#yeah he's even more pathetic in french but eh

[notcryingtoday]

in another episode of "we got destieled"

after the "it was affection that held us together"

what did you guys had there:

because in french he says

"Je pensais que tu ne voulais plus de l'hextech. Ni de moi."

basically, "i thought you didn't want the hextech anymore. nor me."

(like "you also didn't want me anymore")

yeah "want", french jayce is apparently very aware of the YEARS OF YEARNING

[leatherbookmarking]

god but mr izzy hands is like. such a fucking guy. in episode 4 he basically tells ed to suck it! calls him a TWAT! (and it is delightful. petition for s2 to also have its share of TWATS) and it has you go uh oh! he’s pissed! he hates ed now! but then at the end of the episode he says he regrets it, and doesn’t actually think ed’s a shell of a man OR a twat! (and yet he still intends to go away.) then, in the one with the fuckery, he comes to find stede on his own and even has a more or less civil conversation with him! telling him edward adores him! and then when ed socks him in the face for selling stede out, what does he say? that’s fair. that’s fair!! bro.

what i want to say is. i mean there’s no character in ofmd that i’d actively dislike; even if someone’s a rather obviously a negative character, such as stede’s father or the fancy french, my brain simply prefers to use the energy it has to enjoy the characters i like rather than waste it on characters i don’t. But in particular i can’t imagine how other can dislike izzy, even if he’s constantly dragging ed back to the boring, dreadful life of a grotesque figure that probably was never true in the first place. first of all, he’s so fun! people nailed it with calling him the only human in a cast of muppets, it’s just a huge joy to watch his reactions to other pirates’ joyful nonsense, to see how he struggles to enforce some sort of pirate discipline while others simply go ......anyway and move on with their day.

BUT ALSO he genuinely cares about ed! i’ve seen some people see his actions as a proof that he’s doing it all consciously, to control ed, but, eh? i reckon he’d rather be controlled by ed if you get what i mean, wink wink etc. it’s kinda wow izzy you sex freak, yeah, watching him go and try from all sides to bring back his dream daddy captain, a ruthless brute whose only language is violence. like he gets off to it! he would Love for ol’ BB to rough him up and call him a pathetic little whore, probably! sure! but also he thinks this is when ed’s at his best, most powerful and efficient -- the best way to be a pirate. and he wants ed to know it! and he doesn’t hide how honoured he was to serve under the best etcetc, how big of a blow it was/is to see him so Reduced, how happy he is when ed finally goes back to his old throat-grabbing, toe-cutting self. like it’s so cute. he loves him so much. love this weird bastard of a man

[tothemeadow]

Can I order a hotdog with ketchup and french fries to share with Denki and Shinsou?! - 🌸💐

Normally, I'd tell someone to keep it to one character for events like this, but this was too good to pass up 👁👁

Summer Feelings Event

'sandy boy' / Kaminari D. x Reader x Shinsou H.

warnings: NSFW, semi public sex, blowjobs, anal fingering, bottom Denki because yes

words: 1,343

-

“Ugh, I have sand everywhere!” Denki whines, his face scrunching in discomfort.

Both you and Hitoshi snort in amusement. Unlike your other boyfriend, you and Hitoshi decided to stay situated on your shared towel, hidden away under the umbrella. Denki was the one who chose to roll around in the sand. Sharing a look with Hitoshi, you sigh.

“Denki,” you start, “what gave you the idea that rolling in the sand was a good idea?”

Denki flashes you a pout as he plops down before you; instinctively, you spread your legs, allowing enough room for your boyfriend to shimmy in between and rest his back against your chest. “We’re at the beach, aren’t we? You’re supposed to play in the sand.”

“Yeah, but not roll all over like a dog,” Hitoshi speaks up. He quirks an eyebrow. “How bad is it?”

Clearing his throat, Denki squirms in his spot, reaching down and tugging at the hem of his trunks. “Uh…” He trails off, a slight blush blooming on his sun-kissed cheeks. “I’m feeling sand in places where it shouldn’t be.”

You wrap your arms around Denki’s thin torso. His skin is warm yet grainy; naturally, he didn’t even bother to brush off any of the sand clinging to him. He really is a baby that needs constant supervision, isn’t he? “Alright,” you say, glancing over to Hitoshi, “guess that leaves no other choice than to get you cleaned up.” You pinch his side, causing Denki to squeal. “Get up, big boy. We’ll help out.”

With that, the three of you get up and take off towards the public restrooms; the building is significantly cooler on the inside, the fluorescent lights a stark difference compared to the sunshine outside. Surprisingly, nobody else inhabits the space, not even to take a quick breather and cool off.

“Jesus, you’re a mess,” Hitoshi grunts. “What you’d do, take half the beach with you?”

“Ha ha, very funny,” Denki shoots. “Just help a bro out, won’t you?”

“Yeah, bro,” you say to Hitoshi, a teasing smirk growing on your lips.

Hitoshi scoffs. “I didn’t know a poly relationship came with the bro title. My bad.”

At that, Denki laughs, his entire face cracking with a bright smile. “You can always put a bro title on anything! Why wouldn’t you?”

Hitoshi mutters something under his breath, but neither you nor Denki catch it. The three of you settle into a comfortable silence as you work at brushing Denki off. It’s quick work, drifting your hands over his arms and legs to rid them of the sand; things only truly begin to slow down once you reach his swim trunks.

“You’re gonna have to strip,” you tell Denki. His face drops. “What?” you ask him. “You said that you got sand in places where they shouldn’t be. Take the chance and clean it up now while nobody else is in here.” Hitoshi hums in agreement.

Denki laughs awkwardly and rubs the back of his neck. “Well, yeah, but uh…” The blush on his face only continues to deepen as you and Hitoshi glance downwards.

“Oh for the love of-“

“Seriously, Denki?”

“I’m sorry!” Denki exclaims. “How else am I supposed to react when you guys have your hands all over me?”

Dragging a hand down his face, Hitoshi heaves a sigh. “You could try not to get a hard on.”

“Christ,” you mutter. Leave it to Denki to turn a seemingly innocent act into something lewd. “Welp,” you continue, “can’t have you walking around like that. You might scare the kids.”

Denki’s jaw drops. “No it won’t!”

“Says you,” Hitoshi says. “Just drop trowel, bro. We got you.”

Audibly gulping, Denki hooks his thumbs under the waistband of his trunks and yanks them down, leaving them pooled pathetically around his ankles. His cock gradually swells to full size under yours and Hitoshi’s attention; and, just like Denki said, it’s covered in sand. The room falls into silence once more while you wet some paper towels and take your place before Denki, Hitoshi stepping behind him.

“Ah, shit, that’s cold!” Denki exclaims once you begin to wipe the sand off his dick. Funny that he complains about it, though – his cock says otherwise.

“Quit being a baby,” you mumble. “You’re the one who brought this upon yourself, after all.”

Hitoshi snickers. “You really did say sandy cheeks, huh?”

“Shut up,” Denki shoots over his shoulder. “Don’t say things like that…”

“Aw, is Denki getting all shy?” you coo. “What happened to our confident baby?”

“Shut up.”

You and Hitoshi share a snicker, but you then fall into yet another silence. Denki bites his lip and shifts in place, clearly trying to keep some level of composure, but you can see the beads of precum oozing out his cockhead as clear as day. Jesus, if you didn’t know any better, you’d say that’s he touch starved. Besides, you did say that Denki couldn’t walk around the beach like this…

He gasps as you wrap your lips around his cock, tongue sweeping over the head and collecting the precum gathered at the slit. His entire body jerks, hand shooting out and grabbing onto the ledge of a sink to keep himself upright. Hitoshi merely looks over his shoulder at the commotion; he’s pleasantly surprised when he finds you looking straight up at him, Denki’s cock stuffed in your mouth. Ah, so it’s going to be one of those days. Might as well join in on the fun, right? Spitting into his hand, Hitoshi grabs Denki by the asscheek and pulls it apart, slick fingers reaching down and prodding at the tight ring of muscle.

A squeal bursts from Denki’s mouth. “Wh-what are you doing?!”

“Quiet,” Hitoshi grunts. “I don’t got lube on me, so sorry if it’s dry.”

Denki shudders as Hitoshi wriggles a finger inside his ass, the rigged muscles clamping around it immediately. Mixed with the feeling of you sucking on his cock, he’s feeling dizzier by the minute, arousal swirling in his tummy. He feels so hot, that delicious flame licking at his insides while the two of his boyfriends play with him like the little slut that he is. He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t like it, that uneasy feeling that anyone could walk in at any time. And so, he keeps a tight grip on the sink while his other hand clamps down over his mouth, muffling his pleasured sounds.

“Dirty boy,” Hitoshi husks into Denki’s ear, lips ghosting over the shell. “Getting horny over the slightest of touches, eh? What if somebody walked in, saw you getting your cock sucked and your ass played with? You think they’d want to join in or watch?”

You groan from your spot on the floor at Hitoshi’s dirty words, at the way Denki’s cock twitches in your mouth. It is exciting knowing that the three of you could easily be caught like this. It only drives you to go harder, to swallow around Denki’s cock and fondle with his balls. His breathing quickens, head falling back onto Hitoshi’s shoulder. You imagine the sight of Hitoshi fucking Denki with his fingers, easing that tight hole open and prodding at that sweet, sweet spongy spot inside him.

“I’m gonna cum,” Denki whimpers. “Fuck, I wanna cum, lemme cum – fuck, fuck, yeah – ah!” His breath catches in his throat while he shoots his load down your throat, hand instinctively clutching you by the hair to keep you in place. His hips shallowly rut into your face while he rides out his high. You pop off with a wet sound, licking the excess cum off your lips as you haul yourself to a stand. Hitoshi withdraws his hand and kisses Denki on the temple.

“Look what you did, dirty boy,” he tells Denki. “You made a mess of yourself. What’s more, you made us hard.”

You hum. “That’s right,” you say, moving in closer and effectively sandwiching Denki between you and Hitoshi. “It’s your turn to take care of us, baby.”

[shinymooncolor]

Hi everyone,

Here’s a little companion piece to @canesinthecrease @siriuslyqueer’s O’Knutzy fic

As always - thanks to @lumosinlove for this fandom!

Leo grinds. Logan scowls. Nado strikes out. Kuny has a feeling. This is a short little thing. There’s a lot of arguing. Future plans are made.

——

Friday 5.32 pm

Kuny: we bring out leo and tremz. I think they want drink. We buy leo drink. Cute boy will help get girls

Nado: I love you bro. What better way to appreciate cute baby rookie than to use his innocent boy next door to ensnare hopeless girls

Kuny: I think he have fun. Tremz too. Boy very tense. Wanted fight today had to hold him away. Little puppy try to fight big dog

Nado; are you the big dog?

Kuny: bigger dog than u

Nado: fuck off you’re like build on whatever shit they fed you in Russia.

Nado: but you still wanna go out? I’ll ask tremz and Leo. What about Olli?

Kuny: not Olli last time he talk to stripper and help her get job. He not good at that

Nado: that was precious. He’s legit the only man to ever pay someone to get off his lap. I wasted $200 trying to get him a lap dance

Kuny: u can put on outfit and lap dance Olli. I know u still have it

Nado: of fuck off you couldn’t keep your eyes of me. Bitch

Kuny: you look good in heel. Hehe almost tall as me. That why picture is in living room.

Nado: Leo says he won’t drink much. Hahahaha no. Wanna go to slugs? Bet we won’t get trouble for Leo.

Kuny: slugs ok. Have shirt I borrow I only brought tshirt

Nado: don’t stretch it. But yeah. It’s in my bag

Friday 11.34 pm

Nado: hey Kuny where the hell u at? Tremz is scowling so hard and grumbling. I was gone for like 20 minutes

Kuny: leo drunk. Did u sex in bathroom? We at bar. Leo is drunk heh he wants dance

Nado: nah just made out. Lock didn’t work hahah also she was too young. Don’t wanna be creep.

Kuny: I think Logan jealous

Nado: what?

Kuny: he was rude to girl I introduce to leo and he blush when I ask why

Nado: he’s just tense af!! imagine living in dumo’s basement - he needs to get laid. Both of them.

Kuny: ok u find girl for Logan I dance with Leo

Saturday 1.33 am

Nado; did Leo just grind? Or did my eyes deceive me

Kuny: heh he grind and stole hat. He hang off Logan. Is cute like baby fluffy gray bear thing

Nado: a koala? Did they get into the taxi alight?

Kuny: yess koala. Yes leo climbed in Logan lap. I think he like boy

Kuny: Also u bring home girl?

Nado: nah can’t be bothered too much work. Wanna go get some greasy food? Also Calm down, I know you love queer eye but I don’t think leo and Logan are secretly screwing. And if he wanted boys why wouldn’t he be climbing me? I’m like 200 pound certified Canadian beef.

Kuny: I just get vibe but maybe u right. We get curly fries also u not hot. I’m hot. And cute accent

Nado: fuck off! If I wanted a man I could get ANY man I wanted.

Kuny: not me. And no. I get more man than u.

Nado: I know thAts not what you mean but hahahahhahahahhaahahahaahahahah - also, I think I couldn’t get you? I know you bub, I could get you in my bed in 20 minutes hardly even trying

Kuny: is not fair. I’m smart in Russian. Ha no u can’t - prove it

Nado; ok. I’d take you to the zoo so you can make faces and giggle at the penguins, then I’d buy you fancy sushi and fruity cocktails, I know you have a thing for hair so I’d get my fingers in your hair and you’d be on my bed. Easy peasy.

Kuny: not bad date but I saw kase scare you haha. U can’t handle big boys

Nado: I wasn’t scared? Did you see his eyes? He was about to eat me or something. Also if he hadn’t just played a game I bet he’d have been interested.

Kuny: u took cold shower.

Nado: I can’t help it man. Kase is hot when he’s angry hahahah

Kuny: home? I’m hungry u always so horny

Nado: you’re always hungry. Gonna eat me out of the house and I’m not always Horny but I have needs

Kuny: then find new roomie. U love me. U have date with right hand

Nado: alright you big lump, meet at the front doors. And leave my hand out of this. Freak.

Saturday 8.21 am

Kuny: I think this first time no girl in kitchen

Nado: well, couldn’t be bothered.

Nado: I want pancakes pleAseeeee I wuw uuuu

Kuny: I not wife u make pan cake and that don’t work when u not look like puppy. Also princess is napping on me. She cute

Nado: you’re so the wife. you came home with princess, you actually talk to the aloe Vera plant, you cook and clean. Don’t understand how she can stand your stinky face

Kuny: I not wife. U my wife I make more money and I’m bigger. Also not stinky took shower when we got home.

Nado: no you’re not. Ew don’t tell me about your wanking

Kuny: yes I am. And I not wank just shower. Leo spill his beer on me. Ur shirt hehe

Nado: well we’d be husbands anyways also you better have soaked that!!

Kuny: ur such a wife hehe my little French girl. Heheheh

Nado: you’d be lucky to land me. I’m legit the only person to keep up with your snoring and disgusting socks everywhere and I’m French Canadian Kunt not French

Kuny: u snore too

Nado: alright how’s this. Once we retire together if we’re both single, let’s give it a go. Bro wives eh??

Kuny: u make pancake and we have deal

Nado: alright you pathetic dork. Using our cat as en excuse to make me do all the work

[hitchell-mope]

(Third film. After “who I am”. Mal Hades and Uma freeze for a moment. The gravity of their bonding moment sinking in. Then they burst out laughing. And they’re only stopped by Harry flying through the closed french windows and crashing into the gazebo)

Ben: sorry. My bad. He encroached on my personal space

Harriet: he walked past you

Ben: he walked past behind me.

Harriet: so the fuck what?

Mal: Ben’s got a fight or flight response when it comes to the gnome.

Gil: it’s what happens when you do what Harry did to him

Cj: which is what exactly?

Ben: kidnapping me, trying to sell Gil to me, attempted to kill me and was accessory to the almost capsizing of the cotillion yacht that me and all my friends were on

Cj: that is barely worth mentioning and in any

Evie: Ok everyone shut up I need to talk to the happy couple

Harry: I think my legs are broked

Evie: no one cares flapjack face. Ben. Mal. Join me at the kitchen island

Mal: you wanna tell her or shall I?

Ben: umm. Me? (Mal gives him the go ahead). Um. Evie. Uh. Heheh. We sort of decided on most of the um important stuff so you don’t have to plan. You just have organise

Evie: and the four things?

Mal: I can create my new dress with magic. I’m going to ask my mom if I can borrow a necklace. I’ve got the class ring Ben gave me. And I can redo the hair streaks my exposure to the ember made for the ceremony. Sorted

Evie (through a forced, fixed smile): so I’m utterly superfluous

Carlos: pretty much yeah.

Jay: c’mon E. this is probably gonna be the first royal wedding in history where the couple have their heads on screwed on right

Evie: mhmm mhmm yeah yes of that is true however HOWEVER there’s the little slight wrinkle of me being all but shut out from the proceedings

Mal: you’re still in the party. After Jane - oh shit Jane! - and Evie’s fainted. Doug, buddy, could you alert me when she wakes up. I gotta go talk with the guest of honour

(She bustles over your Jane who’s just outside and nursing a large glass)

Mal: hey bud

Jane (slightly glazed look in her eye): heya Mally. How’re hic you doin?

Mal: I actually came over to see how you were doing. I got wrapped in my own drama again. I’m sorry

Jane: ah don’t be. I’ve come to expect. Nothings about me. Never. Not even my own birthdays. You know in my four teeth I got ‘tention?

Mal: no

Jane: Chas copied off me in algebra. Ma thought I cheated. Registration thingumy. Him fore I. So I spent that afternoon clapping erasers. So see. Never bout me

Mal: ah. Well this was supposed to be about you. And I’ve shirked you to a corner drinking....

Jane: 🎶colada’🎶

Mal: right. Judging your countenance I’d say not a virgin one. How many have you had?

Jane: one. About eighty, eighty eight times? I think. Might be more

Mal: I see. Wanna stitck by me for the evening?

Jane (pouty): will you show off those sceptre tricks you’ve been working on?

Mal (chuckling): if you want

Hades (from the kitchen): Mal! Evie is awake and demanding your presence

Evie: I refuse to be shut out!

Mal: (long, long sigh) I am so sorry Jane. Let me try and make things better.

(She points her finger at the ground and Hadie materialises in a plume of green smoke. He’s trying a hat on)

Hadie: strange, I could’ve sworn there was a mirror there

Mal: what in dad’s name are you wearing?

Hadie: oh. Doug said I should get changed. Lovely guy by the way. Evie chose well. Dizzy took me upstairs to the changing rooms. And I saw a large picture as I passed her room. He was wearing this precise outfit. So I replicated the look and was just fixing the hat when you summoned me. You like?

Mal (very calm): Jefferson. Please tell me you replicated the look and not replaced it. All three of them will kill me if that posters wearing a bathrobe

Hadie: (beat) ok. NOW it’s replicated

Mal: good. Now could you please do me a favour and keep an eye on Jane? Birthday girl shouldn’t be left alone

Hadie: it’d be my pleasure

Mal: great thanks. I gotta go

Jane: he’s tall. Er then me

(Mal goes back into the house and heads towards Evie)

Mal: what is it now?

Evie: you just can’t keep me out of your wedding planning. I’m the WEDDING PLANNER

Ben: we’re not keeping you out E. We’re just shutting down the ideas we don’t like

Evie: you’re not even supposed to be part of the conversation! You’re the groom you’re only job is to show up sober

Mal: really? Well that scuppers my plans to be blitzed during the ceremony

Evie: oh here we go...

(As they continue arguing Uma heaves a long suffering sigh and goes outside, Lonnie goes over to check up on Gil who’s eyes are scrunched shut with his hands over his ears)

Lonnie: you ok

Gil: I don’t like it when my friends fight

Lonnie: I know. Hey jay. Could you help us out here please?

Jay: sure. Hmmm. Ooh. I know. To get rid of these ants in their pants/I command thee all to get up and dance.

(Some music starts up and everyone freezes)

Jay (taking Gil’s hands away from his ears): at your leisure qayidi 'aw rbany

(This is when “backflip” happens. After the song the spells breaks)

Evie: what happened?

Lonnie: you three were arguing, Gil got upset so Jay broke the argument up and we all danced

Mal: sorry bud

Ben: sorry bro

Evie: yeah sorry

Gil: s’ok

Evie: what were we arguing about?

Mal: beats me

Ben: ditto

Cj: I know

Jay: no ya don’t

Cj: ....uhhhh....OH MY GOD WHAT HAPPENED TO HARRY!

Ben (much more then dismissively): eh he’ll be fine. Where’s Uma?

Elsa (refreezing the now lukewarm beer): she headed back outside Benjamin

Ben: ohhhh yeah uhhhh heheh you mind?

Mal: nah, go ahead. Do what you gotta do

Ben: thank you

(Outside Uma’s ranting and raving about how Mal “always wins” and how she “always loses” but she stops when Ben approaches her)

Uma: ohhhh What do you want?

Ben: talk?

Uma: oh yeah? What about?

Ben: uh, you?

Uma: why? I could see you lot in there perfectly happy, dancing about, not a care in the damn world, you and your FUCKING FRIVOLITY!!!!

Ben: ohhhh riiiight yeah I understand now, can’t be easy. Worlds in tatters, your entire life perceptions been upended, you think you’ve got on the same page with some of your family then you see your cousins arguing about wedding planning so you don’t think they’re taking things seriously. Completely understandable

Uma:...yeah I’m a little tipsy so you’re gonna have to slow down

Ben: you think you patched things up with Mal then you turn around and she’s not focusing on what you deem necessary

Uma: I’m not gonna “patch things up” until she admits and pays for what she did to me

Ben: what more can she do though? I mean seriously. She apologised, tried to let you kill her and she’s protected celia throughout most of today. Most things are a two way street Uma. And it’s up to you wether you accept her apology or not. No one can but you

Uma: I...don’t...KNOW. I DUNNO! GOD! I can’t stand it! She gets everything! The title, the reverence, the power, immortality! This past year I’ve been in my own personal hell while she’s been over here swanning about and owning the whole fucking place! It’s not fair that she gets all this and I get pruny hands and a barnaclised first mate!

Ben: have you told Mal this?

Uma: what? And be vulnerable towards the cow? I thought you were smart

Ben: (chuckles) m’sorry. Shouldn’t laugh

Uma (scoffing): s’alright. It’s pathetic. I’m pathetic. But I can’t help it. Cause when she’s been here, I’ve been down there. With my oh so delightful mother. And yeah I know it’s stupid. I can’t let it go. I’m not ice bitch. The sea waits and it will have its revenge! I’mramblingaren’tI?

Ben: mhmm. But that’s ok. You deserve it. Honestly every vk on this property has a right to complain and then some.

Uma: im done. You can go

Ben: before I do can I give you my thoughts quick?

Uma: whatever

Ben: I can help you. Believe me. All I want to do is help. But you kidnapped me. You tortured me. You tried to kill me. Why? To stick it to Mal? To make yourself feel better. All you had to do was ask and I would’ve listened to you. I will in fact still listen to you. I want to be friends with you but you need to let this petty vendetta go. It won’t do anyone any good to dwell on the past. I only hope you understand that

Uma: petty? Me? Petty?

Ben: mhmm.

Uma: bitch!

Ben: oh please. Everyone has a fatal flaw. I, apparently, have a tendency to be a smidge naive

Uma (utterly deadpan): really? I never would’ve believed it.

Ben: are you sure you can’t see yourself one day letting what happened go?

Uma: nope

Ben: why not?

Uma: cause it feels right. Evening the score feels right. And frankly I don’t care what you think. It’s simple as that. I don’t care

(This is when “I’ve gotta be me” happens)

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Dennis

Welllllll this one got a bit away from me. I blame cabin fever (two days snowed in) and my angst addiction. Story 4 for @drawlight‘s advent challenge.

Couple of notes: Dennis, MA is a real place, and chosen for the setting because (a) it is the site of the first recorded commercial cranberry bog in America, and (b) it has a very silly name. It’s actually quite nice, if you manage to visit between the overcrowded tourist season and the completely dead off season, Crowley just has no patience.

Cranberry wine is not as common as the story might imply, especially in 1982. Crowley is drinking Truro Vineyard’s Cranberry Red from their Lighthouse Wine Series, which my parents are big fans of (it’s good, if you like red wines), even though that wasn’t available until the late 2000s. Bad historian, no cookie for you.

Thanks to @angel-and-serpent for reminding me about the wolf spiders.

04 - Cranberry (2,600 words)

Crowley sat on the four-poster bed, staring at the phone. The clock beside it clicked from 1:59 PM to 2:00. He tensed…but nothing happened.

Don’t panic. It’s not always exactly the same time. He tried to occupy himself by listing things he disliked about the hotel room.

The lighting room was atrocious, casting everything in a sickly yellow color. Even sitting alone, he wore his glasses to dull the glow a little. The bed was…passably comfortable, the quilt too stiff, the pillows far too flat. The carpet was worn, though only a little. The color scheme was too…green. He’d seen three ants, which might just be a coincidence, or the start of an infestation.

The phone rang, a sharp jangle cutting right across his nerves. 2:03 PM.

He scooped up the handset and said as casually as possible, “Yeah?”

And relaxed, smile drifting across his face that he’d never allow in a face-to-face conversation.

“No, I’m not too busy, Angel. How was your week?”

