatly separated off into its own body. I believe there was a Star Trek episode where something similar happened to Kirk, but it was a little less... let's be polite and say 'nuanced,' than what we get here.

Actually, the Star Trek comparison is useful here, particularly when compared to the explanation that Mina gives us in this episode. Since I'm going to actually talk about it, I've felt obligated to look up what it was called, and it's 'The Enemy Within,' for anyone wondering who didn't already know. Additional apologies to Star Trek fans for the oversimplification I'm about to launch into. Fans of both Jung and original series Trek, please contact me directly and I'll send you an apology fruit basket or something.

In 'Enemy Within,' Kirk is split into 'good Kirk' and 'evil Kirk,' and the point is very much that even good people have bad stuff in them and it's a character study of who Kirk is as a complete character. That being the purpose of the experiment, one Kirk is very definitely 'good,' and the other definitely 'evil.' In 'Shadow Selves,' Mina describes the process that's been splitting her test mice into two, and therefore by proxy what's happened to Brigid, as resulting in one version of the self with no activity in the brain's rage center, and the other version having activity only in the rage center. Your basic Hulk scenario.

But neither of those descriptions fit what we actually see of Mayhem's character this week.

Mayhem isn't full of rage, particularly. She's task-oriented and happy to kill people she views as 'bad,' but that's not at all the same thing. If anything, Mayhem is a much better cop than Brigid. Sure, her first instinct is to track down and kill her other half, but she gets distracted almost immediately by wanting revenge on the guy she was already looking to get revenge on before the personality split, and then never shows an inclination to kill Brigid again, despite the half a dozen times this episode alone in which she could have done so.

Great job to the showrunners for the Mayhem backstory we get tonight, and the way it pulls a lot of the pieces of this season's plot together. Mayhem starts with wanting revenge on Connors, isn't able to find him, and then decides that since she wants to kill people anyway she should focus on finding bad people to kill, becoming Dexter with Day-glo fingernail polish. Plus, she's clearly capable of being thoughtful and kind, as shown in her comment about Ty being her friend. It was nice that Delgado gives her the advice that pushes her in the direction of punishing the guilty, by the way. Put a pin in Delgado, we'll circle back to him in a minute, but there's one last point about Mayhem that I want to touch on before we move on.

This show is one of the rare examples in which every single change they've made to the source material has made the show stronger. The exception, as I've said before, being not having Ty stutter, but that's more of a practical consideration, so we'll let that slide. In the comics, Mayhem is essentially what you'd get if Toxic Avenger and the Punisher made a beautiful love child, but having Mayhem and Brigid be two separate beings who share Brigid's memories and thought processes was a brilliant move and is really paying off for them. The way that Mayhem clearly wants Tandy to side with her and be her partner on the investigation is just one aspect of the overall impression that what Mayhem really wants is to prove that she's better than Brigid, and that's fascinating. I can't wait to see where this is going.

But Brigid isn't the only one whose darker side has come to the fore here, and now we get back to Formerly-Father Delgado. Wow, was I not prepared for how dark they went with Delgado. I questioned last season why they threw in such a randomly dark note as the reveal that Delgado had killed a kid while driving drunk, but now I think they were just preparing us for this next stage in his character development. I don't have a ton to say about drunk street preaching nihilist Delgado except that I'm impressed that they went there, and it was nicely handled how he factored into Mayhem's evolution from seeking vengeance to becoming an actually effective rescuer of human trafficking victims. That was not where I saw any of that going.

And last but not least, Ty and Tandy continue their promised power-up. Tandy's ball of light which lit up the whole warehouse was cool looking, but my inner fangirl nearly passed out with joy when Ty finally unveiled his full body of darkness effect and then we got to witness firsthand someone inside the dark realm of his cloak being tormented by visions. Now all I need to die happy is for Tandy to ride 'inside' him to crime scenes and leap out throwing light knives.

Bits and Pieces:

-- The debate between Ty and Tandy as to whether they should just step back and let Mayhem kill the human traffickers had valid points all around. Generally speaking, I'd put myself on team 'yes, please murder the human traffickers' but Ty's concerns about the victims being collateral damage was fair. That said, I did not feel bad when Mayhem ran that one over with a truck.

