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hongism · 4 years

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mists of celeste ➻ one

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, eventual smut ➻ Word Count: 4.5k ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

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mists of celeste act one ➻ part one

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"You said that you're with the military? I don't recall the military having ships as small as yours." If possible, your eyes would roll all the way back in your head at the man's comment. Instead, you plaster a smile on your lips, gaze flitting around the bridge as you do.

"Yes, Ambassador Salvadore. They sent me on a transport ship, as I am here to relieve the captain of his duties—"

"That is not necessary, Miss."

"—on military orders, Ambassador." Your grin continues to stretch as you gauge the state of the bridge. It is severely lacking in terms of soldiers, which is good for you on multiple fronts, but the ambassador before you is proving to be more difficult than you first anticipated.

"Well, that is quite unfortunate then, seeing as I will never have a woman command my ship even if on supposed "military orders". Which division did you say you were from?" The ambassador is too much of a skeptic; he must be old enough to have witnessed – perhaps even taken part in – the First Military Revolt in 2143 when the first female Fleet Admiral was inaugurated, but you don't have time to argue politics with an old man.

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice, Ambassador. It's military orders, whether you like it or not. We are beyond the days of sexist remarks about women commandeering ships, are we not?" You bite out. The smile on your lips falters a bit, and the older man's gaze hardens on you.

"Where are your papers? I need proof of your purpose here, as well as a written record of your orders."

One hand slips down your thigh, brushing the holster where your pistol sits, but you bring it back up upon second thought.

"Papers were not given, sir. The HMS Revenge is less than 50 thousand megameters from Eros and as such, my commander did not think it necessary to send me out with papers." You bring your hands behind your back to resist the urge of putting a bullet between the ambassador's eyes, clasping them tightly and glaring at the grey-haired man before you. Whether he believes your words or not is unimportant, because he can't seem to stay focused on the topic at hand anyways.

"Where is your seal? What rank are you? Your division? The name of your commander so that I can have a word with him once we dock on Eros again?"

"I am wearing my seal, sir, along with my uniform. As for your other questions, I believe that if it were a man standing before you, you would ask nothing of him, Ambassador. Thus I do not feel inclined to answer any of your questions." The old man's eyes rake over your form, and once again, you feel your fingers itching to reach for your pistol as he stares. Biting down hard on the tip of your tongue, you push the desire back and grin back at the man. The uniform you're currently wearing fits awkwardly – baggy at the shoulders and waist, along with sleeves that keep falling past your wrists when you let go of them, and overall it's a bit obvious that the uniform did not originally belong to you. The excuse you can think of on the spot is that you were given a recycled uniform, but considering how stubborn and skeptical Ambassador Salvadore is, you don't think you'll be able to slip through with that lie.

"Your uniform looks like it was taken from the garbage," the man states, confirming your concerns. You sigh then open your mouth to retort but he cuts you off before you have the chance. "You are one soddy excuse for a pirate, girl. One woman against an entire crew? A fool's errand if anything. Not at all some grand heist."

"I am not a pirate," you spit back between gritted teeth. "I am merely here on military business. Nothing more, nothing less."

"You see, Miss, that is actually not true. You cannot be here on military business because I would've been informed beforehand. No one elected to inform me of a change in the captainship, however. Thus, you must either be a pirate of another sort of criminal." The man takes a few steps forward, risking to be within a couple feet of you now, and you note the lack of weapon on him. He walks with a slight limp, no doubt a bummed knee from early military days that he never had surgery on, and his left foot drags a bit along the floor as he walks over. "Besides, your face looks quite familiar, Miss. Have I seen you on a bounty paper before?"

"I highly doubt that," you whisper. Eyes dare to meet yours, and you pass a sinister smirk his way before uttering your next words. "I make a note to not leave anyone alive once they've seen me." His eyes widen.

"Grab her!"

You bring your hand to your holster with the intention to use the weapon this time, but somehow the man is quicker. Well, his men are quicker. One comes from behind you – the guard who brought you to the bridge when you boarded – and another comes from your right, grabbing your arm before you have the chance to pull out your gun.

"Cute trap, ambassador. Think of it all by yourself?"

"In fact, I did. Didn't take much thought since all pirates are the same."

"This is a mistake, ambassador. You really don't want to be doing this, I promise. And I'll remind you again: I am not a pirate." You don't waste your time struggling against the grip of the men around your arms. Instead, you glare at the old man in front of you as though it'll get you out of this predicament faster. You get what you asked for, just not in the way you were wanting or expecting. The cool touch of a gun barrel finds your temple.

"Then you're a fugitive. Or a criminal. A pirate is no different. You all bleed the same, so there's no point in making useless distinctions."

"You bleed the same too, ambassador."

"Kill her."

You brace yourself for the worst, hoping at least for a swift and painless death, but it doesn't come right away. The ground quakes underneath you, then everything jerks for a moment. In a split second, the lights dim and flash red, sirens begin to wail throughout the bridge, and you spot the captain scrambling to return to his post. The ship wobbles, and as it does, your captors lose their balance. You seize the moment, yanking your limbs from their grasp and slamming the back of your head against the man behind you. A sickening crunch follows along with a scream of pain. The man on your left is already beginning to recover his balance so you have to work fast and swing your elbow against his jugular before he can fire his gun. He crumples under the attack and clutches at his throat while you swing around to deliver a similar blow to the soldier behind you as well.

"Captain, report! What is happening?" The ambassador yells, scampering back as you grab the gun from the man beside you.

"I can answer that for you," you huff. Your chest heaves from the sudden burst of exertion, and you rise to your feet slowly. The ship lurches again, sending the crew careening backward, but you steady yourself by ducking down. "You're being boarded by actual pirates. And in my time in the black seas, I've only seen one crew use this boarding tactic."

"Who? Tell me now, girl!"

"Give me control of the ship now or you're not getting out of this mess alive," you say, taking several steps towards the ambassador.

"Absolutely not. I would rather see this ship blown to pieces before she falls into the hands of a pirate."

"She'll be in the hands of a pirate regardless!" You argue, and your tone grows incredulous when the old man glares at you.

"They're pirates. They don't stand a chance against soldiers from the Royal Military," he sneers before turning on his heel and walking towards the captain.

"Holy fuck… it's the Scourge of the Black Sea." It's another crew member who mutters the words, gun no longer aimed at you but just past your shoulder, and you whip upon hearing the name. You had seen the Scourge's file many many times, yet none of the pictures included in it were accurate in the slightest now that you are face to face with the man.

Kim Hongjoong, barely older than you yet still the most notorious pirate in the galaxy. Scourge of the Black Sea, a moniker that serves him well, but seeing him before you now changes that. First of all, he's not nearly as tall as you pictured him to be. The files never shared details about his height or hair color or anything like that, but you somewhat expected the infamous Scourge of the Black Sea to be of intimidating height; however, the three men standing around him are all taller than him, although not by a drastic amount. Still, you weren't expecting the man to look as young as he does. Someone with a track record like his surely would seem much older than his profile depicts him to be. You can't call him out for his age since you are younger than him yourself but after years of expectations about what this infamous pirate would be like, you feel a bit let down. His gaze is piercing and harsh, but a gleam in his eyes shelters playfulness. Behind that sharp gaze lies dark eyes, so dark they almost seem black from the angle you're standing at. Beyond that though, you don't find yourself scared at the sight of him at all.

He doesn't look your way, in fact, he glances past you as though you don't exist. Someone else is looking directly at you, however, and it's his gaze that redirects your focus. You don't recognize him – or the other two men with the Scourge for that matter – but he has distinct features. Cat-like eyes, upturned and wide, alongside a captivating smile that's a bit too bright for your liking. His grin is strange, but hair even stranger – a solid head of black except for one section at the front of his head cut out like a slice of pure white strands. His gaze doesn't falter, remaining locked on yours as you continue to analyze him. It's almost as though he seems to know you and who you are, a knowing quirk in his expression.

"More fucking pirates on my ship!"

You maintain a stare with the man beside the Scourge rather than turning to look back at the ambassador again.

"Now, now..." Hongjoong cuts through the terse silence across the bridge, voice booming throughout the room with little effort. He takes one, then two steps forward, the jacket around his shoulders sweeping back with the movement. It's only two steps, and yet you feel the intimidating aura radiating off of the man in those small movements. "All I want is what's in the cargo hold. Give me what I want, and I'll spare your men."

"Open fire soldiers!"

"I guess we're gonna do this the hard way then," Hongjoong mutters as the soldiers scattered throughout the bridge raise their weapons. That's your cue to duck out of the way. As fascinating as the boy with cat-like features may be, you would rather not be riddled with bullets because you were too focused on staring at him. You have no doubts that the Scourge would shoot right through you, and you're going to have to move fast to get what you're wanting without trouble from him. You push forward, running directly at a soldier off to your left, then the gunfire begins to ring in your ears along with the alarm.

It doesn't take much effort to wrestle the gun from its owner. One swift kick to the side of his knee and a fist to his nose suffices, and the weapon falls into your hands. You slam the butt of the gun against his cheekbone, not waiting for him to fall to the floor before you're pushing past him to get into the captain's cabin.

"Fucking hell," you curse under your breath when the door snaps shut behind you.

Gunfire and alarms still ring outside the door. You aren't sure how long the gunfire is going to last, but your getaway ship leaves when it's over meaning that you need to move quickly. Papers are strewn all across the captain's desk, but the ones you're looking for won't be lying about. You drop the rifle to the desk and squat down to be eye level with the drawers, clicking the first open.

"Where are you?" You mutter to yourself as you file through the mess in the drawers. Digging to the back, your fingers close around a bundle of papers. You yank them forward, seeing a neat red ribbon tied around the middle along with a wax seal placed directly over the thread. It bears the Royal Insignia of Eros. You sigh at the sight, one finger trails over the ridges of the wax, and you read the words across the front to yourself. "Papers of Free Travel and Safe Conduct. Signed by the king." A small, raspy laugh escapes your lips. Despite the chaos of gunfire and alarms blaring around you, you can't help but feel a wave of calm wash over you.

"Put the papers down, pirate." You glance up, eyes fixating on the door, and spot the ambassador glaring you down. You tuck the letters into your shirt, your free hand gliding across the desk to grab for the rifle you set down.

"Sorry old man. I'm leaving with these papers. It doesn't matter whether you're dead or alive to me." You lift the rifle and point it at the man's head without hesitation. "Cross me, Ambassador Salvadore. You won't live to see the end of it."

"The papers or your life," he spits back, shakily lifting his own pistol. Perhaps you were wrong about his endeavors in the military previously, or maybe he's just that terrified of you.

"Did you misunderstand me? Step aside. The pirates with the Scourge already killed all your men, didn't they? My guess is they're on the way to the cargo hold and plan to kill every soldier along the way. Do you want to join the corpses?" You let the gun slip down a little. The ambassador quakes under your movements but shakes his head once you finish speaking. "Then step aside."

He does as told, moving away from the door as you keep your gun trained on him. You don't dare look away from him, too wary of him being trigger happy or trying to jump you once you get closer to the door. The cool touch of metal hits your back, and you feel around for the touchpad beside the door.

"Why are you doing this?" He asks once you lower your gun.

"I want my freedom. I don't care what I have to do to get it."

"So you're going to kill me anyway then?"

"No. I'll leave that for the Scourge. They say he doesn't take prisoners." You turn away, slamming your palm against the door control. As it slides open, you pass one last glance to your dear ambassador. Eyes stretch wide as he lifts his pistol again, and you're forced to duck away as best you can. Either you're too slow or he's too quick. The resounding echo of a pistol shot follows, and you barely register that you've just been hit until a burning sensation sears through your right arm. If not for the adrenaline coursing through your veins, you would be crumpled on the ground in pain. It's a good thing for that too because you don't have much time to sneak aboard your getaway ship.

The ambassador doesn't follow you out, and you don't stop to check your wound before darting after the trail of dead bodies.

"Shit shit shit," you hiss under your breath. Warm blood begins to trickle down your arm, making the fabric of your ill-fitting uniform cling to your skin. If your studies of Kim Hongjoong's tactics are correct, he should've docked his ship along the corridor to the ballistics bay, and your studies must be accurate because there is one living person near the end of the corridor. Guarding the docking station. With a gun. Just your luck.

"Hongjoong, there's a—" You chuck your rifle at him, catching the man off guard, and he stumbles back to dodge your weak attack. Killing him would be foolish and far too suspicious, but you're doomed in hand to hand combat with a gunshot wound in your dominant arm. "Fuck. There's a girl here, she's—" You cut him off again, sweeping a foot under his and bringing him to the floor. His gun clatters to the side. You bring your left hand down in attempts to punch him, but he catches you by the wrist before you can make contact. The fabric of your sleeve slides a bit, you panic, and with frantic movements, you try to pull out of his grasp. The two of you freeze where you are and merely stare at each other for a moment. Then he grabs for his gun again, whipping a leg up to rail you in the side. You hiss at the impact but manage to kick his gun away before he can grab hold of it.

"Seonghwa? Seonghwa, repeat." The voice comes from the man's form, no doubt the wristband that glows as the audio comes through. You scramble for your pistol, crying out in pain as your muscles flex at the spot of your wound, but manage to bring the butt of the gun against the man's temple before he has the chance to respond to his captain. "Seonghwa. Are you there? I repeat, are you there?"

You sit up, a slight stumble in your steps as you get back to your feet. The man – Seonghwa, most likely – doesn't move, but you can see the staggered rhythm of his breaths as his chest heaves. He'll get away with a headache and minor concussion at best, which is better than being dead for certain.

"Shit." The voice crackles through Seonghwa's wristband, and you can barely hear it over the still-blaring alarms in the ship. "Yeosang, come in. Go check up on Seonghwa. Kill anyone in your way. We aren't here to make friends." You step over the man's unconscious body, glancing into the ship on the other side.

"Cargo bay, cargo bay. Surely you have signs on your ship, Scourge," you mutter as you step onto the foreign spaceship. "Can't be much different than a military ship, right?" You slip your pistol back into its holster, right hand still dancing over the grip despite the pain radiating from that arm. The adrenaline is beginning to wear off, and the more you walk the more you feel the pain. Thankfully, the ship is smaller than anticipated. It's only a short trip to reach the cargo bay, no elevators either, which surprises you. You had initially imagined that the infamous Scourge of the Black Sea would have a ship that's a bit more difficult to sneak onto and carry stowaways, but perhaps you overestimated him.

The cargo bay is littered with boxes. Some are stacked all the way to the ceiling, while others remain strewn about, all evenly spaced. Despite the volume of boxes, there isn't much space left in the bay. No doubt, they'll decide to make port on one of the trading planets soon to sell off all the stolen cargo, meaning that you'll be able to escape then. Hopefully with relative ease too because otherwise, you're going to be trapped on the ship of one of the most merciless pirates in the galaxy.

Slipping between the rows of boxes, your gaze trails over each label. Guns, ammunition, meats, produce, textiles, spices, crafting tools – there seems to be a box for every object in existence. You pause beside a box labeled fabrics and thumb at the clasps, clicking them open to reveal the contents. It's only about half full of spools, more than plenty enough room for you to fit inside, and it would be marginally more comfortable than a crate full of guns. You glance around the cargo bay first, eyes scanning the walls and ceiling for any signs of cameras before you duck into the crate.

It's a tight fit, a bit too cramped for comfort, but of course, comfort isn't a luxury you can afford to bitch about at the moment. The searing pain radiating from your right arm is a bigger concern, especially considering that it is getting worse and worse with each passing moment. You bring a finger to your arm, feeling around for an exit wound on the opposite side; however, you can't find one despite all your prodding. Meaning that the bullet is still lodged in your arm.

"Fucking shit," you curse under your breath. Your arm falls to the bed of fabrics limply. One fucking ambassador with a shaky hand is not going to send you to your grave because of a damn bullet in your arm, and you'd sooner tear the bullet out with your own fingers.

"Deliver the boxes here!" The sudden intrusion of voices stops your fingers from reaching for the wound, however, and you instead press your left palm over the wound in attempts to slow the bleeding. "If you're done getting beat up by soldiers, that is." The voice no doubt belongs to the Scourge, but the next one is less familiar.

"She wasn't a fucking soldier. I told you that." A grunt follows along with the thud of something heavy. It takes a few moments for you to realize that the "she" is, in fact, you, and the person Hongjoong is speaking to must be the man you clobbered at the docking station. "No way she was military. She had a uniform but when we were fighting, I caught her arm and there were chains branded on the inside of her wrist." Your eyes widen despite only seeing darkness around you. Subconsciously, you tighten your grip around your wound, the image of chains branded onto your skin the only thing you can see.

"You still got your ass handed to you."

"Yeah well, maybe she ought to join the crew since she's able to kick my ass."

"Why would a military traitor be of any use to me?" Silence answers the question, and Hongjoong continues speaking, his clear voice ringing loudly in your ears as though he's right next to you. "Who says that military traitor won't betray me too?"

"I don't recall you saying that about our dear Royal Betrayer when he joined the crew. Besides, a prejudice against the military does not equal a prejudice against any sort of leadership."

"Oh, is that so? Would you like to go back onto that ship and get her? If you're so adamant about her joining my crew, why don't you do that?"

"No sir. I wouldn't like to do that. I am merely trying to be logical. We've lost over half our crew in the past two months, either due to death or desertion. Hongjoong, you really need to consider bringing mo—"

"You need to consider your position on this ship," Hongjoong cuts in, voice dropping in volume and turning to venom. "You are Lieutenant, not Captain. I am the Captain. Is that not clear?"

"Crystal clear."

"I will consider bringing more crewmates in when I deem it necessary. Understood?"

"Yes, Captain. It was merely a suggestion. Nothing else." Quiet falls between the men, air so tense you could cut it with a knife even from your position in this crate. "What of the survivors, Captain?"

"Kill them all. Destroy the ship as well. I don't want to see a single trace of the HMS Revenge. We got what we needed. Nothing else matters."

You shift and twist in the crate, trying to adjust into a more comfortable position only to slam your arm against the side of the wood. A sharp hiss escapes your lips before you can stop it. Teeth sink into your lower lip as you attempt to contain the sound but the damage is already done.

There's silence outside the crate.

Your heart thrums loud, erratic beats against your eardrums.

Two seconds meld into five, then ten seconds pass in silence. You hear no sounds of movement, no scraping of shoes or thumps of boots.

"You don't have to do this, Hongjoong," the second voice speaks at last. "As you said, we got what we needed. We can just leave now."

"I do have to do this, Seonghwa. If I don't kill a man every now and then, no one fears me."

"What of the trail of corpses aboard that ship right now? Is that not enough fear for you? Do you think their families and friends wait at home afraid of you?”

"I gave you an order, Lieutenant."

"Yes, Captain." Footsteps resound, the clanking of boots against metal flooring, and the sound grows fainter until you can't hear anything except the thud of your heartbeat in your ears and the rasps of your breath. You don't risk lifting the lid of the crate yet, not until you're absolutely certain that the two men have left the cargo hold. You lie in the darkness, listening to nothing except the faint sounds of your own breathing for god knows how long.

When you finally creak the lid open, there is only more darkness surrounding you. The lights throughout the cargo bay are dimmed, leaving you to feel your way around the crate to little avail. The blood on your hand has grown sticky from the length of time you've been lying there but at least the steady flow of blood has subsided to a slow trickle. You grab at one of the spools of fabric in your new home. Tearing a long strip of the material off, you try your best to bandage the wound without being able to see it or have both hands to do so. It's awkward and shitty, no doubt barely a knot keeping it together, but it's just enough pressure to alleviate some of the blood flow.

The steady loss of blood has left you dizzy. You crawl back into the crawl with heavy limbs, barely able to close the lid back just enough so that you can still breathe some fresh air. Time seems to stretch on forever, the darkness simultaneously keeping you up and helping you fall into slumber. You finally slip into sleep between the throbbing pain in your right arm and the stinging memory of a hot brand being pressed against the inside of your left wrist, along with the words "filthy fucking traitor". You fall asleep with one hand resting over the place where you tucked the stolen papers into your shirt, the folds of the letters easing your worries enough to let you sleep.

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a/n: on god, y'all are probably like pleASE calypso no more series istg you don't have the tiME but oh well i may not have the time but i've got the enthusiasm :D ((jk pls don't scalp me i'm just trying to have fun here)) but also hello hello thank you for reading!!! i really hope you all enjoyed it and please let me know what you think of it and feel free to send an ask if you have any questions/feedback/just overall love for me bc i’m really anxious to know what you all think!!!

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

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jmnjmnjmn · 3 years

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Celebrity crush | part 2 | JK x Reader x RM mini series

Pairing: Namjoon x Celebrity!Reader x Jungkook

Key words: christmas, celebrity crush, singer, idol.

Warnings: drinking, swearing, jealousy, slight panic attack

Word count: around 9,000

Writing this was something... There will be a part 3, there simply has to be... Please let me know if you would like me to write to endings - one for each ship. It is a lot of work, but I am battling with myself about doing it anyway hehe.

For a better read play yourselves those songs:

When I Fell In Love: this song is a loose translation of When I Fall In Love by Primary

Not Bothered: heavily inspired by It’s Okay If You Forget Me by Astrid S, but I imagine it sounding more positive and upbeat like Thank U, Next by Ariana Grande

Private lounge song: Spoil My Night by Post Malone

Inspo board

Masterlist

Namjoon exhaled deeply as the song blasting through his earbuds came to an abrupt end. He locked his phone and wrapped the cable around it before throwing it into the depths of his black backpack beneath his feet. He was in a car with Hoseok, driving home from a recording session.

“What is it?” He asked, glancing towards him. Namjoon looked at him cluelessly as the sound of his friend’s voice brought him back to earth.

“Huh?”

“You sighed so deeply.” He explained. “Something happened?” Namjoon smiled lightly and shook his head.

“No, it’s just- (Y/N) released a new song.” They both chuckled at the effect this girl had on him. “But- I mean- it’s a very dramatic one.” Namjoon added quickly as if he was justifying himself. “It talks very bluntly about ending a long term relationship and being more than okay with it.” Hoseok nodded with a suggestive grin. “It actually made me a little sad, but also… It got me thinking that…” Namjoon gave himself a couple of extra seconds before telling him what really was on his mind the whole time he was listening to (Y/N)’s new song. “She’s probably single right now.”

“Gosh, this is just too funny.” Hoseok shook his head, stopping at a red light. “You should ask Jungkook to give you her number.” Namjoon felt his cheeks going red almost instantly at the thought.

“No…” He murmured looking down at his lap. “Should I?”

“Yes!” Hoseok exclaimed. “It’s right there. Try or you’ll regret it.”

“Okay.” He nodded, trying to encourage himself. “I’ll ask Jungkook when we get home-”

“No, ask him right now!” Hoseok cut him off. “You’ll chicken out when we’re home.” He urged him, knowing Namjoon well enough to be sure that that’s exactly what would happen if he didn’t act right away. “Do it.” Namjoon took his phone out of his backpack and weighed it in his hand for a moment before unlocking it. He tapped on the KakaoTalk icon and drafted a long message to his group’s maknae. “Wait, what are you- just ask him! You don’t have to write an essay about why you want it. It’s not like he doesn’t know.” Hoseok laughed as he glanced at Namjoon’s screen where he already managed to type up a three paragraph text.

“Okay, okay.” Namjoon sighed, deleting the entirety of the message and replacing it with a greeting and a simple question. His stomach raised to his throat when he finally pressed the ‘sent’ arrow. As the lights changed from red to green Namjoon’s phone buzzed in his hand. “He sent it.” Hoseok smiled, patting his shoulder.

“You see? Wasn’t that hard.” Namjoon felt his head beginning to hurt as he realised what was supposed to come next.

“But… What do I write to her now?” He asked, totally clueless.

In the meantime Jungkook was sitting on the couch in the BTS dorm trying to put a finger on how he was feeling and why. Namjoon just texted him asking for (Y/N) number and he sent it to him without hesitation, but as he did it he felt something. A bitter fiery feeling inside his chest that he couldn’t describe any other way. Before he could stop himself he already typed and sent another message to his group’s leader.

“Why though?” Namjoon viewed the message instantly and replied within seconds. “I want to congratulate her on the new single” Jungkook cocked his eyebrow, reading the words on the screen.

He quickly typed (Y/N)’s name into YouTube and opened the most recent video. Nodding he carefully eyed the dance choreography and couldn’t help himself reminiscing the time they danced together. He opened KakaoTalk again, but instead of answering Namjoon he scrolled down his chat list stopping at (Y/N)’s and his selfie she still had set up as her profile picture. Involuntarily he smiled to himself as he started typing.

“You have been chosen!” Taehyung’s loud cheers echoed down the empty hallways of the BigHit headquarters as he shook on Jungkook’s shoulder.

Seven of the boys were on their way to dance practice when their manager called them into his office for a quick chat. It ended up as more of an announcement than a conversation since all of them were in deep shock after hearing what he had to say.

“I just received a very interesting call.” Their manager started with a mischievous look on his face. “It was from overseas.” He continued with the same tone, wanting to keep them in suspense. “A proposition of collaboration with Jungkook from a very popular artist.” The boys looked at each other with cluelessness in their eyes. “It was (Y/N)’s manager.” He finally stated, not being able to withhold the information for any longer. Jungkook widened his eyes at him. “She’s going to be putting out a Christmas single this year and wants it to be in collaboration with you.”

“Stop.” Jungkook told his friend off with a smile plastered on his face.

“It’s true you’re the one.” Hoseok chimed in. “She practiced with you, she asked for your number and now she wants you for the Christmas single.” He counted all their joint activities on his fingers.

“Such a popular guy. Jungkook’s in demand.” The group chattered teasingly.

“How do you do this, huh?” Taehyung asked, throwing his arm around Jungkook. His sweet smile quickly turned into a cheeky grin as he ruffled his hair. “You were just your charming self?” Jungkook laughed with the rest of the guys, as he felt his cheeks become hotter, minute by minute.

“I mean we talked. Once or twice.” He said, trying to sound nonchalant. Jimin raised his eyebrows at him.

“Once or twice?” Jungkook’s cheeks were visibly red by now.

“Twice.” He admitted happily. “Once in March and then she messaged me on my birthday, but I told you about that.” Jimin eyed his friends face with extreme interest.

“What did you talk about?” He pressed as they walked into the practice room.

“Well, first I congratulated her on the success of Not Bothered in March and we talked a bit and then she just wished me a happy birthday last week.”

“Gosh, I’m so jealous.” Namjoon whined, bending down to tie his shoes. He was the one that got the boys into (Y/N)’s music - or more accurately forced them to listen to it long enough they began to share his love for it as well. He was happy for Jungkook’s success, but he couldn’t help himself and felt a little bitter. “I mean a single with her is one thing, but birthday wishes..." He shook his head. ”That’s another level of familiarity."

“Your birthday’s in four days. Maybe she’ll message you too.” Seokjin joked, patting him on his shoulder comfortingly at which Namjoon chuckled.

“Doubtful.”

“Jungkook, ask (Y/N) to wish Namjoon a happy birthday.” Hoseok proposed with a laugh. “It would make his life.”

Tired after hours of going over different dance routines Jungkook lied down on the floor of the practice room panting. He brushed his hair back from his face. The hard feeling of the boards under his back got him thinking about the time he was teaching (Y/N) Boy With Luv choreography on the very same dance floor.

“Jungkook, your phone is buzzing.” Jimin called walking up to him with his phone in hand. He thanked him, grabbing the device. As his eyes met the bright screen he choked on his own tongue, earning a laugh from his friend. “Are you okay?” He asked, hitting his back with an open palm to help him catch his breath again.

“It’s (Y/N).” He finally croaked out. Jimin widened his eyes and squatted next to him.

“Guys, (Y/N) just messaged Jungkook.” He called out with excitement. “What did she say?” He urged him, looking over his shoulder onto his screen.

“Heard you said yes to my Christmas project.” Jungkook read aloud. “We’ll probably record in November. Can’t wait. Pink heart emoji.” With each word he read the boys made more and more comments regarding how lucky he was, how talented, how cool the whole experience was going to be and how happy they were for him. Even Namjoon, though still a little heart broken over (Y/N)’s choice, patted his shoulder with a sincere smile on his face. After a moment of staring at his telephone screen with disbelief Jungkook looked up to his hyungs from the ground. “What should I write back?”

From that moment on Jungkook and (Y/N) have been talking more frequently. It started quite professionally with her sending over information about the Christmas single and various samples of music and vocals. Within days though their conversations turned into long strings of messages with more of a personal note attached to them. Oftentimes when the members asked him what he was grinning about when staring down at his phone he would answer with a shrug, but after one more press he’d come clean, gloating about how funny or smart (Y/N) and showing them her messages.

“Saw you got nominated for BMA’s” Jungkook waited for the three moving dots to disappear before typing in an answer. Another bubble appeared on the screen and he smiled reading the simple message. “Congrats 💗”

“Thank you!! You too” (Y/N) immediately viewed his text. After less than two seconds another bubble from her came up on the bottom of Jungkook’s screen.

“💗” He smiled looking at the emoji she used with him so often. “We should meet when we’re all there. A little integration before we record next month 🎅” The smile on the boys face grew wider.

“Totally” He typed in quickly and chuckled at the answer she gave him.

“I’ll make sure my people set it up with your people 😉” He shook his head. She sounded so ridiculously famous.

“Can’t wait 😁” He typed back before locking his phone and reaching his hands up to touch his warmed up cheeks.

The black SUV slowly made its way down one of Los Angeles’s freeways. It was nearing two o’clock in the morning when it crossed the gates of a private estate in which (Y/N)’s house was located.

“Woah, this is crazy. Like from the movies.” The boys of BTS chattered between each other as they looked out the shaded windows of the car.

There were mansions left and right, long drive ways and high gates protecting whoever lived behind them. The car stopped and the driver rolled down his window. He said something to an intercom outside and the metal gate in front of the hood opened up, slowly revealing an insanely big house with a driveway the size of a whole parking lot, crowded with expensive vehicles. As the boys spilled out of the car a man dressed in all black approached their head staff member who just got out of the front seat. They chatted for a brief moment before he walked up to them rubbing his hands.

“You’re on your own now. We’ll head back to the hotel and pick you up when you call.” He explained with a thin smile. “Her security says she’s been informed of your arrival and that you should just go inside.” The boys looked at each other a little worried. Suddenly everything seemed so real and serious. “Go on. Have fun.” He encouraged them before getting back inside the company car.

“Ah, I’m nervous.” Jungkook sighed as the seven of them walked towards the front door of the house.

“Let’s be cool guys.” Namjoon said more to himself than his members. Inside he was trembling, but he desperately wanted to appear calm and collected in front of his celebrity crush. He took a deep breath before speaking up again. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“It’s like an american movie.” Hoseok chuckled when another man dressed in black jeans and a t-shirt of the same colour opened the door for them.

All of their jaws dropped when they entered the house. The walls seemed to go up for an endless amount of space until they reached the ceiling. The hardwood floors were so shiny they wondered whether they should take their shoes off on entering.

“Where do we-” Jimin started, but lost his train of thought somewhere in the middle of the question.

“Let’s just… Follow the music?” Namjoon asked unsure. The rest of the group nodded in agreement, but before they took more than two steps forward a small figure appeared in one of the doorways of the fourier. She smiled brightly as she walked towards them dressed in her signature look, oversized dress and thigh high booties.

“Hi.” (Y/N) dragged the word as she made her way to the group of boys. “It’s so great to see you, you.” She grinned opening her arms out towards Jungkook. Namjoon felt his heart break into pieces as he saw the shine in her eyes when she looked at the youngest of them. “Hi. I’m so happy you’re all here. Hi.” She kept repeating as she greeted the rest of the boys with hugs as well.

“Your home is beautiful.” Namjoon jumped in with a praising tone.

“Thank you.” She said, bringing both her hands to her chest. “I literally got here like fifteen minutes before you guys. The traffic- the whole event- well, it was hectic to say the least.” She stumbled on her words with a chuckle as she led them down a beautifully decorated hallway. “Some people are already here.” She explained gesturing to the open living and dining space where about thirty or forty people were hanging out in small groups. “It’s more of a low key kind of thing. It’s no concert afterparty.” She giggled, referencing the last party they attended together. She finally stopped in an area with a huge kitchen with white cabinetry and marble countertops and turned to face them, a sweet smile on her face. “I hope it’s okay with you.” They all energetically nodded and chimed some words of agreement making (Y/N)’s smile even wider. “Well, make yourselves at home. There’s drink here and the food’s there. I have to go be with my girls right now, but let’s definitely catch up later.” She let her gaze rest on Jungkook for a particularly long while as she was speaking earning a nervous smile from him. After exchanging see-you-later’s she joined a group of girls on the outside terrace grabbing herself a glass of chilled champagne on the way.

For the next hour or so the boys mostly stuck to themselves. They chatted with some dancers, some music producers, some people of whose professions they never heard of before.

“I’m kind of tired.” Taehyung told Jungkook and Namjoon as the clock hit three o’clock. They went to get drinks from the kitchen as the rest of the boys stayed outside by the pool. “Maybe we should go-” His proposition of leaving was cut off by some person’s loud shout.

“Yes! We wanna hear you sing!” A girl in a branded tracksuit exclaimed as (Y/N) laughed uncontrollably, sitting beside her on the big white couch. “Where’s the remote?” The girl dug up a TV remote from under the coffee table in front of her and turned the device on. After a couple of seconds she connected her phone to it and everyone gathered inside saw her look up ‘karaoke’ on YouTube.

“Oh my god, no.” (Y/N) chuckled covering her face.

“Come on, (Y/N). You promised you’ll sing.” Her friend begged jokingly until she finally looked up at her.

“Okay.” She sighed. She got up looking around the room at all the familiar faces when her gaze stopped at the boy standing by the kitchen island. “Taehyung, want a repeat of last time?” Suddenly everyone was looking at Taehyung, standing with his friends and a glass of red wine in his hand. He laughed nervously and scratched the back of his head. “You pick the song?” (Y/N) proposed with a cheeky smile.

“Okay.” He finally answered and set his glass down on the kitchen counter to go join her in the living area. (Y/N) took out two hand mics from the cupboard under the TV set and handed him one.

“So, what will it be?” She looked at him sweetly.

Taehyung ended up choosing Ariana Grande’s No Tears Left To Cry. Their performance turned out flawless which got everyone pumped up and set the tone for the rest of the night. After the two handed their mics to the next tipsy person wanting to sing their heart out (Y/N) grabbed Taehyung’s wrist and pulled him to the side.

“I really enjoy singing with you.” She looked up at him. “I think we have great musical chemistry.”

“Me too.” He nodded as they walked towards the two guys he earlier left in the kitchen.

“Boys!” (Y/N) called out as she skipped over to them. “I realised I never gave you the tour of the place. You want to go see my studio?” Namjoon quickly swallowed his drink to explain her proposition to Jungkook and Taehyung, but it wasn’t necessary as they immediately agreed and nodded energetically. “Great, follow me.”

