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ppangjae · 4 years

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SEVEN LETTERS | Jaehyun

SEVEN LETTERS | THE STORY UNTOLD (SEQUEL)

SUMMARY. On a camping trip, you find a message in a bottle that’s been washed up the shore, only to find out that it’s a message from you in the future. Your message tells you three things:

You must make Jeong Jaehyun fall in love with you because,

He’s your soulmate and

Because of your future self’s mistake, he ended up falling in love with someone else.

GENRE. soulmate!au | childhood friends to lovers!au | slight fake dating!au | fluff | angst

important note: the text from the letters are in bold

WORD COUNT. 10.1k+ words (BIG oof)

author’s note. here she is 🥺 this didn’t take too long to write out, which is very surprising. it is extremely impossible for me to write a 10k fic over the course of two days. i think i’m just really ingested in soulmate!aus and it just triggers so much imagination and creativity. anyways, enough of my ramble, i hope you enjoy this fic as much as i enjoyed writing it! also, it’s unedited so if there are any mistakes, i’m apologizing in advance!

It would be an utter lie for you to say that Jeong Jaehyun didn’t have a tiny little spot reserved for him in your heart. It was like he packed your feelings for him in a suitcase and brought it along with him on the trip to your heart. But just like that tiny spot you have for him in your heart, your courage to tell him how you feel is just as tiny. Maybe a bit tinier.

But you think you’re okay with it. You’re fine with how you and Jaehyun are right now.

Endearing gazes. Lingering looks. Skipped heartbeats. Flushed cheeks. Unspoken words and thoughts—

“The water’s cold!”

You snap out of your thoughts, looking to your right to see Jaehyun jumping up and down in the water. Fortunately and unfortunately, he has a shirt on. He’s shivering with his teeth clattering. You let out a snort, shaking your head.

“Jaehyun, get over here and change your shirt before you catch a cold!” You both hear his mother scolding him. The both of you share a look before bursting into laughter.

“Yes, mother.” He sighs, heading back up the shore before his mother gets even more angry than she already is. You watch him as he walks past you, flicking some water in your face to tease you.

“Hey!” You exclaim, wiping the droplets of water that hit your cheeks.

As you’re left all alone by the lake, you take off your sunglasses to get a nice look at the sunrise. The sun is blinding but it provides much warmth that seeps into your skin.

This camp trip is a yearly event where your family and Jaehyun’s family would get together and travel up to the cottage. It was something you and Jaehyun looked forward to every year. The both of you would be sent off to university in two different cities before coming back for the summer to spend it together at the cottage. It’s the highlight of your summer. It’s been the highlight of your summer for 18 years.

You kick off your sandals before taking a few steps into the lake. The water sure is cold, you think to yourself. When your feet are submerged in the water at ankle’s height, you look up to notice a light glare in the lake. You squint your eyes.

“What the fuck is that?” You ask yourself as the object is floating closer towards you.

The closer it floats to you, the more you make out of it. It reaches your foot and your eyebrows raise in surprise. “A message in a bottle? These things still exist?”

You’re about to call Jaehyun to tell him what you’ve found until you notice your name written in large, capital letters on the message. Your eyes slightly widen. Slowly bending down, you grab the bottle. You’re just about to pry the cap of the bottle open until—

“Y/N, your mother’s looking for you.” You hear Jaehyun say. You freeze in your spot, shoving the bottle into your hoodie before zipping it up. You slowly turn around, quirking an eyebrow. “She needs help baking the cookies. You said your roommate gave you her famous recipe?”

“Right! Thanks.” You fake a smile, rushing past him and patting his shoulder.

Jaehyun turns around and looks at you confusedly.

“Y/N, did you bring your roommate’s cookie recipe—”

“I texted it to you just now.” You cut your mother off as you rush into the cottage, heading straight to the bathroom. Your mother purses her lips into a tight line, grabbing her phone before uttering a soft ‘thank you, honey!’.

Gently closing the door shut, you lean against the door. You unzip your hoodie to grab the bottle. You’re curious as to why your name is written on the piece of paper. It causes you to pry the cap open, flying it into the sink. The cap rolls around in a circle before stopping right above the drain. You pull out the letter and indeed, your name is written on it. As you unravel the paper, your hands start to clammer.

Y/N,

You’re probably wondering who I am and why your name is written on this piece of paper. I am you from the future. Fate brought my message to you and you’re getting this message for an important reason. Take in a deep breath before reading the rest of this letter.

You’re in complete disbelief. Your shoulders slump and you slowly slide down the door. Is this even possible? Is this some sort of prank? A joke? But the handwriting in your letter looks exactly like your handwriting, making it all a bit more believable. You continue to read.

Jeong Jaehyun is your soulmate. Yes, that dorky little dude who’s your best friend? Yes, he’s your soulmate. You know that you’re in love with him. Don’t even try to lie. In case you were wondering, yes, you will still be in love with him in the future. But there’s a huge problem and I need you to fix it to prevent yourself from experiencing regret for the rest of your life.

As I am writing you this letter, Jeong Jaehyun is in love with someone else. He did not fall in love with you; his soulmate. He’s getting married in a couple a months. In order to rewrite the future, I want you to remember three things:

You MUST make Jeong Jaehyun fall in love with you because,

He is your soulmate and

Because of my mistake, he ended up falling in love with someone else.

You run a hand through your hair. This is too much for you. It’s all coming at you in full force. This is too much information for you to process in one sitting. You’ve already done so much at university, you don’t need any more stress for the rest of the summer. Besides, you just got here. You continue to finish reading the letter.

I am counting on you, past self. I don’t want you to live the rest of your life heartbroken, knowing that Jaehyun is in love with someone else, knowing that he’s getting married with another woman that isn’t his soulmate, and knowing that he will start a family with her and spend the rest of his life with her.

Don’t turn out like me, past Y/N. You’ll regret it.

Now go and rewrite your fate.

It’s what you deserve.

Good luck,

Future Y/N.

You let out a scoff.

Great. Now what?

“Are these the famous cookies your roommate makes?”

Jaehyun sniffs the freshly baked cookies and reaches out to grab one for himself. His mother swats his hand away and he lets out a yelp of pain. Your mother enters the dining room with another tray of freshly baked cookies and sets it down on the table. She hands you the other tray that’s already been cooled down.

“Why are you giving me this? I can’t finish all of this in one sitting.” You chuckle as you take the tray from her anyway.

“It’s not for you.” Your mother nods her head out the window. “It’s for the new neighbours. They just moved into the cottage. You know, the cottage that was being built last summer?”

“I was wondering why the cottage didn’t look so familiar,” Jaehyun mumbles with a mouthful of cookies.

“Want to come?” You ask him.

He shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t see why not.”

The both of you are heading towards the cottage. Jaehyun’s busy admiring the layout of their patio while you’re putting on your best girl next door smile. Jaehyun knocks on the door and it takes a couple of seconds for someone to open the door for you.

“Oh—hi!” It’s a woman who looks like she’s around your age. She’s wearing sweats and a hoodie, but she has a warm, welcoming smile that makes you feel a bit uncomfortable. “I’m guessing you’re our neighbours.”

“We are, yes,” Jaehyun beats you to it. You glare at him but he barely catches it. You raise an eyebrow out of curiosity, following his trance that’s landed on the girl. Your eyes squint. “We baked you some cookies, please take them, it’s my recipe—”

“Uh, your recipe?” You scoff and he gives you a warning look. “What? Why are you looking at me like that—”

“Your recipe? Oh, I’m sure they’re delicious.” She cuts you off. She gently grabs the tray from you and you fake a smile. “I’m Yeona. I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other this summer.”

“I’m Y/N—”

“I’m Jaehyun!” He cuts you off again.

You frown.

“Nice to meet you, Jaehyun and,” Yeona smiles while giggling. “Y/N.”

“If you need anything, you can always let us know.” Jaehyun grins. “If you’re feeling bored, you could always hang out with us—”

“Nice to meet you too, Yeona!” You throw your arm over Jaehyun’s shoulder, weighing your arm heavily on it. He gives you an irritated look. “I hope we can make great memories this summer.”

“You guys are such a cute couple.” Yeona chuckles.

Your smile is wiped off your face. “Oh, no, we’re not dating—”

“I think we’re a cute couple too.”

“What?” You blurt out. “We’re not—”

When you look at him, his eyes meet yours. He gives you a ‘play along’ look and you find yourself clearing your throat and putting up an act. You fake a laugh, nodding your head.

“We are! Yes, we are dating—we’ve actually—we’ve been together for a year now!” You exclaim, thinking of all the ways you could kill Jaehyun in his sleep.

“We’ll get going. It was nice meeting you, Yeona.” Jaehyun smiles.

Yeona watches the two of you as you interlock fingers and walk down the sidewalk back to your cottage. You’re this close to kicking Jaehyun in the shin until you both get back to your cottage. Once Jaehyun shuts the door, you slap him in the arm.

“Ow! What was that for—”

“Since when were we dating?”

He lets out a laugh. “I just find her really cute and so I figured—”

“You figured that the only way to make her interested in you is by pretending that you’re—”

“Taken?” He finishes it off for you. “By you? Yes. I figured it would be the only way.”

“Why are men so dumb?” You sigh annoyingly, pondering on whether you should start pulling your hair off of your scalp. “Why are men so dense?”

“It’ll only be for the summer—”

“That’s exactly the problem! We’ll be fake dating for the whole summer. I don’t want to be playing pretend and be boo boo the fool for a whole summer.” You argue. “I want to go fishing. I want to go hiking. I want to go swimming! The last thing I ever wanted is to fake date you—”

“Well, too bad. The damage has already been done.” Jaehyun smirks. “Besides, we probably won’t have to put up the act for the whole summer. I’m going to fake dump you for her—”

“You like her?” You blurt out.

“Yes. I like her. I find her really close to my ideal type—”

“Do you think she’s going to date you after finding out that those cookies that she’s probably eating right now are not from your recipe?” You test him. He clamps his mouth shut. “Exactly.”

“It’s not bad to be hopeful—”

“And it’s not bad to just tell her that you like her either.” You fold your arms until you remember something important. And it comes in the form of your own handwritten letter.

You MUST make Jeong Jaehyun fall in love with you because he is your soulmate and because of my mistake, he ended up falling in love with someone else.

“Should I just do that?”

You snap out of it. “Do what?”

“Just tell her that I like her and that we were just joking about us dating—”

“No!” You exclaim with your eyes widened like saucers.

“Why not?”

“Because—” You start, trying to look for the right words to say. “Because you’ve already made a huge mess and if you tell her the truth, the chances of her liking you back will be lower.”

Jaehyun stands there as if he’s deep in thought. You fold your arms, waiting for him to say something—

“You’re right. You’re a genius!”

You think you’re going to get a headache.

Three weeks pass when you get your second letter from your future self. You’re cooped up in your own room, holding the piece of paper in your hands with your eyes reading each word from left to right. Just like the first letter, the second one comes to you in a bottle that’s been washed up to shore. You found it just in time when you stepped outside to get a breath of fresh air.

Y/N,

Remember this specific date: July 31st.

Also, I’m sure you’ve met Yeona at this point. Believe me when I tell you this, Jaehyun has the biggest crush on her. He’s not joking around. He’s truly in love with her. She is the embodiment of his ideal type.

You grab your phone to check the date. It’s July 31st. The letter came right on time. At least your future self is still organized. You were afraid that your future self would grow lazy.

On that day, Jaehyun will ask you to go to the beach.

There’s a knock at the door. “Who is it?”

“Jaehyun, duh.”

You neatly fold the letter before placing it underneath your pillow. “Come in.”

He opens the door and pokes his head through. “My mother cooked breakfast. Let’s go down to eat.”

As you’re getting off of your bed, you notice how he looks hesitant to ask you something. You put on your house slippers and as you reach up to him, you look at him questioningly.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

He will ask you this because he knows that Yeona will be going to the beach. He’ll try to convince you by saying that the weather’s nice—

“Do you want to go to the beach today? The weather’s nice today, we should take advantage of it.”

I want you to tell him this— “Let’s go to the fair instead. I heard it just opened up yesterday.”

He will try to convince you to go to the beach instead. Don’t give in. “You don’t want to go to the beach? Didn’t you say you wanted to go swimming? Tanning?”

“But we always go to the fair. Besides, this year, they’re only open for a week.” Just keep suggesting somewhere else to go.

It will work. “They’re only open for a week this year?”

You slowly nod your head. “Unfortunately.”

Trust me. “We should probably just go to the fair instead, then, huh?”

You smile.

“We should.”

“What if we bump into Yeona?”

Jaehyun glances at you. You know that the both of you won’t bump into Yeona, for she is going to the beach instead. He shrugs his shoulders as the ticket vendor is wrapping a one-day wristband on his wrist. The both of you enter the annual fair and it immediately brings you memories of last summer and the summers before that.

“We should probably hold hands then,” he mumbles softly.

You look up at him. “Huh?”

“We should be prepared in case we bump into Yeona.” Jaehyun suggests.

He doesn’t give you a chance to say anything and grabs your hand. Your hand fits perfectly in his, especially when your fingers interlock. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest. Who knew that the smallest thing to do like holding Jaehyun’s hand would turn out to be the biggest deal to you?

“Your hands are sweaty.” You mumble, trying to stop yourself from heating up.

“It’s pretty hot outside, huh?”

“Yeah, it sure is.” You bite your lip.

He grins. “Yeah, your cheeks are really red because of the heat.”

“Are they?” You gasp, letting go of his hand to cover your cheeks.

He chuckles. “It’s cute.”

Your hands slowly fall back to your sides. “Cute?”

He hums in reply, avoiding eye contact. He grabs your hand and interlocks your fingers. His ears are turning red, just like your rosy red cheeks.

“Why did you want to go to the beach?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “I heard Yeona will be going.”

“Do you,” you begin until you hesitate. “Do you like her?”

He nods. You’re not sure what to say or feel. But there’s one thing you’re sure of.

“I like her a lot.”

Jaehyun’s whipped for her.

The fair will be packed. “It’s quite busy today, huh?”

Jaehyun nods. “I think it’s because they’re only open for a week.”

You won’t bump into Yeona. In fact, you and Jaehyun will have the best day ever. Enjoy it while it lasts.

“What ride should we go on first?” He asks.

Your eyes scan the rides that await you. Your eyes land on one of the rollercoasters a few metres away. It’s right across from the Ferris wheel.

Don’t forget to have fun. This is your first chance to make him fall in love with you.

“Let’s ride the rollercoaster!”

And so as you’re lining up to ride the rollercoaster, you look down at your hands. Your hands fit perfectly together, don’t you think?

You could definitely get used to this.

“I have two seats left for this ride!” One of the operators announce and you’re shooting your arm up into the air.

“We’ll take those seats!”

“Great. Just come on over!” The both of you are rushing to your seats and buckling in your seatbelts. Jaehyun’s still holding your hands.

“Enjoy your ride!”

At the end of the day, Jaehyun will ask you if you want to ride the Ferris Wheel.

“The sun is starting to set.” You point at the sun.

Jaehyun smiles. “We should probably ride the Ferris Wheel. Do you want to ride it?”

I want you to say— “Sure. I’d love that.”

And he will make up some stupid excuse like— “Great. I want to take pictures of the sunset. I think I’ll get a good shot of the sunset when we’re at the top of the Ferris Wheel.”

Thus, the both of you are hopping onto one of the carts. You’re sitting right across from him. In romance movies, Ferris Wheel rides always lead up to the character’s undying love confession to the love interest when they reach the top of the ride. You could definitely see how it will never happen, especially when Jaehyun’s too busy taking pictures of the fucking sunset.

Don’t get your hopes up too high. It’s not going to feel romantic. And it sure isn’t. You’re sitting there, texting your roommate to compliment her cookie recipe that your mother can’t seem to stop baking. You can hear the faint clicking sounds coming from Jaehyun’s phone.

“Y/N—”

“Yeah?” You look up from your phone to hear a soft ‘click!’

But there is one thing that will happen and it will stir up Jaehyun’s heart. You guess this is it. He stares at the screen of his phone for a brief moment before slowly looking up at you.

“Did you just take a picture of me?”

He will make up another stupid excuse by saying— “Yes, I did. I think it’ll be a good picture to use for your Tinder or something. I’ll send it to you.”

“Why, you little—”

“Sent it!”

You look down at your phone to look at the candid photo Jaehyun texted you. While you’re busy looking at the photo and whining over how Jaehyun took the worst angle of your face, you barely notice how Jaehyun’s staring at the same photo but on his phone.

There’s a soft smile beginning to spread across his lips. In the photo, you’re looking at him with doe-eyes. You’re glowing because the sun is facing you. You look… beautiful. Why is he studying the photo longer than he should?

He sets it as his lockscreen.