-- Mayhem climbed out of the lake 242 days earlier, so Evita's statement last week that it had been eight months was more or less on the nose.

-- The extremely mini story-arc of Dale, the skeezy desk clerk at the transient hotel, was a thing of beauty. From creeping on Mayhem, to backing away, to the obedient puddle he'd become by the time Brigid came to find the hotel was just perfection. This show really does understated very well.

-- Haven't we all wanted to beat up a refrigerator?

-- Oh Mina Hess, I'm so glad that you're OK. Mina has apparently now added microbiolical bio-chemistry and behavioral research fellow to her already impressive track list of Structural Engineer, Thermodynamics expert, plumber, renewable energy expert, and about twelve other unrelated specialties. At this point I think it's best to view Mina like Reed Richards, i.e. all purpose science-y person who knows all the science-y stuff when it's needed. Plus just maybe she'll encourage a few more girls to pursue STEM careers, and that's a good enough goal in its own right.

-- Today I learned that SRO stands for 'single room occupancy,' a type of hotel that in a less dignified age I would have referred to as a flophouse.

-- Tandy mentions in passing that she and Mina have kept in touch. I feel like we were cheated out of a few highly entertaining explanation scenes.

-- Special shout out to Emma Lahana for the physical work she's doing to differentiate Brigid and Mayhem. Mayhem moves in a very distinctive shoulder forward way, which is very different from how Brigid walks. It's a nice, subtle detail, and should be praised.

-- Apparently I was overcomplicating the kidnapped girl plot last week. They seem to just be human traffickers who panicked and let Mikayla go because Ty had suddenly appeared in their ambulance so they had to cover their tracks. I kind of appreciate the show letting me work that out for myself.

-- 'The Glitter Gutter' is a great name for a strip club.

Quotes:

Mina: "Don’t worry, these cosmetics were tested on humans."

Brigid: "She’s not me." Tandy: "She’s got your face and she’s got your badge."

Dale: "No one went in your room. I didn’t mean to make eye contact, I’m sorry."

Tandy: "What is this?" Brigid: "This is Mayhem."

Mayhem: "And in another lifetime, Ty was a friend. At least he was to me, I don’t know if he’d say the same."

Tandy: "Hey Ty, look. Ya got a deranged map twin."

Mayhem: "You don’t get to play the victim. (Slashes his throat) Well, now I suppose you can."

Fuchs: "Who’s up for Awkward reunion pancakes?"

Lots of good stuff here, with only a couple of awkward plot contrivances to really criticize. For example, it's a little hard to swallow that Brigid being pulled from the lake would make breaking citywide news under those circumstances. Still, if that's the show's biggest sin, my shadow self is happy.

Three and a half out of four shadow dimensions.

Mikey Heinrich is, among other things, a freelance writer, volunteer firefighter, and roughly 78% water.

#Cloak and Dagger #Tandy Bowen #Tyrone Johnson #Brigid O'Reilly #Mayhem #Marvel #MCU #Cloak and Dagger Reviews #Doux Reviews #TV Reviews

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echoeternally · 5 years ago

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Which Mario characters would be, as Watership Down Characters, and vice versa?

You know, I took some time to think about this one today, and I’ve got to admit, for my tastes, I can’t think of a feasible way that this works out. And it’s for a few reasons that kind of get me hung up.

Honestly, I think it comes down to at least four pretty divisive factors that keep them from being compared on an equal scale, and adds a terribly heightened challenge to it all. These would be: gender ratios (A), inconsistent characterizations (B), mismatching personalities ©, and cast prominence (D).

Obviously, it’s a lot to get into, so, I’ll include that in a portion below the cut. If you keep going, I’ll try to properly explain why it’s not just a clear-cut question to answer for this one.

A) First, gender ratios, which can be worked around based solely on personality, but still glares out big time. Watership Down has some female characters on the roster, but they tend to matter little comparatively. Hell, there are multiple characters that started as male that were later swapped to female roles in later adaptations. It’s good, and shows that the role can be played by a character, not a gender. But it’s also a reminder that the original work is dated in its viable female cast. By contrast, Mario has a nice number, and they stand out a lot better, each with unique and distinct roles, personalities, and general flavors that they add. They’re fun and dynamic, a highlight to see.