Slowly, he leaned back on the bed, stretching the coiled cord as far as it would go.

“Really? No. The audacity, coming in and trying to buy a book. What do they think it is, some kind of shop?” He listened another moment. “Aziraphale, I am taking this exactly as seriously as it deserves.”

He listened for a while longer, with an occasional, “Yeah. Yeah.”

“How are my plants?” He frowned. “Perfectly fine? They’re dropping leaves all over the shop, aren’t they?” Rolled his eyes and sat up. “No, I don’t care if it’s November, they know what’s expected of them. I’ve only been gone…” he sighed. “Twenty months.” He was really going to have to re-establish dominance when he got back.

“Nah, I mean, New York was great. Plenty going on there. We should – you should – yeah, I think you’d like it there.” He winced. He sounded pathetic. “Then two days ago, hey, congratulations, now on to the next location. But…I really think someone cocked this one up. No way this is where I’m supposed to be.”

“Dennis.”

He jumped to his feet. “No, not Dennis who, Dennis. It’s a town.” Pacing was difficult in a room this small. He almost immediately became tangled in the phone cord. “I have no idea who names a town ‘Dennis.’” He struggled to free himself without moving the earpiece. “Some bloody tourist place, beaches and sea food, only it’s the off-season.”

He kicked the last bit of cord off his leg – how had that even gotten there? – and flung himself dramatically into the armchair. It wasn’t as good without an audience.

“Now I’m stuck here, nothing to do, until Hell admits they made a mistake. Who knows how long that’s going to be.”

Furious scowl. “No, I’m not being… who even uses the word histrionic? There’s really nothing here. Even the hotel – you’ll never guess. Three stars.” He frowned. “You try it.”

“There is a cranberry bog.” He admitted sullenly. “Lots of spiders. I’m sure there’s something I can do with that.” Pause. “No, I will not behave myself, I’m a demon. And I was told to make trouble, not that there’s any trouble to get into here.”

He sighed. “Haven’t the first idea, they just congratulated me for something to do with politics or the economy.” Crowley pulled off his glasses rubbing at his eyes. “Come on, Aziraphale, you know that’s not how I work. I don’t even understand the economy. Supply-side whatsname, what’s that even mean? But Hell was really happy.” He shuddered. “Ah, I hope I don’t get a commendation. Then I’ll know it’s bad. It’ll be like the Spanish Inquisition all over again. Or the French Revolution.”

He smiled, twisting the cord around his finger. “No, I – you don’t have to. If you want crepes, I’m sure there’s someplace closer.” He laughed. “Yeah, now you mention it, they do still have the death penalty here, but I think you need something more than a bad outfit.”

He was running out of things to say. He tried desperately to think of something, anything. “Uh, any dinner plans?” Nodded. “No, that’s – that sounds good. I wish – I hope you enjoy it.” He knocked his head against the back of his chair. “Got some wine at the airport. ’S alright, I guess.” Nodded again. “Yeah. No, definitely. Talk to you next week.”

Crowley walked back to the bed and dropped the phone into the cradle with another sigh.

--

It was 2:07 PM and Crowley had the phone to his ear before the first ring even finished. “Yeah?”

“Not good, Angel. I spent days getting those wolf spiders to listen to me, and before I could enact my plan, they closed the bog for the season!”

He covered the mouth of the phone and scowled at the half-dozen spiders on his curtain. “Oi, you lot. Back in the planter or you can winter outside with the rest.” He glared until they had settled back among the spiny shrubs with small red blossoms. He would not be telling Aziraphale about his new roommates, or that the best option at the undersized plant shop had been a succulent called crown of thorns.

“No, it was going to be a great plan. All my plans are great.” He clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Well, that worked, didn’t it?”

He groaned and flung himself back onto the green quilt. “Of course I’m still in Dennis, where else would I be? I told them it was probably supposed to be Denver, but does anyone listen to me?” He pulled off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. “The worst is, they keep congratulating me on all the good work I’m doing.”

“No, Aziraphale, I don’t think they meant the spiders, either.” He picked up a newspaper – an actual, local paper, not one of the ones put out by Hell. “I’ve been trying to figure out what’s going on, but they don’t exactly get the New York Times here.” He flipped through the titles – Cape Cod Chronicle, Provincetown Advocate, The Register. He’d tried to get a few older issues, but everything was from the current month: November, 1982.

“Why would I go to a library?” Pause. “Ohhhhh. Mm, I suppose I can try that if I get desperate.”

Aziraphale asked a question. “Nh, ah, ok. So. Someone wrote this book about this huge secret satanic organization that, I don’t know, controls the world or something. Accused my side of…some stuff.”

He sighed. “If you must know. Torturing and murdering children.” Crowley sat bolt upright. “No, Aziraphale, obviously not. You’d know if it was true.” He picked at the seams of his black jeans. “I suppose you had to ask.”

“Well that’s the thing. We didn’t know anything about it either. So they sent me here to figure out what was going on.”

He flipped through the pages of the newspapers. “Not much, really. All in their heads, right? Didn’t even need to bother stirring it up, these things really take care of themselves. I’ve just been doing my usual, traveling to different cities, causing a little trouble.”

Giving up on the tiny newsprint, Crowley reached for one of the bottles of cranberry wine that the liquor store had had in abundance. “Well, that’s the thing. I can’t find anything in the papers, so that can’t be it.” He poured himself a glass. “Just…you know. Economic stuff. Banks. Taxes. I don’t know.”

He took a drink. “Mh. There was something, can’t find it now. Some men getting sick out in California. Hope it’s not another plague.” He laughed a little. “Hooray penicillin. Honestly, I’m glad to see the end of plagues. Lousy way to do things.”

Aziraphale turned the conversation to lighter things, and for a while Crowley sipped his wine and listened, learning everything going on back in London, what the customers had tried to buy now, and the angel’s dinner plans.

“Oh, you’ll like this. You know what next week is? Thanksgiving.” He poured the last of the bottle into his glass. “It’s like Christmas, only instead of presents, more food. Very American. The hotel’s serving it in the main dining room.” He drained his glass. “Eh, turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce. The usual. I probably won’t have any, you know, you’re supposed to celebrate with friends, but – yeah I thought you’d like that.” He smiled at the phone. “I’ll…uh, I’ll talk to you then, right?”

After he hung up, he noticed one of the spiders sitting on the floor next to him. “I thought I told you to stay in the planter.” At least they’d cleared up the ant infestation. He’d have to get some crickets in the morning.

The wolf spider waved hairy legs at him. “Oh, alright.” He let her scramble up his arm and settle on his shoulder. “But no wine for you. That’s all I need, bunch of drunk spiders.”

--

The phone rang at 2:01 PM. Crowley didn’t pick up.

Or at 2:10. Or 2:13.

It was 2:29 PM – long after Aziraphale had lost track of the number of times he’d called and hung up – when Crowley finally knocked the handset out of the cradle. “Wha’?” he demanded, slouched on the floor amid empty bottles of cranberry wine.

“’M celebrating, tha’s what.” The spider on his shoulder scurried down to settle on his knee instead. She was always nearby these days. “Cuz I know what Hell c’gratulated me for.”

He dug around for a bottle that was still half-full, drank straight from its mouth. “Not the economy. Well. Starts with that. Whole time I’m here, people been…losing jobs, banks closing. Did I notice?” He leaned his head against the bed. “No, s’pose not. But people…you know people.”

He nodded, watching the spider jump from one knee to the other. “Satanic Cult story just…keeps growing. Accusations. People in prison. Kids always in the middle. ’S not even real. Just. Panic. And then the other thing.”

He held out his hand, let the spider crawl across his fingers. “Said I was done caring, after the Black Death. You can’t… can’t care, you know? Plague’s gotta run its course.” He hadn’t ever really believed that anyway. “But this is… something new.”

He raised his hand and the spider clambered onto his head. It felt nice, little fuzzy legs combing through his hair. “Dunno. Something with… ’mune system? ’S bad. And…and no one cares. Aren’t studying it. Aren’t talking about it. Cuz of who’s sick.”

He picked up the bottle again, draining it, sweet-tart wine running down his throat. “’S what ’m s’posed to’ve done, y’know. Make ’em turn on each other. Cut off th’ ones who need help. ’S like I did in Spain…and France…”

He leaned his head against his knees, curling up beside the bed in his nest of bottles. “Nnhhh, ’f its nothing to do with me, why do I keep getting credit?”

Crowley couldn’t listen any longer. He let the phone tumble out of his fingers, onto the floor. Aziraphale’s voice grew louder, more insistent, then abruptly cut off.

Of course he’d hang up. Why would anyone want to talk to a demon who –

With a strange hum, something burst out of the phone, materializing in the hotel room very close to where Crowley sat. The pale figure stumbled on the wine bottles, then straightened his tartan bow tie and glared.

“Don’t you dare ignore me, Crowley.”

“I…how’d you…”

“Traveling through the telephone lines. You told me you’d tried it once before.”

“It was awful.”

“Not nearly as awful as your driving.” Aziraphale looked him up and down. “Look at yourself. You’re dressed like some sort of…teenaged ruffian. Why is there a spider in your hair?”

“’S fashion,” Crowley answered vaguely.

The angel leaned down and lifted the wolf spider, being careful not to hurt her legs. He watched the spider run across his palm. “And how long has he been like this?”

“Look, Angel, she just –”

“I wasn’t talking to you.” Aziraphale walked away, whispering to the spider. “Really? And you didn’t try to tell him – No, I suppose not. No, you’ve done your best. I’ll take it from here.” He set the spider down among the crown of thorns.

The angel still looked absolutely furious. “You could at least stand up instead of skulking on the floor like that.”

Crowley stumbled and tottered getting to his feet, and it wasn’t only because of the all the empty bottles.  Well, in a way it was.

“Angel, you shouldn’ be here –”

“I should absolutely be here. You’ve been on your own far too long.” He eyed the bottles. “How many of those are from today?”

“Nn. All of ’em. Housekeeping clears them out every morning.”

He tried not to notice the look Aziraphale gave him as the angel snapped his fingers, miracling the bottles into a neat row across the bedside table. “Now sober up.”

“C’mon, Angel, ’m fine.”

“Sober up. I’m not talking to you like this.”

The cranberry wine was a lot less pleasant coming out than it had been going in. And sobriety only made all the emotions he’d been feeling more clear.

Aziraphale watched the liquid pour back into the bottles, and when he was satisfied, jabbed a finger into Crowley’s chest.

“I don’t want to hear any more of this nonsense. You are not responsible for what the humans do, or believe, or ignore. That is their choice.”

“I know.” He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. “I just…how can they be so cruel to each other?”

“Free will.” Aziraphale sat beside him, so close their shoulders just barely brushed. “One day an act of kindness that surprises even me, the next…”

“The next, they leave hundreds of people to die horribly, just because they’re different.” This wasn’t any easier to process sober. “Are you going to tell me this is all part of the Ineffable Plan?”

“Would that make you feel better?”

“Has it ever?”

“Then, no. I think I’ll leave it at that.”

They sat together in silence for a long time.

There really weren’t any words to make it better. Free will or not, Plan or not, sometimes, humans were the absolute worst. He didn’t know why, after six thousand years, it still hurt to learn that.

But it helped to know, from the pressure of one shoulder leaning on another, that at least someone else had never learned to stop caring.

“So, are you going to head back to London?”

“After coming all this way?” Aziraphale had run out of severe looks; he just smiled sadly. “I have a few healings left in my allowance for the year. I think I might…see what I can do out in California.”

Crowley nodded, and for once he was the one on the verge of a forbidden thank you.

“Before you go. I think the Thanksgiving dinner is about to start. I don’t suppose…”

“My dear, I would never turn down a feast.”

The demon quickly stood up, re-settling his glasses, manifesting something a little more sophisticated than the punk-inspired look he’d been wearing.

Aziraphale dug under the bed and found an unopened bottle of cranberry wine. “I’m looking forward to seeing how this tastes. Oh, it looks like a little lighthouse! Lovely.”

Crowley paused at the door. “You’re not going to be all weird and pretend we don’t know each other, are you?”

“I suppose not. Since this is supposed to be a celebration with friends.” He eyed Crowley suspiciously. “Don’t go being overly familiar just because I said that.”

“Me? I would never!”

[morethanithoughtofficialblog]

Chapter 7: As useless as a broken mirror

In which you realize your life is crap... 

for now

*Your POV*

Talking with someone yesterday was good, I guess. I normally talk about work topics only, so it feels weird to have a casual conversation about... anything. And it was weirder, considering Sans was the one talking.

It would be today, though, the day where we would see each other again in order to discuss... more terms. They all deserve to know and I also need a few papers for them in order to get them into society. I just need the basics, though- report cards, previous jobs on the Underground, and I will put them some tests in order to see which educational level fits better each of them. But that will be later.

So there I was, waking up and trying to french kiss the morning as Bon Jovi does. And failing miserably, just as always.

I tried my best to keep a smile on my face. It didn't work out, either. I groaned loudly, realizing that it was four in the morning. So yeah, I just can't french kiss the morning when it isn't morning, you know. And so I felt stupid and went back to sleep...

...

Except I didn't.

No matter how many positions I tried or how many different pillows I took, I just couldn't get my head together. I was thinking about everything and, at the same time, about nothing at all. I felt numb yet desperate to be a normal person and fall sleep immediately, considering how freaking tired I actually was.

I sat on my bed silently and put on the lights. Bad idea, but I still do it every night like this.

I frowned remarkably and stood there until my eyes got accustomed to the light. And then I started to question what the hell was I doing, as usual.

I looked at my annoying digital clock again: 4:11 am.

Great, guess I'll stay like this until the day officially starts... or until I pass out, that is.

Maybe a good drink would have been great to forget it all. Then I remembered that I had work and that, besides, I don't drink. I groaned again.

I felt like crying, like screaming or like to go outside and let a fucking weirdo kill me or make me disappear forever...

That's the worst idea I've ever had.

I wanted to punch something; maybe a mirror, maybe that elegant flower vase with a dead daisy on it, or the TV. All of those were great options, honestly. But I wasn't up to clean the mess or to deal with angry neighbors, so I didn't move.

I shoot a glance at one of my bureaus, that only had an old book on its top. Maybe I could read. I tried to stretch my hand and get it, but I ended up falling out of the bed, making my head hurt like hell. Ouch. Maybe I couldn't, after all.

I, unsurprisingly, groaned again. If I had a cent for every time I have groaned in my life, I could probably have a car instead of taking that goddamn subway. Or I could get a house. Or a life...

Nah. That's way too expensive.

I eventually got up and stared at my drawer. Then, without thinking, I opened it. My heart sank when it did.

Medicines here, medicines there. Medicines FUCKING EVERYWHERE! There was barely any space left for even a fricking pill. This is not the first time I have seen this, though, but it still hurts to see how pathetic I am. This is just a small proof. There's more, that's for sure.

I stood there silently, anxiety consuming me over. I could even make a fucking drug store out of this drawer...

Actually, that doesn't sound like a bad idea.

I shook my head, resisting the urge to be sarcastic to myself... again.

But, yes, I had such a huge variety I could make a store out of it. Do you have anxiety? Well, Zoloft for you, that is! Are you depressed like me? Well here, took a Prozac pill! Come here and get your problems away...

And contribute to mine.

Oh my god, just end my suffering.

Thanks to my wonderful boss and work partners (including college and the monsters' case, of course), I forgot that I had emotional problems as well. And that means that I haven't been following my treatment. For months.

Shit.

Then I started to wonder when I had to see my psychiatrist again. I probably missed the date he gave me. Just wonderful, right?

I sighed and closed the drawer, feeling worse than before. I went to the bathroom to see my wound but there wasn't anything there. Thank God.

I ended up looking at my face, slightly frowning. People have said that I'm pretty, yes, but I think that's just out of sympathy. Therefore, I haven't been comfortable with my looks since... a long time ago.

My (e/c) eyes looked paler than when I was a kiddo. Ah, childhood. It was wonderful in its own way. No problems, no low self-esteem, no nothing. Just laughs and friends, videogames and nights playing Dungeons and Dragons with my dorky dad and my aunt. Those were good days.

I remember that I received a lot of comments, telling me that I would have a brilliant future. Hard to believe in that now, looking at what was happening.

I work in Congress and I am finishing my studies to finally become a biochemist. Being a scientist has been my dream, and I'm just a few steps before I can call myself "Dr. (Y/N)". And I'm just twenty.

When I was little, my dad took me to a neurologist in order to see my IQ. She said, in a few words, that I was super smart and super talented. I believed it but never used it as an excuse to think of me better than anyone else. Right then, I thought everyone had talents and intelligence. Now... I'm seriously doubting all those encouraging words were true. Because, even if I was a nerd, that never meant my future would be brighter.

A lot of my school partners and friends are being way happier than I am, having a perfect balance between emotions, college, and work. Me, who 'has it all' to become an important person, somehow has three mental breakdowns (at least) in one day, and it's struggling between having or not new friends, afraid of screwing up.

Is this what my parents would have wanted? For me to be a coward?

Well, surprise surprise. Your daughter is such a disappointment of a kid.

I'm a genius. That's what experts told me. They also said that this high IQ thingy may include problems socializing and, well, even mental illnesses. To be honest, I prefer being normal and not having these things than being a Leonardo Da Vinci and die internally every five seconds.

Then I noticed a warm feeling on my cheeks.

Oh crap.

I snapped back to reality and saw myself in front of the mirror, crying as if my life depended on it. Well, it kinda does, but that's not the point.

I tried to wipe them as quickly as possible, trying to banish that feeling instantly. But instead, I cried harder. And harder. And I felt more miserable than before, if that was possible.

My legs felt like jello and my eyes turned all red and puffy. My mouth was shaking, trying to transform itself into a smile. Why was I crying, again? Oh yeah, because I hate myself so much. I look awful, I'm just full of myself, lonely, and easily replaceable. There's nothing I can do about it.

I will finish my dream career, but all for what? To be more stressed? I don't know if I can quit at the Congress since I kind of accepted to be the ambassador of the monsters. Wow. I should have left someone more capable than I am to do the job. Now I'm going to disappoint them as well, whenever they see how weak I am. I mean, I'm crying while I'm looking at myself in the night... again. This is isn't new. But it just feels worst every time.

I gasped for air, almost forgetting how to breathe thanks to all that crying. I blinked a couple of times and took long breaths until I calmed down. When my vision wasn't blurry anymore, I saw my face again. All red and uglier than before. I looked like a baby losing its toy, like a child whining, or like a teenager who has an impossible crush.

I frowned, knowing I wasn't any of them. I was an adult, for God's sake.

Can this get more frustrating?

Can I be more pathetic?

I closed my fist and punched the mirror until my fingers went numb and my blood painted my whole hand...

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

*Frisk's POV*

I woke up later than usual, rubbing my eyes at the incoming sunlight. I groaned at the clock, seeing it was 10 am. But deep down I knew that Toriel would come for me, and so I got up.

I took a quick shower and put into more presentable clothes. I colocated a cute ribbon on my brown hair, feeling quite silly yet pretty. I stared at the mirror and saw my look with satisfaction. I was looking great! I even made some silly faces and giggled a little before coming out, interrupted by an angry skeleton who wanted to take a shower.

"kid, just fucking get out of there! what're you doin'? takin' a trip to narnia?"

"Sans, behave yourself!!!"

"...sorry ari-mom..."

I contained my laughter, knowing that Sans would be really angry if he heard me, and I walked out of the bathroom. Just a second passed before a quick flash of white ran into the room and locked the door. Oh, Sans, since when are you this desperate to take a shower?

The ones who hadn't showered groaned impatiently. I would have too since Sans lasts a long time in the shower. One time I swear I heard him singing a popular rock song (so popular I don't remember its name) and then eventually creating a song of how much he loved ketchup...

...I must admit I feel worried about his future...

Eh... let's just hope for the best.

After a bunch of complainings towards him and more people showering, we could finally take breakfast together. Thank God they were pancakes, or else Undyne or Papyrus would be trying to find out the best egg combination (which, according to them, hasn't been found yet). At first, it is fun to hear their crazy ideas, but then it turns into a competition that I get somehow dragged into it. Most of the time voluntarily, though.

However, I was too excited to let all my energy be drowned into an egg fight. Today we will be seeing (Y/N) again, and honestly, I was looking for it! She's nice, and I've been waiting to be friends with her all this time. So now that everything was, well, settled, this was my chance!

We all ate rather quickly and head out of the house. However, Asgore stopped us before we could go running to... anywhere, actually.

"Let's wait here a moment, ok?" he smiled eagerly, making me suspicious.

So we waited there for five minutes or so until a simple-looking taxi made its way towards the house. Then a 5'5 feet tall woman got out of there, who I recognized immediately.

"(Y/N)!!!!!" Papyrus screamed unearthly loud, hugging (Y/N) immediately. She looked a little bit startled by such a sudden move but hugged back shortly after him.

"Hello, Papyrus. It is good to see you again...!" she tried her best to sound enthusiastic, but she felt somehow... different. Why, though?

"Oh, (Y/N) sweetie, I'm so glad you could make it!" Goat mom added with a smile, which (Y/N) returned it kindly. Maybe I was just imagining things, after all "But, hey, come in! We want you to see where we have been living all this time!"

Sans looked a bit tense but quickly relaxed. He must have forgotten for a second that Papyrus was his roommate. Therefore, there was NO WAY his room could be dirty. Since when he cares about that, though?

And so we gave (Y/N) a small tour through the small house. She behaved as always; shy, anxious, not wanting to intrude or sound rude, making small compliments and comments in amusement. She was just super nice! I think she's one of my favorite humans.

After making her laugh a bit and answer some of her own doubts about the Underground, we all headed off to the Congress, talking about the simplest of topics.

"Oh! I remember hearing a song called 'Imagine' one day!" I told (Y/N), keeping up with the musical topic (at Sans's petition).

"You have? Well, I mean... which artist are you talking about?"

"I think it was Marshmello"

"...then no, I haven't heard that one"

"Is there another song called 'Imagine'?" Alphys asked, curious about our conversation.

"well, there's john lennon's, y' know..." Sans added, smiling lazily.

(Y/N) seemed perplexed for a second, then smiled widely.

"Yep, John Lennon's 'Imagine' is my kind of... 'Imagine', you know"

Throughout all the way we all were talking about music. (Y/N) turns out to be a Rock N' Roll and Indie listener, similar to Sans's taste. She is kind of a music nerd, actually. She would give a casual comment of something history-related to music. I think Sans felt like he was on his own mind, opening up strangely. Then I realized he was just another music nerd, and that both of them were never given the chance to talk about this with others so freely.

However, I noticed an unusual expression on Sans's face. Not a good one, I must say. He wasn't suspicious or anything- by any chance, I think he was worried...

but of what?

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

*Sans's POV*

It feels good to have someone to talk about these things. I mean, someone that at least can say who Slash is.

While I was talking to (Y/N), however, I noticed a wound on her right fist. Not to be rude, but she is a bit taller than I am, and I didn't want to look at a... private part of her body. Therefore, I ended up noticing a serious-looking injury on her fingers.

Should I ask?

I saw how happy she looked, talking about when she started to hear Rock N' Roll and watch concerts on TV.

Eh, I'll do it later...

Still, my mind wandered about that topic the rest of the road. And so, I didn't talk anymore, focusing on other things. Well, can you blame me? That looked like some serious shit happened.

When we arrived at the Congress, I noticed different looks from her work partners. I recognized one of the feelings on their looks: shame. They probably felt ashamed after hearing that we succeed. My smile grew wider, at least a bit, after thinking that.

We discussed a few things in her office like it was any day. Except it wasn't.

The human president made a public announcement on TV, radio, and social media, saying that monsters would be finally released and be accepted as legal citizens. Despite everything, I felt a bit uneasy. He might have been nice, but the others are clearly not like him. I just don't want to put Papy's security on risk.

We ended up leaving sooner than I thought, and for the first time in our lives, we used public transport. We received some glances, but in between, there were also kind smiles. Just like (Y/N)'s, just less dorky...

Did I just call the ambassador a dork?

I mentally groaned and took a seat, never erasing my apparently permanent smile. I felt like I was forgetting something, so I made a quick rewind on my head. But what would I have forgo- oh.

Oh.

You forgot to ask her, you idiot.

[manifestoonmoralmanlove]

Soulless Riffing: Brainless Ch. 2

I got a supernatural action/romance book series as a gift that’s just riddled with stuff that I hate….and as a steampunk Victorian London action romance story filled with werewolves and vampies…it’s yeah gonna be easy to poke fun at.

I just want to say, it’s totally cool if you like this story or ones like it!  It’s certainly a better caliber than a lot of what I make fun of….however…I can’t help but want to make fun of it.

Over here for the 1st chapter

SO FUCK IT HERE GOES!

Chapter 2

An Unexpected invitation FOR ME TO RANT ABOUT EXPOSITION!

Before I get into the meat of this chapter, allow me a bit of ranting time about some exposition we get in both chapter 1 and 2 here.

Even though Alexia was told she’s a rare and super cool SOULLESS when she was 6 years old. NOBODY IN HER FAMILY knows she’s Soulless. And I’m sitting here like…

????????????????????????????????????

There’s no fucking way any 6 year old can keep the secret that they have cool powers for longer than 10 minutes.  Especially if they weren’t told it was something to keep quiet about, and especially, ESPECIALLY if you’re telling a girl who grows up to be an out-going woman who’s confident about defending herself.