The third letter from your future self comes a couple of days after you and Jaehyun spent a day at the town fair. But this time, it doesn’t come in a bottle. This time, you find it in your mailbox after your mother asked you to check if she or Jaehyun’s mother had any mail. It’s quite alarming, but it was like you were destined to check the mail that morning.

“Any mail for us?”

You shake your head. “Nope. I’ll head back to bed, I’m still a bit tired.”

Your letter is tucked underneath your bra and once you arrive in your room, you pull it out. You sit against your door, ripping the letter open to see your handwriting.

Y/N,

On August 14th, Yeona and her family will come over for dinner. You and Jaehyun will continue to put up your fake dating act. But it won’t be for long.

After your dinner, Jaehyun will tell Yeona the truth. I don’t remember what his excuse was, but I do remember Yeona feeling relieved because at that very moment, she will confess to him.

You will feel like shit. I’m not even going to sugarcoat it. But there is one thing I want you to do, and that is to stop them from kissing out on the front porch.

That shit hurt like a buttcheek on a stick and I don’t want you to experience it.

“Y/N, make sure to wake up before five because the Kims are coming over for dinner!”

You let out a frustrated sigh. You read the last few words from the letter before crumbling it up into a paper ball. You aim for the trash can near your bedside table.

Things get better and I will make sure that they get better.

The paper ball goes into the trash can perfectly. Swish.

Trust me.

The Kims arrive right on the dot with a tray of lasagna and a bowl of what seems like potato salad. You find it hilarious how Jaehyun’s dressed up with an odd mixture of casual and formal clothing. He has his hair slicked back with hair gel and he’s wearing his best white button-up shirt with.. pink house slippers?

You’re not sure what kind of look he was going for, but Yeona doesn’t seem to mind.

“Come on in! Let’s eat!”

Everything is laid out on the dining table. Yeona looks at the two of you with suspicion as Jaehyun sits next to her and not you. You look at Jaehyun confusedly and he barely notices. You take a quick look underneath the table to see Jaehyun’s foot and you give it a gentle kick. He jumps in his seat, glaring at you.

“I’ll switch seats with Y/N,” Yeona chuckles softly. “It’d be best for the couple to sit next to each other, right?”

Your mother and Jaehyun’s mother share a confused look before bursting out into giggles. Your mother shakes her head, waving her hand. “Oh no, sweetheart, they’re not dating—”

“We are—” Jaehyun tries to cut your mother off but he stops himself when his mother gives him a warning look.

You begin to panic. “I—we just started dating two weeks ago—”

Yeona frowns. “But I thought you’ve been dating each other for a year—”

“Let’s eat, shall we?” Jaehyun insists, flashing an uneasy, nervous smile.

You shouldn’t be feeling embarrassed. In fact, Jaehyun was the one who brought you into this mess. From your future self, you know that the truth will be exposed during dinner with the Kims. But you weren’t prepared for this.

“I’m so confused.” Yeona looks at the both of you.

“Yeona, can we—I can explain—can we please talk outside?” Jaehyun asks, moreso pleads.

She looks at him with a wavering glance. “S-Sure. We can talk.”

The dinner continues and there’s nothing but tension and awkwardness in the room. You’re left all alone with the adults as Yeona and Jaehyun step outside to have a talk. You’re picking at your asparagus and steak, pondering on whether you should stuff your face as if it’ll make you disappear into thin air. You could feel burning stares from your mother and your eyes meet hers. She’s looking at you like she demands an explanation but all you could do is shrug your shoulders and wince.

“So, Yeona’s in third year university like Jaehyun and Y/N?” Jaehyun’s mother tries to change the atmosphere.

Yeona’s parents nod and flash a small smile. “She’s studying Economics.”

“Wow,” Jaehyun’s father muses. “I guess Yeona and I will get along quite well.”

“Really?” Yeona’s mother says.

His father nods. “I graduated from an Economics program. If she has any questions throughout her undergrad, she can definitely ask me.”

You’re starting to feel insecure.

“Let me just say that Yeona is very beautiful, just like you.” Jaehyun’s mother tells Yeona’s mother, who lets out a giggle.

“Oh, that’s very flattering to hear. I try my best to stay young. But it’s nice to see that it’s been passed down to Yeona.”

Jaehyun’s mother smiles. “She grew up very well.”

You will feel like shit. I’m not even going to sugarcoat it.

Hell, you weren’t sure how bad it was going to be but now you know. You feel like utter shit. This isn’t even your fault. If Jaehyun didn’t lead you into this mess, you wouldn’t be feeling this way. You wouldn’t be sitting in the midst of a conversation between adults, feeling like you’re invisible. Your insecurities wouldn’t be getting the best of you.

You slowly get up from your seat. “Sorry, excuse me, I’m going to get some fresh air.”

They don’t even notice your absence. Your feet somehow drag you to the front porch, where Jaehyun and Yeona are having their talk.

But there is one thing I want you to do, and that is to stop them from kissing out on the front porch.

That shit hurt like a buttcheek on a stick and I don’t want you to experience it.

Your eyebrows raise. You shut your eyes, mustering up all the courage. Your hand grabs the doorknob and you open the door just in time to see Jaehyun and Yeona leaning in. They pull away from each other and look at you with surprise.

You fake a gasp. “Oh, sorry! I—I just wanted to see if everything was okay.”

“I—”

“I’m so sorry.” You apologize again, closing the door.

You lean against the door and feel your eyes well up with tears.

Even though the kiss didn’t happen, it still hurt.

It still hurt like a buttcheek on a stick.

The fourth letter from your future self comes from you on your last day at the cottage. Jaehyun and Yeona are officially dating and they plan on maintaining a long distance relationship when Yeona flies back to London for university. Spending the rest of your summer heartbroken felt like shit. You’re kind of glad that summer is over and you don’t have to spend any more days at the cottage in nothing but the comfort of your room.

The letter arrives in the mail, just like the third letter.

“Is this the last bag?”

You shove the letter into your pocket. Jaehyun looks at you suspiciously, specifically at your pocket. He’s holding your duffle bag packed with your clothes. You nod your head. “Yeah, that’s the last bag.”

“What’s in your pocket?”

“Nothing!” You blurt out.

“Doesn’t seem like nothing.” He walks past you to place your duffle bag into the trunk of your car. He dusts his hands off.

“It’s nothing, I swear.” You reassure him.

You feel your heart stop when Jaehyun starts poking your sides to tickle you. You feel his hand sneak into your pocket to grab the letter. He has it in his hands and he’s just about to read the writing on the envelope when you snatch it from him.

“Hey, is that a love letter?” He grins, reaching out to snatch the letter from you.

You gasp. “No! Jaehyun! Please give it back. It’s not for you to see—”

He’s waving the envelope in the air and you’re jumping up and down to get it from him. He’s continuing to wave it in the air until you jump too high. When your feet land on the ground, you stumble and place your hands on his shoulders to prevent yourself from falling over. He wraps his other arm around your waist to stop you from falling over. The both of you freeze up.

You slowly look up to see him looking at you with an expression you can’t seem to make out. His hand that’s holding the letter is still in the air. The both of you stare into each other’s eyes, trying to read each other’s looks. His eyes trail down to your lips, which are inches away from his. You’re the first one to snap out of it, pulling away from him.

You reach up to snatch the letter from him. He looks at you with a daze.

“Sorry.” He says softly.

“Is everything packed up?”

You don’t say anything to him. You turn around to see your mother locking the door to the cottage. You realize that everyone, except your mother, witnessed what had just happened between you and Jaehyun. You feel your cheeks heat up again.

“Well, I guess summer’s over.” Your mother sighs sadly. “I can’t wait until we see each other for Christmas, though!”

“Jaehyun, are you sure you packed everything?”

Jaehyun looks at his father who’s seated in the driver’s seat with his head poking out the window. He nods his head. “I’m one hundred percent sure.”

“I guess this is it. See you guys later.” Your mother says.

There’s no such thing as goodbye hugs when it comes to your families. That’s because you know you will see each other eventually.

You turn back around to face Jaehyun. He’s still looking at you with that look you can’t read.

“I’ll see you later, dork.” You mumble, reaching up to ruffle his hair.

“You better kick ass at school.” He points at you as the both of you head to your cars.

“You too.”

“I’ll miss you, dork.” He adds.

“Me too, loser.”

And man, the moment you hop into your car, you’re already missing him a bit too much.

You almost forget about the fourth letter.

You remember the letter when you reach the gas station. Your parents are inside the convenience store for a washroom break. You rip the envelope open to see a small piece of paper. The letter is short this time, you note.

Y/N,

It’s been a while since I wrote you the last letter. You’re probably on your way back home from the cottage. You’re probably missing Jaehyun already.

I’m writing this letter to you a bit too early. You can definitely come back and read this letter again when the day is near.

December 24th. Christmas Eve. You and Jaehyun will be home just in time for Christmas. You will have the usual Christmas Eve dinner with the Jeongs.

However, your train ride back to the city will be delayed. Jaehyun will be the one to pick you up at the train station. This is your second chance to make him fall in love with you because on Christmas Eve, it will be the first snowfall of the season.

Now, what is the significance of the first snowfall of the season, you ask?

As your mother hops into the car, you fold the letter and subtly put it inside of your pocket. “Mom, can I ask you something?”

“Sure. What is it?”

“What’s so special about the first snowfall of the winter season?” You ask.

She lets out a snort. “You’re twenty-one and you don’t know what the first snowfall means? Gosh, you’re so inexperienced when it comes to dating.”

You chuckle. “What does it mean?”

“Have you noticed the brutal amount of couples out on dates on the first snowfall of the season?”

You shake your head. “Now that you’ve mentioned it, I realized there are a big amount of couples out that day.”

She hums in reply. “They say that if you are planning on confessing your love to your crush, you should do it on the first snowfall. Not only is it romantic, but confessions that are made that day are always reciprocated.”

“Always?”

She smiles. “I claim this first hand because your father confessed to me on the first snowfall.”

December 24th.

Your future self proves to be right. You’re sitting in your seat, looking out of the window. The sky that was bright and blue when you hopped on the train is now dark. You can see the stars scattered across the sky. A couple of minutes later, the train operator announces that there is a huge delay and the arrival time will be an hour later than the expected time on your ticket.

You sigh. As you’re pulling out the letter to give it one last read, your phone buzzes in your pocket.

“Hello?”

“Y/N, your parents told me that your train has been delayed.”

You smile at the sound of Jaehyun’s voice on the other line of the phone call. “Yeah, my father’s going to pick me up so there’s nothing to worry—”

“I already insisted on picking you up instead. What time are you expected to arrive?” He asks.

You feel your heart flutter. “You’re going to pick me up?”

“Of course. I missed you, you twat. Also, we have to make a quick stop at the diner for your favourite cheesecake. They said that they’ll be open until midnight.” He replies.

“I almost forgot about that.” You chuckle. “I’m expected to arrive around ten. Are you sure you’re okay with picking me up?”

“I’m more than sure.” You can hear him smile. “I’ll see you at ten. Is there anything you want me to bring?”

“Just you.” You laugh. “And the car, of course.”

“Well, duh. We wouldn’t want to walk home with your heavy ass luggage, now would we?”

“Shut up.” He’s tugging at your heartstrings. “I’ll see you at ten, Jaehyun.”

As you’re hanging up on him, you turn the letter around to finish the last part of the letter that you haven’t read yet. You specifically left the last part to read on the day of because you were afraid you would forget what to do.

There’s something really crucial that you have to do. If you mess this up, everything will be put at risk. As I said, this is your second chance to make Jaehyun fall in love with you.

An hour goes by faster than you expected. You’re hopping off the train with your luggage. As you’re stepping out of the train station, you’re searching for a familiar car in the parking lot.

“Y/N!”

This is completely off topic but Jaehyun will look really cute. He will be sporting a scarf that covers half of his face. He will look extremely cuddly and soft.

“Jaehyun!”

When he reaches up to you, it will start to snow.

Indeed, as Jaehyun is a metre away from you, you start to see snowflakes falling from the sky. You can hear your mother’s words echo in your head. First snowfall and love confessions. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest. You’re not sure whether it's the cold wind or Jaehyun’s presence that’s making your cheeks red. You’d like to think it’s the former.

Jaehyun will stop to look up at the sky. He will say— “It’s snowing!”

“The first snowfall of the season.” You add, letting out a soft giggle. “Long time no see, dork.”

The first snowfall of the season will remind him of Yeona. A frown will threaten to spread across his lips but he won’t let it show. That’s because him and Yeona have been going through a rough patch in their long distance relationship. But he won’t tell you this until after the Christmas dinner when you’re both a little tipsy from the beer.

You won’t get drunk with him tonight because things will turn out different this time. However, I want you to ask him this— “Do you know what the first snowfall of the season means?”

He will answer with— “First snowfall means first love. It also means that the person you’re with on the first snowfall of the season will be the love of your life.”

You won’t expect his answer because it’s completely different to your mother’s take on the first snowfall’s significance. This will further stir up Jaehyun’s heart.

“Do you believe in it?” You let out a lighthearted chuckle. “If you do, then that means I’m the love of your life.”

He will jokingly say— “Why? Are you in love with me or something?”

This is the crucial moment. You must say— “Yes. I’m in love with you, Jaehyun.”

His face is washed with shock and confusion. You’re both standing outside of the train station. Your grip on the handles of your luggage tightens when Jaehyun doesn’t utter a single word out.

He will joke around even more and say— “You’re joking. Stop joking around, Y/N. I don’t think Yeona would like hearing you say that.”

And it will hurt like a bitch. But try your best to keep yourself together. I want you to avoid the topic and say— “Let’s get going before the diner closes. You know the Christmas dinner is not Christmas dinner without that bomb ass cheesecake.”

He tilts his head in confusion. Why are you avoiding the topic? Are you joking? Why does he feel relieved to hear your confession? He shouldn’t be. He musters up a smile.

“Let’s get going, then.”

The months and days after Christmas Eve and what seems like a rejected confession makes you heartbroken. Your roommate is tired of hearing you let out sad sighs and soft sobs throughout the day. But you couldn’t help it. Your future self told you that it will hurt like a bitch. It truly did feel like a bitch and it still does.

On the night of your last exam of your fourth year of university, you make a trip to your mailbox to find another letter. It’s the fifth letter from your future self.

You find yourself sitting in your dorm room all by yourself while your roommate is out partying. You open up the letter.

Y/N,

It still hurts like a bitch, right? Well, in this letter, I will tell you what happened that caused future Jaehyun to end up with someone else. I hope it will make you feel better.

On July 31st, we ended up going to the beach. We bumped into Yeona. Yeona ended up hanging out with us and I felt like a third wheeler. Yeona was sort of picking up the idea that Jaehyun and I were fake dating and that it was all just an act. The more they hung out that day, the more Jaehyun realized that his crush on her was more than just a crush.

That night, I cried to sleep, wishing that we went to the town fair instead.

On August 14th, Yeona and her parents came over for dinner. The dinner was awkward. However, after the dinner, Jaehyun asked Yeona if they could talk. I was busy doing the dishes until Mom asked if I could take the trash out. I remember walking out of the door to see them kissing out on the porch. It felt like shit.

He told her the truth. He told her that it was all just an act to make her fall in love with him.

That night, they were officially in a relationship.

On Christmas Eve, Jaehyun picked me up at the train station. We both noticed that it was the first snowfall of the season and we were joking around about its significance. He had jokingly asked if I was in love with him and I said no. I told him that I wasn’t in love with him.

Around that time, Yeona and Jaehyun have been arguing more frequently. They were going through a rough patch in their relationship. It was starting to make Jaehyun question whether he truly loved her or not.

But around that same time, Jaehyun was slowly catching feelings for me. He had jokingly asked if I was in love with him because he sincerely wanted to know and if I had said yes, it would’ve given him a clear sign.

Later that night, he told me about his rough time with Yeona. He was slightly drunk and confessed that he was catching feelings for me, but because I said I wasn’t in love with him, I made him realize that he’s truly in love with Yeona.

I think this is what made him sure of marrying her.

I regret lying to him. I wish I told him that I was in love with him.

I started writing letters to you, past self, in hopes that you would get them somehow. Mother said that she started getting letters from her future self when she turned eighteen. She said that if you start getting letters from your future self, it means that fate is trying to link you up with your soulmate in the past after failing to make it happen in the future.

I truly believe in it. And so I hope you get my letters to you, past self.

Rewrite your future.

Jaehyun and Yeona’s wedding is next month.

I’m still pondering on whether I should attend their wedding.

That night, you cried yourself to sleep. There is still much left to read from the letter, but you’re too sad and heartbroken to read the rest of it. You decide to save it for later, when the time comes.

Just like your future self, you hope that you will successfully rewrite your future.

Because you can’t imagine being in love with anyone else except Jaehyun.

