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chrissturnsgirlll222 · 3 months

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second, never first

chris x fem!reader

summary - you grew up hating one guy all of high school but suddenly become friends, but as time goes on feelings develop, only its one sided.

warnings - swearing, kissing, use of y/n, BOYS (no smut… for now lol)

word count - 1800+

NOT PROOFREAD

a/n: @matthewsturnioloswifey i have been trying to tag you in my posts but its not finding your account so sorry!!!

chris and i spent the night figuring out way to make annas blood boil, although in the back of my mind i knew it was wrong. i wont make any excuses as to say im in the right for doing this, but you have to see it from both perspectives.

anna only ever saw our friendship as a challenge. she always needed to be on top.

was i envious of her way with boys? one hundred percent.

did i see her as competition? never.

she was my best friend up until she told me to let the door hit me on the way out.

chris and i arrived at school as normal. we got a few stares from people as we were walking in together and we knew immediately anna told everyone. anna had a weird power over the school and could instantly start a rumor about anyone and get the word out, fast.

it came as no surprise me nor chris that we were getting dirty looks, whispered about and giggles as we walked by. this was all apart of our plan. prove anna right.

weird system i know but it made sense to chris. the plan was the ultimately just piss anna off enough to stop harassing us and give up. so we had to play the perfect couple act. for now were just walking in to school and ignoring the stares and moving on with life as a “happy couple”.

“ill see you at lunch.” chris says to me when we get my my bio class. he gives me a peck on the cheek and walks away.

see. simple.

lunch rolls around and we meet up at my car. “y/n your one hell of an actress, every guy on my team is asking when and how did i get you to date me.” he proudly says. “i guess im the best fake girlfriend ever.” i breathe looking straight out of the window of my car with both hands on the wheel. for chris this was all an act, for me i was living out my dream. although none of it was real. i knew this game we were playing was going to end up with my feelings for him stronger than ever.

“are you ok?” he snaps me out of my own head. “yeah sorry, what do you wanna get for lunch?”

after school my phone was flooded with texts of all of my now ex friends calling me a snake, a home wrecker and even going as far to call me a whore. while all of these allegations were true on the outside they could not be farther from the truth.

chris invited me over after school to continue helping him with history since he did well after i helped him the first time. i never anticipated the questions from his brothers.

“you guys arent dating for real are you?”

“how did this even happen?”

“chris how could you cheat on anna?”

“ok you two can calm down, we will explain.” chris says to matt and nick.

“were not actually dating, anna accused us of hooking up behind her back when we had that movie night this weekend. after that y/n went to her house and she was a complete bitch to her so were pretending to be in a relationship to piss her off even more.” chris explains.

“you guys do know how anna works right?” nick asks. “nick i was her best friend for 6 years, so yes i know she will try to destroy me.” i state. “well as long as you both know what your in for im good with it.” nick says clapping. “anna needs to be taken down a notch, i saw how she constantly treated you. all of the guys on our team always asked why you were never available but i now realize anna was constantly lying to them.” matt says.

“what do you mean not available?” i say. “guys would always ask anna if you were available and she would constantly say no. thats why no guys have ever approached you.” chris explains. “chris you knew about this the whole time and never told me.” i ask

“no one ever talked to me about it because we became so close this year. matt told me today.” he defends.

“im so sorry y/n if i knew she was lying to all the guys i would have said something earlier. i completely support whatever you have planned for anna.” he says.

“well thank you for telling me.”

me and chris walk upstairs to get started on the history tutor session. i get out my books and the flashcards i made for him. “these are for you. they cover all of the terms we learned this unit.” i breathe handing them to him. “thanks.” he says giving me a warm smile.

we work on reading the definitions for the flash cards and then i started quizzing him. chris was a fast learner he just never applied himself before.

“civil rights” i ask holding the flash card in front of him. “a right or rule that has to be followed?” he answers unsure of himself. “were getting there.” i smile. “can we please take a break y/n i actually might light all of my leg hair on fire if i have to do this for any longer.” he requests.

“sure, you did a lot better during the second round of cards.” i say trying to encourage him.

“your the only person who makes me feel like i can be smarter, you know that.” he says studying my face.

i just stay still as he keeps starring at me.

“what are looking at.” i say gently pushing his head to the side and we both chuckle. i get up putting away all of the study material and hop back on his bed grabbing my phone from his side table.

chris doesnt move from his position and is just sitting on the edge of his bed very creepily. “what are you thinking about?”

“you have never kissed anyone.” he blurts

“yeah. thats what your thinking about?”

“how are we supposed to convince anyone were dating if your a bad kisser?”

“what.” he is confusing me at this point. “i have to teach you how to kiss y/n.” he turns around to face me. “chris-“ he cuts me off “anna wont believe were dating if we dont kiss in front of her or anyone at school.” he explains.

“ok then teach me.” i confidently sit up.

“well for one you cant sit with your shoulders so tight. you need to relax.” he puts his hands on my shoulders. i drop them and take a deep breath.

there was literally no way i was about to have my first kiss at 17 years old with chris sturniolo. the guy i have been dreaming about for months now. i never anticipated being this scared for someones face to come so close with mine yet here i am, scared as shit of what is about to happen.

“ok just relax your arms around my neck.” he instructs. i follow his lead as he places his hands on my waist and positions himself.

inch by inch he moves closer to my face, i just close my eyes and focus on my breathing. “y/n you need to relax im not going to do anything your not comfortable with. i promise.” he pauses.

“im sorry, im extremely nervous ive never dont this before.” i mumble. i take another deep breath and my mind starts racing.

my thoughts are put to a pause as his lips fall on mine. i immediately tense up, “relax” he says pulling away for a second and goes back in. just a quick peck, this wasnt too hard.

he pulls away and our bodies separate, “are you ok with more?” he asks. i nod in response grinning ear to ear. he smiles and leans back in. he pushes his lips to mine and i move back, “whats wrong?”

“nothing i just dont know what to do with my hands.” i chuckle. “just keep them behind my head for now, you will get more comfortable with them the more we do it.” he says leaning in for more. we continue kissing and i lift my arms up behind him and gently grab either side of his neck. he grabs my waist with one hand and moves the other to my cheek. i tilt my head slightly into his palm and move my hands to his hair. he breathes into the kiss deepening it and then pulls back.

“your good at this.” i blurt out, almost in a haze aa i fein for his lips back on me.

“thank you.” he chuckles and lets go of me “im going to kiss you again but im going to add tongue. dont get intimidated, just follow my lead.” he explains and i nod. he connects our lips again this time the kiss is deeper.

we continue at a steady pace and he places a hand on the back of my head and i do the same. he smiles at my innocence and breathes heavier.

he slips his tongue in my mouth and i gasp at the new feeling and kissed him harder. i move one of my hands on to his chest and use the other to pull us closer. kissing felt like i was cloud nine. i loved it.

he pulls away and i sign at the loss of his touch. he just stares at me while breathing heavy. “am i bad at this?” i ask wondering if thats why he pulled away.

“no kid your great for it being your first time.” he says smiling. “do you think you got the hang on this?” he says. i just shrug my shoulders, he hums in response. “one more cant hurt.” i say eagerly leaning into him. he catches the memo and places one of his hands on my lower back and i hum into the kiss. i move my body slightly closer to his and put my hand on his chest. he slips his tongue in once more and i feel him swipe his tongue along my bottom lip. hungry for more i move my hand under his shirt and move the other on the side of his face and he smiles in to the kiss once more.

ring ring ring

my phone goes off and we pull apart, chris grabs it and shows me that its my mom calling.

any other time she could have called me and she picks right now?

thanks for reading xx

taglist: @sleepysturnss @blahbel668 @alorsxsturn @w4nnabeurs @junnniiieee07 @waydasims @accio326 @bitchydragonparadise @matthewsturnioloswifey @iloveneilperry @stunza @realuvrrr @jennss23 @tubl-mc

a/n: who enjoyed that oneee????

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lucysgraybird · 3 months

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part 2 of modern!uni!coriolanus x fem!reader. part 1 here, part 3 here. as promised, reader's a lil cuckoo which i hope yall are into because it's here to stay. on this, if anyone feels like offering thoughts -- would longer updates be preferable, or does it make no difference? the only tradeoff would be that they'd come out less frequently (once a week vs every 2-3 days). warnings: blood mention, minor suggestive material. this is not a healthy relationship but BOY is it fun

Coriolanus Snow, as it turns out, is wonderful to date, at least for you. You've been back from the winter holiday for a month, and though you've yet to make anything official with him, things are going very well. He doesn't text constantly, but there will always be a good morning text when you get back from the gym, and a good night text when you check your phone after hours at the library. He makes it clear that you're together when you're out with an arm around your waist or a hand over yours on the table, or with the faint bruises that trail across your collarbone and down your shirt. That's your favourite mark of your relationship: it's illicit, obvious. You know it makes other people a little uncomfortable, and you like that they can't seem to look away.

He's also fascinating. Orphaned when he was quite young and raised by his grandmother and cousin, you've learned that while he obviously has money now, he didn't always. He had a stint in the military to pay for school, and got a job for his best friend’s father as a thank-you for saving the boy’s life in battle. Apparently the friend had been court-martialed for something – Coriolanus wouldn't go into detail – and now they weren't as close. He now makes more money than most people would dream of twenty years out of school, and though it means he's almost always busy, you like that he's so dedicated.

Right now, you're bent over a sheet of stats equations at a table on the quad when Coriolanus sneaks up behind you. He drops a kiss on your head and settles in an open seat at your table.

“Hello,” you say, setting down your pen.

“Don't let me distract you,” he replies, pulling a book out of his bag. “I'll wait until you're done to talk.”

This is another thing you appreciate about Coriolanus. Besides that first date, he understands how much you value school and your grades – he actually seems to like it – and never expects to come first. You blow through the last few problems, check your work, and clip the paper neatly into your binder.

Coriolanus looks up from his book. “Finished?”

“Mhm.”

“Good,” he says. “How's that class going, by the way?”

You keep apprised of each other’s academic performances – you're both shooting to graduate valedictorian next year, so you've got a little bit of competition going. As far as you can tell, it only serves to push both of you further, as winning seems more of a reward if there's been a real challenge for it. This being said, he knows that your statistics class is giving you a little bit of trouble, just like you know that his Victorian literature class is driving him up the wall. You're going to win, but you'll let him hope.

“Not as badly as you might hope,” you tease. “I'm on track for a decent A. How goes the adventures in Victorian lit?”

He lifts his book miserably, revealing the cover of Middlemarch. You wince.

“Rough. Don't make winning too easy on me, though.”

“Wouldn't dream of it, sweetheart.”

You smile at the pet name, however targeted it is. “So did you come to make fun of my homework, or did you have something you wanted to talk about?”

“Right, yes. We've been going out for a little over a month now.”

“This is true.”

“And I think it's time we make some decisions. I'm not looking for something casual. Between school and studying for the LSAT and work, I don't really have the time to devote to something that's definitely not going anywhere.”

“I hope you're not proposing, Coriolanus.”

“Not at all. But I am asking if you would like to be my girlfriend, officially.”

“Oh! Yes.”

“Yes?” He seems surprised.

“I'm not particularly interested in anything casual either,” you say. “I’ve tried it and it doesn't work. I just get jealous.”

“I wouldn't have pegged you for the jealous type.”

“You haven't given me any reason to be. Believe me, if I'm jealous, I'll make sure you know.”

You regret saying that the minute you do – not because it's not true, but because it could be a little off-putting. But it seems to have the opposite effect for Coriolanus, who bares his teeth in a smile. The wider his smile gets, the more he looks like a wolf, the more you feel like he is waiting for the perfect moment to sink his teeth into your neck. Perhaps it should scare you, but it doesn't. It thrills you. It makes you want to tilt your head back and let him take hold, because you want to see your blood on his teeth and trickling down his chin, staining the starched white of his collar. You want to ruin this boy, which you would feel worse about thinking if you didn't get the sense that he wants to destroy you, too.

“I hope you would,” he says, lifting you from your reverie. “As long as it's okay that it goes both ways.”

“Of course.” Perfect.

“Are you free tonight?”

“I have a class that ends at 6, but after that, yes.”

“Would you like to meet my family? You'll love my cousin, and my grandmother…well. She doesn't like anyone, but she's interesting.”

“That sounds lovely,” you say, a thrill flooding you at going from occasional dates and make-out sessions to meeting his family in the course of an afternoon.

“Fine, then. I'll pick you up at 7.”

–

The Snow apartment is incredible. There's a sterility to its modernity that should be disquieting but isn't: you can't imagine Coriolanus growing up anywhere else. You're sitting with his cousin, Tigris, while he disappears to make drinks. The fabled grandmother was apparently refusing to make an appearance. Tigris seems anxious, fiddling with her floral skirt.

“So you're dating Coriolanus?” She asks finally. Your brows knit together – is she daft? Coriolanus introduced you as his girlfriend.

“Mhm. We've been going out for a little over a month.”

“Oh.”

When she doesn't say anything else, you shift uncomfortably in your seat.

“Coriolanus tells me you basically raised him,” you say, wanting to fill the silence.

Tigris nods. “He was such a kind little boy. I worry I didn't do enough sometimes, you know?”

What a weird thing to say. “I'm sure you did your best. I can't imagine it's easy bringing someone else up when you're a kid yourself. And he's turned out well, from what I can tell.”

“He can just be…intense. I'm sorry, I know this is strange, I just want you to know what you're getting into.”

You laugh lightly. “Maybe I need to find someone to give him this speech about me. I'll be okay, Tigris. I can be a lot too; I think we'll be good for each other.”

Coriolanus returns just at that moment.

“I think we'll be good for each other too,” he says, handing you and Tigris each a glass of red wine. “I hope my cousin hasn't been telling you too many embarrassing baby stories.”

Something passes over Tigris’ face – grief, maybe, or fear – before she settles into a demure smile.

“Not at all, Coriolanus. Your girlfriend is so sweet.”

He sits next to you and puts his free hand on your knee. “She's perfect, isn't she? I knew you guys would get along.”

Tigris gives him a tight smile, then lets her eyes go unfocused into space.

–

The rest of the night passes with much of the same uncomfortable conversation, until Coriolanus finally decides that it'd be best if he drove you home before it got too late. It's the first time you've seen him drive, and you just enjoy the way the streetlights cast shadows on the angles of his face and the way his hand sits hot and heavy on your thigh.

“I'm sorry if Tigris said anything strange to you,” he says finally. “She's been odd ever since I got back from being deployed.”

“She was fine. I think she was worried you'd be too much for me.”

A muscle jumps in his jaw. “She doesn't approve of my job. Or my ‘work-life balance’, as she calls it.”

“Sounds like she cares about you.” It's hard to say more, because you don't really know what he does for work. Something with national security or defense tech, but beyond that, you're in the dark. It also seems like there was more to the way Tigris was acting than just complaints about Coriolanus working too hard, but it's not your place to pry. Nor do you really care.

“No, you're right. She does. I just wish she'd keep her opinions to herself.”

“That’s fair. I'm still glad I got to meet her.”

“I am too. And I'm always glad to spend time with you.”

To say that, he takes his eyes off the road for a moment and gives you a sweet, close-lipped smile. You return it and place your hand over his on your thigh. His fingers dig in a little too hard, and you curl your nails like claws into his skin in reply. He pulls the car into a parking space in front of your apartment.

“Here you are.”

You turn to him and take in the way he's looking at you, the way his eyes have gone murky in the dark of the night and trail across the scooping neckline of your top. The skin on your neck is pristine again, and you need him to fix that.

“Would you like to come upstairs?”

“I was hoping you'd say that.”

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coryo snow #tom blyth #tom blyth fanfiction #tom blyth x reader #coriolanus x you #coryo x reader #coryo #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow x reader

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aith-art · 10 months

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Do Fo4 + NV Companions Play Caravan

Yes, I know Caravan isn't in fallout 4 but I have headcannons as to who plays it. Cause it's got to have travelled with the Caravans.

Fallout New Vegas

Cass - She 100% plays caravan. She was a caravaneer for years. She knows how to play and she's good at it. She also bets high on games of Caravan, both her own and other people's. Likes to place bets on who will win.

Boone - He knows how to play, he just doesn't care about playing He'd rather be on the lookout rather than playing the card game.

Arcade - Again he knows how to play, he's even looked into some strategies for playing. Some of the followers enjoy a good game after dinner. Occasionally he plays, but not very often, it's more of a social event than he's overly comfortable with.

Veronica - She didn't start playing till she started scavenging for the Brotherhood out of Trading Post 188. She gets fiercely competitive about it at times. Could go head-to-head with Cass and have a standing chance.

Raul - He's had years of experience. Probably helped refine some of the rules used across the Mojave. He traveled a lot and has seen many different renditions of Caravan so sometimes gets rules confused. He's always down for a friendly game to while away the nights on the road.

Lily - I can't see her playing caravan. She'd rather tell stories than play a game of caravan on an evening. I have no real justification, but I don't think the folks in Jacobstown really play caravan.

Fallout 4

Piper - She knows how to play, she and her sister play it on an evening when Pipers not writing

Valentine - He doesn't know how to play but would be willing to learn. He knows people that do play, including Ellie who learnt from a travelling merchant

Hancock - He knows how to play, he's very good at it. Preferse the fast-paced games but will play Fahrenheit on occasion

Danse - Doesn't know, doesn't want to know. He's never had anyone be willing to teach him. Though I imagine the Brotherhood has a game of a similar nature.

Deacon - He's one of the best players in the Commonwealth. He claims to be the one who brought Caravan to the east but no one can confirm this info. When downtime arises, he and Desdemona will play a game. She thinks he cheats

X6-88 - Doesn't play. He's never been taught, but if he is taught. He's good at it. Strategy is his thing. He's good at it. He doesn't gloat about it but will challenge Deacon to a game.

Preston - He picked it up from a trader and he and the minutemen play it on an evening. The castle has a room with tables and chairs that are only used for card games. He's challenged Ronnie Shaw on more than one occasion and had his ass whipped

Curie - She's curious about the game and will watch people play it. She can't get her head around the rules

Cait - Doesn't care enough to play. Would rather train than play such a slow-paced game.

Codsworth - has a hard time playing due to being a Mister Handy but he understands it. He referees games in Sanctuary

Strong - Doesn't care. It doesn't help him find the Milk of Human Kindness

MacCready - He's played a few games. He doesn't bet very high, not one to take unnecessary risks. He's good at it. Learnt to play in Goodneighbor. Plays against Daisy on slow nights.

Longfellow - A passing stranger to Far Harbour taught him how to play, ain't many people in town who want to play. He doesn't get a chance to play very often. But when he does he's good.

Gage - Two of the Traders in NukaWorld were playing and he forced them to teach him. He knows how to play but he's a sore looser. No one in Nuka World wants to play against him.