It’s as if there is some dramatic reveal on the horizon where her family finds out and is mean to her for being born BADLY.

SPEAKING OF BEING BORN BADLY this bit of characterization burns my biscuits a big one.

Alexia is considered unfuckable for a few reasons.

1.)    Big Nose, face isn’t considered traditionally pretty. – Okay that’s a good addition

2.)    She’s too STRONG-WILLED – Okay sure

3.)    She’s half Italian.

Woah hold up there…

Sorry, not sorry, but I hate this cowardly, cynically pandering horseshit.

Can that make sense in this pseudo-bullshit historical setting? Sure.  But we also have fucking werewolves and vampires.  The fact that they chose for her ~lower status~ to be tied to the fact that she’s A DIFFERENT KIND OF CAUCASIAN is deliberate and pathetic. They author wants to pander to women who feel like they’re…

“NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS” but at the same time don’t want to risk the book not selling if HEAVEN FUCKING FORBID there was a BLACK AND/OR FAT AND/OR TRANS AND/OR LIVES WITH A DISABILITY woman on the cover.  It’s just pandering to that extra shitty part of white people that’s like, “I’M A SECOND CLASS AMERICAN CITIZEN BECAUSE MY HERITAGE IS IRISH AND A LONG TIME AGO THE IRISH WERE TREATED SHITTY!”

Were the Irish and the Italians treated shitty in historical contexts?

Oh absolutely!  

Problem is this woman published a Victorian styled book that’s full of steam punk, yiffable supernatural vampires, in 2009. When you write it in the modern era and it’s full of fantasy bullshit and you want to make commentary about discrimination and prejudice? Don’t try to jam that in with a leading woman who’s an upperclass, straight, able-bodied, neruotypical, white, skinny, cis-woman but like THE BAD KIND OF WHITE!

Is it a book written from a problematic perspective? Not necessarily, but it’s fucking cowardly and you can get the hell out of my face with that gutless trite.

I have a feeling this is going to be an on-going theme too. People being discriminated against EVEN THOUGH THEY’RE COOL!  This chapter already implies that Vampires, Werewolves, Scottish People and YES even Scientists (for reasons) are discriminated against even though ALL OF THE ABOVE are well represented in the upper echelons of high society.

Can you be rich and respected but still be discriminated against? Yes, of course, but…it’s very hard for me to picture any of these groups as hugely oppressed when they’re dripping in money and good social standing. I’m so dreading the scene where somebody says something blatantly and maliciously racist about her powerful, wealthy werewolf boyfriend and Alexia stands up and GIVES THEM WHAT FOR cause she TOO knows what racism feels like cause a dude she asked out once was like, “Eww ur half-Italian no way lawl.”

I’m white, but Jesus Christ, fucking white people.

So with a page of me bitching about exposition out of the way….Alexia, her mother, her 2 half-sisters, and her step-father are all gossiping it up at the breakfast table. And boy howdy is it apparent what the author and by extension, what she thinks her audience would find shitty.

YES YOU GUESSED IT! Her younger half-sisters are

PRETTY BLONDE GIRLS!

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HOW COULD THEY!?!?!??!?!?

But they do have the negative trait of being SHALLOW!

Yes Alexia stand in judgment of those women who care about how they look.  Let’s ignore how every outfit you don, is lovingly described in detail, and that there were at least 3 separate situations last chapter where you fussed about how you looked.

Just to be clear, I’m not saying that there’s anything wrong with the author happily describing elaborate, Victorian outfits, or a woman fussing over her looks. I’m saying it’s bullshit that she snidely calls them shallow and insipid from atop her ~NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS~ throne while engaging in the same fucking behavior.

GO TO HELL ALEXIA!

So,

There’s an article in the paper about the dead vampire but there is no mention of Alexia in it. When asked if she knew anything about it she derails into huffing about how she wished she said more mean shit to Lord Macaron. When like…I’m sorry? You both said some sassy stuff, but HONESTLY? You violently killed a man at a ball, and got out of that REALLY FUCKING EASY, and while Alexia insulted Macaron to his face the worst he said to her was she was as covert as a sledgehammer and immediately apologized for it. (BTW, he said this in response to her DEMANDING to be given a job that doesn’t exist but she will get one like it in t-minus 5 chapters.)

Shouldn’t you be…I don’t know…a bit more concerned that a mysterious man attacked you last night, and there could be more like him out there RIGHT NOW rather than you didn’t have enough witty one-liners on hand? Get over yourself Alexia.

So let’s settle a bit.

She goes out huffing on a walk with her Bff Ivy Hisselpenny to calm herself down.

Even if Ivy is also an outcast due to voluntarily wearing SILLY HATS!  I’m calling it now she is a cinnamon roll that must be protected from Alexia’s “I’m best girl” narrative.  May I say I find it a gross misuse of time to use a paragraph to explain the difference in French/English Fashion by their introduction but spend 2 words, “Hideous bonnet” on describing the silly hat? FOR SHAME!

Thankfully Alexia doesn’t’ incessantly tease poor Ivy…yet.  On their walk they are stopped by Mable Dair who tells Alexia her Vampire Matriarch, Countess Nadasdy, wishes to see her.  

Everything about that situation screams bad fucking news for her.  Again, thankfully, Alexia has enough brains to try to determine HOW BAD that situation could be.

So she sees token gay and vampire friend Lord Akeldama.  The author makes no qualms about characterizing him as the floucniest priss that ever ponced a sissy.  Now, I’ll confess, I have a guilty pleasure for fictional gay stereotypes that bleed into problematic territory. 

EH-HEM!                        

Yet Lord Akeldama is not doing it for me.  It might be the fact that since this is kinda Young Adult territory that you can’t be subtle. But I can’t help but feel condescended to with the tons of IMPLIED nods to how gay he is. I’d almost rather she just come out and say, “THIS MAN IS SOOOOOOOOOOOO GAY…HE IS A DICK WITHIN A COCK WITHIN A PENIS! HE’S LIKE A TURDUKEN BUT IT’S A DICK-COCK-IS!” Instead I’m tapping my fingers going, “Oh this new line of dialog now makes it the 67th new cutsey flower-based nickname he’s calling Alexia by! Thanks cause, I missed all the previous 66 of them!”

To be honest, I might be being a bit too judgmental here.  Like with all things I love a lot, I can be a bitter opinionated bitch about what I consider good and bad versions of it.  So anyway Akeldama doesn’t have much to add besides

“Create more sexual tension with that Hunky werewolf wiener”

BOY HOWDY AM I LOOKING FORWARD TO MORE SEXY AND ROMANTIC DIALOG LIKE…

“UR A BIG STINKY FART-FACE!”

“I KNOW WHAT YOUA RE BUT WHAT AM IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII? NEH!”

Say something Nice Faps:

Lord Akeldama being interested in Alexia makes some sense due to her soulless ability. The author makes a point about how he likes holding her hand and feeling human. So even if Alexia is insufferable or nothing special otherwise it makes sense that this vampire would enjoy her company for that at least.

They describe Mable as both chubby and very good looking. CAUSE TURNS OUT YOU CAN BE BOTH!

As I said, Alexia at least has enough brains to get some info before driving straight into the fire here.

[strechanadi]

POB Swan Lake overthinking no. 783

I don’t have time for this, she said. I have to work on actual papers, she said. And here she is, writing shitload of words about another POB Swan Lake, since she’s a respectable, responsible adult human being.

(Dear @spinmelikeyoumeanit, this is purely your fault, please do know I hate you right now. Enjoy the madness and all the mistakes I am far too lazy to correct. If I’d be able to find them in the first place, that is.)

Shockingly enough, I was yet again asked to share my opinions on POB Swan Lake. And we all know the real meaning behind question „what did you think about SL?“ is in POB case „What did you think about Wolfgang/Siegfried relationship?“ Can’t quite believe that after the madness that was 2016 recording, someone think it healthy to let me dive into this once again. But you wanted it, so here we go!

  You know, despite my academic title, that was supposed to made me educated in matters of history, theory, aesthetics, and who the hell knows what else of dance, I’m still just 5yo child in a overgrown body deep down. So watching anything on stage I am still very much driven by my feelings, my opinions formed by and based on my liking certain things and disliking others (and by disliking I mean hating – 5yo child, don’t forget that). I am all too well aware of my reviews, critics, even the supposedly professional ones, being strongly personal and not at all objective. (As I think is pretty clear even from bad English translations…) (And let’s not begin with the „is it even possible to write an objective, i.e. unbiased, review at all?“ let’s just… not.) (Because it surely is and it‘s just me, painfully incapable of doing so, and desperately trying to hide my own lameness by saying such things as „it can’t be done, so why wasting time trying?“) (However an essay on me and my way of writing things is absolutely different matter, that no one was asking for, and reasonably so. I’m going to shut up now and maybe even get myself to the point…)

  Thinking about yesterday’s performance, there’s one feeling coming back constantly, no matter how valiantly I’m trying to fight it. It’s disappointment. And I HATE it! Partly because – come on, disappointment is not at all something one should feel after watching Nureyev’s POB SL, partly because it’s utterly absurd – the company was in top shape, 2nd and 4th act corps de ballet flawless, Nureyev’s choreography still one of the best I know. And yet…

It’s like I cannot be given POB SL I would like 150%, without questions, without reservations.

Don‘t get me wrong, I love the 2005 recording. It opened my eyes, it made me realize French technique is IT for me, it showed me Karl for the first time and made me fell in love with him (and with Wolfgang) the second he stepped on stage in prologue (if anybody ever tells you love at first sight doesn’t exist, well…). I utterly loved Agnes as Odette/Odile and after few years I realized I actually adore the costumes, the faded colours, the weirdly dreamy atmosphere. But even though I got to understand José Martinez and his interpretation of Siegfried at the end (like after 3 years, never said I was the brightest one), I still felt there’s something missing for me to be completely happy. (But then again, there was Karl the-best-Wolfgang-one-could-ever-hope-for Paquette, and that alone could make me happy for days!)

Knowing me you are probably a bit confused right now, because hello, you were obsessing over 2016 recording for literal weeks, you wrote utterly mad review on it AND another positively deranged essay on main characters, you were clearly unable to shut up about it for even 5 seconds, so what the hell are talking about now, not being 150% happy with any SL recording so far. Well yes, I got to see Siegfried I loved embarrassingly much, and Wolfgang/Rothbart that worked so well with him, that I was almost able to forget Karl (for exactly 27 seconds or so), but then there was Amandine, whose Odette was just… well… eh, nothing special, and as minor issue as it may seems, it still left the faintest bitter taste somewhere deep, deep down, thanks to which I simply couldn’t make myself to say – yes, this is the best Swan Lake of all Swan Lakes I’ve ever seen and you all should just stop with whatever you are doing right now and go watch it (even thought it was one of the best Swan Lakes I’ve ever seen and you all should stop with whatever you are doing right now and go watch it).

And now, now I got Odette/Odile with personality and strong charisma again, Wolfgang that is still more Rothbart that anything else, but that I got used to. And Siegfried, who I fucking hate. There. My inner child strikes again. In full force.

 Honestly, Germain was my biggest disappointment. And kind of the only one, thinking about it now. It’s rather ridiculous, dismiss the whole performance because of one character, isn’t it? And that character being Siegfried. It’s not like there are not quite few SL with a bit boring princes, right? It’s kind of expected, not that shocking, is it? But hell – if I love Nureyev’s ballets it’s because he’s given his male heroes more time, more space, more dance, more personality. If I love Nureyev’s SL it’s because of Siegfried being the main character (and because of Wolfgang/Rothbart, because of corps de ballet, because of many other things, but you get my point, surely). This SL demands much from its main hero, and is not forgiving. Or maybe in reality it is and the unforgiving bitch is me. And rest assured I am. I love Siegfried. I love his character, the possibilities the dancer’s given in interpretation and I fucking love his variations. And Germain kind of killed everything, or almost everything for me. It is personal, of course it is, how it cannot be? But one just couldn’t mess one of the most beautiful variations ever made and expect I’d be just, you know what, whatever, your feet were pointed, your 5th position perfect, your technique overall crystal clear, and you are pretty, so who cares? Who cares about interpretation? Who cares about how it seems you have no idea, what you were doing 5minutes ago, what you are doing now and where your character is heading? God, Germain, please, this Siegfried is not just some other prince. He’s so much more than that. You could do practically anything with his character, built it the way you want, the way you are, the way you believe. Just use that pretty head of yours and what’s inside!

There were moments in act 1 (that, let’s be clear, sets the mood for the whole thing), that were promising. I loved what a child Siegfried was, how eager he was to pleased Wolfgang, what an adorable little puppy he could be. (And what is it with me and puppies lately?! First Armand, then one of Bourne’s princes, now Germain, when does this stop? I should choose different animal, seriously. Or different comparison altogether…), but the more promising these moments were – like the one, where Siegfried was looking at Wolfgang as (and I cannot describe it in any other way) a blushing virgin, which, and I swear, made me screamed so loud it could be heard across the ocean! - the more frustrating the outcome.

As I said yesterday, Germain’s Siegfried was like 5yo. You can tell just by looking at him the moment Wolfgang stopped him from following the other boys. I kind of expected Siegfried’s going to stamp his feet or something equally mature :D (but he just went and killed off my favourite variation) (I cannot watch it without screaming, so don’t make me just so you would know what exactly I found problematic).

If anything, his interpretation was simply incoherent. All right, you decided to portray your prince as a child, so pure, so clueless, fine. But if the only thing you can do is one smile, it’s too little, and it is really hard to make your character convincing and not simply annoying after 5 minutes. (Yeah, we got it, you are dreamy, starry eyed kid, cool, could you maybe do something different now? ANYTHING?) But OK. Still could work. But then there’s Siegfried’s variation at the end of act 1. And suddenly you are acting like the teenage prince who is about to marry, who is forced to become and adult and who is scared and has his doubts and all that, but – there was exactly NOTHING before in your way of building your character, that would justify such change. No self-doubt during whole act. None. Zero. Who are you trying to convince now? It’s not going to work all of sudden! And then, another ultimate favourite part of mine – Siegfried/Wolfgang duet. And Siegfried is yet again his unsuspecting, depending, pure baby self. And reading this, you may think, OK, well it could make sense, don’t be such a bitch about it. But it didn’t make sense. The whole interaction had so much potential from Francois‘ part and almost nothing from Germain in return (apart from his perfectly perfect legs – I swear, should he spent as much time thinking about his character as much as he seemed to be thinking about his technique, what an interpretation we could‘ve seen)!

Someone on twitter or somewhere said Germain did his variations beautifully, but they looked more like from concours, than from an actual performance. And that’s exactly it. Not just he became all melancholic out of blue, but the second he was about to do a sissone or a pirouette or a developpé or anything, he was all about technique, about pointed feet, about jump higher and I wanted to scream (so I did).

What hurts me the most is knowing it really, truly could have made sense. Were Germain’s presence more genuine, more real… (or at least consistent!)

  Francois was his usual self as Wolfgang. Still more Rothbart in disguise (*sigh* I want Karl *more pathetic sigh*), smug smile on his face the entire time (I caught myself smirking with him, so he did something right, I’d say) (or maybe I’m just a bad person who would love too much to play with this Siegfried and make him suffer without him even knowing what’s going on) (I told you he was annoying, didn’t I?), he was aware of his power, he was using it freely, enjoying himself (maybe in a bit more reserved manner than in 2016, more for his sake, than for show, even though he could probably laugh at Siegfried’s face and the prince would still run to him happily). And there was Siegfried, all wide eyes, unguarded smiles, so out of touch with anything he physically needed Wolfgang to hold his hand to take him here and there (at one moment pretty disturbing idea crossed my mind – how it would be easier for Wolfgang to just have a leash… I sincerely apologize for my brain, I’d like to say it’s not my fault, truly, but it most probably is.)

Honestly – it was far too easy for Wolfgang this time. This Siegfried believed him implicitly, without question, without doubt, completely, unreservedly, with everything he has, while having no idea, while being completely unaware of a single thing going on around him, not to mention with him. Their relationship was (or could have been) (sorry, inner child, remember) even more uncomfortable, with all those touches literally all over prince’s body – his bare neck, his chest, his arms, his hands, and yet there was anything remotely sexual (not even intimately intimate – if it makes sense) between them. Which was a good thing, because that would be pure child’s pornography…

In act 4, Francois‘ Rothbart was positively mad. Like cartoon villain mad. And it is so not for me… (give me Karl, please, give me all his performances, and if it’s too much, give me just his 4 acts, that’s all I would ever ask for, pretty, pretty, pretty please with the whole cherry tree on top)

 You know me (well you don’t, but you do in a way, which is terrifying and I hope you all have already come to terms with me have to kill you some day), I love looking for things, for meaning of this and that, analysing every tiny bit of one interaction between characters (i.e. overthinking everything and making up more and more insane theories) (this applies on ballet only, I’m literally unable to see anything that is not canon in literature/tv shows/films/whatever, so if I had the misfortune of stumble over fandom of one thing or another, I’m more often than not at loss for what the people are talking about, but that is probably just my own autism showing…) – but with this SL, this Siegfried, I had to try unreasonably hard to see something. And that’s simply wrong. The (over)analysing should be an outcome of pure need, that was brought into life by strong emotions you felt while watching something, it should come naturally. There should be no effort, no trying… It’s quite easy – heart, then mind. If there’s nothing in your heart in the first place, why bother your poor, overworked brain with it? While it probably doesn’t even exist. It doesn’t make sense.

  So to sum this whole SL up, here you have my ultimate conclusion:

Siegfried wasn’t just autistic, he had serious mental affliction. I mean, weren’t Wolfgang right sadistic bastard, he could tell Siegfried to jump out of window, be done with it and spare himself all the effort.

  And since it’s 3.30 AM again, I’m going to bed. To sleep. Not watching Siegfried variations when they were perfect and therefore the world still made sense… (God, it is I who have mental affliction!)

[the-girl-in-the-band-tshirt]

Captain Swan Secret Santa 2018

Hello, hello, @downeystarkjr! It is I, your Captain Swan secret Santa New Year’s baby! And with that, let me apologize profusely for how late this is. *facepalm*

I tried so hard to plot out a story based on what you said you wanted to see, but having no exposure to Zorro (*hides*), that was tough. And I just generally couldn’t come up with something to match your wishes that would satisfy. But then - BUT THEN you mentioned one of your favorite movies is 10 Things I Hate About You, and it just so happens that’s one of my all-time favorite movies AND I’ve been dying to write Captain Swan into that movie for a while now. So I started writing. And I kept writing. And I wrote some more. And this @cssecretsanta2k18 fic got much longer than I planned it to be. Oh, and there are a few details in there catered to you, and I hope those make you smile. :)

So it’s been drafted for a bit now, but the editing process is proving slower. My beta is my lovely friend @ohmakemeahercules, who I have to thank here because, dang, she’s put up with a lot from me. And she’s fabulous! And this fic would absolutely not be near as readable as it is now without her (and it’s not even done being edited yet - she’s that amazing!). And we will continue working on this thing to give you the best gift it can be. However, I didn’t want you to have to wait any longer, so here’s a partially edited story for you! When it is fully edited, I’ll make another post on here, and I’ll also post it to ao3 at that point. Until then, I hope I can keep talking to you! You and I, apparently, have a lot in common, and I’d love to get to know you better! 

I hope you’re not too disappointed it’s not exactly what you asked for. Here goes...

“What did everyone think of The Sun Also Rises?” Mr. Pendragon crossed his arms and leaned against the chalkboard as he scanned his classroom for any sign of intellectual thought.

“I loved it. It was so romantic.” That was Ashley, a sweet girl who worked two jobs after school to help her family make ends meet. But she treated Hemingway like a fairytale.

“Romantic?” Scoffed Emma Swan, the opinionated and sarcastic girl seated in the back row. Mr. Pendragon squeezed his eyes shut, already feeling a headache blooming. “Hemingway was an abusive alcoholic misogynist who squandered half his life hanging around Picasso trying to nail his leftovers.”

Nearly every student in the room rolled their eyes at her.

“As opposed to a bitter, self-righteous bitch who has no friends?” Mr. Pendragon rolled his eyes this time as Neal Gold, the rich kid bully, chimed in.

“Pipe down, Gold,” the teacher stepped in.

Emma Swan fumed at Neal from her seat before turning back to face the front of the room. “I guess in this society being male and an asshole makes you worthy of our time. What about Sylvia Plath or Charlotte Bronte or Simone de Beauvoir?”

Suddenly, everyone in the class jerked their heads toward the door as Killian Jones walked in, leather jacket despite the warm temperature outside, no books, and late as usual. He scratched behind his ear as he looked around the classroom.

“What did I miss?” He asked in a British accent.

Before anyone else could answer, Emma spoke up. “Just the oppressive patriarchal values that dictate our education.”

Killian nodded, muttering a, “good,” before leaving the room. Mr. Pendragon tried to call after him, but it was no use.

Turning back to the class, Mr. Pendragon addressed Emma. “Ms. Swan, I want to thank you for your point of view.” He paused as Emma sent a smirk Neal’s way. Just when she felt validated, he added, “I know how difficult it must be for you to overcome all those years of upper middle-class suburban oppression. It must be tough.” At that, Emma slumped back into her seat, a scowl returning to her face.

“Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Mr. Pendragon headed to the front of the classroom. “Go to the office. I don’t need to deal with this right now.”

“Mr. Pendragon! What?!”

“You heard me.”

Emma huffed out a breath as she left the room, but not before knocking Neal on the side of his head to stop his snickering.

“Emma Blanchard,” Ms. Perky, the guidance counselor, addressed the student walking into her office, “why am I not surprised to see you again?”

“It's Swan. Emma Swan. I'm adopted.” She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes, bored with the routine. Ms. Perky made a disapproving noise and proceeded to type on her computer, not even looking Emma's way.

“Your father is a Blanchard. Your sister is a Blanchard. It says ‘Blanchard’ on the roster and in the system,” Ms. Perky reminded Emma.

“And I'm a Swan.”

Ms. Perky paused, grinning to herself as she glanced between her mug and Emma, who raised her eyebrows waiting for an explanation. “Swan,” she pointed to her swan-printed mug. “Swan,” she pointed at Emma while laughing out loud. Emma nodded overdramatically as she waited for the guidance counselor to get down to business. “So I hear you were terrorizing Mr. Pendragon’s class again.”

“Expressing my opinion is not a terrorist action.”

“The point is people see you as somewhat-”

“Tempestuous?”

“‘Heinous bitch’ is the term used most often. “You might want to work on that.”

Emma’s lips slightly upturned. She was almost seemed impressed with herself, despite the unflattering connotation.

Ms. Perky went back to typing as Emma waited for her dismissal. The counselor sighed and lowered her glasses before a tired “thank you” was uttered.”

Emma grabbed her backpack from the floor. She faced Ms. Perky and said, with extreme sarcasm,  “as always, thank you for your excellent guidance.” She exited the room without another word.

That afternoon,  Emma and her best friend, Lily, waited in Emma’s car for her younger sister, Mary Margaret. However, Mary Margaret was more interested in catching the eye of Neal Gold, the most popular guy in senior year. She and her best friend, Tamara, walked by him for the fourth time that afternoon trying to get noticed. Fourth time was the charm, as Neal called out, “looking good, ladies.” Tamara sent Neal a predatory grin before leading Mary Margaret away from the boy before she started giggling and making a fool of herself in front of him.

“They’re out of reach, even for you, Gold.” Felix, another senior, said.

Neal glared at his friend. “No one’s out of reach for me.”

“You want to put money on that?”

Neal shook his head, still watching the girls walk away. “Money I’ve got. This I’m going to do for fun.”

Meanwhile, Neal wasn’t the only guy with his eye on Mary Margaret.

“Who’s that guy?” David Nolan, a new kid to Storybrooke High, asked his tour guide, August Booth.

“Neal Gold. He’s rich. He’s a model. And he’s a moron.”

“A model?” To be honest, Neal didn’t strike David as a model.

“Eh,” August shrugged. “Mostly regional stuff.  But he’s rumored to have a tube sock ad coming out.”

David gave August a look that screamed, “really?,” to which August just nodded. They both laughed.

“Man, just look at her. Is she always so-”

“Clueless? Airheaded? Into herself?” In truth, August didn’t really know Mary Margaret well, but she was easily the most popular girl in the school.

“Don’t say that about her. There’s more to her than you think. I mean, look at the way she smiles. And look at her eyes, man. She’s totally pure. You’re missing what’s there.”

“No, David. What’s there is a bratty little princess wearing a strategically planned sundress to make guys like us realize we can never touch her, and guys like Neal realize they want to. We will spend the rest of our lives not being able to have girls like her. Just move on, dude.”

David crossed his arms and took a step back from August. “No. You’re wrong about her.”

August put his hands up in surrender. “Fine. I’m wrong. You want to take a shot? Be my guest. She’s actually looking for a French tutor.”

David’s entire face lit up. “Seriously? That’s perfect!”

“Do you speak French?”

“No.” He stared dreamily at Mary Margaret, who was waving goodbye to her friend. “But I will.”

On her way to her sister’s car, Mary Margaret was stopped in her tracks by Neal Gold pulling up in his convertible.

“Hey. Would you and your friend like a ride?”

Mary Margaret barely waited to breathe before she called out to Tamara, who ran over and got in Neal’s car right behind her friend.

Emma and Lily, who had watched the drama unfold, rolled their eyes simultaneously.