You slam the trunk shut, dusting off your hands before hopping into the front seat of your car. Your father picked you up on move-out day. Although you were supposed to graduate this year, you decided to take an extra year just for good measure.

Your father starts the car. “We missed you so much.”

“I missed you guys too.” You smile while buckling in your seatbelt. You suddenly remember what your future self wrote in the fifth letter.

On the car ride home, Dad will ask you if you really don’t want to go up to the cottage this summer. “Hey, are you sure you don’t want to spend the summer up at the cottage?”

And as much as you want to go, tell him— “I think I’m going to pass this summer. I have a couple of online summer classes and staying up at the cottage will be a huge distraction.”

Here’s what happened. I decided to spend the summer up at the cottage anyway. It was extremely awkward. Yeona and Jaehyun took that summer as an opportunity to deepen their relationship. All I did that summer was cry my eyes out. What seemed like a relationship that was crumbling to pieces was mended back together the moment Jaehyun and Yeona reunited for the summer.

This time, you are not spending the summer up at the cottage. I want you to continue with that internship offer. I wish I did. I regret not doing it. I hope and wish your absence will stir up Jaehyun’s feelings for you.

“You’re right, honey. I think staying at home for your online courses is the best way to go.” Your father agrees.

“And it’s even better because if I pass one of the courses, I might be considered for an internship.” You beam at him.

“Really?”

“Really!” You exclaim.

He reaches out to ruffle your hair. “I am so proud of you, honey. You better kick some ass.”

But hey, at least something good will come out of your summer away from the cottage.

The sixth letter arrives months later. You’ve just graduated and this summer, you decided to give yourself a break and spend it up at the cottage with the Jeongs. This time, the sixth letter comes in a bottle that washes up the shore. You’re taking a hike all by yourself when you decide to read the letter. You take a seat on one of the stones overlooking the small town.

Y/N,

This summer up at the cottage is crucial.

August 8th. On that night, your family and Jeongs will have a bonfire. When both of your parents decide to head to bed early, they will leave the both of you together.

You check your phone for the date. It’s August 7th. You have one day to prepare. Your future self was considerate this time around.

You will most likely have a heart-to-heart talk with Jaehyun. He will tell you that he’s been pondering on whether he should propose to Yeona and ask her to marry him.

Later that day, you decide to sit out on the dock. You’re dipping your feet into the lake. Just the thought of Jaehyun proposing to someone else makes your heart ache. You can’t even imagine how your future self is coping with the heartbreak.

“Can I join you?”

You look over your shoulder to see Jaehyun. You pat a spot next to you. “Sure. Come here.”

He takes a seat next to you and dips his feet into the water. You’re both sitting next to each other in silence. You’re sure Jaehyun has a lot of questions he wants to ask you.

“You know, I missed you last summer.” He starts off.

“I missed you too. Sorry I couldn’t come, I had a lot of things to do.” You say softly. “How are things with you and Yeona?”

“Things are well.” He smiles.

Oh how that smile makes your heart shatter in ways he doesn’t even know. “That sounds great.”

“Yeah. It’s a shame that Yeona and her parents aren’t spending their summer here.” He frowns.

“Yeah, why not?”

“Her cousin’s getting married.” He replies.

“Do you miss her?”

He lets out a sigh. “I miss her a lot.”

The rest of your afternoon is spent sitting at the dock in silence. There’s surely a lot on both of your minds.

August 8th.

You almost forget what to do when the day arrives. But you’re glad that you remembered when your parents called it a night and left you and Jaehyun outside near the bonfire. You’re roasting marshmallows with Jaehyun for s’mores.

Start the conversation. “You look like you have a lot on your mind, Jaehyun.”

He snaps out of his gaze to glance at you. “Do I?”

You chuckle, nodding your head at his marshmallow that’s burnt. “Clearly.”

“Ah,” he cusses, pulling his burnt marshmallow away from the fire. He throws it out and replaces it with a new marshmallow. “I guess I do have a lot on my mind.”

Jaehyun is thinking about whether— “Do you think I should propose to Yeona?”

“You’re planning to ask her to marry you?” You ask.

He nods. “Yeah. What do you think?”

He will ask you for your opinion. This is what you should say— “Do you love her?”

“I love her—”

“With all your heart?”

He will hesitate. It will take him a while to say he loves her with conviction. But after a couple of minutes, he will say— “I love her with all my heart.”

That’s a lie. Ask him this— “How do you know for sure?”

“When I met her for the first time, I just knew.” He says, his look turning distant. You’re afraid that his marshmallow is going to burn again. “She makes me feel happy. Whenever I’m with her, I feel special. I feel like the luckiest man on Earth.”

Tell him this— “Funny because that’s how I feel whenever I’m with you.”

“W-What?”

He’s looking at you now. He’s staring at you. You’re not sure where to look, so you focus on your marshmallow that’s browning. You pull it away from the fire to replace it with a new one.

He will feel confused. But you have to remind him that you confessed to him on the night of Christmas Eve.

“I told you that I’m in love with you, remember? On Christmas Eve? When you picked me up at the train station?” You try to help him recall.

His eyebrows furrow in confusion. “You weren’t joking? I thought you were joking—”

He will tell you that he thought you were joking. But this is what you tell him— “I wasn’t joking, Jaehyun. I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you for the longest time.”

“Y/N—”

“But you’re in love with Yeona and she’s in love with you.” You cut him off before shoving your first s’mores of the night into your mouth.

He’s not sure what to say. You say that like it’s nothing to you. It kind of throws him off.

“Jaehyun, your marshmallow’s burnt again.”

“Shit.”

Jaehyun will feel troubled. Your conversation with him ends there. Things will be awkward for the rest of the summer and the both of you won’t talk to each other.

But there’s nothing to worry about.

Things will get back to normal. On your last day up at the cottage, the both of you will act like nothing ever happened.

The seventh letter comes on the day you’re moving out of your house. You’re making a courageous move to a new city, where you’ll be living in an apartment and working at your new job. Jaehyun has no idea that you’re moving out. Heck, he has no idea that you’re moving out of town. But you’ll tell him… eventually.

“You’re sure you’ve packed everything with you?” Your mother asks as she sniffs. Her eyes are glassy.

You look at her with an endearing smile. “Mom, the more you cry, the more I’ll dread moving out.”

“Shut up, let me have my moment. You’re growing up too fast, honey.” She wipes a tear that streams down her cheek.

“She’ll be fine. Besides, we’re going to visit her every two weeks.” Your father reassures her. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

“If you hate it there, you can always come back here.” Your mother rests her hands on your shoulders. “We’ll be ready to pick you up at the train station too.”

“I’ll let you know if anything happens.” You reassure her as you’re walking towards the car.

“We should get going before your mother starts crying again.”

“We probably should.” You chuckle.

“Make sure you eat your meals!” Your mother exclaims as you and your father are hopping into the car.

The car ride to the train station feels different. You’re not sure what the future has in store for you. You’re not even sure if you’ve successfully rewrote your future. Your mission isn’t even complete for Jaehyun is still in a relationship with Yeona.

You arrive at the train station earlier than the scheduled departure time. You decided to open the seventh letter and read it to kill some time. You take a seat at one of the benches.

Y/N,

This is my final letter to you, past self.

You’re probably on a train ride to a new town for your new job. Or you’re probably still waiting for the train to arrive.

The future feels uncertain, right? If Jaehyun is still in a relationship with Yeona, don’t worry, things are slowly working out. You’ll have to give it some time.

You will lose touch with Jaehyun for a while. He will be mad at you for leaving him without telling him. But make sure you both reconcile this Christmas. As for Yeona, she might give you a call a few months later, just to check up on you and stuff.

I just wanted to let you know that you’ve done your best and if things don’t turn out the way you wanted it to be, everything will be okay. Life will go on.

However, I am sure that the future will be different. I have a great feeling inside of me that things will be different. I am sure that you and Jaehyun will end up together this time—

“Y/N!”

You look up from your letter. It’s become an instinct for you to hide the letter when you hear someone calling your name out. Standing a couple of metres away, you spot a breathless Jaehyun.

“Jaehyun?”

He’s rushing over to you. You’re standing up to greet him until he crashes you into a tight embrace. You’re caught off guard. “Jaehyun, what are you doing here?”

He pulls away from the hug. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? What are you doing here?”

You’re confused. Your future self just told you that you will lose touch with Jaehyun for a while. But why is he standing in front of you?

“I—” You begin. “I got hired at a company out of town. I moved out. I’m moving into an apartment in another city—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He frowns.

Huh? This is the first time your future self was wrong. Does this mean that you can disregard your future self’s seventh letter? Does this mean that you successfully rewrote your future? But your mission failed. Jaehyun’s not in love with you. What is going on?

“I figured it would be best not to tell you because I knew that you would hold me back,” you explain. “And if you held me back, I don’t think I’d ever move out.”

“But you should’ve told me. I came over to take you out for lunch only to find out that you’re moving out of town and into a new city. Do you know how sad I felt?” He frowns.

“I’m sorry—”

“And then I started wondering why you didn’t tell me about this. I started to wonder if I did something wrong. I couldn’t think straight. I drove all the way here in hopes that I don’t miss you and that I catch you right before your ride.” He rambles on. “If I didn’t catch you on time, I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“Jaehyun—”

“I broke up with Yeona.”

“What?!” You blurt out. “Why would you do that?!”

He looks at you for a brief moment. You’re looking at him with anger. Why would he break up with her?

“Why did you break up with her? She’s in love with you, Jaehyun! You’re supposed to propose to her—”

“Because I’m in love with you.” He breathes out.

“Huh?”

Yeah, you’re really confused. What’s going on?

“I’m in love with you.” He lets out a nervous laugh.

“You’re in love with me?”

“I’m in love with you, stupid.”

You blink. “Jaehyun, you’re not making any sense right now. It was just weeks ago when you asked me if you should ask Yeona to marry you. It was just weeks ago when you told me that you missed her a lot. It was just weeks ago when you thought my confession was a joke—”

“On Christmas Eve, I picked you up. Yeona and I were going through a rough time in our relationship and I was starting to question if we were meant to be together. I asked and begged for a sign.”

“A sign?”

“The first snowfall. You and I were together on the night of Christmas Eve, where we both witnessed the first snowfall. You asked me if I knew what it meant,” he explains. “I thought, ‘Is this the sign I’ve been looking for?’ and then I joked around asking if you were in love with me, not expecting you to say yes. And you did. I couldn’t believe it.”

“Jaehyun—”

“And that summer where you didn’t come up to the cottage. I felt lonely even though I was with Yeona. Things just didn’t feel the same.” He lets out a shaky laugh. “Everything started to remind me of you. I just knew Yeona was annoyed about it. I kept talking about how this and that reminded me of you. It was all starting to make sense.”

“But you still had thoughts about asking her to marry you.” You say and he shakes his head.

“I asked you for your opinion on it because I couldn’t trust my own decision. I wanted to see if you would say no. A part of me was begging you to say no.” He explains further. “But you told me that you love me and that your confession wasn’t a joke. That’s when I knew.”

“So,” you mumble. “You’re in love with me?”

“I confessed my feelings for you three times already.”

“But I want to hear it again—”

“The train is arriving in two minutes. The train is arriving in two minutes.” The speaker announces. You and Jaehyun look at each other.

“I’m in love with you, Y/N.” He confesses again. “But do you really have to leave me here?”

“I’m in love with you too, Jaehyun.” You feel your heart doing cartwheels. “And yes, I have to go, Jaehyun. I can’t keep taking the train everyday to work.”

“Can I move in with you, then?”

“Not until you give me a kiss first—”

“How about I marry you instead?”

“Babe, I’m going to get the last box downstairs!”

You hear Jaehyun close the door as he goes downstairs to get his last move-in box. It didn’t take long for Jaehyun to make the trip to your apartment. In fact, it’s been a week since you moved in and he’s already moving in with you.

You’re unpacking his clothes from his bags until you open one of the small pockets to see an envelope. Out of curiosity, you pull the envelope out of the pocket.

The envelope has Jaehyun’s name written on the front in his… handwriting? You open the envelope to pull out a long letter. As you’re unfolding the letter, a soft gasp escapes your lips.

To Jaehyun,

Don’t be alarmed. You recognize the handwriting, right? It’s because it is your handwriting.

I am you from the future.

You’re probably wondering how and why you’re getting this letter. Read this letter carefully because it will be a lot to take in.

I made the biggest mistake and I need you to fix it.

Do you remember Y/N, your childhood best friend? Y/N is your soulmate. You are destined to be with her. As I write this letter to you, I have lost almost all forms of communication with Y/N.

I made the biggest mistake of falling in love with someone else. I fell in love with someone who I am not destined to be with. I married this person and have been married to her for three years. We had just filed for a divorce a month ago.

I don’t want you to experience what I went through, past Jaehyun. I don’t want you to lose Y/N. I’m sure you don’t want to lose Y/N either. Y/N is everything you could ever want.

Here are three things I need you to remember:

The moment you realize you’re in love with Y/N, you must tell her before it’s too late.

Y/N will be moving out when you get this letter. Y/N will be moving into another city and won’t tell you.

Y/N’s going to board the train at 4pm. You must get to her before then if you plan on confessing to her.

Those feelings you have for Y/N? Yes, they are true and sincere. Y/N has been in love with you for the longest time. It was my biggest mistake of thinking it was a joke and letting her become the one that got away.

“Babe, did you know there’s an ice cream parlour across the street?” You hear Jaehyun enter the apartment.

He places the box down onto the floor and opens it up to start unpacking. You laugh to yourself, wiping away a couple of tears that flow down your cheeks.

Who would’ve thought that future Jaehyun would be writing letters to his past self too?

You feel relieved.

You’ve rewritten your future.

You’re carefully placing the letter back in its envelope and back into the pocket of his bag. You zip up the pocket and let out a sigh.

“Really? We should probably get ice cream after we unpack your stuff.”

Don’t be a hopeless fool like me.

You’ll regret it. Ever since I married someone else, all I’ve ever done was reminisce and regret.

I hope you get to her on time. You must get to her on time. Or else you’ll be a little too late… again.

She’ll be waiting. In fact, all she’s done was wait for the perfect time and moment.

I wish you the best of luck,

Future Jaehyun.

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yandearest · 4 years

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May The Odds Be Ever in Your Favor (Hoseok x Reader Hunger Games AU) Chapter 3: The Assessment

Summary - Living in District 4 you never thought you would have to worry about being selected for the Hunger Games. With a training centre right near the dock of the houseboat you lived and fished from, your district was known for volunteers who trained their whole lives for a shot at glory and riches. But at age 18, your name is called and no girls volunteer to take your place. Your devastation is answered when Kim Namjoon volunteers for the males shortly after. Tall, muscular, highly intelligent and charming, the years of diligent preparation have bestowed Namjoon with the expectation of being the next District 4 champion after Finnick Odair last won 3 years ago.

Fishing for a living has granted you skills with a knife but, as your mentor Finnick is quick to describe, your beautiful face may well be your best asset.

Upon arrival in the Capitol you are quickly faced with the reality that Namjoon may not even be the biggest danger inside the Arena. Especially when you capture the obsessive attention of District 2′s own volunteer, and killing machine, Jung Hoseok. Hope soon fades from ‘survival’ to ‘the mercy of a painless death’ but Hoseok certainly has other plans.

Pairing - Hoseok x (fem)Reader

Genre - thriller, angst, yandere

Word Count 7K

Warnings - [in later chapters] major character death, graphic depictions of violence, swearing, obsession, dubcon-smut (smut will be marked so reading is optional), gore, unrealistically beautiful oc because I’m a sucker for that shitty trope and want to live vicariously through my writing (sue me)

The following is a dark fic featuring a yandere character, violence, obsession, and coercion. By no means does writing about this in a fictional setting condone any of those behaviours, much like Stephen King writing horror doesn’t mean he approves of psychotic killers in reality. Please avoid reading if any of these warnings makes you uncomfortable.

Previous Chapter: 1, 2

Cross posted on A03 so people can subscribe for updates/notifications

Throughout the course of your life you had found that the more you dreaded something, the faster it arrived. As you sat in the waiting room, waiting for the call to go into the training center alone for your final assessment, you couldn’t help but think of just how fast the training process had gone by, and that in less than twenty-four hours you would be inside the dreaded arena.

During your knot tying session after your incident the on the first day, you had formed a slight friendship with Krystal, who had asked if everything was okay. You had lied, saying you were fine, too afraid of telling her the truth after Namjoon had just blown up on you, and she simply had nodded in acceptance. But you could tell she didn’t buy that answer from the way she seemed to treat you with a little extra kindness. You stuck to her like glue for the rest of the training period, refusing to separate within the career pack without Krystal by your side. It was an odd dependency given she was the smallest of the lot of you, but she had taken to it rather well. She never asked you about it, but immediately went along, making sure you were always by her side during any activity. You could tell Hoseok was furious – constantly shooting glares in Krystal’s direction – but there was nothing he could do without disrupting the whole alliance, and proving that he was indeed the psychopath he had revealed only to you in private.