She walked them around a house with a drink in her hand telling them about the renovations she had to do in particular rooms. After about five or ten minutes of that they finally got to the studio she earlier mentioned. The space was big, combined of multiple rooms. One a recording booth with plush couches, another a writing room with expensive guitars on the walls, another a fully equipped dance studio and so on.

“And here is where we’ll be recording next month with JK.” She pointed to an empty side of the recording booth. “The equipment is being delivered.” She explained with a chuckle as the three seemed to look a little surprised.

“I can’t wait.” Jungkook smiled at her and she averted her eyes to the floor before continuing with the tour.

“And here is-”

“Your dance studio.” Jungkook interrupted her at which she looked up at him with a smile.

“Yeah.”

“I recognise it from the photos.” They stood there for a moment just smiling at each other, before Taehyung chimed in.

“Photos?” He asked walking into the middle of the squicky clean dance floor.

“I sent him pictures from here once or twice.” (Y/N) explained and Taehyung hummed in understanding for which Namjoon was deeply thankful, because it masked the heavy sigh that just escaped his lips. “We should dance something.” (Y/N) suddenly proposed with excitement in her voice.

“You and me.” Jungkook exclaimed, matching her tone. The alcohol made the nervous feeling rising up in his chest disappear. “Boy With Luv.” (Y/N) laughed running towards a computer in the corner of the room to turn on the music.

“I hope I remember the moves.” She took positions with Jungkook by her side in front of the floor to ceiling mirrors as the music started to play. They barely got through the first verse when (Y/N) stopped. “I can’t dance in these shoes.” She laughed, taking off her high heeled boots and quickly meeting Jungkook in the next move of the routine.

Taehyung chuckled and clapped his hands, sitting on the ground in front of them, watching the performance when Namjoon leaned on the wall behind them, looking sadly at the scene unfolding before him. After the song ended the three of them started freestyling to (Y/N)’s spring single Not Bothered.

“I don't feel sorry for myself or care if you're holdin’ somebody else. No, I’m not bothered. Ain’t bothered.” Taehyung pulled Namjoon in to join them and even though he wasn’t really feeling it he decided to try and pull himself out of this slump. “I don't feel empty now that you're gone. Doesn’t mean you didn't mean nothing at all, but I won’t get jealous if you’re happy. No, I won’t. I’m not bothered. No, I ain't bothered." Somehow Jungkook knew the entire choreography to the song and joined (Y/N) in singing the lyrics of the song. “From everything to nothing at all. From every day to never at all. But I’m fine. I’m not bothered.” As the speakers went silent the four broke into laughter intermittened with slight panting from the sudden movements.

“What’s the story behind this one?” Namjoon asked as (Y/N) passed them a bottle of Fiji water each from the glass fridge by the wall. The atmosphere seemed to have shifted as soon as he asked the question, but it was too late to take it back. She took a big sip of her drink before answering with her signature sweet smile.

“It’s pretty self explanatory.” She chuckled finally.

“But did it really happen?” He pressed before he could stop himself and she exhaled a weak laugh as she looked him in the eye.

“I wouldn’t be calling out such specific events if they didn’t happen.” She explained as she stretched her arms over her head. Namjoon nodded, knowing that one more question would probably be considered as crossing the line so he decided upon a compliment.

“It’s really good.”

“Thanks. I like it too.” (Y/N) took another sip of her water before nodding to herself. “It’s my own little self love anthem,”

“AH!” Namjoon exclaimed, dropping an eggshell into the pan for the third time this morning.

“Jeez, what is it with you?” Yoongi looked up from his phone at him. Namjoon just sighed, leaving his question unanswered.

The truth was he was too ashamed to tell anybody why he was so on edge lately. He dug out the shell from the pan and stirred his eggs furiously as he started thinking about it again, ‘it’ meaning Jungkook and (Y/N). Yesterday morning he left for a three day stay in the States to record his Christmas single with her and it drove Namjoon insane. He imagined them having a blast singing the song and shooting the music video together, laughing about how stupid he is for liking (Y/N) when she’s so obviously into the youngest member.

“She chose him.” He repeated in his head. “She chose him. Get over it, Joon.” He scraped the burned eggs from the pan onto a clean plate and stomped over to the kitchen table where Yoongi was sitting. “No wonder. He’s a better dancer and singer. He’s closer to her in age, he’s more confident.” He started spiraling into a pit of despair when Yoongi spoke up again.

“You’re taller though.” He said without even looking up at Namjoon from his phone.

“What?” He asked in shock. “Was I- did I say all that out loud?” He stammered in embarrassment. Yoongi just hummed as a response and Namjoon felt his face burning up. That’s it for keeping his jealousy a secret. “Can you not tell Jungkook about this?” Yoongi exhaled loudly, shaking his head.

“Wasn’t going to.”

“Thanks.” Namjoon answered, looking down at his failed attempt of scrambled eggs on the plate before him.

“But you should.” His friend added out of the blue. Namjoon looked at him with his eyebrows raised high on his forehead.

“What?”

“It’s obviously eating you up from inside that he’s spending time with (Y/N).” He explained, still scrolling through something on his phone. “You should talk to him about it or stop it altogether." Namjoon put down his fork with a sigh.

“How am I supposed to stop them?” He asked, hoping Yoongi had some brilliant idea ready for him.

“Not them, idiot.” He scolded him. He locked his phone and stuffed it in his jeans pocket as he stood up from the table. “Stop yourself from thinking about it. Make yourself get over it or something.”

“Oh.” Namjoon looked back down from his friend onto his plate. Though the sight of its contents deeply disgusted him he decided upon forcing himself to eat at least a bite or two. The jealousy that started raging in him as soon as Jungkook left for America made him unable to eat so when he finally felt hungry he wanted to stuff himself with something healthy. Hence the eggs.

“Honestly, Namjoon.” Yoongi’s voice was serious, almost as if he was warning him. “You have to do something about it. You’ll regret it if you won’t.”

As his friend closed his bedroom door behind him he left Namjoon all alone in the common space of the BTS dorm. He exhaled loudly, letting his shoulders relax and his arms fall down to his sides. (Y/N) seemed to have taken a sincere liking towards Jungkook and he couldn’t do anything about it. Not now at least. Now it was too late. He stirred his eggs lazily, feeling more hopeless than ever.

“Woah! I love it!” He heard Taehyung and Jimin chatter in the next room. “Send it to the group chat.” One of them exclaimed and within a second Namjoon’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He took it out and opened the message in the BTS group chat.

“A little teaser of the Christmas single.” The text beneath a video file forwarded by Jimin read. Namjoon pressed the white triangle in the middle of it and instantly regretted his decision.

“When did I fall in love with you? When did I start opening up?” Jungkook’s flawless vocals filled his ears as he watched him sing, standing in the middle of (Y/N)’s home studio’s recording booth. “Without hiding, without me knowing when I fell in love. When I fell in love.”

“It’s supposed to be a Christmas single, not a Valentine's one.” He scoffed to himself, knowing that getting over his infatuation with (Y/N) was going to be a harder task than he initially thought.

“She’s going to start posting the official teasers next week, the lyric video will come out on the first and the music video on the fifth of December.” Jungkook babbled with excitement.

The seven of them were having dinner at the BigHit office as they were busy with preparing for their group’s winter comeback. Their youngest member has just yesterday come back from his trip visiting (Y/N) in her Los Angeles home where most of the recording for her Christmas single took place and was now telling his friends about every little detail of the whole experience.

“I can’t wait for the release of the video.” He smiled brightly as the rest of the boys congratulated him once again on getting such a great opportunity. Namjoon just hummed in agreement with them, because he couldn’t trust himself to sound sincere if he decided to speak up as well. “Also she’s going to be in Tokyo in mid December.” Namjoon knew (Y/N) was going to be in Asia next month for the four-week-long promotional tour of her new album, but still his ears perked up at the statement. “And she invited me to join her during the live show to perform When I Fell In Love. Our PD says I should do it.” He felt his spirit getting crushed as Jungkook finished his sentence and the rest of the group erupted in words of surprise and praise directed at the maknae.

Looking up from his plate Namjoon noticed Yoongi giving him a meaningful glare. He quickly averted his gaze as he felt his head getting hot at the memory of the conversation they had not so long ago. Yoongi couldn’t take looking at his friend in that state any longer and decided to take the matter into his own hands.

“Ah, Namjoon’s handling this so well. Isn't he?” He asked nonachalantly. Namjoon looked up at him with wide eyes.

“Yeah, you always had such a huge crush on (Y/N) and wanted to work with her so badly.” Hoseok quickly joined in.

“If I were you I would be fuming with jealousy." Yoongi added, playing his part perfectly.

“It must be so hard for you, hyung.” Taehyung jumped in, patting Namjoon on his shoulder to comfort him.

“I’m fine.” He answered half-heartedly. The simple phrase proved to be enough for the five of his friends, but in one of their minds doubts started growing.

Jungkook looked at his group's leader, his friend of so many years, with a puzzled expression. He was so focused on making a good impression on (Y/N), so nervous when they were together that he totally forgot about the fact that it was Namjoon’s idea to go to her concert in the first place. He wondered if he really meant what he just said, if he really was ‘fine’. After all (Y/N) was just his celebrity crush. Everyone has one. He didn’t really know her, at least not like Jungkook did. They talked and connected, it was different with her for him he thought. They spent an awful lot of time together when he came over to shoot and record with her for her Christmas single. The romantic nature of the music video and the lyrics made it even more clear for him that he in fact had feelings for her. It also ensured him that she felt something towards him too.

Jungkook breathed in sharply and took another bite of his meal trying to not overthink the situation. The possibility of both him and Namjoon liking the same girl made him uncomfortable, but he wasn’t going to suppress his feelings because of that. He wasn’t a type to give up that easily.

(Y/N) sat in her dressing room looking in the mirror, watching herself become more and more perfect by the minute as her beauty team rushed around her, putting in her hair, finishing up her makeup.

“Three minutes.” Someone one the other side of the door called out.

For today's performance she was wearing the same outfit she had on in New York and Toronto, the same one she was going to wear in London and Moscow as well - a floor length, skin tight, white dress with long sleeves and a slit down the side. It was the look from the cover of her newest album, the one she was promoting with the four-week and five-shows-long tour.

“Two minutes.” Her new hair extensions were falling down her shoulders in long, lashcious cascades a couple of shades lighter than her natural colour.

“One.” (Y/N) tilted her head making them catch light and shine in the reflection.

“Show time.” She stood up from her chair and walked out the door onto the backstage where she had to greet several people she never met before and thank them for coming to her show. In those moments she really wondered why she didn’t become an actress, faking smiles and deep interest in total strangers was practically second nature to her at this point.

After that little show was over she walked down the dimly lit hallway to meet with her friends and dancers hanging out in the private lounge. As she opened the door she noticed one person she wasn’t expecting to see.

“Jungkook?” She asked, eyeing the boy. He was dressed in black from head to toe, his dark hair styled to fall neatly over his forehead. He already met everyone present in the room when visiting her in Los Angeles to record the Christmas single. “How did you get in here?” He reached to the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a lineard with a plastic badge attached to it.

“I have uh- special pass.” (Y/N) smiled, opening her arms as she approached him. Jungkook mirrored her movements and they greeted each other with a hug and kiss on the cheek as they always did. “How are you?” He asked, letting go. (Y/N) looked around her friends' faces with a slight frown.

“Honestly, I’m a little nervous tonight.” She confessed, biting her lip and instantly scolding herself in her mind for it. She was wearing matte lipstick and didn’t want to go through another makeup touchup before the concert.

“Why? It’s going to be great. What is it? You’ll be fine.” They all spoke silmunaniously and she just chuckled, looking down to her feet.

She couldn’t tell them, or at least not all of them. Some of the people surrounding her right now - her closest friends, her dancers - knew why she felt the way she felt today, but some would be shocked if she revealed the whole story to them since she successfully kept it secret for so long. As she lifted her head back up she put on another one of those fake smiles and reassured everyone it must be just regular stage-fright, but in reality she was just profoundly sad.

Today was her ex-boyfriend’s birthday and although in just two months it would be a year since their break up she couldn’t stop herself and went to stalk his Instagram and Twitter profiles earlier in the day to see how he’s been celebrating. The fact that he wasn’t much of a public person and used his social media accounts mostly for liking others' posts made it so much harder for (Y/N) not to blow up when she noticed the black and white picture on his timeline.

“Spending my day with my boo 💑 ilysm” She shook her head at the memory of the simple caption underneath a picture of two people kissing in some restaurant’s booth. She hated herself for letting it influence her so strongly. She felt angry. She felt sad. She felt jealous, not necessarily of him, not really. At this point she was jealous of everyone who had a partner, everyone who could post pictures of them online without millions of hate comments appearing within seconds of posting it or without it hindering their public image, everyone who had the ability to call out ‘honey, I’m home’ when entering their house without lying.

(Y/N) sighed deeply trying to relieve some of the tension still pent up in her body despite being on stage for the past forty minutes. Having the setlist memorised she knew what song came next. The lights went dark for a moment before all the screens behind her back depicted falling snowflakes and snippets of the music video for When I Fell In Love. The audience cheered in excitement as (Y/N) took her position in the middle of the stage under the blinding spotlight and started singing the first verse.

“You and I. Did someone stop the time? ‘Cause it feels like I’m a child and you’re the presents underneath, underneath the Christmas tree.” Jungkook stood backstage, gripping his microphone tightly afraid it might slip through his sweaty fingers. He tapped his foot on the floor waiting for a sign from the sound guy to walk out on stage and join (Y/N) in the chorus. “Don’t know when, but at some point everything changed for me with you and I don’t know when looking at each other became this little habit of ours.” He felt a pat on his shoulder signaling it’s Jungkook’s queue. He breathed out and brought the microphone to his lips as he walked out on stage.

“When did I fall in love with you? When did I start opening up?” (Y/N) outstretched her hand towards him and he took it. “Without hiding, without me knowing when I fell in love. When I fell in love.” The two of them sang, still mirroring the scene from the music video streaming on the big screens behind them where they played two people realising they were in love on Christmas day.

A couple of songs later (Y/N) walked off stage for a sip of water before the encore. Her beauty team gathered around her tweaking individual hairs and straightening up her dress. The crowd outside roared as the first notes of Not Bothered played, the last number of the night.

“Fighting, (Y/N)!” She turned around, searching for the source of the encouraging words. After a couple of seconds of looking around she noticed Jungkook standing with a couple of people whose faces she didn’t recognise. He had both of his hands up with his thumbs and index fingers crossed, making two tiny hearts. (Y/N) smiled weakly at the sight and nodded his way. She was feeling everything but ready to perform this particular song, but still walked out in a confident strut, surrounded by her dancers.

“I’m sorry I need a moment. (Y/N) breathed out as she walked to her dressing room, her beauty team and assistant right behind her. “Alone.” She added and closed the door behind herself. She leaned on it and slid down to the ground with a muffled sob. After singing that song she felt far from Not Bothered. She hugged her legs to her chest, digging her nails into the soft material of her dress, trying to calm her breath down, but she couldn’t. She raised herself up and paced back and forth around the small room, covering her trembling lips with the palm of her hand. After some time she stopped, looking at herself in the mirror. “Stop it, stop it.” She whispered, shooting an angry glare at the reflection. She wiped her cheeks with her hands and breathed in shakily, walking to the door to let her team in. “I’ll be fine.” She stated at the sight of their worried faces. “I just need a makeup touch up.”

“It’s official.” The sweet voice echoed through Namjoon’s ears. He looked up from his laptop in search of its source which he immediately noticed. “I’ll see ya’ll at Coachella.” Jungkook smiled fondly, looking down at his phone. “It’s official. I’ll see ya’ll at Coachella.” The voice said once again. The maknae tapped his phone’s screen twice, undoubtedly liking a video (Y/N) just posted on one of her social media accounts.

Before he could give it another thought Namjoon was already typing (Y/N)’s name into his computer’s search engine. He glanced over a couple of articles and pressed on the link taking him to her official site.

“Delight World Tour” He read a title written in a thick font of the colour of baby pink. Mindlessly he scrolled down already scanning his screen in search of his city’s name. “Seoul, South Korea - 16th of June - Seoul Olympic Stadium.”

*click*

Namjoon’s head snapped back towards Jungkook. He stood by the living room window with his arm outstretched in front of him to take a selfie. He quickly brought the phone back down and started typing.

“Hyung, how do you say- how do you change the word ‘delight’ into a verb in English?” He asked looking up at him. Namjoon froze in place, wondering why Jungkook was asking about that particular word. He didn’t have to wonder for long. “I want to message (Y/N) about Coachella. You know she’s like a headliner or something? So far I wrote: How delightful. Is that okay? I wanted to do like a little word play with her album’s name since-” Namjoon slapped his laptop shut.

“Delightful is not a verb. It’s an adjective.” He cut him off. “And yes, it’s fine.” He added standing up from the couch and storming away to his room.

He threw his computer on the bed and shut the door behind himself with a loud thud. Right as he did that he sighed and quickly opened the door back up. Walking back to the living room he noticed confused Jungkook standing where he left him, looking down at his phone.

“I’m sorry.” Namjoon mumbled, scratching his forehead. This, though definitely late, was a perfect time to come clean to Jungkook and tell him how he really felt about whatever it was that was between him and (Y/N), but he opted for an excuse instead. “I’m just tired.” Jungkook muttered some words of understanding, but Namjoon couldn’t really hear much sincerity in them. All he could think about was his jealousy. “Are you going to be seeing (Y/N) when she comes to Seoul?” He asked, trying to sound as casual as he could.

“Ah, she 's coming? When?” Namjoon had to use all his willpower not to roll his eyes at the boy.

“Yeah, in June. For the Delight tour.” Jungkook opened his eyes wider in realisation. He quickly unlocked his phone and started typing again.

“I guess I could ask her about it while I’m at it.” He said with his eyes glued to the tiny screen before him.

“While you’re at it…” Namjoon muttered under his breath and Jungkook hummed in question. “Don’t you think it’s a little too early for that?” He asked, hoping to plant a seed of uncertainty in his friend's mind.

“No, the sooner the better.” He chimed and looked at his group’s leader with a smile. “She says we should totally meet up.” Namjoon’s plan not only didn’t work, it totally backfired on him. He nodded and went back to his room, quietly locking the door this time.

The boys sat in one of those monthly meetings where their manager went over the whole schedule set for them for the next four weeks. Halfway through the hour-long sit down they were already feeling a little bit overwhelmed by the amount of appearances and live shows they have to do only the following week.

“And going into the second week of June, on sixteenth Jungkook’s attending Delight-” Namjoon involuntarily slapped both his hands on his thighs in sudden shock. “Namjoon?” The manager asked.

“Yeah- no- sorry, I- could- is- is Jungkook going alone?” He finally stuttered out. As he received an affirmative answer he opened his mouth again. “I- could- could I go as well?” He asked, feeling the blood rush to his face. The manager stalled for a moment before he finally let out a simple ‘yes’.

“JK and RM.” Jungkook chimed, raising his hand in a high five motion towards his friend as if they just landed a good deal together.

On the day of the concert both Namjoon and Jungkook woke up with big smiles on their faces. They both hummed to themselves while washing their teeth, their feet felt light walking on the ground and went through their day feeling somewhere close to invincible. It was almost funny. Especially, because the reason behind their positive attitude was also the same and that was (Y/N).

“You think she’ll have time for us before the show?” Namjoon asked, checking the time on his phone for the millionth time since they got in the company car.

“Ah, for sure. Last time we hung out in the private lounge for almost an hour with the dancers.” He answered nonchalantly. Namjoon looked out the window of the car at the long line of fans in front of the venue. He unconsciously sighed which didn’t go unnoticed by his friend sitting beside him in the backseat. “Just be cool.” Jungkook stated, glancing his way.

The youngest member of BTS walked the backstage like it was his own concert. He greeted people that worked the show, some dancers and some staff, he grabbed himself a bottle of water from a stand in the corridor. Namjoon just walked behind him, hoping his nervousness will magically evaporate once he sees (Y/N).

“JK!” Someone called as they passed by a half open double door. Jungkook stopped in his tracks and peaked his head inside the room.

“Hey!” He exclaimed and walked inside.

Namjoon took a breath before entering the room, unsure what he’ll be met with inside. When he crossed the doorway he noticed Jungkook side-hugging some guy in a baby pink sweatsuit with the name ‘Johnny’ embroidered over his heart.

“This is my friend from my group, RM.” Namjoon stepped forward ready to give the guy a hand shake, but he went in for the hug and kiss combo.

While his hyung was dealing with Johnny, (Y/N)’s close friend and one of her main dancers, Jungkook greeted other staff already gathered in the private lounge. He didn’t have time to introduce him to them though, because the star of the night, one and only (Y/N), showed up right after them.

“Hey!” She called out, dragging the last letter of the word.

She was dressed in the same outfit the rest of the dance crew was wearing, only she had her own name embroidered on the front of the baby pink sweatshirt. Her hair was down, falling over her shoulders in light waves that reached over her waist.

“The tag goes with your outfit.” She joked flicking the baby pink ‘VIP’ tag Jungkook had pinned to his shirt. He chuckled and she opened her arms to properly greet him with a hug, that in Namjoon’s mind lasted a tad bit too long. As they finally let go of each other (Y/N) turned to Namjoon with a smile just as sweet and sincere as the one she granted Jungkook with. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Namjoon answered smoothly, mentally high-fiving himself for coming up with that.

“Are you performing in this?” Jungkook asked, pulling on the sleeve of her sweatshirt, making Namjoon wonder if they ever partook in any more skinship than the hugs (Y/N) gave him.

“No.” (Y/N) chuckled, waving him off. They seemed to be so comfortable with each other, so innocent and cute.

“This is just for the backstage, silly.” Johnny explained and reached for (Y/N)’s pant leg. “It’s tear-off. Look.” He pulled on the material undoing a couple of the top buttons and almost giving both Jungkook and Namjoon heartattacks as a bit of (Y/N)’s upper thigh was revealed.

“Johnny!” She scolded him, slapping his hand away and pinning the pant leg closed again. “I’ve got like twenty minutes to spare before I have to go get changed into my real outfit-” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and shot Johnny a serious glare. “-and the same goes for the dance crew.” Johnny just chuckled.

The four made their way to the couches located in the center of the lounge and sat down for some conversation and chilling before the big show.

“How’s Korea treating you?” Namjoon asked as they made themselves comfortable on opposite couches.

“Honestly, it’s been lovely so far.” Johnny answered with a dreamy look in his eyes.

“I agree. Both this time and last time... It was great.” (Y/N) added. “I wish we had more time to explore though.” Johnny hummed in agreement. “Like, for example last year the only time I spent not working and properly taking in the city was when I went out with you guys.”

“Ah, we should do that again then.” (Y/N) giggled sweetly at his blunt proposition.

“(Y/N), 5 minutes.” Her assistant said popping inside the lounge quickly.

“Already? Damn.” She answered in confusion. “Time passes fast in good company.”

“Thanks, sweetie.” Johnny answered her, even though she was looking towards Jungkook and Namjoon who sat on a couch opposite from the one they were sitting on.

“Go get ready, Johnny.” She shut him down with a smile as the four of them chuckled at his comment. “Cheer for me.” (Y/N) said sweetly to the two boys as she stood up.

“Of course!” “Fighting!” They said silmutaniously, bringing a wider smile to her face.

“What time is it?” Jungkook asked. With his feet up on the table and a bowl of some candy by his side he looked like he was just hanging out in his own living room when in fact he was a ‘VIP’ guest on the backstage of (Y/N)’s Seoul live show. “What time is it?” He repeated his question as Namjoon was too engulfed in watching (Y/N) perform one of her sexier songs on the big screen in front of them to hear him the first time.

“It’s-” Namjoon looked at his phone screen.”A little after eleven.”

“Before I walk off this stage I would like to take a moment and thank some people.” (Y/N)’s voice echoed from the stage and through the speakers in the lounge. She had both her hands on her chest right now in a gesture of gratitude. “Thank you to all of you that came out tonight. This show is for you and you only.”The gathered crowd started whistling and cheering loudly. “Thank you to all the dancers and the musicians that are on this stage tonight. This concert would be nothing without you.” She gestured around the stage behind her. “And one more to all of the people working their asses off behind this stage. A round of applause for them. Thank you guys. Thank you so much.” She started clapping together with her fans. “Thank you, all of you.” She turned to the audience again. “I love you so much. I love you. Thank you.” The audience was shouting and applauding loudly as (Y/N) raised the mic back up to her lips. “This song is for all the girls and boys who just got out of relationships and need some good lovin’. Come on!” She exclaimed right before the first notes of Not Bothered started playing.

Tonight (Y/N) was looking to get drunk, in a respectable kind of way a famous person can get drunk and not lose their reputation. She walked into the club reserved for her concert afterparty somewhere in downtown Seoul in an intimidating formation - with her dance crew besties to both her sides. Her white sneakers shined in the UV lights of the venue contrasting perfectly with the black branded sweatshirt dress she was wearing.

“Six bottles of champagne, please.” She said to the waiter as they walked to the private lounge reserved just for them. It was a spacious room with a black leather couch shaped like the letter ‘U’ and a heavy marble table in the middle. Above the back of the couch hung a big TV screen and across was a venetian mirror, making it so her and her friends could watch the dancing crowd while remaining invisible.

As the night progressed (Y/N)’s friends, dancers, staff, ‘VIP’ guests came and went from the private room while she stayed seated at the bottom of the ‘U’ shaped couch downing drink by drink.

“I have to go to the bathroom.” She murmured more to herself than anybody else as she stood up and walked out the soundproof door. “Sorry.” She mumbled, squeezing through the corridor full of people to make her way to one of the club’s the bathrooms.

“(Y/N).” She heard her name being called by a familiar voice. Looking over her shoulder she noticed Jungkook and Namjoon standing awkwardly with drinks in their hands. Right as she looked into the first boy’s eyes an idea popped into her head.

“Hey, come with me.” She said, walking up to them. “You won’t be needing this.” She took the plastic cups out of their hands and set them on the nearby table. “Come on.” She grabbed Jungkook’s hand. “Don’t get lost.” She warned them and Jungkook grabbed Namjoon’s wrist as (Y/N) pulled him through the swarm of people.

In this weird snake-like formation they got to the top floor of the club where they could let go of each other and walk normally.

“This way.” She said chuckling and almost skipping as she led the two clueless boys to her private lounge. “Welcome to my little kingdom.” She said pushing the heavy door open and revealing a practically empty lounge. “Let’s drink together.” She plopped down on the couch. “Come on.” She encouraged the two as they shyly walked inside and took seats next to her.

It didn’t take much longer for (Y/N) to convince Namjoon and Jungkook to get pissed drunk with her. They started with ordering three half liter bottles of different flavoured soju, then came the bulgogi with tons of side dishes. After that they drank a whole bottle of pink champagne and ordered another serving of japchae, jajangmyeon and pepperoni pizza.

“I want to sing.” (Y/N) suddenly stated, her mouth full of delicious korean food she never ate before.

She stood up from the table and started meddling with the TV on the wall. After a couple of seconds of wrestling she had the remote in her hand. She sat on the counter of the table, her legs resting on the seat of the couch, eyes glued to the bright screen. She opened the YouTube app and typed in the title of one of her current favourite songs. As the music started playing slipped her sneakers off, still sitting on the table, body moving to the smooth beat.

“I don't have much to say, I'll be out front.” Jungkook pointed his arms towards (Y/N) and she stood up from the couch. “Won't you come spoil my night?” He joined in, standing up from his seat. “Feelings come into play-” She started walking towards the empty end of the ‘U’ shaped couch. “-and I'm thinkin' this happens every time.” She jumped down, joining the maknae in a purposeless dance, not caring that her white socks will turn black from the dirty dark carpeting by the end of the song.

They sang, danced, jumped around, twirled under each other’s arms, ran out of breath and laughed throughout the rest of the song. Tired from the sudden performance Jungkook fell back down on the couch, resting his head on the high headboard. (Y/N) slapped his shoulder so he moved to make space for her to sit next to him, Namjoon sitting across from them.

Jungkook took notice of how close she was right at that moment. Their thighs touched, her shoulder brushed against his as she leaned over the table to get her drink. He looked down at the bare skin of her legs, then his gaze travelled up over the black crewneck to her neck and finally her lips.

“Is that lip gloss?” His lips moved before he could stop himself.

(Y/N) turned her face towards him, her long hair extensions slipped over her shoulder.

“What?” As she looked at him with utter confusion he thanked all gods as he realised he spoke in Korean.

“We should order some more pork!” He exclaimed, still in Korean and looked at Namjoon for translation.

“Uh- he wants to eat pork.” The older boy said eying his junior with suspicion. Did his ears fool him or did he just hear Jungkook ask (Y/N) about her lip gloss?

“Isn’t this pork?” She asked, gesturing with her drink to one of the dishes on the table.

“Ah, yes.” Jungkook chuckled nervously and ran his hand through his hair. “Silly me.” He grabbed his chopsticks and took a big bite of the remaining bulgogi.

Jungkook excused himself to the bathroom with a promise of bringing up at least one bottle of soju on his way back. Feeling his stomach turn from overeating and blurting out stupid comments he walked out onto the corridor and down the stairs to the bar.

Namjoon looked at (Y/N) from across the table. She rested her head in her hands, her eyelids fluttered open and closed slowly as if she was trying not to fall asleep. She looked stunning to him.

“(Y/N)...” He muttered, not entirely sure where this sentence would take him.

“RM.” She whispered back, batting her eyelashes and finally opening her eyes up to look straight at him. “What?” She leaned her head to one side.

“Go out with me.” He simply asked.

It wasn’t that alcohol gave him enough courage to actually say those words it was more that it made him care little enough to try and risk the possibility of getting rejected by his ultimate celebrity crush.

“Like on a date?” She asked unsure of what he meant.

Realising he had to explain himself to her suddenly brought him back to reality. What was he thinking? Asking her out? Asking her out?!

“No, like for dinner. T-to hang out.” He babbled scratching his head.

“Oh.” (Y/N) leaned back onto the headboard behind her. “Okay, sure.” The sweetness of her voice gave Namjoon enough of a nudge to look up at her again. “But I only have time in the late evening, like really late, ‘cause we’re doing some- I have a photoshoot for- and a- ah, whatever.” The amount of alcohol she consumed made it hard for her to form a proper sentence without going off topic. “I have work all day. I can see you in the evening.” Namjoon nodded with a faint smile making its way to his lips. “I’ll text you.” His agreeing answer was drowned by Jungkook’s loud exclamation as he stumbled back through the door.

“Look what I got!” He called with a laugh, raising up two bottles of cherry flavoured soju.

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specterchasing-a · 3 years

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Hold On (Part 2) || Eddie & Alfie

TIMING: One month ago, directly after part one.

LOCATION: En route to the woods.

PARTIES: @yikesimonfire & @specterchasing

SUMMARY: Alfie and Eddie have a heart-to-heart in the car.

CONTENT: Internalized homophobia tw

Eddie mindfully secured his filming equipment in the trunk of Alfie’s odiously yellow station wagon. As he took a step back to close the hatch, an idea occurred to him. He hastily ducked back into the trunk and unzipped his bag to pilfer for his camera. Now satisfied, Eddie slammed the door shut and walked briskly to the car’s passenger-side. The moment he settled into his seat, a pronounced frown settled into his features.

“When are you gonna get your AC fixed?” Eddie implored, his gaze settling on his chaperone. “Every time I get in this car, it feels like the air’s been replaced by uncomfortably warm dog breath.” He refrained from adding that it smelled like it as well. Alfie didn’t need to be subjected to verbal beration of that magnitude after agreeing to accompany him tonight.

While Eddie packed his gear into the back, Alfie hopped into the driver’s seat, helplessly turning the ignition repeatedly until the engine sputtered to life. Immediately, he was hit with a blast of cold air before the air conditioning unit forgot how to work. The ration of cool air was quickly replaced with a suffocatingly stale breeze. Alfie stretched over to unlock the passenger door and cranked the window open before rolling his own window down to allow a more comfortable airflow. Soon enough, Eddie was in the seat beside him.

A laugh reverberated in his chest at Eddie’s comment. “What do you mean?” Alfie asked, emphatically waving his hand at the dashboard. “It’s doing its best. Besides, parts are hard to come by.” That’s what he got for being cheap. What he needed was a new car altogether, but that wasn’t happening any time soon. The wagon got him from point A to B; that would have to be enough. It wasn’t like he needed a functioning air conditioner anyway, not that Eddie was privy as to why. “We can always take yours,” he offered with a small smirk.

“I hate to break it to you, but its best doesn’t cut it. It needs to do another car’s best,” Eddie riffed while opening the viewer on his camera. With the press of a button, it became a diligent archivist of its owner’s per view. Without warning, Eddie lifted the device to eye-level and pointed it in Alfie’s direction. He knew well and good his friend didn’t enjoy being in the crosshairs of his filming, but that never stopped him in the past. Why would it deter him now?

“Trust me, I would love to take the Mini, but it’s… well, mini, and you know that. As quirky as your car is, it has better storage options.” Eddie’s voice lacked interest—he found himself too caught-up in recording to have any to spare. “You have a nice profile, have I said that before?” he asked, slipping further into his seat as he rested his feet on the dashboard. Meanwhile, his eyes (and camera) remained fixated on Alfie.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna happen,” Alfie chuckled as he shifted the car into reverse and eased out of his parking space. With his eyes now fixed on the path ahead, Alfie didn’t notice the camera focused on him. “You really should have considered that when you bought it. What would you do if I ever wasn’t around to lend my cargo space?”

The compliment that soon fell from Eddie’s lips made Alfie’s brow raise. His eyes flickered to look at Eddie, only to find that he was being filmed. “Wha— Christ’s sake, Eddie, would you turn that thing off?” A fire rose in his cheeks, coloring them a vibrant red. He quickly turned his head away, but was unable to avoid the camera’s watching eye. Damn it. He hated being recorded; Eddie knew that. “Or, I’unno… turn it somewhere else, at least?”

As the car reached the edge of the parking lot, Alfie applied the brakes and looked back at Eddie, the blush still prominent on his face. “And buckle,” he scolded — albeit playfully — with raised eyebrows. “Seriously, are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“Die, probably,” Eddie deadpanned. If he were to make an effort, his car could likely hold whatever necessities he needed it to. Alfie probably knew that, too. However, if he went that route, he wouldn’t be able to spend his time being a nuisance in the passenger’s seat. He much preferred reclining and filming to focusing on the road. A miracle happened the day he got his license, that much was certain.

Alfie’s reaction to being caught on candid camera inspired an impish grin from Eddie. He noticed the change of color in his cheeks—so did his heart, actually. It drummed desperately within his chest, as if also begging Eddie to rethink staring at Alfie for so long. Unfortunately, he rarely listened to what either of them had to say. “I can’t believe you hate art so much that you’d deprive me of my muse,” he said.

Eddie rolled his eyes, also playfully, when Alfie scolded him. “Not today,” he answered before he quickly switched his camera off and buckled in like he was told.