“That’s a charming new development,” Lily said sarcastically.

Scrunching her face in disgust, Emma added, “it’s pathetic.” She buckled her seatbelt and prepared to drive just the two of them. Right when she was about to back out, Emma had to slam the breaks because of a stalled motorcycle directly behind her car. “Hey,” she yelled, “remove head from ass, then drive!”

The motorcyclist scooted away sans motor so Emma could pull out. She flipped him off and sped out of the parking lot.

David Nolan came running up to the rider - August. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Just a minor encounter with the shrew, your girlfriend’s sister.”  

“That’s Mary Margaret’s sister?” David was in a state of disbelief. 

August nodded, “adopted.” With that, he once again got his motorcycle working. Sending David a knowing smile, he put on his helmet and rode off.

Emma was happily lying on the living room couch reading a book when her adoptive father arrived home.

“Hello, Emma. Make anyone cry today?”

“Sadly, no, but it’s only 4:30.”

Leo Blanchard’s smile only grew as Mary Margaret came inside and greeted her father.

“Hi, Daddy.” She kissed his cheek and moved Emma’s feet so she could sit on the couch.

“Hello, precious.”

“And where have you been?” Emma bookmarked her page and closed the book, expecting some amusement as her father learns that her sister was in a car with Neal Gold.

“Nowhere.” She gave Emma a pleading look.

Emma promptly ignored her sister. “Ask Mary Margaret who drove her home.”

Leo waited for an answer from his biological daughter.

“Now, don’t get upset, but there’s this boy.” Mary Margaret couldn’t help grinning at the thought of a boy liking her.

“Who’s a flaming imbecile,” Emma chimed in.

“And I think he might ask me-”

“Please. I think I know what he’s going to ask you. And I think I know the answer: No. 1, it’s always no. What are the house rules? No. 1, no dating till you graduate. No. 2, no dating till you graduate. That’s it.”

“That’s so unfair! I’m the only girl in school who’s not dating.” She put on the puppy-dog face.

“No, you’re not. Your sister doesn’t date.”

Emma smiled proudly. “And I don’t intend to.”

“And why is that again?” Leo turned to his adopted daughter, beaming smile on his face.

“Have you seen the unwashed miscreants that go to that school?” Emma could actually see the moment a new idea sparked in her father’s brain.

“Okay. You’re unhappy with the old rule - fine. Old rule out. New rule in: Mary Margaret can date-” Mary Margaret squealed with delight; Emma gasped at the unfairness. Leo pointed at Emma, “-when she does.”

“So I was thinking.” David Nolan sat across from Mary Margaret Blanchard at a library table.

“Yeah?”

“Well, there’s no better way to learn a language than by doing, right?” She looked confused. “What about French food? We could eat some, you know, together? Saturday night?”

“That’s so cute! You’re asking me out.” Mary Margaret’s voice got dangerously high-pitched before her delight switched to disappointment.

David watched her emotions play out on her face. “Oh, I mean, I know your dad doesn’t let you date, but I thought maybe if it was for French class-”

“Oh, wait a minute!” She was smiling again. “My dad just came up with a new rule. I can date if my sister does.”

David’s face lit up.

“Don’t get too excited, David. My sister is pretty much incapable of human interaction nowadays.”

“Well, I’m sure that there are lots of guys who wouldn’t mind going out with a difficult woman,” he sounded unsure, but he was determined.

“You really think you could find someone extreme enough to date her?”

“Yeah. Why not?”

Mary Margaret reached out and touched David’s arm. “You’d do that for me?”

“Absolutely.”

After a long and fruitless search - apparently Emma Swan’s reputation precedes her - David knew he had the right guy in biology as he watched Killian Jones hack away at his dissection frog rather than delicately cut it.

“Hey, what about him?” David whispered to August, pointing at Killian.

“No, no.  Don’t look at him, okay? He's a criminal.” August slapped David’s arm down from pointing at Killian and avoided even glancing in that direction.

David watched as Killian took out a cigarette from his leather jacket pocket and lit it using his Bunsen burner. He almost got around to smoking it, but his lab partner grabbed it and put it out. Obviously frustrated, he rested his head on one of his arms that was on the lab table and brooded. Abandoning the assignment altogether, he passed his right hand through the Bunsen burner’s flame on and off. As David continued to watch Killian, he knew had found the perfect guy for Emma.

“How do we get him to date Emma?” August looked at his friend, who was staring at Killian Jones from across the cafeteria. He didn’t think dealing with Killian Jones was a great idea, but David was convinced.

“I don’t know. We could pay him, except that we don’t have any money.” David slumped in his seat, deflated at the idea of not being able to take Mary Margaret out.

“Yeah. Well, what we need is a backer.” David sat up a little straighter. “You know, someone with money who’s stupid.” David followed August’s gaze to the popular table, where Neal Gold was laughing obnoxiously loudly with his posse. August turned to David, nodding. “I got this.” With that, August walked over to Neal’s table and took an empty chair, pretending to laugh to blend in.

“Are you lost?” Neal asked August.

“I just came by to chat,” August said confidently. David couldn’t believe August wanted to work with the competition.

“We don’t chat.”

“Actually, I thought that I'd run an idea by you, just to see if you're interested.”

Neal interrupted, “I’m not.”

“You want Mary Margaret, right?” Now August had Neal’s attention. “She can't go out with you because her sister is a heinous bitch who growls if you stare too long. What I think you need to do is hire someone who doesn’t scare so easily, tame the beast, so to speak.” August turned his attention to Killian, expecting Neal to follow. He did. “Seems like a solid investment, right?”

Neal narrowed his eyes. “What’s in it for you?”

“Hey. I’m walking down the hall and say hello to you, you say hello to me. Or at least maybe you don’t treat me and my friend like crap all the time.”

“Alright. I get it.” August nodded, and Neal nodded in return - an agreement - before telling August to leave. “We’re done now.” August got up and returned to his seat next to David.

“What are you doing getting him involved?”

“Relax. We’ll let him think he’s calling the shots, but you’ll be the one spending time with Mary Margaret while he sets everything up.”

“Okay. That’s not a bad idea, actually.” David was so ready to take out the girl of his dreams.

Killian Jones sat with his friend Will Scarlet. They were smoking on the bench on the sideline of the soccer field. Killian steeled his features, abruptly ceasing his laughter over something Will had said, as none other than Neal Gold approached the bench. Killian said nothing, hoping Neal would get bored and leave. No such luck.

“Hey. How ya doing?”

Killian put his cigarette between his teeth. “Can I help you?”

“See that girl?” Neal was pointing at one of the girls playing soccer, her long blond hair pulled up in a ponytail as she fought one of the other players for the ball.

He took the cigarette from his mouth. “I see her.” He kept watching her, somehow compelled not to look away.

“That’s Emma Swan. I want you to go out with her.” Neal was grinning smugly when Killian turned his attention back to him.

“Yeah, sure, Sparky.” Killian looked at Will and the two laughed. Killian returned the cigarette to his mouth for a moment before removing it and throwing it down on the ground in front of him.

“Look; I can’t take out her sister until Emma starts dating. You see, their dad’s insane. He’s got this rule where the girls-”

Killian put a hand up, stopping Neal’s jabbering. “That’s a touching story. It really is. Also not my problem.”

“Would you be willing to make it your problem if I provide generous compensation?” Neal waggled his eyebrows, still grinning.

Killian narrowed his eyes just barely. “You’re going to pay me to take out some lass?” Neal’s grin grew as he gave Killian a single nod. “How much?” Killian could use the money, and there are worse ways to earn money than spending a night with a pretty girl.

“Twenty bucks.”

The three guys turned their attention back to the field to watch Emma. Killian crossed his arms and turned back to Neal after she violently body checked another player.

Neal sighed. “Fine. Thirty.”

Killian held up his index finger and shook it. “Well, let’s think about this.  We go to the movies - that’s, say, 20 bucks. I get gas for my car, we get popcorn - that’s 60. And if she has a sweet tooth, we’re looking at 75 bucks.”

“I’m not negotiating this. Take it or leave it.”

Killian shrugged. “Fifty bucks and we’ve got a deal.” He held out his hand to Neal, and this time, he was the one wiggling his eyebrows. Neal sighed as he pulled a $50 bill from his wallet, placing it in Killian’s outstretched hand. Pocketing the cash, he waved to Neal and said good-bye to Will as he made himself comfortable on the concrete bench to watch the rest of practice.

As soon as the coach dismissed the soccer team, Killian stood up, shoved his hands into his pockets, and prepared himself to approach Emma Swan. As she packed some things into her equipment bag, Killian came up behind her.

“Hey there, love. How are you this fine afternoon?”

Emma swung around at his voice, clearly startled, though refusing to let him know it. “First, not your love. Second, sweating like a pig, actually. And yourself?”

“Now there’s a way to get a guy’s attention.”

She rolled her eyes. “My mission in life.” Her eyes narrowed when Killian didn’t walk away. She threw her bag over her shoulder then crossed her arms. “But apparently I’ve gotten your attention, so, you see, it worked.” Emma started off back to the locker room to get the rest of her stuff so she could get home and shower. She did not expect him to follow her.

“Pick you up Friday, then?”

She swung around to face him once again. “Oh, right. Friday. Yeah, sure.”

He lowered his voice, “I’ll take you places you’ve never been before.”

“Like the alley behind the drugstore on Main Street? Do you even know my name, jackass?”

“I know a lot more than you think.”

“Doubtful. Very doubtful.”

“You’re something of an open book.” She stuttered in her movement to walk away. There was something in his face that told her he wasn’t lying. But if he thought he knew her, he had another thing coming. After taking another moment to scan her suitor, she turned around and walked inside, not letting him call after her or follow.

Alone on the field, Killian actually smiled as he said the only two words coming to mind at that moment, “bloody hell.”

Later that night, Emma was brushing her teeth before bed when her sister came into the bathroom for her nightly routine.

“Have you ever considered a new look? I mean, seriously, you could have some definite potential buried under all that hostility.” Emma stilled the hand holding her toothbrush and stared at her sister, who looked entirely unfazed.

“I’m not hostile. I’m annoyed.”

“Why don’t you try being nice? I know you are. But people at school wouldn’t know what to think.”

“You forget that I don’t care what people think. Stopped caring ages ago.”

Mary Margaret turned to Emma and put a hand on her shoulder. “You do care.”

Emma shook her head and spit the toothpaste out of her mouth. “No, I don’t. And you don’t always have to be who they want you to be. You know that?”

“I happen to enjoy being liked by people.”

Emma rinsed her toothbrush before looking back at her sister. “Wait, where’d you get that necklace?”

“It’s Mom’s,” Mary Margaret squeaked out.

Emma couldn’t believe this. Only three years after their mother’s death and Mary Margaret thought she could just take her things. “And you’ve been hiding it for three years?”

“No. Dad found it in a drawer last week.”

“And you’re wearing it now? Is that going to be a normal thing?”

“It’s not like she’s going to wear it. And she always said she thought it would look good on me.”

Emma shook her head and felt the tears threatening to spill. “Trust me,” she spat out, “it doesn’t.”

With bags of food in hand, Emma emerged from the grocery store to find Killian Jones leaning against her car.

“This is quite the vessel you captain here, Swan.”

She rested the bags on the sidewalk, but she still gripped the handles. “Are you following me?”

“I was at Marco’s. Saw your car - hard to miss, that yellow Bug. I came over to say hi.”

“Hi.” She picked up her groceries and moved to put them in her car. Killian kept a hand on the door, stopping her from opening it.

“Not a big talker?”

“Depends on the topic. Hearing people mock my car doesn’t really whip me into a verbal frenzy.”

Killian stared at her like he was putting together a puzzle, trying to figure her out. His voice was high-pitched with curiosity as he asked, “you’re not afraid of me, are you?”

“Afraid of you?” She managed to get her door open and shoved her bags in the car before turning back around to face her stalker. “Why would I be afraid of you?”

He shrugged. “Most people are.”

“I’m not.”

“Well, maybe you’re not afraid of me.  But I’m sure you’ve thought about me naked.” He gave her a knowing wink. She thought it was absolutely obnoxious.

She feigned surprise. “Am I that transparent?” He chuckled as she wedged herself into her car. Putting his hands up in mock innocence, Killian backed up onto the sidewalk as Emma started to pull away. Of course, Neal Gold parked his show-off classic car in the road directly behind her. “What is it, asshole day?” She muttered to herself. To Neal, who was walking into his father’s pawn shop, she yelled, “hey, do you mind?”

He yelled back, “no, not at all,” before walking into the shop and slamming the door behind him.

Fed up, Emma backed straight out and into Neal’s car, pushing it until it was out of the way. Her car may be old, but it was built better than his rich-kid car. She started to pull out of the parking lot, flipping Neal off as he came running out of the store.

“What the hell, bitch?!”

“Oops!” She laughed as she pulled away, even flashing Killian a smile from her window before disappearing from view.

Killian had stood on the sidewalk watching the whole scene, a delighted smile gracing his face as Neal ran to his car to assess the damage. Emma Swan could certainly hold her own.

After being properly lectured about the accident by her father, who tried and failed to hide that he was definitely a tad proud, Emma’s reading was interrupted by a screech from her sister.

“Did you maim Neal’s car?!”

“Yup. Looks like you’re going to have to take the bus, or, you know, ride with your bitch of a sister.” Emma smiled, but didn’t bother looking up from her book.

“Has the fact that you’re completely insane managed to escape your attention?”

Emma shrugged. Mary Margaret let out a noise of frustration and then walked away.

Killian was at his locker talking to Will when none other than Neal Gold came strutting over and slammed Killian’s locker closed.

“When I shell out fifty bucks, I expect results.” He looked like he was two seconds from grabbing Killian’s jacket and lifting him up against the lockers, if only he wasn’t scared of Killian.

“I’m on it, mate.” He grinned at Will before turning back to a still-fuming Neal. Will slapped Killian on the back as he took his leave.

“Watching that bitch ram into my car doesn’t count as a date. If you don’t get some, I don’t get some. So get some.” Neal glared at Killian for a solid minute before starting to walk away when it was clear Killian wasn’t budging.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Killian called after him. “I just upped my price.”

Neal stared in disbelief. With what happened to Neal’s car, Killian figured he could get more out of him, though getting Emma Swan to go out with him was not about the money anymore. He liked a good challenge, and he might even like her. But the money wouldn’t hurt.

“Hundred bucks a date in advance.” Killian stood confidently as Neal stomped over to him.

“Forget it.” He started to walk away again.

“Forget her sister, then.” Killian knew he had Neal there.

Neal fished another $50 bill from his wallet. “You better hope you’re as smooth as you think you are, Jones.”

Killian said nothing, just took the money with a smug smile and walked away, leaving Neal at the lockers.

Killian Jones looked forward to his daily 45 minutes of shop class. He liked being hands-on, and it was a creative outlet. Since shop was an elective and it involved some heavy machinery, shop was the class in which the least amount of his classmates were scared of him. And the best part for Killian - his prosthetic hand was a guaranteed steady weight, and he didn’t risk cutting himself on that hand.

Their latest project was the most obvious of projects for a high school shop class: A birdhouse. However, the students could design their birdhouses to look like anything they wanted, so Killian was modeling his as a ship. His older brother had served in the navy, and Liam had gotten his younger brother fascinated with ships.

Just as Killian was working on carving the boat’s largest sail, he was approached by two guys who were absolutely not in the class.  

The blonde spoke first. “We know what you’re trying to do with Emma Swan.”

Killian put down the sander he was using on the sail. “Is that so? And what do you plan to do about it?”

“Help you out.”

That was not the response he was expecting. “Why’s that?”

The kid in the too-tight leather jacket answered. “The situation is my man David here is really into Mary Margaret Blanchard.”

Killian sighed. Of course. “What is it with this lass?”

“Look, I think I speak correctly when I say that David's love is pure - purer than, say, Neal Gold’s.”

“I really don’t give a damn who Gold nails. He’s paying me. That’s all this is.”

David reacted before his friend could get a word out. “There will be no nailing going on.”

The friend put a hand up to stop David from continuing. “Killian, Let me explain something to you here.  We set this whole thing up so David could get the girl - David. Neal's just a pawn.”

“So you two are going to help me tame the wild beast?” Killian alternated pointing between the two guys in front of him.

“We’ll do some research. We’ll find out what she likes.” Both of the guys were grinning at Killian. “Let’s start with Friday night. Matt Murdock is throwing a party - the perfect opportunity for you to take Emma out.”

“I’ll think about it.” Picking up the sander once more, Killian got back to work on his birdhouse, hoping his intruders would take the hint and go away. Once they were gone, patting each other on their backs as they walked away, the noise from the sander chased off any thoughts of Emma Swan and this plan he’d gotten mixed up in.

“So, Mary Margaret, have you heard about Murdock’s party Friday?” David looked at his walking companion.

“Yes. And I really, really, really want to go, but I can't - not unless my sister goes.”

“I know. I’m working on that. But so far, she just isn’t going for my guy.” Mary Margaret nodded slowly. Of course her sister wasn’t going for some guy. “She’s not, you know-”

“No,” Mary Margaret answered plainly. “She’s definitely into guys. I found magazine cutouts of actors she likes in her drawer once.”

“So that’s the kind of guys she likes - pretty guys?”

Mary Margaret shook her head. “I don’t know. All I've ever heard her say is that she'd die before dating a guy that smokes.”

“Okay. Helpful. What else?”

“You’re asking me to get inside my sister’s twisted mind? I don’t think so, David.”

“Well, nothing else has worked. We might have to go behind enemy lines here.”

Mary Margaret stopped in her tracks as she considered the idea. “Okay, come with me.” David couldn’t quite hide the smile blooming on his face. “You are really lucky I like you.”

Back at the Blanchard household, the two made sure Emma wasn’t home before creeping into her room.

“She keeps all her junk in this drawer.” Mary Margaret opened it slowly and started rifling through it. David stood awkwardly in the doorway, unsure of how exactly to act in Emma Swan’s bedroom. “Class schedule, reading list, planner, coffee receipts, concert tickets.” There was some potentially useful stuff there. David approached slowly, taking the items Mary Margaret had gathered. “Ah-ha! Red panties!”

David coughs. “What does that tell us?”

“She wants to have sex someday!”

“Or she’s really into red? She does wear that jacket all the time.”

“You don’t buy red lingerie unless you want someone to see it,” Mary Margaret laughed at his flustered behavior.

“Right.” David pulled the pile of Emma material closer to him as he took a step back from where Mary Margaret held out the red underwear. “You can put that back now.”

Rolling her eyes, she put the panties back in the drawer and took the pile from David. He got out his phone and took pictures of her schedule, reading list, and concert tickets. He’d take a more detailed look once they were out of Emma’s room. “You so owe me for coming in here.”

“Freedom to go to Murdock’s party?”

“I suppose that’s a start.”

Killian Jones worked part-time as a bartender at a local bar. The hours meant very little sleep, and he was late for school a lot after sleeping through his alarm, but the bar’s owner let him do homework behind the bar and he liked his regulars. The last thing he expected to see on the job was the two guys from shop class walk in. They looked entirely out of place, David in his bright plaid shirt and too-big grin on his face.

“So this is what a bar looks like.”

Killian ran to the front of the bar and pulled David by his shirt collar over to the pool table. “If my boss caught you two at the bar, I could lose my job. Why are you here?”

David pried his shirt from Killian’s fist and his grin disappeared. “We have some intel for you.”

Killian sat on the edge of the pool table. “All right. What’ve you got?”

“Wait. We can’t be at the bar, but you can work at one?” August crossed his arms.

“Owner is a family friend. If I drink, I lose my job,” Killian paused and looked between the two guys. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

Nodding in understanding, David went back to the night’s intended subject. “Well, thing No. 1, Emma hates smokers - hates.”

Killian’s jaw dropped.

“So you’re telling me I’m now a non-smoker?” August reached into Killian’s jacket pocket and took his pack of cigarettes.

“Yup.” Killian narrowed his eyes at August in anger. “But just for now.” He pocketed the cigarettes and held his hands up in innocence.

“Actually, there’s another problem,” David started. Killian turned his attention to him and raised his eyebrows in question. “Mary Margaret said Emma likes, um, pretty guys.”

Killian stared at David in silence for a second. “Are you telling me I’m not a pretty guy?”

“You’re very pretty. Gorgeous, in fact. Right, David?” August elbowed David in the side.

“Yup. Very pretty. I just, you know, I wasn’t sure.”

Killian started walking away, thinking the conversation was over.

“Wait. We have more.” David held up a crumpled up piece of paper.

Killian glanced over at the bar to make sure he was covered before turning back to David. “Go on.”

“Okay. Likes: Chinese and Indian food, hot chocolate, coffee, ‘80s music, Robert Downey Jr., and ‘90s boy bands, which I just cannot believe.” David pulled out another sheet of notebook paper. “This is for you - list of dvds she has in her room, list of books on her bookshelf that look the most read, and her most played songs on her iPod.”

“So I’m supposed to buy her Chicken Tikka Masala, a book, and sit around watching Robert Downey Jr. movies when we aren’t listening to Michael Jackson and Bon Jovi?”

Killian’s knowledge of the things David listed honestly surprised both August and him.

“Actually, have you ever heard of Avril Lavigne?”

“She has tickets to see her tomorrow night.”

“Absolutely not. I can’t be seen at an Avril Lavigne concert.”

“If it helps, she’s got a pair of red underwear.” 

Leaving Killian gaping, David and August left.

As he headed back to the bar to resume work, Killian groaned because he knew he had to go to that bloody concert the following night.

Killian could not be happier that the venue Avril Lavigne was playing had a bar with a bartender who absolutely could not tell a fake ID from a real one. Nursing a glass of rum - he limited himself to two; he had to drive home himself and he wasn’t that irresponsible - he watched Emma dance to the music with her friend. She was a vision in a green tank top and jeans, strong arms on display without her usual red leather jacket. Her hair was only just slightly wavy as she flipped it over her shoulder. He watched as she said something to her friend before heading his way. Spinning himself around on the stool, he pretended to be extremely interested in his phone all the sudden.

“Two waters, please.”

Killian could tell when she noticed him sitting there by her aggravated groan. “If you’re planning on asking me out again, you might as well get it over with.”

“Do you mind? I can’t hear the music over your voice.”

She knew perfectly well that he was not there for the music. “You’re not surrounded by your usual cloud of smoke.”

“Yeah. About that - I quit. Did you know those things are bad for you?”

“Wait. You quit?”

“Aye.” Killian took it as a win when Emma stared at him, too stunned to reply with some sarcastic retort. “You know, Swan, I was watching you out there before.”

“Stalker,” she quipped before thanking the bartender for the waters and paying him.

“I’ve never seen you look so sexy,” Killian commented when Emma turned her attention back to him, except he hadn’t noticed the song was ending, and there was a moment of silence in the club right as he spoke. His ears flashed bright red as he scratched at a spot behind his right ear. Being nearly the only male in the club, his comment was met with giggles from the female crowd, who had heard him clearly. The saving grace of his embarrassment was that Emma, gorgeously flushed from both her dancing and embarrassment, also laughed. Killian waited until the next song had started before getting the courage to talk again. “Come with me to Murdock’s party.”

“You just don’t know when to give up, huh?” She flashed him a grin as she made her way back to her friend in the crowd.

“Was that a yes?” He called after her.

“No,” she shouted in return.

“Was that a no?”

“No.”

Smiling to himself, he yelled to her once more, “I’ll pick you up at 9.”

Mary Margaret and Tamara had put on their party clothes and were close to the front door when Mr. Leo Blanchard called out from the couch, “should’ve used the window, girls.”

Tamara smacked Mary Margaret in the arm and muttered, “told you.”

Leo got up and confronted the girls. “And where are we going?”

“Well, if you must know, a small study group of friends.” Mary Margaret batted her eyelashes.

“Also known as a party?”

“Mr. Blanchard, it’s just a party. And I promise I’ll take care of Mary Margaret,” Tamara tried.

Leo called up the stairs, “Emma, did you know about some party tonight?”

“I don’t know,” Emma yelled from her room.

“That settles it. Emma isn’t going, you’re not going.”

“Emma!” Mary Margaret screeched up the stairs. “Emma, please! Just for one night, can’t you forget that you hate everyone and be my sister? Please? C’mon, Emma, please do this for me.”

Emma closed her book and sighed. Mary Margaret’s pleading was genuine enough. Grabbing her leather jacket, she headed downstairs. “Fine. I’ll make an appearance.”

Mary Margaret hugged Emma between high-pitched squeals of delight.

“Thank you, Emma. Thank you.”

Leo Blanchard just stood there in shock as Mary Margaret and Tamara ran out the door. Emma rolled her eyes and answered the door when someone knocked, expecting it to be one of her sister’s many suitors. She was taken aback when it was Killian Jones.

“What are you doing here?”

“It’s 9, right?” He glanced at his watch - 8:47. “Oh, I’m early.”

Emma barely recalled his promise to pick her up at 9. She was surprised he actually kept his word.

“Alright. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave.” She grabbed his left hand, which she noticed did not feel like a flesh hand, and pulled him out the door. His breath hitched immediately and it was like he forgot how to walk. She tugged before letting go. “You coming?”

He shook himself out of it. “Yeah. Of course, Swan.”

The party was exactly how Emma imagined it would be: Drunk teenagers all dry humping each other and talking far too loudly. She and Killian wandered around, neither one really sure how to act at a party. Walking upstairs, Killian was stopped by Ashley, that girl from their English class.