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kfanopinions · 2 years

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Felix Ideal Type (Astrology Based)

i will be looking into his moon and venus signs to determine this. also there is no birth time confirmed so take this with a grain of salt ^^

Aries Moon

passenger side of the car felix likes to the be leader to be the person in charge "the man" in the relationship. so someone who doesn't mind going along for the ride and not leading will be good for him

like seriously this man wants to be the one in charge. may even try to regain control somehow

yo-yo effect someone who doesn't mind this severe up and down in his personality. one day he might promise them the world the next he could be ripping the world from under their feet

let him fly having a partner that holds him down somehow will be the quickest way for him to fly far away from them. so allowing him to spread his wings will help to keep him around for longer

perception is not on his side if there is something wrong. if his partner is unhappy they need to just say it. he can't read their minds and he won't pick up on clues unless they are smacking him in the face

"set me free" as felix wants to be able to fly and achieve his own dreams and doesn't want to be held back at all, he wants the same for his person. so someone who chases after their own dreams will be a good person for him

dominant in your own right a person who is strong-willed, knows what they want, doesn't let anything stand in there way will absolutely be the kind of person who gains his attention

cat and mouse and mouse and cat with this dominant aries moon, felix like stated wants to be the one in charge, but at the same time having a partner that just rolls over isn't challenging enough for him. he doesn't want a pushover, so while he's playing cat and mouse his partner should also play "mouse and cat" where they are the mouse trying to outsmart the cat

a type of relationship that is a challenge but at the end of the day rewarding for both parties

signs are in fact signs someone with a fire or air sign in their sun/moon will be able to work with his "explosive" aries tendencies so a person who is:

fire: aries, sagittarius, leo air: gemini, libra, aquarius

in their sun/moon will be able to at least deal with these "tantrums" (they are short lived but the wrath behind them is real) if not his partner may want to hide under the bed from fear

mental stimulation a partner that not only challenges him to keep his attention but even with conversation and yes...this includes "arguments"

Libra Venus

"mirror mirror on the wall am i the fairest one of all?" answer: *avoids eye contact* sure...yeah...absolutely...

a pretty person, partner or not will have felix looking. beauty attracts him in all forms

a feminine charm that people have without trying. someone probably (if he's attracted to women) audrey hepburn is the one that pops up into my mind when it comes to feminine charms

ideal types someone who is pretty much perfect, delicate, sweet, with a controllable temper (perfect because of his aries moon lol), intelligent, refined like a good wine. someone with good taste in clothing (probably sexy in a not revealing way. a classy type of sexy where they can probably turn the heads of every man with how sexy, classy, and beautiful they are). also, independent (again just like his aries moon), and highly competitive. also, someone who has a lightness around them.

no joke he may not want his partner to swear either

*idk where this came from but as a libra venus woman i swear a lot but...i do not swear in front of people (just in my head, writings, texts, and of course online ^^). don't ask why it's just a weird thing. idc if people swear it doesn't bother me so it may not bother him either*

so take this with a grain of salt

compliments are far and few between? *i've read lots of guys who say their last compliment from a woman was months to even years ago...that's so sad T.T*

someone who will compliment him and make him feel awesome because he is! look at that face!!

tell me everything someone who is open and honest with him. his libra venus wants to know everything about his partner and what they are thinking. any advice, opinions, ANYTHING matters to him

balance is the key to life someone who is calm cool and collected no matter what the situation. a person with a level head

contradictions this contradicts his aries moon which talks about short-lived relationships so i do wonder what the aspects are for this but...

libra venus' can have a tendency to want to be in a relationship BADLY because they feel "complete" in one, but they are picky and looking for that perfect person. felix is probably going to look for someone who he sees as someone he can spend a long time with (again take this part with a grain of salt)

nonconfrontational he isn't looking to fight with his partner (again a contradiction to his aries moon). so someone who isn't hot-headed. a person that is..."balanced"

*i really wish we had more information because i have the same signs and planets as felix does for moon and venus, but i can assure that without the house and aspects it's hard to even begin to pinpoint which things are more accurate or not. i would also love to see the aspects *though i'm not as well versed in them because there is some contradictory stuff here lmao*

#felix #stray kids felix #felix stray kids #skz felix #felix skz #felix ideal type #stray kids astrology #stray kids ideal type #kpop astrology

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giggly-squiggily · 10 months

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Hello, it's Lou! 😊 The Blue Lock Dabble you wrote for me the last time I sent something in for this game was amazing, so I'm back with another Blue Lock Headcanon, if you don't mind. 🥰

I think that Bachira loves challenging his teammates to random things (things like races down the hallway, "I bet I can make more sit-ups than you" when they're already in bed, etc.) and he always uses those things to make sure they're distracted so he can attack them with tickles. His favorite victims for this are Isagi and Chigiri, because they fall for it every time - Isagi is so competitive that he couldn't say No to the challenge even if he wanted to and Chigiri is such a sour loser that the sheer thought of Bachira winning by default if he refuses to participate is too much for him. 😅

(All of their teammates who know what's going on, like Kuon, Kunigami, Gagamaru and Iemon always just shake their head at them, they have given up all hope that they're ever gonna learn. 😬😂)

I hope you're doing well and have a wonderful day! 🥰😘

{Headcanons to Dabbles: CLOSED!}

Lou! It's great to hear from you! :D I'm getting there- one day at a time akjejraekj I hope you're doing alright! God I freaking love this headcanon- it's so precious akjrkjeajrkejk I decided to go with Chigiri cause of course I did lols. I hope you like it and have a great day yourself!

“Race to the futons?” Bachira grinned at Chigiri as they exited the locker room, bouncing on his heels.

“Why? It’s only a short walk-” The redhead began but Bachira was already power walking, pumping his arms dramatically as he looked back. Sighing, he pulled his towel around his neck before stretching on the balls of his feet. “Guess we’re doing this.”

“Come on, Chi-Chi! If you don’t race me I win by default-” Bachira looked back only for a second before he started running for real. Almost instantly Chigiri passed him, graceful as a cheetah in the wild.

Good. That’s exactly what Bachira wanted.

“Yes! I made it! Take that-” Chigiri turned, victorious. His celebratory expression however was short-lived. “Bach-AH!” He yelped when the other bulldozed into him, sending them tumbling into the futons.

“Gotcha! Now for your prize!” Almost immediately Bachira latched onto his sides, scribbling his fingers against the soft fabric of Chigiri’s sweatshirt and sending the other into a fit of suprised laughter. “First place gets bedtime tickles!”

“Gehahahahahhahaha! Yohohoohu trihihihicked mehehehehehe! Ahehahahahaa, you ahahahahhahaahss!” Chigiri squeaked, one hand pushing at Bachira’s chest while the other hid his flushed face. “Stahhahahap, dohohoohon’t tihihihihihickle mhehehehehehehhe!”

“What? Sorry- can’t hear you! You gotta move your arm out of the way.” Bachira took his wrist, moving it out of his face and against the futon. “There you are! Aww, look how cute you are!”

“Shuhuhuhuhuhsh-ACK NOOOHOHO!” Chigiri tried to block his face with his other hand, but the gesture was short lived when the dribbler went for his armpit, poking and scratching along it and his highest rib. “Nhohohohoohoht thehehehehehhere!”