Deprived of his main source of entertainment, Eddie resorted to turning on the radio. Like everything else in Alfie’s car, the display refused to work properly. What should have been words and numbers looked more like hieroglyphs. Eddie briefly toggled through stations before a familiar tune (‘Hold On’ by Wilson Phillips) caused him to turn the radio off with evident disdain.

A strange sensation tugged behind Alfie's navel at the suggestion that Eddie would die without him. It wasn't true, of course. With any luck, Eddie would go on fine without him; he had to. Still, the thought made him feel… guilty? Alfie's time in this life was growing increasingly limited. He couldn't afford to think about it now. It would only make the time he did have left with Eddie less worthwhile, for fear of causing him any grief.

"Your muse?" Alfie nearly cooed. "Please—" his voice cracked. "I have complete faith that you'll find something better." Once again unable to make eye-contact with Eddie today, Alfie shook his head with a breathy chuckle and rolled his eyes. His attention was back on the road and as the seat belt beside him clicked into place, assuring Eddie's safety, Alfie merged onto the street to begin their journey.

It didn't take long for Eddie to begin fidgeting. He knew well enough by now that finding a suitable radio station in the station wagon was unlikely. Alfie wouldn't complain about the music as long as it kept the camera off him. But when Eddie abruptly cut the radio off, he successfully piqued Alfie's curiosity.

"What was that about?" he asked, an impish grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes darting between Eddie and the road. "You trying to tell me you hate Wilson Phillips or something? And you were just getting onto me about hating art," Alfie teased.

Alfie’s insistence that Eddie would eventually move on to something better almost made him laugh. For years, his thoughts revolved around his reclusive neighbor and not much else. Alfie and Youtube; that’s what filled his days since he moved downtown. “No, I won’t,” he gently corrected him. “Besides, I don’t want to.” It didn’t worry him to voice his genuine fondness for Alfie, not when they had years of friendship behind them. At this point, it would’ve been more alarming if he didn’t love the guy enough to negate his self-deprecation.

“Wilson Phillips is not art.” Eddie emphatically pointed a finger at Alfie. “Not that song, at least. ‘Hold On’ is trite and cheap. And, all it does is make me think about the time I spent in group therapy as a teenager when our counselor insisted on performing an acoustic version at the end of every single session. Every session, Alfie,” he looked at his chauffeur with bewildered eyes. “She even made eye contact with us while she sang—who does that? I never felt like I could look away, not when she was tearfully pleading with me to break free from the chains. It was torture. Wilson Phillips is torture, not art.”

Alfie didn't want to argue about how quickly Eddie would (or wouldn't) move on. No matter how much Eddie didn't want to, there would come a point that he would have no other option. Besides, Alfie playing the part of Eddie's muse was clearly a joke. Or, perhaps more accurately, a metaphor for their friendship. All that mattered was Eddie had not meant it in a literal sense. So why had he allowed himself to become so flustered over it?

"Bullshit!" squawked Alfie, who was now fully prepared to enlighten Eddie about his previous love affair with the early 90s pop scene. Before he had a chance to share however, Eddie shared his own history with the song. Alfie's jaw slackened and he shot Eddie an incredulous look. "Every session?" he parroted in disbelief. His face scrunched as he imagined what kind of hellscape that must have been. Being forced to listen to acoustic covers was bad enough, but on top of awkward eye-contact?

"Okay, yeah… no. I see your point," Alfie softly spoke after a moment. "Who in their right mind thought she was still fit to be a counselor after the first time that happened, anyway? Like — I'unno, you'd think someone would've had to question her capability or whatever at that point."

"Still," he continued after making a point to showcase his disapproval with a series of disdainful facial expressions. "I stand by what I said. I think there's something beautiful in wanting to turn around and say goodbye — much like how you must have felt after being subjected to that special brand of hell."

Eddie adopted a tight-lipped grin when Alfie conceded. “Every session,” he confirmed. Looking back, he couldn’t remember liking anything about group therapy. Owning up to his issues should’ve never been something that required an audience. As extroverted as Eddie could be, he kept his cards close to his chest when it came to his emotions. Alfie knew him better than anyone else and even he didn’t get the whole truth half the time.

Eddie let out a terse laugh at Alfie’s final comment. “Real cute,” he snarked playfully before his expression became more serious. “It didn’t help that I hated therapy in general. Not only did it well and truly suck to talk about my feelings, but the only reason my parents even made me go was the whole… ghost-vision deal.” Eddie emphasized his annoyance by accompanying the tail-end of his sentence with a flippant flap of his hand. “Funny, that they pegged the one thing that made me happy as the problem.” His brow raised as he pursed his lips.

“But, uh, wow—sorry about the impromptu sharetime,” Eddie said when shame began to collect in chest. “Don’t mind me complaining about therapy while simultaneously making you my therapist.” He hoped levity would be the cure for oversharing.

Alfie’s face lit up at Eddie’s initial response. “I’m the cutest, obviously,” he chided with a lopsided grin. He couldn’t recall any previous conversations about Eddie’s group therapy, but he was well aware of his friend’s relationship to his parents. Maybe he had mentioned it before; it was truly a testament to how solid Alfie’s active listening skills were. “Fuck your parents!” his voice trilled. “Seriously — when have they ever cared about your happiness?” His commiseration was probably unnecessary; Eddie didn’t need another reminder that his family were awful. “Sorry… too far,” he added with a small frown.

With a clear road ahead, Alfie lifted a hand from the steering wheel and maneuvered it around to rest on Eddie’s shoulder. “Hey, man, don’t sweat it — really. I will gladly take an impromptu sharetime over an awkwardly silent drive to our inevitable doom.” His gaze shifted to Eddie as he gave him an apologetic smile, allowing his hand to linger a bit longer than was probably acceptable. “Besides,” Alfie added, gently squeezing Eddie’s shoulder before returning his hand to the wheel, “that’s what friends are for, right?”

It wasn’t often that Alfie referred to them as “friends”. The word was scattered few and far between, but that didn’t make it any less true. “From now on, that song is banned. We don’t talk about it. We don’t listen to it. It’s purged from our lives. What song? Wilson Phillips, who? Never heard of ‘em!” Alfie tilted his head in Eddie’s direction and peered at him expectantly, waiting for some sort of positive reaction to ensure he’d sufficed at making his friend feel better.

Eddie glanced at Alfie in surprised amusement after his initial outburst. “You’re right and you should say it,” he encouraged in a light-hearted tone that didn’t fit the topic. If he didn’t try to lessen the weight of the conversation, he might have to admit to how much it hurt to discuss. He couldn’t risk letting Alfie know the extent of his damage.

When Alfie’s hand landed on his shoulder, Eddie felt a lump form in his throat. Usually, he initiated whatever physical contact they shared. He didn’t know how to react to being on the receiving end. Alfie’s mention of ‘inevitable doom’ managed to ease his uncertainty. Eddie replied with a soft huff of laughter, his eyes shining with fondness.

Soon enough, Alfie deprived Eddie of his hand, but didn’t give him much time to be upset about it. He called them friends. “Oh, is that what we are?” Eddie asked with a teasing grin. “Could’ve sworn our relationship was more like whatever Bugs and Elmer had going on.” His expression softened, though his grin remained throughout Alfie’s condemnation of Wilson Phillips.

“You’re…. You’re a really good guy, Alfie,” Eddie said. “Thanks for humoring me tonight.”

It didn’t seem appropriate to continue down the path of shit-talking Eddie’s parents, no matter how much they deserved it. Eddie didn’t enlist Alfie on this adventure just to talk about all of his woes. If he was going to do this, then goddamn it, he was going to make the best out of it. Eddie deserved that much. “‘Course we’re friends,” Alfie returned with a playful sneer. “Though, I think you’re way off base with that one. If anything, we’re more like Bugs and Daffy.” His eyes focused on the road, but his mind was lost in thought. “Actually—” Alfie corrected, “come to think of it, that’s really fuckin’ accurate. Just, y’know, don’t ask me who’s who.”

In an instant, Alfie’s eyes were back on Eddie. Immense guilt crept over him for trying to turn down the invitation in the first place. It was glaringly obvious that Eddie was trying to involve him in his life; something Alfie tried to avoid with just about everyone who did. His heart ached. He didn’t want to refuse Eddie, truly. There just happened to be parts of his life that were better off private. But it wouldn’t kill him to hang out with the guy more every now and then. Well, given Eddie’s track record, it very well could. But it would be worth it… RIght?

“Listen, Ed… I know I’m a pain in the ass. It’s not — I don’t do things like this, y’know? I stay at home like the grumpy hermit crab that I am and that’s how I like it.” Apologies were never Alfie’s strong suit. It was rare that the words “I’m sorry” ever made it out of his mouth. “But I’m already pretty glad I came with you.” Once again, he was dancing the conversation dangerously close to heavy. Alfie mentally berated himself; he needed to keep things light. “But if we make it out alive, you do still owe me those Baby Ruths,” he teased, lightly nudging Eddie’s arm with his own.

#c: alfie #wickedswriting #hold on #internalized homophobia tw #// there's like two more parts to this still #i hope you guys like weekly installments #poaisdjfosdf

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ellana-ravenwood · 5 years

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“What it means to be a big brother” - by Damian Wayne (Batfam x Fem!Reader)

I wanted to write a story with Damian as an older brother, and how he came to learn what it meant to…well, basically the title haha. And since quite a few of you lately asked for more Thomas, here we are. I hope you will like it :

My master list : @ella-ravenwood-archives . Links to stories where Thomas appears (for those who do not know who he is) in the author’s notes at the end of the story.

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Right there, with his new little brother in his arms, standing in front of his family...Damian didn't dare to move an inch.

There wasn't a muscle in his body that wasn't tense.

In this exact position, things were going well, so he wasn't about to move. Staying like this forever sounded more and more like a good plan.

Because if he did move…There was a chance he’d drop him.

"You don't have to be so stiff you know ?"

Tim said, amused.

He was the one that was holding the baby just a few minutes ago, and was clearly not as stressed as Damian about it. He was also the one that laid little Thomas in his brother’s arms, and therefor was the cause of the “full body lockdown” Damian was going through.

Slowly, Damian turned his head towards Tim (he couldn't move too fast, because there was a risk he'd drop the baby !) and said through gritted teeth :

"Yes I do. If I don't, I might drop him !"

The word “drop” was resonating in Damian’s head, and it was the only thing he could think about.

Drop. Drop. Drop drop drop drop.

It was starting to lose it’s meaning, and only the fact that it would be terrible if he “dropped” something stayed in the boy’s head.

But then the baby moved, and Damian looked down instinctively.

His eyes fell upon his new little brother’s face and...He felt his heart drop.

What was this feeling ? Why, all of a sudden, did he feel overwhelmed and full of...something ? An emotion he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

It kinda made him want to cry.

His eyes glued to the little body in his arms, trying to understand this intense surge of emotions, he finally raised his head after a few seconds and said, a hint of disbelief in his voice :

“I’m-I’m a big brother.”

And boom. There it was.

Up until now, you had managed to keep your cool, looking at your sons and daughter holding Thomas in turn, and beaming at him happily.

But here, that bewildered look on Damian’s face, and that smile he probably didn’t even notice he had on, was a little too much for your heart.

Damian was the one you were most worried about, when it came to meet baby Thomas. You weren’t sure how he’d react.

All along your pregnancy he was doing fine, and seemed excited about the prospect to have a new brother. But at times, when nobody was looking at him, you noticed the worried look in his eyes, and it frustrated you to no end to not be able to know for sure what your son was thinking.

You’ve always been good at deciphering the Waynes’ emotions, sometimes even better than them themselves. But in that case...You couldn’t quite put your finger on what kind of worries were assaulting your boy.

Was he afraid you’d love his little brother more ? Or that he wouldn’t be the “baby” anymore ? Maybe afraid not to be a good enough role model ? Or to simply to not find a way to bond with him ?

So many questions, and no answers.

Maybe it was a mix of all of that. But you just couldn’t decide. And it was an immense source of stress for you.

But here, right now, as you witnessed Damian smiling widely and whispering “Im a big brother”, your own worries suddenly vanished.

You turned to your husband who was right next to you, and put your head against his chest, muffling a "awwwww" sound that you feared might put Damian on the defensive. Instinctively, Bruce wrapped his arms around you (this called for some “I know, I know they’re cute” support).

God forbid anyone would catch your little buddy being so sweet. Haha. He hated when you called him that.

Sweet.

But he truly was ? He just didn't know it yet.

You were sure no one ever told him he was "sweet".

But he had all this little attentions for you, his father or siblings.

He might think of it as nothing, but you all noticed. You noticed all the drawings he’d left in strategic points for all of you. Or how meticulous he was in preparing pop corn or hot chocolate for movie nights. Little things, that when added, became grand.

You noticed everything. All of you.

Most importantly, you noticed the big changes in him.

Damian was 12 now.

He came into your life two years ago and, after quite a while of him refusing this little family his father made for himself, and making life difficult for everyone…He came around. He understood.

And you never blamed him for being difficult at first, on the contrary. You were the most understanding of them all, scolding your kids or Bruce himself, when they were too unforgiving or frustrated too fast !

It was a team work, to make Damian feel like he was finally home.

Feel like he was amongst his family.

Like Dick, Jason, Tim and Cass were his siblings, and although you weren’t his biological mother, you saw him as your own son too.

It was a learning experience for everyone.

Bruce did a great job at being patient, and teaching him about his own values and such. Forgiving him when he took the wrong decision, all the while still being strict. It was a balance of understanding, softness, forgiveness, and yet still putting important boundaries. Damian never really experienced any of this...

Your kids had some practice at being older brothers, and only Tim needed an acclimating moments...But he was a fast learner. After the first initial bad meeting, they became close. Although of course, they still bickered from times to times. After all, they were little/big brothers. Everything couldn’t always be perfect. Life wasn’t like that.

As you looked at Damian and Thomas, you wondered...Would Damian, just like his siblings, find his own way to become a big brother ? How would he proceed ? He had, after all, a lot of role model for this. But would he decide to take the same approach ?

The future was more unknown than ever, but as you looked at your family surrounding you, and this new beaming little life that entered yours, you had quite the high hopes.

************

"July 15th 20?? (I’m not putting an exact year cause ya know, it wouldn’t stay accurate). Thomas : three days old.

I am starting this logbook to understand. I got the idea from Grayson, whom I think got the idea from mom ? I always see him write in that journal of his. I think when he was younger, after he lost his parents and just started to live with father and mom, she suggested to him to write his feelings down. And so he started journaling. He has a bunch of filled notebooks in his room. I saw them a few times, but I never looked. Mom says it’s his thoughts, I would never intrude (okay maybe I “intruded” once. Or twice.).

That’s not the point of this anyway. According to both him and mom, writing down their feelings help a lot. So I asked Grayson if he could give me a blank notebooks, since he always has some in advance. He gave me a stupid bright pink one that sparkles and light up in the dark...But oh whatever, at least like that, nobody will know it’s mine, and will open it.

Now, what is the point of this exactly. Laying it out is suppose to help so, here goes nothing : in this logbook, I am planing to “write down my feelings” so I can understand. I’ve never felt that way before. Love is very new to me, people actually caring about me is very new, having a sort of freedom is new, being happy is new. I’ve come a long way in two years, and I still find it difficult to put words on all the things I feel. Hence, this book.

More precisely though, I will record in this “logbook” (not to confuse with a journal or something), my journey as a new big brother. I think it will help me, to write things down. The idea doesn’t sound as stupid as when I first heard it two years ago. On the contrary, I already feel like my brain is getting more organized about my feelings, just by writing this down. Like now, I understand that what I felt as I held Thomas for the first time was love. And a need to protect him. But it was so instant, as soon as I truly saw him, that it made me wonder...Why ? And How ? Is this what it is to be a big brother ? A sudden instinct coming out of nowhere ?

I will implement my studies of becoming the best big brother (notes for self : competition = hard, have to work very hard), and understanding what it actually means to be one, as it’s a first for me.

My life now is full of “firsts”. But in this logbook, I will mostly talk about being a big brother to Thomas, because that’s the newest and most intriguing thing yet. After two years, I think I know what love is, and what it isn’t. It isn’t praising me for being the best, but encouraging me to always do my best. It isn’t training me and being proud of me when I’m perfect, but accepting my flaws unconditionally. Yes. I think I got love down. It’s in little gestures, like when father goes to the other side of town to get my favorite take away. It is in small (and sometimes big) affectionate things like calling me pet names, ruffling my hair, or making sure I am alright. Love englobes a lot of things (my feelings for Thomas being in it). It took me a while to understand it, and I think if I had a logbook to write my findings down, it would’ve been easier.

So here I am. Starting a new journey of discovery. But with the knowledge I already have. How my brothers and sister are with me. How my parents are with me. How my friends, are with me. What love truly is. I’m not starting this new canvas blank, but with already a large array of color. What I need now, is to make this painting my own.

*There is here a drawing of himself standing at the front of a large pirate boat, ready to start this “new journey of discovery”, with the annotation “I think Grayson would enjoy this analogy of being captain of my own boat, as in of my own destiny. He always enjoyed pirates”*

A plan : 1. Get books on babies. 2. Hanging out with Thomas. 3. Observing how the others are interacting with him. 4. There is no 4 yet. But there will be as I come along, I suppose.”

************

It all happened so fast.

Bruce and the kids were about to go on patrol, when you started to scream at him that it was time. In a panic, you rushed to the hospital, leaving behind your children who anxiously waited for some news.

Hours went by, and no news were given.

Everyone slowly started to freak out, but Damian was the one who was touched the most.

When Jason dared to tell him : “Hey buddy, no news mean good news, right ?” in an attempt to comfort him, Damian went on a rant about how this expression was idiotic and made no sense.

No news meant a lot of things ! Like, maybe their father RECKLESS driving got them into an accident, or maybe there was complications with the babies, or they ran in any kind of troubles that prevented them to give news !

No news meant “no news” ! And was in no way, in Damian’s eyes, a positive thing !

It’s as Damian was going on and on about what could’ve gone wrong that could explain the lack of news, and starting to freak everyone out, that the phone finally rang.

“Ah, see ? No news did mean good news.”

Jason said ruffling his little brother’s hair. Although his apparent confidence was only a facade, because Damian’s list of “what could’ve gone wrong” really got to him too (he’d never admit it but Jason was quite the worry wart).

But everything was fine now. He could joke, and tease his brother again. Because...

It was official, there was a new member in the family.

Thomas Clark Wayne was born, on a sunny July day.

************

Damian didn’t know how to feel. Or rather, didn’t know what he felt.

He knew that day was going to happen, he saw his mother’s belly grow. He touched it, and couldn’t help but share his parents happiness...but it all seemed so surreal at the time ?

Like the baby would come in a very long time ?

He wasn’t an idiot. Plus, he was already 12 now. He most definitely knew where babies came from (ew) and how they came to life (double ew).

But even with this knowledge, he just hadn’t been able to visualize having a baby brother ?

So when he found himself in the hospital corridors, following after his older siblings, running a little to keep up with their hurried pace, he wasn’t really sure what to feel.

What would he find in that room ?

Probably his mom and father, smiling at him, and holding a baby in their arms...

It was weird. Because Damian had always been the “baby” of the family. Was this spot now his brother’s ? How did that make him feel ? What was his place now, then ?

He didn’t know. He didn’t know !

Did he still have a place ? How was he suppose to know what it was ?

So many thoughts were rushing through his head, he didn’t have time to process any of them that they already were in the room.

The first thing Damian saw wasn’t the newborn, as his brothers gathered quickly around his mom and father while he stayed a bit behind with Cass (who rolled her eyes a lot, whispering : “boys” every two seconds).

No. The first thing Damian saw was his father. His smiling father.

Given the looks his older brothers gave in his direction, Damian gathered that Thomas was in their fathers’ arms. And Bruce was smiling so widely.

It was pretty rare, to see him smile. It only happened when he was with his family. You made him smile a lot, even more so when you both thought nobody was looking at you.

Damian thought that it was the first time he saw this specific smile of his father.

Thomas’ existence had created a new awe induced smile...

Bruce was looking down at his tiny son in his arms, and was just smiling widely and...sort of like a child ?

Like even when he smiled to his wife, or to his kids. Those actual genuine smile he gave them, not the fake "Brucie Wayne" persona ones. They were always very him ? They always had his past in it. When he smiled at them, they could see they meant a lot, because he was able to smile even through all his pain. And they were the one that brought his happiness forth.

Bruce’s smiles to his family were grateful, full of pure joy, and recognition. With a hint of sadness, however. Of traumas he could never forget.

But here, as he held Thomas, it was like he forgot everything, and was carefree for the first time since he was eight.

Of course, it only appeared like that to Damian because he wasn’t quite sure yet about how he should feel. Happy, or jealous ? He never noticed the many times his father gave him that exact pure child like happiness and awe too.

Bruce wasn’t always the best at showing his feelings, a lot of time, he would smile softly, full of love, in the way he was right now, only when he was sure no one was looking.

He most definitely smiled that way to all his children, they just never had the chance to witness it due to Bruce’s own self-consciousness, and not being sure how to handle his own feelings at times.

In that way, Damian and his father were very much alike. You often said so. They sometimes had great trouble expressing themselves.

Which could cause great misunderstanding, like right now.

As Damian witnessed his father smile this way for the first time ever, and wondered...

Wondered if..If Talia gave him to Bruce as a baby, would he have smiled the same way ?

…Probably not.

It made Damian feel all sort of things, to realize that.

Strangely, the emotions he felt weren’t negative. On the contrary, he was glad that his little brother was lucky enough to be born into this family he thought amazing, and would grow up immediately loved and never alone.

Sure, Damian wished it would’ve been the case for him too. But you told him once that the past was the past, and it did no good to dwell on it (he was pretty sure you misquoted Dumbledore from Harry Potter but never said anything), and it really stuck with him.

He would never be a baby anymore, hurting himself and his feelings thinking about what could’ve been was useless. It would only bring him misery. While thinking...Thinking about his new brother having this chance...Well, it made him very happy.

He was glad, times were changing.

“Do you want to hold him ?”

You asked him, taking him out of his reveries about how he realized he only had positive feelings about this new life coming into his.

Good feelings yet, but not enough to dare hold him. Panicked, he took a few steps back and said :

“No ! No no, I’m good !”

You tried to hide your disappointment, and instead gave the boy to your oldest son, Dick. You kinda wished Damian would’ve accepted to take Thomas into his arms. After all, his reaction was the one that worried you the most...

************

It’s only as he witnessed all his sibling holding their new brother, and beaming brightly at him, that he felt like he wanted to do that too.

He felt like he was missing out, because they all seemed to thoroughly enjoy holding Thomas ! And he felt like he was building unnecessary boundaries between him and his new baby brother.

What if Thomas thought he didn’t want to be his brother ?

Of course, right now, being only a few hours old, Thomas couldn’t think about that yet. But Damian read somewhere that infants could feel this sort of things. And so he turned to Tim, who was the one holding the baby boy at the moment, and said :

“Can I-...Can I ?”

Of course, Tim understood, and did not hesitate to put his little brother in his other little brother’s arms. He explained quickly to Damian how to hold him, making sure Thomas’ head was all good, and let go (later, he’d admit that he watched YouTube video to know the proper way to hold a baby).

And the rest was history.

“I’m-I’m a big brother.”

************

“Friday, October 16th 20??, Thomas : 4 months old.

I found books about babies. Many of them. 36 to be exact. They were in the library, I suspect father bought them to read up on how to take care of a baby. After all, he never had one, since we all arrived around 8/10.

I put in practice what I got from them, and was very successful doing so. Thanks to them, I was able to refine my studies on what it truly means to be a big brother.

(...)”

“Damian ?”

Bruce was looking for you, and guessed you were in your office, which, just like the bedroom you shared with him, was right next to the nursery. Of course.

He knew you must’ve been there at this time of the day because it was your “writing time”, but also Thomas’ “nap time”. In your office, you could make sure to be there for him quickly.

Bruce had just come home and as usual, looked for you immediately. He had a tough day at Wayne Enterprise, and you always were his respite.

But as he walked in front of Thomas’ room (where he was planning on going after seeing you), he was stopped in his track by the door being open, and quite an odd vision.

Damian was standing next to his brother’s crib, an arm reaching out in it. As Bruce, intrigued, approached them, he noticed that one of Thomas’ tiny hand was wrapped around one of Damian’s finger.

Before he could ask what was happening, his boy whispered, as to not wake his little brother up :

“I read somewhere that babies need physical contact so their brain can develop well. A baby that nobody ever touches just doesn’t speak much, and isn’t as advanced as one who received affection. So I’m holding his hand.”

Bruce’s brain went blank, as he looked at the extremely cute scene of his youngest son sleeping peacefully, holding his older brother’s hand. It was too much for his heart, trying to not sound choked up, he asked :

“How long have you been here ?”

Damian looked up, thinking, before he answered :

“A couple of hours ?”

“A couple of-That long ?!”

“Ssssshhh. Father !”

Damian whispered scolding his dad for his loudness. He gave a worried look to Thomas, afraid he woke up, and then turned to his father again saying :

“I heard him cry, and recognized it as being his lonely cry. So I came. Mother fell asleep on her desk, I think she was just too tired to even realize he was crying. I know neither of you have been sleeping very well lately, so no one can blame her. You two work tough jobs, then do the vigilante thing, and have to take care of a baby who doesn’t sleep through the night yet. It’s understandable, to feel very sleepy. So I came.”

Bruce felt it through his entire body. This warm, fuzzy feeling. The same one that he forgot for so many years, until you and Dick came into his life.

“How did you hear him ?”

“I rigged his baby phone to my phone, so it would give me alerts if he cries. Tim helped me develop a sort of app for that.”

This specific feeling he only felt when looking at you or his children. A sort of serenity filling his entire body. Peace.

“I rocked him a little bit. He smiled at me a lot, and cooed too. And then he felt back asleep, but as soon as I put him in the crib he cried again. I figured he didn’t wanna be alone, so I stayed and held his hand, and he eventually fell back asleep. Now I’m too afraid to wake him up if I leave, so I’m here.”

“So you’re here...”

Pride was in Bruce’s heart now. A beaming, strong, huge pride. Pride of having such a sweet little boy. Ah. Who would’ve thought, over two years ago, that Damian Wayne would stay two hours near a baby in fear that if he left, he would wake him up ?

Feeling inspired, Bruce bend down and kissed Damian’s forehead affectionately. This took the boy by surprised, and he literally gasped !

It made Bruce feel a little guilty. His sometimes odd way of loving made it so that he reserved those forehead kisses only when his kids felt bad, or when he through they were asleep (though they never were). Moments of distress; or moment he was sure they wouldn’t notice.

Sometimes, Bruce just wasn’t too sure how to react with his children. Except on definite moments, like them needing him, or them being too cute for him to resist a forehead kiss (they were always adorable, sleeping).

Or, in this instance, his boy doing something so sweet he felt the urge to kiss him with all the love and affection he had.

Now though, a little embarrassed, he took a step back, and ruffled his son’s hair again, saying :

“You’re a good brother.”

And then he left awkwardly, going to your office so he could pick you up and go take a nap with you in your room. Yes. This surge of emotion he felt, as he saw his two youngest children together, definitely called for a nap in your arms. You always had a knack, to calm him, even unconsciously...

Damian stayed in Thomas’ room, a huge smile plastered on his face.

His father just said he was a good brother !

“(...) Continuation of the previous entry (October 16th). I put in practice what I got from them, and was very successful doing so. Thanks to them, I was able to refine my studies on what it truly means to be a big brother.

Now, after four months of studying Thomas’ behavior and such, I came to realize that he has different kind of cry. They are as proceeded : 1. High pitch continuous noise = he’s hungry. 2. When he makes a series of loud “heh” = he’s too cold, or hot, or wet. It’s his sign to express a discomfort. Usually means dirty diaper, if no dirty diaper, means something else and then you have to look for what is bothering him. Example : Yesterday, the bird outside his window chirping was annoying him and keeping him from sleeping soundly. 3. Loud screams punctuated by pauses = He’s lonely. The pauses are him listening in to see if someone is coming to get him. 4. Almost silent cries, when it’s so loud it becomes quiet = he didn’t burp properly after eating and desperately need too. A few light tap on his back will make him feel better very quickly. 5. When he whimpers, it’s usually because he has gaz. Putting him a little straighter helps him...evacuate.

I put this directly in practice today, when I realized he was doing his “lonely cry”. I went to his rescue, and I didn’t mind staying hours with him even though he’s still a little baby and doesn’t do much. He smiled at me a lot, I think he recognized my voice. And my singing (note for self : make sure no one is around when such occurrence happen, almost got caught by father today). Then it felt like he didn’t want to let me go, so I stayed.

Is that what it is, to be a big brother ? Being needed ? If it is, it actually feels nice. It would certainly explain all the time Dick, Jason, Tim and Cass came to my own rescue. Wether help for my homework or to comfort me. But, I do that too, as a little brother ? I comforted them too many times. And I witnessed Jason, Tim or Cass comforting Dick and vice versa and in all ways. So, this means it’s a sibling thing, not quite a big brother thing. Need to keep studying to know what “big brother” is exactly.”

************

"Saturday, December 9th 20??. Thomas’ first Christmas/6 month old.

I started to build his gift. I think he will like it. I-”

“What are you doing, Damian ?”

You asked him, walking towards him as he busied himself at the gadget station in the Batcave. You saw him jump in the air slightly, and put away a bright pink notebook quickly.

And then he saw you had Thomas in your arms, and when Damian saw him, he hid whatever he was doing as fast as he could.

“Mom, you’re gonna spoil the surprise !! Get Thomas away !”

Surprised, and without thinking about it, you went to your husband who was typing away on the computer and put the baby in his arms.

Bruce was about to grumble that he was busy and brush the both of you away (he could be a jerk sometimes), but you didn’t gave him a chance, shoving your son in his arms. And when he looked, annoyed, at his baby and how the little one seemed the happiest of them all as he just recognized his father. Bruce’s mood lifted all of a sudden.

He smiled softly, realized he was being an asshole and was going to apologize to you but you were already gone back to Damian. Your husband and baby son exchanged a curious look, before Thomas got very interested in his father “Bat” logo and started to try to grab it, while Bruce smiled softly again and, holding his son in one arm, continued his work.

Balancing family and night activities had been hard for him to get and do, but he had it covered, nowadays. Well. Almost.

Meanwhile, you were back next to Damian, and with a sigh of relief, your son uncovered his project.

It did all kind of things to your heart...

“Damian, is that-”

You couldn’t finish your sentence, too touched. Your son, proudly, said :

“It’s a mobile to go above his bed ! I think he doesn’t like the one he currently has. So I’m making him one with things he’ll like ! See mom, that’s you. Do you recognize yourself ?”

Damian seemed worried about this, and you nodded. It definitely looked like you. So. Your son wasn’t just good at drawing, but also at sculpting...

“It’s for Christmas.”

He said, smile wide. And as you grabbed him and crushed him against your chest, he got a little confused...

"Saturday, December 25th 20??. Thomas’ first Christmas/6 month old.

*There’s here a drawing of Thomas beaming at his mobile above his bed that Damian build for him*

I knew my present would be Thomas’ favorite. After all, it represents everything he likes. I put everyone from our family (Father, mom, Alfred, Dick, Tim, Cass, Jason, and of course, me), and a few of his favorite animals (I used Ace and Titus for the dogs, Tommy is very fond of them). And it makes music, which he seems to enjoy a lot. Especially when our mom, dad or anyone from the family sings to him. I recorded all of them secretly when they sang to him, and made it so he just has to push a button on the side of his crib to turn the mobile on.

I wasn’t even worried that he wouldn’t understand how to make it work. He’s only six months old, but he’s already very smart and curious (I think the physical contact we all gave him is a lot to “blame” for). So when I put the mobile above his bed, and pushed the button to start the voice of our mother, he moved his little arms and legs excitedly and smiled at the mobile widely ! I only had to push the button a few times more, and for our father, Dick, and Jason’s voice to be on for him to notice the button, and to push it himself. Or rather, to kick it or throw himself on it as best he could. He is still not that coordinate when it comes to movements. But he’s smart. He understood that, to have the music, he had to push the button.

He didn’t pay attention to all his other gifts, but mine he loved. It’s because I made it with everything he likes. So of course, he loves it. Is that what it is, to be a big brother ? To know your little sibling and be the best at giving him a gift ? No. That doesn’t sound right. Tim, or Jason, already gave me absolutely useless terrible gift, and yet it still made me happy to receive them, and that they thought about me. Mmm. The researches are still on.”

************

“Thursday, March 7th 20??. Thomas : One year and a half.

Father and mom entrusted me with babysitting Thomas today, as everyone was busy. I was very happy to be trusted with such responsibilities. I thought it would be easy, at that age, they're easily manipulated. Well...I was wrong"

************

“NO NO NO NO NO NO NOOOOOOOOO.”

Thomas was screaming, while Damian was trying to be heard :

“Thomas, listen, you need to put your pants on or-”

“NOOOOO !! NO DAMDAM NOOOOO !!”

“No”, was one of the first word Thomas pronounced. Right after “mama” and “dada” (the jury was still out on which words he said first, and was source of endless bickering between you and your husband).

Then he started to try and pronounce his siblings’ name, although he wasn’t quite there yet. Damian being the youngest and still at home (Dick and Jason had their own apartment by now, and Cass and Tim were starting to be very busy with college), he was able to sort of say his name first.

“Damdam”. Close enough.

But right now, Damdam really wasn’t having a good time.

It started rather smoothly. Thomas was a pretty calm child, so Damian (wrongly) thought it would be all good all day.

Only, it was the first time he was taking care of his brothers for so long. A couple of hours there and there. He made sure to be with him at least once a day, for at least two hours. Most of the time, it was more.

They really started to be very close, sometimes, Thomas would choose Damian over you or Bruce...it vexed the both of you, but you had to put yourself in the shoes of your young son.

Damian only had the good times with him. Playtime, and bed time stories, and such. While you and Bruce had to be strict with him sometimes, and give him boundaries (like no jumping on his bed, or no pulling the dogs’ tails).

Bruce once mentioned that Thomas most certainly inherited your petty side, given the fact he always went to Damian when you scolded him. But when you smacked him on the head, vexed, he said he was joking (although we all know he wasn’t).

In any way, Damian, in that year and a half, only had the good times with his brother. And today, as he had to take care of him all day long, he realized that...it wasn’t always that easy.

Proof : the morning had gone well, but now, it was over, and it was time to put some close on. Problem : Thomas didn’t seem very keen on putting pants, today.

It started slowly, as if it was a game.

Thomas ran around the room, laughing, repeating : “no ‘an’ !” (which probably meant “no pants”). Up until Damian tried to take his father’s strict tone and said :

“Ok Thomas, enough now, you need to put your pants on.”

Well. That didn’t play well in Thomas’ book. Frowning, he said :

“No.”

“Yes, Tommy. It’s day time, you need to put pants on.”

“No.”

“Yes. Come on, I’ll help you.”

“NO !”

Thomas ran away from Damian’s grasp, and your son was so surprised that he wasn’t able to catch him right away. He caught up to him though as Thomas was climbing a couch, sure that he’d be out of reach at its top (probably not understanding that Damian wasn’t as small as him...).