Ashley threw herself at Killian, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him to her. “Kiss me!”

Killian looked around, spotting a guy sitting on a beanbag placed in the hallway. He directed Ashley to that guy, forcing her into his lap. “Kiss him.”

About to walk away, Killian was stopped by a hand on his jacket - the hand of the guy he forced Ashley onto. “Hey, man! Thanks!”

Killian nodded at him and went to try to find Emma. He spotted her in one of the guest rooms, where someone had stuck a keg. She was talking to Neal Gold.

“Hey, Swan Princess. Looking good!”

Emma glared at Neal, the last person she wanted to see that night. Already wanting to leave, she turned around to find Killian to let him know she was going home. As she started walking out of the room, Neal grabbed her waist and pulled her back to him.

“Where you going, Em?”

“Away.” Emma pulled his hand off her.

“Where’s your sister? She here?”

“Stay the hell away from my sister.”

Neal put his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine. I’ll stay away from Mary Margaret, but I can’t guarantee she’ll stay away from me.” He smirked.

Emma pushed through the crowd to leave the room. She wandered around for a while as she looked for Killian. Heading into the kitchen hoping that if Killian wasn’t in there, maybe she could at least find something halfway-decent to eat, she was met with her sister on one of Neal’s arms and Tamara on his other. Both girls were giddy.

“Em,” he screamed. “Look who found me!” He led the girls away from Emma, who lost them in the crowd. So much for protecting her sister from the biggest jerk in Maine. She was an awful sister.

“Hey, want one?” She whipped her head around to see some guy who she figured was in college. He held out a tray of shots.

Glancing around the room once more, she didn’t see Mary Margaret anymore, or Killian, so she shrugged and took a shot. She downed it right as Killian found her.

“Swan, what are you doing?” He looked panicked as he took the empty shot glass from her.

“Partying. Like a normal person. My sister would be so proud.”

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Swan-” Killian was cut off as Emma spotted another tray of shots and wandered off in pursuit. Killian watched helplessly from the spot Emma just stood. “One of these days, I’m going to stop chasing this woman.” He headed after her, hoping she didn’t get too carried away.

“August, I just saw Mary Margaret.”

“Took you long enough to find her. Where is she now?”

“With Neal.” August froze, his cup of water not quite making it to his mouth.

“That wasn’t in the plan. Now what?”

David took a deep breath. “I - I don’t know. She was happy. She looked like she wanted to be here with him.”

“Go find her again. Make up a reason for her to spend time with you instead.” David nodded, sighing and turning to leave. He looked defeated. August patted David on the back as he watched his friend disappear into the crowd. “Good luck, my friend.”

Killian paced the entirety of the house twice before he found Emma, but too late. She was dancing on the coffee table in the living room, completely drunk.

“Swan, what do you say I have this shot?” He pried the glass from her hand as she continued to dance.

“No! It’s mine!” She tried her hardest to grab it back, but she was slow in her inebriated state.

“Hey, man!” Neal put an arm around Killian’s shoulders. Killian shuddered in return. “How did you do it?”

“What?”

“You managed to get her to act like a normal person!” Neal cheered as Emma kept dancing, taking off her jacket and swinging it around. Killian shook off Neal and moved closer to Emma as she made her way to the edge of the table. He was barely able to catch her as she fell off, but when he did, he carried her outside to keep her from drinking any more. He found a bench on the porch outside and put her down onto it.

“Are you alright?”

“Never better.” That was a lie. She couldn’t even sit up by herself. She leaned on Killian’s side and let her head dangle forward as she rested her eyes.

Killian rubbed her back and made sure she was comfortable. She dozed off on his shoulder. He sighed, rubbing his temples when he saw David storm out of the house.

“She wanted Neal this whole time!”

Killian helped lie Emma down onto the bench as he stepped aside to talk with David. “What’s up, mate?”

“I saw Mary Margaret and Tamara with Neal. I felt sorry for myself for a little, then went to find her again. The second time, she was so transfixed with him. I was a fool. It’s off, Killian. The whole thing’s off. Thanks for trying, but she never wanted me. She just wanted me to help her out so she could go out with him.”

Killian didn’t have time for this.

“Nolan, look. Do you like Mary Margaret?”

David sighed and softened. “Yeah.”

“And is she worth all the trouble?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know anymore. I thought so, but-”

Killian stared David down. “Look, mate. Either she is or she isn’t. First of all, Neal is not half the man you are. Secondly, don’t let anyone ever make you feel like you don’t deserve what you want, aye?”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

Emma stirred and tried to stand up from the bench on her own.

“I’m a tad busy here, Dave. Best of luck with Mary Margaret.” David nodded and took off back inside. Killian ran back to Emma just in time to catch her and get her to sit back down.

“Why are you taking care of me like this?” Emma babbled.

“It may surprise you, Swan, but I care for you.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You don’t really, though.”

“Of course I do.”

“Why?”

“If you weren’t around, I’d have to start taking out girls who actually like me.”

She snorted. “Like you could find one.”

“Ah, see that? Who needs affection when I have blind hatred?” They both laughed. “Can I ask you something now, Swan?” She didn’t answer. “Why do you let Neal get to you? I mean, he’s a wanker, but it’s like you take it personally.”

“I hate him.”

Killian opened his mouth to ask another question, but he was interrupted by Emma darting into a sitting position before puking onto the ground in front of the bench. He sighed yet again as he gathered her hair and held it back as she emptied her stomach.

“Hey, Mary Margaret, Neal’s holding an afterparty. You in?”

“I don’t know, Tam. I have a curfew. It’s my first night of freedom. I can’t take advantage like that.”

“Girls, you coming?” Neal waved from the door.

“Be right there,” Tamara called out to him in her flirtiest voice. He seemed impressed. Mary Margaret started to realize that maybe Neal wasn’t that into her. Maybe he just wanted any girl he could get his hands on.

“Last chance, Mary Margaret.”

With her recent realization, she actually didn’t want to go the party. “I think I’ll just find my sister and go home.”

“Alright. Your loss. Text you tomorrow.” Mary Margaret nodded to acknowledge her friend before sighing and looking around for Emma. It was looking like she needed a ride home. She found David instead.

“Hey. Have fun tonight?” He asked timidly.

“Look, David,” she started. She made eye contact as she asked, “do you think you could give me a ride home?”

Killian and Emma sat in his car. He was parked in front of her house, but she seemed hesitant to get out of the car.

“I should do this,” she giggles.

“Do what?”

She pointed at the car stereo.

“Install car stereos?” She laughed. He would think about that laugh for the rest of time.

“No. Start a band. Wouldn’t my dad just love that?” In that moment, she thought about her mom and how she loved to sing and play guitar - she was the reason Emma taught herself guitar.

“You don't strike me as the type to ask your father’s permission.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You really think you know me, huh?”

“I like to think I’m getting closer.”

“The only thing people know about me is that I’m a bitch.”

“Yeah, well, I’m no picnic myself.” Emma and Killian locked eyes as silence overtook the car. Killian was the one to break the moment. “So what's up with your dad?  Is he a pain in the ass like everyone makes him seem?”

“Nah. He just wants me to be someone I’m not.”

“Who’s that?”

“Mary Margaret.”

“Well, no offense to your sister or anything, but she’s without.”

Emma stared at him. She’d always been the second-choice sister. “You’re really not as repulsive as I thought you were.” The two seemed to share a moment as Emma leaned in closer to Killian. His breath hitched, and it was then and the stench of beer and tequila that reminded him how drunk she was.

“Swan, maybe we should do this another time.”

Emma pulled back, hurt flashing in her eyes at the rejection. She wrestled to get the car door open, then slammed it before walking to her house, wiping tears along the way. Killian sighed as his head fell forward to rest on the steering wheel. He just hoped she’d understand when she sobered up.

Meanwhile, in David’s car, still at the party, he couldn’t find it in himself to turn the motor on just yet.

“You never wanted to go out with me, did you?”

“Well, I kinda did.”

“But I’m not Neal.”

“I don’t know. He’s just-”

“You don’t have to say any more.”

“I do like you, David.”

“Save it. just because you're beautiful, doesn't mean you can treat people like they don't matter. I mean, I really like you. I defended you when people called you conceited. I helped set Emma up so you could get out of the house. I learned French for you. And then you just blow me off for him.”

Mary Margaret answered by pulling him to her and kissing him. Cheering to himself, David knew he had won after all. She was absolutely worth the trouble.

Mr. Pendragon opened class as he always did on Mondays, asking about the students’ weekends.

“Why don’t you ask Emma?” Neal joked.

“Why do I feel like I don’t actually want to know what you all got up to?” He looked over at Emma, who was hiding her head in her arms on her desk. “All right. I definitely don’t. Let’s get started. Sonnets!”

The class groaned.

“I know, I know. Shakespeare and poetry - not everyone’s favorite things. But I want you all to write your own sonnets.”

Emma raised her hand. Mr. Pendragon prepared himself for the worst. “Does it have to be in iambic pentameter?”

Mr. Pendragon was stunned. “You don’t want to assert an opinion here?”

“I think this is a good assignment.”

“Are you messing with me?”

“No. I’m really looking forward to writing this.” He sized her up for a minute looking for a trace of a lie. Whatever happened last weekend must have really gotten to her.

“Alright, Ms. Swan. Thank you. And, no, it does not have to be written in iambic pentameter.”

Emma nodded and took note, specifically avoiding looking behind her at where Killian’s desk was.

Killian sat on the sideline bench alone as he watched Emma practice with her soccer team. He sighed, really wishing he could smoke a cigarette at that moment.

“Hey, man.” David sat next to Killian. “What’d you do to her?”

“Nothing. And if I had done anything, she would’ve been too drunk to remember.”

“But the plan was working.”

Killian took his eyes off Emma and looked at David. “Why do you even care? I thought the plan was off?”

“It was, but you gave me that pep talk and then,” he smiled.

“And then?”

“She kissed me.”

That got Killian to smile. At least someone got the girl. “Where?”

“In my car.”

Killian was going to press for more details, but August ran up to the bench. “So I talked to Emma.”

“And?” Killian looked up at August, hopeful.

“She really, really hates you right now.” Killian’s shoulders sagged with disappointment.

“Well,” David tried to find a positive in the situation but failed. “Maybe she just needs a day to cool off.”

All three guys ducked as a soccer ball came beaming at them at a speed that seemed like it could’ve cleanly knocked one of their heads off. They turned to the field to find Emma glaring at them. She was absolutely the one who kicked it. She was absolutely aiming for Killian.

David smiled sheepishly. “Maybe two days.”

Emma and Lily were headed outside to eat lunch when they came across a flier for prom. In anger, Emma yanked it from the wall.

“Can you imagine who would go to that antiquated mating ritual?”

Lily raised her hand. “I actually would, but I don’t have a date.”

Emma shot daggers at Lily with her eyes.

“Okay, okay. We won’t go. It’s not like I have a dress anyway.”

“Hey, Mary Margaret,” Neal came up to her.

She wasn’t really interested in talking to him. “Can I help you?” She focused on the field hockey ball she was dribbling between her stick.

“You’re concentrating awfully hard for gym class.”

“What do you want?”

“I want to talk to you about prom.”

“You know the deal.” She chased the ball after losing control of it. Stopping dribbling for a minute, she finally faced Neal. “I can’t go if Emma doesn’t.”

“You sister is going.”

She crossed her arms. “Since when?”

“Let’s just say I’m taking care of it.”

Mary Margaret smiled. Maybe she’d get to go to prom after all, but she definitely didn’t see herself there with Neal.

Neal held out two $100 bills to Killian. “This should take care of the flowers, the limo, the tux - everything. Just make sure she gets to the prom.”

“You know what? I’m out. I’m sick of playing your little game.” Killian’s eyes scanned the hallway. He just wanted to see Emma again.

“Are you still out if I raise it to $300?”

Killian knew he could use the money, but Emma wasn’t a business transaction for him. He took the money. He would use some of it for prom if things went well, but he was coming up with a plan for a way to use some of the rest of it.

The next day, Killian saw Emma’s car at a record store. He stopped in to see if she was still angry at him.

“Excuse me,” he tapped her on the shoulder. “Have you seen a copy of From Under The Cork Tree? I seem to have misplaced mine.”

She whipped around and crossed her arms. “What are you doing here?”

“I was looking for a Fall Out Boy album. I thought my inquiry made that clear.”

“You’re so-”

“Charming? Devilishly handsome?”

“Unwelcome.” She started to walk to a different section of the store. He followed.

“You’re not as mean as you think you are.”

“You’re not as badass as you think you are.”

“Someone still has her panties in a twist.”

She swung around. “Don't you, for one second, think that you had any effect on my panties.”

“Then what did I have an effect on?”

“Other than my upchuck reflex, nothing.” She continued browsing through records, then pulled one out. She pressed it to his chest before leaving. Killian had to set his plan in motion quickly. Before leaving himself, he looked at the record she found him: From Under the Cork Tree.

At soccer practice the next day, Emma was in the zone. Soccer was a great way for her to channel her anger at Killian. She was so focused on perfecting the team’s newest play, she hadn’t realized her teammates all stopped playing. Trapping the ball, she turned around to face the bleachers to see what all her teammates were staring at. She was greeted by Killian at the top of the bleachers, something in his hand. He ran down a few rows of seats so Emma could make him out better. It was a microphone.

Pulling the mic to his mouth, he sang, “you’re just too good to be true. Can’t take my eyes off of you. You'd be like heaven to touch. I want to hold you so much. At long last love has arrived, and I thank god I'm alive. You're just too good to be true. Can't take my eyes off you.”

Emma found herself almost swooning. Her teammates looked at her for her reaction. She smiled, then jumped as there was a loud noise from behind her. She turned to see the marching band walking onto the field, playing along to the song Killian was singing.

She turned her attention back to Killian. “I love you, baby. And if it's quite alright, I need you, baby, to warm the lonely nights.”

The school police had gotten word of the disturbance and were running onto the bleachers to stop Killian. Taking a look at his pursuers, Killian wagged his eyebrows at Emma before running around the bleachers as he sang, dodging police officers and adding a strut or two as he sauntered around.

And he didn’t miss a note. “I love you, baby. Trust in me when I say, oh, pretty baby, don't bring me down, I pray. Oh, pretty baby, now that I've found you, stay and let me love you.”

He made his way down to the first row of seats, and Emma found herself walking over to him. She smiled and laughed as he sang the last line, staring into her eyes. “Baby, let me love you.”

Everyone who witnessed the song applauded and cheered when he finished, Emma included. Smiling back at her, Killian winked before being carried off by the police officers. Who knew Killian Jones would be one for grand romantic gestures?

Saturday detention was nothing new to Killian Jones. He had been sentenced to spend a few of his precious free days at school among his fellow delinquents before - sometimes for smoking, sometimes for ditching class or coming in late, et cetera, et cetera. But this Saturday, the prospect of spending his entire day trapped in an overheated classroom was more bothersome than usual, as he knew that Emma Swan was no longer angry with him. He wanted nothing more than to spend the day with her.

Resigning himself to twiddling his thumbs in detention all day, Killian sat back and tried to make himself comfortable. He stared at the ceiling for what must have been 20 minutes, avoiding getting on Coach Stark’s bad side - maybe he could get off early for good behavior?

Killian’s attention was pulled from the ceiling as the door to the classroom slammed closed. He sat up slowly before blinking his eyes rapidly to ensure his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him. Talking to Coach Stark at the front of the room was none other than Emma Swan. Killian immediately sat up straighter. Emma glanced at him from the corner of her eye, still talking to her soccer coach.

When Coach Stark bent down to get a pad of paper and pen from his desk, Emma mouthed to Killian, “the windows,” as she pointed to said windows. He nodded and got in position to move from his desk while not arousing suspicion from the coach. With the in-charge adult’s attention on Emma, Killian tiptoed in the aisle between the desks to the row of windows lining the left wall of the classroom.

“So I think we really need to work more on our defense for the game against the Racoons,” Killian caught a bit of Emma’s conversation as he worked to silently open a window wide enough for him to squeeze through. Emma watched him worriedly with quick glances over to him. “Ruby is a great goalie, but the team needs to have her back when she’s down after blocking a shot.”

Killian cursed to himself when his jacket zipper got caught on the window. His eyes flashed to Emma’s. She put her hands on Coach Stark to keep him facing her. “I mean, if she’s down, I just think someone needs to step into the goal and cover for her.”

“Emma, why don’t we talk about this more at practice next week.” He turned to sit back at his desk, but a quick look at Killian showed Emma he was only half out of the window.

Acting impulsively and without any real thought, she eyed the corner of the teacher’s desk and walked forward as if to keep talking to the coach as he sat down. With a precisely placed foot, Emma tripped over the desk leg and fell straight to the floor. Her fall was met with a stinging in her left wrist, but as she looked to the window, Killian was nowhere in sight. Sighing in relief, she cradled her wrist with her other hand as Coach Stark bent down next to her to tend to her. She definitely injured her wrist, but if Killian got away unnoticed, it would be worth it.

Feeling the concrete under his feet, Killian was so thankful the detention room was on the first floor. He looked into the room to see Emma and figure out how she managed to get him out unseen, but she was nowhere in sight. Disappointed over not being able to see her and properly thank her, he started making his way to his car.

Halfway across the parking lot, he spun around at the sound of his name.

“Killian! Killian, wait up!” Emma was waving and running to where he stood.

“Swan,” he grinned as she caught up to him. “Thanks for springing me from detention.”

“Yeah, well, if I hadn’t been so pissed that you wouldn’t take advantage of me in your car, you never would’ve ended up there.”

“I don’t regret it, you know.”

Emma’s eyes flashed downward as she blushed just enough for Killian to notice.

“Hey, Swan, what are you doing now?”

“Heading home to read, I guess. Or I have some homework I could do.” Truth was she was going to go home to ice her wrist; it was hurting like crazy.

He really hoped the interest he saw in her eyes was really there. “Come on, Swan.” He walked to the passenger side of his car and opened the door. “In the car.”

“What? That’s really creepy, Jones.”

“And here I thought you weren’t afraid of me,” he joked.

Emma stuck her tongue out at him as she got into the car. The wrist probably wasn’t broken. It could wait. Once he got settled into his seat, Emma asked, “so what’s going on here?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m taking you-” he booped her nose “-on a date.”

Killian took Emma to a harbor. Emma hissed when Killian took her left hand upon her getting out of the car, but she didn’t see any sign he noticed. He led her to a corner of the harbor where people were going out onto the water in little swan boats.

“The swans made me think of you, and I thought it might be fun.” He let go of her hand and scratched behind his ear. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just-”

Emma was a tad worried they wouldn’t be able to steer themselves and that they’d be stranded in the harbor, but she couldn’t chicken out when little kids were doing it. “It looks like fun. Let’s do it.”

He put a hand on her back as they walked to the man running the swan boat rentals. The boats were much bigger than Emma expected, and they were steered with two sets of pedals - one set for each of them. Killian helped her into the boat, then followed, impressively steady on his own. When they were in safely, they both found their pedals and took off. Emma was surprised how smoothly the boat moved through the water.

“We’re out far enough. Let’s just drift for a little.” She took her feet off the pedals and looked around. She felt so peaceful out there. The only thing keeping her grounded in reality was the stinging from her wrist. “You know, Swan, I thought, for sure, I was busted when I was halfway out the window. How did you keep the coach distracted?”

Not wanting to admit that she tripped on purpose to distract the teacher but accidentally injured herself, plus the fact that he’d make her go home if he knew she was in pain, she just shrugged, a smirk on her face.

Killian got the hint that she wouldn’t tell him. “So what’s your excuse then?”

“For what?”

“Acting the way we do.”

“I don't like to do what people expect. Why should I live up to other people’s expectations instead of my own?”

He was smart enough to know there was a reason for this, but he didn’t push for the backstory. “So you disappoint them from the start and then you're covered, right?

“Something like that.”

“Then you screwed up.”

Emma never would have expected him to say something like that. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve yet to disappoint me.”

Emma didn’t know what to say, so she just stared, wide-eyed.

After the silence went on long enough, Killian broke it. “So I think we should head back to shore soon. We have another destination or two.”

“Where are we going?” She had softened considerably, and she barely recognized her voice so soft.

“Try something new, darling. It’s called trust.”

After a gourmet grilled cheese lunch - he told her she went on and on about grilled cheese while she was drunk at the party - he drove them to a paintball arena. Putting the car in park, he looked at Emma. “Are you up for it?”

Emma was so excited, she momentarily forgot about the pain in her wrist. She should’ve figured he wouldn’t be into any of the usual boring date stuff; he’s never been boring.

So she played paintball and absolutely painted Killian multiple different neon colors. And then they made out behind a makeshift shield until their game was over and they had to leave. Emma’s wrist was throbbing by the time she got back to the school parking lot, but she’d never laughed that much ever in her life. She didn’t even care that it was going to take four showers to get the neon pinks and greens from her hair. Emma Swan was happy, and it was because of Killian Jones.

Back in the school parking lot, they sat on a curb drinking milkshakes and talking.

“Can I ask you something?”

“How I’m so devilishly handsome? I’m afraid that’s a secret I can’t share.”

Emma rolled her eyes. Killian nodded for her to ask her real question. “What’s with the accent? I mean, you know how it is with people who act like us. The rumors are, frankly, ridiculous.”

“I was born in England. Lived there most of my life, until my mum got sick, my father abandoned me, and my brother died in the Navy. And there was the accident that gave me this,” he held up his left hand, which was a prosthetic. Emma had, of course, noticed before, but she had never given it thought.

“I’m sorry, Killian. None of those are rumors going around school. I never expected-”

“It’s okay, Swan. I moved here after all that. I didn’t want to be surrounded by those memories any longer.” She stared into his crystal clear blue eyes as he divulged his tragic past to her. “Became emancipated early on, so I live alone now. I have to support myself, but it’s better than being forced to face my father back in England, which is what I was supposed to do when Liam died.”

“Liam - your brother?”

“Aye.”

Emma felt like she really understood why he acted the way he did - it was much the same as the reasons she acted the way she did. They were kindred spirits.

“Enough of that for one date. It’s going to ruin the mood.”

“There’s a mood?”

“Well, I was hoping there was because I have something to ask you.” She waited for him to continue. “Will you go to prom with me?”

“Killian, I- no.”

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “No?”

“No.”

“Can I ask why not?” She tried not to feel awful at his high-pitched, shaky voice.

“Because I don’t want to. It’s a stupid tradition.”

“People don’t expect you to go. You love surprising people.”

“Killian, I said no. Why are you pushing this?”

He broke eye contact. “Nothing, love. I just wanted to go to prom with the girl I fancy,” he huffed.

Emma sensed something was off. “What’s in it for you?”

“So now I need a motive to want to be with you?”

“You tell me.”

“Emma!” He threw his hands up.

“Answer the question, Killian.”

“Nothing.” He stood up in anger and headed back to his own car. “Nothing is in it for me. I just wanted to take you and give you a great night.” He stopped, turning around to face Emma again. “I know love has been all too rare in your life. It would do you good to not push it away when you have it.” Turning back around, he got into his car and slammed the door before driving away in anger. That certainly hurt worse than her wrist did.

Emma and Lily were at their lockers packing their backpacks before they headed home. Lily opened her locker to find a gorgeous dress with a note attached.

“Emma,” she smiled, “I have a secret admirer! He asked me to prom!” She held the dress up to herself and grinned even harder.

Emma wanted to be happy for her friend, she really did, but she wasn’t feeling it. So she forced a smile onto her face and told her friend to have fun at the dance before shutting her locker and heading home.

“Come in,” Emma muttered to whoever was knocking on her door. She was lying in bed staring at the ceiling. Her TV was on, but she hadn’t been watching it for hours.

Mary Margaret didn’t enter the room, just poked her head into the door. “Just so you know, you’re not the only girl not going to prom. Dad said I can’t go because you aren’t. So, you know, if you want to stop hating yourself and do something, I’ll be around.”

Emma sat up. “Mary Margaret, wait.” Her sister walked in the room and sat on the corner of Emma’s bed. “I know you don’t like being stuck here just because I’m not dating, but don’t think I don’t care. I do care about your feelings, but I’m also big on doing something for your own reasons, and not someone else's.”

“But that’s selfish, Emma.”

“It’s protection.” She could see the questions in her sister’s brain. Emma decided she needed to tell Mary Margaret something she’d been avoiding for three years. “I guess Neal never mentioned that we went out, huh?”

Mary Margaret’s eyes widened.

“When we were freshmen, we went out for a month.”

“You hate Neal,” Mary Margaret pointed out.

“Now,” Emma corrected.

“Well, what happened?” Mary Margaret crawled closer to Emma.

“We - well, we - you know.”

Mary Margaret seemed to stop breathing. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

“I really wish I could.” Emma bit her lip before continuing. “It was only once. Mom had just died, and I didn’t know how to process anything. He kept pressing the issue, so I gave in and did it. Once it happened, things became - I don’t know - clearer somehow. I told him that was it; I didn’t want to do it again. He got mad and dumped me.” Taking a breath, Emma kept talking. “After that, I swore I’d never do anything when I didn’t want to just because someone else did.”

“Why hasn’t he said anything? That doesn’t make sense.”

“I threatened him - told him if he ever told anyone, then I’d tell people how bad he was at it.”

“But you didn’t tell me either, Emma.”

“I wanted you to make your own mistakes, I guess.”