“Why? Does it tickle? Is the speed princess too ticklish for his own good?” Bachira cooed, using both hands now to tickle. “Laugh for me! Hehehe~”

~~~ “He always falls for it, huh?” Iemon smiled at the sight, smoothing out his futon a few feet away.

“Yeah- absolutely.” Kunigami grinned, if not a tad breathless. If the other’s noticed, he didn’t care. He was far too busy burning the sight into his memory.

#headcanons to dabbles #tickle #tickle dabble #blue lock #bachira meguru #chigiri hyoma #snuck a little kunigiri in there lols #I just love them so much akejrjarkjaekrjae

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 11 months

Text

Games, Chapter Two - a Malevolent fic

Arthur gains a fan club.

Faroe comes to a terrible decision.

Love really does conquer all.

AO3 || CHAPTER ONE || CHAPTER THREE

—-

Day two dawned hot.

Blood-butterflies made no appearance. The red-bloom flowers wilted, paling like old meat in the heat. No birds called. Somewhere far off, running water with the power to flense babbled angrily over rocks as hungry as hounds.

Today was all contests of skill, and the commentators decided the heat was due to concentrated magic. The Dreamlands were like that, sometimes.

Power thrummed through the earth, split the sky into fractals, made all faucets run green. Spells crackled in shirts and shoes, danced like sparks along limbs of every shape, glinted in eyes so faces shone like weapons.

Hastur’s protections held. The arena stayed whole. The guards retained order.

And Arthur faced his first real challenge.

This was the only contest in which anybody actually expected something from him: it was a challenge of music.

And of course, he wouldn’t win. That was absurd. But at least he’d give a good show, and that was all anyone could ask for.

Hastur was definitely being weird.

He’d stood with Arthur before going out, just stood there with him in silence, and John again got the feeling it was some sort of apology.

But it wasn’t. Hastur hadn’t said it. And John had learned (through trial and tribulation) that an apology had to be said.

It felt good to know something Hastur did not.

When it came time, Hastur escorted them out, again making a statement of ownership and protection.

At last, they faced Arthur’s competition.

I remember these things, John said, looking through Arthur’s eyes. They’ve got a lot of names, but the translation is the same in every language: songbird.

“They’ve got me up against a singer?” whispered Arthur. He couldn’t hear himself over the crowds and the announcements and Hastur’s booming voice, but John could.

John had gotten very good at hearing him lately. Yes.

“What do they look like?”

Tall and willowy; not quite humanoid—too slender for that, and bending almost like a snake, swaying. The robe is shaded light pink to deep blue, and flares out at the bottom. I can’t see face or feet or hands—just that cloth, widening and then undulating by itself in the air, as if this thing is secretly in water. There’s something weird about their sash.

“The sash?”

Around the waist. I can’t recall why that matters, though.

“Full of surprises, then. Do they have an instrument?”

No, and the medium won’t matter. What’s going to matter here is creativity in the moment.

“Improvisation.”

Yes. And varying style. Surprises. A wide range of emotion. Arthur, you can do this.

Arthur laughed suddenly. “Fuck them, John. You and I are just gonna have fun with this.”

You and…

“Idiot. We’re doing this together.” Arthur slid his fingers down the keys and gripped John’s hand. “Got a problem with that?”

John’s rumble was deep and triumphant. None whatsoever. Arthur, we don’t need to win. We just need to play. We’re gonna have fun, and fuck anybody who doesn’t understand.

“Now you’ve got the spirit,” Arthur grinned.

John grunted. What the fuck is Hastur doing?

Arthur hadn’t been listening. He tuned back in.

“—and by my power, I present for your delectation and delight an exotic apparitionstolen from a faraway land.” Hastur’s chuckle was deep and dark.

Oh, what the actual fuck? John muttered.

Hastur’s voice, impossibly, grew louder. “I offer you this delicate desert flower… Arthur, my Court Composer, once a mean creature of bone and bitterness who has bloomed under my care and ministrations. To represent me in such a battle—” Another awful laugh—“well. I would choose no other!” And he did something, some kind of clap that echoed into the sky like thunder, splitting the raucous sound from the stands and whipping their occupants into further frenzy.

Arthur sighed. “How does he always manage to insult me and compliment me at the same time?”

I don’t fucking care.

“John?”

John’s voice shook. We’ll give him a delicate desert flower. We’re going to blow them away.

“Uh,” said Arthur.

John reached over and gripped Arthur’s hand. Let’s play to win.

And energy poured down Arthur’s spine.

Maybe it was psychological. Maybe it was just the moment, the excitement, the crowds. Whatever it was, it felt incredible. Arthur sat straight up and grinned, baring his teeth. “Fuck. Yeah.”

They both placed their hands in the keys.

The commentators kept going back.

Yes, there were new contests; skills of balance and dance, of special magics and horticulture and animal tricks and trickery.

The commentators kept going back, comparing every upcoming skill to how the day had started out.

No one, absolutely no one, could blame them.

“The skill here, Zotha! Those fire-leaves are perfection—the way they climb up and down the vine without leaving so much as a scorch-mark! Remarkable.”

“Sure is, Cykrathu, but I’ve gotta admit… it’s not quite as good as what we heard earlier, was it?”

“Haha! No, it was not, Zotha. No, it was not.”

An hour later: “Such shadow-dancing hasn’t been seen in at least four thousand years! Gnarthoa down there must’ve made a deal with an Elder God to pull this off, is all I’m saying.”

“Reminds me of the genius of Cxixho back in the day!”

“Ha ha! Now, don’t exaggerate that much! Even our drunken listeners will know that’s a bit of bullshit.”

“True, true! And yet… I can’t help picturing those shadows dancing in time to a few of the ditties we heard earlier, am I right?”

“Cykrathu, you are correct, you mongrel mghri. Maybe we can convince them to join up for day three, eh?”

“If we don’t hear that human play on day three, Zotha, I personally will lead the riot.”

And they laughed.

Like they were joking.

They were not joking.

Hastur’s attention was split.

He had to focus on the games. To keep gods from fighting in the stands. To announce winners, build up oncoming challenges, and sing the praises of his city and his skill and his Composer.

He had to act like he’d fully expected all that to happen.

He had not expected all that to happen. Had not expected what John and Arthur did, what they managed to pull off, how they twisted what was into something magnificent and new.

It was incredible.

It garnered Hastur praise.

It was startling, and Hastur had no idea how to feel about it.

He’d certainly not expected how he would feel as Arthur fell into a magical hangover, as Arthur suffered, hidden in the hall from public view, and Hastur was stuck out here, away from him.

(Away from him? Of course away from him!)

(Some days, that fool really made him think he was going mad.)

Regardless, it was fine. Arthur was fine. His heart was fine. His life was not in danger.

(He wanted to be in there with him.)

(No, he didn’t. Damn it.)

Hastur could stay out here, and he had to. He focused. “Our final contest of the final day… the Challenge of Age!” he bellowed, sending stripes of color to flash across the ground and the sky to announce this favorite contest, and then he floated out of the way of the contestants.

Everyone had waited for this, of course. It was a wild game, one that some people thought cruel, but anyone with a brain knew was truly a work of art: creating new life, speed-running it through the entirety of its existence in one hour’s time, and bringing it to a meaningful and satisfying end in such a way that that this temporary life appreciated the living.

It wasn’t easy to do. The tiny beings had no idea things were sped up, of course; they simply lived, making choices that altered their community and their environment and the course of their lives, but only within the narratives their creators had made for them.

To end existence in such a way that those who lived it lacked regret was damned near impossible, but these competitors had to try.

It was fascinating to watch. Required such brilliance, such flexibility, such skill. By far, it was Hastur’s favorite game, which is why he scheduled it last. But even here, everyone kept talking about Arthur.

Yes, yes, the Polyps had shockingly been knocked out of the running early, and of course the Mi-Go slid right into the final round like they did every time, and hey, wouldn’t this be amazing with some of that Composer’s gorgeous ballads in the background?

Sigh. Yes, it would.

The serpent minions of Yig held their own with a brilliant creation of amphibians with dozens of fingers, little guys who discovered jewel crafting and had (in the thirty-eight seconds since their birth) developed a thriving religion based on faceted jewels and the reflections of strange faces they knew to be their gods.

And can’t you just imagine that wild ‘jazz’ (that’s what it was, called, right, Zotha?) as a backdrop to those cute little fellas toddling about their day?

Hastur could. Damn it. It would be perfect.

But the minions of Yig failed, their creations dying alone and weeping because the jewels, in the end, were cold and heartless, and now only the Mi-Go and a dark horse were left in the contest: the Yithians.

Absolutely no one saw the Yithians coming.

They’d never placed in this game in living memory, but here they were, holding their own… and in the weirdest way possible.

The Mi-Go had created a complex society formed over millions of years (a whole six minutes) with multiple cultures and numerous genders and at least twelve major religions, and while, of course, not all of their little beings were happy, they had a pretty good chance of making it end well.

But the Yithians did something odd.

Everyone made groups in this thing. The higher the population, the better the chance there was of at least some of them being happy at the end of all things. The Yithians didn’t do that. They just made two.

Two people. One large, one small; there was no way to tell gender, nor would it matter, given the nature of this game. Except in this case, they also weren’t capable of parthenogenesis.

There would be no more little beings. It was just those two, to the end of the world.

No one had ever made this play before.

The Mi-Go responded to this confusion by making their little planet more complex, their tiny people more driven. Soon, there was even war—mini-mammals fighting one another and claiming territory, celebrating in tinny, infinitesimal joy as some of them eventually claimed their world.

The Yithians kept their two.

The two were provided for. The two had toys and tools. The two—

The two had a piano?

That made everybody laugh, even though it very clearly was not a reference to anyone in particular (or Hastur would have definitely committed some very messy murder). One of the Yithians clicked its claws to say they had been going to use flutes, but they were inspired.

This made sense to everyone. Of course they’d been inspired! Everyone was inspired.

(And the songbird who had lost so completely to a human musician was still weeping through the mouth in her sash—tremulous little vocalizations without pausing for breath, though she mostly did it for drama. She hadn’t run away or tried to end her life or anything, and no one really blamed her for losing when she was so clearly outmatched.)

The hour was nearly up. The Mi-Go’s world had begun to die, natural resources failing, their “sun” coming too close, and their population moved underground and became insular. Small societies, small families, survival focusing on one another.

It was brilliant. They never ran out of supplies. They never faced starvation or true physical torment. There were just… fewer of them every few seconds, and no new ones being hatched.

The Yithians still had their two.

The same way, it all was winding to a close; their “sun” went dark, leaving a sky of stars for them to see, but no more days. The water was clean; the air was cold; they had supplies to last long past their lifespan of a full hour.

It wasn’t a clear win yet. Not yet. The minutes ticked on, and little by little, the pea-sized planets slowed their revolutions.

The crowd was largely quiet, focused; it was the closest contest anyone had seen in a while, and it would end so fast. No one wanted to miss the moment. The moment. The moment—

The Mi-Go’s planet died. The world came to an end; the lights went out. Their last two families—two scattered clans of four people each—ended in the dark, in their sleep, and… regretted.

They’d known of each other and ignored each other for fear of what the other family might do to them, what they might take, and at the end, both families regretted dying so far apart.

It was still a pretty good ending, and they passed out of life together, tiny, contented lives touched by grief, but on the whole, pretty happy.

They died with four seconds left to go.

(Cykrathu referenced the sad music Arthur had played which Hastur knew was Faroe’s song, insisting it would be the perfect backdrop for the quiet, sweet end of worlds.)

The Yithians’ two were still alive.

They were old now, both of them, for whatever value of that word; fading bodies, fading senses.

Still together.

And as they lay down for the final time on their still world, falling into sleep they knew would be their last, they gripped tentacles and faced each other and breathed the same air.

And they died without a single regret.

The crowd went completely insane.

A small, rebel group in the northmost stands begin blatting an approximation of Arthur’s game theme on stolen trumpets, prompting an entire battalion of guards to surge their way (not that Hastur was too concerned—the damned instruments had been left on the dais overnight, so provenance was no mystery).

The rest of the crowd in entirety rose to their feet and howled, cursed, cheered. Cast blessing and praise and scourges, smashing into one another, lauding the Yithians, worshiping Hastur, absolutely out of their minds.

It had been a hell of a game.

Hastur took control, bellowing his closing speech, praising winners, mocking losers, using the Yithians as proof of unexpected victories through cleverness, and by the time he was done, most of the stands had burst into songs—old ones, happy ones, wild ones, blurted in total contrast and dissonance and uncaring joy.

There was one day left to all of this, and it would be peacocking. The winners got to strut and show off; the losers got to make offerings and sacrifices and be “forgiven” for inferiority. The fans got to soak it all in and grow completely magic-drunk, and Hastur hoped to avoid any wild, destructive orgies, but it was the final day, and he’d rather them leave happy.

Toward the end of the final day, of course, he would be taking Faroe away from this place, because none of this would be good for her to see. Not yet.

(Not ever, he thought, though he was trying to be realistic that she would grow up someday.)

(No, he corrected himself,definitely not ever, and that was that was that.)

And meanwhile, unaware of all of this, Arthur lay in the fourth hallway with Dis and two medimages sworn to secrecy, and tried to recover from wielding magic for the first time in his life.

Arthur didn’t remember most of the day after his musical triumph.

He remembered throwing up, though. A lot.

On his side! On his side, you fucks!

The medimages couldn’t hear him, but Dis could. “On your side, buddy. That’s it.” And to the medimages: “Humans can aspirate.”

“What?” said one, limbs flailing. “What manner of impractical design is that?”

“Fuck if I know,” said Dis. “Just telling you what’s what.”

His heart! Check his fucking heart!

“Stat check,” said Dis.

“Pulse is strong—not too fast, according to research. Blood pressure is high, though. Oxygenation in the blood seems fine—ah, I’m not sure how to check other organ functions.”

“Kidneys good,” said the other medimage. “Liver’s good. Slight dehydration. Stomach is the issue right now; heavily acidic, nausea likely.”

Dis’ expression stayed flat. “Likely, you say.”

Hey! Hey! We won! Did you know we won?

John kept swinging between protective and enthusiastic, and Dis had no way to smack him out of it.

The first medimage cleaned Arthur’s face. John’s hand rose as if to push them away.

Dis grabbed John’s wrist and shoved it back down. “So what you two are saying is he’s basically hungover?”

The medimages cast a couple of spells over him, sparking. “Electrolyte imbalance,” said the first medimage. “Um. Yes, actually. From what I’m seeing here…” A pellucid book appeared in the air, text scrolling along its pages, and the medimage peered closely for a moment until the book vanished again. “I’d say that is accurate. He appears to be… hungover.”

Dis sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Hastur’s gonna love this,” she muttered.

Captain. Your guest is here, said a Dancer.

Dis turned. There was Lori. Right on time, invited and welcome, and Dis exhaled in relief. “Thanks for coming. You two—out.”

The medimages left, bowing, moving backwards, and closed the door behind them.

Dis pointed. “Magic sickness due to music. Somehow cast with music. You’ve seen it before?”

“I have, yes.” Lori didn’t seem terribly worried, but she did seem curious. “I would have thought he’d done magic before, especially with his skill with music… Ah, either way, a little hair of the dog will help. Try humming a few notes. Bawdy drinking songs help, even if it doesn’t cure it.”

“Really?” Dis was surprised. “That’s all?”

Lori smiled. “That’s all.”

Dis laughed softly. “Really thought it would be more complicated than that. All right.” She grinned a little. “If I’d known it’d be that easy, I’d have left you alone.”

“I think we both know I’d rather not be left alone,” Lori said with an answering grin.

Dis said nothing about Arthur doing magic before. And that, by itself, confirmed Lori’s observation.

And without warning, Hastur arrived. He billowed into the room like fire, like hunger, like a bomb.

Finally, you’re here! John proclaimed, tipping the scales again from protective to enthusiastic.

“Arthur,” said Hastur softly; then his tone hardened. “Report.”

“He’s fine,” said Dis. “Or he will be. Needs rest, some music, some hydration, and something to balance electrolytes.”

Hastur knew human bodies well. “So he’s hungover.”

“Pretty much.”

“Who knows?”

“Ambassador Rosewater, me, and medimages.”

“Name them.”

They might be dead medimages after this, those two, and that wasn’t fair, but it was life in the Dreamlands. Dis named them.

Hastur said nothing, but picked Arthur up.

John swatted him. Hey! We won!

“Yes, you won.” Hastur was quiet.

For one moment, Dis wondered if he was considering killing her and Lori, too.

Well. He could try.

“I trust you understand the situation,” Hastur said.

“Sure as fuck do,” said Dis. “So does the Ambassador.”

Hastur’s focus turned to Lori.

Dis knew how it felt: the weight of his attention was a terrible thing—controlled, but hot and dangerous.

Lori was completely still, a prey animal, no threat—and it was a facade.

Dis liked a good facade.

Hastur’s sigh was slow; his attention shifted back to Dis, like the sun retreating behind a cloud. “Very well. Continue.” And he left, taking his Composer with him.

“Well,” said Dis. “That was scary as fuck, huh?”

Lori exhaled. “I am… grateful I work for Kuranes instead. You’re very skilled at making the safe faces, too, Dis.”

Dis broke into a grin—an unusual one for her; pleased, as though Lori had clocked something most people didn’t. “It’s the Dreamlands,” she said with a shrug. “Gotta survive here somehow, right?” And she took one step closer. “Thanks for coming when I asked. You didn’t have to.”

She stood too close.

She didn’t step back.

She took no further move. The volley was Lori’s.

Lori did not step back. “That’s true. This place makes you do things and survive things you never thought you’d be capable of.” Her eyes were soft, and she touched the soft underside of Dis’ wrist. “But it gives you wonders, and lovely things, too. Right now I think it’s been worth it. I suppose we’ll have to see if I still feel this way tomorrow, or the next day. But I know how I feel now.”

Dis knew how she felt now, too. “I want to kiss you.”

“Yes, please.”

“When you want to stop, say stop.” Dis said, and cupped the back of Lori’s head, gripping her silver hair, pulling her in for that kiss.

She was good at giving instruction, after all.

Hastur said nothing as he carried Arthur away from Dis’ tender mercies and to his rooms.

Arthur was out cold. John was drunk, singing snatches of things he neither knew the words to, nor recalled how to end.

Arthur had…

Arthur had cast magic.

No. That wasn’t quite right. What he’d done was worse: he’d taken the songbird’s magic and controlled it.

Hastur wasn’t sure what he’d seen. No, that wasn’t quite right. He knew what he’d seen; he just had no idea how to quantify it.

How much of that was John? Impossible to tell—the two had been so seamless, so connected, that in the moment, Hastur had been unable to see how, or by whom, it had been done.

The competitors had gone back and forth, human talent and ingenuity holding its own against songbird skill, and Hastur was already pleased. He knew Arthur would eventually lose. It didn’t matter; Arthur had represented him well, and there would be no shame.

When the songbird gave up on pure talent and wove magic into her song, the mouth in her sash opening wide, Hastur was ready for it. Here was where the crowd would change favorites, and Arthur’s music would sound tinny and cheap, and the contest would be over, and he could finally get Arthur out of sight, and—

And instead, Arthur took the songbird’s melody and made it something else.

Better. Impossibly improved, rhythms changed just so, harmonies altered.

Through the mark, Hastur could feel clearly that Arthur had no idea what he’d done.

Arthur felt the same as he had the whole contest: joyful, triumphant, playful, determined. John seemed to feel that, too; they were just… doing it, making music.

Making music together.

They did not know that they might as well have put a leash around the songbird’s throat. They’d hijacked her power and combined it with their own talent and practice, and created something utterly unknown, unheard, unpossible, and in the process, burned themselves into the souls of all who listened.

It was magic. True magic, blooming, like from a young god.

Except that wasn’t quite right. It was like it, but not actually it.

Arthur had not cast magic. He was, however, exhausted from whatever he had done, and when he’d collapsed at the end of his last round (and Hastur had flown up and caught him before his delicate skull could hit the ground), the crowd’s cheering made it clear he’d won.

Arthur had won. Which meant Hastur had won.

(And Hastur remembered shaking him a few nights ago and felt bad, but shouldn’t feel bad, because Arthur had started it, and—)

And now, Arthur was wiped out, and John was too drunk to make a fucking bit of sense.

Hey! said John for the eighteenth time. Did you know we won?

“Yes, I know you won.” He peeled off the leotard. Arthur had sweated profusely; Hastur woke him (yes, using the mark, there was no other way with the man this tired) and made him drink some water, mixed with a solution that would help his system balance back out.

And Arthur, being Arthur, briefly resisted, glared at nothing, pushed at the massive hand holding the glass, before finally giving in and drinking.

None of that had been necessary. Why did he do that? Why was he like that?

We won!

“Yes, I know you won.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d bathed Arthur, who was limp like a doll. It probably wouldn’t be the last.

Hey! said John.

Hastur sighed. “What, John?”

How come we did magic?

“I don’t know. I don’t know what happened.”

Is his heart okay?

“Yes. You didn’t cast. You did… something else. I don’t know what it was.”

Oh. John’s hand splashed a little, sort of sleepily playful. We won?

“You won.”

Arthur is amazing.

Hastur did not bother answering, but instead focused on drying the limp man off.

Hey. Hey! John swatted him.

Hastur paused to rub his forehead. “Yes, John.”

Arthur is amazing.

“Arthur is a human.”

Nooo, no. He’s not like other humans. I’ve known humans. We’ve had plenty of humans.

“We have.”

He’s not like any of them.

Arthur, on cue, woke just enough to shove pointlessly at Hastur’s tentacles before falling back asleep again.

Ugh. “On that, John, we can agree.” He placed Arthur in bed, tucking him in before doing one final check. Arthur’s temperature was good. His pulse was steady. Everything seemed nominal; he was just exhausted.

One more day of this. One more day, and everything could go back to normal. Even the cleanup wouldn’t matter after all this madness.

Hey. Hey, Hastur.

“Yes, you won, John, I know you won.”

I love him.

Hastur went still.

Everybody knew that. It wasn’t news. It wasn’t even worth considering.

Hatur stayed still.

It was one thing to know it. It was another to confess it.

Hey.

“I… know that you do,” said Hastur slowly, with absolutely no idea what to say next. “That you have…”

We won!

Right.

“Yes, you won. He needs to sleep. Can you keep calm and not wake him?”

Sure! We won!

Hastur sighed. “Goodnight, John.”

This complicated everything.

Had John managed some weird magic-channeling through Arthur’s music? Yes, he’d done that.

Had John attuned Arthur to magic, which should have taken years, and absolutely could not happen by accident, except it had? Yes, he’d done that.

Had John confessed to love? Fuck. John had done that, too.

He wasn’t supposed to say it. Saying it gave it power.

Was this going to get in the way of reunification?

Maybe. Hastur had never encountered a case like this, never read of one, had no idea how this was going to go.