You had spoken briefly to Finnick about things the night after the incident with Hoseok. As a mentor he wasn’t happy, but his hands were also tied as there was nothing he could do to interfere with another district. He had suggested he could speak to District 2’s mentor to try and get more information on Hoseok’s background but you had immediately shut that down, terrified that it would somehow get back to Hoseok and he would think you were reciprocating his own interest. The idea was also dangerous because it would expose just how threatened you were to their mentor, who could easily use that to their advantage when coming up with game tactics. Finnick had reluctantly agreed not to do anything, but turned the topic of conversation onto your remaining training time. He had suggested a focus on weapons, particularly knives given you already had some experience with them.

“Focus on what you already know,” he had said “Don’t waste time trying to learn new things that others are already experts with. You cannot hope to beat a master with only a few days of training. Hone the skills you already have.”

So that’s largely what you had spent the rest of your training time doing. By her own admission Krystal’s report card had suggested training with a weapon that could compliment her own agility, which worked out well with knives too, so you spent a lot of your time training together. You found out that despite being a District 1 tribute, she was also reaped, and not a volunteer, like yourself. But unlike you she had been trained at an academy, which was standard practice in 1. A far more interesting detail you had learned was she was Yoongi’s younger sister, and he had volunteered after her reaping. You filed that detail away in the back of your mind for future reference, grateful that some sort of partnership already existing in the alliance could potentially lessen the target on yourself later when it came to splitting.

You played off each other, regarding your knowledge of knives. Krystal was far more skilled in close range combat, and she gave you pointers when you trained in sparring using a prop version (made from a material of the same weight, which still caused some bruises, but wouldn’t actually cause stab wounds). She also helped you improve your skills in countering attacks and using a larger opponents’ body weight against them. Looking at Hoseok and Namjoon respectively you were terrified to know her lesson would very much be a life or death skill you needed to learn. In return you talked to her about your experiences with spear fishing and occasionally using a knife instead in shallow waters, passing on what you could about how to throw a knife. It was a skill you had picked up when you much younger, after being taught by your father when you were seven. Your mother had been furious when she found out and immediately banned you from knives until you were old enough to be working on the boat, but your father had still snuck in training sessions whenever the two of you were alone. It was never something you thought you would be using to potentially kill a human, rather than a salmon or tuna. You hadn’t even thought of it then, but it was likely his way of trying to prepare you for if your name was ever drawn from the reaping. Even though it was essentially impossible, a part of you desperately hoped you would survive in order to be able to thank your father in person.

You and Krystal worked well together, you had a natural chemistry, and both of you didn’t feel a need for wasting oxygen with meaningless small talk or chit chat. Your skills both complimented one another and you found yourself learning a lot. It wasn’t much of a bond from merely a couple of days, but you hoped whatever you had worked to build would translate into some sort of partnership in the arena.

The remaining of your training had passed as well as you could have hoped for right up until the final moments of the last day. You and Krystal had taken a bathroom break. Afterwards, when you were about to walk out of the washroom and back into the hallway outside, you could hear familiar voices beyond the door. Frowning, you opened the door just a crack to hear Namjoon talking to Yoongi, Hoseok and Athena.

“Seriously, she thinks you’re in love with her,” Namjoon laughed, clasping his hand on Hoseok’s shoulder. You felt the blood immediately drain from your face and a stone cold chill run throughout your body. You had seen Namjoon and Hoseok getting on better within the last day, but you weren’t expecting Namjoon to be at a level of already throwing you under the bus.

“Really? When did she say that?” you could hear Hoseok ask, although you couldn’t see him from the crack in the doorway.

“First day, back when she was in tears over that pathetic report,” Namjoon replied with a scoff. “Asked her what happened and she went on some crazed rant that you were going to save her. Honestly lost her mind on day one, why the hell we’re supposed to drag her around the arena is beyond me.”

“She’s not that bad, have you seen her throwing the knives with Krystal? Could be useful,” the only female voice had to have been Athena, and you made a mental note to thank her later.

“Please, she’s a baby. Wouldn’t be able to hurt a fly,” Namjoon scoffed. You wanted to storm out and show him how willing you would be to hurt him, but remembering a warning from Finnick held you back, ‘play along and act dumb so they think you trust them and are too stupid to make plans for yourself'. You couldn’t wait for the chance to stab Namjoon in the back at this rate.

“So why are we keeping her around then?” A bored voice you had rarely heard asked. That had to have been Yoongi.

“Her brains may be non-existent, but the empty head that carries her around isn’t too bad to look at. I say we keep her for the sponsors, get us some supplies from her capital fans. Maybe if we can get her to flash those perfect tits she’s covering up we can get extra out of them. Plus, if the arena gets cold I’m sure she can also make herself useful as a bed warmer too.” Your jaw dropped open at the vulgar way your supposed teammate was talking about you. You hadn’t even spoken to Namjoon since the incident on the first day, ignoring him whenever you were in the same living quarters and spending your training time with Krystal. Like hell you would be going anywhere near his ‘bed’ in the arena. Krystal looked equally as disgusted.

“Gross,” Athena deadpanned.

“What? It’s not like what I’m saying isn’t true, and it’s better her than you, right? Beautiful face, hot body, but not the sharpest tool in the shed. Throwing knives from a distance isn’t much of a threat in close combat so we can easily take her out at the end. Hey, Hoseok seeing she acts like you’re going to be her precious Romeo you can be the one to take care of our dear Juliet when the time co-” before you could snap and storm out to attack Namjoon yourself, Hoseok beat you to it. Like a viper, his hand shot out in lightning speed to grasp Namjoon by the throat and slam him into the nearest wall.

“Or how about I take care of you?” he practically purred, springing a jackknife he had somehow slipped into his clothing out and holding it against Namjoon’s throat, until you heard a scuffle of someone trying to pull him off. Yanking the bathroom door open you rushed out into the hallway, Krystal following quickly behind, to see Namjoon leaning against the wall rubbing his throat, as Athena and Yoongi restrained a livid Hoseok.

“What the hell is going on?” Krystal asked, looking between everyone. Even if you had overheard everything, you just stood there next to her, wanting to play up the ignorance they dismissed you as having.

Nobody answered, looking between each other as if waiting for them to be the first to talk. Of all people, it was surprisingly Yoongi to be the one to break the silence.

“Put that thing away,” Yoongi snapped, nodding at Hoseok’s flat knife. “Do you want us to all get beaten to a pulp by the guards before we even get to the arena?” Hoseok complied without any words, smoothly placing the knife back into a hidden pocket in the front of his pants.

“What the hell do we do now?” you asked, staring at the others. “A day before the games and a fight breaks out? How are we meant to work together in there?”

“Nothing changes,” Hoseok spoke. You frowned back, like hell nothing had changed.

“You just pulled a knife on my district partner,” you replied. You weren’t complaining but he didn’t need to know that.

“Nothing changes,” Namjoon repeated to your surprise.

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. We’re men. Men fight. Shit happens but we get it out of our system. Logically we’re still each others best bet in the arena.” Namjoon continued. You had to physically restrain yourself from rolling his eyes at the ‘men’ declaration.

“He’s right,” Hoseok agreed and all you could do was stare dumbly, wondering how the hell the two of them had gone from pulling a knife a second ago, to now suddenly agreeing.

“Like hell I’m leaving you, Athena isn’t leaving me, your district mate isn’t interested in leaving you either, and I assume Krystal has interests in working with you from all that training you’ve done together. Yoongi’s not going to leave his sister, so we’re all stuck together.”

“What if I don’t want to work with any of you?” you challenged.

Namjoon scoffed.

“If you really had the balls to walk away, you would’ve done it on day one. Especially given how I treated you when you were telling the truth.” You glared back at him for blatantly exposing you.

“If you split, you’re the easiest target for all the other tributes.” Hoseok stepped away from Yoongi and Athena to walk towards you. “That’s 18 other people trying to kill you, so you know I’m not going to let that happen. As I just told you, I’m not leaving you.”

You hadn’t heard much from Hoseok since that moment in the hallway on day one. A part of you had managed to convince yourself it was all a stunt, just like Namjoon had said, to psych you out and cause division in your alliance. Hearing him bluntly announce his intentions to the whole alliance, as he came to stand directly before you, caused the delusion to shatter.

“Leave her alone.” You were becoming so entranced by Hoseok’s presence that it took you a moment to process Krystal’s voice as she moved herself closer to you, standing so her shoulder was slightly in front of yours. Your heart momentarily warmed at the gesture before it was doused in the cold ice of your conscious as you remembered his sickening threats from the last time you and Hoseok were alone ‘I don’t care about the others… I’ll slaughter every one of them in cold blood… I’m going to kill them all for you baby and I’ll make you watch so you can see just how far I’ll go for you’

“No Krystal, don’t!” you cried in a panic as you reached out for Krystal and pulled her into a protective hug, putting your body in front of hers before Hoseok. “You don’t understand,” you whispered in a rush to try and explain. “He’s crazy, he said he was going to kill all of you. I tried to tell Namjoon and he didn’t believe me so I was too scared to tell anyone else, because I was scared you’d think I was crazy.”

You were trying not to cry, you couldn’t panic, you couldn’t be weak again like the state they had found you in last time, but it was so fucking hard. Why did you have to be reaped? Why did one of the tributes have to form an obsession with you? Why was your own district mate an asshole who had invalidated you when trying to protect the alliance? All you had wanted was to not be alone in the arena, and now you had a hope of someone you could trust and she was in danger because of you.

“It’s ok, I’m ok,” Krystal whispered back, patting your lower back reassuringly. But a sudden grasp on your waist from behind pulled you away, causing you to lose your hold on Krystal as you slammed backwards into a hard chest with a cry.

“Yoongi take care of your sister unless you want me taking care of her in the arena,” Hoseok’s voice hissed from behind your ears, making your blood run cold.

“No, don’t hurt her, please, please don’t hurt her,” you begged, twisting in Hoseok’s hold but his arms were locked around you tightly. Yoongi didn’t say a word, walking over to Krystal and putting his hand on her shoulder to lead her away. She initially moved to shake him off but you vigorously shook your head and mouthed ‘go’ to get her to leave.

“We’ll see you at the cornucopia tomorrow,” Yoongi turned back to say, before you exhaled in temporary relief as Krystal reluctantly left with her brother.

“Whatever you do with her, I don’t want any part of it. We’re aligned until six and then that’s it,” Athena sneered, drawing your attention over to her as she glared between Namjoon and Hoseok.

“Fine with me,” Hoseok shrugged. Namjoon who was now leaning casually against the wall merely nodded. You could swear you saw a torn look of sympathy from Athena in your direction, but it was gone in a second as she shook her head in disgust and walked off to re-join Krystal and Yoongi.

With Athena gone the tension that hung in the air was so thick it was suffocating. Namjoon continued to rest against the wall, his arms crossed over his wide chest watching as Hoseok still held you by the waist. With Krystal now safe with her brother away from him you realized there was no longer a need to stay compliant in his grip.

“Namjoon, help,” you hissed, trying to move your arms to shove Hoseok off but they were both pinned to your sides by his hold. Hoseok merely chuckled, instead flexing his muscles and causing his grip to tighten.

“No can do little dove,” Namjoon mocked with a pout, moving off from the wall to stand to his full height. “Your boyfriend here’s the one with the knife in his pocket, and I’m unarmed.”

Namjoon raised his hands in mock surrender, his long legs taking lazy steps to walk around the two of you. Hoseok turned, forcing you to turn with him, to avoid his back being left open. Namjoon ignored him, keeping his eyes on you.

“But don’t worry, because in that arena I’ll be armed, and I’ll take really good care of you then.”

“Like hell,” Hoseok scoffed causing Namjoon to laugh.

“Oh, would you look at the time?” Namjoon was now further down the corridor that separated the bathrooms from the training center, where he could see the large clock on the wall.

“Only five minutes left until end of training before they start preparing for our grading. I’ll leave you two alone for now, but don’t expect this generosity again from me in the arena, 2. I trust you won’t harm our little dove until then…”

And with that lingering comment, Namjoon was gone, abandoning you when you needed him.

You felt Hoseok’s arms beginning to loosen, briefly you thought he was going to release you. But instead you found yourself being turned around to face him and backed against the wall. Any thoughts of pushing him off vanished upon feeling the hard metal of the folded pocket knife pushing against your hip as he caged you in.

“What are you doi-” your question was cut off by Hoseok raising his hand to the side of your face and pushing his thumb over your mouth in warning.

For a moment Hoseok was still. He relished the feeling of your plump lips falling silent beneath his thumb, so pliant, like a kiss against his finger. He watched the rise and fall of your chest as you tried to regulate your breathing, inhaling deep breaths in through your nose causing your lungs to expand and your full breasts to push against his chest. Every little detail about you was so soft, so warm and inviting, like you had been designed purely for him. He was absolutely enamored by you and could spend the rest of his life in this exact moment, feeling you against him, but time was not on his side.

“Look at how they all just left you,” he maliciously purred, his eyes narrowing into a focused glare, “you know they’re going to do the same thing in the arena, darling.”

“That’s not true,” you hissed back, “Krystal tried to stay.”

“And yet all it took for her to leave was a simple pocket knife and her brother. And really, when it comes down to it, who do you think she will choose, Her brother or you?”

You tried to swallow the growing lump in your throat and stayed quiet… he’s just trying to psych you out.

“Meet us in the cornucopia tomorrow, you’ll be much safer with us six than left to fend off eighteen others on your own. You’re smart, you have to know they will chase down any career left alone.”

You frowned but nodded, you had already agreed on this, so you didn’t know why he was bringing it up again.

“Good girl, then you know you have to stay with me once we’re all together. Yoongi sees you as a threat to his sister. Your friendship makes her judgment weak so he will take you out if you’re alone with him. And like I just said, do you really want to side with Krystal when she would choose her brother over you at the end anyway? Athena is threatened by you; thinks you’re distracting me from protecting her in the game as part of our district alliance. I don’t blame her for that though, she is right. I would choose you over her. You know I’d choose you over any of them. And then of course there’s your own district partner, who I’m sure you just heard before… would you trust a man who wants to use your body to sell you to fans from the capital for supplies? The one who didn’t believe you when you tried to warn him about me? The one who just walked away and left you to me now?”

An aching wave of hopelessness washed over your body as you slumped back against the wall. If it wasn’t for Hoseok’s arm holding you upright, you would have just let yourself fall to the ground.

“Please stop,” you whispered, the lump in your throat felt like a golf ball choking you inside.

“I can’t, darling,” Hoseok murmured, his fingers over your lips moving to smooth the faint hairs that had come loose from training back behind your ear.

“Not until you understand that you need me in that arena.” His hand came to rest on the side of your cheek, cradling your face in his palm.

“I’ve trained for this my whole life, I’m the only one you can trust to protect you.”

“But how can I trust you? Like you just said you spent your whole life training for these games, training to kill people like me. It’s all hopeless, no matter who I choose.”

“Don’t say that,” He scolded, shaking you by the hold on your waist.

“You saw me pull that knife on Namjoon before, and I didn’t even know you were there. It’s exactly like I told you on the first day of training, I’ll kill anyone who tries to harm you. No one in that arena matters to me, only you. You’re mine.”

“How can you keep saying that!? We don’t even know each other. I don’t understand how you could possibly feel this way about me. It all just sounds like a cruel way for you to take me to the e-”

Hoseok’s mouth silenced your protests, his lips pushing against yours and hands holding you in place. His kiss was searing and dominant, offering no chance for refusal, though as you felt the shivers running down your spine, you didn’t know if you would have been capable if a chance were provided. You had found him physically attractive the moment you had met, and somehow it was like the passion you had seen in his eyes was magnified a hundredfold through his kiss. He was strong and powerful, yet simultaneously gentle. His arm supporting your waist held your body impossibly close to his, whilst the fingertips from his hand on your face were tenderly stroking the skin on your cheek.

Your eyes had unconsciously closed when his face had moved in to meet yours, which only seemed to heighten your other senses. The places where his body made contact with yours were tingling as if flames from a nearby fire were licking against your skin. Everything about Jung Hoseok was warm; his sun kissed skin, copper hair and the heat radiating from his body into yours. You were stunned, and in your frozen state Hoseok moved his lips against your pliant ones to deepen the kiss, the tip of his tongue dancing along the line of your mouth before sliding inside to meet your own tongue and try to coax it to return with his.

What somehow felt like an eternity was in reality a mere few seconds before an announcement echoed through speakers throughout the training center, instructing tributes to cease everything and make your way to a designated area for the mandatory final assessments to shortly begin. Hoseok broke the kiss, leaving you breathless as he whispered upon your lips,

“If you can’t believe my words, then believe that.”