Mary Margaret seemed to understand to an extent, but a part of her was clearly still mad at everything she’d missed out on. “You helped Dad keep me hostage!”

“I’m sorry. Not all experiences are good ones, Mary Margaret!”

“I guess I’ll never know.” With that, she stood up and went to her own room.

Emma sighed and fell back on her pillows. Welp, she was going to prom after all.

“Well, no one will expect this,” Emma mumbled as she stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror. She was wearing a pale pink dress - it wasn’t a floor-length dress, but Emma in a dress was still something.

Emma grabbed a jacket and ran down the stairs as quickly as she could in heels. “Bye, Dad. I’m going to prom.”

Leo Blanchard didn’t even look up away from the television set. “Funny, sweetie.”

Emma kept walking, not wanting to draw attention to herself. Leo only looked up when he heard the front door shut behind her. Getting up and going to investigate, Leo found his youngest daughter coming down the stairs in a floor-length gown.

“What’s going on, honey?”

“Prom,” she answered perkily.

“Yeah, that seems to be the word of the night.” He paused to think for a moment. “So Emma-”

“Went to prom. For me, Daddy. So now I can go.” As if on cue, there was a knock on the front door, which Mary Margaret answered.

David Nolan stood on the other side of the door, jaw dropping to the ground. “Hi.”

“Hi, David.” She took a step out of the house and linked arms with him before addressing her father. “Remember how you said I could date if Emma dated? Well, she found this guy who’s actually perfect for her, which is actually kind of perfect for me, because David asked me to go to the prom, and I really, really, really want to go. And since Emma went, I guess I’m allowed to.”

“It’s nice to meet you, sir.” David extended a hand out to Leo, who shook it.

“I know every cop in town, young man,” Leo stared down David.

“Noted.”

“Okay, David. Let’s go.” Mary Margaret pulled David to his car, waving goodbye to her father on the way.

Wandering around the ballroom hallway aimlessly, Emma came face-to-face with Killian, dressed in an all-black tux.

“Wow, Swan. You look stunning.”

“And you look-”

“I know.” He smirked, and she laughed.

“Where did you get a tux?”

“Just something I had lying around.”

“Oh?”

“Where’d you get the dress?”

Emma grinned. “Just something I had lying around.”

“I wasn’t sure how this was supposed to work, but” he pulled his hand from behind his back, and in it was a single red rose.

“Thanks.” She took it, still smiling. “So, look; I’m really sorry I questioned your motives. I was wrong.”

“All forgiven.”

“So, are you ready to do this thing?”

Meanwhile, back at the Blanchard household, Leo was interrupted from his favorite show yet again when the doorbell rang. He opened it to find Neal Gold standing on the other side.

“Hello, Mr. Blanchard. I’m Neal. I’m here to pick up Mary Margaret.”

Leo narrowed his eyes before telling him, “she’s not here,” and slamming the door in his face.

Back at prom, Emma and Killian walked into the ballroom hand-in-hand. Emma immediately spotted Mary Margaret dancing with her date. Mary Margaret noticed Emma, too, mouthing a “thank you” and smiling at Emma and Killian’s entwined hands.

“Have you seen him, Emma?” Emma spun around on the spot to find Lily looking frantic.

“Who?”

“My secret admirer! He said he’d be here, and he’s supposed to have a purple bowtie.”

“Lily, I don’t know how to tell you this, but-”

“Lass,” Killian tapped Lily on the shoulder and pointed toward the front of the room, right in front of the stage.

Lily ran over to her secret admirer, none other than August Booth, who greeted her with a kiss on the hand.

Turning her attention back to her date, Emma tucked the rose into Killian’s jacket pocket.

“So do we dance?”

“Yes, but wait thirty seconds.”

“What?” Emma furrowed her eyebrows. “Why do we have to wait?”

“Song’s ending.”

They both clapped as the band finished a song. The next song started playing, but the band’s lead singer wasn’t singing. Emma recognized that voice.

“No way!”

Killian was grinning ear-to-ear.

“It’s Avril!”

“I called in a favor.”

“You did this?” He shrugged, ears tinged red. She stepped up onto her toes and kissed him.

By the time they pulled away, the song was a quarter over. When they finally parted, Killian held out his hand. “Can I have this dance?”

“Of course.”

Freshening up in the bathroom, Mary Margaret was joined at the sink by Tamara.

“I just thought you should know that Neal’s here with me tonight.”

Mary Margaret froze. “Well, he’s all yours, Tam.”

“How generous, Princess.” Tamara checked her makeup and smirked as she turned to face Mary Margaret. “And just so you know, Neal only liked you for one reason. He had a bet going with his friends. He just wanted to get in your pants tonight.”

Mary Margaret dropped her phone into the sink as she stared at Tamara, who strutted out of the bathroom.

Back on the dance floor, Emma and Killian continued to dance.

“How are you so good at this? I usually have two left feet when I dance.”

“You’re a soccer player.”

“I can play soccer. I can’t dance.”

Killian pressed a kiss to Emma’s cheek and pulled her impossibly closer.

“Lucky for you, there’s only one rule for dancing: Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

Emma threw her head back with laughter as Killian’s eyebrows jumped.

Unfortunately, their dance was interrupted by Neal, who grabbed Killian’s shoulder and pulled him aside.

“What the hell is Mary Margaret doing here with that asshat? I didn’t pay you to take out Emma so that some little punk could steal Mary Margaret from under me!”

Emma actually gasped out loud at the revelation. The hurt flashed over her. She confronted Killian. “Nothing in it for you? Yeah, right.” Emma ran from the ballroom, tears already falling. Killian followed.

“Emma, please let me explain.”

Emma turned to him, not caring how she looked mid-crying fit. “You were paid to take me out by the one person I truly hate. I knew it.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Really? What was it like - a down payment now and then a bonus for sleeping with me?”

“No. No, I didn’t care about the money, okay? I cared-” he sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “I cared about you.”

She stared him down for a minute, neither of them talking. She shook her head. “You are so not who I thought you were.”

Neal went straight up to David, flaring with anger, and punched him in the nose. David fell to the ground.

“Oh, come on. Get up, you wuss.”

Neal turned around to leave, just in time to be socked in the jaw by Mary Margaret.

“What the hell, Mary Margaret! I have a modeling gig tomorrow!”

“That’s for making my date bleed.” She punched him in the nose. “That’s for my sister.” She kneed him in a particularly sensitive male area. “And that’s for me.”

Watching Neal rolling on the ground, Mary Margaret helped David up, asking him, “are you okay?”

Despite the blood flowing from his nose, he grinned, answering honestly, “never better.”

Emma was listening to music in her room when Mary Margaret walked in with a mug.

“Hot chocolate and cinnamon.”

Emma took the mug. “Thanks.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come to lunch with David and me?”

“I’m sure.”

“It’ll be fun,” she gently nudged Emma with her elbow.

“It’s fine, Mary Margaret. I promise.”

“I’m sorry I dragged you to prom. And everything with Killian. You’re miserable because of me.”

Emma took both of her earbuds out. “It’s not because of you. It’s because of Killian and Neal. And I’m glad I went. Now I know.”

“Well, I really appreciate that you went last night. It means a lot to me.”

“I’m glad you had a good night.”

The girls were interrupted by a knock on the front door. “That’s probably David.”

“Go, Mary Margaret. Have fun, okay?”

Mary Margaret nodded as she slowly left Emma’s room.

Emma’s next guest was her father, who came in basically as soon as her sister left.

“So tell me about the prom. You seemed pretty upset when you came home.”

“It wasn’t all bad, I guess. Parts of it were fun.”

Leo made himself comfortable on the bean bag chair on Emma’s floor. “Which parts?”

“The part where Mary Margaret beat the crap out of this guy.”

“Mary Margaret did what?”

“Are you upset I rubbed off on her?”

“No. Impressed, actually.”

Emma was thrown off by her father’s approval.

“You know, when you moved in with us, Emma, your walls were up pretty high. Over the years, you let them down and opened up to us. Then your mother died, and you closed yourself off again. You haven’t been the same since the accident. But these last few weeks, you’ve been almost happy.” Emma took a sip of her cocoa. “You don’t tell me much these days, but whatever was going on, I liked seeing you smile again.”

“I’m sorry, Dad. It’s just - everyone I’ve ever loved left me. I was abandoned as a baby, the one family I felt a part of before yours gave me back, and then Mom died. I just didn’t want to feel like that again. But now-” Emma sighed.

“Emma,” Leo started, “why do you think I refused to let your sister date? I wanted to protect her from that. You know, I still don’t know how to deal with it sometimes.”

Emma looked at her father, feeling an understanding for the first time in years.

“But I promise, Emma, your sister and I aren’t going anywhere.”

“You can’t guarantee that.” Emma wiped a tear falling down her cheek.

“I know. But-”

“I know.” Emma smiled at her father before putting her mug down and hugging him. “I’m sorry about the last three years.”

“Oh, Emma. No. There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Leo stood up to leave, things cleared up between them for the first time in years. “Whatever has you feeling down again, I hope it gets worked out.”

“Me too.”

“I assume everyone has found the time to complete their sonnets,” Mr. Pendragon opened class. “Anyone brave enough to read theirs aloud?”

Every student in the room tried to avoid eye contact with Mr. Pendragon so they wouldn’t be called on.

“Anyone?”

Emma slowly raised her hand. “I’ll do it.”

Killian’s head jerked up, and Mr. Pendragon expected the worst.

Emma grabbed her notebook and went to the front of the room. Opening it to her bookmarked page, she started reading, keeping her voice as monotone as her emotion would allow.

“I hate the way you talk like that and the way your hair stands up. I hate the way you drive my car. I hate it when you stare. I hate your big dumb jacket and the way you read my mind. I hate you so much it makes me sick. It even makes me rhyme.” Emma paused, then continued, slowly feeling the emotions bubbling over. She took a deep breath. “I hate the way you're always right. I hate it when you lie. I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry.” Emma wiped her eyes and continued, crying in front of the whole class. “I hate it when you're not around and the fact that you didn't call. But mostly, I hate the way I don't hate you - not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.” Fully crying and not able to cope, Emma clutched the notebook to her chest and took off out the classroom, not risking a look at Killian.

After school that day, Emma walked to her car, more than ready to go home after the day she had. She opened the door of her car to put her backpack on the seat, and she was met with a brand-new guitar. She threw her backpack into the backseat and pulled the guitar out.

“No way!”

“Nice, huh?” Emma swung around to see Killian smirking behind her.

“Yeah! Is this- is this for me?”

“Aye. I thought you could use it, you know, when you start your band. I also may have talked to your sister. She said your mum used to play.” He talked to her sister for her?! Emma wasn’t sure what was more shocking - the fact that he spoke to her sister for intel or that her sister kept the whole thing a secret. “Besides, I had some extra cash. You know, some asshole paid me to take out a really great girl.” He closed her car door and leaned back against it.

Emma couldn’t quite keep from smiling. “Is that right?”

“Yeah,” he scratched the spot behind his ear. “But I screwed up. I - well, I fell for her.”

Both of them blushed at the confession.

“Really?”

“Don’t you know, Emma? It’s always been you.” She balanced the guitar against the side of her car before grabbing the lapels of his leather jacket and pulling him to her, kissing him hard.

He pulled away but kept his face within mere inches of hers. “It’s not every day you find a girl who will sprain her wrist to get you out of detention.”

“Oh, god. You were never supposed to know about that.” She laughed anyway. He peppered her face with kisses - her cheek, her chin, her jaw, her nose. She pushed his head away when he got back to her lips. “You can’t just buy me a guitar every time you screw up, you know?”

“I know. But there’s always drums and bass, and maybe even one day a tambourine.” He kissed her as her grin grew.

She broke the kiss apart again. “And don’t just think you can-”

He shut her up with a kiss. And this time, neither one pulled away.  

[imjustthemechanic]

Natalie Jones and the Golden Ship

Part 1/? - A Meeting at the Palace Part 2/? - Curry Talk Part 3/? - Princess Sitamun Part 4/? - Not At Rest Part 5/? - Dead Men Tell no Tales Part 6/? - Sitamun Rises Again Part 7/? - The Curse of Madame Desrosiers Part 8/? - Sabotage at Guedelon Part 9/? - A Miracle Part 10/? - Desrosiers’ Elixir Part 11/? - Athens in October Part 12/? - The Man in Black Part 13/? - Mr. Neustadt Part 14/? - The Other Side of the Story Part 15/? - A Favour Part 16/? - A Knock on the Window Part 17/? - Sir Stephen and Buckeye Part 18/? - Books of Alchemy Part 19/? - The Answers Part 20/? - A Gift Left Behind Part 21/? - Santorini Part 22/? - What the Doves Found Part 23/? - A Thief in the Night Part 24/? - Healing Part 25/? - Newton’s Code Part 26/? - Montenegro Part 27/? - The Lost Relic Part 28/? - The Homunculinus Part 29/? - The End is Near Part 30/? - The Face of Evil Part 31/? - The Morning After

Awkward.

It was a very unexpected question, and after asking it, Jim winced and gritted his teeth as if afraid Nat was about to throw him over the city wall into Bocca Bay.  Maybe he was – and maybe that was why Natasha laughed out loud.  Or maybe she laughed because that was easily the most self-consciously pathetic proposition she’d ever received.  Jim looked like a puppy asking for a treat he knew he wouldn’t receive, and she could tell he immediately regretted asking.

“Sorry,” he said.  “That was stupid.”

“Sure,” Nat decided.  “I’ll do that.”  Why not?

Jim stared at her.  “What? Really?”

“It’s been a long time since I slept with anyone,” she admitted.  “When I was working for the Soviet government, they would have me seduce men – and sometimes women – in order to drug or kill them.  I don’t like casual hookups because it reminds me of that, but I also really can’t get into a long-term relationship, because…” she shrugged.  “Those are built on honesty, and for the last few years, my life has been a lie.  I’ve been using a fake name, working under forged qualifications, and I can tell people all about my past but none of it’s true.  You and I are being honest.  I’m a former Russian spy and you’re something a crazy wizard made.”

Then he laughed, too.  “A match made in heaven, eh?” he asked.

“Oh, I don’t know if I’d go that far,” said Nat.

There was a rumble.  Nat leaned forward to look up again, and saw more lightning flickering.  The gray cat gave a stretch, and then scampered off down a side street.

Jim seemed to take that as a sign.  “I guess we should go in, too,” he said.

The first dark spots began to appear on the stone cobbles in front of them. “I think you’re right,” said Nat. “If we don’t we’ll be trapped here in this doorway until it stops.”

They hurried across the square, and darted into the hotel foyer just moments ahead of the rain.  Lightning split the sky and thunder followed soon after, and suddenly it was teeming down, rattling on the old tile roofs and flowing in rivulets between the paving stones.  Natasha hoped the cat had made it back indoors.

“Whew,” said Jim.  “If even the weather’s telling me to go back to bed, I guess I ought to take the hint.”

He thought she’d been joking, Nat realized.  Either that, or he was so embarrassed about having propositioned her in the first place that he was hoping they could both forget about it. Natasha could have let it drop, but decided not to – he’d made the request in earnest and she’d accepted it likewise.  She was trying very hard not to think of the ways in which sex made people feel obligated to each other and how she could take advantage of those.  Instead, she focused on how it would help him feel like he’d left an impression on the world… and as she said, it had been several years since the last time she’d done it.

So right there in the lobby of the Hotel Vadar, with other guests all around him, she took him by the shoulders and kissed him full on the lips.  She felt him freeze, and expected him to relax into it once he realized she was serious – but he didn’t.  When she stepped back a moment later, he was still staring at her.

“I… uh…” he began.

“If you didn’t want to, you shouldn’t have asked.  You’re stuck with me now,” she told him, and kissed him again. This time, he put his arms around her and pulled her a little closer, and she knew he wasn’t embarrassed anymore.

“You taste like lemonade,” he told her.

She’d had lemon gelato for dessert.  “Really?” she asked.  “Because you taste like Perenelle’s elixir.”

Jim froze, horrified.  “I do?”

“Just kidding,” she assured him, and took his hand to lead him back upstairs. The truth was he’d tasted of salt, melancholy, and the Abbot’s beer – exactly as she would have expected for a man obsessed with his own mortality.  Perhaps in the strictest definition, Jim was not a human being, but if that were the case he was a damned convincing simulation.

Natasha woke the next morning with her head on Jim’s shoulder and her hand on his abdomen.  He was still asleep and breathing softly, which made her smile – if their lovemaking had done nothing else for him, it had at least tricked his body’s chemistry into putting him properly to sleep.  Allen was already up and gone, leaving them alone in the room, but he must have seen them together and realized what it meant.  Nat thought about that for a moment and decided she didn’t care.  If he said anything, she’d just remind him that she was an adult who could do what she chose.

She reached for her phone to see what time it was, and found it was almost eight.  She had voicemail.

It turned out to be from the French consulate in Cetinje.  Madame Jones, the recording said.  We will need you to bring that passport to us. We have located Madame Desrosiers and it seems she had a second copy of the passport, which is not allowed.  We need to determine which is her real one.

Nat set the phone down and gave Jim a shake.  “Hey, wake up,” she said.

“Hmm?” he asked, opening his eyes.

“Get dressed.”  Nat swung her legs over the edge of the bed and reached for her discarded shirt.  “We need to catch a bus.”

They found the others having breakfast at one of the tables in the square. There were still puddles on the cobblestones from last night’s rain, but they were evaporating fast in the morning sunshine.  Shops were opening and the pigeons were out and about, snatching up bits of bread and bacon that fell from diners’ tables.  Nat pulled a chair up to the table where her colleagues were, and pulled out her phone.

“Morning, everybody,” she said.  “I got a reply from the consulate.  They want us to turn in the passport, which may lead to Desrosiers being arrested, or might just make her run away again.  It depends on how she hears about it.  I’ve already called Fury and hopefully he can find out where she is, and we can track her down before the police do.”

This was greeted by silence.  Jim, who’d sat down on Nat’s right, stared at the stanchions that divided the hotel dining area from the square.  There was a pigeon perched on it, grooming, and he was pretending to be fascinated by that so he wouldn’t have to make eye contact with anyone.

“So let’s eat,” Nat added, “and then we’ll catch the bus to Cetinje.”

“Is there something you want to share with the group?” Sam asked cynically.

Natasha had figured from the way people were looking at her that Allen must have told everybody what he’d seen when he woke up.  She’d hoped that getting right down to business would tell them that it wasn’t a subject for group discussion, but apparently that had failed.

“Since it’s evident that you all know already, no,” Nat replied.  Although Sam was the one who’d asked the question, she answered it while looking directly at Allen, to let him know what she thought of him spreading the word.

He lowered his eyes, ashamed.

“Any more questions?” Nat asked.

Nobody had any.

“Good.”  Nat picked up a menu.  “Because I’m too hungry to answer them, anyway.”

The public transportation in Montenegro was extremely limited and not particularly dependable – the tourist buses, on the other hand, went everywhere and kept a rigid schedule, but were several times more expensive. Theoretically the CAAP were still on government business and therefore passing all their expenses on to the crown, so they bought seats on one of those.  They rumbled off to Cetinje in air-conditioned comfort and to the droning of a tour guide who had obviously done this so many times she could have recited her spiel in her sleep.

Natasha was sitting next to Allen, with Sir Stephen and Jim behind them. There was a general lack of conversation on the bus, partly because of the guide’s amplified speech and partly because nobody could think of anything to say that wouldn’t have been awkward. Nat was growing increasingly annoyed with them.  If she’d slept with Clint or Sir Stephen, that would have been a problem because the first had a wife and the second a girlfriend.  If she’d slept with Sam, it would have been unworthy of comment because they were both single.  The same should have been true of her and Jim.

The only thing that made Jim different was that he wasn’t quite human in the way the others were.  Natasha could point that out, but doing so would make Jim uncomfortable – and he was plenty uncomfortable already.

It wasn’t until they actually got off the bus in Cetinje, a green and picturesque city among rolling hills on the edge of Lovcen National Park, that anybody really said anything.  Even then, it seemed to be only because Sir Stephen couldn’t take the quiet any longer that he suddenly spoke.

Maybe it was also because he’d finally thought of something to say that wasn’t inappropriate and wouldn’t be taken as a condemnation of Nat and Jim’s behaviour.  What he said was, “Buckeye did enjoy the company of women.”

“Yeah?” asked Jim.

“Oh, yes,” Sir Stephen agreed.  “Everywhere we went together, he left broken hearts in his wake.  He would often try to find a lady to keep me company, as well, but his efforts failed.  In my youth I was not the sort they admired.”

“Well, that was their loss,” said Sam.

“None can see the future,” said Sir Stephen.  He wasn’t bitter about it – Natasha remembered his story of how Lady Margaret had admired his bravery even before the Lady of the Lake had turned him into a warrior.  “Buckeye had hoped to marry someday,” he went on.  “He would need a wife to carry on his father’s line, as he was the only son who lived to adulthood.”

“That didn’t happen,” Jim observed, unnecessarily.

“No, it did not.  So in a way, I suppose he might be glad to think he would be resurrected in some form, to give his lineage a second chance,” Sir Stephen said.

“Well, I don’t think I’ll be doing that for him,” Jim said quickly.  “Perenelle did say I don’t have any human DNA.”

“And I couldn’t do my bit even if he could do his,” Nat added.  The people who’d raised her in the Red Room had taken care of that.

“I didn’t mean that,” said Sir Stephen.  “I only think he would be glad to know you exist at all, and gladder still that you and I have met.”

“This may come as a surprise,” Jim said, “but I actually don’t care what Sir James Buckeye would have thought of me.  Based on what you’ve said about him, I don’t think I would have even liked him.”

[anxious-angsty-snowdrop-blog]

Who Are You?

Warnings: This oneshot is something I wrote about two months ago that tells you how my day ended that day and contains swearing, ‘imaginary’ friends, talking animals, and self-deprecating thoughts.

So, as stated, I wrote this a few months ago and it tells you how a lot of my days actually end (except for the final part, that’s just me exaggerating a bit and breaking the fourth wall). Now, I’m not crazy. Let me say that now. However, I am a fourteen year old high schooler with ADHD and ODD. I don’t have many friends in real life, so I usually resort to ranting to the talking animals I’ve made up in my mind. I have a terrible throat and at night it often becomes very painful, sometimes I'll lie in my bed and force myself to have a coughing fit, because it lessens the pain for a while.

'This means someone is thinking' and "This means someone is speaking"

A single dot (.) means a waiting period and three or more dots (......) means a silent period

.

.

.

.

.

.

Kitt stared at her phone, the screen lighting up her blank face. She glanced at the time, no even flinching at the bold, white, numbers warning her to sleep.

'3:45 am, eh? Not too late. I can still-’ “Ow!”

Kitt dropped her phone and turned to face….. nothing? Still, she glared at a certain spot on her bed, as if something was there.

“Nagasaki, why did you bite me?!”

…

“Of fucking course I know I have school tomorrow, but you’re not my fucking-”

……….

“I don’t give a shit if it’s two hours and fifteen minutes before I need to wake up!”

…..

“I-I” She turned back to look at her phone before picking it up and staring at the completely white screen. “I don’t know.” She sighed, hanging her head.

……….

She suddenly fell back on her pillow, landing with a soft 'plop’. She forced her eyes open and sat up, her shoulders shaking slightly as she gave a couple of harsh-but-quiet coughs.

…………………

“I can’t. I still hafta finish my homework.” She muttered, forcing herself out of bed and walking over to her light.

Turning it on, she gave a quiet hiss, and began blinking rapidly and squinting. After five minutes she turned back to her bed and picked up her math assignment.

.

.

...

Looking up, she stared at the space in front of her.

.......

“No. I’m not going to fall asleep just because I 'look like shit’.”

………………………………..

“I don’t care. How I look doesn’t really matter all that much to me.”

…………

“There’s nothing left to do, y'know? I’ll never be the daughter they wanted, I’ll never stop making shit decisions, I’ll never have anyone meet me in real life that thinks I’m worth it, and I’ll always be a god damn fuck-up.”

………………

“You are literally just a figment of my imagination! You are only here because I’m so fucking pathetic that I can’t keep friends!” She whisper-yelled, minding that her family was still asleep.

……………………….

“Not my kinda different, hon. Yeah, I agree that there are lotsa kinds of different, and many are wonderful, but me? I’m the fucking worst. I’m not stable, hon. An’ I’m too scared to talk to anyone, because I don’t wanna disappoint my parents even more than I already do.”

…….

“It’s hard. It’s really hard. I’m not even sure how I do it. I’m tired, so tired, and it feels like every day, I lose a bit more of myself. But I can’t stop going. Even though I’m just walkin’ in circles, I hafta keep going.”

………..

“Thanks, hon.” She whispered, hugging the air, as if something was there. When she let go, she yawned, not noticing her pencil getting softly knocked out of her grip, and her homework being pushed aside. She moved slightly, as if being nudged and she quietly got into bed.

……..

“Mhm, love ya too, Nagasaki.” She mumbled, her lack of sleep for the past few days finally taking its toll on her as she fell asleep almost immediately.

……

The covers seemed to be moving on their own as they were flung on top of the teen, before she was tucked in and given her stuffed polar bear.