Oh, no. Would he love Arthur, if they merged?

Hastur felt a little like throwing up himself over that one.

It didn’t matter, he told himself. Being whole trumped all further complications, he told himself.

One more day of this. One more day of visitors and mess and chaos, and then he could get back to focusing on his child, and on his Piece, and on his Composer, and all would be well.

One more day. But tonight, he had fools to see.

Faroe wanted to talk to her dad.

He was just surrounded. Swamped. So many people, so many servants. So much shouting; she didn’t mind loud noises, usually, but this was too much.

Completely overwhelming.

She needed to talk to her dad.

He was directing, commanding, snarling things. Tomorrow was the last day, and he was distracted, and everyone was distracted, and it was all fraught.

She was desperate to talk to her dad—but for the first time in her life, she didn’t know how.

She hadn’t acted yet. Had done nothing wrong yet. She also had never actually planned disobedience before, and felt like it had to be written on her face, in her fluttering stomach, in her tired eyes.

She had to say something before—

He spotted her. “Faroe. Darling, what are you doing out?” And he swept over to her, pushing everyone aside, brushing past potentates, to pick her up.

Oh…

Oh, she needed that, leaned into that, feeling her importance to him, and wrapped her arms around his neck like a much smaller child and clung.

Hastur went still. “Faroe?”

“I had a bad dream,” she whispered, lying. She had not slept.

“My darling.” He hesitated.

She knew he didn’t have time for this. She knew he couldn’t put the world on pause just because she asked (though she wanted him to). “Can I stay here for a while? I won’t get in the way.”

He was going to say no. Or later. Or something else.

She needed a yes. “Please, daddy.”

He wrapped more arms around her, covering her, hiding most of her from everybody, and she knew she’d won. “Yes, darling. But you must be good. Quiet.”

“You won’t know I’m here,” she whispered, promised, and released his neck to slide down into the tangle of his arms.

Safe. Loved. Protected.

He would be so angry when she—

She had to. For him. For Uncle Arthur. For John, even, because he may not like her, but he was still part of them. Family. She loved them all, and it was her fault they suffered, and the answers weren’t… here.

She wrapped herself around whatever arm was near and let herself be buried, and was absolutely quiet as he held court, and gave orders, and was king and god and wonderful.

Sleep beckoned. She held it off as long as she could, knowing she’d wake up in her own bed with him gone, and this moment…

She needed it to last.

Hastur kept her hidden and did what he had to for the next day’s festivities, and wondered if she was okay.

She felt healthy. A quick check showed only some moderate tiredness. Nothing too bad.

Maybe it had been a bad dream—but she’d never behaved quite like this before. Some niggling feeling told him he needed to pursue this, but he had no time. Not right now.

Day three would be bad. It was practically tradition for losers to throw the kind of fit that, unchecked, ended worlds, and he had to be ready.

The funniest thing came to mind then, as he listened to the Mi-Go’s ambassador bitch again that it hadn’t countedand anyone could make an insular limitation as the Yithians had and it wasn’t fair.

He remembered Kayne’s words, from so long ago: You get to raise her together! As a village! There’ll even be days off!

What a fucking odd thing to recall.

It’s not as though he were going to take her to Arthur and hand her off.

She was fine. It would be fine. Whatever it was would wait until tomorrow evening, when the celebration was done, and he finally had his damned city back.

She was safe. That was what mattered. Everything else could be handled at pace.

Arthur woke hungry.

He also woke with no memory of going to bed, but that had happened enough times that it no longer bothered him. “John?”

I wondered if your growling stomach heralded your return.

“Very funny. What time is it?”

Near midnight. If you want something to eat, you’ve got time.

“Good. I’m famished.” Slightly stiff, he slid out of bed and felt for his wardrobe.

Congratulations, by the way.

“For what? John, which robe is this?”

The blue one. Should be fine to wear. And for winning, you dork.

Arthur froze. “We won?”

Fucking yeah, we did.

Arthur laughed. Arthur cheered. Arthur shook John’s hand. “We won!”

John laughed with him, and described the crowd’s reaction as they made their way to the kitchen.

Two sandwiches later, John was still telling Arthur all about it as they walked. Arthur figured taking the long way back to his room should provide enough time to digest.

It was purple fire!

“While I suspect I’ve made people mad enough to light themselves on fire before, I don’t think anyone managed that shade.”

They both laughed.

You should have seen it! The way Hastur justconjured a downpour over those morons while he carried you out—

“Hastur carried me out?”

Caught you when you fell, too.

“John… has he seemed different to you the last few days? Since we fought.”

John hesitated. I think he wants to apologize.

Arthur stopped walking. “You don’t mean like with the piano.”

I don’t. I think this is genuine. John sounded grouchy, as if potential sincerity was somehow also trespassing.

Arthur parsed this slowly. “I hope he does.”

Why?

John hadn’t asked him why like that in a long time, and Arthur answered carefully. “Because I want to believe he can change like you did. For Faroe, if nothing else.”

John started to answer and stopped. Started again and stopped. Finally, he settled on, It’s not the same.

“Of course it’s not. Everyone’s got their own journ-”

John gasped.

Arthur froze.

Nothing attacked.

“What?” he finally said after a moment.

Uh.

Dis laughed.

So did Lori?

Turn around and go back, said John, flat.

Arthur was so confused. “Is everyone okay?”

“Fuckin’ fine, Composer,” said Dis, sounding so much more amused than he’d ever heard.

Lori giggled again. It was a surprisingly young sound.

Arthur. Turn around. We’re going the other way.

Arthur disliked orders. He also disliked not knowing what was going on. “You sure?”

“Yes. Unless you want to put that pretty mouth to work doing something other than bitching.”

“Dis,” Lori chided, then laughed again.

Arthur, for the love of hell, please just take me away from this.

“All right, all right… what the fuck, John?” said Arthur, going back the way he came, taking the short path to his rooms. “What the hell is the matter with you, anyway?”

“Give him a minute,” Dis said, grinning into the curve of Lori’s throat. “Three… two…”

“Oh my gods!” floated down the hall toward them, and both women laughed heartily between kisses, between more than kisses, and continued where they’d left off.

CHAPTER ONE || CHAPTER THREE

#malevolent #malevolentpod #malevolent fic #malevolent fanfic #kiy malevolent #john malevolent #arthur lester #faroe lester #surrogate series

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clonerightsagenda · 2 years

Text

I was recently reminded of our 2020 conversation about the Crewmember Stacking Game, which as far as I am concerned is an official zero gravity sport and if I ever write something set in 0g where the crew has room to move and at least semi gets along they will play it. You have been warned.

Kat popular 0g game: how many crewmates can you carry weight is not an issue, positioning and strategy are Hui and Fisher once teamed up with Hui drawing a diagram and Fisher managed to carry the entire crew (minus Rhea of course) it's like human Jenga

Gill Wide shoulders and long arms constitute an advantage Is it cheating if you are carrying a crewmate who is then carrying another crewmate?

Kat no that's valid strategy BUT you have to be able to move and bring all the others with you in some way

Gill Eiffel: Finally! I can be a real life Scooby Doo cartoon!

Kat this started bc someone (probably Hui) was mildly injured and insisted on being carried around until they recovered and then someone was like, but how many can we stack

Gill Hui: Fourier, hold me~ Fisher: she’s busy at the moment, but don’t worry Doc, I can give ya a hand! Hui: This is also fine

Kat pictured: an acceptable Crew Stacking strategy

Gill That is exactly what I was picturing yes

Kat (getting Hilbert onto your stack is extreme difficulty mode bc he does not want to cooperate) someone, bored out of their mind in s3: any ideas that aren't terrible road trip games? Lovelace: I have one idea Hilbert: disappears into his lab before anyone can pick him up

Gill The Challenges with the New Gang are: Getting Eiffel to hold still Getting people other than Eiffel to participate (ranked in terms of difficulty from least to greatest: Maxwell, Jacobi, Minkowski, Kepler, Hilbert) Overcoming active attempts at sabotage

Kate Ahahahaha

Kat strategy to get each one of them to submit to being stacked: Jacobi - at least someone's paying attention to him Kepler - explain that it is a Competition and his cooperation will make him a Winner Minkowski - explain that if they stack Eiffel he can't be somewhere else breaking things, so she should encourage this for Team Efficacy Eiffel - explain he doesn't have to do work while being Stacked

Gill Maxwell: Get Hera to ask her to play

Kate Minkowski: this is blatant manipulation. It’s not even subtle Minkowski: but unfortunately you’re not wrong

Kat Hilbert - you just gotta catch him there's no easy way out of this one note: you must have all previous crew members stacked while acquiring new crew members Lovelace, piled with crew members, chasing Hilbert down the hallway

Gill It’s the only time she and Kepler have ever enthusiastically cooperated as Kepler has zero reservations about just reaching out and snatching Hilbert

Kat everyone's just trying to grab one of his limbs Hilbert's like I have never been so disrespected since the time Fourier uncharacteristically put me in a headlock so her team could win the stacking contest

Kate PARTICIPATE in the GROUP, Hilbert! You are a MEMBER of this CREW whether or not you like it or we like you

Gill Fun mishaps include: Lovelace being unable to see where she’s going and receiving conflicting directions and thus ramming everyone and herself into a wall at high speeds

Kat part of the stacking experience it's important to choose who the legs are and who the steering is wisely

Gill Minkowski and Lovelace, the Navigations Specialist Dream Team

Kat Minkowski: Left, left, tight turn - whoops, sorry about the elbow, doctor Maxwell

Kate They have SKILLS and will put them to good use

Gill Note to accomplish this one of them has to be able to see their surroundings with a fair degree of accuracy so if Minkowski gets buried within the stack and her vision is obstructed that’s a no-go

Kat there is not technically a gunner position but Eiffel occasionally lobs shit at hilbert to slow down his escape

Kate Eiffel valiantly taking over: okay okay go left- I MEANT RIGHT I MEANT RIGHT It’s too late and Lovelace has already run straight into a wall

Gill Kepler also tends to try and strong-arm the Designated Legs into following his directions by Yelling The Loudest so I guess if you can’t hear your Chosen Navigator over him that’s also Something Ditto threats of violence if you don’t listen to him

Kate Kepler that’s Cheating >: (

Gill Lovelace got back at him for this when he tried it with her. Used his directions to ram him into something, thereby inflicting totally accidental head trauma.

Kat we have fun here

#tales from the group chat #wolf 359 I guess #on my space archives doomed expedition Shen Norton and Trejo WOULD play the stacking game #however their ship was too compact for that #Also Norton would be trying to take pictures while IN the stack and crash them

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slow-button-off · 1 year

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Yeah, Fernando has had a good start to the season, but some of that is because charles has had such a bad start to the season. The "story" of the season so far had been about Ver, Per, Alo, where charles should be included in there since he's the only one getting close enough to bother the red bulls.

In Bahrain he was the one closest in qualy and in the race he kept Perez behind for 26 laps or something and they considered him their biggest threat and only adjusted their strategy and stopped pushing when he DNFd. In Saudi, with max out of Q3, Charles was the only challenge to checo for pole - and he came so much closer than anyone expected (then of course he had the penalty). In Baku he beat them both to pole, twice and even managed to keep one of them behind in the sprint (yes, damage for max, but if charles didn't have a great qualy, max would've had the p2) and in the race delay them slightly from running off into the distance. Obviously, the red bulls are in a league of their own and their only real competition is themselves, but charles is the only one on the grid that's getting close enough to annoy them a little.

(I know max started towards the back in Saudi and Checo started at the back in Australia and they both had to battle cars on the way back to the front, but both of those instances are due to something going wrong on RBRs side and not because any of those drivers they had to overtake did something exceptional to put themselves in the fight with a red bull)

I just wish the results reflected how great charles is driving cause I don't think everyone has realised.

yes Charles has been the only one to beat a RB this season by actual merit. Yes it was only quali but it still counts!

I'm sure we'll get to a point where it'll reflect his great driving!

#asks asks asks

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keluturtle · 2 years

Text

Don't Bet on It - Emmet/Grimsley (Ch 2)

Read on AO3

Chapter 2: Sharpedo II

“This Pokémon is known as the Bully of the Sea. Any ship entering the waters Sharpedo calls home will be attacked– no exceptions.”

-Pokédex Entry #319 Pkmn Shield

Emmet stretched out over the restaurant table, utterly content after his and Ingo’s lunch date with Elesa.

Ingo nudged him with his leg for his poor manners, but Emmet paid him little mind. Yesterday was far too stressful, but having good food and company had settled his mood swimmingly.

The best part of vacations, yup!

Elesa chuckled, pulling out her credit card to quickly settle the bill. Ingo balked and raised a hand to call back the waiter, but thought better of it once Elesa shot him a withering stare (a look that told him she knew exactly how many lunch dates he sneakily footed the bill for and don’t make me make a scene in public because I will— ) and put his hand back down, resignedly.

“Well,” Ingo cleared his throat with a subtle cough, still avoiding the daggers sent to him across the table, “I can say for certain that I’ll need to add Alolan cuisine to the rotation once we arrive back at our home station.”

Emmet nodded enthusiastically against the table, Elesa breaking her glare to smile fondly at his antics.

“You two can think about being back in Unova later. This is only day two of your vacation. You have a few weeks yet before you’re even allowed to think about that,” Elesa nodded matter-of-factly.

Emmet raised his eyes to peer at her, “How would you know? Are you an ESPer now Elesa? Will you run a psychic gym instead?”

Elesa sighed and shook her head, “Took you all of two minutes to start being difficult again, didn’t it? I was hoping for at least a half hour.”

Emmet stuck his tongue out at her, “It is why you love me. You like the challenge.”

“As much as I like a thorn in my si—”

“Enough bickering. We are in public, tourists or not. Behave,” Ingo admonished.

“Yes, yes fiiiiiiine,” Emmet groused before perking up, “It is time we head to the Battle Royal Dome anyway!”

“Oh yes! Bravo!”

-----

After arriving and registering at the Dome, Ingo and Emmet took their places to wait in the lobby, Elesa scrolling through her Xtransiever’s messages.

“Are you sure you did not wish to participate as well, Elesa?” Ingo tilted his head curiously.

“Nah, you two enjoy it,” Elesa shrugged, “Unlike you boys, I have some work to get done. My manager has been sending me details about the next shoot I have to look over.”

“A model’s work is never done,” Emmet nodded sagely.

“Something like that,” Elesa chuckled, “And I’m looking forward to Wela Volcano Park more anyway. Gotta get this homework done so we can have a blast together there instead.”

At that moment, Emmet and Ingo were called to compete, both saluting a farewell to Elesa as she waved them goodbye and good luck.

Surprisingly, it was Emmet who suggested they take on the challenge separately. They were called back at the same time but eventually moved to different arenas in the Dome to face their new competition.

Emmet’s reasoning was that he wanted to compare results with his brother… though the real underlying reasoning remained unsaid.

Emmet was still uneasy from yesterday’s events; his separation from his twin just felt odd. Uncomfortable. An itching under his skin that irked him. But, since they were in the same place, doing the same thing, maybe it would be easier? A track running parallel to their work at the Battle Subway.

With that in mind, the matches came and went by quickly for Emmet, easily making his way to challenge the famed Masked Royal. It ended with a fun battle and rewarding victory for the Subway Boss.

It turned out, that Ingo faced the same Masked Royal challenge right after him. As they reconvened in the lobby with Elesa, the masked fighter came out to congratulate them, panting slightly from his exhaustion of back-to-back intense fights with the Subway Bosses.

“It was verrrry interesting seeing all of the combinations and moves together! Lots of fun, yup!” Emmet had enthused, to which a boisterous conversation followed.

Elesa casually coughed as Ingo’s volume filter was lost to his excitement. It was cute to see them all be enthusiastic together, but not at the cost of her ears ringing.

He flustered somewhat at the reminder, clearing his throat and softening his voice to a more reasonable volume.

“It was a pleasure to battle against you! We should do it again sometime.”

The Masked Royal grinned, “Absolutely! It’s been fun to be challenged by so many strong Unovan trainers lately! I eagerly await your next challenge and the moves you will use in battle!”

After a strong handshake each goodbye he waved them farewell, returning to the ring with confident (though still exhausted) strides.

Emmet and Ingo saluted him in return before Ingo’s frown deepened somewhat.

“I was not aware there were other trainers from Unova here. Though I suppose Alola is a popular vacation spot,” Ingo hummed thoughtfully.

“Well, I certainly haven’t seen anyone I’ve recognized here. I would have remembered them from their gym challenge,” Elesa added, crossing her arms.

Emmet shrugged sharply, “Maybe he is mistaken. Maybe they were not that tough. How would he know if they were from Unova anyway?”

He glanced towards the exit to the facility as casually as he could, making stiff strides toward it, “We should get going to Wela Park if we want to make the climb before it gets too dark.”

A firm hand on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks.

“Emmet.”

“Ingo.”

Ingo turned Emmet around in his grasp to look at him properly, “You are acting curiously, Emmet…”

“—more than usual—” Elesa chipped in playfully, Emmet sending her a quick glare.

“Is there something you are not telling us?” Ingo’s brow creased in worry over not only what Emmet might have been hiding, but that he chose to hide it from him in the first place. Had he done something to make him untrustworthy to his brother as a confidant?

Emmet regretfully made eye contact with Ingo, knowing he could not lie to his twin.

“I did… run into someone. Someone from Unova,” Emmet eventually acquiesced, “But! I did not think he was worth mentioning. He is retired and verrrry rude. Best left to himself.”

Elesa gasped a little, a hand moving to cover her mouth before murmuring, “Ghetsis…” seemingly subconsciously.

“No,” Emmet was quick to shut down that line of thinking, “It was not him.”

Ingo gazed steadily at Emmet. He believed him that it wasn’t Ghetsis. But he naturally noticed his twin’s subtle reactions— his mouth tightened minutely, his hands tensing at his sides— at the onset of the name, before relaxing again at the wrong answer.

Ingo’s mind whirred like the gears of their shared Klinklang. A strong Unovan trainer that started with the letter G. One that might not have taken the gym battle challenge against Elesa. One that, according to Emmet, was both rude and retired.

His thoughts picked up speed before he eventually settled on—

“Grimsley?”

Ingo felt more than saw Emmet flinch, though the action didn’t go unnoticed by Elesa either.

“Oh… So it was just Grimsley,” Elesa nodded, posture slumping in relief.

Emmet looked away huffily, all but confirming it.

“I mean that makes sense— he is a little rough around the edges,” Elesa thought aloud before a slight smirk wormed its way onto her face, “Like a Sharpedo, I guess he has some… Rough Skin.”

Ingo let go of Emmet to clap at the joke with an amused chuckle, while Emmet booed, flashing two thumbs way, waaaaay down.

“What was he doing here? I heard that he had resigned from the League, but…” Ingo prompted, turning back to Emmet, curiosity piqued.

“I do not know. Only that he has been on vacation here since quitting the Elite Four,” Emmet bit out sharply.

“I think early retirement might be a better word. It’s been years hasn’t it?” Elesa followed up, pressing a finger to her chin in thought.

Emmet grumbled before begrudgingly answering their curious prodding with the information he knew; about how yes, Grimsley was retired, how he enjoyed Mantine Surfing as a pastime, and most importantly how Grimsley had a greasy mullet now and they should all make fun of him for it with Emmet.

To say Ingo was surprised Grimsley left such a nasty impression with Emmet was an understatement. He and Emmet had long since been used to dealing with unruly passengers at Gear Station during the years of service… but he could not recall any individual ever making such a resoundingly negative impression that it stuck with them for more than an hour at best.

Naturally, Ingo expressed that curiosity to Emmet who simply turned his nose up in response, stating—

“Grimsley is just an underhanded sore loser.”

And

“I can’t stand cheaters.”

Cheating and being a sore loser didn’t seem to fit the image of an Elite Four member in Ingo’s mind…even a retired one.

Once more the gears whirred, his brother’s behavior new but still familiar enough to come up with a satisfactory answer.

Ohhhh…

“Emmet,” Ingo tentatively began, his brother turning to face him, “Is Grimsley perhaps… your new rival?”

If Ingo were a lesser man, he might have laughed at the jaw drop and indignant expression that immediately weaved its way onto his twin’s face.

Though the red-faced spluttering as Emmet tried to form coherent sentences to denounce such an— “False!” “False! Lies!”— accusation almost broke that resolve.

After regaining enough of his composure, Emmet finally managed to explain.

“No. Grimsley doesn’t deserve my rivalry. Ingo and I are rivals. We push each other to be better. We are verrrry excellent rivals. Grimsley is… he is just someone I have to win against no matter what. That’s it,” Emmet crossed his arms, nodding resolutely to himself.

Elesa shifted her weight to one side, awkwardly murmuring, “…That sounds like a rivalry, Em.”

Emmet stared at them blankly for a few moments, eyes shifting from Elesa to Ingo and back before finally marching out of the Dome quietly.

Ingo and Elesa glanced at each other, both frowning, before following Emmet out of the facility.

It was not a shock that Emmet had gone silent as they approached him. Emmet had been nonverbal as a kid; and, although he had made leaps and bounds of progress growing up thanks in part to his twin, he still relapsed into his nonverbal state when particularly upset or embarrassed.

And Ingo knew better than anyone that Emmet’s actions spoke louder than his words.

Signing to his brother to ask if he was alright, he received a simple nod. And then to ask if he was upset at them, which received a quick headshake.

Good. He was okay then. Just frazzled.

Because of Grimsley.

Debating back and forth silently, he came to a tentative decision, tilting his head.

“How about we go to the beach instead today? We can have our hike to Wela Park another day.”

Emmet mirrored his head tilt, curious, signing quickly.

‘Why the beach? Why not the Volcano today?’

“It is… a long trip. We have already had a long day. The beach should be more… relaxing. For all of us.”

Emmet pauses a few moments before looking at Elesa for confirmation.

After she shot a thumbs up and smiled, he finally nodded and mirrored the same.

‘Okay.’

-----

After a couple of hours of relaxing on the beach— walking up and down the shore, building an impromptu sand castle, and half-burying his brother in it— Emmet had regained his voice, though his remarks were still curt and quiet.

He was sitting next to his twin on their matching beach towels, watching Elesa try Mantine Surfing for the first time.

“She is making it look easy,” Emmet breathed, amused at the group of fans clambering to get photos of her as she rode the waves.

“Well, she does have good balance…” Ingo hummed thoughtfully, “For someone who wears high heels for such long amounts of time, it must come fairly naturally.”

Emmet chuckled before laying back on his towel, eyes slipping shut to doze off.

The edges of Ingo’s lips curled up into a small smile at the sight.

“If you are going to nap, I believe I may follow Elesa’s tracks to try Mantine Surfing.”

Emmet simply grunted in acknowledgment, the warm sun quickly soothing him to sleep.

By the time Emmet awoke again, the sun had nearly set, the tide rolling in higher.

He looked around, sleepily, scanning the horizon for Ingo or Elesa.

Oh! There Ingo was! Though that did not look like Elesa. The black hair was too short and they appeared to be wearing a white and black kimo—

Grimsley.