Pressing his lips back to yours quickly once more, he finally pulled back.

“Come on, we have to go.”

You mutely allowed Hoseok to lead you out of the corridor and back into the training center where a Capitol representative with a clipboard was lining everyone up to be taken to the waiting area. There was no talking from anyone as you were all put into your lines and made to follow the representative into a smaller room, whilst the training center was to be rearranged. The waiting room was small and cold with metallic coloring. Black chairs were organized by districts and you were told that one by one you would be brought before the judges to present your chosen skill, where you would then be graded on a score out of twelve. The scores would be announced later in the afternoon, before your final interviews with Caesar Flickerman in the evening.

You wordlessly sat beside Namjoon, not even looking in his direction even though you could occasionally feel him trying to catch your eye. No doubt he would want to dissect your conversation with Hoseok but you had no interest in telling him about anything that had happened. Especially not after how he had treated you the last time you had tried to warn him. Instead you kept your eyes solely on the ground, nervously bouncing your leg as you worried about your upcoming grading.

Everything was happening so fast. It felt like only moments ago when your name had been reaped, since then you had already travelled by train, appeared in the parade and completed your three days of training. You felt sick in your stomach at the thought that the short time that had passed between your reaping and this very moment could possibly be longer than the time you had between now and when you would meet your end in the arena. You immediately tried to stamp that thought out, trying to hold back the overwhelming wave of grief threatening to crash over you. You couldn’t let yourself go down without a fight and giving in to the misery would only reduce you to a walking corpse.

“District 1, female.”

The man with the clipboard had returned to the room to officially begin the assessments. You noted how he didn’t even call for Krystal by her name, just a district number and her assigned gender. How cold and clinical, much like the room they were keeping you in. You wondered if reducing tributes to numbers without names made it possible for the man to sleep at night, knowing he was part of a system that sent innocent children to the slaughter every year.

“District 1, male.”

As Yoongi left with the clipboard man you couldn’t help but notice Krystal didn’t come back into the room with him. So you would be allowed to return to the dorm and prepare for the interviews as soon as you were done. You were grateful this would at least mean a few hours’ break from Hoseok, you would just have to lock yourself in your room quickly before Namjoon would finish after you, and try to interrogate you in your living quarters.

“District 2, female.”

No one had spoken since the line up. All too focused on mentally preparing for the assessment. You felt for the younger tributes who had never picked up a weapon before a week ago, now having to present themselves as fighters before a panel with only 3 days of training. Once again you were grateful for your father for his insistence on training you with a knife, which at least gave you somewhat of a starting point to work with.

“District 2, male.”

You kept your head down and eyes on the floor, watching as two pairs of shoes walked directly past you on their way out of the room.

“No kiss good luck?” Namjoon snickered next to you, deliberately keeping his voice quiet enough that only you could hear him.

You ignored him.

“What’s the matter, trouble in paradise?” he mocked again.

You continued to ignore him, making sure your eyes were pointed on the exact same spot you had been staring at on the ground since you had sat down. Your knee continued to bounce at the exact same pace. You didn’t want to give him a single flinch, not even a minute sign of a reaction, given that was exactly what he was trying to get. You wondered what he was trying to achieve by riling you up. Did he want you to snap back at him and get in trouble? There had been no specific instruction not to talk, the weight of the occasion had instead resulted in the silence, so you doubted it. Most probably, he wanted to get in your head and psych you out before your assessment, likely trying to lower your score. Internally you scoffed, it’s not like you were a major threat to him anyway. You both knew you weren’t a trained career like he was. He was already going to outscore you anyway.

“District 3, female.”

Namjoon had gone from dictating your alliance, to spitting in the face of your concerns, to now mocking you. You wondered if he would’ve treated an actual trained career better if someone had volunteered for the females of 4. Perhaps it was to do with his ego that Hoseok had singled you out and wanted to work with you, even though he was clearly the more powerful tribute between you. He had taken it as a threat. A threat to his chances if you did side with Hoseok given Hoseok and Namjoon were on near equal footing, and the thought you had chosen Hoseok could have been seen as some act of betrayal. Never mind the fact you had done everything you could to try and avoid Hoseok, including telling Namjoon himself and asking for his help. Was he really that stupid enough to be mad you didn’t continue to beg him after his rejection?

“District 3, male.”

You supposed if he hypothetically succeeded and did psych you out into getting a terrible score it would be his own way of re-establishing himself as the desired tribute from 4. A reminder over your head that you weren’t a real career, and being brought into their alliance was an act of charity. A mercy killing to grace you with their presence before taking you out later in the game as an easy option. You longed to prove him wrong. Not just him but Hoseok also, the both of them for thinking you were pathetic and in need of their protection. His mockery and attempted sabotage was only acting as fuel to your fire.

“District 4, female.”

Your head snapped up to see the clipboard man standing in front of you. Wordlessly you nodded and got to your feet. You ignored the feeling of the eyes from the other tributes in the room staring at you as you had to walk past them to the exit. You were lead back down the same pathway you had taken from the training complex to the waiting room, only this time when you re-entered the training center you were the only person inside. Clipboard man hung back in the corridor and the only other people you could see were the game makers through the window in their viewing room. The center layout had been rearranged, with dummies and targets placed in optimum viewing range from the game makers’ vantage point.

“L/N, F/N, District 4, Female, 18 years of age” a voice crackled through the speakers overhead by means of introduction, as you walked over to the marked spot on the floor you had been instructed to stand.

It was a strange feeling looking up at the pompous judges dressed in their flamboyant outfits with pretentiously fluorescent dyed hair and beards. It was as if they were dressed up for an expensive night on the town and you, and the other twenty-three, were their performers for the evening. It was weirdly easy to put the judges in the back of your mind, despite being able to clearly see the room of around twenty people intently staring at you with interest. The all looked so fictional and outlandish that it was easy to dismiss them as some sort of strange figment of your imagination. They didn’t look like real people, which somehow made it possible for you compartmentalize them as imaginary, and instead focus on the task at hand.

Looking at the assortment of weapons on display, you mostly ignored the large range on offer and went straight for the knives. Running your fingertips along the handles you picked out a hunting knife with a blade that would have been around 8 inches long. There were smaller, thinner, knives specifically made for throwing on offer, however the ones you had practiced with back at home were the larger kind on your boat. Gingerly you bounced the handle in your palm, trying to get a quick feel for the weight. Looking up you examined the range of targets that were on display – some quite close and others much further.

You went for the closest target, that was five meters away, as a warm up.

Thwack

The blade sailed easily through the air landing in the yellow zone, on the first circle outside of the bulls-eye. You shrugged your shoulders and rolled your neck with an exhale, not a bad start and a good way to get the nerves under control.

You retrieved a second knife from weapons trolley and took your aim for the next target that was ten meters away.

Thwack

Another yellow circle, except this time your knife landed in the second circle outside from the bulls-eye. Your pursed your lips with a shake of your head. It was still in a decent range but you were hoping to improve on your last throw rather than getting further from the bulls-eye.

You went back for another knife, choosing another one like the last two you had thrown, and lined up for the fifteen-meter target.

Thwack

Red zone, just outside the yellow. If you were aiming at a person, rather than a circle, that would have been lucky to connect. You let out a sharp exhale with a sigh, you weren’t doing bad – you’d made contact with all three targets so far – but you weren’t establishing yourself as a threat either. Not on the level that you knew the other careers were going to be scoring.

Returning to the weapons rack you found there to be one knife left that was in the same size range as the others you had used so far. You turned the knife over in your hand weighing up your final options. There was a final target twenty meters away, but with the rate you were throwing, you’d highly likely just continue to move further away from the bulls-eye. You could always try to throw on one of the other targets again and work to improve your existing result, but it would be difficult to improve much on the first impression of being ‘good, but not great’. Your last option would be the dummies. The dummies were situated on the opposite side of the targets and provided a more human edge to demonstrations. You had elected to use targets in the hope of showcasing solid aim through a bulls-eye, but that hadn’t exactly worked out. With one knife left you decided to try and showcase something a little more realistic.

The dummies were grey and faceless, just human shapes of rubber, which was a lot different from what you would be facing in real life within the arena. If you couldn’t land a shot on a stationary figure you were practically as good as dead. Not only did you need to prove a score to the judges, but you wanted this for your own confidence. With a frown, you turned and launched your blade ten meters across the room into the head of a dummy with a satisfying Thwack.

You didn’t bother to look up to the balcony and see their whispers and nods of approval, instead walking straight over to the dummy and pulling the knife out from the rubber. You weren’t finished yet; you were going to show them what a fishing district knew how to do best…

Grasping the handle, you plunged the blade into the sternum, deep enough to reach what would be the back bone of a human, and dragged the blade down to the pelvis. Pulling the knife out you made horizontal slashes along the chest and the hip where your line down the body had began and ended. Tossing the knife aside, you reached your hands inside of the dummy, pulling it open.

Granted the physical anatomies between a fish and a human were quite different, but the concept of gutting was quite easy to get across.

Once the assessment was over you were lead back to your living quarters. With the pressure subsiding and adrenaline wearing off, you found your hands beginning to tremble. You were thankful to have your water bottle as some sort of distraction, shakily taking sips to try and calm yourself down. By the time you finally arrived back to the dorm you were only able to answer Finnick’s “How did you go?” with a quick “fine” as you hurriedly rushed to your bedroom, not wanting to stick around and see Namjoon again until you absolutely had to.

The assessments were scheduled to run until 4:00pm, with the results being broadcast at 4:30pm, before tributes were due to report at the auditorium at 5:00pm to begin preparing for interviews. You were grateful to be from one of the earlier districts, which left you with more free time between the conclusion of your assessment and your next schedule. Your bedroom contained its own en suite bathroom so the first thing you did upon entering was strip off your clothes and head for the shower.

You spent a long time under the hot running water, sitting on the tiles and letting the shower cover up the sound of your crying. It had become somewhat of a routine for you to return from training and cry under the safety of your showerhead where no one else could see or judge you for it. The emotional toll it took to bury your feelings and avoid crying in the training center, in front of the career pack, in front of the judges, or out of fear every waking moment of your life now was strenuous. The shower was your haven, a place where you could wash away the sweat and grime from your day, and allow some form of pent up release. Today’s shower would be the longest one you had taken since entering the capital.

A knock and Finnicks’ muffled voice through the door told you it was after 4:00pm and the results would be broadcast soon, so you reluctantly turned off the taps and began to dry off. You were told that hair, make up and styling would take place in the auditorium later, so you dressed in the most comfortable clothing that you had been provided with; a cashmere sweater and matching sweatpants. You waited in your room as long as possible, before putting on a pair of slippers and walking out to the lounge room at 4:30pm.

Finnick, Periwinkle and Namjoon were all seated on the sofa facing the giant television, which was currently displaying Caesar Flickerman and a co-host you didn’t recognize behind a desk. Wordlessly you joined them, choosing a spot next to Periwinkle on the lounge, the opposite side of where Namjoon was sitting.

“And now for the moment you’ve all been waiting for, the scores!”

You frowned at how enthusiastic Caesar seemed to be over his job. His mouth was spread into a wide grin, showing off his artificially white teeth, and his emerald green eyes (that had to be contact lenses) were practically glowing with excitement. You all sat in dead silence, if it weren’t for Caesar’s voice reading out District 1 you would have been able to hear a pin drop. The results weren’t surprising to you in the least. Krystal and Yoongi both scored 9s, Athena a 9 too and Hoseok 11. The girl from District 3 who had fallen in front of you on the monkey bars only managed a dismal score, the same as her district number. Her male partner only fared slightly better with a 5.

“District 4, F/N, L/N! Oh, she certainly captured many people’s attention at the parade, but is she as deadly as she is beautiful?”

You rolled your eyes with a scoff.

“You better not do that when he talks to you on stage,” Finnick warned.

You sarcastically put on an overly fake smile and fluttered your eye lashes back at him, until your expression was wiped blank by Caesar’s next words.

“Miss L/N, 10.”

Your jaw dropped as Periwinkle burst into enthusiastic applause, Finnick cocked an eyebrow with an impressed nod and Namjoon let out a low whistle.

“Someone’s been hiding something~,” Namjoon sing-songed as you closed your open mouth and took in a deep breath. You shook your head.

“Just the same knife throwing I’ve been practicing,” you replied.

Technically that was not a lie, just an omission of the gutting part. You wondered what it was about your little stunt that had pleased the judges so much. You were hoping to bump yourself to an 8 or 9 to at least try and blend in with the careers, instead you had somehow managed to establish yourself as a threat amongst them. With how much you had been pushed around so far you were glad to at least have one moment of impact. But now you had to be worried about the extra target being a threat could potentially put on your back.

Namjoon didn’t reply further as Caesar read his name and announced his score of 9.

You blanched. There was no way in hell you were more skilled than Namjoon was with a weapon. You looked over, expecting him to be furious, but he merely sat there with a content expression on his face nodding at the TV.

“Someone’s been hiding something,” you repeated Namjoon’s words back to him.

Namjoon’s only response was a smirk.

You didn’t like the way he looked like he knew far more than what he was sharing.

I'm a bit annoyed because I planned to combine the final training day and interviews into one chapter. But I found it was starting to get too long, as this part was already hitting 7000 words.

Next chapter will be the interviews and fallout from certain things the characters say in them

Chapter after will FINALLY be what everyone here wants (especially me) - the actual Hunger Games in the arena

Sorry to keep dragging it out, my brain hates me.

#yandere hoseok #yandere bts #yandere #yandere bts fic #yandere jung hoseok #bts x reader #dark bts #dark bts au #y!hoseok #hoseok fic #hoseok x reader #hoseok au #dark jhope #HUNGER GAMES AU

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pxnk-velvet · 3 years

Text

The Dancing Warrior: Water, Chapter 13

(Sokka x OC Reader)

A/n: Hey everyone! This is just a little announcement that I wanted to make. This is going to be the last chapter of Book 1 and I’m going to be taking a little break 😔......BUT don’t worry I’ll be back in a couple weeks :) I just wanted to take some time off to focus a little more on myself, school, and just debrief Book 2 and do some story outlining. Anyways I just want to thank everyone who reads my work and say that I really appreciate every single one of you who’s followed, liked, and has just been enjoying my writing so far. Y’all truly mean the world to me 🥺😭 STAY TUNED FOR BOOK 2 ✌🏼🥺💖

The blizzard was harsh against Navani’s skin as they all rod through the sky on the back of Appa’s saddle. The wind chilled her to the bone, her teeth chattering and body shaking. Whenever no one was looking her direction, she would occasionally take a deep breathe, warming herself up from the inside. Using a technique she had learned long ago, the Breath of Fire.

After spending some time in that storm, stopping every now and then to search the area, Sokka was determined to find his friend. They all were.

As Navani sat, she could only imagine what was going on in the battle back at the Tribe. It had been years since she had last been a part of a serious battle.

While going to school at the Academy, she had also been picked to train with the best masters ever known to the Fire Nation. So she could later go on to be used as a war weapon. When Meena found out what they had her daughter doing behind her back and the bullying her poor girl had been faced in the academy, she withdrawled her that second and they moved far away from the capital. There Navani spent the first of her teenage years, dancing and performing as always for people from all over, and learning to water bend. Little did she know that her mother was one of the last known Southern water benders. Then there was Katara. Navani would’ve considered herself but only her mother was from the South.

Navani had been pulled from her train of thought when she heard Katara call out.

“Look! That’s got to be Aang.” She pointed at a streak of bright light traveling through the sky.

Sokka steered Appa right in that direction and they took off.

Down below, near a cave, was Prince Zuko with Aang held hostage, tied up in some rope.

Katara took the lead and quickly knocked out Prince Zuko. While Navani and Sokka helped Aang out of the rope. Just they were about to take off, Aang paused, glancing at Zuko’s unconsious body.

Navani starred at his limp body, feeling a pang in her heart. She didn’t know why she was feeling it but she was.

“We can’t just leave him here.” Aang said, jumping off of Appa and rushing to him.

“If we do, he’ll die.” Navani continued climbing own and helping Aang take hold of the Prince.

“Yeah!” Sokka chirped, “Let’s bring the guy that’s constantly trying to kill us. That makes so much sense!”

Navani groaned, gently laying the Prince down and tying him up, “Shut up, Sokka. Would you want to be left in the middle of a blizzard to die too?”

She got no answer, looking up to see Sokka with a sour expression. While looking at each other, the moon went completely a deep crimson. The moonlight and everything around them turning blood red.

This time she groaned out of pain and not annoyance. She clutched the sides of her head. Yue and Aang doing the same as well.

“The moon spirit is in trouble.” Aang noted, rubbing his temple.