-Thump-

The quiet sound of something hitting the floor disturbed no one, as well as when the lights were turned off, seemingly on their own. A small white figure suddenly appeared beside Kitt’s bed. Unknown was it, until it turned to face the reader, breaking the fourth wall. A small polar bear, between the age of being an adult and a cub, looks reader right in the eyes. His red eyes bore into yours for a moment, until you blink, and then, he speaks, in a quiet, but gruff French-Canadian accent.

“…….Who are you?”

[wannabeollg]

so this is basically my mood. its been my mood for a really long time:( I'm not typing this attention from all 11 of my followers💀 I'm typing this bc I have to get it out. journaling isn't enough. so basically, since freshman year, I've gone through bouts of some seriousness sadness. I dont want to say depression bc I wasn't diagnosed with it, but for all I know I am... anyways, I'm just sad. I was put in alternative school for a little bit because I didn't something totally stupid but I learned my lesson. 6 weeks away from my friends was a good punishment. anyways, I went back to regular school on Jan. 8... I was excited to see all my friends but they didn't really share quite the same enthusiasm. I shrugged it off.. I mean I have classes with them so not a big deal, right? I'd get to sit with them during class. we could gab and catch up then.... but it didn't really turn out that way. some people that I thought were some of my closest friends, barely talk to me now. maybe its bc I was gone for basically 2 months, and we just drifted apart from each other. I'm starting to get closer to the person that I considered my first friend at my new school after I moved, again. that does make me happy. I've missed her so much. but I've also gone thru some other shit. in July 2017, my best friend decided to cut ties with me a week before school was to start up again. she gave me no explanation. it hurt. it hurt so much. my boyfriend had just broken up with me exactly a week before, and i didnt even bat an eyelash... but when she told me she thought itd be best if we just werent friends anymore, i froze. i felt numb. she was my best friend. it was supposed to be us against the world... i guess not. i cried a lot. i cried for the first time in months. i had been doing pretty okay, mental health-wise, and then she just randomly did that...and now, almost half a year later, it still hurts. I didn't get closure and probably won't, now. but also, in march 2017, I got drunk for the first time. the boy that had broken my little sophomore heart, was at the same get together I was. it was at my friends house and he was her brothers friend... of course he was going to be there. but anyways, I got drunk. I got sad bc me and him were joking around and acting like pals, but we were intoxicated so it made sense. anyways, I quietly got upset bc I realized. how much things had changed between us. I mean, we were juniors in high school and we went almost that entire year without talking to each other. we were such good friends and then he ditched me for his new gf... he did me dirty but I still wanted him- how pathetic. anyways, I'm off topic so at the party, I, drunkenly, confronted him about it and I cried (*facepalms*). he said we were still friends, but were not. its not the same. we just go to the same school and maybe have a few classes together?? its not the same. but anyways, i told him everything that i had been thinking for that past year, and i got my closure...and I didn't want to admit it back then because how could I have known? I had no experience. I didn't know what it felt like... but now, I'm pretty sure I loved him. and I think a part of me still does, so much for that closure. so yeah, I think I'm still in love with the boy who left me for another girl, even after I told him I liked him and he told me he liked me back. that's what fucked me up the most. that little bit of hope fucked me up. and now we're gonna graduate in may and I won't see him probably ever again. we're both going in different directions. he's going into the airforce and I'm going into the army and he's still with that bitch lmao jk she's not a bitch but I have a strong distaste for her since January 2016. ever since then, I pretty much figured I wouldn't ever have a bf during hs. I briefly had one over summer 2017, but it was more of a fling. and then the guy that I had liked for a short time, asked me out in august 2017.... and I wanted so badly to say yes, because yes! he's cute and ambitious!! but, he has a kid. a whole baby momma who is also in my grade. I couldn't. I wanted so badly to say yes. I wanted to kiss him on the mouth and hold hands with him and just say yes! but I didn't... later in September, a little scandal broke that I was trying to break up the lovely couple... which I wasn't.... I mean it wasn't my fault that he caught feelings.... but yep so that happened.. I think those were the main parts of 2017 tbh. sorry, I'm just blabbering on, but its nice to get this out... so imma continue not tryna sound conceited, but i think I'm easily liked... like whats not to like about me? I'm smart, athletic, funny, and not ugly. maybe I'm on the chubbier side, but I'm not pushing the limits by any means. and I know guys have had "crushes" on me. I mean 4 guys have told me that the like[d] me in my entire lifetime, that plus I can sorta tell when a guy dropping hints. so its not like I'm driving boys away. I've had one boyfriend, which was the fling so I barely consider him an actual relationship but we did make it official so ig I have to claim him... but anyways, ig no one wants me?? that worries me. I'm gonna graduate and go into the real world soon with no relationship experience other than how to make out (not even French kiss tho!!!) and its been awhile since that so idek if ik how to do that anymore. (btw I had my first kiss with fling-boy. April 2017, just a few days before my 17th birthday, so you can understand that just about only 3 months of sucking face only every other weekend is not a enough time to become an expert).... so yep. no experience, at all. I'm still a virgin too. bro I gtg. jk, I want my first time to be meaningful, so I'm not putting out to just any random guy.... but okay thats all I've been thinking about lately.. its a lot I know, but eh... I'm still feeling x( but maybe just a little less

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Alliance Part 3 (Gibson x Reader)

Summary: It was wishful thinking on Y/N’s and Gibson’s behalf to hope they would remain completely undetected.

AN: I love my angry boi Alex – even after what he did to Gibson and Tommy - but when he said frog I just broke out of the film. I was nudging and side-eyeing my pal @hie-mal for the next five minutes. She slapped my arm. It was great. I love her and now I'm rambling. Also, I made the reader even angrier so that’s gonna be a good combo.

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 Trading sleeping on the beach for sleeping in a grounded trawler, Y/N and Gibson curled into the corner of the boat away from the highlanders that had joined their group. It’d been that way for their walk over to the trawler; Y/N had held back and whispered brief translations to Gibson whenever she could but due to her limited French and more limited time without the watchful stares of the others, Gibson was guessing what was happening and shaking his head or staring blankly whenever one of the soldiers spoke to him.

 The names of his other allies – Tommy and Alex – were learnt after Y/N had overheard their exchanged pleasantries while she was “sleeping”.

 He was jolted from his pathetic attempt at sleep by footsteps on the deck above him. The others were poised and one of the highlanders gestured with his rifle for Tommy to check the door. Giving into peer pressure, Tommy quietly stepped forward. A shadow passed over the ladder and Tommy pounced.

 “Nee, nee!”

 His bleated begs confused the soldiers. Tommy grabbed him and pulled him down the ladder where he landed ungracefully amongst the trawler’s new found crew.

 “Kraut?” interrogated the more suspicious of Gibson’s allies. He knew what that mean. Evidently the man did not as he looked disorientated at his captors. Alex dropped the slang and the man’s face lit up with recognition.

 “Dutch! Dutch! Merchant navy. Here to pick you up. To help you,” His broken English informed the soldiers.

 Gibson relaxed as everyone else did and Y/N pushed him gently back into their corner. The Seaman was sat up and his interrogation – albeit without the violence – was continued. Y/N learnt that it would be more hours until the boat would float, which Gibson also gathered from Alex’s annoyed expression – tied to his earlier outburst.

 BANG! A hollow gunshot sounded followed by the clatter of the bullet. The hull had a hole, letting in a stream of light. There was silence in the trawler as everyone held their breath.

 BANG! Another shot punched through the hull, two feet from the first thus it was two feet closer to the soldiers. The Highlanders scrambled to get away from it, squeezing against the others without removing their stare from holes. Gibson looked over to Y/N who was cowering away.

 BANG! A third shot appeared directly above the first. The rule of three was applied and the group were at their wit’s end. Two highlanders grabbed their rifles and went for the ladder. Tommy lifted his head and spoke in a hushed voice.

 “No! Then they’ll know we’re in here.”

 “Why else are they shooting at us?!” One of the highlanders hissed with a tight grip on his rifle.

 Tommy nodded at the hole, “Look at the grouping... Target practice.” The group looked as another hole, near the others, appeared. This confirmed Tommy’s theory but it didn’t help their situation.

 A few minutes gone, water began to slop into the lowest hole and L/N fought back a whimper. She’d left her lifejacket on the beach. But it wouldn’t help her anyway; all that would happen was that she would float to the ceiling and drown last, stuck inside the trawler.

 With a nod at his comrades, a highlander crept towards the holes to plug them. BANG! The man screamed, falling back as he clutched his face; his friends leapt forward and smothered his cries. Water still flowed in through the holes and crawled towards the group.

 Alex hissed the obvious, “We have to plug it!”

 “After you, mate!” The same highlander as before shifted away from the holes, still clinging to his rifle like it was his final lifeline. Everyone shared the same mindset and as the tide came in more water slipped into the boat.

 Another slang mix-up later, the Seaman gasped out that, even if all the holes were plugged, the trawler would need to lose weight if they wanted to float. There was no way of getting rid of the water without drawing attention to the rest of the soldiers.

 “Somebody needs to get off,” Alex said.

 “Well volunteered,” A highlander replied with heavy sarcasm.

 “We don’t need a volunteer. I know someone who ought to get off.” Y/N tensed up and nudged Gibson as Alex pointed at them.

 “They’re German spies.”

 Tommy gawked at the accusation, “Don’t be daft.”

 Alex continued to stare down Gibson, who was looking away with discomfort. Knowing that Gibson didn’t understand what was happening, Y/N settled for staring back at her accuser.

 “They’re bloody Jerrys,” Alex looked at the others with a finger still pointed at the two, “You might not’ve noticed that they haven’t said a word, but I have. They don’t speak English - or if they do it’s with an accent thicker than sauerkraut sauce-”

 “You’re daft. Tell him,” Tommy looked at the pair. Unsure of what to do, Gibson stood up against the ladder. He looked down helplessly at Y/N.

 “Yeah, tell me. Oh wait, I was wrong. They do speak. Don’t think I missed you two whispering to each other and no one else,” Alex started to get in Y/N’s face so instinctively she knelt up and shoved him back. He landed on his backside amidst the highlanders.

 “See that?” Alex pointed at her again as he took one of the highlander’s guns. Gibson impulsively pulled Y/N closer to the ladder as Alex pressed the barrel of his new weapon against his chest, hooking his stolen dog tags.

 “Tell me… Gibson and... Y/N.” The other highlanders had joined in, their rifles ganging up on Gibson and Y/N with only one other person on their side.

 “Tell him, for God’s sake!” Tommy was far past panicking at this point, praying that Alex wasn’t right as his companion’s silence stacked up the doubt. Alex’s rifle was getting dangerously close to Gibson’s face and he was starting to panic; in a quick movement, Y/N slapped it away. Immediately, one of the highlanders smacked her with the butt of his gun and Gibson cracked.

 “FRANÇAIS!” He burst, “Je suis français!”

 Tommy stared in shock as Y/N sighed, holding her cheek. A thought niggled its way into her mind: Gibson’s cover was blown but hers was not. She could leave him; she could stay on the boat while he left to let it float. Except…

 A burst of gun fire ricocheted through the trawler. With everyone’s attention on the fire, Gibson took Y/N’s face into the light and surveyed the damage: a small cut trickling blood.

 “It’s ok,” He said but he didn’t sound convinced. He didn’t even know what he was saying.

 The gunshots in the back of his mind, Alex turned on them, “A Frog. Bloody Frogs. Cowardly little queue-jumping Frogs. Who’s Gibson, eh? Y/N? More naked dead Englishmen lying out on that sand. Or did you at least have the decency to bury them?”

 “They did,” Tommy defended, “I helped them. I thought it was their mate. They were burying him together.”

 “Maybe they killed him-”

 “They didn’t kill him.”

 “How do we know?!”

 Y/N glared at Alex so fiercely that some of the highlanders were tempted to back off. She was slowly getting pissed off at their lack of logic.

 “They were looking for a way off the damned sand like the rest of us!”

 More bullets thudded into the boat, ramping up the tension and ensuring that the boat wasn’t going to get far across the Channel.

 A highlander looked desperately at the Seaman, who had been a bystander to the whole situation, “Will she still float?!”

 “Float, yes. With less weight, yes,” The Seaman confirmed again.

 “And we know who’s getting off-”

 “You can’t do that. We’re on the same side,” Tommy begged. Ignoring his comrade, Alex nudged Gibson with the rifle; hearing his breathing speed up, Y/N stepped in the way.

 “Go on, up you go,” He dragged the gun up Y/N’s chest, nearly blowing her cover too, “Both of you.”

 “As soon as they poke their head out they’ll slaughter ‘em.”

 “Better him than me,” Alex scoffed.

 “It’s not fair,” Tommy said softly.

 “Survival’s not fair!”

 “No, it’s shit,” A highlander spat, “It’s fear and greed. Fate squeezed through the bowels of men. Shit.”

 “He saved our lives. They both did!”

 “And they’re about to do it again – Go on.” Y/N and Gibson were officially cornered as Tommy was pushed aside towards the Seaman.

 “No! Just stop!” He pleaded.

 Getting more annoyed with Tommy’s relentless defending, “We need someone to get off so the rest of us can live. You want to volunteer?”

 For the first time, Tommy backed down as he came under fire, “No. I’m going home.” Y/N’s will broke. Yeah, he was a bit pathetic without a rifle but Tommy was her friend.

 “We’re not going anywhere,” She said, her voice scratchy from lack of use but low enough to pass as a bloke. In an attempt to cover up any suspicion, she licked the blood stream that had made its way to her mouth before spitting it back out. She’d seen men do it plenty of times.

 Alex’s head shot around, “You’re English?”

 “Yes.”

 Alex re-adjusted the grip on his rifle, “Don’t change nothing. You knew he was a Frog and you helped him. Go on!”

 “No.”

 “I will fucking shoot you.

 “Go on then,” said Y/N with a stronger glare.

 Alex paused, his finger brushing against the trigger. Preparing to grab the gun, Gibson slowly moved but Y/N, behind her back, took his hand and hoped he would understand that she was prolonging their time on the ship – and thus the chance of survival. In an attempt to aid translation but also for comfort, she squeezed it. He shakily squeezed back.

 “None of you can do it,” She spoke a little louder over the water sloshing outside.

 “I will shoot you if you don’t get up that ladder!” Alex matched her volume.

 “But then what?” Y/N thought before continuing, “You think the Germans won’t think to check the boat for you if they hear two gun shots in it?”

 Mulling over their long-term existence, the Highlanders look doubtful but keep their stance. So Y/N continued, releasing Gibson’s hand.

 “Water’s fucking heavy in case you didn’t notice. We aren’t going to make the difference. Even if we all got off, the boat’d still sink.”

 Alex saw the weakening will of his side, “I will-”

 “I know, shoot us,” Y/N interrupted, more annoyed, “You keep saying. But which of you is gonna volunteer to drag our corpses off to make this float? ‘Cause I don’t know about you but I don’t think we’ll be up for climbing out when we’re dead.”

 “I’ll shoot you in the foot,” Alex replied after a pause, lowering his rifle to the floor.

 “Still gonna need our feet to get up the ladder,” L/N snarked, taking another sly step forward.

 Meeting her annoyance, Alex pressed the rifle back into her chest, “Aren’t you a smart one?” He prodded her again, this time on the cut on her cheek.

 Gibson grabbed her shoulder, “Arrêtez! Ne la pousse pas!”

 “Shut up, Frog!”

 “Laisse la tranquille! Elle m’aide!” Gibson cried again, only to be silenced by Y/N holding her hand up to him.

 “It’s ok,” She assured him with a quick glance over her shoulder.

 “Ok,” He repeated, still unconvinced. Y/N looked back at her accusers but Alex’s appearance of annoyance had shifted into one of disbelief.

 “You’re a girl.”

 With calm anger, Y/N said in a semi-believable tone of disbelief, “What?”

 “Froggy here said “elle”. You’re a girl.”

 “Fuck,” Y/N let slip and Alex’s expression hardened.

 “So what? You his girlfriend?” He prodded her again with his rifle on both sides of the chest in an obscene gesture. Y/N slapped the gun away again and raised her fist at the soldier who’d hit her before to block any more attacks. Instead, the highlander looked nervous and was fidgeting with his rifle.

 “Alex, mate,” He said nervously, “I don’t know how I feel about sending a girl out there.”

 Alex wasn’t listening, “You blackmail him into keeping your dirty little secret so you don’t rat him out?”

 “Think you’re forgetting that our priority is we’re in a sinking ship and you have a gun on us,” Y/N kept her voice low then made a grab for the rifle. Alex tackled her and attempted to pry his rifle back as he sat on Y/N’s stomach, her head almost completely underwater. To the rescue, Tommy jumped at Alex to pull him off Y/N. Gibson, in turn, wrestled with the highlanders, tugging them away from his friends. The scuffle landed against the hull of the ship. In time with their collision to the floor, the ship levelled out in the water.

 “FLOAT! WE FLOAT!” The Seaman cried, leaping out of his corner.

 “START THE BLOODY ENGINE!” cried a highlander, still trying to get to Y/N. The Seaman was already crawling out of the hatch. The engine roared into life and instantly drew attention.

 Machine-gun fire spread across the hull of the boat. Y/N ducked under the water, grabbing Alex by the shirt to pull him under next to her. Sea water bit at her cut and air burned her lungs as the bullets pierced the hull nearby. Releasing the gun, Y/N covered her ears with her eyes screwed up.

 The water level rose faster with the new holes in the hull. Pushing Alex away, Y/N popped her head over the surface once the shooting had stopped, gasping for air. The rest of the soldiers were looking around at the holes.

 She felt a tug on her shoulder and saw Gibson was floating next to her, spluttering in the rising water. His hand was still touching her shoulder so she took it again to help him stand. Ignoring his anger from moments ago,  Alex crawled over to the stairs and climbed out into the well, his head poking out to talk to the Seaman.

 “You ok?” Y/N asked Gibson then spat out some water she’d accidentally swallowed.

 “Ok,” Gibson spoke over the sound of rushing water.

 “Tommy?”

 “I’m good!” He called from the other end of the boat. More gunfire hit the cabin above their heads; the soldiers ducked back under the water which was up to their waists by this point.

 “Yeah, we’re fine, thanks!” The closest highlander yelled sarcastically.

 “Fuck off, you hit me with your gun!” Alex took this opportunity to crawl back down, slipping at the bottom of the ladder.

 “PLUG THE HOLES! PLUG THE HOLES!”

 Scrabbling for the rags she’d spotted earlier, Y/N pressed them into the holes. The water was too strong though, destroying their futile attempts to keep the boat afloat. The lack of light made it impossible to find anything else to solve their problem.

 In one final go at saving their boat, all the soldiers pressed their fingers and palms against the hull. Water continued to seep through. It sloshed from above and down the trapdoor, nearly blocking their only way out. They weren’t going to make it.

  AN: Yeah, I meant what I said when I referenced the final section being split unnecessarily into two parts. And it’s gonna take a while to write it because it’s gonna be even more unnecessarily long. Sorry @firaemsen and @hufflepuff-and-feminist 

  Translations:

Arrêtez la tranquille!! Ne la pousse pas! Stop ! Don’t push her!

Laisse la tranquille! Elle m’aide! Leave her alone! She’s helping me!

[v-a-l-v-e]

2p RusIta: Once In A Lifetime (Part 2)

(I forgot to say that this was originally a roleplay I did with my sister so not all of the credit goes to me. There is probably going to be one or two more parts. I have a whole collection of roleplays I can convert to stories if you guys are interested. Thanks for reading!)

Viktor closed the door then got into the driver's seat. He started up the car and pulled out of the parking lot. Once we were on the road, Viktor turned on the radio to a classical station, "Do you have money?"

“I’m in college,” I began, “Of course I don’t have any fucking money!” We sat in silence for a while after Viktor agreed to pay for my meal. “… So… You blackmailed me into a date?” Viktor turned the radio up louder. “Don’t ignore me!” I turned the radio down, but he only turned it back up. I leaned over and began to mess up the pile of papers he had sitting in the backseat, throwing them around.

“Might I remind you that your tests are in there? I’m grading them tonight…”

“Sorry, I can’t hear you!!” I threw papers in Viktor’s face.

“Yes, I did blackmail you into a date…” Satisfied, I plopped back down into my seat. "But after our date, I expect something from you. It could be anything you'd like. Though, I am risking a lot to get you that A."

“I’m never letting you get into my pants, pedo…”

“Actually, you are of legal age, as am I.”

I narrowed my eyes, suspicious, “Exactly how old are you?”

“Twenty-five.”

“… You’re only getting a blowjob…”

“I did say you could do whatever you wanted…”

"That's all you're ever getting.... Why did you say that you were going to take me to your home, but we're actually just going to a restaurant?"

“We’re going to my house afterwards.”

“No.”

Viktor frowned, "................Fine....do you have a boyfriend or a girlfriend? Anyone I should try to avoid..." I shook my head. “Good…” Viktor stayed quiet for the rest of the ride. Viktor had made reservations for us. To drink, Viktor ordered straight vodka, "Would you like some wine? You seem the type..." Viktor said, handing me the alcoholic beverages menu.

“I’m twenty…” I insisted, though I looked through the menu.

"So? I'm paying for it. There are not many people around anyway." Our booth was rather tucked away and hidden and there wasn't that many people at the restaurant.

I looked at the menu more, though my eyes drifted over to a curvy woman sitting at a booth. Viktor followed my eyes, “Do you like her? She is very beautiful…”

“She has a lot to grab,” I said with a bit of smug.

“Have you had a woman before?”

“Once, but I’ve flirted with ladies plenty of times.”

“What about men?”

“…” I glared at him, warning for him to back off.

The waiter came back with a note pad, "Que désirez-vous?" "Je voudrais une boeuf plateau." Viktor spoke fluently. "Et tu?" the waiter looked at me.

"Eh? I don't speak that shit."

The waiter frowned, looking confused. "Just point to what you want on the menu," Viktor said.

"I don't know what this is!" I snapped, "The menu is French!"

"Do you like seafood?"

“Depends."

Viktor ordered me something off the menu and handed the waiter our menus. Viktor studied me, “Can you speak Italian?”

I rolled my eyes, “Of course I can! I have an Italian accent, don’t I? I thought it was obvious…” Awhile later, we were served our food and drinks. I didn’t say anything to Viktor, not wanting to bring up conservation.

When I began eating Viktor asked, “How is it? The food and the wine?”

I shrugged, “It’s okay.” Actually, it was exceptional. I understood why this place was so popular.

"After we're done here, we'll go out to my car and do what needs done." After we were done eating and drinking, Viktor drove me back home. Viktor sat in the driver's seat and looked over at me after he parked the car, ". . ."

I sighed, “Please don’t look at me like that…” I provided Viktor with what he requested and things seemed to get a little out of hand by the end. I won’t describe it because it was rather embarrassing for me… “Mhm, alright. Was that enough? Can I go now?”

Viktor zipped his pants back up, “Y-Yeah…” He appeared flustered and out of place as he avoided eye contact with me. In a way it was actually cute. He was a soft man in the inside.

I smirked, “Goodnight~” Viktor watched me leave then got back into his car and drove home. He stayed up late, grading papers. He gave me a 100% with a few points of extra credit. Fifteen weeks past and the second semester began. After our time together in the car, Viktor only asked for blowjobs. He still took me out to restaurants to eat food. Eventually, we had been to every notable restaurant in the city. However, Viktor had not yet asked for a favor for the final test of the semester. It was the day before winter break; the students were just talking and checking that text books were in good condition for next semester. Viktor watched me, staring from his desk, ". . ." I was sitting alone and flipped through the pages of a small black book. He suddenly stood up and went over to my desk, “Are you going anywhere for winter break?”

I looked up from my book, “It’s none of your business.”

“… I’m staying here. My family comes here to celebrate Christmas.” Why was he telling me all of this? It was very strange. I rolled my eyes and tried to ignore him though he took out a small envelope from his jacket pocket. It said ‘To Luciano Vargas’ on the top in elaborate cursive.

I took the envelope from Viktor and opened it up. Inside, there was an invitation for me to come to the Braginsky family Christmas party. There was also three gift cards, Amazon, Starbucks, and a clothing store, each for fifty dollars, "I wasn't sure what to get you..." Viktor mumbled.

I held but a laugh and said, “… You’re cute.”

He blushed and seemed baffled, “… No…”

I flashed him a smirk and said, “You have the biggest school-boy crush on me, and we both know it. How pathetic…”

". . ." Viktor blushed more and looked at his hands, "Shhh...I was hoping we could go out tonight. I...I already graded your final, you got a B..."

I raised an eyebrow, “What? Why a B? You usually give me As!”

“I-I just graded the questions… I haven’t changed anything yet.”

“Why not!? I’ve been going on dates with you this whole semester!”

Viktor frowned, "...I was hoping you'd want to go on a date with me and not involve your grades, because you wanted to. But I see that's not how you feel."

I sighed, suddenly feeling annoyed, “Okay Viktor, let’s get this straight. You’re a fucking creep and you show no emotion whatsoever! You even blackmailed me! Why would you expect me you like you!?”

Viktor scowled, his face going dark, “I can still fail you, Luciano…”

“I’ll tell the counselor. I know she’ll believe me.”

Viktor was angry, the first time I had seen him that way, "Forget it. I'm not doing this next semester..." Viktor grabbed the envelope from me, standing up and going back to his desk. He threw the envelope in the trash, gritting his teeth and staring at his desk.

I frowned and followed Viktor to his desk, “Viktor… Why are you so upset? I’m sor-“

“Shut up and get back into your seat!” The students jumped at the sudden shouting. I felt myself go cold and my body go stiff. Viktor went into his office and shut the door, not coming out for the rest of the class. However, when I went to my dorm later that day, the gift cards and the invitation had been pushed under my door.