Brow furrowing instantly, now instantly awake, Emmet jumped into a standing position before marching over to them as fast as possible.

-----

Ingo had noticed Grimsley watching his first ever Mantine Surfing lesson. It was unclear if he was simply waiting his turn, or if he had any actual interest in Ingo’s haphazard attempts.

Their gazes met as Ingo returned to shore, the Subway Boss waving to him politely. Grimsley nodded in return and walked over, Ingo meeting him halfway.

Ingo would not lie… he was expecting the worst. He was ready to intercept the Grimsley that Emmet had described: rude and callous.

And yet he was pleasant. Almost overly so.

Putting Emmet’s opinion of the man to one side of his brain, he allowed himself the friendly conversation.

He learned Grimsley was in fact waiting his turn to surf but was intrigued that one of the Subway Bosses had actually tried the sport.

Their back and forth continued for a bit longer and Ingo came to realize something important within those minutes.

Ingo, after being in the spotlight so long, had come to understand when people were flirting with him.

But to come from someone like Grimsley… the close lean in, the abundant chuckles and quips in between Ingo’s own words…

It was all very… unexpected and unusual.

He also didn’t expect Emmet to come barging in a moment later, wedging himself obviously between the two.

“Oh hello again, Subway Boss Emmet,” Grimsley drawled in greeting.

Ingo’s eyebrow quirked upward at the title.

“Ex-Elite Four Member Grimsley.”

Ingo’s other brow raised to meet it. He opened his mouth to stop the potential altercation before it could occur but—

“There you two are!” Elesa interrupted, bounding over with barely contained energy. Her eyes were alight with the same electricity as her Pokémon’s typing as she threw her arms around them both.

“Emmet! You should definitely try Mantine Surfing— I know you can’t resist a challenge and you should have seen Ingo! He— oh!”

Elesa cut herself short, eyes landing on the unexpected addition of their trio.

An easy smile lit up her face.

“So you are here, Grimsley.”

“Was I expected?” Grimsley smirked, crossing his arms casually.

Elesa shrugged, buzzing energy shifting her stance from toe to toe, “Emmet had told us you recommended Mantine Surfing to him. And I couldn’t help but give it a shot. It’s a lot of fun!”

Ingo nodded in agreement, “It was an exhilarating experience! I cannot wait to try it again at a later date.”

Grimsley’s face lit up mischievously at the word date, Emmet’s eyes narrowing in response.

“Well! We should get going anyhow! There will be plenty of time to Mantine Surf again later! But we must stick to our schedule and ride the tracks to our other destinations! Goodbye! Alola!”

Emmet tried releasing himself from Elesa’s grasp to no avail, as she only pulled him in closer.

“How about we all have a battle!”

Emmet paused, staring uncomprehendingly at his best friend.

What?

She stared back at him, gaze meaningful.

“You haven’t had a double battle since you’ve been here, right? And I know those are your favorites. This would be a perfect opportunity for us to have a multi-battle together.”

Emmet continued his silent staring. Yes, it’s true all of the battles down the mountain yesterday had been single battles. Even the battles from today were still single just against three foes… but…

A light went off in his mind as he pieced together Elesa’s intentions.

Elesa already anticipated Grimsley would be on the opposite team as him. And she also knew he and Ingo were a force to be reckoned with. It was a perfect opportunity for him to let off some needed steam.

“Grimsley, would you join us for a multi-battle? It would be verrrry fun battling against you,” Emmet’s smile painted innocently on his face as he straightened up, his posture professional even without the Subway Boss uniform.

Grimsley regarded him with a calculating smile, “My pleasure,” he purred, “ After all, I think Ingo and I would make an interesting combination against you and Elesa.”

Emmet fought against the bodily urge to maim Grimsley where he stood, body frozen in his perfect posture and leaving it to Elesa to accept the challenge for him before he could think twice about it.

Calling out their first Pokémon, the two teams quickly settled into a syncing rhythm. Emmet was vaguely surprised they were both working so well together. Elesa was doing a good job as his support with her paralysis-inducing Nuzzles, scouting ahead with her Emolga’s speed to create openings for Emmet’s heavier strikes.

However, likewise, Ingo and Grimsley were also supporting each other well. Emmet knew Ingo would never throw a fight, so he cannot find it in himself to mind too much when he sees Ingo putting his all into supporting Grimsley’s sharp blows.

But that didn’t stop him from gritting his teeth through the whole match.

He and Elesa had pushed them to their last Pokémon each— Liepard and Excadrill— who were just called into battle.

Meanwhile, he still had his last two— Galvantula (who was a poor matchup) with Archeops in reserve— and Elesa’s Zebstrika, which was currently on its last legs.

Grimsley and Emmet’s eyes met and narrowed at each other, almost daring the other to make the first move.

A loud siren blared from their left interrupting their contest and causing them both to flinch. A deep echoing cry and the harsh sound of waves crashing from the ocean pulled their attention away from the battle completely.

Looking through the choppy waves, it wasn’t hard to miss the Wailord thrashing about near the shore. And almost as quickly, it became apparent the cause of its distress.

The Wailord had become the unfortunate target of a gang of raging Sharpedo.

The Wailord tossed more urgently in anguish, the Sharpedo ramming its large body from all sides, as the lifeguards ushered beachgoers out and away from the scene towards safety, the tidal waves growing leagues larger, crashing brutally into the shore.

#pokemon #submas #pokemon emmet #pokemon grimsley #grimsley #my fanfic #fanfic #frighttrainshipping #alter emmet

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hcolleen · 1 year

Text

Reading wrap up

So, I see a lot of these going around (I follow a few book-tubers) so I'm going to give one of my own here. Keep in mind that I don't always read the newest books and I often reread things that felt good to me.

Best books that I read this year (not in a ranking order, just when I decided to add them to this list as I was looking through my audible library [yes, I am aware there are alternatives and I would support them, but my budget and my rereading habit make them something I can't support at the moment, as much as I would like to]):

Sucks to be Me: First Fangs Club book 1 by Kristen Painter: Widow of a high ranking mafioso goes to his grave to tell him off one last time and is turned into a vampire in the process. She ends up being the Vampire governor of New Jersey and that's only the beginning. The most recent book (book 5, Embrace the Suck) made me yell at my cat for the ending! OMG! Seriously. Though, I recommend it to people who like snark and caring and making the best of an extremely weird situation and some fantasy fulfillment, too.

Noble Roots: Spells, Swords, & Stealth, book 5 by Drew Hayes: A noble band of once NPC characters from an RPG game continue their journey, unable to return to their home since the king is perusing them and having been targeted by an evil god, too. They end up at a gathering of lords and ladies as they compete for the ability to wield magic and must untangle who is trying to destroy the competition and protect a stolen soul. This one also made me yell at my cat at the end. I want more! I highly recommend this book and series to those who like RPG books, adventure, the blending of two worlds (I didn't even mention what was happening in the 'real' world with the players who interact with these characters!).

Only the Start: A Death Gate Grim Reapers Thrill Books 1-3 by Amanda M Lee: This series has wonderful action and suspense. The first 6 books are available in anthology form, the last 3 will likely be available next year as the series just finished this year. It ties into a few of her other series and you'll miss some things if you don't read them all, but you can understand this series without the others, if you want to read it alone. I like the author's works, so I would suggest reading as many of them as you want. So, a woman who lost her parents because there was an attack while they were guarding the gate between worlds becomes the gate keeper, against her grandfather's wishes. She is a bruja, also trained in voudun, and is challenged with attacks that shouldn't be happening and what appears to be a concerted effort at sabotage, so she has to choose her allies carefully. There's also her missing memories around the attack, which lead to questions about whether her parents died or were subverted.

It's a Wonderful Midlife Crisis: The Good to the Last Death Series, book 1: Thirty-nine was a good year for Daisy. She was married to her best friend, her body didn't creak, her grandmother was still healthy. One year later, she's a widow, her joints are starting to ache, her grandmother is in a nursing home, and home is full of dead people who keep losing body parts. She helps by super-gluing body parts back on and doing her best to fulfill her new role as the death counselor as well as keeping up with her boisterous friend group and avoiding the office harridan who is trying to keep her away from the new lawyer working at the firm where she's a paralegal. It's a lot of fun and so far, each book ends with a cliff hanger.

Witches Get Stuff Done: Starfall Point book 1 by Molly Harper: Riley finds out she has an inherited job in a historic home full of antiques…oh, and she's a witch, too…from her aunt who died just before they could meet. Then there's Edison, the overqualified librarian with a phobia of boats, who's been trying to get into the house for research purposes since he arrived on the island. And there are the ghosts that haunt the antiques in the house. I love Molly Harper's writing, it's a lovely blend of snark and passion and compassion. It's a new series, the first book published this year, so it's a lovely start and I can't wait to see where it goes.

Fortune Favors the Dead: Pentecost and Parker Mystery Series book 1 by Kirsten Potter: So set in the early 1940's, a gender-flipped, textually queer Sherlock expy that takes inspiration from the Nero Wolfe books by Rex Stout. Will Parker is a circus runaway after witnessing a crime. Lillian Pentecost is a detective with MS who needs someone to help her with daily tasks and running errands for her private investigation firm. There's the interactions between the two that balance caring and snarky, and the mystery itself involves prognosticators, steel magnates, cover ups and more. And Will finds herself targeted by the prognosticator and someone else who leaves her pointedly threatening notes.

A Killer Sundae: Ice Cream Parlor Mystery series book 3 by Abby Collette: So, I'll admit I started this series because it was by a black author and I was looking to make my reading list more diverse and the premise of the first book sounded interesting. But, if you love cozy mysteries or mysteries in general, or ice cream, read these books. They're wonderfully written mysteries with great characters set in a small town in Ohio. There's the quaint (in a good way) town square with quirky shops and their owners. And Wyn finds herself both frustrated and attracted to the lawyer who abets her and the cop who tries to stop her from interfering.

Riley Jensen series (books 1-9) by Keri Arthur: I read these back when they first came out in 2007 (I own them in paperback and read that version). Rereading them after…probably 12 years of not reading them (the last one came out in 2010), I forgot how good they were and why I was lugging them around when I moved. Riley, a dhampir, half vampire, half were, was just a secretary for the Directorate of Other Species (the department that is responsible for policing vampires, weres, and other non-human species) until she comes across a few baby vampires (baby as in newly turned, not as in infant) snacking on a nightclub owner and his staff. From then on, she finds herself caught in a web of conspiracies and the target of people who want her for the skills her mixed heritage grant her. Along the way, she meets a super sexy, very old vampire who has his sights set on her, but she wants it on her terms, not his.

Dark Angels series (books 1-3 of 7, though I'm mad I lost the first one in the move. I'll have to get it again) by Keri Arthur: Spin-off from Riley Jensen's story, this follows Risa Jones who was a baby in the previous series. Now she's an adult in her mid-20s. Risa is the child of a powerful psychic and a creature called an Aedh. She's able to travel the lands between life and death and talk to souls there. She finds something terrible when she looks into the case of a little girl who fell into a sudden coma. From there, she's caught between the orders of her father and the oldest vampire in Australia, if not the world, who heads the Vampire Counsel and the target of multiple attempts on her life. She escapes with the help of a Mijai and another Aedh who had his wings removed as a punishment for an undisclosed crime. She and her friends are in danger as she struggles to find three keys for the gates between this world and hell itself and also tries to keep them from being used. This is another that I haven't read in a while and I'm very much enjoying revisiting the series. As noted above, I'm on the 3rd book.

Dawn of Everything by David Graeber and David Wengrow: I'm still reading this, but I really enjoy it and how it makes compelling arguments that we didn't come from innocents nor did we come from absolute terrors. These ideas came from a conservative reaction to Indigenous observers critiquing Europeans and have held sway over much of anthropology to this day. This book explores the structures of power in our ancestor's way of living, how they led to the ones that we have today and how we can reorganize society to have more freedom for everyone. With everything going on these past few months, I haven't had the energy to get back to this one, but I'm hoping to have some time/energy soon because I'm excited to keep reading it.

I'd love to see other's lists of great books they read this year. :)

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comeandreadawhile · 3 years

Text

Clone Social Media : Hobbies

The phenomenon starts with the intention to show the civilians of the Republic the men behind the armor, as well as an encouragement for the men to do the things they enjoy when they have the time to in lieu of sitting around cleaning weapons for a third time that day.

Scratch that—the phenomenon starts with High General Kenobi, on a rare day of leave, teaching his Marshal Commander how to bake. Said Commander’s men were happy to taste test the flurry of experimental confections that pervaded their leave days in the following months. News spread fast of Marshal Commander Cody having a knack for baking, and so followed the spread of troopers attempting to make their own treats and/or branching off into other things the civilians called “hobbies” whenever what they could get their hands on afforded them.

The phenomenon kicked off when Padawan Commander Tano began a social media account with the intention of using it as a public diary, her first post was a picture taken of some of the 501st—with permission, her caption says—as they went about retouching paint scuffed in their most recent battle. The men are relaxed, some with paint smeared on their hands and cheeks and seemingly reacting to some joke or story told outside the threshold of the camera, and it’s an almost startling difference from the image of rigid lines of men, faceless in their full kits of white plastoid, that the civilians are used to. Tano’s second post is a video clip of one Captain Rex, with one General Skywalker sitting on his back counting reps, doing push-ups; the video was captioned “Another day in the G.A.R., restless in hyperspace.”

The digital diary continues from there, videos and pictures of specific locations posted only after reaching a safe distance to do so, never sharing anything mission critical—past, current, or hypothetical future. Eventually she shows the men under her how to make their own accounts, and other Jedi and their own troops follow suit. The 212th then takes it upon themselves to post pictures of the little cakes their Marshal Commander has gotten so proficient at making, and, when General Kenobi creates a joint account titled “command_212”, convince Cody to post pictures of things he bakes before they are distributed—even in the process of baking, if the fancy strikes him.

So Marshal Commander Cody shares pictures of his experiments, of recipes he finds that turned out well, of recipes that didn’t because of some error or other that he’s determined to give another go, with the occasional cryptid picture of General Kenobi taking his tea in the barrack’s kitchen. As time goes on those pictures shift to Obi-Wan covered in flour, or a shot taken from several feet away of Cody sneaking batter captioned “caught red-handed in the red velvet”.

As Marshal Commander of the 212th has taken to baking to relieve stress, the Commander of the 104th has turned to needlecraft and yarnwork.

The 104th retaliate the populatrity of the 212th’s command account with the domesticity of their own, despite the vaguely threatening possibilities of knitting and sewing needles. Boost and Sinker run the majority of the account, although all OG members of the 104th have access to it; they post pictures of the things Wolffe makes them, of General Plo covered in the lengths of scarves he’s received, of Comet in the ever-growing swath the gifted blankets with the current tally in the caption (his toes were off the floor by blanket burrito 6). The holonet at large loves Plo almost as much as his men, and once a week they post him saying some piece of sage wisdom—or utter nonsense, as the mood strikes—as the war goes on. After months of asking for a face reveal and requests for the patterns people are sure Wolffe uses, they make the most Force-forsaken tutorial videos as an all-in-one series.

“HOLY **** HE’S CASTING ON 12 TO START—“ “WHAT A MAD MAN!”

“So when you get to this row here you’re going to knit 3, purl 3–“ “TRANSCENDENT!” “—yes, thank you, and then keep doing that until you reach the end of the row...”

“Oh, OH MAN HE’S GONNA DO IT!” “HE’S GONNA CHANGE COLORS!” “Holy **** man he’s gonNA YOOOOOOOOOO!”

Cody is then issued a challenge by the holonet to learn to knit. He learns to crochet. Because Obi-Wan knows how to crochet. The holonet loves video snippets of them progressing on projects together. They also love the videos Ahsoka posts of Cody attempting to teach Rex, and praise the absolutely completely unrelated hat she later posts a picture of; it covers her Montrals with enough room for a few years’ growth. Anakin gets yarn stuck in his mechanical hand because he forgot to put his glove on before attempting to craft.

The real throwdown happens when the account for the Coruscant Guard posts videos of Fox aggressively tatting while venting about the lack of funding for proper security and surveillance tech.

Each posts sees a comical increase in the surfaces covered in lace doilies and runners, as well as a new topic for Fox’s venting.

A picture of an pillow embroidered with “Kriff the Seppies” is briefly posted to the 104th’s account before being taken down and replaced with a censor bar. Rumors begin to circulate when Senator Chuchi posts a picture wearing a gifted lace shawl; Senator Amidala comments on her confusion being resolved as to why Riyo kept bringing little baskets of crochet thread with her before a senate meetings.

A competition for ship nose art starts up, many votes going to the 501st, and the holonet’s heart once again melting at “Plo’s Bros”. Personal art begins popping up soon after. Fives starts posting spray paint tutorials, Rex and Hardcase become popular for clean graphic art. Bly gets his hands on metallic paint and the crowds go wild. Kix has taken his clean haircut game to the next level.

And then Colt and Shaak Ti make an account to post art the Littles make, most of them representations of their older brothers with wishes of safety and good luck, and of the only Jedi they’ve ever known, sometimes creatures they studied in their preparation for worlds outside of Kamino. Of batches passing their final tests with a congratulatory post.

Suggestions and instructions are sent out for clones who want to take and sell commissions, allowing them to finally make some money; most Jedi are more than happy to help make sure the finished work mails out properly to the buyers.

Ships of the non-nose art kind surface on the holonet. It’s generally agreed upon that command_212 is run by husbands, and Aayla is the protector of the 327th and Bly’s heart, even if she’s a clumsy menace around his artwork (caf spilled over a drying watercolor can be interesting or terrible depending on the circumstance). No one can agree whether Skywalker is married to his captain or Senator Amidala, but everyone agrees that Ahsoka is their baby. The holonet declares Plo to have Big Dad Energy. Shaak Ti’s Big Mom Energy is a friendly rival. The Jedi council has made no official statement denying or denouncing these attachments.

Public interest begins to shift from producing more soldiers to making sure the ones the Republic has stay alive, when the realization hits that within a couple of years the children posting art and losing teeth would probably be losing blood and brothers on some far away planet. Of making sure the men are eating well instead of just surviving. Well certain account-holders don’t post for a while, grieving a loss, posting again to reassure their followers they’re alright, the public questions what’s being done to keep the men emotionally and mentally well outside of the hobbies the public knows them for. “Born to handle any stress” is very much the wrong answer.

Pressure is put on the Chancellor to let the Separatists sucede, no one quite sure anymore why allowing them to would be harmful when at worst new trade agreements would need to be brokered; if they want to leave so badly, let them. And let the men have their hobbies.

(Sad thoughts ahead)

Sometimes commissioners never receive their orders, simply a refund with a letter from that clone’s Jedi after the latest battle ends. Any money they’d made would be split however their closest brothers decide.

The channel that always posts pranks and spray paint tutorials makes a post saying they’d be away to look after their sick little brother. It’s the last post they make.

The Coruscant Guard’s account stops posting a few nights later.

After Order 66 goes out, a new account goes up posting any pictures and cute videos of Aayla. Reposting old ones that the public is sure they’d seen somewhere before, posting new ones of funny faces and ridiculous videos of silly dances. The last one is the only one captioned, “she wasn’t a traitor.”

The account is deleted the same night, and the one of the 327th’s adventures never posts again.

Wolfpack_104 does not post, but is still there.

Command_212 is deleted almost immediately the night of the order.

Years go by, almost sixteen, and only after Vader already knows she’s alive does Ahsoka post again. It’s a picture of her, and Rex and Wolffe onboard the Ghost in hyperspace captioned “Was never a traitor. Always the little sister even if I’m four years older. In case you’re wondering, Rex still draws and Wolffe still knits when we can nab the string and flimsi.”

#star wars #the clone wars #codywan #blyla #implied #foxiyo #rexwalker #commander cody #captain rex #commander wolffe #commander bly #commander colt #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #plo koon #shaak ti

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kpopfanfictrash · 4 years

Text

Raise the Barre (Ch. 7)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Jimin / Reader

Rating: 18+ (Eventual Smut)

Genre: Enemies to Lovers / Dance Academy!AU

Warnings: mention of vomit, intense physical training, blood blisters

Word Count: 6,829

Summary: You and Park Jimin have been rivals for as long as you’ve known one another; ever since he tripped you in the front row of your first dance convention. When you graduate from high school and enter Russet Ballet Academy, you tell yourself you’re leaving all past quarrels behind. The main problem with this though, is that your past seems determined not to leave you alone.

Worse still, the obstacles you face while out in the real world might prove more challenging than anything your enemy has to offer.

Fifteen minutes later, Jimin pulled to a stop at the edge of the curb.

Stepping from the sidewalk, you hastened to the passenger side and opened the door. Your wait had mostly been uneventful, but you hated standing alone in the dark for any longer than necessary. Sliding into the passenger seat, you pulled the door shut and turned sideways to face him.

“Thanks,” you exhaled, seeing him for the first time tonight.

Jimin looked sleepy, as though your call had woken him up – which it probably had, since it was near 1:30 AM. Yesterday when you spoke, Jimin had said he planned on going to bed early. He was dressed in what Noelle would’ve called a groutfit – grey sweats, grey hoodie and silver-framed glasses. You blinked at these, not having realized Jimin wore contacts.

“No problem.” Jimin stifled a yawn. “Seat belt.”

“Huh?”

“Put on your seat belt.” He nodded at the strap by your side.

“Oh – right.” Hastily, you pulled this across your chest. “Thanks.”

Silence fell as you did, the awkwardness increasing with each passing second. Usually, you were better about things like car safety, but everything about this moment felt surreal. Jimin had given you his number barely twenty-four hours prior – you highly doubted this was what he had in mind when he said he’d call.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted, unsure what to do.

Jimin’s lips twitched. “It’s fine, Y/N.”