Once on the top of it, he sad down and put his hands in front of his eyes, clearly thinking he was hidden, now.

“I can see you Thomas.”

“No.”

“Stop saying no, I can see you.”

“No.”

“Come on Thomas, I’m not playing anymore, I can see you, and you need to put some pants on.”

“Noooooooooooooooo.”

“Tho-”

“NooOOooOOoOOoOOoOoo noooooooo.”

“Thoma-”

“NoooOOoOOoo no no no no no no no !!!!”

Damian realized trying to talk it out wouldn’t work. His brother was probably too young to be reasoned with. Quickly,he scratched his head to find a solution.

Maybe making him laugh again ? Like Dick did with him at first.

It felt like such a long time ago, but there was a time when Damian was a really big brat. He still was, sometimes, he wasn’t perfect of course. But he improved a lot.

Regardless, one of the way Dick would make him stop being bratty, was making absolutely awful jokes and trying to make him laugh by doing stupid things. Ok. Here we go then :

“Hey hey Thomas look, look !”

“No no no no...No ?”

Ok. Good point. Thomas was now watching Damian doing backflips and running around. Beaming, the little boy smiled widely and clapped his hands.

YES ! Damian most definitely won. He stopped doing his acrobatics and turned to his little brother, saying :

“Ok, time for pants now.”

But Thomas frowned again, as if vexed he fell for the show, and gave Damian a definitive :

“No.”

Well. That was a fail. What did Jason do again, to stop one of Damian’s own tantrum ? Oh. Right. Um. That probably wouldn’t be a good method with such a young kid. Skipping that one.

Tim ? Tim would talk to him about his favorite things. Video games, or whatever. And blackmailing him a lot (as a good big brother). Damian wasn’t too into blackmailing, but he was kinda running out of ideas.

This was the first time Thomas was being difficult with him, it was too new, he needed more data to know exactly how to react !

So, blackmail it would be.

“If you put your pants on, we’ll watch your favorite movie !”

This seemed to peak Thomas’ interest. He looked at the Tv, then at his pants. Then at the TV again and...oh...Ooooh...Damn it ! Damian could see he almost got him. But it didn’t work, his brother shook his head “no” so strongly he almost fell of the couch.

Ok. What were the options left ? What did Cass do ? Mmm. She would hug him and tell him things would be alright. Which worked for him, given his past, but Thomas was a little over one and had a normal happy childhood so far !

They couldn’t relate to their past, like Cass and him did.

Ok. What would his mom do ? Well, with his mom, Damian had the intimate feeling that Thomas would’ve put on his pants without a word. He knew she wasn’t joking around. He’d never pull this sort of things with her.

He would though, pull that with his father. And what would Bruce do ? Either let it go, or, if he was in a bad mood, be very strict and force him to put his pants on. Nobody said his father was perfect...His mother, neither. She could be implacable in her way of educating her son.

Thomas was a calm boy, and was of course allowed to have tantrums. Their mother was mostly understanding. But if she was tired, she’d be less patient...It wasn’t always easy, raising kids. And the gods knew the Waynes had a LOT on their plates, at times.

MMm. Damian didn’t want to force him to do anything, or to lose his patience.

And then it hit him. The solution was right in front of his eyes. Of course. It was so simple !

"(...) Continuation of last entry (March 7th)

New observation after today’s babysitting : toddlers sometimes focus on one thing so much they don't know how to react, and therefor, explodes with feelings

I found that my siblings tricks to calm me down would not work on Thomas, because he isn’t me. We don’t have the same personality, or background. I never even noticed before, how Dick, for example, used different methods to comfort all of us. Adaptability is key. Like how father gives us all different trainings, according to our own needs. Little brothers are the same. When mad, they need to be calmed in different ways. Thomas is such a calm kid and has so few tantrum, I feel comfortable doing what I did.

Which brings me to my next point. Being an older brother sometimes mean being the bigger person. Giving up, and letting them do what they want. I never realized how many things Tim, Dick, Jason or Cass gave up for me. But it now becomes very apparent to me. They switched things around in their lives to be convenient for me. Like, Tim used to love playing video games on his own, yet he let me come and play with him even as he doesn’t like multiplayer modes. Jason is afraid of snakes yet took me to Gotham terrarium where there’s one of the largest concentration of snakes in the US when I asked him. Dick gave up on ever taking many hoodies I stole from him back. Etc etc.

Being a big brother means being the bigger person sometimes, and letting the small one have their ways. Dick, Jason, Cass and Tim did it all the time with me, and it’s my turn to do it with Thomas. Unlike our parents, I don’t need to be the “police officer” of the house. I can have only the good times, and when appropriate, just let go.

Today was the first tantrum I witnessed Thomas having, and I decided to let it go. After than, it went all smooth. And honestly, he’s just a bit over one. It’s ok, if he doesn’t wear pants...”

************

Their parents found them both asleep in front of Thomas’ favorite movie.

They were still both in their pyjamas.

“No pants” day became a thing, for the two brothers.

**********

“Wednesday, April 19th 20??. Thomas : 3 years old.

Today, I learned a new lesson. I kind of already knew it before, by observing Dick, Jason, Tim and Cass. But it only became obvious to me today : A big brother is here to help his little sibling walk his own path. And discover the world.”

Damian was looking at his baby brother toughtfully. Mmm. Seemed like the kid liked animals too. Maybe they could bond further over this ?

Your boy remembered that that's how his own siblings handled him. They found common ground on which they could understand each others.

With Dick, Damian learned how to perfect his flips and other acrobatics. They enjoyed the creativity and yet physical training of this “game”.

With Jason, he used to spew all his frustration at him, and Jason would nod and say things like : “that’s right little bird, you tell ‘em !” and just agree with him on everything, even when he was wrong. They could particularly agree on how sometimes, Bruce could be a jerk...And yet wouldn’t wish for any other father.

With Cass, they’d do artistic things. Drawing, or dancing. Sometimes sitting in silence for hours, back to back, while they painted. It was nice. Relaxing.

With Tim...Well, Tim was a big advocate of this definition of sibling, that he made up himself : “The only people who will pick on you for their own entertainment, and beat up anyone else who tries.” So they’d bicker a lot, but then if anyone else was trying to rile Damian up, Tim would appear out of nowhere to give them a piece of his mind.

Yes. Yes. As Damian was observing little Thomas hug and smile at his stuffed animals, and thought that this could be quite the approach.

After all, he really loved animals too.

"'Ook Damdam, ook ! SIMBA !"

Damian had become an expert in his brother's baby talk, and knew this meant : "Look Damian, Look ! A lion"

"No Thomas, not a Simba, a lion. Not all lions are called Simba, just like in the film."

Patience was key. Damian was pretty sure he already told Thomas that exact same thing a hundred time, but for some reasons, the boy stayed stuck on his Disney knowledge.

But today, something different happened. Things clicked in the boy’s head.

Thomas looked at his stuffed animal for a while, and then asked :

"…Nala ? Girl ?"

"…Wether it's a boy or a girl, their names aren't simba or nala, they're lions. And lionness. Simba and Nala are characters in a movie."

The boy looked at his brother, confused, then looked back at his plushy lion and asked, to make sure :

"…Not Simba ?"

"Lion."

"…'ion ?"

"Yes."

"That, not Nemo ?"

OH ! They were making progress ! So far, Thomas didn’t really listen to Damian when he tried to teach him animal names, and just gave them names of Disney characters !

Now, he was pointing at his stuffed clown fish, asking wether he was a “Nemo” or not ! PROGRESS !

Damian smiled internally. Thinking it was cute, you and Bruce never did much to correct your son, which Damian found frustrating. But here they were, him finally gaining grounds !

“Right, not Nemo. Clown fish.”

“On fish.”

“Clown. CL-OWN”.

“O-N.”

“K-K. LL. AON. Repeat after me Thomas, Clown.”

“...Cl...cl...clnown ?”

“Clown.”

“CLOWN !”

“YES !”

“CLOWN FISH !”

Thomas said proudly, showing his plushy. And Damian felt a rush of pride.Yes. That was it. Clown fish. He learned a new thing. And...And he probably wouldn’t have learned it yet if it wasn’t for him ?

Oh. So a big brother also kinda had the role of a teacher. Interesting.

And as Thomas ran to his father and screamed “CLOWN FISH” at him, Damian couldn’t help but being proud of him. Even though their father was clearly confused, as the little boy now was running to Alfred to show him he knew what a clown fish was, and didn't give further explanations to Bruce.

“Clown fish ?”

The big scary bat repeated, utterly confused. By a three years old. What was it again ? Best detective in the world ?

************

“GWAYSON !”

“No Thomas, no, I’m Dick, not Grayson !”

“...Dick ?”

“Yes ! Damian, stop teaching him that my name is Grayson ! Ugh. I swear, he hangs out wayyyyy too much with you. I need to spend more time here...”

Damian grinned slyly, and Dick rolled his eyes. Thomas was growing up fast, and it made sense that he sometimes seemed closer to Damian, whom he saw the most.

Dick and Jason had their own place, and both Cass and Tim were busy with college. Damian was still in high school, and a lot home.

Although they weren’t seeing each others as much as he wished, the youngest Wayne and the oldest one still were extremely close.

In fact, Thomas was very close to all his siblings. They almost were all like second (or third, or fourth) father, and mother. They were so much older than him, of course they’d have this sort of status at time.

Their parents would take a lot care of him, and he was also very much a “daddy’s and momma’s boy” (like all his siblings really, though they’d never admit it).

But Thomas did spend a lot of time with Damian, and wether it was on purpose or not, he took a lot after his mannerism and such...just like Damian used to copy his older sibling mannerism, and so on and so forth.

“Gwayson” though, he could avoid.

Dick rolled his eyes again, and smirked at Damian, before returning to play with Thomas.

************

“Thursday, July 23rd 20??, Thomas : 4 years old.

Today, father and mom told me I was to take a night off and not to go on patrol. And that was a very big inconvenience. I had things planned, to prove my valor. I was about to sneak out anyway when (...)”

Damian, his costume on, made sure his parents were busy before starting to come in action.

First, he had to wait for his father to go on patrol, and join his other siblings out. And for his mom to get in front of the Batcomputer to monitor everything.

Then, he had to wait for Alfred to put Thomas to bed, and to go himself sleep, the baby phone near him, just in case, even though Thomas was already 4 now and had full nights. The butler would never just leave him like that, even if his room wasn’t too far.

Finally, he'd just have to sneak out by...

“DAMDAM !”

Damian jumped in the air, surprised, and turned around.

His little brother was right there, in front of him, smiling widely.

“Thomas ? How did you get here ?”

“I jumped out of bed, and walked.”

Thomas said the most natural way ever, as if it was obvious how he got there, while it was almost 1 am and was supposed to be in bed.

“It’s way past your bed time buddy.”

“I can’t sleep. Mama and daddy awe not hewe. Cassie and Tim either. Alfwed is sleeping !”

“Well you should be sleeping too !”

“But I can’t ! I just told you !”

There was a short silence between the two, and...Oh. Oh he dared.

Thomas was giving his older brother his world famous “puppy eyes” (a method he directly stole from Damian, of course). And as usual, it worked.

Damian took his mask off, sighed and said :

“You want a bed time story ?”

“YES !”

And without invitation, the boy jumped on his brother’s bed, slipped under the covers, and waited patiently for Damian to go fetch the book they were currently reading.

“(...) Continuing last entry, (July 23rd)

And then Thomas fell asleep in my lap, and I realized something. I guess it was good, to have a night off. If I went out, I would’ve never made this important discovery : Tonight, I have learned that to be with the ones I love is enough. And that I do not need to chase after anything else to be happy.

It’s a discovery I thought I made long ago, but as I felt more big brother than ever after reading him a story, it truly hit me. Being me, and being with them...It’s enough. I don’t need to have more. And maybe, maybe being a big brother means to simply be there when you feel lonely ? Like Thomas, tonight, as our parents were away, and none of our other siblings were there. Like me too, when I had nightmares and went to hide in Cass, Dick, Jason, or Tim’s bed...whoever was available when mom and dad weren’t.

Mom and dad. They do their best. And their best makes them the best parents anyone could wish for. But they have a lot to do, wether in the day or at night. So sometimes, it comes to me. Or to my older siblings, to take care of each others. To take care of Thomas. We have to be there for each others, always. Being a big brother means taking the time to be there. Simple.”

************

“Look Damian, it’s a freakin’ elephant !!”

“Um, what did you say ?”

“It’s a freakin’ elephant !!”

Damian looked around at the disapproving looks he got, and couldn’t care less. Of course, he wasn’t particularly thrilled about his little brother using “freaking” but oh well. It was to be expected, when everyone around him used it (and in some cased *cough* Jason and you *cough* used even worst).

But as Damian came towards his little brother, he realized something. Something that made him burst out laughing.

Thomas was starting to read on his own now.

It was exciting, to witness Thomas’ progress as he slowly but surely learned how to read. And it felt so nice, to participate in said progress. To be there every steps of the way.

Damian shared the pride Thomas felt whenever he showed his parents how well he’d gotten at reading.

And it was so nice, to see his mom and dad congratulates both of them…Thom because he really started to read well, and Damian for helping him out.

Far were the frustrating days when Thomas was a stubborn toddler that refused to call animals by their “actual names”.

Damian spend many hours trying to explain to his younger brother that no, mice weren’t called “Mickey” and elephants “Dumbo” !

Nowadays, the little boy knew what the animals’ name actually were. Which didn’t mean no incident ever happened…Like today.

It was Thomas’ sixth birthday and he asked to go to the zoo (Damian definitely had an impact on that boy).

“Look Damdam, it’s a freakin’ elephant !!”

The boy said excitedly, pulling his brother’s sleeve and pointing at the elephant’s massive enclosure. Damian shook his head, slightly shocked.

Not because his brother just called him “Damdam” (it was the nickname Thomas gave him long ago, when he couldn’t pronounce things quite right, and it just stuck), but because Thomas’ words were very much unlike him.

Their parents were a bit further, being disgustingly cute together, holding hands and all, and trusting Damian to keep an eye on Thomas (they knew he’d never let that kid out of his sight, plus Damian was almost an adult, now, he was responsible…sometimes).

“What did you say, Thomas ?”

“It’s a freakin’ elephant !”

The boy seemed so proud of himself. Damian knew elephants were some of his brother’s favorite animal, but he just couldn’t get over the fact that his precious little brother just used the word “freaking”, even if it really wasn’t a bad one.

That’s when Damian noticed it. The plaque giving informations about which kind of elephant it was. …His laughter resonated in the entire zoo. Both you and Bruce went to see what happened, and were face by a son shaking with laughter, and another little one that seemed very confused. When you asked what happened, Damian barely manage to say, pointing at the enclosure next to you :

“It’s a freakin’ elephant !”

And there, there came the laughter.

Yes. Yes it was an “freakin’ elephant”…Or, for those who weren’t as new at reading as Thomas was, an “African elephant.

Damian later shared what just happened with his older siblings, and they in turn gave him many occurrences of him being naive or such sometimes.

Like that time Jason made him believe that the hays in fields covered with white plastics were marshmallows’ fields...But instead of being vexed, Damian laughed with them.

Because that was what being a little sibling meant. And being the older one meant to see the evolution the small one went through, witness it all, and help out. Be there.

Finally. Finally Damian felt like he truly understood, what it was to be a big brother ?

**********

“Saturday, July 12th 20??, Thomas : 6 years old.

It took me six years, but I think I know now. After countless study and experiment. After spending hours and hours with Thomas. I think I know what it means to be a big brother.

First I had to understand what being a sibling meant. And that was easy. I had good model. Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass. They’re the best older siblings you can wish for (after me, of course). They helped me understand so much...Thanks to them, I finally got what it was, to be a sibling. And here it is :

Being siblings means our bond is stronger than any outside force, and we always have someone to lean on. It means late night pillow talks, awkward phone conversations, and insane laughter. It means calling each others over for no reason other than to sit in silence or talk for hours about nothing. One minute I'll be talking to one of my brother about Harry Potter, and the next I'll be talking to my sister about the newest music we're listening to.

But being an older brother...Being an older brother goes beyond just that. When you’re the youngest, sure you’re there for them, and you help out. But most of the time, you’re the one being helped, and having the most support. While still having fun ?

Being an older brother, it's keeping that balance between letting out my inner child (which I didn’t even know I had for the longest time, and was let out thanks to my older siblings at first) but still looking out for my little brother.

Basically, it means having a free therapist and the greatest confidante you could ask for. I went to my older brothers and sister many times, in time of need. And Thomas comes to me often, too. When it’s things we can’t tell our parents, you know ?

Being an older brother means being there for your little one through thick and thin. There were many times I had to stand up for Thomas even when it was difficult, whether it was to our parents or someone else. And there were even more times when Dick, Jason, Tim or Cass stood up for me.

But it also means being a little strict at times. I came to realize that when Dick told me to do something, or Tim, or any of them...It came more from the fact they wanted me to not get into trouble than anything else, and that...That I realized with Thomas. Sometimes, you have to tell your little sibling what to do. But some other times, it’s totally ok to let go.

Being a big brother means loving and supporting your little sibling no matter who or what they choose to be or do. That’s what my brothers and sister showed me, and my parents too. And that’s what I discovered with my own little brother. So what if we didn’t have all the same interest ?

Being a big brother means celebrating individuality and being proud of the fact that your little brother/sister is a part of your family. I’m glad we’re all different, with my siblings. And I’ll never make Thomas feel bad for that. It’s good, that he’s the calmest out of all of us, and had a different kind of life.

Maybe being an older brother means that occasionally, I take advantage of the fact I can tell Thomas what to do (and how easily he listens to me), but...I am his biggest fan. If he falls, I will always pick him back up (right after finishing laughing, like Jason would say).

Yes. It took me six years, but I think I finally know what being a big brother means. I’m glad, because this is the last page of this logbook.

One day, I think I’ll give it to you, Thomas. Just in case. If you’re going through a tough time, or you’re not sure of who you really are. To remind yourself I went through the same thing.

To remind yourself I had to write, for six years, certain important interactions I had with you so I would understand a simple concept such as “being a big brother”.

And that Dick did too. It wasn’t easy for him to go from a circus life with his parents to Wayne Manor with mom and dad, who were both rather young at the time, and inexperienced.

Jason came from the street, rejected by everyone. Do you think it was easy for him to acclimate to a life where he could finally be at peace ? Nope. And then, when he died and came back ? Ask him, and you’ll know.

Cass came a long way. Now, she speaks a lot, especially to you. But she used to be “mute”. And had a hard life. You should ask her, sometimes.

Tim struggled with being ignored all his life, and then he came in and suddenly had siblings, and “real” parents. Then I came along and fucked things up a bit (don’t swear)...but he came through, understanding what a big brother was supposed to be.

We all came through. Mainly because we had each others. So please Thomas, if you ever feel down, just come to me. Or to them. To us. We’re your older siblings, and that what it means.

I’m here for you. We’re here for you. Forever.”

The end

__________________________________________________

So, y’all know I was very nervous about posting this. I hope it wasn’t a total fail and you enjoyed reading it ? Thank you for reading, and as usual, if you liked it and all, comments and reblogs are always more than welcomed :). Here we go. See you next time with another story. Now, I’m going to go hide in a whole out of fear that you guys will hate this and how different it might be from other stories (as it’s mainly Damian/Thomas centric).

For those who do not know who Thomas is and are curious, here are the stories from my main Batmom timeline in which he appears : The Great Mall adventure, Master of Diaper, Shaky steps and bad teaching, Polichinelle, “Go away, you’re confusing my baby”, How do you make babies ?, Wild Child 2, “We want them back” and After Batmom’s death

CLICK HERE FOR ALTERNATE ENDING

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clean-bands-dirty-stories · 4 years

Text

Study Buddies ~ H.D.

A/n: Yall really be liking Hamish huh? Lol we stan tbh.

Request: “Hi could I request a hamish duke x male reader where the reader is like the super studious person like always preparing for the next test or something and hamish starts liking him? Ps you are like the only person who does the order fics and I love that you do it because I love the order boys!!” by anonymous

Word Count: 3000+

Masterlist

Psychology was hard.

School was never one of those things that came easy to Y/n. He wasn't one of those kids who could sit there and give the bare minimum effort. He struggled to follow throughout an entire lecture because the sun was bright and the grass was really green and he knew it was a nice day outside today and... wait now he'd missed five minutes of class, dang it!

In college, five minutes was like missing three days of school. The topic was suddenly completely different and Y/n was lost and confused.

That didn't stop him from being a top student in each one of his classes though. He had always been proud of his grades and worked himself near death if necessary, if it meant getting an A. Not literally near death of course, that was dramatic.

Y/n had taught himself time management at a very young age. It had been the key to his success ever since. He slept and ate food - three meals a day - and even kept a job, taking every free moment he had to study his ass off so that he knew what was going on and could deliver the proof with those beautiful red A's on the top of each of his papers.

Y/n really did study so much to get those results though. On his breaks at work, between classes, before and after school, during meals and off periods. He even quizzed himself in the bathroom and the shower, checking to make sure he'd gotten it right when he got out. It was hard and tiring, but it meant that he succeeded every time, and that's what was important.

He was a good student. His psychology teacher's TA, Hamish Duke, was very appreciative of it.

Hamish was around a lot more than the teacher was. He taught lectures and even graded papers. This class had long since been seen as Hamish’s class, and that was perhaps why it was so easy for him to slip every conversation into the direction of Y/n. Hamish was proud of all his students, but most often his star pupil.

Hamish talked about Y/n constantly. Or, more accurately, his grades. Like a proud parent showing off his child, Hamish filled his friends' ears with rant after rant about his favorite student. The only student that seemed genuinely knowledgeable about the material. The only student as well who turned in his stuff early and asked questions rather than just listening, and seemed dedicated and focused on everything, as Hamish said.

One day during one of these rants, Lilith said something that changed everything. "He likes you."

Hamish jerked back, his face twisting in disbelief. "What? No he doesn't."

Randall snorted. "No, I have to go with Lilith on this one, Hamish. I have math class with Y/n and he doesn't pay attention at all. He's just a super nerd and teaches the stuff to himself in his free time."

"Some boy doesn't pay attention in any class but Hamish's?" Jack laughed. "Dude so has a crush on you."

Rolling his eyes, Hamish stood. "You guys obviously have no sense of respect. Sorry, I forgot who I was talking to- I already knew that." The trio laughed as Hamish walked away.

After that though, Hamish became hyper aware of Y/n. The boy had his eyes on Hamish nonstop. Every once in a while, he'd even mutter under his breath as he'd watch and Hamish realized after a while that he was watching so closely, he was subconsciously mouthing along with Hamish. Probably because he read the book on his own time as well. Which made Hamish wonder why Y/n ever came to class. If he read the book, was he just... adding some context? Insight? So he asked Randall about it.

"Y/n only comes to class about half the time. The entire time he asks questions, but it's never about what's happened in previous classes or anything- just clarification about what we're learning now. I think he's got some theories? I don't know, he likes to test the water and push formulas. Our teacher actually gets a kick off of it. Y/n makes math fun, and... well, it's math. We all get happy when he's there."

So he might have stayed consistent with his insatiable need to deeply understand everything he took part in, but there was something different about Randall's experience from Hamish's. First of all, Y/n had never missed even a single one of Hamish's classes. Hamish knew because he had a perfect attendance record, and Hamish and the teacher - Ms. Merrill - talked about Y/n around their discussion on the newest lesson plan, batch of tests or even homework.

While Hamish was trying to ignore the thought of Y/n's possible feelings for him and teach a lesson instead, Y/n threw him off by approaching him after class. "Mr. Duke, I was wondering if you know any good tutors. I've been really struggling with the stuff we've been going over recently.

Hamish quirked an eyebrow. "Your grades are almost perfect."

There was a small smile on Y/n's lips when he spoke next. "Unfortunately, grades don't reflect understanding. I can sense myself starting to struggle I don't want to depend on luck being as good to me as it has been."

"Surely you're being modest."

A light chuckle. "Well, yes. I never depend on luck. I have been making educated guesses though and crossing my fingers on the rest."

That Hamish could relate to. "I see. I have to say, I don't really know anyone doing as well in my class as you are. No one who seems to be getting it as well as you do at least. It's mostly your questions that seem to clear up a lot of things for everyone else." Y/n seemed to lose hope as Hamish spoke. Maybe it was the look of panic that caused Hamish to speak next. "Uh, maybe I could." Y/n's eyes widened. "I just- I mean, obviously I understand it a little better. And in a one-on-one setting, it'll be less a lecture and more teaching since I'll be able to take you through my understanding on a deeper level."

"You'd do that?" Y/n looked so hopeful...

Despite the little voice screaming at Hamish to run, he couldn't bring himself to. "Yeah. When are you free?"

"I work everyday except Tuesday, Wednesday, and Saturday. Wednesdays I have completely free but if you wanted to work around Tuesday or Saturday that would be fine." Y/n pulled out a pen from behind his ear. Hamish hadn't noticed it before.

Hamish shuffled. He felt awkward for some reason. Why did he feel awkward? "Wednesdays will be perfectly fine for me. Should I get your number so we can decide what time and place?" Y/n nodded before holding out the pen and offering... his arm. "You don't have paper?"

Y/n rolled his eyes, but his smile was fond not mocking. "I really have to get to work actually. Could you just-?" He motioned to his arm and Hamish shrugged before trying to be delicate as he inked his number on the inside of Y/n's arm. "Thanks! I'll call you." He turned and moved quite quickly out of the room before disappearing out the doors. It was only after Y/n was gone that Hamish realized he still had the pen.

It was fine, he could give it back when they met up to study later.

Later on in the day, Hamish was still struggling to understand why he was so excited for the Wednesday study session. I mean Y/n seemed really cool so maybe Hamish just wanted to be friends with him. That made sense. But right as Hamish thought he was finally over it, it popped back in his brain again and he felt weirdly jittery and unfocused. He kept having to reread the problem he was on because he would get distracted before he could answer it then forget what it was when he finally focused again.

Lilith snapped her book open. "Okay, what's your deal?" The other two boys looked over. Hamish was surprised when he went to look at who she'd snapped at and had seen them all looking at him. When he only looked back confused, Lilith rolled her eyes. "Come on Hamish spill the beans. You won't sit still and you keep looking outside like you're waiting for a package to arrive or something."

"The last time he got like that was when you took him online shopping and he bought a grey v-neck. He threw a party when it came." The tease came from Randall.

"The he cried when you threw up on it," Lilith recalled.

"He CRIED?" Jack's eyes widened in amusement.

"It made my eyes look really good and that stain never came out!" Hamish exclaimed, defending himself.

Lilith shut up the others as they began to laugh. "Anyway, what has you all messed up now?”

Hamish scoffed. "Nothing could be as cool as a gray v-neck. You still owe me a replacement by the way," he shot at Randall, who winked and grinned in response.

"Hamish," Lilith snapped.

Pursing his lips, Hamish hesitated. Then he sighed. "There's only one thing I've got planned and it's not a big deal." Everyone leaned forward. When he didn't explain Randall motioned him to continue. Hamish rolled his eyes. "Y/n asked for some help-"

"You have a date with Y/n?" Jack demanded, his grin already face splitting.

"It's not a date!" Hamish slammed his own book shut. "He just needs someone to study with. He seems to be struggling."

Randall snorted, wiggling his eyebrows. "Probably because he's so distracted by Mr. Teacher."

Lilith nodded in agreement. "Sounds like a study date to me."

Waving his hand to dismiss what they were saying, Hamish stood and moved to the bar. Maybe if he drank something he could make sense of the chaos. Both of his friends and the one that was made up of his emotions. He usually handled both plenty well but they seemed to be refusing to make sense today. "You guys are idiots."

Idiots or not, their words followed Hamish all the way to Wednesday. He and Y/n only texted once to establish the time and place and it was just as professional as their conversation in person had been, but that didn't stop Hamish's mind from going wild. For the first time since Cassie he felt... stupid. He didn't know what to do or say. He found himself wanting to text Y/n more, but couldn't find a reason to. Why was this messing him up so much?

Panicked, Hamish pulled Randall aside at the last second. "I am freaking out."

"Your thing with Y/n today?" Randall asked. Hamish just wordlessly nodded. Randall smiled. "You like him, don't you?" Hamish was stubborn, but he wasn't dumb. He closed his eyes, groaning. "You have for a while?" Randall continued. "Like even before we said anything."

Hamish thought about that for a second. He thought about Ms. Merrill teasing him about how much he talked about Y/n. How she would hand him all Y/n's papers and tests to grade. He thought about the smiles on people's faces when he mentioned Y/n at all. He thought of the warmth in his gut he'd passed off as pride this whole time but, on a second look, was obviously something more. "Yeah." He frowned as he focused on Randall again. "Why did it take me so long to realize?"

Randall smiled. "You're stubborn. Once you've set your mind it'll never be changed. Whatever it was - whether you mislabeled the emotion, or the relationship between you guys, or even you or Y/n as people. Once you labeled it, you weren't going to be swayed until someone forced you to."

"Thank you Lilith," Hamish mumbled, feigning bitterness. Randall laughed. After a second, Hamish asked, "What now?"

Clapping Hamish on the shoulder, Randall let out a heavy sigh. "Now you go to this study date and you woo the boy. Duh."

So that's what Hamish did. He met up with Y/n and recognized the swell in his chest when he saw him. The way his stomach twisted. Now that he knew what it was, he was nervous rather than excited. Why was it suddenly so hard to talk to someone once you liked them?

They were already acquainted. Y/n had seen Hamish in all kinds of conditions, if not all but his worst. They knew plenty about each other, if just in passing. They'd talked plenty of times. They'd even been alone a few times, in a setting just like this. Y/n had been there when Hamish had been a disaster while trying to adjust to fully teaching a class instead of just doing grunt work. He'd helped Hamish out even, instead of teasing him or messing with him like the others students tried to do. What did Hamish have to be afraid of? Y/n trusted Hamish with his grades and education, and that seemed to mean a lot to him. Hamish trusted Y/n too. To tell the truth. To guide and help when he was struggling, and to liven things up when it got boring. It shouldn't have been hard to just talk to him.

And yet.

Y/n placed a hand on Hamish's arm. "Hey, are you okay? You seem upset." Hamish looked at him and realized how close together they were. Not too close, like friends, but far closer than they'd ever been before.

He didn't know what possessed him. It would have been better to break the ice. Maybe bring it up casually and talk about it. Flirt or tease. Anything to transition or something. Hamish skipped all of that. In his little moment of panic, he just leaned in right for the kiss.

And Y/n jerked away.

Hamish nearly choked. "I- I'm so sorry-"

Blush swallowed Y/n's face. "You were going to kiss me, right? I didn't misread that?"

"Yes." Hamish white knuckled his pencil. "I should have lead into that. You just- have these really pretty eyes-" He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.

"You... I'm sorry you just took me by surprise." Y/n rubbed his forehead. "Please don't tell me you thought I asked for your help because I liked you." Hamish's smile fell and he tried to find something to say, but Y/n looked uncomfortable and he was afraid he'd make it worse. "Hamish, I meant what I said when I inquired for help. You suggested doing it yourself. I don't... like you like that. Honestly I'm about to take a short leave for a few days and didn't want to get behind so I thought I'd get some clarification on some things I've been studying on my own."

Hamish felt like an idiot. "Oh."

"Yeah," Y/n returned softly.

"I'm... so sorry," Hamish breathed out. "Honestly I was talking about you to my friends because I admire your hard work and good grades and how you engage in class and make it fun, and they messed up my head." He shook his head, trying to clear it. "How about we ignore all of that and focus on school? I'm sure you still need help."

Y/n paused, a smile growing on his face. "I'd like that. I don't think I could get anyone as good as you to help me with this."

The awkward tension passed in a few moments as they got absorbed in work. The problem was, as Hamish easily lost himself in teaching, Y/n was now the one who found himself distracted. Hamish had a really nice smile and the sun reflected off his eyes and hair and made him look like he was almost glowing. Y/n hadn't noticed it before, but now... thinking about Hamish kissing him. How Hamish might like him. Might have been thinking about him and wondering. Getting up the courage for this little thing, and how he hadn't run away to save his pride because he valued Y/n's need enough to push away his own feelings.

They parted on good terms, shaking hands after a pause. Then they gathered their stuff and went their separate ways.

Hamish refused to talk about the "date" with Y/n, no matter how much his friends begged and prodded. Not even Lilith could pry anything from him. When Y/n didn't show up for class, Hamish figured he was gone for his little break. A break that lasted for a week and a half. Every class without Y/n was super boring and seemed to teach no one anything. Students all stared at him like he was speaking another language, and everyone refused to ask any questions. No jokes or engagement at all. He understood what Randall had meant by everyone getting excited when Y/n came to class now.

It was right after the next class Y/n hadn't been at that the man himself suddenly appeared. He looked determined about something, walking to Hamish quickly. Hamish was at the back of the room, trying to pull himself together and lift his spirits as he worried yet again that he was maybe just a bad teacher and Y/n was the one who made people stay and come at all. It was then that Y/n barged in and walked right up to him, cutting him off int he middle of greeting him and asking what he needed to grab him by the shirt and pull him into a kiss.

Without hesitation, Hamish kissed back. He held Y/n's face as the other boy pulled them as close together as they could get. When they parted, they'd moved a little so that Y/n was sitting on Hamish's desk, Hamish between his legs. "Whoa," Hamish whispered, both stunned by the kiss and their current position.

Y/n exhaled a sharp breath. "You asshole. I've been thinking about you nonstop for MONTHS and you finally try and kiss me right when I'm getting over you. Then I'm gone and all I can think about is you again and I miss you and your stupid class and your hair and eyes and your voice and how much I wanted you to kiss me so guess who's back early because I need you to kiss me? GUESS."

Hamish chuckled, soft but for quite a while. Y/n shoves him, but before he can go off again Hamish is already kissing him for the second time. Both boys relaxed and melted into each other. "Hey," Hamish whispered.

"Hi," Y/n whispered back.

The older boy's thumb brushed over Y/n's cheek. "Let me take you on a real date."

Biting his lip to try and contain his smile, Y/n considered. "Only if you agree to be my boyfriend."

Hamish grinned. "Does this mean we can be study buddies all the time?"

"Will you distract me with kisses like you tried to last time?" Y/n asked.

Tilting his head, Hamish avoided answering. "Not... EVERY time..."

Y/n laughed, shaking his head. "Fine. Deal."

"Deal," Hamish agreed. And they kissed again to seal it. Finally.

#hamish duke #the order #the knights of saint chrisptoher #the knights of the order of the hermedic blue rose #hamish duke x reader #hamish duke imagine #male reader #the order x reader #the order imagine #the knights of saint christopher x reader #the knights of saint Christopher imagine

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noona-clock · 4 years

Text

The Engineer - Part 4

Genre: Engineer!AU

Pairing: Chanwoo x You (Female!Reader)

Warnings: None

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 | Words: 2,294

This was bad.