“I owe the moon spirit my life.” Yue said, quietly, “When me and my brother were born, I was very sick and weak while he was strong and healthy. He cried when he was born, like almost all babies do. But I didn’t. I was born as if I were asleep with my eyes closed.” She paused, glancing at her brother as if asking him to finish.

“The healers did everything they could. But they told our parents that she was going to die.” Hai continued, “So our father pleaded with the spirits to save Yue. And so, beneath the full moon that night, he brought her to the oasis and placed her in the water. Her hair changed from black to white, her eyes opened and she began to cry.”

“That’s when they knew everything was going to be alright. For the both of us.” Yue spoke softly, taking a hold of her brothers hand.

Hai smiled, squeezing it gently, “That’s the reason we have our names, Hai and Yue. Ocean and Moon.”

Navani gave a warm smile to the twins, despite the pain rattling around in her head. If it was this bad for her, then she could only imagine the pain Yue as going through. But typical to Navani, she pushed her pain aside, focusing on what was going on around them as they neared the Spirit Oasis.

When they arrived they were faced with Zhao himself, and couple of his guards. They all took fight stances, threathening the man from across he small pond that stood inbetween them.

“Don’t bother.” Zhao barked, raising a fist, ready to torch the sack with the fish he held in his other hand.

Navani gasped along with everyone else as they all let their guards down.

“Zhao! Don’t!” Aang called out.

Zhao chuckled evilly, “It’s my destiny to destroy the moon...and the Water Tribe.”

“Destroying the moon won’t just hurt the Water Tribe. It’ll hurt everyone, including you.” Aang pleaded softly, hands up in surrender, “Without the moon, everything will fall out of balance! You have no idea what kind of chaos that would unleash into the the world.”

Navani couldn’t help herself as she tried to keep herself still. It felt like she’d start bouncing off the walls if she hadn’t been composing herself. It had been so long since she had done anything this serious and she was letting it take a toll on her. Which is something that trained warrior doesn’t let happen. What was going no with her?

Suddenly from the side lines came General Iroh. The Prince’s uncle that was alway with him. Navani could tell he was a good man, so she never understood why he was on the bad side.

“I’m no traitor, Zhao. The Fire Nation needs the moon too. We all depend on the balance.” Iroh spoke out wisely, “Whatever you do to that spirit, I’ll unleash on you ten fold! Let it go, now!” He threatened, taking his stance.

Navani took this as her chance, following his lead, “I dare you to try it, Zhao! I’ll make you regret ever stepping foot off of your ship!”

If Navani was being honest, she was surprised to see him release the fish back into the pond. But she wasn’t surprised when he sent a strike of fire across the surface of the pond, scortching the moon fish to death. The deep red the moon had been drenched in, now gone. The moon disappearing from the sky completely.

Navani let out a gasp as she was about to inhale, getting ready to dig deep and take on Zhao. She didn’t feel pain but it felt like she was being drained from herself. Her vision went blurry as she lost her balance, groaning as Sokka attempted to catch her weight from beside him, “Navani! What’s wrong?”

Her friends quickly reacted, running in towards her to see what was happening.

She felt her conscious quickly slipping from herself as she hit the ground, Sokka going down with her. Taking hold of her body, bringing her close. He couldn’t lose her. Not like this, not now.

General Iroh did exactly as he said he would, taking on all of Zhao’s men single handed, clearing the area of any immediate danger.

He exhaled deeply when he finished, turning around to be faced with his unconscious daughter.

“Bring her here!” He called out from the opposite side of the pond.

The groups of kids carefully lead her body over, placing her gently of the grass. Katara and Aang stood solemnly by their side. Along with the twins as they held each other close. Sokka’s breath hitched in his throat as he brushed Navani’s hair from her face. He couldn’t help but think of how beautiful she looked this close. The flush that was some what visible and the way her long eyelashes rested on her cheeks.

Iroh himself wanted so badly to take hold of his daughter. It pained him to know that he couldn’t be the father that he wanted to. For years he had longed for a connection with his daughter but it wasn’t his decision. His on father had banned him from seeing his daughter when he had discovered her existence. After that the rumors spread like wildfire among the staff in the castle and eventually got out to the people. For years she had been kept a secret. A secret Iroh regretted. Especially after losing Lu Ten.

Instead, Iroh gently took hold of the lifeless fish in the pond.

“There’s no hope.” Yue weeped into her brother’s shoulder, “It’s over.” Hai tightened his embrace around his sister.

“No, it’s not over.”

Aang stepped into the pond, his eyes and arrows a glow. A bright light began to shine from the pond and he was soon sucked in. Then the water around them began to glow a deep, bright blue. It continued to spread all through out the water in the canals. Covering everything in a hue of blue. A huge wave emerged, creating a giant glowing fish creature. A blue orb in the center of it’s chest encapsaled Aang and all his glory. It marched right through the buildings and bridges, taking down any enemy in it’s path. The spirit conintued on to the outer wall, where all the Navy ships were awaiting. Ready to take down every single one.

“It’s too late.” Katara whispered, watching as Iroh held the moon fish gently in his hands.

Sokka’s hand rested on Navani’s chest, feeling the weak drum of her heartbeat. The only sign that she still had a chance of living. Even though it was faint, it was still there. That’s all that mattered to him. Sokka was going to do everything in his power to hold on to her for as long as possible and never let go again.

Both Navani and the moon fish lay limp and unconscious, the moon no where to be seen in the sky. But Yue’s blue eyes were glowing bright in the dull world tht surrounded them.

“You,” Iroh noted, turning towards Yue with hope in his heart, “You have been touched by the moon spirit. Some of it’s life is in you.”

“You’re right,” Yue perked, parting a little from her brother’s side, “It gave me life....” She moved over to lean over Sokka and peer at the limp girl in his arms.

“Maybe I can give it back.” She gently took hold of Navani’s cheek in her small hand.

She quickly stood, the idea prominent in her mind.

“Yue, you can’t.” Hai protested from his spot. He looked up at his twin sister, their identical gazes locked. The only difference was hers glowed a bright blue and his shown a gray like everyone else’s.

Sokka was also quick to react, “No, you don’t have to do that. I’m sure there’s some other way.”

“It’s my duty for my people.” She spoke, determination dripping with every word she spoke.

“I won’t let you. Your father told us to protect you both.” Sokka jumped, taking grasp of Yue’s hand while still holding Navani in his embrace.

Despite his own feelings about the situation he had gotten himself into, he wasn’t just going to let anyone walk out on him like that. He didn’t want to lose either of the girls in front of him.

“Yue, please. We can find another way to fix everything,” Hai pleaded, his voice wavering, “I need you. I need my sister.”

She looked back over her should at her brother, “ I have to do this.”

She continued on, stepping forward, despite her brother’s pleas and letting go of Sokka’s hand. Her heart ached profusely as her brother continued to persuade her out of it. But her mind had been made already and she’s wasn’t looking back.

The young woman placed her hand tenderly over the fish’s body, closing her eyes. A bright white light began to glow as the little bit of moon spirit passed from her soul to the fish. Her soul drained slowly as the fish was revived. Hai quick to take hold of her body as it went limp.

“She’s gone.” Hai croaked, his voice shaky with emotion. He clutched his sister’s body close to his. He never thought that he would lose his twin sister so soon. The one person that really knew him, his best friend, despite their normal sibling disputes. His love for his sister was strong and everyone knew it.

Her body soon faded into the night, leaving Hai’s arms empty. But the moon fish came to live and began swimming in the pond once again in a bright glow illuminating the whole pond.

Out arised Yue and all her beauty. Floating magnificently before all of them. She ascended down to her brother, embracing him tightly, pressing their foreheads together lovingly.

“I love you, Hai. You will always be my brother. I will always be with you.” She smiled solemnly, tears apparent in both their eyes.

“Sokka,” Her voice sang through the night as she floated towards him, “Treat her like the treasure she is. Listen to your heart and it will take you to where you want to go.” She gently took hold of his face, placing a gently peck on his cheek before ascending back into the sky. Becoming one with the night.

The moon appeared once again, hanging beautifully in the night sky.

Navani came crashing back down, her soul returning suddenly to her body.

She let out a loud gasp as she gulped for oxygen, desperately trying to get some air in her lungs again. She shot up from where she had just been laying on Sokka’s lap. Nearly knocking heads with him while doing so. Her chest heaved and her mouth felt dry as she quickly and overwhelmingly came to her senses. She fumbled around trying to regain composure.

“Huh? Wh-What happened?” She stuttered, riling everyone up around her.

“Navani!” Sokka shouted taking a stern hold of her shoulders and grounding her in place.

“Thank goodness you’re alright.” He sighed, pulling her in for a hug. She hugged back despite her confusion. She peered around while still over his shoulder, Katara giving her a warm smile, same for Hai. Except he had tears in his eyes and someone was missing....

Yue.

General Iroh stood off to the side again, his heart aching twice as much as before. But he swelled with happiness knowing that his only daughter was going to be ok. He had a feeling deep down that it was going to take a lot more than that to get rid of his little girl. He wallowed in the moment a little longer before sneaking off to find his nephew.

===

Emotions reigned freely the next morning as everyone stood at the fore front of the palace. Over looking the entire tribe.

Navani stood, recharged from her almost fatal incident yesterday. Her gaze moving along the shore line of the beautiful location. She squinted her eyes whenever the sun shines harshly against the icy waves of the ocean. She wrapped her arms around her, bringing warmth to her cold body. As much as it pained her to leave such a wonderful place and it’s people, she was happy with getting away from the cold.

Sokka walked up to her side, hesitantly going to take hold of her hand. Navani grasped his hand gently, giving it a reassuring squeeze before resting her head on his shoulder.

“You know despite everything that happened yesterday, I still like you. A lot.” Navani pointed out, for once not feeling her heart drop into her stomach as she said so.

No real explanation needed to be said between the two of them. They both knew where they stood with one another and were both willing to do as the other needed as long as it meant they would have each other. After everything, they both wanted a clean slate to build up from, correctly this time. As to a label, they both weren’t sure if they were ready for that but their hearts were. They just needed to take things one step at a time.

“I still like you too.” He pulled away, looking into her eyes, “Let’s cherish every moment we have together.”

She gave a hearty chuckle, the kind that made his heart melt, “Why?”

The boy knew what he wanted and why he wanted was a future with her.

“Because I’m not ever going let you go.”

[][][]

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findingyouagain · 4 years

Text

𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙱𝙸𝙽𝙶𝙴𝚁 𝙾𝙵 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙷 ( 𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝙾𝙽𝙴 ).

Feelings could override facts, as facts could alter feelings. Choose the truth first, rather than following after feelings. — Anthony Liccione

"At least you're up on time this morning."

Kennedy glanced up from her spot on the kitchen counter, a bowl of Cheerios in her left hand and a spoon in her right, her feet kicking back and forth in the air. She watched as her father, still dressed in his pajama pants and robe, made his way to the fridge, pulling out the orange juice and setting the carton on the counter next to her.

Kennedy took another bite of cereal. "To be fair, I was on time yesterday morning as well, just not Monday."

"Or last night," Bryan quipped as he opened the cabinet above Kennedy's head and grabbed a clear glass.

Kennedy shrugged, having no desire to rehash the breaking of her curfew from the previous night. Instead, she pointed at her father's attire with the end of her spoon. "No work today I see?"

Shaking his head, Bryan poured the orange juice into his glass. "Don't try and change the subject, Kenn. You know, I should ground you for coming home late."

"Extreme circumstances, Dad.," she huffed. Kennedy jumped down from the counter and walked over to the sink, turning the faucet on. She washed the last bit of Cheerios and milk down the drain. "Like I told you last night—Vicki Donovan got attacked by a cougar or mountain lion or something, and I called 911, meaning I had to stick around to give my statement to the police. That's why I was late."

"That excuse would work except you didn't bother to call me or your mom to inform us what was going on."

Kennedy sighed, placing the dirty bowl in the dishwasher. "Again, after I got off the call with the police, my phone died, and I was a little busy trying to make sure Oliver didn't go full-freak out mode on an ambulance driver—look, are we just going to repeat our entire conversation from last night? Because if so, let's skip to the part where you've decided to ground me anyway despite the fact that I already said I'm sorry." She leaned against the counter and glanced down at her watch. Bonnie and Elena would be pulling into the driveway soon. "It won't happen again, I promise."

Bryan sipped his orange juice, staring at Kennedy with uncertain eyes. It wasn't that he didn't trust his daughter. He did. She was one of the most responsible teenagers in Mystic Falls (even if she could backtalk her way out of most problems, even if he did let her get away with sneaking out with Oliver to go to parties every so often, even if he did notice that occasionally the bourbon in his home office would be a little lower than usual right around finals week in school); however, he was worried something extreme might happen again, and instead of Vicki Donovan or some other kid, Kennedy would be the one in danger. "Okay, I'm not going to ground you. If I did, I'd be going back on what I told you last night. But—and this is an important but—you have to respect the curfew from now on. No second chances, Kennedy."

"Thank you, thank you!" Kennedy squealed as she bit back the urge to reply this was her second chance. She rushed up and wrapped Bryan in a hug, almost causing his juice to spill out of the glass still in his hand.

"You're welcome."

Releasing her father from the hug, Kennedy stepped back and leaned against the counter. "And I can still go with Bonnie to her grandmother's house for dinner? You'll cover for me at church, yeah?"

A honk blared through the house, and Kennedy looked out the window to see Bonnie's Prius pulling into the driveway. "Yes, but I'm sure Pastor Young will miss your help at bible study. Now, go to school." She nodded, grabbing her backpack off the table. "And expect there to be extra chores around the house that need your attention this week!"

"Love you too!"

Two hours later, Kennedy tapped a red pen against her desk in Mr. Tanner's classroom. Having finished stapling the class's first homework assignment together, her notebook lay open in front of her, revealing the sketched beginnings of a crow. Tanner stood in the front of the classroom, where he paced back and forth in front of his desk like he did every day. However, today he seemed to be ending class on a current local event rather than U.S. History.

"Originally discovered nearly 5 centuries ago, it hasn't been seen above Mystic Falls in over 145 years. Now, the comet will be its brightest right after dusk during tomorrow's celebration—are we bothering you?" Kennedy glances up to see Mr. Tanner standing over Elena's desk. She followed his gaze as he glanced over to Stefan before his eyes landed back on Elena. "Mr. Salvatore? Ms. Gilbert?"

The duo dropped their gazes, and Kennedy rolled her eyes. Her friend had never quite learned the art of discretion. She recalled last year, before Matt and Elena had started dating, Elena had been infatuated with Jason, one of Kennedy's teammates from track, and had been called out a few times by Mr. Tanner for the same longing glances.

The bell rang, and the class gathered their bags. Kennedy stood up, slinging her book bag onto her back and grabbing the homework assignments with one hand and her notebook and pen with the other.

"Here you go, Mr. Tanner," she said when she reached his desk. He took the stack of papers, acknowledging her with a nod before going to erase his chalkboard for the next class. Taking that as her cue to leave, Kennedy walked out of the room.

Students crowded the hall, pushing and shoving each other on their way to their next classes. Some lingered by their lockers, chatting with each other about homework assignments and awful teachers. It was only the third day of school, and already the students of Mystic Falls High were ready for the year to be over so they could hang around their houses all day long. Spotting Bonnie and Caroline, Kennedy hurried in their direction, leaving behind the two lovebirds and their discussion on Emily Bronte behind her.

"I'm confused. Are you psychic or clairvoyant?" Caroline asked as Kennedy began to walk in step next to the blonde.

Bonnie shot her a smile before answering. "Technically, Grams says I'm a witch. My ancestors were these really cool Salem witch chicks or something. Grams tried to explain it all, but she was looped on the liquor, so I kinda tuned out. Crazy family? Yes. Witches? I don't think so."

Kennedy laughed as the trio turned a corner. "She's been saying your guys were witches since we were kids, Bon. I don't think she's been looped on the liquor the past seventeen years."

Bonnie stopped short in the hallway, green eyes narrowing at Kennedy. "You think I'm a witch?"

Shrugging, Kennedy shook her head. "Nah, just stating an observation. A witch does sound pretty far-fetched, but you could be psychic, you know? There's thousands of people across the world who claim to be able to see the future or talk to ghosts. Not nearly as crazy sounding as a witch."

Bonnie rolled her eyes at her friend and opened her mouth to remark, but Caroline beat her to it. "Yeah, well, Bonnie, feel free to conjure up the name and number of that guy from last night."

"I didn't see him," Bonnie argued, smile lining her face. "You did. Why didn't you just talk to him?"

"I don't know. I was drunk."

Eyes furrowing in confusion, Kennedy glanced away from the bright pink poster on the wall that had caught her gaze and back to the blonde. Had she missed something after she had left the Grill? "What guy?"

"Oh, just some dude who showed up after you left." Bonnie shrugged her shoulders, fingers moving to twist the long necklace she was wearing. "I don't know why she's so infatuated though. She didn't even talk to him."