Glancing his way, you found Jimin’s profile dimly lit by the streetlights. He sat spread-legged in the driver’s seat; one hand placed casually on the shift. When he caught you looking, Jimin arched a brow and shifted the car into drive.

Pulling from the curb, he merged into traffic headed away from the club. As the bright lights of Excelsior disappeared into the rearview mirror, the cars on the road became few and far between. You drove in silence, city lights striping Jimin’s profile in black and white.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “Is everything okay?” Jimin asked, too casual to be normal.

It took you a moment to answer.

Usually, you would’ve responded yes even if it weren’t the case, since no one truly wanted to hear about your problems. Asking someone how are you? in the city was the same as a nod hello. It wasn’t genuine interest in another person’s well-being.

Tonight though, your usual responses caught in your throat. Tonight, you felt tired, frayed and dangerously thin at the seams.

Everything was not okay, and you weren’t sure how to say otherwise. Your usual walls had been torn, leaving you with this sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. Your fight with Finn had been a big one, even worse than the argument a few weeks ago.

Still, Jimin was a newer friend to you – if you could even call him that. It wasn’t fair to unload all your problems on him. Especially at such a late hour and especially not when he was the one doing you a favor.

“Yeah,” you said at last. “Everything’s fine.”

Jimin paused, as though he knew this to be bullshit.

“Let me rephrase,” he said, shifting in his seat. “Anyone’s ass I should kick?”

You laughed a little, surprised by his threat. “No, no,” you said, shaking your head. “Nothing like that.”

“Good.” Jimin’s smile faded. “So, what happened then? How’d you get stranded?”

He didn’t ask why you called him, but the implication was clear in his voice. Honestly, it was a question you had no good answer to. All you knew was when you were standing on the curb, staring at your phone and wondering who to call, Jimin was one of the first people to pop into your mind.

“I was out with my boyfriend,” you sighed. “I said I’d go to the club with him and his friends, but it got late and we have class tomorrow, so I told Finn I wanted to leave. He… didn’t.” Pausing, you swallowed. “I ended up leaving, but I didn’t realize the trains had stopped running. Uber surcharge was ridiculous, too.”

“Oh.” Jimin’s grip on the wheel tightened.

“Anyways.” You slouched lower in his seat. “You’re the only person I know with a car, so…”

“Ah. Right.”

Curious, you glanced sideways. Although Jimin was responding in one-word answers, they seemed somehow loaded, as though they contained hidden meaning. Even his profile seemed cautious, full of a tension you couldn’t quite place.

Jimin frowned. “Your boyfriend just… let you leave like that?”

“He didn’t let me,” you said as you straightened. “I can make my own decisions, Park.”

“I know, I just…”

“You just what, Park? Spit it out.”

“I don’t know.” Jimin shrugged. “It just seems kind of cold. That’s all.”

“Yeah, well.” Truth be told, it seemed cold to you, too. “I’m not exactly… thrilled with the situation, either. He turned off his phone,” you muttered, turning to face the window.

In the reflection, you saw Jimin grimace.

“Sorry,” he said quietly.

“What for?”

“That just sucks, that’s all.”

“Yeah. It does suck.”

Jimin made an indiscernible noise of agreement before lapsing into silence.

It was strange to be in a car with him at this late an hour; oddly intimate for a multitude of reasons you pushed aside.

The last time you’d seen Jimin dressed so casually had been when you walked in on him with Sabrina. It had been nearly a month since then, but you hadn’t heard any gossip of them being together on campus.

Maybe this was something you could’ve asked Jimin, but it wasn’t like you had that type of relationship. Sure, you were ballet partners and sure, you’d been getting along lately, but you didn’t usually interact outside of class. Yet another line you’d crossed by calling Jimin tonight.

Thus far, you’d mostly managed to keep Finn and Russet separate. Noelle had met Finn a couple of times – you’d gone to dinner once and gotten coffee together another time, but otherwise, nothing. Finn wouldn’t have wanted to come to one of your Grace Hall rom-com marathons or take a pilates class on Sunday morning.

Mixing personal life and dance felt strange to you, as though two separate halves of yourself were colliding. It was odd to see Jimin outside of Russet’s walls. He seemed more at ease in his car, like the lines of him had blurred more from dancer to person.

Something about the nighttime made things seem fuzzier. Tired from the day and just beginning to thaw from the cold, you found your lips and mind looser than usual.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Jimin said, interrupting the silence. “But I didn’t even know you had a boyfriend.”

With a humorless sort of laugh, you turned to face him. “Yeah, well. I do.”

“Huh.”

Hearing his skepticism, you insisted, “I do!”

“I believe you!” Jimin chuckled. He paused. “Is it new, then? I don’t remember anyone coming to watch your dance competitions in high school.”

Warmth spread through your body, realizing Jimin must’ve kept tabs. He’d watched you at dance competitions. He knew your usual crowd of supporters.

“Finn isn’t new,” you said slowly. “He just didn’t come to a lot of competitions. They got repetitive, you know? Lots of waiting around for three minutes of watching me dance.”

“I guess.” Jimin shrugged. “I used to go to my ex’s tennis tournaments all the time, though. That was the same thing, except no AC.”

“Right,” you laughed. “You’re right, at least our competitions had air conditioning.”

Jimin turned on his blinker to switch lanes. Pulling onto a side street, he glanced in the rearview mirror. Another moment passed, and then –

“We broke up before college.”

Surprised, you glanced in his direction. “Oh. Okay.”

You stared at his profile, wondering if you were supposed to say something more. You could think of many questions to ask, but they didn’t seem appropriate coming from you. You hadn’t realized Jimin was dating someone in high school – although, come to think of it, you did seem to remember a blonde girl cheering for him in the audience at Applause Dance Competition.

“It seemed like time,” Jimin continued quietly. “She went to a school across the country and we just never assumed we’d stay together. That sounds bad,” he said with a half-laugh. “I kind of figured though, if we were meant to be, we’d figure it out. The fact that we didn’t try spoke volumes.”

“That makes sense. Honestly,” you said with a sigh. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if me and Finn had been long distance.”

As soon as the words left your lips, you blinked. The statement hung before you in mid-air, forcing you to consider it for the first time.

This wasn’t something you’d allowed yourself to imagine before; what would’ve happened if you’d gone to a different school. Going to college so close to Finn had just seemed like a sign. You didn’t have the college break-up talk because you’d simply assumed you didn’t need to.

“Yeah.” Jimin sighed. “It’s hard, right? Everything is changing so quickly. You want things to stay the same, but isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? Change. Grow. I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Everyone keeps telling me change isn’t a bad thing.”

“Sure seems like it, sometimes,” you said softly.

Jimin nodded. After a moment, he reached out for the stereo. A familiar song filled his car and something uncertain unfurled in your stomach. You weren’t sure what you were even talking about anymore – change was a dangerous topic without Finn around.

When the chorus of the song kicked in, you smiled.

“I love this song,” you said, turning to Jimin. “I almost choreographed my solo to it senior year.”

“Really?” Jimin glanced at you in surprise. “Same.”

“No way!” you laughed. “Wow – that would’ve been awkward. Imagine if we’d both had the same solo.”

“It would’ve made us even more competitive.”

“Not possible.”

“You’re probably right.” Jimin smiled. “We were really at each other’s throats for a while, weren’t we?”

“Yeah, we were.”

Settling back in your seat, you couldn’t help but frown.

Something about this statement bothered you, although you couldn’t put a finger on what. Maybe it was what Jimin had said yesterday about your mutual competition pushing each other forward. Maybe it had something to do with that night in Danley Hall, when Jimin stopped by and said he loved watching you dance.

If you really stopped and thought about it, Jimin was the sole constant in your dancing career. Every year, at every dance competition, you’d make sure you were available to watch Jimin’s solo. You told yourself this was because he was your competition but really, you just loved watching him dance.

You could remember the cool air of the theatre as you snuck in, sinking into a plush, velvet chair and hoping you wouldn’t be seen. You’d loved watching Jimin near the front, close enough to see his facial expressions but not close enough to be seen from the stage.

If your solos were close to one another in timing, you tended to watch Jimin from the wings. This had been a different kind of intimacy, hidden behind the first leg while you watched him dance. Lights dim, you recalled Jimin’s silhouette while he would walk to center. The opening notes of his music would sound, and you’d stifle a shiver while you watched him, entranced.

As it turned out, Jimin had been watching your solos as well, but you hadn’t known this for some time. Not until he’d told you the other night.

Suddenly, you turned in your seat. “You know I think you’re talented, right?” you blurted. “There was a reason I was always trying to beat you.”

Jimin’s brows shot up so high, they nearly met his hairline.

“I – uh, no,” he said. “You’ve never said that to me before. In fact, you kind of said the opposite. You told me the only reason I won was because I’m a guy.”

Hearing your words thrown back in your face, heat began to creep up your neck.

“Listen, about that –”

“I’m kidding.” Jimin shot you a smile. “It’s fine, Y/N.”

“I – okay.”

“Look, I know men have an advantage in the dance world.” Returning his gaze to the road, Jimin’s smile disappeared. “I’m not dumb. I know we have higher centers of gravity, and all that. It’s just… you’re also talented, Y/N. People love to watch you dance, myself included. Don’t sell yourself short.”

Staring at him over the console, you felt oddly moved by this speech.

It was strange; many people in your life had called you talented. Your parents, your teachers and Finn, of course. Each of those compliments had meant something to you, but this one felt different. It felt different coming from Jimin – more important, somehow.

Maybe it was because you admired him most of all. The realization didn’t shock you as much as it probably should’ve.

“Thanks,” you said quietly.

Jimin nodded, continuing to scan the road. His car was clean, you realized as you glanced around. There were no water bottles on the floor, no napkins hastily stuffed into the glove compartment. The only sign of being lived-in was a keychain dangling over the dashboard; a small, plastic photo frame with two people inside.

“My parents,” Jimin explained, noticing where you looked.

“Oh,” you said, bending a bit closer. “They look nice.”

He laughed, unable to help it. “I’ve always thought so. My dad is the one who encouraged me to be a dancer, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Fondly, Jimin smiled. “He’s always loved music. When I was a baby, he loved to hold me and jump around the living room to songs on the radio. My mom has tons of videos of it.”

You smiled at the image. “That sounds adorable.”

“And embarrassing. My dad’s not that great a dancer.”

Without meaning to, you snorted.

Hearing this, Jimin’s smile widened. “When I started memorizing all the dances I saw on TV, my dad convinced my mom to put me in classes. Things kind of spiraled from there.”

“That’s nice,” you said, settling down in his seat. “My parents have always been my biggest supporters, too.”

Jimin nodded, about to respond but then a blast of AC hit you and you shivered. You’d nearly forgotten what you were wearing – or more accurately, what you weren’t wearing. The thin tank top you had on did little to hide the bare skin underneath.

Jimin’s gaze darted sideways. “Are you cold?” he asked, reaching out for the heat. “You can have my hoodie in the backseat, if you want.”

“Oh. No, that’s okay.” Hastily, you untied your cardigan from around your waist. “I have this,” you said, sliding both arms into the sleeves. “Completely forgot about it.”

Silently, Jimin nodded – and then his lips twitched.

“What?” you demanded.

“Nothing!” He shook his head, fighting to keep his face even. “It’s just… you wore a cardigan out to the club?”

Glancing down, you felt your cheeks begin to heat again. “Yes,” you said, somewhat defensive as you looked up. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing. It’s just, you know.” He paused. “My grandma has that sweater.”

“Well, your grandma sounds like a cool lady.”

“Without a doubt,” Jimin assured. “Not much of a clubber, though.”

Leaning your head to the window, you smiled. “That makes two of us then.”

You knew the city well enough by now to recognize you were only a few blocks from Grace Hall. Somehow, you found yourself not wanting the car ride to end. Talking to Jimin outside of dance practice was nice – even fun, you realized with some surprise.

It was a shame it’d taken you so long to recognize this.

“Seriously, though.” Jimin laughed. “Clubs can be a good time! There’s dancing, there’s music… rumor has it you like dancing.”

“Not that kind of dancing,” you sighed. “That kind of dancing is just a dry version of a lap dance for people who don’t know what to do with their hips.”

Jimin hid behind a smile. “Ouch, on behalf of your boyfriend.”

“Oh!” Straightening, you glanced at him in alarm. “That’s not – I didn’t mean…”

Stricken, you realized the obviousness of what you had said. Forget about your face heating, your entire body felt like an inferno. You had just told Jimin, in so many words, that Finn didn’t know what to do with his hips.

Jimin waved this admission aside. “Don’t worry about it, Y/N. I’ll forget what I heard the instant I get home. Up until tonight, I didn’t know the guy existed, right?”

“Right,” you agreed, settling back in your seat.

Rather than reassure you, this only gave you further pause.

It didn’t seem possible Jimin hadn’t known about Finn. Racking your brains, you tried to think of a time they would’ve crossed paths – only to come up short. Finn hadn’t ever stopped by the studio to pick you up, he hadn’t ever come to mutual hangouts with your Russet friends. Admittedly, Jimin had only recently started attending the same ones as you, but it still seemed unthinkable.

You and Finn had been dating for over two years. Finn’s name should have come up at some point and yet, it hadn’t.

Before you could respond, Jimin pulled to a stop outside your dorm. Glancing over the console, he smiled and again, you were struck by the image.

With his grey sweats, mussed hair and those glasses – you swallowed. It was a side of Jimin you hadn’t seen and something about the visual made your stomach lurch. Before you could launch into full-blown panic, Jimin raised a brow.

“Here you are,” he said with a grandiose wave. “Home sweet home.”

Glancing past him, you took in the steps of Grace Hall.

“Thanks,” you said, pushing open the door. Before exiting the car, you paused and looking over your shoulder. “Seriously, Jimin, thank you. I don’t know how I would’ve gotten home without you.”

In the darkness, you saw his expression soften.

“Anytime,” Jimin said.

You could tell he meant it. There was something to his gaze which made you nod. Jimin wasn’t the type to mince words or say things he didn’t mean. Just like when he said he loved your dancing, you knew Jimin was telling the truth. When he said anytime, he meant it.

Nodding, you resumed exiting the car. Waving goodbye, you stood on the curb until he was out of sight.

Once Jimin disappeared, you sighed and turned towards the building. Grace Hall was silent this late at night – it was nearly 2:00 AM and again, you were thankful Jimin had answered his phone. As you let yourself in and climbed the steps to your room, your thoughts began to race with all the what-ifs.

What-if Jimin hadn’t answered, what-if you’d had to walk home alone, or walk to find a cab. Pressing your eyes shut, you shooed these thoughts away. None of that had actually happened, so it wasn’t worth worrying about.

As soon as you got upstairs, you stepped in the shower – the stickiness of that girl’s drink continued to linger on your skin. After changing into fresh pajamas and brushing your teeth, you wearily climbed into bed. The last thing you did before falling asleep was call Finn again in case he’d returned home.

His phone went straight to voicemail though and, with a sinking stomach, you rolled over in bed and turned off the light.

After sleeping until the last possible moment, you managed to roll yourself out of bed around seven the next morning. This only left fifteen minutes before you needed to leave and even then, you felt like a zombie as you rushed out the door.

Grabbing coffee at the place down the street, you and Noelle entered class with barely ten minutes to spare. Jimin was already present but he was talking to Louis, so you stuck to your side and didn’t interrupt. You wanted to thank him again for his help, but all this flew out the window when a familiar woman followed Mr. Vlad into the classroom.

“Class.” Mr. Vlad set his things down by the window. “You remember Anna Hodelle, I presume – principal dancer at the New York City Ballet. She’s in town for a different master class and has graciously agreed to lead ballet this morning.”

The news was simultaneously exciting and nerve-wracking. Anna had taught a master class several weeks prior which left you sore for days following. Her classes were exciting though, and she was Anna Hodelle, one of the youngest principal dancers for the New York City Ballet in at least forty years – so there was that.

Her introduction didn’t require any response. Scrambling into place at the barre, the class waited while Anna shed her warm-ups and Mr. Vlad left the room. As soon as the music began, you found yourself grateful you hadn’t drunk the night prior.

Similar to her last master class, you found Miss Anna relentless in her pursuit of perfection. Her expectations were high and as a result, everyone gave their best effort – and then some. By the time you broke for water, no less than three students had already run for the bathroom.

It wasn’t pretty, but vomiting was something which happened with dance. Class could be such a grueling workout that occasionally, younger students pushed themselves past their limits. If you ate a big meal before practice, it was increasingly likely you might throw it up after.

You could count on two hands the number of times this had happened to you in high school. There had been some days you practiced so hard, sweat ran down your forehead and blinded your vision. On other days, the floor was so slippery, your bare feet couldn’t grasp the floorboards. Dance, despite being hailed for grace and glamour, tended to be exactly the opposite.

One of your teachers used to say you weren’t using your muscles if they weren’t shaking by the end. Ballerinas were seen as delicate, but this couldn’t be further from the truth. Ballet only looked effortless – this was a carefully cultivated image for the audience. At all times, all muscles in a ballerina’s body were engaged, yet even when sweat dripped down her brow, she had to smile.

You’d seen dancers finish their combination, give a sweeping bow, walk gracefully offstage and vomit into the nearest trash can. Everything was for show, everything was for the audience – one of your favorite parts about dance was knowing the brutal behind-the-scenes effort everything took. It made you appreciate the final product all the more.

By the end of class you were exhausted but happy, wiping sweat from your brow while you applauded the teacher. After Anna’s dismissal, you immediately exhaled and trudged towards your bag. Noelle chattered on about a TV show you were watching, reminding you to catch up before Monday.

As you picked up your bag, you felt its front pocket vibrate. Fishing inside for your phone, you pulled this out and felt your eyes widen.

Five missed calls and eight missed texts. Once you opened your phone, you saw they were all from Finn.

Finn: hey [8:18 AM]

Finn: Y/N, I’m so sorry [8:19 AM]

Finn: I don’t know if you’re ignoring me because you’re angry, or if you’re in class right now [8:25 AM]

Finn: you’re probably in class [8:30 AM]

Finn: if you’re not though, please call me back [8:31 AM]

Finn: fuck [9:01 AM]

Finn: I was such an ass last night, Y/N. I’m sorry [9:03 AM]

Finn: … please call me [9:35 AM]

With each text you read, you felt your heart sink. Up until this point, you’d gotten through class by pretending last night hadn’t happened. Now though, you were forced to remember every detail of the night prior.

Finn had left you at the club.

He’d stormed away from your fight, turned off his phone and left you alone. Each time you remembered the night, your fury only grew. This morning when you woke, you’d still been pissed off – even more so, when you turned on your phone and saw zero texts from Finn.

Had your roles been reversed, you never would’ve done the same to him. Sure, it had been a bad fight but who did that? Just took off in the middle of a conversation and shut everything down. The worst part was him turning off his phone. As soon as things didn’t go as planned, Finn simply washed his hands of you.

That was what hurt most of all, the shame burrowing deep into the crevices of your heart.

Beneath everything was a strange twinge of guilt at having called Jimin to pick you up. This was easily brushed aside, though – Finn had left you stranded. If anyone had a right to be mad here, it was you.

“Y/N? You okay?”

Noelle’s voice pulled you from your reverie. Blinking, you lowered your phone and realized you were alone. The rest of the room had cleared out after class – this probably wasn’t the first time Noelle had said your name.

“Shit, sorry!” Hastily, you shoved your phone in your bag. “Yeah… yeah, everything’s fine.”

Noelle gave you a look. “Really?”

After a moment, you sighed. “No,” you said, turning to walk towards the door. “Why pretend? It’s Finn.”

Following you from the classroom, Noelle fell into step alongside you.

“He’s not hurt, is he?” she said carefully.

“Unfortunately, not.”

Noelle snorted. “Okay, so he’s in the doghouse.”

“Yep.”

“Want to talk about it?”

At the top of the stairs, you paused. “Finn and I got in a fight last night,” you admitted. “He wanted to stay at the club, and I wanted to go home – so he told me to leave. I did, but then I realized I had no way to get there.”

Noelle’s mouth dropped. “Are you fucking kidding me? He just… left you there? Wow. The next time I see your ‘boyfriend,’ I’m going to – wait,” she said, pulling up short. “How did you get home, then?”

“I – uh, well… Jimin picked me up.”

Noelle stared at you a moment longer. “Huh. Didn’t expect that.”

“Neither did I,” you said, beginning to walk down the stairs. “Finn turned his cell phone off, so I couldn’t get ahold of him and by then, the trains stopped running. Uber was surging and Jimin is the only person I know with a car, so…”

“Ah, gotcha. That makes sense.” Noelle nodded. “Nice of him to come get you.”

“Yeah, it was nice. Anyways, Finn’s been texting me all morning.”

“Oh!” Noelle groaned. “That was your phone! I kept hearing something vibrating while I was waiting to go across the floor.”

“Yep, that was him,” you said glumly. “Apparently he’s sorry.”

“Of course, he is.”

“He said he was an ass last night.”

“Of course, he did.”

“… I’m still pissed at him.”

“Of course, you are!” Noelle cried, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “Listen, tell him you got home alright – not that he deserves that much, mind you – but you need some time to cool off. He can wait until you’re ready to talk, right?”

Nodding, you saw sense in what she was saying. “You’re right.”

Despite Noelle making sense though, part of you didn’t want to wait.

Part of you wanted to call Finn back right now and give him a piece of your mind, but you knew if you did that, things wouldn’t end well. He deserved to be cussed out, but you were completely exhausted. The idea of fighting with your boyfriend left you feeling drained.

Noelle was right – Finn could wait until you were ready to talk, whenever that was.

Pulling out your phone a second time, you texted Finn you were safe and that you’d talk when you were ready. Once he responded okay, you shoved your phone in your pocket.

Noelle looked sympathetically on. “Why don’t we have a girl’s night?” she said, arm back around your shoulder. “We can invite Irene and Ari and just watch dumb movies and eat brownie batter in fancy lingerie. You know, like every guy’s sleepover porn fantasy.”

You couldn’t help it, you laughed. “Sounds like a plan,” you said with a grin. “God, what would I do without you?”

“Be super bored, probably.”

You snorted, but the thought stuck in your mind as you left the building. It really would be awful without Noelle by your side. Without meaning to, your thoughts strayed to Sabrina. Aside from Katie and Allison, you had no idea who she hung out with.

It had to be lonely for someone like her. Russet was intense enough without a support system. You quickly pushed these feelings aside – even if Sabrina was lonely, she had no one to blame but herself. You’d offered the olive branch enough times by now to know when to stop.

“I guess only one question remains,” you said slowly.

Noelle glanced your way. “Oh, yeah? What?”

“How dumb are the dumb movies we’re watching? Like, From Justin to Kelly dumb – where it’s a guilty pleasure? Or, more like The Kissing Booth dumb – where things are just bad dumb.”