Just after you’d closed your eyes to go to sleep last night, you had realized something. Something that would probably keep you awake for at least another hour.

Chanwoo had asked you to... hang out.

Those had been his exact words. Hang out. He hadn’t asked you to go out, and he certainly hadn’t asked you to go on a date with him.

He’d said “I was wondering if... you’d wanna, like... hang out?”

And you really couldn’t be sure that he’d asked you out on a date. I mean, people typically used the term ‘hang out’ when they were spending time with friends.

So... what if Chanwoo was only interested in you as a friend? What if he already had a girlfriend? ...Or a boyfriend? Or was single but wanted a boyfriend?

I mean, you’d been around Miles and his 99.9% accurate Gaydar for so many years, you were pretty confident in your own skills of figuring out who wasn’t straight. And you hadn’t gotten any vibes from Chanwoo other than flirting ones! You’d thought he’d been flirting with you!

But... maybe not?

Maybe he had been so shy and awkward because... he was just shy and awkward around people he didn’t know, not because he was interested in you.

To be honest, you’d thought about it and over-analyzed it far too much. Sometimes -- mainly when you were doing your job -- you were glad to have such an active brain.

At times like these, you were not glad in the slightest.

You’d been able to manage four or five hours of restless sleep last night, so you were currently on your third cup of coffee -- and it wasn’t even 11 AM. This was a new personal record!

You had just taken a sip of the only thing keeping you awake when the sound of a text message arriving chirped through the air. You jumped a little, your heart starting to race even more than it already had been from all the caffeine you’d consumed.

When you reached for your phone, you saw the message you’d just received was from Chanwoo.

You took a deep breath and you clicked on the notification and opened it.

Do you like sushi?

You quickly replied back that you did, indeed, like sushi.

A few moments later, he responded with a location -- a new sushi restaurant you recognized but hadn’t gotten around to trying yet, and underneath that, he simply said Noon?

So... did he want to come pick you up at noon? Or did he want you to meet him there at noon?

For some reason you weren’t quite sure of, you didn’t want to ask. Even though it would make things so much easier, and it would make your anxiety a lot less... well... anxious.

But you still replied with Sounds good!

Chanwoo read your message immediately and began typing.

Cool. See you there!

You couldn’t stop yourself from letting out a very loud sigh of relief. You gave his message a thumbs up, put your phone back down on the coffee table, and picked your mug back up.

To be honest, you were relieved in more ways than one. You were relieved that he had settled your inner debate about whether he would pick up or if you would meet him there -- and he had also settled your inner debate about whether or not he was romantically interested in you.

He knew where you lived (though, not in a creepy way -- hopefully), and if he was taking you out on a real date, he definitely would’ve offered to come pick you up.

So. A casual friendly hangout it is!

When you pulled into the parking lot of the sushi restaurant at two minutes after noon, you weren’t too worried even though you usually liked being right on time -- or even a little bit early.

Most of the guys you’d dated in the past had never been right on time -- or even a little bit early -- to anything in their lives, including your dates. It had never really bothered you if they were just a few minutes late, and you’d gotten so used to it that you just kind of assumed that Chanwoo wouldn’t be there right at noon.

Not that you were dating him, of course. Or even that this was a date! Because it sure wasn’t!

Anyway, the point is, you were more than a little surprised when you walked into the restaurant and saw Chanwoo waiting for you in the front seating area.

He stood up quickly, wringing his hands in front of him nervously and shooting you an adorably awkward smile.

“Hey,” he greeted as you approached him. “You look great.”

“Hey, thanks,” you replied, smiling back at him. And then you reached out and briefly patted his upper arm and said, “You do, too.”

...You immediately regretted doing that. You might as well have just playfully punched his arm and called him ‘Pal.’

Just exactly how lame were you?!

Apparently, Chanwoo also thought you were lame because his cheeks tinged with pink, and he murmured his thanks almost under his breath.

...Off to a great start!

You mentally kicked yourself as the hostess showed you both to the sushi bar, silently hoping the very beginning of this non-date wasn’t an omen about how the rest of it would go.

As soon as you slid onto a stool, hanging your bag up on a hook underneath the counter, Chanwoo asked you about your job. He was probably curious since you’d been home in the early afternoon, a time most working adults would be... well, at work.

You explained that you were a freelancer and got all of your work done at home -- or in a coffee shop if you needed a change of scenery.

He seemed to be more interested in your answer than most people, asking how you’d found the job, if you liked working at home, if you’d always envisioned this career path for yourself, if it had to do with what you’d gotten your degree in.

The server had come to take your drink and sushi orders as you talked, and by the time he laid your platter of food down in front of you, you felt like you’d relayed almost your whole life story to Chanwoo.

I mean, at least, your whole career story.

“What about you?” you asked in return as you broke apart your wooden chopsticks. “How did you become a --”

What was it he’d said the other day?

“A mechanical engineer,” Chanwoo supplied with a half grin.

“Right, that,” you chuckled. “What’s the story behind it?”

Chanwoo let out a soft, ponderous sigh, picking up a roll from his plate and popping it into his mouth.

“Well,” he replied as soon as he’d finished chewing. “I’ve always liked figuring out how things work. I’m actually not very good at it -- not naturally, I mean. But I like the challenge. And I’ve always been pretty good with my hands.”

“Which is why you almost you hit me with a baseball,” you interrupted with an amused grin.

“Yes,” Chanwoo chuckled, his cheeks once again tinging with pink. “My dream growing up was to be a professional ball player, but once I figured out how slim those odds really are, I decided to go for a job that’s a little more guaranteed and steady.”

“So, what did you study at university?” you asked in-between bites of your avocado roll.

An almost invisible smile tugged at Chanwoo’s lips, and you wondered why he would find your question so amusing... but then he replied with, “Mechanical Engineering.”

“Oh,” you chuckled. “I had no idea that was a -- of course. That makes a lot of sense.”

“Yeah, my friend’s uncle owns YG -- the company I work for now -- and we used to help him out during the summer in high school. Once I graduated, I knew exactly what I wanted to major in.”

The fact that he brought up high school and graduating only reminded you of when he graduated -- and how many years after you it had been. But you stuffed another sushi roll into your mouth to try and rid those thoughts from your brain.

“You like your job, then?” you asked, somewhat avoiding his gaze for now.

“I do,” he confirmed. “It keeps me busy enough, but I still have time to play baseball and video games. That’s... really all I need.”

See, hearing him say that, you knew this was destined to be just a friendship. You really weren’t into baseball or video games all that much, and you couldn’t imagine he would want a girlfriend who didn’t care about his main hobbies.

That actually made you feel a little bit better. A little more relaxed.

“Do you actually play? Like on a team or anything?”

“I have before, but there’s usually always a game, or at least a practice, on Saturdays, and I didn’t like not being able to show up sometimes,” he shrugged. “But I play with my friends a lot, and I like just going to the batting cages and hitting by myself.”

“You’re an introvert?” you asked with a small grin.

Chanwoo nodded, letting out a breathless chuckle as he started on his second row of sushi. “Yeah.”

“Me, too,” you told him. “I mean, I work at home by myself all day. I’d better be an introvert.”

Chanwoo chuckled again, though this time it was a bit louder and contained more amusement.

“I have my best friend, Miles, and his husband, Tristan, and my family, of course -- but that’s about it.”

To be honest... you hadn’t realized just how small your social circle was. Yes, you were acquaintances and casual friends with quite a few people -- your neighbors included -- but you didn’t spend actual, real quality time with anyone but who you’d just named.

So, it was actually a good thing Chanwoo was trying to be friends with you. The two of you may not have a whole lot in common, but so far, he was easy to talk to.

...Except when you saw his dimples. They’d appeared a few times during your meal already, and your heart had yet to beat normally when they did.

But other than that, you didn’t feel too awkward or nervous around him, and it seemed like he was getting more comfortable around you, too.

Everything seemed to be going swimmingly, actually.

Until... the check.

When your server brought your check, you frowned when you realized he hadn’t asked if you wanted it together or separate. Obviously, since this wasn’t a date, you’d been prepared to pay for your own meal. But since he hadn’t given you an option, you simply reached down to get your wallet out of your bag so you could at least pay for your half.

“Oh, no,” Chanwoo interrupted, already having slid his wallet out of his pocket. “I got it.”

“That’s okay, I can pay for mine.”

“No,” he repeated. “I got it.”

He got out his credit card, placing it on top of the receipt and waving down the server to come and take it before you had a chance to even open your bag.

“Oh --” you murmured as the server appeared to take the check away. “Thank you. You didn’t need to, I could’ve paid for mine.”

“I wanted to,” Chanwoo answered as he put his wallet back into his pocket -- probably a nervous gesture because he would have to get it right back out again when the server came back.

“I’ll get it next time!” you offered with a grin.

Chanwoo’s eyebrows flew up his forehead, and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Yeah? You... want to go out again?”

...Oh, no.

When he’d asked you on the phone last night, he’d said ‘hang out.’

Now, he was saying ‘go out.’ And he hadn’t let you pay.

You’d spent this whole time thinking it wasn’t a date... but now you were severely questioning that thought.

So, when you answered him, you kept your tone as friendly and casual as possible. “Yeah, sure! Why not?” you chuckled. “I had a good time.”

Chanwoo pressed his lips together to suppress his smile, and he replied, “Me, too.”

You were too confused now. He was certainly acting like this had been a date... so, why had he asked you to hang out?!

But another good question was, why had you been so fixated on the fact that he’d asked you to hang out? Why were you over-analyzing every little thing about this situation? Why couldn’t you just be cool and nonchalant and see where this whole thing took the two of you?!

...This was probably why you barely had any friends.

As soon as the server brought the check back, you grabbed your purse from the hook under the counter and began to make your way to the front of the restaurant.

Now that you thought maybe Chanwoo did maybe think this was maybe a date, you were starting to get anxious about the ‘saying good-bye’ part.

What if he tried to kiss you?

Honestly, you wouldn’t hate that. But you’d been thinking this whole time that this was a friendly, casual hangout lunch! Not a date! You couldn’t just flip the switch that easily!

“Well,” you said once the two of you got outside. “Just -- just let me know when you want to hang out again.”

And then you waved and said good-bye and got your keys out and went to your car and left.

...So. Yeah.

That... ended smoothly.

Part 5

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selfcareparker · 3 years

Note

LMAOO I WAS GONNA BRING UP FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLIDER BUT I WASNT SURE IF YOU WERE WATCHING IT HSKAJ (are you liking it? i know it’s only the first episode but ya know, another one tomorrow night- well tomorrow night for me, and did you like wandavision?? i loved it!!)

oh my goodness i’m watching lion king while writing this and i haven’t seen it in a while and i am..... emotional. but anyway, i love that streaming services think that imma pay for them while they charge $50 a month. like yes of course i have that kind of money and i am going to give it to you to watch tv 🙄 that $50 is budgeted to sims thank you. (ALSO SIMS!!! i’ll get to that in a minute) now see if i don’t google levidia right this minute LMAOO, not that i’m gonna use it.. just for the research...

AND HDKSHS SEND THAT CHAOS WALKING LINK LMAO i saw it for the third time with a different one of my friends and she wasn’t the best one to see it with? she literally was on her fucking phone and i was like ok whatever her loss not mine, and idk if you’ve read the books or if you’ve seen it by now, but by the end of the whole movie, after they’ve confirmed THE THING throughout the whole movie she asked the dumbest question and i’m like diD YOU NOT WATCH THE MOVIE, and i guess she didn’t. so. this sounds so vague but i don’t wanna spoil the movie for you just in case lol.

THE STORY LMAOO, so A DIFFERENT FRIEND LOL, like my oldest bff, we had a day together and we wanted to go see chaos walking. and i honest to God thought that no one would be seeing this movie. like NO ONE. every day, i checked the theater seating and no one was there right? plus i really wanted us to have the theater to ourselves. so we sit in the wrong seats, the row in front of us, STILL THINKING WE’RE ALONE. and then these 3 older people came in AND IM ABOUT TO SCREAM FHSJSH AND IM LIKE “are we in your seats?” and they we were like uh yeah, AND IT WAS SO BAD LMAOO , we’re moving and everything would’ve been FINE but my friend’s reclined seat was going down so slow and as it’s going shes LITERALLY SAYING ALOUD “awkward awkward awkward” so she thinks forget it, lemme just get up. HER BAG GETS CAUGHT ON HER CHAIR AND HER FRIES AND THEY SPILL ALONG WITH HER HONEY MUSTARD 😭😭 ALL OVER THE FLOOR! so i’m trying not to laugh lmao but those aren’t even our seats and we just made a mess, so naturally, i get on the floor and start cleaning it up with my napkins (this is going for too long) AND MY FRIEND IS STILL SAYING “awkward awkward awkward awkward” and i’m really abt to crack up bECAUSE LIKE SHUT UP HAHAHA and we’re cleaning it and shit and the oldest lady is gonna say “yeah you’re not gonna make an old lady get on the floor, are you?” AND I WANTED TO LAUGH AND SCREAM AT THE SAME TIME BC DID WE ASK YOU TO, NO, so then i had to get the manager and she helped us clean it, we got new fries and everything was fine, it’s just a crazy story bc LITERALLY WE COULDVE AVOIDED IT AND EVERYTHING BUT THESE ELDERLY PEOPLE HAD TO COME AND SEE THIS MOVIE😭😭 at least the gentlemen was nice.. he helped us clean. but then his wife was like “i aM nOt siTTiNg tHeRe” and at first i thought she was a teenager bc of her stink attitude but her husband was nice. and it’s not like we weren’t cleaning it up, we were!!! like i was so apologetic- anyway.

about sims! do you play console or pc? wait,, you already told me you play pc bc your computer was broken, i’m glad you can play now though :’)) litetally when i read in the tags that you’re playing sims !!!! and are you hyped for bunk beds? i have cc so i’ve had them for a bit, but they were glitchy... but i’m so excited we have them now! i should really play sims today...

GURL IM SO PROUD OF YOU 🥺🥲 i know you aren’t fluent in everything and you aren’t a linguistic genius LMAO but it’s still soooo amazing :’) here i am reading the captions while ur just going hahah, yea i tried duolingo but.... i didn’t stick to it HDJSH talking to you though makes me so interested because you know all these languages, not even studying them like that, but you have this foundation and ahh it’s just super cool. LOL YOU DONT SOUND LAME HAJA IM TELLING YOU ITS SO SO COOL, i’m loving this lesson btw oh my goodness- HSKAJS YOU THOUGHT I WOULD ALREADY KNOW THAT??? HDYSJHS MY ONLY ENGLISH SPEAKING ASS??? HAHAHAHHAH i find that word (Rindfleischetikettie- i’m not gonna write the whole thing i’m sorry) very interesting... like... wow. did you have to google that or did you just know lmao

OKAH THE WATER THING HDKDJDKS UR GONNA TERRIFY ME HAHAH OH MY LORD- first of all CROATIA 😍😍 but thinking about it like that, I WOULD FREAK OUT TOO HAHSGSG i never go that deep into the water, or if i do i have my dad with me lol and i kind of hold onto him bc ive seen/heard too many things about people being dragged into the sea. but i loveee the water (i wanted to be a mermaid soooo bad ohmigosh)

I DONT UNDERSTAND HOW ONE CANNOT LIKE MUSIC ITS AWFUL !! lmao yeah i haven’t even listened to harry’s his first album, everyone says they love it more. I WAS GONNA SAY IMMA LISTEN TO ONLY ANGEL BUT THE WAY YOU DESCRIBE IT HUHAHAH also i have never listened to anything by mgk (i actually had to google who he was IM SORRY😔) i’m tempted to listen tho lol PLEASE JUSTIN BIEBER- I PROMISE IM NOT LAUGHING AT U IVE JUSY NEVER HAD SOMEONE SAY THAT B4!! like i don’t know many people who’ve liked him bUT NOW IM GONNA LISTEN & the cardboard cutout- okay. 😭😭😭

oh my goodness to see the vamps live 🤧 TO SEE ANYONE LIVE PLEASE JJDGSHAHGD and little mix is so good oh my goodness- i actually haven’t been to that many concerts.. i was at my first one, elsie fest (it’s like a broadway thing really) in uhhh october of 2019, yea i took my mom for her birthday bc she loves darren criss and i’m obsessed with glee lmao OH MY GOODNESS YOUVE BEEN TO SO MANY!!! and those are such great artists 😩😩

LMAO UR FINE, hamilton is a musical that lin manuel miranda wrote and i think generally made? i’m obsessed, but basically it was on broadway and then recorded and put on disney+ ... idk i guess it counts a film bc it’s like a movie really cuz it was recorded but in what 2018 or 2016? i don’t remembers the date that is on disney+ but it’s strange how i got into it, a lot of my friends were obsessed and i was like uhh why? and while researching it and watching it, trying to figure out why people love it... i fell in love with it LMAO but the music is FANTASTIC and lin is incredible😭 but yes yes yes i loveeeee high school musical!! my dad actually took my cousins to see it on ice or something (i absolutely forget lmao) but i don’t know how people don’t know hsm. it upsets me.

OKAY IM DOWN TO THE BOTTOM HAHAHA (it takes me so long to respond, now i’m on lion king 2 WHICH IS SO GOOD PLEASE FHHSSHHSHSH) i could respond in chunks but i kind of enjoy responding like this? it feels a bit like a letter but if this whole thing is overwhelming i’ll cut it up lol

+ yes that was me about your fic and sleep and everything lol but it was so good😭 i don’t understand how you write peter so well like you have this ability to capture his.. everything? i’m crine. all the time. over your fics. & i cannot describe my happiness for youuuu :’) i’m so happy you’re writing again 🥺🥰 the thing about how you only want to write the long peter fic but you don’t know how to continue... i feel that so so so hard, i don’t think i told you but ughh i was so blah bc of that feeling of having pent up inspiration for only one fucking thing and not being able to write it. it’s so frustrating 😭

not to add more to this but i need to vent a bit? the situation is definitely different bc with your major it obviously requires for you to ya know, know english lol, but uhm bc i’m homeschooled ive been cheating on all my work SHSHDHSJ like i google the answers but i’m still learning! it’s just..... i find it so unnecessary, like going for an audition no one is gonna say to me “i want you to chanel the knowledge within yourself of the centripetal force of the circle that is the table on this stage” like tf??? there’s literally no point. i’m gonna be getting into voice lessons again soon and i’m already doing dance, AND i’ll be doing this summer camp program (more hamilton lol) and thinking about school is only making me stress more, like i haven’t been able to rehearse dance at all this week bc of it...... so

hahaha reading your tags, lonely anon would still be accurate HAHAHHAHA // another add: yea i love ur current theme, i’ve gotten used to “seeing you” like this, but anything will look super pretty :)) ALSO HOW IS IT STILL SNOWING THERE, i swear it’s getting warmer and warmer by the day here 😭🤧

these long ass posts, my gosh🥲 lonely lovely anon <3

Omg yes it does feel like a letter sldkdj and then the few days of waiting also make more sense okay i love this ❣️💕❤️💓❤️💞🧡💜💘(wtf)sksjhz

Dear lovely anon,

ALSKSJVKD yes i‘m liking falcon and winter soldier dlkdh i haven‘t watched the second episode yet but i‘ll watch it tomorrow! but i didn‘t watch wandavision........ eidislskks i was going to but idk i wasn‘t that interested in it and watching series is already too much of a commitment (what can i say i‘m a Sagittarius—🤧 (no i’m joking i actually know NOTHING about starsigns)) didjj that i couldn‘t force myself to watch it, ALSO i hate (idk if this is an unpopular opinion) when every episode is like a whole hour. i‘m rewatching an old series today (it‘s german so i won‘t even get into it) and the episodes are 25 mins each and i‘ve already watched 8 episodes today ridlndjdjd,,, and i feel like if the episodes were an hour each i wouldn‘t have gotten past episode 2 today like idk.... even if series had the same length in total, i prefer when the individual episodes are shorter idk why tho tbh (so yeah i already wasn‘t 100% convinced about watching wandavision so i just couldn’t make myself watch a bunch of 1hour episodes— i‘ve heard that it‘s good tho- but i‘m not much of a series person so. Dldkk (have we talked about this already??? sorry i don‘t remember what i said lol and i couldn‘t find my own post anymore so dkdjsh) (WAIT I JUST CHECKED THE WANDAVISION EPIOSRDES ARENT EVEN THAT LONG??? Okay wait i might watch it now - did you like it? let me know if i should watch it— why did i think they were 60minutes???)

okay another confession i‘ve never watched the lion king????? i mean i watched it when i was a child but i was too young to actually pay attention to any kind of plot i just liked the songs lol sldkdj i‘ve been meaning to watch it for years tho 🦁 (idk it just felt appropriate to put a lion emoji lmoaoo)

OH MY GOD THE CHAIS WALKING/CINEMA STORY AHSJSKKS😭😭😭😭 NOOOOO (very fitting that there was so much chaos when you were watching a film that has chaos in the title loool) and the “awkward awkward awkward“ SAME SKSKSLSKDJ, that‘s literally me 24/7 ahajshshhshshsh. Like i was so skdjdjdkdllsldksnsnsnsb while i read what you sent me djslslsjdjdbdn why are old ladies always so grumpy btw 🥲🥲🥲 at least the man was nice tho! and wait did i read that right... you have fries (which, to me, are called chips dusuusldk) at your cinemas?? (Movie theatres sorry sksjsh) we just have popcorn and nachos and drinks i want chips too when i‘m watching a film what😭😭🥺🥺🥺🥺

Also i still haven’t watched it so thanks for not spoiling it!!! (idk when i’ll watch it i’m so bad with films and even worse with series💀💀💀- same with cherry. i literally forgot all about cherry, i was SO hyped when the trailer came out like i’ve never been so excited about a movie... and then it came out... and i still haven‘t watch it like what‘s wrong with me???? Dkdjdjdjdklsl i feel like i‘m not gonna watch it anytime soon tbh, but i wanna watch chaos walking i just have to find the time

Okay and @ your other friend who wasn‘t paying attention like why are you even watching the film then???? but ok (omg this sounds so mean i‘m sure she‘s very nice but in this situation just like❔❔❔)

SIMS ahhh, BUNK BEDS, ahhhh sdljdjdjdkdkdldksj i actually haven‘t played it since the update 🤧🤧 i made both of my sims (enisa (bestselling author already, thank you) and michael (aspiring doctor)) go to university and bro it takes so long 😭😭 and you can‘t do anything else if you want them to do well so literally the last three times i played sims i was just constantly clicking their homework and computerd to write their assignments (i play it in german so idk what its called on the sims) and do their presentations and do them all over again so that they get better or whatever for HOURS, but imma play again soon

also i‘m living my fanfiction life loool, so i made my two sims neighbours (on the same plot tho but i made two small separate houses lol, i still wanted to control both of them at the same time but i made sure they didn‘t interact before i wanted them to skdjdjdk). and first they both experimented and got some experience in the love department you know (all genders, cause i have to live my sexuality even in a pc game slskdjh— wait, i‘ve never lived my sexuality irl like i‘ve done NOTHING nothing with guys nothing with girls (🥲) but maybe that’s why i want to do it even more in the sims) and then they met at uni and realised like hey we‘re neighbours and now they‘re together (but michael accidentally had an alien baby with another woman (who was an alien which i was not aware of) cause i wasn‘t paying attention like i said woohoo not try for baby like michael why is your pull out game so weak tf LSHDDHDJDJSKKDKSKDKS okay but making out and flirting and doing all the fun stuff in the sims turns me on way more than it should PFAHAHHAHSH) so idk why i told you this but I’m creating that neighbour!au in the sims lmaoooo

i did not have to google Rindfleischetikettierungsüberwachungsübertragungsaufgabengesetz (just did it again😌 sisjshhs) but i might have mixed up the words überwachung und übertragung or i might have even forgotten a word skskks but in the end it doesn‘t matter (by linkin park- ok i‘m so sorry it‘s 2 am and i have a headache from having waveformers in my hair all day but i still wanted to reply to this now so sorry if i‘m not making any sense right nowbahahshah)

i wanted to be a mermaid too dldjdksksj like h2O and all those series convinced me i could be one like. i remember i‘d always go in the deep pool and attempt to swim like them in all the series with that wave motion i must have looked so crazy with my goggles as well dkdjsksöksj (i was like twelve but still)

so mgk has two sides one is hip hop/rap which is like ~~~~ idk he has good and bad songs, but his latest album is like punk pop snd I LOVE IT SO SO SO SO SO MUCH, so if you like punk pop I’d recommend his album tickets to my downfall (i don‘t blame yoj if you don‘t like it tho like about a year ago i would have HATED that type of music dkdkdkkd)🥴

Okay talking about music, there‘s this german rapper and he is... not a good person. he‘s literally a criminal and extremely sexist but to me he‘s still hot???????? he‘s even cute at times even tho he has tattoos everywhere and is like 6‘5 and is super aggressive but i see him and i‘m like 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰 my heart beats only for you💘💘💘💘and he released a new song today and i watched the video and i‘m wondering wtf is wrong with me 😃 (he did look particularly cute cause he was high so idk he wasn’t really aggressive in this one) 😭 so i thought i‘d share that LMAO IDK

(not saying tattoos aren‘t cute btw i LOVE tattoos imma get some soon, but you know he looks like someone your grandma would be afraid of (and in his case rightfully so💀)

okay wait i‘m getting so tired it‘s 2 am i think i‘ll have to do the rest tomorrow but i wanted to do it now😭🥺🥺 see you tomorrow

it is now 3:42 am and i couldn‘t sleep so here we go again

girl you can laugh at me for liking justin tho skskks i wanna laugh at myself idk, like i said i really really really liked him a few years go, basically my life was at least 50% justin and then he went on a break for a while and released an album last year which i hated 🥴 but this album is wow. (Still weird to me because it‘s literally the definition of pop and i don‘t ever listen to pop?) and it‘s so weird because i used to know so much about justin and had so many friends who loved him as well and now it‘s like I’m listening to someone new? Don‘t get me wrong i never KNEW justin and i never will and i‘m aware of that shahsh but yeah i used to be soooo used to him and it‘s like reconnecting with an old friend and you realise you don‘t know that friend anymore- like you don‘t know them anymore at all. I mean justin is weird nowadays 😂😂😂 so pls laugh at me tbh dskksjsjsh

awww it‘s so wholesome that you gave your mom tickets to the concert 🥺🥺🥺🥺 i gave my mum tickets for pink like 2 years ago and she loved it so much and i was like 🥰🥰🥰 (i went with her) AND OMG GLEE ok so unfortunately i barely remember glee, but i used to watch it too!!!! And it‘s actually on my list of series i wanna watch (again) so youre making me want to watch it even more (but like i said i‘m bad with series so 😩😩😩 who knows when i‘ll rewatch it)

When all this pandemic shit is over (let‘s be hopeful <3333) then you need to go to as many concerts as possible!!!!! i‘ve been to SO MANY and it‘s literally one of the things in my life i‘m the most grateful for, concerts are some of the best experiences i‘ve ever had in my life especially the ones that are in smaller concert halls where you can feeeel the vibe and everyone‘s energy (and that sounds awful thinking about it mid-pandemic 😐) anyway—

Okay omg you‘re absolutely making me want to watch hamilton right now like omg i WANT TO WATCH IT NOW but it‘s 4 am sodndkdldl

what you said about my peter fics🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺like omg i love these emojis they literally just describe how i felt when reading what you said so, yes, 🥰🥺 + thank you :) it really means a lot <3

and no omg i totally get the studying thing. like last year before i graduated .. was that last year? yes wtf omg okaykdjdj, so the last three months before i had my final exams we were just in a lockdown and we didn‘t even have online classes. We had nothing except one teacher who left our group chat (😭) because she was mad at us (?) and one maths teacher who did an online ““lesson““ once a week. he‘d ask: so does anyone have questions. us: . Him: okay, bye then. So. Yeah dndldldj. But we had one online test and it was in german and like i read the book wee were supposed to read? but the questions on the test were all unanswerable (is that a word?) and i had to google everything (got an A tho 🤪 but only because i googled everything so i was so scared that i wouldn‘t be able to get a good result on the final exam because what if i‘d gotten used to just googling everything and i couldn‘t do it by myself anymore? anyway it was all fine in the end but yeah at times i couldn‘t even study because i had so much anxiety about studying and yeah- like this whole annoying cycle. but you said you‘re still studying———- okay wait 👁👄👁 i forgot what i was going to say??????????????????????????????????????????????????? Like wtf. Is wrong with me? And i‘m reading what you wrote again and i just don‘t know what i was going to say? Like i get what you‘re saying obviously but i‘m like? Idk 4am brain ayeee, please vent more if you need to and elaborate further because right now i‘m???? Too dumb to respond to this right now wtf. I‘m so sorry lmao ddlkdjdjd what is even going on like i‘m sitting here open mouthed just like ? But btw the fact that you have Voice and dance lessons is like SO FUCKING COOL like oh my god that is sosososos cool wtf, i was thinking that when you first talked about it too

And “i want you to chanel the knowledge within yourself of the centripetal force of the circle that is the table on this stage” ODHDKSLDBDJDOFIDKDNDLDK

Yes i know about the weather dkdkdkjd but it‘s getting (a lot) warmer here too and where i live we kind of get a weird type of wind called föhn (which literally means hair dryer but idk if that‘d the reason why it‘s called that, i‘m too tired to think of whether it makes sense rn) and it gives me headachesssssss and the changing weather is also giving me headaches 😭😭😭😭 so this season right now is just headache season and i hate summer so i wish it would just snow again lmao (okay it‘s getting so late that it‘s early already snd i can hear this bird chirping so fucking loud wtf i‘m also getting a headache 🤧🤧🤧) but at least i can do my new theme soon (i hope it‘ll look good🥺 and omg thank you for what you said about my current theme- i always feel like i‘m so bad with aesthetics, i obviously like my theme but i feel like every single person on tumblr has a theme that is prettier than mine so it was very nice to hear you say that you love it👉🏼👈🏼 (i‘m so used to it by now that i actually hate it lmao so it‘s getting yeeted soon and i‘m making megan thee stallion my pfp 🤪 (if the graphics and shit works out skdjdjdj)

#lovely anon #<333 #okay its so late now i dont wanna post it now in case i‘m too tired to notice losds of mistakes #but i also wanna post it now so.#*loads #i‘m posting it #and i absolutely do not mind if you answer like this!!!! but if you ever do feel like it‘s too much or you uust want to respond to one thing #in particular sooner then pls go ahead! <3

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imaginethisgalaxy · 5 years

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Kanan Jarrus x Reader Word Count: 6,136. Good grief. Prompt: An anonymous request came in for #12 on this list (“We were pretending to be lovers but I’m not pretending anymore and I have to know if you feel the same way.”) with Kanan an entire lifetime ago, and now I’m finally posting it. No, I have nothing to say for myself, but I am sorry ...? Warnings: NSFW. Very NSFW. There’s oral sex and penetrative sex (with a female reader -- I couldn’t figure out how not to make this sound stilted and weird without specifying, I’m sorry! I’ll keep experimenting to get to that point someday). I had this image in my head that I absolutely could not get rid of, so I ran with it.

Please note for the record that my ride-or-die Kanera loyalty battled it out with the thirst for like, a solid year until I could finish this, if not longer. The thirst eventually won. ... also I didn’t edit this because I don’t love myself enough.

You are not a spy. You have, in fact, never been a spy -- which is what makes Kanan’s request that you accompany him on an extended mission all the more perplexing. It’s a simple enough objective: go to Spira, pose as an officer and his paramour on holiday, gather as much accurate intel as possible, and encourage anyone you can to believe as much false intel as you can reasonably drop into a conversation. Playback, they had called it, one of the oldest tactics in the espionage book. You still aren’t sure you’re the right person for the job, but Kanan could not and still will not be deterred, so you’ve long since given up trying. “You’re the right type,” he’d assured you. “You pay attention to details, you look plenty unassuming when you don’t have a blaster in hand, and in the right clothes you’ll look like the kind of girl who belongs in an officer’s club. I’ll be with you the whole time. You’ll be fine.”

What you hadn’t counted on -- what you’re still trying to deal with -- is how intense an experience it is pretending to be someone you aren’t. In particular, pretending to be the object of Kanan’s only-slightly-overblown affection is more than you bargained for. His hands are on you constantly, right at home on the small of your back or against your waist. He has developed a habit of leaning in entirely too close to speak to you, letting his lips brush against your skin, encouraging you to laugh at whatever he says to throw off any onlookers. It works; in the past week no one has so much as batted an eye at the two of you, which seems impossible but somehow isn’t. You spend your days charming officers and their companions, tucked safely into Kanan’s side and generating the proper amount of misleading gossip about the unscrupulous rebels running amok in your home system.

By the time you realize that the smiles you’re letting him have when he has you pulled into his lap at a table full of Imperials are genuine, it’s far too late to turn back and go home, or to vehemently deny the warmth that blooms in your chest whenever he pays you attention. So you let him press absent kisses to your bare shoulders while swapping fabricated stories with your newfound “friends” and pretend that nothing is wrong ... or, you try.

He is much more handsome than he has any right to be, in his fancy embroidered tunic. You know you are dressed specifically to match him in an expensive shimmersilk gown (totally devoid of a back, much to your near-constant discomfort -- the only time you feel comfortable in it is when the warmth of his hand skirts across the skin there, and then you are uncomfortable for other reasons) but you somehow feel like you clash with his apparently-effortless charm. It’s obvious to you that this isn’t what he’s normally what he’s like; you have also, after all, spent plenty of time holed up together in the suite you’ve managed to scam your way into drinking Old Janx Spirit this week. Even so, you manage to feel self-conscious about it anyway.

You know logically that you’ve had probably just a tad more Corellian wine than you really ought to have, but it would have been rude to refuse and you told yourself that you would be fine. It is not until Kanan ushers you up and guides you securely under his arm and against his side to walk you back to your shared suite that you realize exactly how intoxicated you are, leaning heavily into him. You're not that drunk -- you’re quite lucid, actually -- but if anyone asks you to run in your heels right now you’ll probably last all of four seconds before planting yourself face down on the plush hallway carpet.

“That Vice-Admiral’s wife is trying to pickle me,” you groan quietly, and he laughs. You can feel the rumble of it in his chest against the side of your ribcage, and it’s somehow soothing.

“You’re doing better than me.” Kanan leans down a little after he presses the call button for the turbolift, so only the two of you can hear. “Last night when you wandered off with the other two to do whatever it is women need to be in packs for in the ‘fresher, the old man was trying to feed us all Whyren’s Reserve.”

“Stars,” you huff, pulling away from him a little to lean on the wall and wait. “I don’t know how you said no. I’d have done it. I felt like if I turned her down she’d get suspicious.”

“Who says I said no?” He grins down at you, and you narrow your eyes. It makes him laugh, moving to cage you against the wall with one arm and pull you into him with the other for the benefit of the other people lingering in the hall, and to discourage them from paying you too much attention. A thrill runs right up your spine when he leans in to speak next to your ear, close enough to the skin of your throat that you can feel the heat of his breath. “The Force can be helpful if you’re trying to keep your wits and someone’s trying to get rid of them.”