"Because he was hot. Capital H-O-T—hot," Caroline interjected with a giggle. Her grin was wide and contagious, and Kennedy felt a smile of her own reach her face. Now, she wished she had stayed around just a bit longer to get a glimpse at the guy the duo was referring to, even if it would have resulted in her actually being grounded.

All three girls giggled. Before they knew it, the bell rang again, and they departed off to their separate classes.

By the time her sixth and final period of the day came, Kennedy realized she hadn't spotted Oliver all day. Other than Calculus, the two didn't have any classes together, but they would normally, along with Vicki and occasionally the rest of the gang, sit and have lunch together outside if the weather was nice. However, if it was rainy or too cold, Kennedy tended to find herself in the school's library instead.

She glanced to the seat next to her, ignoring Mrs. Halpern as she began to describe limits in her nasally voice, and sighed as it remained empty. So, Oliver was definitely not at school then. Knowing she would have to be subtle about it, Kennedy pulled out her phone, kept it placed strategically in her lap, hidden under the notebook she had hovering over the back edge of the desk, and began typing.

Where are you? You're missing a fantastic lecture about limits. I thought you were excited to be able to use that Mean Girls quote and understand why it didn't exist.

Well, that might have been a lie. It was more that Caroline hadn't stopped talking about the fact that Kennedy was going to be able to explain the math behind said quote so the younger blonde could finally use it without anyone trying to call her too dumb to understand the reference.

Her phone screen lit up, and she felt the soft buzz of the device vibrating against her pants. At the hospital visiting Vicki, but I'm sure Mrs. Halpern's lecture would be more fantastic if she didn't sound like Fran Drescher.

Kennedy couldn't argue with him there. She felt bad though. She had almost forgotten all about Vicki's attack from the previous night since arriving at school. Despite Oliver being Kennedy's best friend, Vicki's presence or lack thereof was usually below her radar. The two seniors just did not get along, and both had very strong opinions on what was better for the blond. Kennedy didn't feel like Vicki was going anywhere with her life other than where the next hit from her blunt took her, and she did not want Vicki to bring Oliver down with her. He could go places, was smart enough to go places even if he sometimes lacked the needed motivation, but that was what she was here for—to be his friend and push him to succeed.

But it also meant checking on him emotionally, which today, meant asking about Vicki.

Is she feeling any better? she typed out before locking her phone and returning to her notebook. She wasn't really taking notes since Mrs. Halpern recorded the lectures and placed them on the school website so students could look back at them later. Instead, she had continued the drawing she had begun working on this morning: a crow sketched out in red ink on lined wide ruled paper. She scribbled back and forth in a triangular movement across the paper, attempting for the fourth time that period to get the beak right. It always looked too jagged or too sharp.

A glance back at her phone. Better. I got here a little after Matt, but she's still kinda out of it. Sounds like she might be released tomorrow though.

That's good. I hope she feels better soon. That's such a crazy thing to have happened to someone. Did they ever figure out what type of animal attacked her?

Mrs. Halpern cleared her throat, and Kennedy glanced up to see a very pointed look directed at her from the calculus teacher. She gave a soft nod and made to put away her phone, but the device buzzed once more as a new message lit up her screen. They said it was probably just a mountain lion. But, according to Matt, Vic was so out of it earlier she told him it had been a vampire that attacked her. Gotta love strong pain meds, right?

Kennedy rolled her eyes before tossing the phone back into her backpack and releasing a soft sigh. She picked her pen back up, brown eyes focusing on the sketch in front of her. The crow sat in the same position as before, caught mid-flight in a clear sky, wings spread out and beady eyes staring ahead. It was the beak, however, that she had taken interest in again, mostly because the beak no longer resembled that of a crow but, somewhere along the course of her doodling, had taken on the fang-like features of a bat.

A vampire crow, she thought as she shook her head. Way to keep your art realistic.

With her earbuds in, Kennedy hummed along to "When You Were Young" by the Killers as it came through the small speakers into her ears. She stood in the middle of the history section of the public library, thumbing through and picking out misplaced books onto the gray metal cart she pushed. Work had only started an hour ago and already she was bored. She had tutored a seventh grader in Pre-Algebra at the beginning of her shift, but the younger girl only had a few math problems to solve, so Kennedy had been freed quickly to begin restocking the bookshelves and updating the online catalogue.

He doesn't look a thing like Jesus, but he talks like a gentleman, like you imagined, when you were young.

She nodded along to the beat, picking up the memoir from the Civil War and sliding it between two other books on the wooden shelf. Glancing down at the pager attached to her hip, she wondered briefly if the front desk needed any help. That was what the pager was for, so on the rare occasion the library got swamped and no one could spare the time to look for her, Mrs. Karp could notify her they needed help downstairs.

They say the devil's water, it ain't so sweet. You don't have to drink right now, but you can dip your feet, every once in a little while.

Something cold and rough touched her shoulder, and Kennedy jumped, chocolate brown eyes widening as she whipped around, coming face to chest with a black cotton t-shirt. Titling her head upward, Kennedy met the man's amused blue eyes before letting out a soft sigh. That was the third time that week he had managed to sneak up on her like that. It had to be a weird coincidence. Mystic Falls was a small town, and everyone came to the library at one point in their lifetime. She'd even spotted Mayor Lockwood in here every once in a while, browsing through the library's portion of the Founder's Archives.

She pulled out her earbuds, wrapping them around her phone and stuffing the object back into her jean pocket. "Uh—" she muttered, hand moving to scratch at the back of her neck. Why was she suddenly so awkward? Sure, the man was attractive, but if there was one place Kennedy felt the most confident and at home, it was the library…well, with the track and field coming in as a close second.

"Sorry," he apologized, blue eyes racking over her small form. "I didn't mean to scare you, but in my defense, I've been trying to grab your attention for at least three minutes now."

"You have?" she asked, not having realized how absorbed she had been in her work or how loud her music must have been. "I mean—um, how can I help you?"

Kennedy watched as he laughed lightly at her uneasiness and pushed his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. His blue eyes never left her face. "The Vampire Chronicles by Anne Rice? Do you guys have a copy? I can't seem to find it anywhere, and I've been itching to read it again."

"Anne Rice?" Kennedy bit back a laugh of her own. It was hard to imagine the tall stranger reading the gothic novel. Wasn't society's current obsession with vampires limited to the female population? Not that she was judging. He just didn't seem to be the type. Leather jacket, jeans, classic sports car, and eyes that reminded her of James Dean. Shouldn't he be more into rock and roll and motorcycles than vampires? To be fair, she wasn't sure what his type was though. She didn't even know the guy's name. "Well, it's not in this section of the library, obviously." She pointed above her head to the sign that read 'History'. "But, yeah, I'm pretty sure we have a copy. If I'm right, it's over in the gothic literature section. I can help you find it if you want?"

He nodded. "Yes, please." A tilt of his head and a small smile, he extended his hand out. "I'm Damon, by the way."

"Kennedy," she replied, shaking his hand with a small smile of her own. At least now, she finally had a name for the peculiar stranger. Was he new to town? She had never seen him before Monday.

"I know. You told me yesterday—when you tripped outside."

"Right." She nodded, biting her lip. She let the air fill with quiet tension for a few seconds before hooking her thumb in the direction of the gothic literature section. "Follow me." She didn't wait to see if he was behind her as she began walking, leaving behind the cart still filled with books needing to be re-shelved. When she reached the bookshelf, her index finger danced across the spines of each book before finally seeing Rice, A. tapped to the bottom of one paperback. She plucked it off the shelf and handed it to Damon. "Here you go—one copy of The Vampire Chronicles. Much better story than Twilight if you ask me, but don't tell my friends I said that. I'd be shunned."

Another laugh and Damon nodded again. "Thanks. Can you check it out for me?"

She shook her head, teeth digging into her lip again. She really needed to get back to restocking the bookshelves, and although Damon was being very polite, there was still something…off about him, something she couldn't put her finger on. "Actually, that's more Mrs. Karp's job. If you go downstairs to the front desk, she can help you there. I've got some books that need putting away."

"Okay, well, it was nice seeing you, Kennedy." His blue eyes raked over her again, like he was afraid this would be the last time he'd see her and he needed to memorize the image. She felt a shiver go down her spine.

"…You too." She tried to avoid his gaze. Her fingers twitched, and she glanced back at the bookcase—Dracula, Frankenstein, Wuthering Heights, and a collection of Edgar Allen Poe stories. When she looked back up, Damon was nowhere to be seen.

"If he wasn't so hot, he'd be weird," Kennedy muttered and pulled her phone back out of her pocket. At least now, she could get back to work.

"Well, I was talking to Grams, and she said the comet is a sign of impending doom. The last time it passed over Mystic Falls, there was a lot of death. So much blood and carnage, it created a bed of paranormal activity," Bonnie explained, and Kennedy watched as the girl folded another flier in half. How they always got dragged into helping out with the town's events and celebrations, Kennedy wasn't sure, but at least she could put it down under the volunteer section of her college resumes.

Caroline scoffed, taking a large sip of her lemonade before setting her glass back onto the table. The sun was bright overhead, warming up the girls' skin as they sat and chatted over drinks. "Yeah, and then you poured Grams another shot, and she told you about the aliens." The blonde turned to Elena, a glint of mischief in her blue eyes, and propped her elbow under her chin. "So, then what?"

Rolling her eyes, Elena shrugged. "So, then nothing."

"You and Stefan talked all night?" Caroline continued, and Kennedy noticed Elena's eyes fall down to the pamphlets in her hand, clearly trying to avoid the blonde's probing gaze. "There was no sloppy first kiss or touchy feely of any kind?"

"Care, there doesn't always have to be something touchy feely on the first night," Kennedy interjected. Caroline always did this. As soon as she got wind that one of them was becoming entangled in anything that even slightly resembled a relationship, or even a fling, she pounced, ready for details to spill from her friend's lips like juice from the first bite of a pomegranate.

The blonde rolled her eyes. "How would you know? You've never even had a boyfriend."

Huffing, Kennedy folded her arms but said nothing in response. She was right. The senior had never had a boyfriend. There had been a sloppy kiss or two behind the bleachers and a lingering gaze or so from a few guys at one of the college parties she and Oliver had snuck out to, but nothing more than that, which usually meant that her opinion when it came to relationship advice got ignored.

Elena, however, continued to answer as she folded yet another flier. "No, Caroline. We didn't go there."

"Not even a handshake? I mean, Elena, we are your friends." The blonde gestured between the four of them, eyebrows raised. "Okay? You are supposed to share the smut."

It was Kennedy's turn to scoff, biting back a laugh at Caroline's choice of words. "Smut? Really? What is this? Fanfiction? A cheesy romance novel our moms have hidden in their dresser drawer?"

"Really, Caroline. We just talked for hours." Elena shook her head as she shrugged, but Caroline wasn't take no as an answer.

"Ok, what is with the blockage? Just jump his bones already!" Kennedy's eyes widened at the blonde's words, and she watched the same look of surprise cross Bonnie's face. Despite knowing exactly what their friend had been hinting at the entire conversation, neither had expected her blunt reaction. Maybe it was because nothing was happening in the love department for anyone else at the moment, but in Kennedy's opinion, Caroline was being rather overzealous about insisting Elena get it on with Stefan so quickly. "Okay, it's easy. Boy likes girl, girl likes boy, sex!"

Straight face as always, Elena just shook her head; although, Kennedy caught a slight smirk cross the younger brunette's features. "Profound."

Meanwhile, Kennedy furrowed her eyebrows, mouth slightly agape. "That's not how—S'not even remotely how that—" she spluttered before sighing. "Just let her figure out how she feels her own way and at her own pace, Care. Not all of us are as sex positive as you are." Her brown eyes trailed back to Elena, who now looked more conflicted than before. A few seconds later, the younger brunette stood up, and Kennedy knew her defense had been unnecessary.

Bonnie at least had the decency to appear shocked. "Where are you going?"

Shrugging, Elena explained. "Caroline's right. It is easy. If I sit here long enough, I'll end up talking myself out of it instead of doing what I started the day saying what I was going to do." She grabbed her bag and walked off, leaving the three other girls staring at the now empty chair in front of them.

It was a minute later when Kennedy broke the silence: "So…impending doom, blood, and carnage? Is the comet going to turn Mystic Falls into the Twilight Zone?" Three small cheeky grins and laughter followed before the girls continued folding fliers.

#the vampire diaries #tvd fanfiction #damon salvatore x oc #damon salvatore x reader #tvd #*ashtynwrites #*mine #*story: reborn #*ship: kennedy steele & damon salvatore #*muse: kennedy steele

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dweemeister · 4 years

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Shoes (1916)

During the 1890s and 1900s, the earliest American movie studios were dispersed across major cities east of the Mississippi River. But by the early 1910s, the stable weather, tax-friendly environment, and natural beauty of Southern California brought these studios westward. The Golden Age of Hollywood was born in the Golden State. Women directors, producers, and writers were essential to Hollywood’s creation. One of the early pioneers from Hollywood’s rough-and-tumble beginnings was Lois Weber – at her career’s peak, she was as famous, innovative, and as crucial to the development of cinematic vocabulary as D.W. Griffith (1915’s The Birth of a Nation, 1916’s Intolerance: Love’s Struggle Throughout the Ages). Yet in the writing of American cinematic history, Weber has been largely sidelined, if not outright omitted.

Many of Lois Weber’s films are lost, like those of her countless silent era contemporaries across the world. What remains of Weber’s filmography for modern public consumption is a body of work filled with artistic assuredness. Shoes, released by an infant studio named Universal, is a fascinating film – unafraid to depict issues that would have been tossed out by Hollywood censors twenty years later. It serves as an ideal gateway to Weber’s work, a demonstration of her political and artistic auteurism.

Eva Meyer (Mary MacLaren, a Weber regular) is a young woman who serves as her family’s principal breadwinner. Her mother (Mattie Witting) tends to their dilapidated apartment and Eva’s two younger sisters while making a few cents as a laundress. Eva’s father (Harry Griffith) lies in bed and reads books all day – this is a rare instance of a movie where you want a character to read less. The hours Eva works at the five-and-dime store are draining. She drifts, numbly, between home and work – there is no time for leisure, at least for anyone who isn’t Eva’s father. One day, she has torn through the soles of her shoes – she wants to purchase a replacement, but she cannot afford a new pair. As she walks to and from work every day, a pair of boots propped up at a different store’s display window beckon. Eva looks longingly at these boots, as well as those adorning the feet of the women she encounters on her lonesome commute.

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The cinematic techniques that Weber employs might seem well-worn today, but in 1916 her vision was groundbreaking. There are a few instances of superimposed images appearing in the left-hand corner of the screen to show the audience what a character is daydreaming about. That may be more prominent in modern animated film, the effect provides plot development more expeditiously than a silent film intertitle. A superimposed dream probably would not be as effective in a contemporary live-action film – unless it was a comedy – but it works here. Shoes’ several dissolves also emphasize Eva’s longing for her new shoes, as she imagines how vivified her life could be with those new pair of boots on display in the window. Along with cinematographers Stephen S. Norton (1916’s Where Are My Children?; 1923’s The Hunchback of Notre Dame), King D. Gray (1915’s The College Orphan; second cameraman on 1934’s The Black Cat), and Allen G. Siegler (1915 serial The Broken Coin; 1916’s The Dumb Girl of Portici), Weber also utilizes dissolves to close in on Eva’s regretful disposition – this opposed to a zoom or a dolly shot (neither would be largely adopted among filmmakers for some time). The gradual dissolve is completed in respect to the modest pace of Shoes, and deepens the gravitational pull of Eva’s desolation. Dissolves in 1910s films were rarities; to see them used as artistically as this signifies a director and cinematographers tinkering with techniques well ahead of their time.

Numerous early silent filmmakers of the mid-1910s constructed glaringly cheap sets that can easily take modern viewers out of a film. In these films, a room might appear poorly painted and appear to have paper-thin doors and walls; exteriors may consist of materials haphazardly assembled on a movie studio lot. Not here. Weber uses Los Angeles for her exteriors rather than a soundstage; Eva could easily be imagined as an Angeleno rather than the resident of some artificial town. Eva passes through a teeming, bird-flocked Pershing Square on her way to and from work every day. Pershing Square is a lonely place for her, and the passing couples wearing fashionable shoes underline her psychological distance from all that surrounds her. A nearby Woolworth’s at 719 South Broadway Avenue stood in as the windowed storefront that Eva stops by during her commute, further imbuing Shoes with emotional interest.