[leio13]

That Bandage Freak is Actually...

A Soukoku Fic

Summary: Chuuya, a young librarian, is searching for love, but he couldn’t possibly find it in that bandage-wasting disaster who’s tearing up his library. Could he?

My contribution for Soukoku Week Day 1 (sartorialism)

Relationship: Soukoku (Dazai/Chuuya)

Betaread by the amazing Whisp ( @waveswordswhispers) and Mina ( @fraink5-writes)!

Read it on Ao3 here!

After a particularly annoying bout of traffic, Chuuya strolled into the library five minutes after opening time, ready to work. The first thing he noticed is a strange man switching books on one of the shelves… improperly. The guy was fucking up the library’s orderly system. “Uh… boss?” Chuuya approached the counter where his boss, a young woman wearing an extravagant kimono, worked. “That guy over there is messing up the library.”

Kouyou glanced over Chuuya’s shoulder at the bandage-wrapped stranger. “Oh.” She frowned slightly. “That’s our new part-time employee, Dazai. He doesn’t have much experience, does he?” she sighed as if she didn’t want him there, even though she was the one who had hired him. The characters one hired when in desperate need of workers could be nightmares, angels, or anywhere in between. This one, dressed like a mummy, was most definitely going to be a nightmare. “Why don’t you lend him a hand, Chuuya?”

“Yes, boss,” Chuuya agreed. In his head, he sighed reluctantly. He wasn’t ready for whatever hell experience the new guy had waiting for him. Still, he trudged over to the sloppy brunette, trying to keep the frown off his face. “Let me help you out a bit. You’re new, right?”

Dazai, as Kouyou called him, laughed quietly, a hint of blush lit up his face–well, the part of his face that wasn’t smothered in bandages. The bandages engulfed a large part of his face, covering his left eye entirely. Kouyou must have been really desperate when he hired this freak. “This is my first day…”

“First job too?” Chuuya joked internally. As the (clearly) better person, he couldn’t say that out loud. “Do you know how books are organized in a library, Dazai?”

Dazai blinked upon hearing his name before glancing at Kouyou who wore one of the fakest smiles Chuuya had seen in his entire career as a librarian. “Nope!”

“Alright. Let me explain.”

And so, Chuuya ended up explaining the entire library system while Dazai simply nodded. Chuuya couldn’t help but wonder if Dazai actually understood all of it. “Well, I’ve got my own work to take care of. Let me know if you need anymore help.”

“Okay! Will do, uh…”

“Chuuya.”

“Chuuya-kun!”

“Just Chuuya is fine.” Chuuya was done with this bandaged freak already.

…

Surprisingly, Dazai did not pester Chuuya that day (or any other day) with additional questions. Even more surprisingly, it seemed as if he understood Chuuya’s lecture quite clearly. The organization of the shelves he worked on was almost impressive. Not a single book out of line. When Chuuya didn’t have to see those ridiculous bandages, he could almost regard Dazai as a valuable member of the library’s workforce.

In fact, the current hour, his lunch break, was one of those times. Chuuya settled down into his usual booth at the local cafe and pulled his laptop out from his bag. He bit into his sandwich once before the moment was ruined.

“Eating alone, Chuuya?” Dazai was peering over his shoulder at the empty seat on the other side of the table. “Mind if I join you?”

“I’m alright.” After the words left his mouth, Chuuya realized they came off rudely. “I’m not lonely if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“That’s good,” Dazai frowned slightly, “but I’m a bit lonely myself, so if not for you, may we sit together for me?”

Chuuya wanted to say no, but he couldn’t unless he wanted to be an asshole. He didn’t really want to appear that way. Besides, it was his policy not to judge people by appearances (even if he had betrayed that policy multiple times over the past week since Dazai joined). Dazai was a bit sketchy appearance-wise, but Chuuya decided to live by his beliefs this time. “Go ahead. I might not be great company though.”

“Ah, thank you!” Instead of sitting down across from Chuuya though, Dazai continued looking over his shoulder. “A dating website? Are you looking for a date?”

“Yeah.” Chuuya glared at the the redhead on the screen. He didn’t actually have an issue with “Tachihara,” but he needed to release his anger somewhere.

“Hmm… No offense, but he’s not really that attractive…”

“Did I ask for your opinion?” Chuuya hissed in his head.

“I’m not a huge fan of the bandage on the nose.” Dazai finally sat down when Chuuya slammed his laptop closed. “It’s tasteless in my opinion.”

“In what way?” Chuuya was almost eager to hear what Dazai had to say back. The idiot was covered from head to toe in bandages, yet he had the audacity to criticize one small bandage on the nose. What kind of excuse would he offer?

“It looks like he got into a fight and lost. Pretty pathetic, don’t you think?”

Chuuya almost choked on a laugh. Was this guy for real? “If he looks like he lost a fight, you look like you lost to an elephant.” He noticed a small frown surface on Dazai’s face briefly, and while Chuuya didn’t care too much, he had to be nice. “Besides, I try not to judge people by their appearances.”

“That’s admirable!” Dazai smiled, sipping his drink slowly. He didn’t say anything after that.

…

“Um… Chuuya?” Dazai peeked out from behind the bookshelf Chuuya was organizing.

“Yeah?” Chuuya really didn’t want to talk to Dazai, but he wasn’t going shoo him away.

Dazai finally fully appeared from behind the shelf. “I’m really sorry for butting in the other day.” He bowed slightly.

Chuuya was frankly surprised. “No, uh, it’s alright. Don’t worry about it.” Now that the issue was resolved, he and Dazai could return to their usual awkward relationship, which in fact wasn’t very different at all–the only real difference being that Chuuya was no longer angry. Anyway, Dazai could leave Chuuya alone now that the conflict had ended.

Chuuya reached up to pull a book from the top shelf but couldn’t grab it, a sad reminder that he had stopped growing about 7 years ago at the age of 15. Thankfully, having a year of experience, Chuuya had a technique up his sleeve. He glanced towards Kouyou’s desk. She was on the phone with a customer and looking in the opposite direction just as Chuuya had hoped. Keeping his eyes on the boss, he lifted his leg and stepped onto the lowest shelf. Then, he grabbed a higher shelf with his two hands and began to simultaneously pull and push himself up. He was so close now. So clos–

The book was gone? It was just there a minute ago. Did someone take it while he was watching Kouyou? Chuuya turned his head around stiffly, the faintest idea of who it could be creeping unwantedly into his thoughts.

“Here!” Sure enough, Dazai was standing behind him offering him the very book he had been trying to get. “It looked like you needed help, so I took it down for you!” He smiled innocently.

Chuuya jumped off the bookshelf and snatched the book from Dazai’s hand. “I did not need help!”

“You didn’t?” Dazai blinked. “But you were climbing the bookshelf…”

“That’s how I reach high books.” Chuuya grumbled. His secret technique sounded pretty stupid when Dazai phrased it like that.

“Why don’t you just ask someone taller?”

“I can get them myself. That’s why.” Chuuya knew Dazai wasn’t trying to belittle him with that suggestion, but he hated being reminder that he was short. It was a sensitive topic for him. He wasn’t tall or slim like models and Dazai were; he was short and muscular. The muscles were nice–he liked those–but being short just made him the butt of the same unfunny jokes over and over again.

“But you could also get hurt.”

“I know what I’m doing. I’ve done this before. I won’t fall, okay?” Chuuya, hoping to end the painful conversation in which he was stuck, started moving towards the desk.

“If you insist…” Dazai sighed, following Chuuya. “But I’d prefer if you just asked me instead.”

“We’ll see…” Chuuya relented. They wouldn’t see. He didn’t need Dazai’s help. “Oh, and thanks, I guess…” Even if he felt unnecessarily belittled, Dazai did help him which was pretty nice. Dazai wasn’t such a terrible guy after all.

“My pleasure!”

…

Chuuya couldn’t help but notice that Dazai was sitting by himself in a small booth tucked in the corner of Chuuya’s favorite cafe. He tried to ignore it–he really did–but he couldn’t. He stood up with a sigh and approached the lonely brunette. “Eating alone, Dazai?”

“Eh?” Dazai looked up from his untouched plate of food. “I guess so.” He scratched the back of his neck, letting out a weak laugh.

“You can join me if you’d like.” Chuuya hoped he wasn’t making a mistake.

“Are you sure?” The smile on Dazai’s face betrayed the hesitation in his voice.

“Yeah, you don’t need to sit alone.” Chuuya returned to his favorite spot, and Dazai skipped behind him. It wasn’t going to just be his spot anymore. It would now belong to him and Dazai, a weird thought.

“You know, Chuuya, I realized that I don’t know a lot about you. You’ve always seemed a bit distant with me. Frankly, I’m surprised you invited me to join you. Of course, I’m extremely grateful for that!” He bowed his head in apology. “Please don’t shoo me away.”

Chuuya though would have much rathered that he himself disappeared. Dazai had noticed the way Chuuya had initially been avoiding him which made Chuuya feel ashamed of himself. He considered apologizing, but he honestly just didn’t want to talk about it. “Well, there isn’t much to know really. What did you want to know?”

“Anything!” Dazai grinned eagerly.

“Alright…” Chuuya told Dazai about how he grew up in an orphanage although he spent most of his childhood in the local library. He continued with his two college majors in French and literature and how he liked to translate French texts into Japanese during his free time, and that might have led to a mainly one-sided conversation about classic French authors. “What about you, Dazai?” he asked eventually though only five minutes of their lunch break remained.

“I haven’t done anything nearly as impressive,” Dazai sighed, “I didn’t even go to college.”

“Really?” Chuuya had to remind himself of his initial impressions of Dazai in order to fully accept those words. “What about employment? You had to have another job before this one, right?”

“I did. Well, I still do, actually.” Dazai checked his watch. “We can save that for another day. We need to return to the library now.”

“Oh. Okay.” Chuuya frowned slightly. He really wanted to know what it was. Who was Dazai outside the library?

…

The next time Chuuya needed to grab a book off the top shelf, Dazai wasn’t even there. According to Kouyou, he had some business to take care of in the morning. Either way, he wouldn’t be there to get the book for Chuuya. Oh well, Chuuya still had his handy dandy trick.

He placed his shoe on the lowest shelf, grabbed the sides of the bookshelf, and using his boot to push up, he pulled himself onto the first shelf completely. He reached for the book, but it was still too far away. Kids were giggling somewhere nearby, and even though he didn’t want to be seen doing this, he refused to stop. He had already started climbing. They couldn’t possibly judge him anymore. He pulled himself onto the second shelf. Letting go of one of the sides, he stretched his arm to touch the book. He could feel it’s rough casing, but he wasn’t high enough to get a good grasp.

The door behind him rang out a small bell noise as it usually did when someone entered or exited the library. Chuuya prayed that it wasn’t Kouyou returning from her lunch break. He didn’t want to know what sort of face she would make although he had a good idea in his imagination.

Something crashed into the back of the bookshelf, and a girl shouted out “No rough housing, Yumeno!”

But it was too late for that. Chuuya was already falling. “Shi–”

But he didn’t hit the floor, landing softly instead against someone’s chest. Two bandaged arms were wrapped around his waist. “Are you alright?”

“Dazai?” Chuuya peered up to see the brunette staring down at him. “I-I’m fine.”

“This is why I said you should ask me…” Dazai sighed, lowering Chuuya’s feet to the floor.

“You weren’t here when I checked!” Chuuya’s face burned. He had fallen from the bookshelf, and Dazai saw it and caught him. In his arms. Chuuya wasn’t sure whether the fall or the catch lit up his cheeks more.

“Sorry, I had something to do. Anyway, I’m glad you’re okay, Chuuya. You scared me for a second.”

“You were sca…?” Chuuya shook his head. “Sorry. I’ll try not to scale anymore bookshelves in the future…”

“Try not to what?” A woman’s voice replied. Kouyou was standing right next to them.

“Nothing.” Chuuya quickly answered. Hopefully, she’d drop it at that.

…

“Not to bother you, Chuuya, but” Dazai suddenly spoke up, “I need to put some books on the shelf you’re sitting in front.”

Chuuya jolted up and turned to face the brunette, closing the magazine he had been reading. He used his thumb as a bookmark for the page he was on. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright! Everyone gets distracted occasionally!” Dazai laughed, probably trying to reassure himself that it was alright. Chuuya had found Dazai with his nose in a book several times since he had joined about a month ago. “What are you reading anyway?”

“Just some article about that model, Shuuji.” Chuuya flipped open to the pages his thumb was marking. One of the pages was simply a picture of Shuuji. He wasn’t smiling–he never typically was. That was supposedly attractive. It didn’t really bewitch Chuuya personally, but he understood the appeal. In fact, minus the never-smiling thing, Shuuji was undoubtedly attractive: thin and tall with soft brown hair and caramel eyes that Chuuya imagined would have been warm if Shuuji actually smiled in the camera. Unfortunately, he didn’t, and his eyes simply looked dead.

“Hmm…” Dazai leaned closer for a better look. “He’s not really my type.”

“What is your type exactly?” Chuuya couldn’t even guess.

“I think I prefer curly red hair. Blues eyes and a proud yet kind personality are nice too.”

That was Chuuya. Dazai had just described Chuuya. Chuuya’s face hit record-breaking temperatures. He was blushing furiously. “I… I don’t know what to say… I wasn’t expecting that… at all… holy shit.”

Dazai laughed softly, pink highlighting his cheeks. “Sorry, that was really sudden on my part. You can just forget about it.”

“I…” How was Chuuya supposed to respond? Did he view Dazai that same way?

“Oh yeah,” Dazai interrupted Chuuya’s thoughts. “What happened with Mr. Bandaid Nose?”

“Oh. Michizou, you mean?” Chuuya wasn’t going to object to a new subject until right then when he started speaking. Suddenly, he dreaded the topic significantly. “Well, actually, uh, Michizou and I, uh, we hit it off pretty well, so we’re going to, uh, meet up this weekend.” Of all topics, why did Dazai switch to this one?

“You got a date!” Dazai clapped his hands together. “Congrats!” His eyes looked hollow.

“Yeah, the only problem is that I don’t know what to wear… he invited me to a fancy restaurant, but I don’t have any appropriate suits to wear…” Chuuya probably should have kept that to himself. The sooner they stopped discussing Michizou, the better.

“Well, that’s no good.” Dazai grinned. “I can help if you want.”

“You’d be willing to do that after all this…?”

“Sure! Let’s meet Saturday afternoon at the cafe!”

“Thank you, Dazai. Seriously, thanks.”

“Anytime, Chuuya!”

…

Dazai was already standing outside the cafe when Chuuya arrived even though Chuuya was five minutes early. He waved and without a word gestured for Chuuya to enter the open door.

“Look, Dazai,” Chuuya blurted out as they sat down. “You really don’t have to do this is you don’t want to. I won’t be ups–”

“But I want to!” Dazai interrupted. “You’re an important friend of mine after all!”

“Okay. What’s the plan for today? My date is at 8:30. It’s 12:25 now.” Chuuya watched as a server brought two cups of coffee to the table without being asked, Chuuya’s and Dazai’s favorites respectively.

“I think I know the perfect place for a suit.” Dazai grinned, blowing at the steam from his coffee.

“That’s good. Hopefully, it’s not too expensive…” Chuuya glanced down at his wallet mournfully. He loved the library, but it didn’t pay that well. He couldn’t spend too much money on this suit without it cutting into his living expenses. “Oh yeah. I also want to get something to eat a few hours before the date if you’d like to come. I don’t think my stomach can hold over until 8:30 on it’s own.”

“Sure, I’d love to!” Dazai finally took a sip out of his coffee. “So tell me about Bandai–Michizou.”

“Stop calling him that! I can’t take it seriously!” Chuuya laughed. “He’s nice. We have a lot of interests in common too.”

“That’s great.” Then, after taking another sip, Dazai stood up and pushed his chair in. “Shall we go?”

“Sure!” Chuuya followed after him, taking his coffee to go. They strolled down the streets of Yokohama before stopping at a relatively large shop by the name of Villon. Of course, Chuuya recognized the name instantly. Shuuji was one of the models for the brand. “Uh, Dazai? I would love a suit from Villon, but they are expensive as fuck.”

“You don’t want to take a look?” Dazai frowned.

“I guess a peek couldn’t hurt.” Chuuya knew it was a bad idea, but even so, he followed Dazai through the glass doors. There were endless rows of suits. If Chuuya seriously inspected each one, he’d lose a significant amount of his designated shopping time. He’d just have to skim through them, yet he found himself examining each one, admiring their designs and fabric. Eventually, he stumbled upon one he couldn’t resist.

Dazai caught him staring. “Why don’t you try it on?”

Chuuya probably should have said no, but his heart pulled him to the dressing rooms instead. He eagerly (but carefully) threw it on. Then, he inhaled and turned to face the mirror.

Chuuya almost gasped. It was perfect, especially the way the maroon of the dress shirt complimented his orange hair, the way it fit him snugly without pinching. Chuuya loved the way it looked. He strutted out of the stall to show Dazai. “How do I look?”

Dazai actually did gasp. “You look… breathtaking…” He pulled out his phone. “You look wonderful, Chuuya. Let’s take a picture, so we don’t forget!”

Chuuya posed, Dazai clicked the camera, and then, the suit had to come off. Even worse was what followed: checking the price tag. The cost made Chuuya’s singing heart drop. It was too much, way too much. “I can’t buy this, Dazai…”

Dazai took the suit from Chuuya’s hands and without inspecting the price tag walked over to the cashier. He beckoned Chuuya over. Chuuya reluctantly slumped over.

“That will be 65,000 yen.” The woman behind the counter smiled at Chuuya, waiting for an answer.

Chuuya’s jaw dropped. That was not price on the tag, not even close to it. “…excuse me?”

“Chuuya,” Dazai smiled, “I got you a discount.”

“H-How?”

“Frequent buyers get discounts.”

Dazai was a frequent buyer at Villon? Dazai had enough money to shop frequently at Villon? Chuuya’s jaw dropped further. He never would have guessed by Dazai’s appearance. And such an extreme discount too! Chuuya could actually buy the suit now! The suit was his! He took the suit back into his arms and squeezed it to his chest. He almost wanted to squeal. He almost wanted to hug Dazai. Did he deserve all this? Probably not, but he wasn’t going to waste this opportunity. He quickly handed the cashier a bundle of cash, not even waiting for his change before skipping out the door.

Dazai appeared next to him moments later with Chuuya’s change in hand. “Weren’t you complaining about not having enough money the other day?”

Chuuya ignored Dazai’s remark. He was too absorbed in his own happiness.

“Anyway, it’s about 5:30 now. You should eat something light now if you want to eat.”

“Good idea! I’ll pay for the meal.” Chuuya promised. One meal wouldn’t pay back the amount he owed Dazai for all of this, but it was a start. “Thank you so much, Dazai! I really can’t thank you enough!”

“Don’t worry about it! It was my pleasure!” Dazai blushed. “Let’s go eat now, yeah?”

“Yep!” Chuuya bounded down the street to the little deli he had in mind, Dazai chasing after him.

“I’ve never seen you with so much energy before…” Dazai panted at the doorway.

“Well, I don’t really act like this unless I’m really happy, and I’m really happy right now!!” Chuuya squealed.

“Michizou better make you squeal like this.” Dazai smirked before disappearing to order two sandwiches.

“I hope so…” Chuuya slumped in his chair, the exhaustion from this excursion finally hitting him.

“I hope you like this kind.” Dazai placed a sandwich in front of Chuuya.

“It’s my favorite. How did you know?” Chuuya joked. “Definitely not because I eat it every day.”

Dazai laughed. “Nope, definitely not.”

Chuuya wondered when eating with Dazai became normal. He had learned a lot of things about Dazai: the dumb songs he liked to sing, his life growing up as an orphan, the way he fumbled with his bandages when nervous and how that way was different from when he was embarrassed. It was almost hard to believe that a bit more than a month ago Chuuya had been intentionally avoiding him.

There were also things about Dazai that he didn’t know like his other job, but Chuuya didn’t feel rushed to find them out anymore. They had time. Somehow Chuuya just knew this bond would last for a long time. Until that time had passed, Chuuya could take it easy and relax, slowly learning about Dazai in the process.

They ate as if it was any other meal together: a few jokes, a few petty arguments, a few bits of small talk; no one brought up Michizou. In fact, he was completely out of Chuuya’s mind.

Dazai glanced out the window. “Uh oh.”

Chuuya followed Dazai’s gaze. It was pouring outside. “I didn’t bring an umbrella because I didn’t think it would start raining.”

“Me neither.” Dazai sighed. “It should be fine though if we hurry, and hopefully, it’ll have stopped by tonight.”

Chuuya had forgotten about that night. It had began to feel like any other day, but then Chuuya remember that he had a date later. “I hope so. Let’s go back to our apartments before it gets worse first.” With that, Chuuya and Dazai hurried outside into the soaking rain.

“Chuuya~!” Dazai ran up next to Chuuya who had power walked ahead. “Don’t step in a puddle~!” He sang out while nudging Chuuya with his shoulder towards the nearest one.

Chuuya tripped, narrowly avoiding the death of his shoes. “What the fuck, Dazai?” Chuuya turned to face the brunette only to notice the bastard had already scurried away. He chased after him, slamming his shoulder into Dazai’s side. “You shouldn’t step into a puddle either~!”

Dazai stumbled to the side a few feet, his shoes splashing in a large puddle that went up to his ankles.

Chuuya laughed victoriously. Then, it thundered, and Chuuya’s pleasure vanished. “Shit.” He yanked Dazai out of the puzzle and down the street. Finally, they arrived at his small apartment building into which he hastily ushered Dazai. “You can dry off at my place.”

Dazai hesitantly followed Chuuya to his apartment, noting the dirty sprinkled on the floor and walls of the complex. It wasn’t the nicest place to live, and Chuuya wondered what Dazai, who was apparently rich, thought of it and consequently thought of Chuuya. The combination of autumn night temperatures and wet clothes made it cold too. “I’ll turn on the heater when we get inside.” He unlocked the door to his apartment. “You must be shivering.”

Dazai looked around the small apartment, making Chuuya embarrassed. It was clear that Chuuya lived there the second one entered. The area was clean, French literature lined the walls, and soft French jazz was playing quietly on an antique cassette player. Chuuya waddled in drenched clothes over to the heater and turned it on. Dazai remained standing awkwardly at the entrance.

“You can sit down if you want.” Chuuya sat down on one end of the couch and gestured for Dazai to join him.

Dazai reluctantly joined Chuuya on the couch. “I’d hate to soak your furniture…”

“It’s fine. I’m soaking everything already.” Chuuya suddenly grimaced and yanked his clinging jacket off, throwing it onto the broken chair besides the heater. “Aren’t you’re clothes disgusting like that?”

“A bit, yeah.” Dazai slowly removed his own vest which Chuuya quickly snatched from his hands to add to the wet pile next to the heater.

“Thank you for today, Dazai.” Without thinking, Chuuya leaned forward and kissed Dazai on the lips.

“Chuuya…?”

“Mm?” Chuuya responded, eyes still closed, faces inches apart.

“Did you just…?”

“Oh shit.” Chuuya froze. “Oh shit. Fuck.” He just kissed Dazai. Dazai of all people. And he enjoyed it.  Way more than he should have. “Did you, uh, enjoy it?”

Dazai blushed. “Yeah, but…”

“Okay. Good.” Chuuya decided to fuck it all. He reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from Dazai’s eyes, cupping his face with one hand in the process.

“Chuuya…?” Dazai took Chuuya’s hand, but he was unsure if he should pull it away.

“Hopefully, you’ll enjoy this one too.” Before Dazai could respond, Chuuya moved in for a second kiss, letting their lips linger together this time. Dazai tasted of crab and chocolate, just like Chuuya imagined he would.

They pulled apart, and Dazai gasped for air. “Chuuya…” He whispered.

“Yes?” Chuuya gently pushed Dazai down against the couch, snatching a third kiss.

“Do you love me, Chuuya?”

“I think so… yes.”

With that, Dazai grabbed Chuuya’s tie and pulled him closer. “I’m glad.” He pushed himself up slightly, taking the opportunity to steal a kiss of his own. They stayed like that for awhile with their lips locked together.

Meanwhile, Chuuya’s hands moved on their own, searching Dazai’s chest and undoing buttons. Dazai’s hands tugged at Chuuya’s tie and ripped it away.

Then, Dazai stopped. “Hey, Chuuya?”

“Yeah, Dazai?” Chuuya paused for a minute, his busy fingers halting.

“Is this going where I think it’s going?”

“Yeah, pretty sure.”

“In that case,” Dazai sat up, “I’m going to remove these bandages.”

“Okay.” Chuuya moved out of Dazai’s way and watched the brunette stalk into the bathroom.

Moments later, he returned shyly, bandages and everything gone. Without the bandages, Dazai almost looked like a separate individual. He looked slimmer yet healthier. His soft, wet, brown locks clung to his face almost photogenically. Seeing both eyes, Chuuya noticed a slight glimmer in Dazai’s pupils. As he was now, Dazai almost looked like…

Chuuya’s jaw dropped for a third time that day.

“…Something wrong?” Dazai asked self-consciously.

“Dazai… you’re…”

“I’m…?”

“You’re Shuuji… you’re a model?!”