You forget, sometimes, that he’s a Jedi -- was a Jedi; the Jedi don’t exist the way they used to anymore. “Some of us don’t have that,” you murmur into his shoulder, swallowing hard when you feel him laugh gently against your skin before pulling back to look you in the eye.

“No, but you’ve got me. I won’t let you get in over your head.”

He has no idea that you already are in over your head. The thought threatens to suffocate you, or perhaps it’s his closeness that has you completely out of breath all of the sudden. When the turbolift announces its arrival you duck under his arm to dart inside, twisting out of his grip so quickly that he actually looks startled for the half-second you can still see his face. You brace a hand against the wall of the lift, the other pressed to the space just below where your ribcage joins in the front as if it will help you to breathe easier.

His steps follow yours more closely than you would like, and you hear him pressing the button for your floor without a word to you. You don’t know if you want to cry or throw up or both -- you have been able to deal with his closeness for more than a week, but now it’s unbearable. Idly, you think perhaps it’s the wine. Maybe you’ve just had too much to drink, and it’s going to your head, ruining your concentration. It’s been so easy to pretend until tonight. You can hear him say your name, but it takes him another try to get a response out of you.

“I can’t,” you breathe, looking up at him and trying to get your composure back. Despite the effort, your voice shakes. “This is impossible. I can’t, I can’t.”

Kanan’s brow furrows, reaching out to try to touch your shoulder, but you angle yourself away, a hand still pressed against the wall of the lift like you think you might fall over. “What,” he tries, “what’s going on with you? What can’t you do?”

“This, Kanan, any of this. Please.”

“Hey,” he says, keeping his voice quiet. Reaching out to put a hand on either one of your shoulders, he doesn’t let you squirm out of his grasp again. He’s trying to ground you, you realize, and you are equally embarrassed and relieved. “Listen to me ... whatever it is, it can’t be as bad as it seems. You’re doing fine. We wouldn’t still be here if you weren’t. Take a breath.”

You breathe as deeply as you can, feeling much too hot under the open concern in his face. You don’t know how to tell him that being himself is making things worse for you, that you feel like your skin is on fire where he’s touching you, that you -- that you love him, you think distantly, and it’s the first time you’ve really admitted that to yourself. Swallowing thickly to keep yourself from either being ill or bursting into tears, you shake your head a little to try to clear it. “I’m sorry,” you settle for saying, “I think I’ve just had too much to drink. I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Kanan doesn’t look like he believes you, but he doesn’t press the issue. “Let’s just get back, and we can figure things out.” When the lift finally reaches your floor you let him usher you out and down the hall, stepping as carefully as you can in your heels while still looking natural. The moment the door to your suite is open you lift the hem of your dress and kick them off into the entry corner, deftly avoiding what you’re sure is going to be a long line of questions you aren’t prepared to answer by ducking into the refresher and locking the sliding door behind you.

Setting the water in the sink to run cold, you place your hands under the tap and wait as it slowly cools from room temperature. You only withdraw them when it’s so cold that it almost stings, shaking the excess off before pressing your cold hands to the sides of your neck. Tipping your head back, you look at the polished tiles of the ceiling and try not to let the great sigh that rushes from you sound too loud as it echoes off the hard surfaces all around you. This might be the dumbest thing you’ve ever managed to do. Bad enough that there’s a larger rebellion out there that’s floundering no thanks to your inability to commit to espionage without losing sight of your job long enough to fall in love with your partner -- you wince at the thought, leaning back against the frigid tile of the wall. It’s not as if you can very well help it, though, is it? Maybe you can -- Kanan likely can, you realize, and something settles like ice in your stomach with the realization that he can’t possibly feel the same way you do.

“This probably doesn’t help,” Kanan says, so close to the door it makes you jump, “but there isn’t really anywhere else for me to go. We’re going to have to talk about this eventually.”

“There isn’t anything to talk about,” you reply, but you hear the wavering in your voice in the echo of the refresher and know he knows you’re lying. “It doesn’t matter.” That sounds a little bit more correct, but the soft thud of something against the door tells you it’s not working.

Kanan sighs, and you can hear the frustration in the way it turns into your name even though the sound is muffled. “I told you I wasn’t going to let anything happen to you, and I meant it, but we have to work together on this. I can’t do anything for you if you don’t talk to me.”

You know he’s right. You hate that he’s right. Fighting the burning sensation in the back of your eyes, you check yourself briefly in the mirror before you disengage the lock and let the door slide open, only slightly startled to see him so close to where it once was that you’re almost sure you could have taken his nose off. You open your mouth to try to say something, anything, but manage only a very weak beginning to a statement that goes nowhere. Trying to brush past him proves futile, as the moment you pass him on your way to the larger part of your shared suite his hand closes around your arm -- not hard, but enough to stop you.

“Whatever’s going on, you need to spill it. You’re my partner, you have to let me do my part in this.”

“There isn’t anything to do,” you insist again, and you can see him fighting the urge to roll his eyes at you. “It’s not on you, it’s on me. I didn’t know this was going to happen; if I did I would have fought you harder on this.”

“Hey, I’m still about eight steps behind you,” Kanan half-laughs. “I still don’t know what happened.” His hand retreats from your arm just long enough to move up to your shoulder, its mate coming up to join it. You start to find somewhere, anywhere else to look but at him, but feel his palms slide up to the sides of your neck, forcing you to look him in the eye. All at once the wind is out of your figurative sails, and there is nothing you can do about it.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe, fighting the trembling in your legs with everything you have. “I’m so sorry, Kanan.” “What would you even need to be sorry for? Don’t be sorry,” he chides you, but gently enough that you know he isn’t upset. “I just need you to talk to me.”

His thumb skims the line of your jaw, a gentle back-and-forth that is too soothing for you to tell him to stop. The silence that hangs between you is much too long to be normal, and when he says your name to bring your attention back to him, your breath catches in your throat. It’s now or never, and he won’t drop it.

“This whole week … we were pretending to be lovers,” you begin carefully, swallowing hard under the gentle pressure of his hands. “But I’m not pretending anymore, and I have to know if you feel the same way.” You leave the bolo-ball in his court, as if you don’t know what the answer is already. He can’t possibly feel the same way. You feel the flexing of his fingers in the hair at the nape of your neck as he processes it, prepare to pull yourself away when he rebuffs you and beg him to let you call to be extracted, but the rejection you’re expecting never comes.

“You can’t really think all of that was just for show,” he says finally, something like awe in his tone. You’re so taken aback by the revelation that you’re sure your eyebrows are actually in your hairline, but he doesn’t seem particularly fazed by it if they are. “Why do you think I asked you? It’d be easy to pretend with you.”

You aren’t even breathing, lips parted as if you want to say something, but there is too much to say and somehow you don’t have the words for it. Following his gaze as it drops to your mouth, you watch it linger there for a moment before he leans carefully in, lips hovering above yours. The breath you manage to pull in shakes, and you exhale his name, barely above a whisper.

"Do you have any idea," Kanan questions, "how much I think about this?" His voice is low, harsh, like the control required not to close the scant distance between you is equal to the effort needed to move mountains. Your hands move up to pull gently at the front of his fancy tunic, to keep him from retreating, to wordlessly beg him to do it so you don’t have to. His forehead touches yours briefly, breathing in deeply enough that you can feel his chest fill with air beneath your hands. The seconds of silence between you stretch out for too long before the tension finally becomes too much. You are the one to move first, hands sliding up to the back of his neck to keep him right where he is and closing the gap between you. He yields immediately, slow and careful but showing no signs of retreating. His hands fall far enough to grip your waist, pulling you to him with care, calloused palms wandering the line of your torso as his tongue delves gently into the space your mouth has allowed it.

As the pads of his fingers find the warmth of your bare back something in him shifts; you feel it in the way his kiss becomes more intense, less controlled. The room spins, and you have to let your hand move to grip him right back to keep from sliding right down to the floor. Kanan presses the tips of his fingers into the soft curve of your shoulderblade beneath your skin, the hand not occupied there pressed to the small of your back to hold the line of your body tight to his. You find the closure of his tunic and pull at it without thinking, managing to get it halfway open before you realize what you’ve done. It doesn’t seem to put him off at all; in fact his hands are dipping beneath the edges of that backless gown -- far enough that you can feel the goosebumps pressing up from your flesh, nipples pebbled painfully against the soft shimmersilk of that flimsy bodice.

You feel him pull away from you and you can hear yourself yourself make a displeased little noise about it, but he keeps you at arm’s length all the same, only a little breathless. “Tell me now if you don’t want me to.” Kanan watches you intently, as if searching for any sign of regret or unsureness. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“Please,” you manage, fingertips grazing the line of his collarbone beneath the open fabric of his tunic as if to keep you grounded. Your head is still swimming, and full sentences are hard, but you know he won’t do it if you don’t say it. “I’ve been thinking about this for days. I want to. I need to.” He opens his mouth, and you know he’ll ask again, so you cut him off. “Kanan, please.”

Your partner needs no further convincing.There is almost a type of reverence in the way his hands travel up, slowly slipping the straps of your dress from your shoulders, fingertips grazing the too-hot surface of your skin as he coaxes it into little more than a puddle of shimmersilk on the floor. He allows the backs of his fingers to run down the length of your arm to your hands, closing his around yours in order to pull you closer and exhibiting what you’re sure is an incredible amount of self-control in not acknowledging your bare chest, eyes on yours. You don't put up a fight in the least, allowing yourself to be pulled in, letting him cross your joined hands behind your back as he leans in to seal a kiss over your mouth so utterly searing that you finally understand what people are talking about when they say someone steals their breath.

The ache in your chest is unbearable, the tension that coils in the very pit of your stomach is making your head swim -- you might collapse under the sheer pressure of wanting this, wanting him. As soon as his fingers extricate themselves from yours so that he can run them along the expanse of your back, your own find their way into the hair at the nape of his neck, pressing him as close as he can get, seeking friction though you know you’ll find none in this position. It’s a thought that tears a frustrated whine from your throat even as he bites gently at your bottom lip. As if he knows, he gently slides a knee between your own, allowing you to part your own thighs and grind against his. The moan that sweet pressure coaxes from you is much louder than you mean it to be, but the way his fingers dig into your skin -- and the hard length of him, heavy and warm through the fabric of his pants -- tells you he enjoys it immensely. You know, distantly, that your hands are working his tunic the rest of the way off and that he isn’t fighting you on it, but it doesn’t really hit you that your bare skin is against his until you realize how warm he is against you, that you can feel his heart beating in his chest when he’s pressed this close.

You know that he's lifted you, but spatial awareness is long gone -- it's something of a surprise when you feel yourself all but thrown onto the bed, its decorative pillows scattered and shoved to the floor as you spread your arms to catch yourself. You start to admonish him but you don’t get a chance; the idea fizzles out and is replaced by a long string of deeply obscene thoughts as you watch him lean over onto the bed, one knee perched on its edge, hands reaching for your hips. Leaning back until you are flat against the bedspread, you watch as he leans down and presses open-mouthed kisses to the flushed skin of your midsection, working his way down to the line where your hip bones sit. He nips at the skin just above the waistband of the flimsy garment covering your sex and glances up at you for any sign of apprehension before -- finding none -- hooking his fingers under the waistband and dragging the neutrally-colored scrap down your legs. You don’t see where he throws them and when his hands return to part your thighs you can’t find it in you to care.

When he grabs onto your legs where they meet your hips, you immediately know what’s coming, but gasp anyway at the sheer force with which he yanks you closer to the edge of the bed before kneeling between your knees. The line of kisses and careful bites he makes his way up your thigh with send fire blooming across the surface of your skin, and you only have to say his name once to get him to quit teasing you. You think that you’ve never been more grateful for anything in your life until a moment later, when his tongue slides between your folds. You arch off the bed so violently he has to hold you down by the hips and you stand thoroughly corrected. “You’re not going anywhere yet,” he practically purrs, and you swear it’s almost enough to make you come undone to hear him talk that way after a week of unresolved tension.

Leaning in for another taste, he avoids giving the one place you want him most any attention. He deftly maneuvers around the little bundle of nerves, applying just enough pressure with his tongue to tease at it, to stimulate it indirectly, but never there. It’s already driving you up a wall, fingernails scraping at the bedspread as you grip it in an attempt to stay still for him. Your hips rock into his ministrations almost by themselves, still held under control by the force of his hands. He is intent to take his time, it seems, all long languid strokes of his tongue against the smooth slickness of your inner folds. You want to beg him to give you what you want, but all that you manage is a gasping whine that sounds only vaguely like his name. It’s enough to spur a growl against your skin before he finally -- finally -- teases your swollen clit with his tongue, swirling, pressing, lapping with deliberate strokes. The cry that tears itself from your throat is much louder than you intend but he makes no move to quiet you. Instead, he reaches to the hand you have digging into the plush fabric of the bedspread to tangle your fingers together against your hip. It is reassuring for all of a moment before you are lost again, back as taut an arc as you can manage as he suckles the little pearl at the apex of your sex, teeth grazing.

You know your fingernails must be digging painfully into the flesh of his hand, but his pace is uninterrupted, so he must not care. Eyes fluttering shut, you try to resist the urge to clamp your thighs around Kanan's head to keep him right where you want him. Maybe it's the Force, or maybe he's just done this a lot -- you try not to dwell on it -- but you feel him pull away just long enough to toss your legs over his bare shoulders, as if he’s keen to stay there for the rest of the cycle. The outright moan you treat him to is pornographic enough that you reach up to cover your own mouth, but his hand closes firmly around your wrist, startling you slightly. “Nope,” he half-groans against the juncture of your leg and hip, “none of that. I want to hear everything.” There is a sort of squeak in the affirmative from you, which he must assume is agreement because he’s pressing a kiss to the joint before ducking down, his lips and tongue returning to their place between your thighs, dedicated to tasting every part of you that they can reach -- and then some, if he can manage it. It makes your legs shake in a way that amazes you, like you need to stretch but can't move. You can feel your breath quicken under his ministrations, short deep gasps for air as his hands skirt up your sides and down again.

“Stars, Kanan,” you huff, more to the ceiling than to him as you squirm and arch against the bed. He groans against you, signaling that his name is clearly the way to go, and your insides lurch at the idea that you can make him fall apart, too. You take a shaking breath to say it again, but he chooses that moment to run his fingers along the warm, wet folds of your pussy before pressing slowly inside, and then you do say his name, just at the head of a breath that shakes with your whole body.

He is careful, deliberate about the slow slide of his fingers in and out of you, and when you look down between your thighs again he is watching you more intently than you've ever been watched in your life. His pace quickens when he's satisfied that you've adjusted, pressing his tongue once more to your clit with languid licks. The first time he actually sucks at the sensitive organ, your hips buck up so hard he has to hold you down with a considerable amount of effort, but the hum he treats you with sends heat right to your core. He's enjoying this -- enjoying you -- and it's almost more than you can bear to think about. Your body twists as much as it can in his hold, and before you can say anything to him about it, your orgasm catches you by surprise, ripping through you with all of the savage force of a geomagnetic storm as you cry out, swearing more vividly than you intend. It only serves to spur him on, fingers moving to work you through your release as you clench around them.

You're almost relieved when your body finally loses some of its tension, boneless and gasping for air against the bedding as Kanan draws away from you, watching the rise and fall of your chest like it's the only thing in the world. When you finally feel like your limbs aren’t lead -- how long has it even been, how long has he been waiting for you to show him you’re okay? -- you reach out to him. He moves in immediately, pressing a line of open-mouthed kisses up your stomach and chest before, finally, he allows you to pull him against you and to your lips. You can taste yourself on his tongue and, Maker help you, you might just crave it from now on. Your hand snakes between the two of you, down the lean muscle in his torso to the closure of his pants … and further, palming him through the fabric. The quiet groan of your name against your mouth is music to your ears, and you can’t stop the smile that turns the corners of your lips up. It doesn’t escape his notice.

“You’ve been holding out on me. How long have you been planning that move?” Kanan asks, amusement cutting the tightness in his voice only slightly.

“About a week,” you manage, only half a laugh as you squeeze the outline of his length gently for emphasis. He exhales hard, like he might have laughed if you hadn’t done it, grinding into your grip and dropping his head against your shoulder.

“You’re trying to kill me.” It earns him an actual laugh and some mercy as you move to unfasten his pants and push at the waist, coaxing them off his hips as much as you can without his assistance. He’s all too happy to help you along, shucking both pants and underwear in one move and dropping them somewhere out of sight. He’s on you again in seconds, pressed flush against you as his mouth slants over yours. It’s brief, and he moves quickly to your jawline, your throat, the valley between your breasts -- he bites at the flesh of one, a hand moving to knead and roll the other as his lips work their way to your nipple and suck gently, warm and wet for the brief moment before he pulls free and leaves the hardened peak to the now-chill air in the tiny space between you. “Do we need -- I mean, are you --” Oh. You hadn’t even thought about it.

Moving your hands up to the base of his skull, you tip his face to look at you. “I’m covered,” you say with a small smile. He opens his mouth for another question, but you stop him. “I trust you, Kanan.” You can actually, physically see him swallow as soon as you’ve said it, see the shift in the way he’s looking at you -- mostly like you’re about to be eaten alive in the best way, but with the same kind of affection he’s lavished on you in the sight of a dozen Imperial officers over the last week.

Something in your stomach does a somersault, and then you’re pulling him against you again, kissing him like you need it to survive. His hands work their way down between the two of you, rubbing gentle patterns into the juncture of your thighs to distribute the wetness there before hooking a hand under your leg to open you further and beginning the slow, careful press inside. There isn’t pain, not really -- just the sensation of being stretched around the girth of him -- but Kanan’s fingers trail soothingly along your thighs all the same, the constant steward of your comfort. You can feel the humid heat of his breath against your throat as he groans once he’s fully seated inside you, teeth dragging briefly against your collarbone as he waits for your go-ahead.

“Kanan,” you murmur finally, hands brushing the planes of his shoulders and roving upwards, into the roots of his hair, thumb pressed against the jumping of the pulse in his throat. “Please?”

Nearly immediately, he retreats and plunges back into you -- and again, and again with a focus that forces the air from your lungs. You’re distantly aware of your hips lifting from the plush bedding to meet his, the drag of his hips against yours almost overwhelming. You lose track of what’s happening quickly; there is the sharp pressure of his teeth against your throat, the wandering of his hands as he eventually moves his hands to your hips to hold you in place as his every thrust jostles you.

His limbs slide against yours, sweat-slick and shaking as you wrap a leg around his hips to spur him on, to seek the friction of his hips against yours as you both race to release. It feels like every nerve ending is slowly burning under the surface, a tangled, undulating knot of sighs and open-mouthed kisses anywhere that can be reached. The cadence of his hips becomes erratic, the tension in your lower belly wound nearly as tight as it can go.

You hear your name, as if from far away, although you know his mouth is against your shoulder. It’s hard to focus, hot all over and so close to the edge, but you manage to eventually pull together the fragments of the sentence he’s trying to pull together in the haze of imminent orgasm. “I -- can I --”

Oh. “Yes,” you manage, “please, yes -- stars, Kanan --”

All at once, you feel him filling you, heat and pressure as his hips stutter against yours. You feel yourself grind against him unbidden, seeking that one last push over the edge and are rewarded with release at last, although less intense than the first. His breath catches as he presses his mouth against the meeting of your neck and shoulder, feeling you clench around him as he works the both of you through the last waves of pleasure. For a long moment, neither of you makes a move.

Kanan drops his forehead to your chest eventually, and you suddenly become aware of the hammering he must feel there before he presses an absent kiss to the space between your breasts. You take a deep breath, about to say something, before he very carefully extricates his limbs from yours, pulling out of you at last. The absence of him makes you gasp, overstimulated and frankly exhausted from both the physical exertion and the tension that immediately preceded it. Your eyes close as you try to will your heartbeat to slow, bringing an arm up to cover them more completely against the light of the room.

You’re halfway to blissfully dozing when you feel something warm between your legs and physically jump, startled right out of that reverie and sitting up on your elbows. Kanan laughs, reaching out to hold you gently in place as you finally focus in on his face, slightly alarmed. “I thought I lost you for a minute, there. It’s just me.” The hand not against your hips is holding a damp cloth, and your heart does a funny little turn at the idea that he had absolutely planned to take care of you whether you knew it or not.

“I was falling asleep,” you manage, brain still not quite caught up.

“I noticed.” He nods slightly, as if to indicate the crux of your thighs. “I just figured you wouldn’t want to sleep like that.” Your partner watches for any indication that you might stop him before -- exceedingly gently -- he finishes cleaning you up, the sticky remnants of release wiped away with minimal discomfort. You make no move to stop him, nor do you protest as he does away with the cloth and crawls his way back up the expanse of the bed to you.

Kanan’s arm wraps around you without preamble, and you find yourself smiling before you can catch yourself -- there is the question of what next, where are we, what are we doing, but it can wait. Turning carefully in his grip, you face him, and he dips his head to bring his mouth to yours without hesitation. It isn’t anywhere near as fierce or as lingering as when you’d finally come together, but your head swims all the same. He breaks off before you think to, allowing silence to settle over the both of you for what seems like a long time.

“You alright?”

“You’re asking me that now?” You prod at him teasingly, and he scoffs, but you’re both grinning, so he must not take it personally. “I’m alright.” A beat, and then you think better of it. “I’m great.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he says casually, a hand moving up to brush against the bare curve of your side. You roll your eyes, and he pokes you much in the same manner as you had, coaxing a laugh from you. “I wish you’d told me sooner.”

“Me too,” you admit, the sentiment tinged with sheepishness. “I was just …”

“I know,” Kanan murmurs. “You don’t have to be scared of me.”

“I know,” you murmur in turn, shimmying to press the line of your body against his again and bury your face in the crook of his neck. You feel him shuffle only a little awkwardly against you before the bedding begins moving, finally settling over you both as he returns his hands to your skin, dropping a kiss to your shoulder right above the line of fabric. Your eyes fall closed at the sensation, and you can’t find the motivation to open them again, stifling a yawn before repeating yourself quietly.

“I know.”

#kanan jarrus #kanan jarrus x reader #kanan jarrus imagine #star wars rebels #caleb dume #caleb dume x reader #caleb dume imagine #star wars imagine #star wars reader insert

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escritorian · 4 years

Text

So sorry. tumblr ate the forward, somehow. The below is a little story featuring one Althea Dawnwind, beloved NPC in a campaign I'm running. I write little vignettes like this for the players from time to time, and I'll keep writing them as long as they keep liking them, so if you like them too, rejoice! There are probably more in all our collective futures.

How to (not) be an Adventurer, by Althea Dawnwind

Chapter 1: All right, I guess let’s start this thing

So what follows is-

*laughs*

What is it even? I mean, a journal, I guess? But, “What follows is” makes it sound like it’s for someone else. Like, a playwright or archivist who stumbles across it in some long-forgotten ruins. I mean, I know what this is, obviously, so that opening line isn’t for me, and how would anyone else get their hands on this, anyway?

Ugh, Ioun’s wisdom, it almost feels like someone should be able to reach out and grab it. It’s just…so there. Like, my thoughts weren’t like this before, were they? So loud? It’s like, I can hear myself? Like I were listening in the audience of a well-designed auditorium (not that I’ve ever been in one) while also up on stage reading this clearly but not in words. But…this is in my head. Being recorded in my head.

Somehow.

Wait, okay, let’s start at the beginning. It being recorded in some way does suggest there would be some method of retrieval so let’s…

Let me

Start this from the beginning. As Galen would say, “For posterity.”

So, I’m a warlock.

Okay, I guess that’s not exactly at the beginning. Lemme try again.

*deep breath* (???)

I started to develop sorcery but then started to develop spell plague which sucked and hurt a whole bunch until my brother Galen stopped by from his adventuring to cure me with an ancient, magical, sentient sword (or at least make it survivable if not curing me) by my making a pact with it, which I did, which sealed the plague away but also made me wreck the house while simultaneously focusing my magical powers.

Aaand, I think that covers it? The real beginning part?

I mean, I guess I could clarify I didn’t go nuts on the house, thus wrecking it. After I sealed the pact, blue fire came pouring out of my mouth and burned a hole in the roof. I don’t really remember it much. I mean, it sounds really cool, but also? Kind of terrifying? And it probably hurt a lot. It always did before. I think that’s the best part. I mean, being able to summon a magic sword? Cool as all hell. Not feeling your insides boil while choking on fire from time to time? Fucking essential.

Fuck

Hell

Shit

Huh

I guess I can swear in here as much as I want, huh? It’s weird. I’m always watching my words in person. I can see how they affect people? What they’re thinking when I talk? Not like, magically or anything. I just...get what they’re thinking, you know?

“You know.” Ha.

Why yes, Althea. Yes, I do know. I do know how they’d look at you when you don’t talk like they feel you should. When you’re too different. How now you get side-eyed with a these-aren’t-the changes-womanhood-is-supposed-to-bring-out-goodness-child-why-are you-so-different look. Well, I’ve always been different, but maybe now it’s a good thing.

And I guess? That’s important. It’s significant now. So, I want to save it. The process. The story? Sooo...this.

Whatever this is.

I’ve wanted a journal for like, forever. Just some place to put my thoughts down and maybe make it easier on my head, you know?

(I’ve got to stop that)

But I learned pretty early on spending your only allowance on paper? Apparently kind of a big deal. Gets noticed. And then keeping your innermost secret thoughts on said paper? I’m not going to say it’s the worst idea ever, but it’s at minimum a waste of good paper.

(And no, Mom. You being proud doesn’t make it better.)

But this...this is different. For one, it has no physical substance.

(Pull this out from under the mattress, Julia!)

It’s...what would it be? Metaphysical? Apparently, it’s being recorded in this brain space (spirit space?) thing where lives the previously mentioned talking sword. I don’t really know what all of that means, to be honest. He keeps a well-appointed spirit study with the finest spirit quills, spirit ink and spirit paper upon which this will be written before being moved to a place of honor within his grand spirit library? Who knows? I don’t think even Galen knows, and he’s the smartest person I know.

It means that within the liminal-

IOUN FUCK!

Pardon?

Don’t- you can hear me in here?!

Yes. Forgive me. I thought you were aware, as we’ve communicated in this manner before.

Yeah, but I didn’t...can you not listen to me in here?

Removing my ability to perceive communications from within my being is not-

But I’m not communicating. I’m just...ruminating.

There exists no distinction between those concepts in this space

But…wait, so…wait…

At your convenience

Okay. No. Shut the fuck up. All right, so let me get this straight. My thoughts, when I think loudly like this

(which I guess is all the time now now that I think about it?)

The place where they’re being recorded is in a place where you can’t not listen to them? Inside you?!

We exist inside of each other, in a sense. Therefore, there is no distinction akin to “your head and my head "or “soft thoughts and loud thoughts I can hear and cannot hear.”

Let me get this straight: This is all getting recorded inside you because that’s also inside me. Inside us.

Correct; though, perhaps you would prefer to know your thoughts aren’t spontaneously being recorded. It is more accurate to say I am transcribing them; though, even that suggests a meaning that, at its literal interpretation, is inaccurate.

So all my thoughts.

Yes?

You can hear them.

Yes.

No.

My apologies. I did not intend to rob you of the comfort of pedantry.

This is the worst.

A possible resolution: I can go without commenting on such thoughts or answering questions unless you specifically address me in the future while still continuing to preserve them with any others intended for journaling.

The literal worst!

#Althea brain journals #That Which Once had Never Been

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bytemycupcakes · 5 years

Photo

Smile For Me Sona!

Maxwell is a 20 y/o chaos demon, he’s also an artist who hangs out in the lounge. Sitting by the bar where Parsley usually stands once made happy. Like Mirphy, he mumbles to himself, but it’s like he’s talking to something. Take a picture to see the little demons he’s talking to.

To make Maxwell happy, you have to find him a notebook and the pencil he misplaced upon ariving at the Habitat.

More info under the cut ;-P

For some reason, when showing people his photo, they usually ignore the little demons. -Showing his photo to Jimothan will result in, “He seems soft, like Parsley, I’d suggest a friendship but I don’t like the stuff that kid mumbles to himself” -Showing the photo to Wallus gives “Maxwell? I’d love to talk but all my stuff was moved around last time! Took forever to find my record... Before I lost it for good. What are those thi-? Whatever. Just go.” -Giving Trevor his photo is just, “Demons. No doubt.” -When shown to his fellow Artist, Dallas, he says, “Pfft. This guy thinks he’s a rrrreal artist. But I haven’t seen him make anything since he arrived. A total faaaake, maaan” -And Showing to Tim Tam, they’ll say, “Subtle Purple. Thin ice.”

You can show Maxwell photos of all the adult men in the Habitat (Including Gillis and Randy, as I’m assuming they’re most likely adults) and He’ll give some sort of responce, most are short (mentioning a defining trait, then ranking his interest in knowing them) but some are longer. Trencil: “We have something in common, but at least I show in photos. 8/10″ Parsley: “His dad’s told me alot about the guy. I think he’s scared of what might happen if we really meet. Not sure why, I’m harmless~ 9/10 ;-)” Randy: “Yes I have a pickle story, No I won’t tell you. Or Him. 6/10″ Wallus: “He won’t let me talk to him anymore. :-( Not my fault I can’t control them. 9/10″ You can Also show him a photo of Trevor, where he’ll go on a rant about how “his theories are really annoying, but he’s more accurate than people give him credit for ;-)” Or Tim Tam, where he says, “Ah.. I miss being young and chaotic. Now I’m just old an chaotic. Harder to get away with things now.” As well as Mirphy, “She talks to herself too... I wonder if we’re the same.”

When walking past Maxwell items will disappear from your Bouquet. It will only be items that are not required to progress, but it can be things needed to obtain the tooth lily. Speak to him when you notice the missing item and he’ll return it after saying, “Here, you dropped this. Or I nabbed it. I don’t remember.”

Maxwell has come to the Habitat because, like the other artists, he’s lost his muse. He mentions that he hasn’t been able to put a pencil to paper in months, and he’s sure he’ll lose his job once he leaves because of it. Followed quickly with saying ‘they’ don’t like his office anyway. He’ll tell you he lost his favorite pencil, and hasn’t been able to find at least a scrap piece of paper since he arrived, then ask you to try and find them.

When Maxwell is Given his pencil he’ll say, “Oh hell yes! I missed this thing. Finally I can stop biting my fingers.” When given the Notebook he says��“Thanks little flower buddy” Once he has both, he’ll say the line for whichever item was last given, then continue with, “Here, take this. My first drawing in months.” Upon which, he’ll give you a drawing of a generic flower with little horns.

As a collage all he says is “I found a pencil! .... Why did I need one again?” and “Can the others hear the voices?” You’ll need to answer this question, When told yes, “Hah Cool :-)” when told no, “Haha... I can’t either. :-)”

#Smile For Me #Smile For Me oc #Smile For Me sona #Oc: Maxwell Phite #baizli's d00dles :0)#WHOOPS I WROTE ALOT-

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brokasteltranslations · 5 years

Text

Fate/Requiem: Chapter 1

Once upon a time, there was a great war. It happened long ago, before I was born. And then it ended, and the world entered an age of peace.

–

In the modern era, each and every person held within their heart a tiny Holy Grail, which was nothing more or less than that person's preordained destiny. And each and every person was capable of summoning a Servant allotted them by fate, in accordance with the guidance of the Grail.

Servants were an information resource by nature, accumulated throughout human history. Their souls were enshrined in the Throne of Heroes, a place which transcended the bounds of space and time. By 'downloading' them from this Throne, it was possible to manifest them in our world.

–

The shape of the world changed greatly after the war. This town was born anew - reorganised into city units, known collectively as Mosaic City. Among them was Akihabara, the Maritime City, which I called home. Sea levels had risen dramatically as a result of global warming, and now the city quite literally bordered on the ocean. The Kanda river's name was nothing more than a vestige of the pre-war era; in reality, it was nothing more than a canal through which sea water flowed.

–

This town was watched over by the Holy Grail, and not a day went by when its citizens did not partake of its bounties. Those survivors from before the war had been given the opportunity to obtain a Grail upon its conclusion, while those young enough to have been born after the war, like Karin, possessed one within their hearts from birth.

The Grail had brought immortality to the masses. The principal causes of death in the old world – biological factors such as ageing, genetic degradation, infectious diseases, viruses and malignant cancers – had all been conquered. By expending Command Seals, one could even manipulate their biological age. In this city, one of humanity's oldest, dearest wishes – eternal youth – had been realised.

–

But I was different. I alone stood apart. I was the only citizen of this city who had not been granted a Holy Grail. I had been born into this new world, but I would age naturally – and, eventually, die – with all the senselessness characteristic of the old. An irregularity, born outside of the sight of the Grail. That was what I was – me, Utsumi Erice.

With no Holy Grail, I had no Servant to contract with as my partner. Every once in a while, someone would be unable to stifle the urge to ask me how that felt. If it were up to me, I would laugh at them, and tell them that they'd never understand even if I tried to explain – but I'd been chided no small number of times by my master for that. You would be remiss to be callous in your interaction with your social environment, if you wish to live peacefully in this new world.

So, for lack of anything else to say, I answered them like this:

“Imagine you were incredibly short-sighted, to the point where you could hardly see, but you were told you weren't allowed to wear glasses.”

“Imagine being told you had to travel somewhere on foot, while everyone else was allowed to use trains and buses.”

“Imagine going somewhere you've never been before, only to find that the navigation app on your smartphone was an unusable piece of junk.”

The question I had by far the most trouble with was the question of how I survived day-to-day life without Command Seals, which were one of the bounties of the Grail. On that point, no matter how thoroughly I tried to explain, most other people seemed to struggle to understand my situation any more than vaguely, and ultimately had no interest anyway. That was the ideal response, as far as I was concerned. I could find no fault with that.

There were also those who genuinely understood, and responded with exaggerated surprise and sympathy. Some would offer me the usage of their own Command Seals, assuring me with fawning pity that I could come to them if there was ever anything they could do for me. There were even a few so selflessly empathetic that they claimed to truly want to trade places with me – although always with some condition attached, by which they could return things to normal if they so pleased.

Every such encounter reminded me anew that I was nothing more than an amusement to them. A means of flattering their own altruistic sensibilities, and of relieving their boredom for a little while.

Akihabara was a labyrinth in three dimensions, not just two. In a block nestled a comfortable distance from the downtown area on the middle stratum, bordering a natural public park, stood a multi-storey building housing a collection of public service facilities. Contained on one floor of this building was the classroom I frequented.

I had arrived slightly late for the start time, and hurriedly took my seat. The wide, fan-shaped room was almost devoid of students. This was decidedly not a facility for compulsory education; it was offered the people at large educational lecture courses aimed at fostering lifelong learning. Citizens of all ages took the course, and attending every single lecture was virtually unheard-of. Consequently, I was known as something of an eccentric.

The people here knew nothing of the battle of immortals that occurred last night. Those kinds of incidents never made the news.

–

Well then – it was time for Pre-War Human History.