“Why choose?” Noelle shrugged. “Let’s do both!”

“Deal!”

As you climbed the steps to Grace Hall, you continued to ignore Finn’s texts in your bag. He could wait until tomorrow, at least. After what he put you through, a single night of not knowing what you were thinking seemed appropriate.

When you finally gave in and called Finn the next day, you weren’t sure what you were hoping for. Finn had already texted his apology, so at least he knew he’d been in the wrong. As to what degree he was aware, you didn’t know, but you got a fairly good idea once he picked up the phone.

Short answer: very wrong.

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” Finn blurted, as though afraid you might cut him off. “I was such an ass to you Friday night. I – I don’t even know what to say. I don’t even know where to start. I fucked up so bad, Y/N and I’m sorry.”

Silence followed this outburst as you frowned, leaning back on the bed.

Noelle had graciously left the room to study at the coffee shop on the corner. Secretly, you knew this was mostly to flirt with the barista, Namjoon, but you couldn’t begrudge her for that. Namjoon did have the most adorable dimples you’d ever seen.

Focusing your thoughts on Finn, you played with a stray thread of your sheets. “I mean… that’s a good start, I guess,” you muttered. “But what are you really sorry for, Finn?”

His sigh was soft. “Everything.”

“Specifics would be good.”

“I was drunk,” he exhaled. “That’s not an excuse, but… I honestly don’t remember everything that I said to you. I remember the gist of it though, and I know it was terrible. I know you didn’t deserve it.”

You remained silent, even though you agreed with him.

“I wanted to stay out,” he continued. “That doesn’t really matter, though. I was a dick. I was stubborn and angry, and I took that out on you. You’re the last person I would ever want to hurt, and I just… I left you. Something could’ve happened to you. God, if something had happened, Y/N…”

Finn trailed off and you heard his voice crack but forced yourself to stay silent. Hearing him break was hard, but you reminded yourself what you’d felt Friday night – all the anger and terror when he completely disappeared.

This memory hardened you enough not to melt at his apology.

“Yeah, well,” you said tightly. “You’re right – something could’ve happened. The trains weren’t running and Uber was crazy expensive. I couldn’t get back in the club. I ended up waiting outside for nearly twenty minutes before someone came to pick me up.”

“Fuck.” Finn sounded strangled. “Fuck… Y/N, I’m sorry…”

In your mind, you envisioned him shoving a hand through his hair. Finn did that when he was stressed or upset and right now, he sounded a little of both.

“Yeah.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Who picked you up?”

Immediately, you stiffened. “Do you seriously think you deserve an answer to that?”

“No, no, I – you’re right, it doesn’t matter. Thank them for me, okay?”

You remained silent and again, Finn sighed.

“Are you… are we going to be okay?”

It was a loaded question. Closing your eyes, you leaned your head to the wall. In all honesty, you didn’t know the answer to that.

On the one hand, you loved Finn. That hadn’t changed. On the other hand, it was becoming more and more apparent your problems weren’t going away. It would be foolish to pretend otherwise – but all couples had problems, didn’t they?

In the back of your mind, you couldn’t help but think a break-up should be more obvious than this. A break-up should be something big, something irreversible. You were beginning to wonder though, at what point were problems considered insurmountable. Everything about this seemed grey and right now, you really needed black and white answers.

Both your lives were changing, as Jimin had said. Freshman year was a cacophony of change; in order to succeed, you and Finn needed to learn to grow with each other. Hiccups were to be expected, bumps in the road were to be expected, but if you wanted to stay together, you needed to learn how to fight for this relationship.

“I think so,” you said, opening your eyes. “I think we’ll be okay. I just… Finn, you really hurt me that night.”

“I know.”

“It can’t happen again.”

“It won’t.”

“You know… I want to spend time with you, right?”

“I… do.”

He paused for longer than you would’ve liked, but you brushed past it. “I know you like going to clubs and all that,” you said. “But that’s not really me. Maybe next time we can do something different. Something a little more low-key.”

“Yeah.” Finn chuckled. “That sounds nice, honestly.”

“Good.”

“At least my friends really liked you.”

Taken aback, you snorted. “Oh, come on, Finn. I was barely there.”

“I’m being serious! Ben told me he thinks you’re funny.”

“Ben,” you groaned. “Has all the humor of a wet sock.”

Finn laughed and this time, it sounded like him. His laugh had been watery before, a restrained version but now, his true mirth broke free. As soon as the sound hit your ears, you began to relax. Truthfully, you hadn’t been sure things would be okay until then. Hearing him laugh, you knew Finn meant it. He wanted this, too.

“You’re right,” he agreed. “Ben sucks, but at least he has the taste to know that you don’t. Next time, we’ll do something more fun.”

“Next time,” you agreed.

“Next time.”

Despite your conversation having gone as well as it possibly could’ve, uncertainty continued to linger in the back of your mind.

You spent Sunday evening watching TV, but still slept restlessly before your class the next morning. Mr. Vlad’s ballet was definitely not one you wanted to arrive at ill-rested, but Monday you showed up with bags under your eyes.

You tried to push all negative thoughts from mind while warming up at the barre. By the time class broke for water, you were feeling marginally better. Ballet was soothing that way. The repetitiveness of barre helped to put things in perspective. Your ankle had almost completely healed by this point and now, two weeks after the fall, your technique had finally begun to improve.

No longer were you the last one to catch onto combinations and Mr. Vlad only yelled once about your turnout at barre. This was a marked improvement from the start of the year and although you still were far from the top, you felt relatively good about your standing. You had a feeling once you and Jimin began to practice, the moves would come even easier.

The first combination at center was a slow adagio. It wasn’t particularly difficult aside from a lift in the middle, but despite the familiarity of the moves, Jimin was being oddly hesitant.

Mr. Vlad showed the combination with his dance assistant, Mina. After they demonstrated a particularly difficult lift, they gave everyone time to practice – which, in your and Jimin’s case, turned out to be necessary.

“Ladies, pique to arabesque!” Mr. Vlad called from the front. “Lift your leg higher and – the man lifts! He walks you in a promenade. Then you’re lowered, exhale – and bourrée!”

Brian immediately raised his hand for help, so Mr. Vlad left to assist in his corner. The lift was proving itself to be tricky – it required most of your weight balanced against Jimin’s side while he gripped your thigh, lifting you up.

You and Jimin began to practice, but no matter what you did, nothing seemed to be working. After the fourth failed attempt where Jimin nearly dropped you on your ass, you shakily landed and whirled around.

“Alright,” you said, both hands on your hips. “What’s going on?”

Jimin’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, how’re you supposed to lift me if you’re barely touching me? Look at Sabrina and Paulo!” you said, gesturing in their direction. “He’s got his whole fucking hand under her leg!”

Jimin’s cheeks turned red. “I – uh, right. Yeah. Let’s try it again.”

Staring at him another moment, you nodded and returned to your spot. Jimin settled into fifth position, jaw clenched and looking as though he were in pain. You stared at him in the mirror, considering calling him out before thinking better of it.

Taking a deep breath, you piqued into arabesque. Leaning your weight to Jimin, he reached again for your thigh – only to falter, leaving you hanging.

“Jimin!” you half-laughed as you slipped down his leg.

“I’m sorry!” Jimin blurted, stepping away. Looking thoroughly distraught, he shoved both hands through his hair. “It’s just… well, I…”

“It’s just what?”

“You have a boyfriend,” he said, a bit pained.

In response to this, both your eyebrows shot up. That had not been the answer you’d expected.

“I… okay?” you said, failing to grasp the point. “So what?”

“So.” Jimin glanced furtively around. “I don’t know, it’s just weird! I don’t want to… overstep my boundaries, or anything.”

“But…” You stared. “I had a boyfriend last week and it wasn’t a problem.”

“Okay, but last week I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

Again, you looked at him as though he was crazy.

“This is stupid,” you said, stepping closer. “Ballet is our job, Jimin. It’s the least sexy occupation on the planet. Right now, I’m bleeding from three different blisters inside my pointe shoes. I’m sure my deodorant has long worn off by now. Would you just fucking get over yourself and grab my thigh?”

Jimin’s upper lip twitched. “Well. When you put it like that.”

“I am putting it like that,” you said with a grin. “Now, let’s go again.”

Nodding, Jimin followed when you walked backwards. Taking another deep breath, you piqued to arabesque and this time, Jimin didn’t flinch when your weight transitioned to his. Hand sliding beneath your thigh, he lifted you easily into a promenade.

As soon as you turned your head, you caught Jimin’s gaze and felt – something.

Something other than the white noise of the room. Something other than the thud-thud of your heart, other than the music on the stereo and Mr. Vlad yelling counts from the corner.

Despite what you had just finished saying, something unknown seemed to bloom in your chest. In the middle of the lift – blood blisters and all – you felt an errant spark where Jimin’s front pressed to yours.

You barely had time to recognize this before the moment was gone. Slowing his walk, Jimin set you back down – and you wobbled.

This time it had nothing to do with his technique.

“Ah, shit.” Jimin frowned. “That’s my bad – I can do better! Let’s try it again.”

Nodding, you felt a bit wooden as you followed in his footsteps. When Mr. Vlad started the music, you fought the surging tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm. It had been nothing, you told yourself. Nothing of importance, anyways.

Shoving whatever you’d felt in a box, you pushed this to a corner of your mind and firmly shut the door. Forcing a smile to your lips, you lifted your chin as you began the combination.

It was lucky everyone else found you a talented performer, since beneath all your smiling, all you could think about was what was hidden in the box.

Something unknown, something tentative – and something which could be dangerous, if it ever came to light.

Author’s Note: I was so close to re-writing this chapter with Mr. Vlad picking her up LOL just kidding, but thank you for reading! 😊 New chapters of Raise the Barre are posted weekly; dates are listed on the series Master List. Requests for updates will be deleted.

RAISE THE BARRE MASTERLIST

#bangtanarmynet #btsbookclub #jimin fanfic #bts fanfic #jimin writing #bts writing #jimin au #jimin series #bts au #bts series #jimin dance au #bts dance au #jimin e2l #bts e2l

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spxllcxstxr · 3 years

Text

Game On • J.P

(Gif not mine)

Writing Challenge: @lunalovecroft ‘s 2.7k Trope Writing Challenge! Congrats again! Everyone go check out their fantastic blog! Trope: Quidditch Rivals and Secret Dating

Summary: No one knows that rival captains, Potter and (Y/Ln), have been in a secret relationship for quite some time. Then, the Championship Game arrives.

Warnings: cursing, a small hint of steaminess (nothing big—it’s like a quick mention and that’s it), slight Wolfstar and Dorlene mention, mention of breakfast at the Great Hall, kissing, use of Ms when referring to the reader (only once), nonGryffindor!reader

Word Count: 2k

A.N: Kinda long winded but I actually like the dialogue for once??? Wow. Congrats again on 2.7k! Everyone go follow them because I get so happy seeing them on my dash ❤️ Hope you all enjoy and love you all ❤️

****

Your eyes snap open hours before they have to, your dorm still pitch black, the soft snores of your friends filling up the otherwise quiet space. The covers feel heavy and restricting on top of you, something you quickly remedy by kicking them clear off the mattress.

You swing your legs over the edge, feet meeting the cool wooden floor.

Rubbing your eyes, you glance over at the ornate clock on your nightstand. One in the morning. You sigh, your goal of getting a good night’s sleep before your important match in ruins.

Your skin crawls at the thought of the Championship Match only hours from now. The amount of blood, sweat, and tears you’ve shed in preparation for it is frankly quite concerning.

Unable to get back to sleep, you drag yourself out of bed, shoving your feet into plush slippers before slipping quietly out of your room. You’re forced to tiptoe around scattered books, most of them Quidditch related from last night.

There’s no way you’ll be getting back to sleep anytime soon, the anxiety of the morning’s match coursing through your veins. The nerves were the worst part of competitive Quidditch—after all these years you still couldn’t shake them.

Absentmindedly, you think about heading to the Kitchens, the warm and comfortable environment sounding like exactly what you need.

Late night visits to the Kitchens aren’t anything new, you and James often sneak out after curfew hidden underneath his Invisibility Cloak. Sitting in the far corner behind countless shelves and barrels was a frequent date for the two of you since it offered enough privacy from the rest of the castle.

The two of you could hold hands on the table, his thumb open to draw little figure eights between your knuckles. Your eyes could light up just looking at him without the fear of being called out. His lips could capture yours in a sweet or passionate kiss and no one would know.

The real and complete reason for keeping your relationship a secret was long since forgotten, but the general idea is still shared. It’s just easier being Quidditch rivals instead of being Quidditch rivals that snogged the second feet touched the ground. Neither of you were ever accused of going easy on the other during matches, and that’s how the two of you preferred it.

Plus, there was something romantic about sneaking around the castle and through secret passage ways pressed closely underneath his cloak. Stolen kisses in empty classrooms and quick shags in broom closets were fun when they weren’t inconvenient.

In the back of your mind you have an inkling that James might be huddled up in the usual spot as well, considering he has a match as well in a few hours.

You shuffle through the common room, a few third years spread out on the couch, sleeping atop their textbooks and notes. The fire crackles and pops lowly. A shiver runs down your spine as you step out into the corridor.

“Lumos!”

A murky blue light blooms from the tip of your wand, lighting up the dark corridor.

You shuffle across the stone, the occasional laugh or snore echoing throughout.

Filch isn’t an issue at this time of night, surprisingly the old care taker does get some sort of beauty sleep, though it does him no good, so you find yourself walking normally instead of carefully creeping around.

It doesn’t take long to get to the portrait of the bowl of fruit, faint giggles coming from the pear. You extend your arm to tickle the bottom of the pear, it’s giggles erupting even louder before morphing into an intricate brass doorknob.

Stepping through the threshold you’re immediately met with a blast of heat due to the large fireplace that practically takes up the wall to your right. Even though it’s the middle of the night, plates and goblets and utensils are clanking and crashing together, the pitter patter of house-elves darting around the area isn’t surprising at this point.

“Nox.”

The blue light fades and flickering orange takes over.

A small and pale grey figure rushes up to you, jittery like they’ve just consumed a gallon of coffee. One ear droops low enough where it’s almost dragging across the floor while the other is significantly shorter.

“Ms. (Y/Ln)!” The house-elf squeaks, wringing their lavender cloth between their fingers. “Mr. Potter is waiting for you!”

“Alright, Tilly.” You smile warmly at the elf. “Thank you.”

As you make your way to your usual spot in the back of the Kitchens, you hear Tilly bound back over to the counters, joining the many other house-elves that work down here.

Behind stacks of old crates and barrels, there’s an old and decrepit picnic table, obscured from the rest of the room. Each time you and James show up you’re surprised the house-elves haven’t chucked it into the large fire yet. It’s so rickety it’s practically only good for firewood.

And being the spot for the two of you to find refuge in.

James is sitting with his back against the wall, legs outstretched across the bench just like you suspected. He’s lazily tracing a finger around the lip of his steaming mug, hazel eyes lost in thought. From your spot you can see his teeth toying with his bottom lip.

“You ok Jamie?” You ask softly, trying not to startle him out of his thoughts.

His eyes flick up to yours before he fixes his glasses and runs a hand through his bedhead.

“Knew you’d join me eventually, love.” He sends over a wink, face lighting up.

“And you didn’t think to pick me up at my common room?” You playfully scoff, slotting yourself between his legs, face pressed into his chest.

The red fabric smells suspiciously like the Quidditch shed, like he got in some late night practice.

“Oh yes, because standing out in the cold corridors outside of your common room after curfew is much better than just waiting for you in the warm Kitchens.” James’ chin rests in the top of your head, his arms wrapped securely around your waist.

“Blimey, chivalry really is dead.”

“Y’know, you could’ve waited outside the Gryffindor Tower for me.” James points out, chuckling at your complaint.

“I’m sorry.” You gasp. “Who has the Invisibility Cloak, again?”

“You got here just fine, didn’t you, love?” He snorts, chest rumbling.

“Whatever.” You grumble, rolling your eyes in defeat.

James sighs, rubbing your side. “You ready for the morning?”

You hum noncommittally, the thought of tomorrow’s match swirling through your mind.

“Nervous, love?” His voice is soft and delicate against your temple.

“I mean, this is my last chance, Jamie.” You mumble into his chest. “And of course it’s against you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, (Y/n)?” James asks, concern laced within his voice.

“It’s just that you’re an amazing player and I’m—“

“A spectacular player as well.” He interjects. “I’ve seen you out there practicing. You’ve built a bloody good team this year. We’re on equal footing.”

“Yeah well, I’ve never beaten you before.” You huff lightly, playing with the hem of his shirt.

“So?” He questions. “That doesn’t mean anything. There’s a reason you’ve made it into the Championship match, (Y/n). Because you’re a fucking phenomenal Captain. And I’ll hex anyone that tells you otherwise.” You feel his fingers flex angrily against your waist.

“You’re so sweet.” You pick your head up slightly to face him, a pout tugging at your lips.

“Guess I should give you a good luck kiss now, considering we won’t have time in the morning.” James’ hazel eyes shine in the flickering light while looking into your own.

“Does luck even last that long?” You bring your fingers up to hover over his sharp jawline.

“Sadly, love, we’ll have to test that.” He sighs.

You bring your lips to meet his, your fatigue making it a bit sloppier than it should’ve been. He nips at your lips, pulling you closer to his chest momentarily before pulling away.

You whine slightly at the loss of warmth.

“Gotta save some of that luck for myself, love. Can’t just let you win.” He smirks, lips grazing your hairline.

The two of you end up sitting there for another hour or so, listening to the fire crackling and the house-elves rummage around. Eventually, he pulls you underneath his cloak and drops you back off at your common room, a quick peck pressed to your lips.

You manage to drift back off to sleep, dreaming of James rather than Quidditch.

When you pry your eyes open for the second time, the sun is actually filtering through your curtains and most of your dormmates are awake and shuffling around.

You tune them out the best you can, opting to go through your routine in whatever silence you can find.

Your routine is quite simple, you let your joints pop and muscles stretch, trying to shake yourself awake.

The rest of the castle seems to be alive with boisterous laughter and over the top festivities. Glancing around at the corridors and the Great Hall, you’re able to notice a pretty even split between red and gold and your own house colors.

This was going to be one hell of a rematch.

Marlene and Sirius have a crowd forming around them as they flex and throw out trash talk. You watch as Remus and Dorcas try to coax them down from the tabletop, but they seem unsuccessful.

Peter, Mary, and Lily are fawning over James, hyping him up, even you can tell from across the Hall.

But he isn’t paying attention to them, his eyes are clearly trained on you behind his round glasses.

“Already envisioning Potter’s demise?”

You tear your eyes away from him, instead focusing on your teammate.

“Oh absolutely.” You smirk, before throwing yourself into last minute charts and maneuvers.

Breakfast goes by quick, your leg never stops bouncing underneath the table and your fingers tap incessantly against your goblet.

You and your team strut down to the pitch earlier than anyone else. There’s a slight breeze rolling through the grounds, something you take into account.

It becomes a bit of a blur after you’ve changed into your uniform, the crowd begins to show up and their cheers take over your hearing.

Remus is announcing the game, which you have no idea why since it never goes well for anyone. His commentary ranges from picking on James to flirting with Sirius to just trying to get McGonagall pissed off.

Marching out to the center of the grassy pitch, broom in hand, you’re bombarded with your name being enthusiastically chanted across the entire stadium. Confidence bubbles inside of you as you face James, Madam Hooch just beside you.

“Alright everyone, I expect a nice, clean, and fair game today. This is the Championship, no one will get away with any funny business.” Her tone is clipped as her yellow eyes take in everyone. “Captains, shake hands.”

You and James take a step forward, his hand firmly grasping yours.

“Good luck, love.”

With your hands still connected, James plants his lips on your own, and you eagerly kiss back.

The crowd erupts into even louder cheers.

“Bloody hell!” You hear Remus exclaim over the loud speaker. “James and (Y/Ln) are now snogging on the pitch! You own me five bloody Galleons, Sirius Black! I told you, you—“

“Lupin!”

James takes a step back, his usual smirk painted across his face. His hazel eyes glint mischievously behind his goggles, which he takes the time to adjust like they were his own glasses.

The roar of the entire castle fills your ears after your little reveal.

It’s a little overwhelming, you have to admit, but it doesn’t deter you. You’ve spent too many hours training for this very moment to back down now.

You roll your neck, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves, but pixies have already erupted in your stomach. You feel James’ stare burning into you.

“Mount your brooms.” Madam Hooch’s harsh tone cuts through the crowd, but you’re barely paying attention to her as you swing a leg over your broom handle.

The whistle pops into her mouth like usual, but in the split second before she blows with all the air in her lungs, you lock eyes with your boyfriend.

His red and gold robes billow behind him, confidence just rolling off of him. Dark and chaotic curls drift in the breeze.

He sends you a wink.

“Game on, love.”

•

All Character Taglist: @aspiringsloth20 @amourtentiaa @cherie-draco

For @lunalovecroft go check their blog out!

#lovecroftstropechallenge #James Potter #james potter x reader #james potter fanfiction #james potter imagine #james potter fluff #the marauders x reader

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sun-moon-stars-jedi · 3 years

Text

Kind of want to write a Batfam no capes AU where everyone in the family is a famous olympic level athlete except for Jason.

I imagine in this universe Bruce would’ve still taken up martial arts and given how driven he is, he got very, very good. Alfred encouraged him to compete instead of just taking his aggression out on practice dummies and well, next thing you know Bruce Wayne wasn’t just famous for being rich and having dead parents anymore.

Dick doesn’t really need an explanation; he’s one of (if not the) best gymnasts the world has ever seen. He’s been competing pretty much since he came to live at the Manor and as such knows a lot of other young athletes. He and his closest friends have even been dubbed ‘The Titans’ by the press because they are pretty much unbeaten in their respective disciplines.

Cassandra traditionally does ballet, but here I imagine she might have switched over to figure skating - still a very graceful and artistic sport, which fits Cass perfectly. For her it isn’t really the challenge of the competition that drives her, but the freedom she finds in gliding across the ice and the chance to let her movements tell a story that all people, no matter what language they speak, can understand. Her double routines with Steph go viral every few months, not only because they are absolutely stunning, but because they just seem to have so much fun together.