B) This actually leads into the next point, though, which would be the inconsistent characterizations. Both franchises kind of mess around with how their characters are portrayed and what they do. Sure, you get the basics well enough with the major characters: Hazel’s the brave hero leader, Mario tends to be that too. Fiver’s the timid younger brother, so is Luigi.

But it gets weirder the further down the cast list you go. Bowser’s the big bad guy, but depending on his role as the main villain or not, he can either be sympathized with, or totally evil; he’s maybe just looking for love, or has insatiable desires for conquest. Bigwig is a strong authority figure, but can either be super loyal or a part-time jerk that questions his own leader’s authority. Peach is helpless, or more powerful than she lets on. Hell, Clover took over half of Hyzenthlay’s role in the latest adaptation, and they’re far from the only instance of variable depictions in the series, further depending on the characters that are used. Overall, these changes can make them flexible to develop over time, but it makes them harder to pin down on which role defines them best.

C) And that flexibility also leads to mismatching personalities between the casts of both stories. Because Rosalina first appeared as this quiet, graceful, and yet all powerful entity, we’d picture that side to her, kind of elevating her above the usual human counterparts she’d stand beside, calling into question if she’s even human herself. But she’s later show to have simple joys and pleasures, so she’s not totally detached and above it all. This doesn’t quite equate to any particular character in Watership Down; you could try to make her on par with the Black Rabbit of Inlé, based on powers and ethereal-vibes, but Inlé is too tied with death to be a fair comparison for Rosalina.

Likewise, we have characters from Watership Down known for their stock personality types: Blackberry is the smart one, Strawberry is the big eater, and Hawkbit is the deadpan snarker. None of these particularly hit Mario characters due to their shifts in depictions. Sometimes the big eater is Bowser, sometimes it’s Luigi (yeah). Rosalina seems smart, but Yoshi and Toad have been depicted this way as well. Virtually any one of the Mario cast can fall into sarcasm and dry humor. It’s touch-and-go, but doesn’t give a solid match-up for anyone.

D) Finally, if the mentions above didn’t already make it obvious, then the issue falls to how the casts line up with first themselves, and then one another. The core cast for Mario’s main game franchise tends to fall upon Mario, Peach, Bowser, and typically Luigi to round up the rest, though sometimes he can be left out. Watership Down’s main group would likely be Hazel, Fiver, Bigwig, and General Woundwart. These are more or less the essential characters to have for there to be a story to tell for the franchises.

From there, have fun figuring out who matters and to what level. You can probably safely include higher profile picks for the major characters of each. Mario tends to favor Yoshi, some form of Toad, and generally a rotating female cast member, plus a sidekick villain or a few. Watership Down gets a way better story including the heroism from Hyzenthlay (or a female character that takes on her role for the story), and the undermining plots of whoever gets to be Woundwart’s second-in-command. That could form your secondary main characters.

But it just keeps going from there, and each character is weighted differently. Toad can be an individual and important, but also can get shafted for another more important Toad (Toadette, Toadsworth), or simply suffice as a species, not an individual. Should he be considered main or minor? Dandelion is usually lorekeeper alongside being the fastest, but both of these roles have been divided and distributed to other rabbits (Bluebell and Blackavar respectively), calling into question his prominence. Kehaar tends to always appear, but he can be written around pretty easily. Similarly, Bowser sometimes relies on the Koopalings, but they can also be missing for something close to a decade without the blink of an eye. Who matters, who doesn’t? It depends on the audience, and their interests.

…

Honestly, I even tried breaking it down for the characters on each level, and I had a list spanning past 20 characters on each side. And I wasn’t even including everyone, but just the characters that I felt were important. Trying to mix and match them was even worse, to the point where it really couldn’t be done on a really fitting level.

Going by canon interpretations for both, I think you’ve got, at best:

Mario = Hazel

Luigi = Fiver

Bowser = General Woundwart

Peach = Hyzenthlay

Yoshi = Bigwig

That’s going by a core cast, with some additions to make sure the major-most of each group gets included. It’s not great either, for several reasons, since Bigwig and Yoshi do not have comparable personalities, but are both strong. Bowser’s also got redeeming qualities to him that actually earn him some sympathy points, whereas Woundwart…well, I think writers have tried, but he’s best as irredeemable and blatantly evil.