That was the name of the course I was taking. Unfortunately, it could hardly have been called the most popular subject. The content of the lectures was much closer to trivia than education. The main goal of Pre-War Human History comprised learning about the human race's greatest triumphs and blunders in the world of the past. It was...well, to put it bluntly, dry.

In the first place, Akihabara was Mosaic City's premier resort. Students who were sincerely striving to learn, or families concerned with the proper education of their children, would simply up and leave for another district. I had an inclination that this space only really existed to entertain the interests of the lecturer at the front of the hall – my master, Ms. Fujimura.

–

Oh, it looks like that girl's here again.

I cast a quick glance out over the lecture theatre from my usual perch at the back. A small, familiar figure was sat in the very front row, concentrating intently on the lecture. She had come again today. As a rule, I never saw students younger than myself attending these lectures, so she had stuck in my memory. She was a pale child, short in stature, and perhaps old enough to be at the upper end of elementary school. Her voice and attitude during the occasions that she posed questions to the lecturer had given me the impression that she was female, but there was no guarantee. All kinds of people lived in this city.

Her had was invariably pulled down low over her head, and her eyes were covered by her bangs, so I hadn't ever seen her face clearly. I had never engaged her in conversation, and I didn't even know her name. She appeared in lectures once a month or so; I felt a distinct disconnect between her keen attitude in lectures and her abysmal attendance rate.

Today, her standing record for youngest lecture attendee had been broken. The new champion was none other than my companion: the stray Servant I had taken in last night, the golden-haired child. He was at least sitting in his seat for now without making a fuss, but he was fidgeting constantly - rocking his body to and fro, and sometimes lying down as though trying to savour the feeling of the cool wood of the chair. Or so I was thinking, before he suddenly turned to peer into my face, obstructing my view of my tablet.

“You think you're a cat or something?”

“...Ca-...cat?”

“Maybe you're more of a dog, huh. Your hair's all floofy.”

“Dog?”

“Yeah, a dog. You know, woof-woof.”

“I know dogs.”

“Oh, really? Well, I'm glad for y- what the hell do you think you're doing!?”

He had scrambled up onto the seat of his chair, planted both hands on the desk and begun to howl, loud and proud.

Awooooo! Ow-ow-owooo! Awoooooo!

He finished his surprisingly accurate rendition, flashing a beaming smile. I sat for a moment in silent astonishment – and might perhaps have thought for a moment that it was a little endearing, although this really wasn't the time for that.

“Hey, stop that! Get down from there!”

Give me a break. I was just about to give you credit for at least not being as loud as Karin, and you go and pull this. The other attendees were turning back to look at us now, searching for the source of the noise.

“I'm sorry. We'll be quiet. I'm really sorry.”

My master had stopped giving her lecture, and was cocking her head at us. The girl in the front row was looking too. If looks could kill, the glare boring into me from beneath her bangs would have dropped me stone dead. Although I couldn't exactly blame her for getting annoyed at someone bringing this commotion into a class.

Yes miss I'm so terribly sorry I won't do it again...ugh, what did I do to deserve this...

I had no way of knowing how to handle a young child like this boy in the first place – but that said, I also couldn't possible have left him behind in my apartment by himself. And I had thought to myself that I might learn something about him if I brought him here with me.

“Don't dogs say “bow-wow” in English, anyway?”

“Boh-roh.”

“Not even close. Must be nice to be able to mimic things like that, huh...”

Ohh boy. Starting to get the feeling I'm not going to be learning much from today's lecture...

I rested my head on my hand and pouted. Gazing idly at the young boy's angelic face out of the corner of my eye, I cast my mind back through my memories of my baptism last night.

It had happened on the previous evening, after I had been fished from the riverbed by Karin and Kouyou on the wharf. To cut a long story short, I decided to take the boy back to my apartment and put him up for the night, still none the wiser about who he was or where he had come from.

–

I had been living on my own ever since parting ways with my grandmother.

In a quiet corner of Akihabara, there was a small, depopulated district that most people avoided. Before the war, it had comprised a collection of multi-purpose buildings crammed to bursting with shops, but they had all been abandoned after the Grail's large-scale restructuring of the city. My apartment consisted of a room in one such building.

The inside of the room was decorated in Victorian style. Every inch of floor was covered by wooden floorboards, and its antique interior had been preserved unaltered. Apparently, it had originally housed some kind of dubious culinary establishment known as a “maid cafe”.

–

My apartment wasn't exactly designed for ease of living, but it was furnished with a proper bathroom and bedroom, and was more than sufficient for one person to live in comfortably. It even had a veranda, albeit a small one. From the window of my bedroom I could gaze out over a small vertical slice of ocean hemmed in by the surrounding buildings.

–

My opportunities to invite another person back to this humble abode were rare. Considering my job, the risks involved in freely letting others know where I lived were far too high. The only reason I had brought this child back with me was that it would have been too irresponsible to leave him to his own devices. I didn't even know who his contractor was; to have allowed him to freely roam the town would have been unthinkable.

He might have manifested in the form of an innocent child, but that only set me more on edge. I had allowed myself to be disarmed by a target's outward appearance before, on a previous job, and had made a grave mistake because of it. A Servant I had believed nothing more than an angelic young child - like purity itself sculpted in alabaster - had harboured a terrible darkness. The Avenger, Louis XVII. The incident that arose around that particular monstrosity had ultimately claimed not only the life of his Master, but those of a great number of innocents as well.

At the time, I had not yet fully graduated from childhood. Louis and I had been similar in stature, and I had thought we could have been good friends. In the end, however, my friendship and goodwill had been used and turned against me. That incident was not one I would forget easily.

–

There was another reason that I had brought this stray child back with me: I had been driven to my wits' end in another sense. Frankly speaking, I could not take it any more: the rank stench that permeated the both of us had become unbearable, and I could not bear to go another minute without washing it off.

The culprit was the oil slick near the quay that I'd had the ill fortune to be dragged through when I was fished out of the Kanda river. Petroleum-based waste oil, that had leaked from one of the boats moored in the harbour. I had hardly had the time to worry about such things immediately after being deposited on the wharf, but now that I had returned to my senses the discomfort was driving me to distraction. Pouring water over myself or wiping myself down with paper towels would do nothing to remove this - I needed a proper bath.

I had been stopped by a worried Karin when I had tried to totter my way home, still bearing a serious wound that I had no right to have recovered from so quickly. She had only seen me off after I had explained about the charms and such that I kept in my house. She was easygoing like that.

I had tried to invite her to stay the night here, but she had breezily turned me down, saying that she had a friend in the vicinity who would put her up for the night. Karin's social connections remained as much a mystery to me as ever. Although she had given me a rueful smile, saying that her family would be angry with her for returning home the following morning.

–

In any case, I had finally returned home, and could allow myself to relax a little. I looked the boy over once more, this time with the aid of my apartment's artificial lights.

“Hold on. Hey, no, wait, wait, wait! Don't just go right in! Just stand here for a minute.”

I grabbed him by his sodden scarf and yanked him back, prompting a visible sulk.

“Uh...sorry.”

So he did possess emotions, and the capacity to appeal to them. That would be useful, at least.

Both of us looked ridiculous, soaked from head to toe and glistening with oil. I was at least wearing swimwear and a windbreaker in place of my ordinary clothes, but his lot was a much more miserable one. I could feel my memories of the unearthly spectacle I had witnessed below the surface of the water growing more distant by the minute.

Alll-righty. I pulled myself together, and sank to one knee in the entranceway, looking over this child once more from top to toe.

He at least appeared to be eight, maybe nine years old. He was Caucasian, with the pale features particular to Scandinavian climes - although given that Servants were as much concept as they were genetics, any attempt to determine their race was close to meaningless. His hair was a pale blonde, almost white, and it had been left to grow freely.

His scarf was sodden, and hung limp around his neck. Or maybe it was a muffler? Well, it wasn't as though it mattered. It was composed of fabric knitted from some strange, gaudy material – it was hard to say if it was actual gold, or just extremely intricate needlework. His clothing looked to be made of cotton, and had a simple design, reminiscent of a Greek-style tunic. He had a small embroidered design on his chest, which I made a note of as a potentially important clue.

His belt and shoes were made of the same material as his scarf. The heels of the latter had a strange design; they were tapered towards the back, like spurs used for riding horses. I could have taken that as an indication that in life he had been some sort of knight – but nothing else about him gave that impression. He's nothing like any other Saber or Rider-class Servants I've seen.

His pale blue eyes stared back at me questioningly as I scrutinised him. I was seized by a sudden rush of curiosity.

“Hey. Do you think you could tell me where you came from?”

He smoothly lifted an arm to point towards the ceiling.

“From the sky? From Heaven? You don't mean from the moon, do you?”

He shook his head at all of them.

“I've come...from somewhere very far away.”

“All Servants have.”

“...Really?” He must have found something amusing, because his face blossomed into a smile, and he giggled. I was relieved at the unexpected ease with which I was able to communicate with him, although it seemed like he was still struggling to understand what I was saying.

His first words had been in halting English, but from the way he had appeared to be listening in on the conversation between me and Karin I would venture that he at least understood our language. If he was a Servant who had been summoned legitimately, he would have been granted a bare minimum level of common knowledge about the modern era by the Grail, as well as the linguistic capabilities necessary to express himself to others naturally. However, now that I was trying to determine his true name, that was only serving to impede my search.

As I questioned him, I produced a pair of scissors and carefully snipped a five-millimetre length of thread from the back of his tunic, which I deposited in a zip-lock sample bag.

“Would you mind letting me take one of your hairs as well?”

It looked like he was giving me the ok. He did as I asked, without resisting, and as I did he asked me a question.

“Have you come from somewhere far away like me, Eri?”

“Don't call me that. Did you get that from Karin? Alright, listen here. I'm not “Eri”, I'm not “Old man Eri”, and I'm not “Eri-pie”. I'm Erice. Utsumi Erice.”

“Hmm.”

He remained staring at me, giving me no indication whether or not he'd understood. His reaction was a little dispiriting, but I continued anyway. If I kept talking, I might be able to glean something.

“It's not all that far away, really. I was born in Shinjuku. I'm fourteen now, so I guess you could call me a middle schooler, but I don't usually go to school anyway.”

“What's a 'school'?”

“A school is...it's where you go to learn. It's a big building where lots of children all go. Or at least, that's what I hear it was like before the war. They've changed a lot since then.”

“You don't go to school, Eri?”

“I told you to call me Erice. And I don't need to. I'm passing my academic evaluations, and I'm getting the credits I need from extracurricular courses. And I show up for health inspections and such.”

“You don't want to go to school, do you?”

I grit my teeth. He'd hit the nail on the head. He was annoyingly good at that.

“It's...not a matter of whether I want to go or not. I...I have more important things to do.”

“You're alone.” He cocked his head, and then broke out into another smile. “Just like me.”

I suppressed my irritation silently as I tapped at my tablet. I was trying a search for the symbol embroidered on his chest, but nothing was coming up. Just in case, I tried accessing the city network, but no-one had registered any missing Servants - although it wasn't as though that was a frequent occurrence anyway. I could ask my master about any information that might be being suppressed on a public level, but I could hardly go blithely to her cap-in-hand. Not after I had tried to hide from her that I had disobeyed her orders and let Kundry go.

Even so, there was one theory as to his identity that I had managed to come up with. Spurred on by that, I decided to bite the bullet.

“So, which Servant are you?”

“...?”

He tilted his head in confusion. Was he trying to play dumb? It didn't look like an act, at any rate. It seemed that somehow, he really didn't understand the concept of a Servant. Was that even possible?

“I'm asking about your true name. Although your nickname will do, if that's better-known.”

Once, Servants would not have revealed their true name lightly, but that was before the war. In the modern world, it had become more of a question of personal privacy. No small number of Servants had origins that could complicate life in Mosaic City if they became known to others, and the degree of discretion necessary might also change depending on their relationship with their Master.

This boy likely wouldn't talk about his true name if his unknown Master did not wish it. And all the more so if he didn't have one at all.

“Your name, I said. Tell me your name.”

“...Name?”

“That's right. Your name.”

“Don't you know it?”

“...Huh? Don't I...you mean my name?”

It was supposed to be me asking the questions here. I was starting to feel that if I just allowed this wide-eyed child to talk at his own pace, I would end up the one being profiled.

Abruptly, he opened his mouth again. “There's something I've lost.”

“Something you've lost? What did you lose?”

“I don't know.”

I heaved a sigh. At the same moment, a sharp stench once more pricked at my nostrils.

“It sounds like you're suffering from memory loss. I think things like that can happen after summoning...? Well, anyway, there's nothing we can do for now. And I'm about at my wits' end, so right now I'm going to have a shower. I'll let you use the bathroom too, so go on ahead.”

“Show-er?”

“A shower. You know, like a bath.”

“...A bath?”

“Wait, you really don't know? Don't tell me you don't even know what a shower is? Hang on, have you ever even had a wash?”

He shook his head. Apparently he really hadn't ever experienced a bath. Although even if he hadn't, surely the idea itself fell under common knowledge.

Do your job, Holy Grail.

For as long as I had lived here, my bathroom had been rather chic. It had a French-style interior, and was easily wide enough for two people. The star of the show was a shallow enamel bathtub, pulled straight from a western movie. Incidentally, the bedroom was decorated in equally charming fashion, and was the biggest reason I chose this apartment.

The design was uncharacteristically luxurious for a department store coffee shop. Either the owner had been extremely specific tastes...or from the beginning, this building had been designed with less-than-wholesome purposes in mind. Probably the latter. Not that that had anything to do with me; I was nothing more than a grateful beneficiary. But it did mean one more thing for Karin to tease me about.

I gritted my teeth, and led the boy by the hand to the bathroom. He was still dawdling, unsure as to what was going on. I had him take off his clothes and made him stand in the dressing room. Then I set to filling the bathtub, removing my own dirtied clothing as I did so. He's just a kid. What's there to be embarrassed about? Nothing! That's right, nothing at all.

There was still an outside chance that he would turn out to have the mind of a middle-aged man, but I'd cross that bridge if I came to it.

“I suppose I'd better put my swimsuit in to soak...ouch!”

Agony lanced through me as I twisted my body the wrong way. I re-treated the injury to my abdomen, and covered it over with a water-resistant patch. It was still undergoing accelerated recovery, and it was warm to the touch. The wound was serious enough that with the treatment methods of the past, oligemic shock and acute inflammation would have been unavoidable. But this new world had conquered death itself, and treatments for injuries and accidents had not been overlooked on the way. Many technologies had been developed during the war, and now I reaped the benefits.

“It looks like it hurts.”

“Well, maybe a little.”

His eyes were drawn to the scar on my ear, and he screwed up his face.

“It isn’t nice, is it? Every thorn-prick makes its own hole.”

“...You said it.”

Was he worrying that I might be left with a scar, in his own way? If so, he was quite the gentleman.

“But it's ok. Kouyou patched it up for me, so it'll heal with time.”

For my part, I carefully looked his naked body up and down once more. This was a vital step in my investigation, and thus an entirely proper and lawful act.

He was...definitely a boy, yep.

–

Once I had painstakingly washed away the cause of the stench, I finally entered the bathtub - along with the boy, who was trying to escape at any opportunity.

“It's hot.”

“That's what's good about it. Ordinary Servants love to take baths. They're all very happy to get in. There are even some who have baths as their Noble Phantasms. There's one who summons this great big bathchamber, called Terme di Caracalla...”

“I want to get out.”

He was pulling a very sullen expression, but at least he was being obedient.

I can't see any scars on him. His muscles and weight don't seem any different from a normal child's, either. I found it very hard to believe that he might be some kind of knight summoned in their youth. When he'd said that he didn't know what a bath was, the first thing I'd suspected was child abuse; Heroic Spirits who had come from such unhappy backgrounds were too numerous to count. But he showed no sign of having received that kind of treatment, or at least not outwardly.

My confidence in my hypothesis was growing stronger, and I decided to put it to the test.

–

I stretched out from the bathtub. With the steam-clouded mirror as my canvas, I drew a picture of a hat with my fingertip. It was a crude sketch of an old-fashioned, wide-brimmed men's hat with a slightly indented top, as seen from the side.

“Hey. Can you tell me what this is?” I asked him hesitantly, my chest pounding nervously. It only took a brief glance at the picture before he answered.

“It's...a snake.”

I started. For a moment, I was lost for words.

“It looks like it's eaten something big.”

He'd answered my question perfectly.

“It scares me a little.”

Droplets fell from his body as he shivered and turned away. I hadn't even imagined that he might show such a violent reaction. I quickly wiped away the picture on the mirror, and found myself patting his head to try and reassure him. I could feel the slickness of his wet hair and the warmth of his body through the palm of my hand.

“What about “B-612”? Or maybe you could call it “Besixdouze”?”

“Yes.” He nodded in answer. No hesitation.

“You know it?”

“It's a planet, isn't it? But there's no-one there.”

I was silent for a moment. That's right. It's a planet. Of course it is.

“I see...so there's no-one there. But I think...I might know your true name now.”’

B-612 was the name of an asteroid that orbited the solar system. It was not remarkable in any way, save for the fact that it had been discovered by a Japanese national. It would hardly be included in the common knowledge that the Holy Grail bestowed upon Servants. But that asteroid was named for a novella from a foreign country, and the title of that novella was “The Little Prince”.

On a sudden impulse, I embraced him. In the bathtub, I wrapped my arms around his narrow shoulders from behind, and squeezed him tight. So as not to break him. So as not to hurt him.

“If only...if only you had been my Servant...”

He showed no sign of answering me.

Before entering the bathtub, as I was washing myself, I had checked everywhere. Desperately, I had searched to see if Command Seals, the proof of a contract with a Servant, had appeared anywhere on my body. I had strained my eyes in the mirror, checking my back, beneath the translucent medical patch, even the soles of my feet. But they were nowhere to be seen.

Then I was no-one's Master. I could not have made any contract with this boy through the Grail. I was just the Reaper, the same as I had always been.

In that case, what had that sense of foreboding been?

What had that trembling been in my chest? That sense that something had begun that would change my life forever?

In the end, it had all just been my own wishful thinking.

–

After the bath, we retired to my living-cum-dining room, where a mahogany table had stood ever since this place was a cafe. The boy sat in a chair, working his way through a lasagne that I had microwaved from frozen. I was recording the day's events, tablet in hand and a towel around my head, and I was blushing as red as his bolognese sauce. I felt incredibly embarrassed. This boy hadn't even yet come of age, but I had suddenly embraced him, whispered something that felt almost like a confession of love, and then ended up crying. While naked, no less.

His only response, after a while had passed, had been to furrow his eyebrows and complain “It's hot”.

“Is that good?”, I asked.

“It tastes.”

“Really? Sounds great.”

The samples I had taken earlier were on the table. Both contents of the zip-lock bag had vanished, just as I had expected. Separated from his body, his hair and the thread from his tunic had ceased to exist in their pseudo-physical form, and had reverted to being part of his mana. In other words, his body and the clothes he wore were woven from the stuff. That made for strong evidence that he was a Servant - but it was unneeded, because an easier way to tell was right before my eyes. The clothes that I had left on the floor of the dressing room had since returned to a clean, dry state.

The scarf that he wore around his neck floated freely, with no regard for the laws of physics. Even while he was eating, it fluttered gently, as though rising upon the wind. Needless to say, there was no wind inside my apartment.

He couldn't be the Simoun...could he? The poison wind?

–

The night had grown late, and I wrestled with the sleepiness and exhaustion that assailed me as I stared at my tablet. I thought back to the words I had exchanged with the Flying Dutchman, Captain Van der Decken. Every word of the warning he had given me lay heavy on my breast.

Until it became clear that our enemy was the mad queen, he had maintained a policy of non-interference, and only once had he commented on my methods. He had been cursed by a devil of the ocean. My lot was not too dissimilar - for I too was cursed, and possessed by evil spirits. Living my life beyond the sight of the Grail, I might as well have been a naked offering to them. But that was also the reason that I'd lasted as long as I had in this job.

I had let my guard down. I had allowed myself to believe that Captain Van der Decken and I might have been able to find an understanding, as bearers of the same fate. But he had seen through those naïve expectations, and had roughly spurned my advances.

“You have grown to feel joy in the act of slaying Servants, under the pretence of executing the authority of the city. Though you think yourself the master of your spectres, they in turn use you.”

He was telling me, in a roundabout way, that I was intoxicated by the idea of being a superhero. That what I had believed to be pride was in fact conceit.

“Someday, Erice, you will call forth a great evil. And when that time comes, that which you have clung to so dearly will instead force you to your knees.”

Unable to accept his words and fiercely ashamed, I had retorted with some frivolous argument - although I could admit now that it had just been something I had cooked up to make myself feel better. At the time I had thought he was just trying to put me in my place, but thinking back on it now, his words might have been as much in reproach of himself as they had been for me. His relationship with his contractor Aheseurus - equal in spite of being Master and Servant - spoke more eloquently of his sincerity than words ever could.

“Are you paying attention, Erice?”

I was brought out of my reverie by my master's polite chiding.

“You seem very tired. Perhaps it might be for the best if you took a moment to rest in the break room? I can prepare the lecture material for your perusal later, if you'd like.”

I let out a whimper. This was embarrassing. My second disgrace this morning. I shook my head vigorously. My master nodded, and recommenced the lecture in a soft voice.

–

Her name was Caren Fujimura. She was the lecturer responsible for this class, and also my master. I had known her for as long as I could walk.

Outwardly, she appeared to be in her twenties. She had light amber eyes, and wavy, pale grey hair that cascaded down to the small of her back. Her body combined a slender build with voluptuous Hispanic curves. Most notable of all, however, was her impeccable sense of style. Nobody else could come close to its audacity. Today, too, she looked sharp as a knife.

Or at least, I thought so, but waxing lyrical on the subject only seemed to earn me pained smiles from Karin and others. Well, it wasn't as though I cared anyway. If I was the only one who could understand her magnificence, so be it.

“...?”

The boy, who had been quiet at my side for a long time, had begun focusing on my master when she had spoken to me. Now he turned his gaze to the skirt of my school uniform, then to his own trousers, and cocked his head. He turned his head to make one more pass, carefully comparing, and then spoke with some conviction.

“She isn't wearing anything down there.”

“That she isn't.”

My master really was incredible.

It was not on account of her position as my lecturer that I called Caren Fujimura my master. Nor was it on account of her being my fashion role model. She was inhuman, in every way, and not in the sense of being part of the new postwar humanity. She was an artificial intelligence – an AI.

More precisely, she was the municipal administration AI tasked with the management of the Akihabara ward. A human interface that allowed the Grail to communicate directly with the people of the city. A hybrid intelligence – the most valuable in the city – born of the fusion of summoning magecraft, modelled on the kind that called forth Heroic Spirits, and cutting-edge information engineering technology. Such was the true nature of Caren Fujimura.

–

Ms. Fujimura's lecture on pre-war human history continued. Today's topic was the history and profiles of the great pioneers. Those brave adventurers who sailed west on crude wooden vessels, carving a path to an unknown lands. Those bold explorers who discovered – or rediscovered – the distant new world, and secured the shipping routes that would become the lifeblood of a global civilisation.

–

She spoke of Eric the Red, who crossed from Europe to Greenland and settled there. Of his son, Lief Ericsson, who made landfall in the northeast of North America and named it “Vinland”. Of the roots of the Polynesians, who propagated across the islands of the south Pacific in canoes little better than rafts, and were sometimes set adrift by rogue currents to journey thousands of kilometres.

Of Christopher Columbus, the conqueror who never once lost sight of his dream; who sailed to the farthest reaches of the western sea aboard the legendary Santa Maria, and there rediscovered the new world. Of Vasco de Gama, who crossed the Cape of Good Hope and pioneered the Indian trade route. Of the Cape itself - the southern tip of the African continent and one of the great perils of the Age of Discovery, where Captain Van der Decken's Dutch galleon met its fate upon the rocks.

She told of Ferdinand Magellan, whose vessels first circumnavigated the world. Although he perished before the completion of his journey, his feat proclaimed to the world beyond all doubt that the earth was not flat, but round. Through him, the people came to know that the world they lived on was just one more celestial body like the moon or Mars, forging silently onwards through the void.

And here too was the first captain to circumnavigate the globe: Francis Drake, the privateer! Ah, here was the magnificent Golden Hind! I had already been absorbed in the lecture, but here my excitement reached its zenith, my mind filling with daydreams of the open sea.

From Servants who had lived through the same era, I had heard tales that Drake, the admiral who broke the back of the invincible Spanish Armada, had in truth been a woman more gallant than any man. That the man who set the sun had, in fact, been the woman who set the sun. I personally found them impossible to believe, and I'd also heard them refuted by other pirate Servants. Stories like that ain't nothin' more'n piss in the wind, girly. Drake was a man, sure as my beard is long.

It was a common enough story when it came to Servants. Some ages of history had placed little importance on gender distinctions. Conversely, in others women had been so oppressed that they could only perform heroic deeds whilst disguised in men's clothing. Such confusion was liable to muddy historical records.

Even if Drake had been female, it would do nothing to tarnish the glory of her legend.

–

My enriching study time was now approaching its end, although I had struggled to focus on all of the contents of the lecture.

“I would like to give a brief introduction to one final figure. An American man whose one small step signified a giant leap for mankind.”

The screen changed in sync with Ms. Fujimura's commentary. Now it displayed a world of extreme contrasts: a sea of grey regolith, and the dark vacuum of space. Within the shadow thrown by a lunar lander, a figure in a space suit descended a ladder to stand upon the moon's surface.

“This was the first man to stand on the face of the moon. He, too, counts among the great pioneers of the human race.”

“...Eh...?”

A single voice arose, quavering not with wonder but with astonishment.

“A human went to the moon...? A living human?”

The source of the voice was none other than the young girl in the front row.

“Indeed. It would be fifty-six years before the modern day. Three astronauts ventured to the moon, and two among them descended to walk upon its surface.”

“More than half a century ago? There weren't even control units back then capable of calculating orbital trajectories-”

“There were.”

Another video resource flashed onto the screen. This time it showed a bulky copper box that must have weighed dozens of kilograms, and a small keyboard. The commentary indicated that this was the Apollo spaceship's guidance computer.

“Single-core, 8-bit. A most splendid computer to be mounted in the lunar lander. It likely had less than one ten-thousandth the processing power of the smartphones you all have in your pockets. And yet it was enough to guide the lander by autopilot, even though human error necessitated its rebooting just prior to landing.”

Ms. Fujimura sounded almost triumphant now. There had been a strange change in her expression, although it was so slight I doubted anyone but me would even have a chance of noticing. Perhaps, for an AI, it was a point of pride to be able to talk about the vital contribution a computer had made to one of humanity's most historic achievements.

No, that's not it...

She was delighting in the shock her student was experiencing, from her first contact with this knowledge. She was revelling in it. The girl retracted her body and sat back down in her seat, fuming.

“That's irresponsible. It's reckless.”

“Indeed it was. It was one of the most reckless ventures in human history, and precious lives were lost along the way.”

“That's all the more reason it could never have happened!”

As though scoffing at our worries from across the ages, the portly figure of the spaceman upon the screen began to moonwalk, gleefully bounding across the moon's surface. He was humming to himself merrily, like some shameless delinquent.

“Rather carefree, isn't he? One would never think only a thin spacesuit separated him from the zero-pressure vacuum and the hellish 110-degree temperatures outside.”

My master smiled faintly, as she expressed her admiration for the men in the video. Even when they raced their moon buggies across the lunar plain, they were rough and careless, as though they were driving go-karts at some amusement park. The girl at the front returned to gazing at the video, a flabbergasted expression on her face.

“Ah...ahaha...!” I couldn't help bursting out in laughter.

Her shoulders trembled a little. I'd picked an awful time.

–

The “Great Pioneers” instalment concluded by saying that although the human race had raised its flag in one great unknown after the other – first the new world beyond the seas, then the distant skies, and finally the void of space – landing a group of carefree delinquents on the surface of the moon had marked the end of their exploits. Not once since had they set their sights on anything farther. The Apollo generation's dream of a grand conquest of the stars remained a dream to this day. Mars, Venus and the outer space beyond the solar system remained unknown to the print of human boot.

I wondered if perhaps the human race had, somewhere along its way, lost sight of something incredibly precious.

I wondered if perhaps someday there might rise once again, on the edge of the farthest frontier, someone worthy of being called a hero. Someone who would lead mankind forth once more towards a new world.

“Hey, there you are, Eri-pie! Wanne grab some food?”

Karin burst into the classroom just as the lecture had ended. She must have guessed where I would be. I had thought she might have returned home after the events of last night, but she must have remained in Akihabara.

“Oh, it's you, Karin. I'll hold off for now. I've still got things I need to do.”

“Ehh? Hasn't your class just wrapped up?”

“Well, yeah, but I'm not talking about class.”

“Oh, the shrimp's tagging along? Good, good. You put some proper breakfast in him, right? What's he been eatin'?”

“Cereal. And some water.”

“Oh, ouch. You know that's child abuse, right? Like, I should probably be calling a social worker about now?”

“Just give it a rest, geez...”

I hadn't been back to my apartment for the past few days, and my reserves had all expired, so I had ended up with very little by way of food. I hadn't so much as forced cereal and water on him as noticed his interest in the food I was hurriedly shovelling down and shared a little.

Servants didn't typically require meals in the usual sense, but in the post-war world where they had become commonplace, more care was being paid to improving their quality of life. There were even some citizens' groups that insisted that they had a right to live the same as humans. In my view, Servants were fundamentally inhuman existences, and I saw those attempts to impose human restrictions on something unbound by the framework of nature as little more than evidence of their Masters' egotism – although I couldn't deny that might just have been the bitter prejudice of a have-not speaking.

“Sssssssup! Morning, Caren!”

“Good morning to you too, Karin.”

Ms. Fujimura approached the two of us.

“Karin...and Caren...?”

The boy looked between the two, confused.

“Yeah, you got it. Pain in the ass, right? The Caren in Akihabara has this kinda grown-up, sexy feel to her. The one back home is a lot more, uh...wha-chaa!”

“What's “wha-chaa!” supposed to mean? And you should be calling her Ms. Fujimura.” Karin had drawn one knee up to strike a kung-fu pose. I gave her a smack.

“Karin lives in the Shibuya district. The me who lives there is a drawer for a Chinese restaurant.” My master smiled gently. I wondered what it felt like, to know there were different versions of herself active all over the city.

A few elderly students were still hanging around in the classroom, chatting amongst themselves. My master ushered us from the room, and we relocated to a terrace protruding from midway up the building. This was a leisure space, and it commanded a wide view of the sprawl of Akihabara. At this early hour, the sea breeze was light, and the sun was not too strong. It was just cool enough that that shaded areas were still a little chilly.

The distant rumble of a train smoothly pulling in from the oversea viaduct drifted to us from across the water, along with the faint toot of its horn. Beyond the horizon, where the railway vanished, lay Shinjuku and Shibuya.

“So this child is the Servant with the unknown Master?”

“That's right.”

I had already informed her about the situation in advance, but I took the opportunity to introduce the boy to her in person.

“To tell the truth, I already have a good guess as to his identity. Although he doesn't really react to what I say most of the time. He doesn't seem to be entirely all there.”

I took the plunge, and told her about last night's discoveries – hoping somewhere deep down this made up for the regret I felt at keeping quiet about Kundry's flight and the events that had followed.

“Antoine de Saint-Exupéry...? A French author, as I recall, and one of great renown. He was also an accomplished pilot, and served in the Second World War. You believe this child's identity to be this Saint-Exupéry?”

The object of our scrutiny, the child in question, showed no reaction to the name. He took a sip of the freshly-squeezed orange juice that Karin had bought from a juice stand, and pulled a face. Sour.

“His appearance is a poor match, even taking into account the age difference.” I could sense my master checking records in the background, and cross-referencing them with the child in front of her. I pressed on with my next hypothesis.

“I think he's the Little Prince. Don't you think he looks just like Saint-Exupéry's illustrations?”

The Little Prince was an allegorical short story. It was the last completed work by Saint-Exupéry, who passed away at a young age. Whether online or in physical bookshops, one would inevitably find it in the children's book category, but it couldn't be more different to the fairy tales it rubbed shoulders with on the shelves. That said, nor was it something like the Bible, whose every line existed to be quoted and venerated. It was a comforting presence, like a familiar friend at your side, always ready with a lighthearted quip or a sobering anecdote. Or so I thought, anyway.

“Eh? So you're a prince, are you? Hmmmm? Now you mention it, he does look kinda regal. Think he'd make a good match with my Momi? She is a princess, you know. Whaddaya think?”

Karin pinched the boy's cheek, grinning wickedly, and he turned his head away in clear discomfort. I decided to leave them to it, and added to my master that last night the boy had answered my riddle with the keyword that only the Little Prince would know.

“I see...” She struck a contemplative pose as I continued.

“I'm aware that he doesn't look very much like Saint-Exupéry. That's why I'm wondering if he could be an author Servant who's taken on the form of a character from one of his own works. I'm sure there are examples of that.”

“There are indeed. Many authors' works leave a far greater impression on the world to come than the men themselves. Many more choose such forms of their own accord. However, if you would permit me my personal opinion - ”

She left a beat, pushing up her glasses.

“ - I would conjecture that Saint-Exupéry would project himself not onto the Little Prince, but onto the Pilot who narrates the story. It was, after all, his own experience of crash-landing in the Sahara desert that formed the basis for the book.”

“Ah...yes, I...I suppose...”

She was right. Given the content of the book, it was an entirely legitimate criticism. She was saying that this child was likely something fundamentally different to just some writer Servant with perverse tendencies and a strong capacity for empathy.

While I hadn't been watching, the subject of out conversation had begun sipping on a honey-lemon drink. He must have traded his orange juice with Karin. This was evidently more to his tastes; he was smiling broadly.

“I have conferred with the Caren units in the other districts, but he does not appear to match any Servant under our jurisdiction. I cannot even venture more than vague hypotheses as to his class.” It seemed that as an AI, she was capable of communicating with her other units in the background even as she talked with me.

So he wasn't a lost Servant who had wandered in from some other district. At the very least, we now knew that there was no record of Saint-Exupéry being registered as a Servant anywhere in Mosaic City.

“Please do not be disheartened, Erice. I do not mean to dismiss your opinion; the possibility remains. And just by having secured him, you have already done a wonderful job.”

“I suppose...”

“He seems to be stable, aside from his memories, so I will fit him with a classification tag. For as long as he continues to reside in this town, I will refer to him as “The Little Prince (TBD)””.

“...'Brackets...TBD'...?”

“Guess so. Would be a pain in the ass if he didn't have a name, right? Brackets, TBD.” Karin cheerily patted the Little Prince (TBD) on the head.

“Um...about last night's incident...” I straightened my back, and tried to change the topic to my report of the previous night's events – and suddenly my master stood up from her seat, looking at me ruefully.

“I owe you an apology, Erice. A matter has sprung up that requires my urgent attention. Would you mind submitting your report as a brief text document?”

“Eh...? I mean...of course.”

I felt relieved, but at the same time more concerned. Whatever this urgent matter was, this was the first I'd heard of it, and my master was not known for changing her schedule lightly.