Tim is a skateboarder and the day the olympic committee announced the sport would be featured at the next games he vowed to qualify and win at least one medal to show his parents that yes, skateboarding is a real sport and a valid career choice! By the time he attends the games his parents are gone, but his new family is cheering him on from the side, and when he makes first place he feels this pang of grief come back for just a second, but as Bruce and his siblings rush towards him with hugs and congratulations he can’t help but be so happy to share this moment with them.

Damian is an equestrian of course, following in his mother’s footsteps. Talia was a world-champion back in the day and her and Bruce’s whirlwind affair at the summer olympics resulted in both headlines and, well, Damian. He’s still too young to compete in the olympics, but he’s already won state- and national-championships, and it’s pretty much a given that he’ll qualify once he’s old enough.

And then there’s Jason.

He’s not unathletic, far from it, but when Bruce took him in he had to catch up so much due to his malnourishment, and even after that his body just won’t ever be able to get to the level of an olympic athlete because of the long-term effects it had on him. And that’s fine with Jason, he’s not even really interested in sports and competitions, but sometimes he still feels a little less...worthy next to all of his siblings and Bruce. Hell, even Alfred had been the shooting champion for Britain once upon a time, so it’s hard not to compare himself to all of them and find himself lacking.

His family are of course always the first to point out that that’s not the case, that he doesn’t need to be an olympic athlete to belong with them, to be loved by them, but well, sometimes that’s hard for Jason to believe.

Why can’t he just be the best at something for once? Have a unique talent people will recognize and appreciate? Be special for once and not just...Jason.

And from there you could build a very nice story about Jason finding his place in the world (if only I had the time to write it...)

#batfam #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #cassandra cain #sport au #no capes au #had this idea and just needed to write it down #so much potential for angst and a coming of age story for Jason

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mister-supernova · 3 years

Text

Trust In Me

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Pairing: Hope Mikaelson x Reader

“You’re joking. You’re telling me, ME,--your oh so dearest best friend in this universe--that you’re not going to help us play against the Timberwolves even though you’re a freaking tribrid? You have all the powerups you can get and you’re choosing not to use them! What kind of madness is that, Marshall?”

“Professor Saltzman doesn’t let any of you use your abilities anyways, so there’s no real point in me helping the team, is there?”

You feel your eyes roll so far back you're surprised they didn’t fall out, “Come on! Do you have any idea what kind of badass duo we’d be out there?”

“Nope and I don’t intend on finding-”

“We’d be unstoppable! Those asshat Timberwolves won’t know what hit them on that field! You have to play at least one game while you’re at school here! Please!”

Hope responds to your argument with silence and a look on her face that you clearly read as, I’m not playing no matter how much you beg.

You knew there wasn’t any way of getting through to her thick skin, so you accepted your defeat. “Okay, fine,” you huff, taking a seat right next to Hope at the edge of your bed, “You’re still going to cheer me on though, right? I mean, it’s the least you could do.”

She takes an agonizingly long time thinking of her answer while looking at the hopeful ‘puppy dog’ look in your eyes. The longer she took, the bigger you made your eyes which eventually broke Hope into giving you a heartwarming smile, “Yes, I’ll be silently cheering you on.”

You smile back, “That’s all I need, Marshall.”

The alarm tone from your phone jolts you awake from another one of your vivid dreams. After meeting Hope outside the Grill the other night, your dreams have become more realistic than ever before.

They’re almost beginning to feel too real. Maybe the clarification of you knowing Hope is real influenced your brain into putting her into more lifelike dream scenarios.

It didn’t surprise you that the topic of conversation in the dream was about the annual Stallions versus Timberwolves game since it’s happening today. Even though your team has been notorious for losing on purpose every single year, you still liked the not-so-friendly competition between the rival schools.

At this morning's assembly, you were happy to hear your new headmaster’s announcement about banning the ‘throw the game’ rule. Josie seemed to be the only teammate who was hesitant about the sudden change, but everyone else was ecstatic.

The thing that threw you off the most during the assembly was Vardamus assigning Landon as the quarterback. See, you loved the guy and he’s one of your good friends here at the school, but you know damn well that his athletic ability is as good as a decapitated zombie--on either half--and even that was saying much.

You weren’t just saying this to bash on your friend because he was proving your analysis of him correct on the field as the team was warming up. You and Josie were helplessly trying to help him catch the ball after a snap.

Thankfully she has more patience with Landon than you because at this rate it didn’t look like you guys were winning this game either.

“Sorry. Foster care didn’t have a football team.” Landon grumbles after having the ball bounce off his chest.

“At least you didn’t let it hit you in the face this time,” you shrug, earning a searing glare from Josie, “I’ll go warm up over here now.”

You quickly excused yourself and ended up jogging over to Lizzie who was sitting on the bench with a stack of books by her side. First, Landon is your quarterback for the day and now you see Lizzie reading right now instead of warming up.

“What’s going on here? I thought you’d be pissed at Vardamus for giving Landon your QB spot.”

“I’m on a different kind of mission today, Y/n,” she says as you watch her flip through a book of monsters and that gives you the information you needed to know what this was about.

Coincidentally enough, Lizzie also met a new and mysterious stranger the same day you met Hope. The two of you bonded for the past few days over your slightly similar situations which you felt was very weird but also kind of cool.

“There’s no way Sebastian is like us and I’m determined to figure out just what he is.”

“And you couldn’t do this--hm, I don’t know--after the game today?” You ask in urgency for her to play today, “I mean, seriously Lizzie, this could be huge for us.”

“What’s wrong with Landon being your QB?”

Your eyes widen in shock, “Are you kidding? Just look at him!”

The both of you direct your attention to Landon on the field as Josie hands him the football. You prepare yourself for disaster as he winds his arm back, but then you find yourself proven wrong as you watch the distance the ball was being thrown. It seemed to soar through the sky for what felt like hours before bouncing off of a window from the Timberwolves’ bus.

“Looks like he has the magic touch now,” Lizzie says knowingly before returning to her book while you continue to stare at the bus in shock.

Right before you decided it was the best time to look away, a familiar someone seems to catch your eye instead. Walking down the steps of your rival school’s bus was none other than Hope Marshall.

“No way,” you muttered to yourself, unsure if you should be happy to see her again or concerned that she’s on the team you’re playing against.

Absentmindedly, you slowly started drifting away from your spot by Lizzie and felt yourself being pulled in Hope’s direction. You had to get closer to clarify that she was who you were seeing and not some sick mirage you’ve created in your brain.

“L/n!” Dorian jumps in front of you, breaking your trance and blocking your path towards the opposing team, “Save any trash talk for the game. I don’t need you picking a fight with the other players before we even start.”

You had built yourself a reputation for these annual games and were known for getting kicked out due to foul plays off the field, “But Mr. Williams I was just-”

“That’s Coach Williams today, L/n. Back to your side. Go on!” He rushes you away and though you are strong enough to push past him, you’d rather play then be a benchwarmer for the rest of the day.

An annoyed growl rumbles in the back of your throat as you try to catch one more glimpse of Hope, but you were blocked by Dorian’s clipboard.

Josie can clearly see the longing anticipation in your eyes as you join your team’s side of the field. You looked like a lost kid in a mall looking for their parents, “Everything okay, Y/n?”

“Do you remember those drawings from my sketchbook this summer? The ones of that girl, but all you can really see are her eyes and hair?” You ask her in a hushed voice.

She nods, “Yeah, the one you said you’ve been seeing in your dreams.”

“Okay, well I met her the night of our first day back at school. She’s real and she’s here with the Timberwolves,” Josie furrows her eyebrows at you.

“So you met her before your dreams?”

“No. That’s the thing, I’ve never seen her in town before the other night and after all my dreams. I know for damn sure that I’d remember her being on our rival school’s football team given how many times I’ve tried kicking their asses every year.”

“Maybe she’s a new student this year? You very well could’ve seen her at the Grill this summer without even realizing it. Our brains only need to see a face once for them to show up in our dreams.”

“Josie, I swear on everything in my life that it’s-”

The referee’s whistle rings your ears as he calls for everyone’s attention, “Stallions! Timberwolves! Both teams meet in the middle for the coin toss!”

You and Josie sigh knowing that you’d have to put a pin in this conversation, “You ready?” She asks.

You nod, doing a few quick stretches since you didn’t get a lot of warm up time and to prepare yourself for seeing Hope again, “Yeah. Let’s do this.”

A wave of excitement filled your chest as you walked with Josie towards the middle of the field. The bashful smile on your face was hard to contain once your eyes landed back on Hope who you could clarify was very much real and very much here in front of you once more.

“Oh, wow,” Josie mutters with surprise from beside you.

“I told you I liked my chances, Marshall,” you smirk, gaining a small tight lipped smile from Hope in return.

“I guess today was your lucky day, then. Not for long, though,” she challenged, playfully squinting her eyes at you.

You lean your body slightly forward with a confident grin, “We’ll see about that.”

Your teammates share a confused look at the interaction they were witnessing between you two. “I see you’re... familiar with each other,” Hope’s teammate chimes in.

With a shrug you say, “We’re practically married. Isn’t that right, Marshall?”

Hope shakes her head at you, biting her lip to keep her mouth shut long enough for Vardamus to stand between your two teams and break your friendly banter.

With a little sprinkle of magic from Josie, your team won the coin toss with ease so the Stallions would be receiving the ball at the start.

“Okay, what was that?” Josie asks as the two of you walk back to your side of the field.

“What? Did you want me to call heads instead?”

“No! Not that. You and that girl.”

“I told you we met the other night,” you shrug, “and her name is Hope for your information.”

“That was not an interaction from two people who’ve only had one conversation, Y/n. Not to mention she really does look like the girl from your drawings. Are you sure you haven’t met before?”

“That’s what I was telling you and yes, I’m positive that I’ve never interacted with her prior to the other night. You think that if I hadn’t seen or met her at the Grill during the summer that we wouldn’t be best friends by now?”

“Well, you could’ve fooled me! I know you’re labeled as the social butterfly and all, but that must’ve been some long conversation if that’s how you’re acting around each other.”

You pause to think about it for a moment, “Actually it was only about ten minutes.”

“WHAT?!”

The conversation was cut short by the sound of the ref’s whistle signaling you all to line up for kickoff. You jog away to your position before Josie can interrogate you any longer and wait for the game to begin.

Stallions were able to use magic to their advantage and gain points within the first play which was something you never thought you’d see during your time here. As everyone repositions into defense, you notice that Hope is the quarterback for the Timberwolves.

“Okay, Y/n. I’m about to suggest something you may or may not like,” Josie says from next to you.

“Don’t worry, I got the QB,” you grin, gaining Hope’s attention. She notices the mischievous look in your eyes and almost looks as if she knows what you’re up to, making her a little nervous.

“Like it is, I guess,” Jo huffs.

Once the football reached Hope’s hands, you made a b-line towards her, quick to avoid any other players who were blocking your way. Careful not to crush her during the fall, you took Hope by the waist and spun the both of you to the ground.

Your tackle didn’t do much good given that she was still able to pass the ball. Whether it got to her teammate or not you weren’t too sure of at the moment because Hope’s body was literally tangled with yours.

With her one hand against your chest and the other keeping her propped up on the grass, Hope’s face was almost an inch away from you. Feeling her breathing heavily on your face, you oddly felt like you’ve been in this exact position before.

“Bet you enjoyed doing that, huh?” Hope speaks up, getting you to huff out a chuckle.

“Well it wasn’t the preferred way I wanted to take you out, per say, but a little bit, yeah,” you smile, getting her to laugh in return.

Being in this position with someone you’ve talked to so briefly should feel awkward, but for whatever reason it just felt right. If it weren’t for the fact that you were playing in a football match, you’d probably want to stay like this for a while longer.

Suddenly, Hope’s eyes widen as she quickly rolls off you and begins wincing in pain while grabbing at her ankle.

“Are you okay?” You ask while sitting up.

“Ah, I don’t know. I-I think it’s sprained,” she lightly groans, scrunching up her face.

“Shit, Marshall. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that I-” you shake your head, pushing yourself to your feet before reaching out to help Hope up, “here, I can help take you to the nurse if you want.”

“It’s okay. I can find it,” she shakes her head and she takes note of the worried look in your eye knowing that you had hurt her, “Hey, seriously Y/n, it’s fine. I’ll be okay.” Hope squeezes your arm and gives you a reassuring look before limping off the field.

You watched as she walked away, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion. You were sure that you were careful while pulling her to the ground. Hope didn’t seem to be in any sort of pain for the first few seconds after tackling her.

“You know she faked her injury right?” Josie pops in out of nowhere, making your heart nearly burst out of your chest.

“Jesus, Jo,” you take a deep breath before taking in her inquisition, “And you think so?”

“Yeah and I don’t know why, but maybe you should keep an eye on her.”

“Why? Do you think she’ll steal some snacks from the kitchen?” You jokingly ask.

“Well, you started having dreams of her after Malivore was destroyed and now she seems to be oddly gravitated to this town and our school. I’m just saying that you should be a little more careful about trusting her so fast.”

Though you haven’t felt anything off-putting about Hope, Josie had an annoyingly excellent point. “I guess I’m on watch duty, then. Find a sub for me.”

It was shocking to see that Hope had gotten so far ahead of you that you weren’t even in running distance from her. Oddly fishy for someone who just sprained their ankle. Even as you walked into the school, there was no sign of her in the halls or the nurse’s office.

There was one thing that stuck out--a familiar scent that you had smelled in that vacant dorm room this summer. Only this time it was a lot stronger than when you first caught it.

Out of curiosity, you followed the smell just to see if it would lead you anywhere. Crazily enough, it didn’t take you to the vacant room like you thought it would, but to Landon and Raf’s dorm room instead.

Your eyes widen to the size of saucers when you see Hope sitting cross-legged in front of a map that she was currently dripping her own blood onto.

“Hope?”

She quickly turns around and stands, startled by the sound of your voice, “Y/n! Uh, I um, this isn’t what it--”

“Isn’t what it looks like? Right. Well, it looks like you faked an injury to sneak into the school. It looks like you forgot to mention you were a witch the other night. It also looks like you’re doing a locator spell in my missing friend’s room.”

Hope remains silent for a couple of seconds, almost taken back by the passive way you were speaking to her, “Okay, maybe it’s exactly what it looks like.”

You huff out a sigh in disbelief, letting Josie’s suspicions about Hope sink into your head now.

“I’m not here to hurt you or anyone else here, Y/n. I promise, I’m trying to help. Dr. Saltzman asked me to do a locator spell on Rafael so that I can help him return to his human form.”

You give her a questioning look, “We’ve been looking for a way to turn him back for months now. What makes you think you can?”

“Because I know more about the Crescent Wolf Clan than anyone else here.”

You raise a brow, “That wolf pack in New Orleans? If you know so much about it, wouldn’t that make you a…” then the realization sets in.

Hope sees that you’re still skeptical, “Look, I can’t explain everything right now, but I really need you to trust me, Y/n.”

Most of the context clues told you that trusting someone you’ve only known for less than a day was a terrible, terrible idea, but your heart wouldn’t let you believe that.

As much as you shouldn’t, you trusted Hope more than anything.

You exhale, “Okay, Marshall. I’m trusting you. Is there anything you need me to do?”

Hope gives you a grateful smile, “Keep an eye on Landon. There’s a werewolf-eating monster out in the woods and I have no idea if it will be after him, too,” she says, walking past you and into the hallway.

Again, you’re confused with even more new information, “Wait, there’s a what in the woods? And how do you know the monster would be after Landon?” Hope ignores your questions, continuing to speed walk in front of you, “Marshall!”

A lot of events took place within the next couple of hours. You did as Hope asked and watched Landon back at the game which seemed pretty boring at first.

Josie took you by surprise as you witnessed her break another player’s arm with a spell mid-play, but to be fair it didn’t look like she realized what she was doing until the damage was done.

If that wasn't physically violent enough, there was a huge mosh fight between both schools after the game was over. You tried getting out of the crossfire because the last thing you needed was detention for being involved in something you didn’t mean to be a part of.

That didn’t go as planned seeing as one of the Timberwolves was able to punch a mean hook on your right cheek before you could scramble out of there. Most of the redness faded by the end of the night, but it was still a little sore whenever you poked at it.

Hope was able to return Raf back to his human form just like she said she would. He explained how this “mysterious girl” saved his life then you and your friends gave him a warm welcome back to humanity.

After cleaning yourself up, you snuck out of the school’s building to find Hope sitting out at one of the piers where she told you to meet her before parting ways earlier.

You could tell she had cleaned up as well judging by the change of clothes and seeing that her hair was no longer tied up in braids, but now flowing down over her shoulders.

“Well, today was eventful, huh?” You speak up, groaning as you take a seat next to her.

“Oh, my God. Y/n, your face!” Hope exclaims.

“You know you can just call me ugly, Marshall. There’s no need for you to act all aghast about it.” You tease.

“No, I mean the gash on your cheek.” She reaches for your face to observe your wound more clearly.

You let her lightly trace along the edge of the bump, almost unfazed by the contact, “Oh right, that.”

“What kind of altercation did you get yourself into?”

You scoff, looking more hurt by the question rather than the punch to your face, “Bold of you to assume it was me who initiated the altercation, Marshall.”

“Well, you just seem like the type is all.” She looks at you with a teasing look in her eyes.

“What a kind and accurate assumption you have of me there, but for the record I wasn’t the one who started the fight. Everyone just started going at each other after the game and I got caught in the crossfire.”

There’s a very noticeable shift in Hope’s mood and you can tell that she was genuinely worried about you getting hurt. All she could think about was the last time you were caught in the crossfire and how it nearly cost you your life. You didn’t know that, of course, but you felt the need to reassure her.

“You’re cute when you’re worried, Marshall, but I’m fine. I promise, a punch to the face is like a slap on the wrist. You should know the healing process is quite fast for a werewolf.” You give her a knowing look.

Hope’s eyes widen in realization, making her finally pull her hand away from your face. “You caught onto that, huh?”

“I figured it out once you mentioned the Crescent Wolves. Raf only confirmed it when he explained how this mysterious werewitch saved his life,” Hope looks down at her lap looking like a kid who got caught in a lie, “Thank you, by the way. For bringing my friend back.”

She meets your gaze again, giving you a tight lipped smile, “You’re welcome.”

“You know it’s too bad you didn’t have me helping you out there. Given that we’ve got a pretty good thing going on here, we could’ve made a badass team.”

“You got punched in the face by a human. How do you think you would’ve stood against a monster that actively wanted to kill you?”

“That’s the whole point of being a team. One runs around failing miserably while the other pulls the weight.”

Hope scrunches her eyebrows together, “That’s literally not what being a team is supposed to be like at all.”

“Seriously?” You ask cluelessly, “Damn, well I guess I’ve been doing it wrong all this time.”

She laughs and for the first time you notice the way her eyes squint together when she really lets herself smile. It sparked a feeling in you that you hadn’t felt before.

“You’re just full of surprises today, aren’t you, Marshall?” You speak up in a playful tone, lightly bumping her shoulder, “Has our 24-hour friendship meant nothing to you? I mean, seriously, how could you not tell me you were a hybrid?”

Hope gives you an appalled scoff, “You didn’t tell me you were a werewolf. Looks like we both hid something from each other last night.”

You stare at her for a second, squinting your eyes as you analyze her, “Hmm. Touche, Marshall.”

She lets out another laugh and this time you swear you can feel your heart begin to grow.

Gosh, she’s really beautiful.

You wished you could say the words aloud. Part of you was surprised that you couldn’t given how bold you’ve been with Hope regardless of the little amount of time you’ve known her.

As much as you wanted to make some sort of move now, you felt you had to draw the line somewhere.

“Y/n, you’re staring.” Hope tells you in a voice that was just above a whisper.

You blink yourself back to reality, “Sorry,” you say with your voice just as hushed, “It’s just that… I think…” For the first time in your life you have no idea what to say. No witty comment or dumb remark.

You searched her deep blue eyes for an answer you couldn’t find. If anything you felt even more lost the longer you looked into them.

I really want to kiss you right now. Your mouth was open, but no words were willing to come out.

For a second you swore you saw Hope begin to lean forward, but the moment ended rather abruptly thanks to your cell phone ringer.

“Jesus,” you flinch yourself back into reality once again before picking up the phone, “Hello?”

“Y/n, where the hell are you? Vardamus has done a room check twice now and says you haven’t been answering your door.” Lizzie frantically asks you.

“I’ll be there in a second. Just cover for me if he’s still lurking in the halls and tell him I’m knocked out from today’s game.”

“Fine, just hurry your ass up!” She whisper-shouts before hanging up.

You let out a deep and exaggerated sigh, “Well, fun’s over, Marshall,” you grin sadly, “It’s pumpkin time.”

She returns a soft smile back at you, “I guess this is goodbye.”

“I’ll only say goodbye if it means we’re gonna say hello again,” you tell her as you rise to your feet.

“Well, then let's not say goodbye,” she says while you help her up, “Maybe if we just say goodnight instead, that's gotta mean we'll see each other again.”

You look down at her with a smirk, “That's all I need, Marshall.”

Hope rolls her eyes with a smile she couldn't contain. Just when you thought she’d walk away, she takes you by surprise as she presses a small kiss on your wounded cheek, “Goodnight, Y/n.”

You bite the sides of your cheeks to keep your smirk from turning into the goofiest looking smile you could possibly imagine, “Goodnight, Hope,” you say, finally turning back to make your way towards the school.

At this point, you couldn’t tell if the heat in your face was from the kiss or the punch.

taglist: @chicken-wang09 @trikruismybitch @sodangtired @idek-5

heyooo i know it's been a minute, but i hope you enjoyed this slightly longer chapter... again, i can't say how long it'll be until part 7 but i'll get to working on it as soon as possible! thanks for all your love and support for this series everyone, it really means a lot to me <3

#hope mikaelson #hope mikaelson x reader #hope mikaelson imagine #legacies #legacies cw #legacies imagine #legacies x reader

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