Personally, if I were to go maybe one extra level and include Daisy for main cast on the Mario side, I’d fit her to Bigwig, and instead equate Yoshi to Dandelion, as both of the latter two are known for speed, while the former two can be tough, but also caring as well. But I don’t feel that Dandelion and Daisy are as important to their franchises, whereas one could argue a little harder for Yoshi, and Bigwig is easily important to the story.

I even tried going on my fanfic interpretations (of at least the Mario characters) to see if that would line up better, but then that just screws up where the main villain connects. Because, that would instead look like:

Mario/Luigi = Hazel/Fiver

Bowser = Bigwig

Peach? = Hyzenthlay?

??? = General Woundwart

Because, based on how I’ve written them so far, Bowser’s even less of an evil force, and more motivated based on his heart and his people. This makes no one particularly equal to Woundwart. Conversely, Peach is a lot, well…she’s hardened. If one were to go by Hyzenthlay’s depiction in the Netflix miniseries, I’d wager that’s good enough. But this splits who Hyzenthlay is, so the character doesn’t quite feel whole. Oh, and Mario tends to be leader-like, but also has weird powers and visions going on, which helps Luigi step up into his role in his absence, so…they both have shades of Hazel and Fiver’s roles.

Furthermore, I get lost in my own biased interpretations of the fanfic I’m never writing for Watership Down, so that would make going down the rabbit hole a lot more terrifying. Well, for you reading this, anyway; I’d be thrilled to keep it going and gush about personalities in my head for the WD cast, lol.

So, that’s kind of how it goes in my mind. Yes, I’m positive there’s enough flexibility to go down each list and match up characters based on as much as possible for each side of them, or by ignoring some things. Mixing some canons together, you could get:

Mario = Hazel

Luigi = Fiver

Peach = Hyzenthlay

Daisy = Bigwig

Bowser = General Woundwart

Kamek = Vervain/Orchis/Whoever the schemer to Woundwart is

Yoshi = Kehaar

Toad = Pipkin/Bluebell

Toadette = Clover

Wario = Strawberry

Waluigi = Cowslip

Bowser Jr = Campion

Rosalina = Dandelion

Here, not only do these feel weirdly off when you look further into those characters, but it doesn’t really cover them properly, nor does it pick the best from the rosters of each. Yoshi’s kind of the foreign type to the core cast, so he connects well enough with Kehaar. This, however, chooses to ignore his famous speed that aligns him best with Dandelion, which instead relates his storytelling to Rosalina, because both tell stories, but that’s where their similarities end. We also choose to ignore Yoshi’s big appetite, which would connect best to Strawberry, putting the much less important Wario up to that role.

Similarly, this also confuses the interpretations on certain Watership Down characters based on how they’re depicted, and then sort of picks a Mario character that might connect. The easier one is Woundwart’s right hand scheming little twerp, which has been both Vervain and Orchis in the tv series and miniseries respectively. They work in a role similar to Kamek, a dutiful but terrified henchman.

It gets worse, though, when we hit something like Pipkin or Bluebell, as the latter was absent from the tv series, the former from the miniseries, and though both have some childish innocence to them, neither personality ends here for either. Toad, when he’s fleshed out as a standalone character, probably could be seen as innocent and childish, but I doubt he’s alone, and also has roles that elevate his mindset, which doesn’t quite make him on that same level.

Not to mention that some just don’t outright fit (Junior to Campion), but going that far along, that’s about all that works out well enough for characters that can be argued for their prominence.

…

Bottom line would be that, while I totally love both franchises and would like to put them on a equal level for comparisons, it doesn’t do either one justice.

All the same, thank you for the interest and the ask! It was fun thinking it over.

#askecho #art-and-word-dumpsite #character comparison #watership down #super mario bros #long post #mario #luigi #bowser #hazel #fiver #bigwig #peach #woundwart #princess peach #general woundwart #these do not equate #but it was still fun

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