“But what do you think I should do about him?”

“That was my next point. I am sorry to ask this of you, but would you mind taking charge of him for the time being? If his identity becomes clear during that time, all the better.”

“Eh-?”

My master's eyes narrowed into a smile as my mouth clamped shut. The already-unusual situation had just taken a turn for the stranger.

“No way, no way, no way. Isn't that going to be a problem? With my job and everything?”

“No other individual in Akihabara is so equipped to tackle as exceptional a case. To call you a specialist in the handling of Servants would not be an exaggeration.”

It would. It absolutely would. My specialisation was not the handling of Servants - it was murder. Restraining the most villainous of Servants, and keeping them under strict surveillance, I could do. But I was not nearly so capable of attending to the needs of a young boy, barely any different from an ordinary human child, who didn't even know his own name.

Karin chipped in. “Can't he just bunk at my place? What's an extra brother or two, anyway?”

“Quite a lot, I think...”

Karin's suggestion was extraordinarily irresponsible, but my master only inclined her head. “My thanks for your hospitality Karin, but I am afraid that I cannot yet say what threat this child poses. I cannot permit him to reside with ordinary citizens.”

“I'm tellin' you, it's cool. I've got Momi, don't I? It'll be fine!”

Karin dug in deeper, and my master responded with another polite but firm refusal. In all honesty, it would have been a weight off my mind – although I wouldn't say that the notion of Karin taking responsibility for a portion of my job didn't grate on me a little.

Just as I was becoming aware of my own troublesome misgivings, a newcomer hurriedly approached the recreation space where we were conversing.

“Caren Fujimura? If you wouldn't mind, there's something I'd like to ask you.”

It was her – the girl in the hat from the front row. She had run out of the classroom just before the lecture had ended, conversing with someone over her smartphone. She must have returned now that her conversation had ended.

“It's nice to see you, Haruko. Do you have a question for me about the lecture?”

“That's right. I wanted to ask about the role of astrology during the Age of Discovery-” A sudden squall blew through the terrace, and she clutched at her hat, pulling it down tightly over her ears. I saw my chance and hurriedly forced my way into the conversation – although really, she had been the one who had interrupted us.

“H-hang on a moment. I was already talking with Ms. Fujimura...”

She glared at me in silence. Her brilliant peppermint-green eyes glinted from behind a parting in her fringe. “It was only thanks to the repeated interruptions from you and your Servant that I didn't have the opportunity to ask these questions during the lecture.”

“Well, I'm...I'm sorry about that. But, well, you see, he's not exactly my Servant...”

“Is that so? My apologies. But as his guardian, you should be more conscious of your responsibility to ensure he does not cause trouble for others in public spaces.”

Her motions – her gait, and even the way she was holding down her hat - were clipped and precise. She was barely taller than the innocent child drinking juice by my side, but she somehow seemed many years his elder. Beneath the white gown I had seen so often in lectures, she was wearing a slightly old-fashioned bright yellow blouse.

I'm positive...I've seen those clothes before somewhere... Now where was it?

“Um...you mentioned astrology, didn't you? If you're curious about the involvement of magecraft in human history, why don't you go to the library? You'd be able to research it as much as you wanted.”

I'd intended it as a sincere and respectful recommendation...but instead she expelled a short, sharp sigh, and her attitude became palpably frostier. This was getting awkward.

“You're telling me to go to the library? That would be far less efficient than asking an administrative AI – I mean, Ms. Fujimura directly. I would have thought that someone who went to the trouble of attending lectures would be cognizant of the vast difference in value between the vague knowledge one can acquire through reference materials, and the clear and consistent explanations that can be gained through conversations with an expert in the field. And if you do not understand that, then I must ask why you insist on wasting others' time with your indolence.”

“W-what do you mean, 'indolence'...?”

“Well damn. Kid's got a mouth on her...”

Things were going from bad to worse - now Karin had taken an interest. If I left this alone, it could easily easily escalate beyond my control and into an all-out brawl. She was free to pick whichever fights she wanted, but I wanted to avoid any risk of worsening my relationships with other students and ending up barred from attending.

“Come on, Karin. Cut it out. I'm not mad or anything.”

“...Hm? Wait a second, I'm sure...” Karin looked as though she'd just noticed something. The girl hurriedly pulled her hat back down over her head. My master had called this girl Haruko, hadn't she?

“I too have important matters to attend to. I really do have to hurry.”

“I...I see. Sorry about all this.” She had come all the way to this terrace searching for my master, and I wanted to show some recognition of her dedication. In that sense, we were kindred spirits. “If I'm not mistaken, you don't come to lectures very often, do you? If you wouldn't mind, I could let you borrow my old notes...”

“If you're going to mock me so, I hope you're prepared for the consequences.”

“Eh? Did...did I say something wrong?” How short was this girl's fuse? I desperately looked to Karin for help, but she only shook her head as though to say there was nothing she could do. And then, in that moment -

“I think that's quite enough, Erice.”

Another newcomer – a woman, who had not been in the classroom – strolled towards us, calling out to me with uncomfortable familiarity. Her footsteps clacked on the floor as she approached.

“Welcome. Your arrival is earlier than I had expected.” Ms. Fujimura, who had been maintaining a position of neutrality in our argument, greeted her in an oddly forced tone of voice.

“It was your message that hurried me here, Caren. You said that I might have the opportunity to see something interesting.” She was dressed in a vintage black sailor uniform, and her long silver hair was left to hang freely. I knew this woman – this woman who looked so out-of-place in Akihabara, who clad herself in an elegant shroud of bygone days.

“Chitose... What...what are you doing here...?”

Now it made sense. Caren's urgent matter must have been her.

The girl in the hat must have caught my murmured whisper. “Chitose...? What kind of civilian could call directly on a municipal administration AI without an appointment...?”

I heard the rushing sound of an intake of breath, and she turned sharply back around to the woman once more. Now that they were standing face-to-face, her small frame meant that she had to crane her neck to look her in the eyes.

“You aren't...Manazuru Chitose, are you...? The Stigmata?”

“...I am indeed. It's been a while since I last heard that name.”

The girl let out a whimper. “How could this happen...”

Her reaction was so violent, I thought for a moment that they might have been about to duel it out on the spot. In stark contrast to her brief reverie, now she was tripping over herself to be polite. She scrambled backwards three paces, and lowered her head woodenly. Her ears were glowing bright red, and from the glimpses I could catch through her bangs her cheeks were similarly flushed.

One of her fingers brushed against the side of her hat. With a swish, it folded in on itself and collapsed into a hairband. With her face now exposed, she bowed her head once more.

“I apologise wholeheartedly for my insolence, Stigmata.”

Chitose only shook her head quietly. “You had business with Caren, did you not? I do not mind waiting a while.”

“I-it was nothing! Certainly, nothing of consequence next to your duties.” She was so stiff and anxious now, her haughty demeanour not two minutes ago seemed like a distant memory. It was actually a little adorable - although in general, I found people's tendency to become so ill at ease in Chitose's presence rather hard to deal with.

For her part, Chitose might have been responding amiably, but that should not have been mistaken for warmth or compassion. Her gaze fell upon the boy seated at our table, and for an instant, her eyes were those of a serpent that had found its prey.

“Yes, that's the boy”, she said, as though talking to herself. “I can't even tell which class his Saint Graph is. I suppose the world is full of surprises.”

I confess - my interest was aroused, and I couldn't suppress a sadistic curiosity. What reaction would her gaze stir in him? Would he show awe? Animosity? Would he ignore her completely, as though erasing his own existence?

But instead – he smiled. A beaming smile, like a shining star. A clear window straight to his heart.

Silence reigned for a second, and then Chitose smiled back at him thinly. Next to me, I felt the girl with the hat flinch. And then, her expression relaxing into a slightly mischievous smile, she approached me, and laid a pale white fingertip on my shoulder.

“I charge you with monitoring this child, Erice.”

“Understood”, I muttered. She gave a small shrug at my disgruntled response.

It looked like our conversation was over. Once Chitose had made a clear decision, my master would abide by it. I stood up from my seat, bowed to my master, and accompanied the boy from the terrace as I'd been instructed.

“Who the hell was that?”, Karin asked breezily, once we were in the corridor. “Gave me the creeps.” Just this once, I was grateful for her laid-back demeanour.

“And what's up with you, anyway? Didn't you have something to ask Caren about? You sure you're ok just leaving like this?”

“It doesn't matter. Let's just go.”

I put the building behind me, as though I were running away from something.

#Fate/Requiem #translation #light novel

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cards-onthetable · 5 years

Text

An Elusive Computer Post

Y’all, 99.999% of the time, I exist on my phone and tablet. It’s very rare that I do any Fandom Stuff or social media on my laptop. But tonight, after This Episode, I had to break out the big guns. I need to be able to type as fast as my brain screams words. tl;dr: EVERYTHING IS THE WORST AND I HATE IT. Hey I’ll do a fun little page break so you don’t have to scroll past this whole thing if you don’t want to. How nice of me.

Erin

OPENING SCENE AND ERIN’S ALREADY YELLING AT PEOPLE. COOL.

JUST DON’T with this foster parent (allegedly) killing a foster child thing. Foster parents have enough of a negative perception as it is... a foster parent who “cracked” and killed a child in her care certainly won’t help. And I know this won’t turn into a well-done, thoughtful Discourse on the lack of support and resources for foster parents who are caring for children with complex needs. So I hate it.

I’m so, so, so sad for this child.

Sidenote re: Sam saying “I’ve already got a mom” (explaining why he didn’t call his foster parent “mom”) - okay, BB, one actual sensitive portrayal here, thumbs up.

Welp Erin’s boss is an asshole but so’s everyone else on this show. What else is new?

And now Sam is locked out of his new foster home. Another nice tally in the Negative Portrayal column. This is disgusting. His appreciation for his previous foster parent is obvious (this kid’s a ten times better actor than fucking Will “Dead Face” Estes at this point) and I hate this entire concept. At least the show’s portrayal of the child in foster care himself is positive.

Now Sam’s at Anthony’s house and this is off topic, but for half a second can we appreciate that Sam is also a bajillion times better at apologies than Jamie Reagan? Nice.

If Anthony becomes Sam’s foster parent I will be SO ANNOYED. One, because I’m sure the show won’t even hint at an accurate process - it’ll be insta-parent, Anthony walks into some caseworker’s office and walks out with physical custody of a child (fun fact: it takes three months or longer to get licensed as a foster parent). Two, because it’s kind of another blow to the reputation of foster parents that this episode is painting - like the only suitable foster parent in a whole city of veteran, trained, experienced FPs is this newbie? This does not taste good.

This is a cute scene. Rather than Anthony being Sam’s foster parent, how about he becomes his mentor?

OH. NICE. EXACTLY WHAT I DIDN’T WANT. “I’m going to sign the papers later today. I’m going to foster Sam myself.” Can we please get some follow-up on this, BB? Let’s please see Anthony trying to navigate the waters of parenting a teenager who likely has attachment-related diagnoses and other challenges. Is Anthony going to get trauma-informed care training? Or is he just going to wing it and hope that it’s all magical and swell? Does he have a sensitive, non-snarky bone in his body? I’m on the edge of my seat. (LOL @ Erin being the voice of reason here.)

OH. WHOA WHOA WHOA. “It’s not like I always wanted a son, but one came knocking and I answered the door.” Remember that line above where Sam reminded us that he has a mom? Do you understand why this line made me gag? There’s a fine line you walk as a foster parent, where you’re performing all the duties of parenting this child as if they’re your own - but you have to remember and be sensitive to the fact that they’re not. Kids in foster care are a package deal, yo, they come with a whole other family too. For teenagers this is an especially important Issue.

This entire storyline was terrible. 0/10.

Fat Shaming (Frank and co)

Poor Witten, you guys. That is awful and terrible and dangerous that her partner can’t even make it up 4 flights of stairs. “I’m here and you’re fine” - but what if she wasn’t?

Did Sid Gormley just use the word “fat shaming” and argue that physical fitness does not affect a cop’s ability to do their job?

Cops who are on the beat should be able to pass a fairly high standard for physical fitness. The end, basically.

Family dinner (tossed in here due to the topic of conversation): Seriously? Henry’s going to talk about it being discrimination to require cops to meet a physical fitness standard that is a pretty basic aspect of their ability to do their job? Nice.

Oh, magical, Frank has come up with a Compromise that Makes Everybody Happy. Raise your hand if you’re surprised.

Danny

TBH I hardly noticed this storyline at all. I’m much too busy angrily scribbling all of the examples of Dismissive Jamie on my whiteboard. Oh well, win some lose some.

Jamko

The way Jamie brushes Eddie off during this whole New Partner Discussion is gross. Refer to yesterday’s Two Pronged Complaint for the details.

The Biggest Issues: Jamie minimizing Eddie’s experience on the job, and being too protective of her/failing to be an objective boss. Et cetera.

“wHaT eLsE dOn’T I kNoW?” suck a dick, Jamie Reagan.

Peep those obviously empty coffee cups that probably have a piece of dry ice at the bottom to make the “steam.” A+.

I’m going to keep track of how many times “female empowerment” is said in this episode. I’ll keep you updated.

So this “fraternal organization” that we’ve all been so stressed about Eddie joining is...basically a women’s intramural sports league? LOLOL so I’m super excited to watch Jamie sputter about how Joe died playing softball* and therefore Eddie shouldn’t join.

LOOK AT EDDIE. She is legitimately excited about the idea of playing softball, dude. That smile is as much personality as we’ve gotten out of her all season. CAN’T WAIT TO WATCH JAMIE “WET BLANKET” REAGAN SNUFF THAT RIGHT OUT.

This ~date night~ situation is hilarious in a Young Childless Couple way.

OH, so NOW Jamie’s interested in a legitimate conversation with Eddie, engaged and responding... with questions in a demanding, rude tone? I’m so annoyed at his whole handling of the Eddie’s-new-partner thing.

GOD why is everything a Female Empowerment Thing? Can’t women just... enjoy playing sports?

OH HERE’S WHERE IT GETS FUN HOLD ONTO YOUR BUTTS

BAD IDEA

YOU’RE ABOUT TO BECOME A REAGAN

THAT’S A NO-GO

NOW YOU’RE JUST BEING STUBBORN

“No, I’m being astonished that my fiancé is trying to tell me what I can and cannot do” SAME, EDDIE

I’m so angry that the scene cuts off there. Did they just go about their stupid dinner date with this Tension floating palpably in the air between them? Did Eddie pull out an “I think I’ll sleep at my place tonight” and stalk away in that red? satin? dress? ? I hope she poured his stupid ON TAP IPA (objectively the worst type of beer, btw) down his shirt and walked out.

I AM SO SAD watching this scene of Eddie backing out of softball.

“I’m not much of a joiner” is a DUMB RIDICULOUS LINE and Eddie says it TWICE, folks.

Witten doesn’t bring up Jamie at all - I therefore assume she doesn’t know Eddie’s a Future Reagan (which is a whole other issue, but anyway.) . Witten thinks Eddie’s backing out so as to avoid associating with Witten. So I assume Witten’s intentions with the softball invite were totally pure. IMAGINE THAT! A woman who wants to be friends with another woman, one who she works with and respects and wants to get to know better! With no ulterior motive! Someone please hit Jamie Reagan in the nostril with a dart.

I like Witten more and more. Can we replace all the Reagan storylines with Witten, Sam, and Old Eddie in dark jeans and a studded jacket?

A LAUNDROMAT? ONE: Shouldn’t Jamie, as A Reagan, have laundry in his building?* TWO: It he didn’t, why wouldn’t they do laundry for free at Frank’s house every week?*

I CAN SMELL THE TENSION and I am legitimately curious how they’ve coexisted between the date and now. How’s that working out, hmm - that “keeping work and home separate” thing?

“I DIDN’T TELL YOU TO, I ASKED” says Jamie. Shall we go back a few bullet points to when he told her it’s a “no-go”?

I NEED TO KNOW WHAT ELSE I NEED TO KNOW - Same, Eddie. Do I really need to reiterate how ridiculous this whole thing is - that they’re engaged without dating, and now finding out that maybe there’s a reason people date first, even if they’re best friends, because this is the kind of stuff you work out before you start shopping for your dress.

“Are we talking, or are we just talking smack?” SOME ACCUSATION from the dumbass who said ALL THE THINGS IN THOSE BULLETS UP ABOVE.

Finally, for once, Eddie is voicing some real and legitimate concerns. Are we going to get any sort of resolution or mature adult discussion of these things? NOPE!

Did he seriously just tell her to cut it out? I hate him so much. I hope somebody duct tapes him to the front of those washer/dryers and pulls out each individual eyebrow hair with tweezers.

This laundromat scene just exemplifies so many of the issues I’ve been rage blogging about all damn season. Jamie ultimately brushing off Eddie’s concerns without ever giving her real answers. Not having the respect for her to even take her thoughts into account. Barking orders like he knows it all, and Eddie isn’t capable of making her own decisions. At least this time that’s the actual point of the scene rather than the nasty subtext.

EDDIE AND DANNY SCENE: I’m actually surprised that this is the first time Joe has been mentioned. Watching the sneak peek I figured Jamie’s main argument against Eddie joining an organization would be that it’s what got his brother killed (being vague, obviously, since Eddie clearly didn’t know the details). Not that it’s improper As A Reagan. I hoped the context of the episode would make me feel a little better about this scene but it just feels even more out of place and poorly/choppily written. I like Eddie and Danny together - I’d like them to interact more. But this didn’t do it for me. Gotta meet that Joe Mention Quota* on the season, I guess.

FINAL SCENE: in summary, FUCK THIS.

Sidenote: When is someone going to get suspicious @ how often Eddie gets pulled into Sarge’s office?

For the record, I anticipated an eye-rolly “Ohhkay, maybe I overreacted...” speech.

WHAT WE GOT FELL BELOW EVEN THAT VERY LOW BAR.

Jamie explains himself. Fine, he has a right to do that, and it’s constructive in helping Eddie understand the man she’s about to marry (god don’t even remind me). BUT HE DOES NOT ADMIT ANY WRONGDOING.

THERE IS NO APOLOGY

THERE IS NO ADMISSION THAT HE MADE MISTAKES in how he spoke to her, ordered her around, and didn’t even stop for eight seconds to listen to what she had to say

THERE IS NOT EVEN THE VERY MINIMAL “I overreacted” type of acknowledgment.

“So maybe if I forget sometimes, you can remind me” THIS IS GROSS TOO because it essentially puts the burden on Eddie to teach/remind Jamie how to HAVE AN ADULT CONVERSATION AND NOT BE AN ASS. He could AT LEAST take responsibility for his own improvement in the Future.

Eddie said literally two words in this entire scene. There was no mutual understanding, no real agreement, no genuine Development in their relationship.

THIS IS NOT A SATISFACTORY RESOLUTION TO THIS CONFLICT.

This episode is called Rectify but NOTHING HAS BEEN RECTIFIED.

ALSO, this seems like an awfully Personal conversation to be having in uniform, Sarge. Are they even trying anymore?

HE JUST THREW A SOFTBALL GLOVE AT HER. Is that supposed to be... sweet? Touching? An admission of guilt/mistake/wrongdoing? TRY AGAIN, BB. NONE OF THE ABOVE.

WELL. If you’ve made it this far, I hope you’re as disgruntled as I am. Seems like plenty of y’all were quite unhappy with this episode as well. I’m enjoying your tweets and sadness. I’ve been the queen of this club for almost a year now. Welcome, make yourselves comfortable, there’s plenty of ice cream in the freezer. Just don’t sit on the far end of the couch. That’s my dog’s favorite spot.

*These four hilarious lines were taken from two important Outside Sources. Thanks for your contribution, Outside Sources.

#sandy hates it all #blue bloods #9 x 18 Rectify

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shewhowantsmouseears · 5 years

Text

weblena fairy-tale Au drabble

so I wanted to give this a shot, and I attempted to make it a short fluffy thing but my brain said NO, LONG, ANGST, brain i just want cute dokidokis NO I WANT DRAMA goddammit brain can we try to do both NO PROMISES

anyway here you are

Sometimes it was amusing to just watch Webby work her magic – or attempt her magic. At times, it felt a little mean, but Lena would never call herself a nice person. So she stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyebrow raised as she saw Webby making all sorts of ridiculous poses with her wand before dramatically pointing it at one of Lena's old clothes. The wand would make a few sputtering noises, like a fish gasping for air, before letting out a few pink sparks, and that was all. Webby would grunt in frustration, and then the process would start all over again.

Lena glanced at what Webby was trying to enchant. Given Lena's horrid living conditions under her aunt, her clothes were limited. If it fit, it stayed, no matter how ugly, ragged or dirty it got. The dress laying on a wooden chair had reached the point of no return, and nowadays was being used as a rag to clean the windows. There was no love lost there, so her attentions easily turned back to the young fairy who waved her arms like a flapping hummingbird. Webby's determination could be incredibly annoying or rather endearing, depending on her goal at the moment. Lena could tell that Webby would be at this all day, so she mercifully cleared her throat as Webby tried to stand on her head.

With a surprised “oof!”, Webby rolled over onto her back, glancing up at who interrupted her concentration. “Oh. Hi Lena! You're home early.”

“The old hag said I was getting in her way.” Lena shrugged one shoulder dismissively. “So, you plan on telling me what you're doing, or do I get to play the guessing game? Reminder, I'm not fond of that game.”

“It was going to be a surprise... if I got it right.” Webby finally sat up, before getting on her feet and brushing herself down. “As you know, I managed to convince Lord Scrooge McDuck to throw a birthday ball for the boys!”

“'Convince' is an interesting choice of words,” Lena mused, recalling how Webby had spent five straight days attaching herself to Scrooge's leg with “please please please” uttered after every breath. That was the most she knew about what happened, anyway – she chose to spend limited time in the nearby kingdom, as her reputation wasn't exactly stellar. She had no idea how Webby had, completely accidentally, charmed Scrooge over with an adventure involving mythical creatures and a kazoo. Then again, if she had been told, she wouldn't have been terribly surprised. Webby had an odd way of worming into people's hearts. Lena was convinced Webby could get anyone to adore her – anyone save Magica, but then, Magica was only capable of loving herself.

“Everybody's going to come,” Webby continued, “and that includes you. This will be your big moment, your grand introduction into high society! I've got it all figured it out. We wait until the majority of the kingdom has arrived, the party's in full swing, the music's about to start.” By this point Webby had begun to pantomime the ball's events, which led her to miss Lena's eyerolling. Lena had no interest in princes, balls, dances, or any of that hoity-toity garbage. What a waste of time and money. “Just then, you arrive, and in the world's most beautiful dress! Everybody stares in awe at this mysterious, alluring goddess! Who could she be?”

“A-huh.” Lena felt heat rising in her cheeks. She had no idea why Webby tended to use such... unusual vocabulary when it came to describing Lena, but it wasn't always unwelcome. “Let me guess. One of the princes sees me, falls for me, we dance some romantic waltz, night ends, I leave, he pines, blah blah blah, happily ever after.”

Webby paused, glancing over at her pet project. “I'm getting the feeling you're not exactly excited about this.”

“What was your first clue?”

“Aw, c'mon, balls are fun! … So I've heard.”

“Pass.” Lena walked into the room, figuring she might as well get a head-start on her chores as long as she was here. Maybe she could rearrange the spell-books and try to find one Magica wouldn't miss.

“But think of all the friends you could make!” Webby tagged along after her.

“Pass.”

“It'll be a night away from Magica!”

“Pass.”

“... There's free food?”

Lena hesitated, her hand on one green tome wedged between two red ones. She glanced at Webby, she of hopeful desires and sparkles in her eyes. “... If they have those little hot dogs, I might go.”

“YAY YOU'RE GOING!” Webby cheered out loud, bouncing around the room for a moment before retreating back to the chair and dress. “You're going to have the night of your life! Everyone's going to love you! They won't be able to take your eyes off you!” She then pointed the wand at the dress and... nothing. Her entire body deflated. “... Soon as I can master this spell.”

“What is this spell, anyway?” Lena resumed pushing the books back and forth. “I've seen you change your look a dozen times, why's this one so hard for you?”

“Different materials, I think.” Webby tugged down on her skirt. “Fae don't typically give a hoot about what they wear, beyond their favorite colors. We're supposed to have a 'we look good in anything' attitude. Besides, this is totally different. It's you! You deserve to have a really lovely dress! One that wows everyone!”

“You're thinking about this too hard.” Lena pulled out an especially thin tome to lightly tap Webby on the head. “Look, putting a nice dress on a donkey doesn't change the fact that it's still a donkey.”

Webby looked aghast, a hand to her chest. “You are not a donkey!”

“Pack-mule?” Lena smirked, mostly kidding, but Webby still wore a look of abject horror. Lena flipped the book back into its proper place on the shelf. Nearby, a vanity mirror hung in place, and Lena avoided her reflection. “Fact is, I'm not charming anyone. So just relax, and put me in... whatever. Never really cared about what I wore.” Granted, this was mostly because she had no say in the matter. Magica would never spend good coin on fancying up what was essentially her slave. “Here, how about this?” She placed the chair aside, and gestured to herself. “Maybe you'll have better luck on something I'm actually wearing.”

Webby bit down, unsure. The idea did have merit, and there was one famous Fairy Godmother who had done exactly that. On the other hand, that same Godmother was widely ridiculed for giving her charge glass slippers, of all things. “I... guess I could try? If it's okay with you.”

“I'm standing right here. It's okay with me.”

Webby looked down at her hand, rolling it in her fingers. Well, nothing was going to get done if she wasn't confident about it. This was for Lena, who deserved the best things in life, and thus, the best attempts. Perhaps she was looking at the spell all wrong. Now that she Lena in front of her, she could try to visualize something beyond a vague pretty dress. She inhaled deeply, and took a step back, willing up the magic in her veins, closing her eyes, focusing on one singular thought.

I want everyone to see you... the way I see you.

There was no silly arm movements this time – just one simple wave of her wand, which let out a colorful stream of rich blues like ocean water, and it suddenly swirled around Lena, who made a startled noise in her throat – to be fair, she hadn't thought this would work. She merely wanted Webby to give up and move on to her next insane plan, so her feelings wouldn't be hurt too much. So much for that plan.

Lena shut her eyes as well, not wanting to admit she was a little scared. Webby would never intentionally harm her, but Lena had seen the worst that magic could do, under Magica's hand. But there was no pain here, because this wasn't a punishment. She felt a cooling breeze, a soft embrace, serenity throughout her skin and feathers. Her clothes were changing, she could feel it, but it wasn't just that. She felt changes on her fingers through her hair and on her face, and she had to swallow an urge to scream. But it was as over as quickly as it had started, and she allowed herself to sigh in relief. She was still whole, in one piece.

Webby was the first one to open her eyes, and when she did, she never wanted to close them again. Her arms dropped to her sides, and she found herself making an undignified “Uh.”

Lena couldn't help but burst into laughter, opening her eyes next. “That bad, huh? I told you, Webby...” But she trailed off, now able to see Webby's reaction. It wasn't embarrassment, humiliation, or even disgust. Her eyes were wide, her jaw hanging open, and her cheeks were flushed so red that for half a second Lena wondered if she injured herself somehow. Webby was struggling, and failing, to make a coherent sentence. Her pupils danced around, trying to accurately record everything about Lena. “I. It. You.” It was adorable, but also worrying.

“What?” Lena asked, and got no answer. She huffed, and reluctantly went to the mirror, as clearly that was the only thing that was going to help her right now. “What's the big deal?”

Wait... who was this stranger that entered the house? After several long seconds, Lena understood that the stranger was her.

The torn patches of brown cloth were gone. Here was a ballroom dress of night-sky blue, with stars and constellations around every curve. As she raised her hand to touch her cheek, she could see that a strip of cloth from each sleeve extended to her middle fingers, a golden ring around the first knuckle. Her lips were gently coated in the colors of the cosmos, her hair having grown long enough to spiral down her shoulder, with different shades of galaxies and stardust. As she felt her skin, she knew this was real, and every small moment revealed another universe of night, all encompassing and all welcoming.

“Is this... me?” It was a stupid question, but Lena wasn't feeling particularly brilliant at the moment. How was this possible? All her life she'd been told, and thus was convinced, she was an ugly little girl, a worthless cretin, a waste of space and skin. The world was full of lovely creatures and she simply wasn't one of them. Yet here she stood, and she could not deny that she looked beautiful, even as it felt weird to even think it.

It's just magic, the cynical side of her tried to speak up. It's not the real you. And it was tempting to believe this. But she spotted Webby in the mirror too – still sporting that stunned stupid expression – and knew that Webby wouldn't have tried to change Lena into something else entirely. She merely... brought out what was possible in people. A nice dress, a bit of make-up, but in the end it was still her. It was still her face, and her body, and it always had the potential to be anything Lena wished it could. She felt her eyes grew wet, and immediately tried to put a stop to it by rubbing her face. “I, um... that's not half bad.” She choked, a messed-up laugh following. “Th-thanks, Webby, I... It looks good. I mean it.”

Webby needed a minute to realize she was being spoken to, and it finally brought her back to reality. “Oh! Oh, yeah, I, um. Hm! Yes. Good. Very good.” It felt like her mouth was falling down the stairs. She glanced down at her wand, in disbelief that she had done it. But, hey! Maybe she was closer to Fairy Godmother status than she thought! The moment Lena stepped into the ballroom, everyone would be on their knees for a proposal. She could see the entire scene now – Lena walking down the long entrance stairs, her hand on the wooden railing, the other lightly picking up her dress to keep from tripping. Heads would turn, and the music would falter before picking up again, but softer and lighter this time. The warm candles would illuminate her eyes, her heels clicking quietly on the floor, and then she would find the one she was meant to be with, and their eyes would lock, and then she... she would take their hand, and... and, uh... they would... do the dancing... thing... and... gosh it was getting hard to think.

Lena was hesitant to move, not wanting to rip the dress, but she didn't want to stay in one place either. Placing her faith in her balance, she walked up to Webby, and gently took her hands. “You're pretty amazing, you know?”

Webby was, again, at a loss for words, which was nuts because she was proud of her extended vocabulary. Her palms felt sweaty, and she wanted to let go of Lena but she also didn't want to let go of Lena. Maybe it was the heels Lena was wearing but Webby was suddenly very aware of the height difference between them – and the fact that her heart was beating so fast she would've thought the next ten kingdoms over could hear it. “I try,” she squeaked, giggling nervously before making another attempt. “But, but yeah! No one will be able to tear themselves away from you at the ball! If the boys don't fall head over heels in love with you after they see you in this, they've got no taste.”

“I suppose so.” Lena couldn't care less what the boys thought, or what anyone else thought for that matter. “If this dress is a combination of you and me together, then I'd say our taste is fantastic.” She held Webby's hands up to her chest and hear Webby make a sound similar to a frog croaking. It felt mean to tease her like this – but, again, Lena didn't consider herself to be nice. “But even with these fancy duds on... I still have no idea what goes on at those parties. How to act, or how to dance... it would be helpful if my fairy godmother came along for the ride.”

“... Really?” Was Webby allowed to tend to such events? She racked her head, trying to think of a time when that was considered inappropriate, but didn't find any answers. “... Okay! Sure! I'll be right beside you! I've never been to one, but I'll do all the research! I'm sure they've got some kind of dancing tutor up in that castle, how hard can it be? I'll be your wingman! Winggirl!”

“You could go as my friend.” Lena suggested.

Webby gasped. “I could go as your friend!” She repeated. What a novel concept! “Oooh, this is going to be great! I'll introduce you to everyone! 'Hey, everyone, this is Lena! She's my best friend'! And then they'll want to know all about you, so I get to tell them, and then they'll want to know about me, and I'll tell them...” Webby continued babbling about all the entertaining possibilities, and Lena allowed her to ramble.

It was always all about Lena, wasn't it? What did Webby get out of this? Sure, she wanted to rise up the ranks and go from being a mere fairy to a Fairy Godmother, but still, this didn't feel like a job. Webby actually cared about Lena's happiness, which was still puzzling to Lena herself. What had she done to deserve it? It didn't seem fair – especially when Lena still didn't want to follow the destiny Webby was so sure was set out for her. She didn't want to marry a guy she barely knew and live like a pompous jerk. This was all just a step in a road to disappointment, and guilt weighed heavily on Lena's heart.

Without warning, Lena pulled Webby into her arms, holding her tight, and Webby shut up instantly. Webby was now sure that Lena must feel Webby's rapidly beating heart and wasn't mentioning it to be polite. She swallowed, and tried to turn her head. “Lena?”

The right thing to do would be to let Webby go and tell her to get out, and never return. The right thing to do would be to tell Webby that no matter what she tried, Lena would make her own footsteps. The right thing to do would be to stop stringing Webby along so she could give someone else the care she was so eager to give. But Lena was not good. She was not nice. She was... she was a wretched, awful person. She was the niece of the wicked Magica De Spell. There was no changing that, no matter how pretty she could become on the outside.

Webby pulled back enough to see Lena's face, and didn't understand the agony forming in Lena's eyes. “What's wrong? What can I do?”

Lena was afraid if she spoke, everything would spill out. She lightly touched Webby's cheek, mentally begging for forgiveness that she knew she didn't deserve.

Webby didn't blink. Ye gods and goddesses, if Prince Charming didn't want to kiss Lena once he got this close, he would have to be out of his mind. Curious how her mind went that way. And – maybe – if Lena didn't know how to – not that Webby did either – would it be so wrong if – you know – maybe- just maybe – they could practice before – these things were important – practice -

POOF!

A blue fluff of smoke billowed around Lena, and in the space of a second, she was back to rags and dirt. Both girls looked down at the sudden transformation, looked at each other, and then, in a great wave of relief, began laughing hysterically. Lena lost the strength in her legs and wound up on the floor with Webby still in her arms, and they laughed and kicked around until they could no longer breathe. As they struggled to catch their breath, they wound up on their backs, fighting tears, slapping the floor.

“Was that even five minutes?!” Lena managed to break a sentence free before going back into gleeful giggles.

“Oh, shut up!” Webby replied, rolling back and forth, trying to cover her mouth with her hands. “I'm getting better! I just need more practice!”

“That dress wouldn't have even lasted through one song!”

“It would have lasted for a couple of bars!”

“Oh, really? Do, rei, mi, POOF!” And they wound up laughing all over again, grateful to not be thinking about what they were formerly thinking about.

This went on for some time, managing to get their act together only to collapse into more fits soon after. Eventually Lena resumed her chores, with Webby's help, and as always Webby made sure to leave long before Magica returned home so no suspicion could be met. The ball wouldn't be for several weeks, so there was plenty of time for Webby to perfect the spell.

But those weeks would seem awfully long, especially when there were nights neither of them could sleep, wracked with thoughts of things that were supposed to be, and things that they wished could be.

The next time Lena saw starlight, she wept, for reasons known only to herself.

#fanfic #ducktales 2017 #weblena #webby vanderquack #lena de spell #I JUST WANTED WEBBY BEING A OBLIVIOUS CRUSH #WHY DO I DO THIS TO MYSELF

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