During Shoes’ fifty-two minutes, Weber invites the viewer to adopt Eva’s viewpoint. A lesser director might stray from this focus in favor of her parents or a random lout like the character of “Cabaret” Charlie (William V. Mong), but Weber stays the course and the film – in no small part thanks to sixteen-year-old Mary MacLaren’s sufficient performance as the protagonist – is emotionally rewarded for that concentration in its final scenes. Eva’s gloom and constant embarrassment regarding her penury suffuses every scene, magnified by Weber’s silent film-era arsenal of techniques, grasp of narrative structure*, and location shooting. Amid the United States’ Progressive Era, Weber’s socially conscious films resonated with an American public gaining greater awareness of industrialization’s and unregulated capitalism’s ill effects. Shoes, based on a story closely adapted from Jane Addams’ A New Conscience and an Ancient Evil, is a byproduct of the debates that Progressive Era activists engaged in. Weber’s film depicts an implied lack of employee protections/benefits and the presence of a nefarious sexual economy – unaddressed legacies of the social upheaval caused by industrialization.

Shoes itself does not contain any explicit political diatribes, but Weber’s sympathies could not be clearer. Before her film career, Weber – born to a devout Pennsylvanian Christian family – lived in poverty herself and engaged in missionary work to help improve the lives of young women. By her own admission, Weber based certain incidents in her films on the experiences she saw, vicariously, through those women she worked for in her youth. For Shoes, the segments in between home and work existed outside the text of Addams’ novel, and were informed by the poor women the Weber interacted with. Without those scenes, Shoes’ pathos is less powerful. Universal, believing in Weber’s approach to Shoes, launched an advertising campaign trumpeting the film’s social realism – an expression of confidence in a gifted and thoughtful director who made some of the most interesting films of the silent era. Weber’s early life experiences made that craftwork possible.

Let me dispel any myths I may have previously perpetuated via other reviews on this blog: women directors were not novelties at the dawn of Hollywood. By the end of the 1910s, Universal Studios in particular boasted a talented corps of women directors and writers – in 1916, Weber became Universal’s highest-paid director (such a distinction is almost impossible to fathom even in 2020). Hollywood’s early studios had numerous women who worked behind the cameras in critical creative positions. In the 1920s, Wall Street titans took notice of the burgeoning film industry flourishing in Southern California. The incoming consolidation of Hollywood’s movie studios resulted in a marked decrease of women involved in filmmaking. These New York-based financiers, all men, held dim views of women in business and motion pictures where feminism fuels the work. The fact that seventy-five percent of all silent films are now lost forever, in addition to uninformed perceptions about silent films themselves, has further complicated studies of women filmmakers during Hollywood’s earliest years. The history of American filmmaking written since then has been sexist and racist by omission. In the years to come, let us hope that this history can be more inclusive – not for the sake of inclusivity, but to accurately reflect the reality that female filmmakers were pivotal to the development of American cinema in the silent era.

Shoes is an ideal starting point for those wishing to learn more about the early women directors in Hollywood. A product of the era’s politics and Lois Weber’s dedication to gendered and economic justice, it is a measured, intriguing film serving as a lasting testament to its director’s acuity.

My rating: 8/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. Half-points are always rounded down. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not permitting certain posts with links to appear on tag pages, so I cannot provide the URL).

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

*As film technology became more affordable and as it advanced in America, the average Hollywood film became longer in the mid-1910s. In this environment, directors experimented – and frequently failed – with how to extend their narratives from rather simple short films. At fifty-two minutes, Shoes was much longer than the typical film released in 1916 (within a decade that would no longer be the case).

#Shoes #Lois Weber #Mary MacLaren #William V. Mong #silent film #TCM #Harry Griffith #Mattie Witting #Jessie Arnold #Lina Basquette #Stephen S. Norton #King Gray #Allen G. Siegler #My Movie Odyssey

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creatingnikki · 5 years

Text

Disappearing for days and then sending a 'miss you' like bitch I wasn't the one who didn't respond for 19 days. Yes, I count. Because then I know I can't count. Not on you.

Look, I get talking everyday is so 2013 and completely unnecessary. I can't do that either and people who expect that out of me drain my energy and vibe.

But like I want you around more

Not only when my life is falling apart or when you're having a melt down

But like for tiny things

Like when I bake a mug cake

Or when you listen to that new song

But we aren't kids anymore, are we?

Life is hard and not in a way where the boy you like doesn't like you back

But in a way where it costs money to just exist and people misuse their power and position at work and when everything you learned when you were younger about how the world should be and how people should treat each other is nothing but empty ideals

And everybody talks about fucked up laws from countries across the globe and capitalism and rights and fighting for rights and some fighting for mother nature's rights and so you feel guilty when you take a shower but god that's the only time I feel happy these days so yes I'm a horrible person then

But you know what's messed up is that that girl you knew in high school who had some fears about the world has bowed down to them and is living life on autopilot without much thought but at least she will have a solid degree after five years of college and will be a corporate slave. What will you do with the heart of a hippie and skills of a writer and lifestyle habits of a basic bitch

I thought this was about patchy people and you know I think I'm still on topic because I'm one of them, aren't I?

People wouldn't tire of telling me how bright I was and all the great things they couldn't wait for me to do and I always knew I wasn't too special or unique but does greatness have to be? They never told me I was special or unique but always fed me greatness.

So now at 22 I feel like I've failed them and me when I don't see how I will ever function independently in this economy with my mind and my heart and how weirdly those two view the world and myself

The responsibilities are the real monsters and not the voices in my head because they are actually trying to help me to deal

I'm only 22 but it feels like I've lived for too long

I'm only 22 but I feel like I'm losing all feelings of love and desire and magic and hope and dreams and faith

See, the poet Edwin Brock in his poem 'Five Ways to Kill a Man' said that the best way, the easiest, most direct way to kill a man is to see that he is living somewhere in the 20th century and to leave him there

I was born in 1997, so I pretty much started dying the moment I was born and now in the 21st century feel quite like a ghost

I miss studying poetry in high school and I miss the obliviousness of the struggles of life back then

Ignorance is bliss

But you can't pretend to ignore when the forest fires aren't burning some jungle in a continent far away but the very hair on your head, can you?

Should I cook my gluten free vegan pancakes on there? At least I'll save some gas.

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ikementally-deficient · 5 years

Text

Oncoming Storm

Fandom: Ayakashi Romance Reborn

Rating: Carolina Reaper (See Masterlist for rating descriptions)

Warnings: Explicit, 18+

Summary: He wants to touch her, then, for as long as it pleases her.

Tags: Ginnojo/Futaba (MC), first time

Author’s Note: The poem Ginnojo quotes is from the Manyoshu, a collection of Japanese poetry written between 456 and 760 CE.

Female university students in the late Meiji/early Taisho eras wore school uniforms composed of short kimono tucked into fancy hakama.

Edited because I always forget that Tumblr likes to eat my italics.

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

Ginnojo is painfully aware that in terms of years lived, he is nearly three times Futaba’s aga. His hands are stained with the blood that washed away the Shogunate, layered in the decades since with that of traffickers and thieves. He is the last of the Shinsengumi, forged in strife and annealed by thirty years of protecting the Capital from the shadows.

In terms of the fraction of lifespan allotted to him, however, Ginnojo is possibly even younger than his Onmyoji. Mizuchi dragons are long-lived, and his experience with romance is non-existent.

We could hardly be called lovers if we let ourselves be embarrassed merely by holding hands, he’d said to her, feeling his cheeks burn. Kuro had interrupted them then, saving him from figuring out what to say next. Ginnojo had irrationally hated him at the time, but in retrospect he is grateful to have been granted reprieve. It had given him the courage later to speak his mind.

I still find myself wanting to touch you. He had been trembling as he said it, certain he had overstepped.

I don’t want you to stop, she’d said. The rest of the conversation had made it quite clear that she is just as inexperienced as he, but she had nodded assent when he asked permission to continue.

Touching they have done. They walk closely on the street now, shoulders and hands brushing. She sits next to him at the shop and at Raccord, letting their fingers tangle under tables and counters. He escorts her home in the evenings, and she touches his face when he bends down to kiss her farewell. Their touches are chaste, but heartfelt. Ginnojo revels in these moments of closeness, but he finds himself yearning to keep her even closer, to let his hands stray from the publically-approved areas of face and fingers.

May I touch you, then, for as long as it pleases you?

Consent, he understands, is paramount in these situations. That obtained, though, how best to proceed? Taking things slowly is not the issue, but determining the proper speed when he’s not even certain what the next step is presents . . . difficulties.

Ginnojo is, at heart, a scholar. The bookshop does have a section of what is euphemistically termed ‘adult’ materials, but he understands that the content is frequently idealised. Perhaps it would be best to turn to a primary source instead. He sorts through the list of his acquaintances: Kuro is better at talking to women, but he has never been known to be intimate with one. Aoi is younger even than Futaba. Kuya, if presented with a woman, would be more likely to sleep next to her than with her. Yura and Gaku have been presenting themselves as children for centuries; they are unlikely to be helpful. Nachi is a cat. That leaves Toichiro, Shizuki, Koga, and Oji.

He dismisses the first two out of hand. Everything said to Shizuki reaches Toichiro, and Toichiro is willing and able to make a mockery out of anything. Koga, on the other hand, is personally invested in Futaba’s well-being as one of her contracted Ayakashi. Ginnojo has met him several times in the entertainment district in the company of geisha; the Oni Ogre must have some idea of how things work.

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

Koga chokes on his sake. The Ogre spends several moments coughing into the sleeve of his kimono. Ginnojo feels the act is a little ostentatious, but does appreciate that Koga’s face is smooth and solemn when he finally lowers his arm.

“Let me make sure I understand you correctly.” He waves his cup at one of the bar girls, smiling as she nods and approaches with a bottle. He waits until she’s gone before continuing. “You’ve never --?”

Ginnojo feels his cheeks flame red as he shakes his head. “Never.” Koga’s lips twitch, but he suppresses the smile. Ginnojo forces himself to continue. “I have no prior experience to draw on here. I -- “ He falters, searching for words.

Koga rescues him. “You want to make sure that when the time comes, everything goes,” he clears his throat significantly, “smoothly?”

“I suppose that is as good a description as any.” If Ginnojo were given to fidgets, this would be the time.

Koga looks around at the bar girls, and past them to the geisha performing on stage. “Well, it’s easy enough to find you some experience. The girls here -- “

“No.” Ginnojo surprises both of them with the force of his denial. Koga stares at him before nodding.

“So it’s like that, is it?”

“It would be --” He stutters to a stop, then takes a deep breath, forcing his thoughts to straighten themselves. “I love her. To entrust myself to another in this would be unthinkable.”

“Hmm.” Koga drains his cup while he contemplates the situation. Ginnojo waits patiently.

“In that case, I’m probably not the one to talk to,” Koga finally decides. Ginnojo’s heart sinks, but Koga continues. “I bet I know who is though, and the old man probably understands your perspective a little better than I do.”

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

Oji does seem to understand. He is older even than Ginnojo, by far more than he looks, and takes Ginnojo’s stuttered explanation (with editorial commentary from Koga) in stride. After casting a glance at Aoi, he ushers Ginnojo upstairs to the room where he plays Go with Kuro.

The old man settles himself on the tatami and waves Ginnojo to do the same on the other side of the Go table. “So, you’re looking for advice on how to proceed with Bright Eyes, hmm?”

Ginnojo nods.

Oji makes a noise that Ginnojo can’t interpret. “You’ve thought about the fact that you’re, what, twice her age?”

Ginnojo bites his lip before nodding again. “Thrice would be closer. I have. But in this context --” he drops his eyes to the table, “-- in this context I am as young as she.”

Oji waits. Ginnojo lifts his gaze to meet the Dodomeki’s, and continues. “I wish only to ensure her happiness. She has given me her consent, but neither of us, I think, truly understand what that entails.”

Oji’s neutral expression breaks into a gentle smile. “Well, knowing that you know nothing isn’t a bad place to start.” He drums his fingers on the back of his head in contemplation. “But you do know there isn’t a list, right? No one’s giving you marks for doing all the steps.”

Ginnojo can only shrug helplessly. “I have no idea of any of the steps.”

Oji chuckles. “Well, I admit I thought I’d be having this conversation with Aoi rather than someone else old enough to remember the Shogun, but lucky for you I am somewhat prepared.” He leans forward. “First you understand that neither of you does anything you don’t like, you hear me?” Ginnojo nods, suddenly wishing he’d brought a notebook.

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

Three hours, two pots of tea, one game of Go, and some terrifyingly frank reminiscing by Oji later, Ginnojo leaves Raccord. His head is spinning with information and embarrassment, but he feels that he has enough of the basics down to plot a way forward.

First, the logistics: he arranges with Futaba to join him for a meal in his small flat above the bookshop. When the day arrives, he closes the shop and spends the afternoon searching Shinobazu pond for a few perfect lotuses. On the way home, he stops at Raccord to collect dinner from Aoi, not trusting his own utilitarian cooking for such an occasion. He follows Aoi’s instructions for keeping the meal warm to the letter, and the tempting aroma fills the flat.

The lotuses float in a clear bowl of water on the table. He occupies himself dusting surfaces and straightening books until the bell rings below. When he hurries down the stairs, Futaba is standing in the centre of the shop, looking about nervously.

“Futaba.”

Her face breaks into a smile when he speaks her name, and all his nervous energy of the last few hours dissipates.

“Ginnojo!” She comes to him, hands outstretched. Greatly daring, he clasps both of them in his own and brings them to his lips.

“Futaba,” he murmurs. Her cheeks flush brilliantly, but her smile doesn’t fade. “I am glad you came,” he whispers into her knuckles.

“Of course I came,” she answers. Her elbows bend, bringing her close against his chest. “I always enjoy spending time with you.”

He locks the door and leads her upstairs, maintaining his grasp on one of her hands. Once safely in the flat, away from the shop windows, he uses that hand to reel her slowly into the circle of his arms. She responds by sliding her other arm up to his shoulder and burying her face in his collarbone.

They stand like this for several minutes, breathing each other in. Ginnojo rubs his face against her soft hair, the scent affecting him in the way he imagines alcohol does other people.

“Ginnojo,” she mumbles into his clavicle. The heat of her breath against his collar makes his head spin, but he gathers himself enough to raise his head and lift her chin to meet his eyes.

He takes a deep breath. “Futaba, I know -- I hoped -- “ he falters, but is buoyed by her warm gaze. His own words have failed him, but instead he reaches into his memory for a poem. “On Komochi Mountain, from the time the young leaves sprout, until they turn red --”

It is an old, old poem, and Futaba knows it as well as he. She picks up where his voice breaks. “I think I would like to sleep with you. What do you think of that?” Her eyelashes flutter shut, then slowly open again as she searches his face. “Are you sure, Ginnojo?”

“I have always been certain of my feelings for you.” Her hand on his shoulder feels like it is burning him. The heat of her muddles his thoughts, but brings his emotions floating to the surface. “Are you certain of yours?”

Her small mouth curves delicately in a sweet smile. “I am as certain as you are.” Futaba’s hand slides across his shoulder to the back of Ginnojo’s neck as she pushes herself up on her toes to reach his mouth. “I love you, Ginnojo.”

This kiss begins as chastely as all the others they’ve shared, but they each linger in a way they’ve never dared on the street outside Futaba’s gate. Ginnojo feels greedy for the way he sips of her; once on the bow of her upper lip, twice down the curve to the corner of her mouth. He strays briefly to kiss the dimple that appears whenever he makes her laugh, before returning to press against her bottom lip. She sighs into him, letting her lips part in invitation. Both of her hands cradle the nape of his neck now, fingertips rubbing into his hair, keeping him close when he tries to give her time to breathe. In response he slides his hands into her hair, glorying in the privacy to touch, to let it tangle around his fingers like kelp and seaweed tangling at the bottom of a lake. He finds the clips that keep it back from her face and releases them, pulling her hair forward over her shoulders until she looks like a mermaid, tempting him.

At last they ease apart. Futaba’s lips are flushed and slightly swollen, her hair in disarray. Ginnojo imagines he looks much the same. He realises they’re still standing in the entrance of his flat and steps back, tugging her with him into the main area. The smell of dinner reaches her and she squeezes his hand.

“That smells delicious.”

“Aoi’s work.” Ginnojo hesitates. “You must be hungry. Would you --” but she shakes her head at him.

“We’ve spent so much time waiting for each other, Ginnojo.” Her entire face flushes with her own shamelessness, but her eyes are still dark with yearning when he meets them. “Please, let’s let dinner wait instead.”

Ginnojo doesn’t trust his voice to form coherent words after that. He brings her hand to his lips in place of speech, and leads her to the curtained alcove where his futon is laid out. The two of them kneel on the bedclothes and stare at each other. Finally, Futaba makes the first move.

“May I --” Her voice cracks and she giggles helplessly. This seems to release the tension from both of them, and Ginnojo leans forward to kiss her laughing mouth.

“You may do anything you like, with me,” he assures her.

“Oh, I intend to,” she murmurs into his mouth while her hands caress his nape. They continue to kiss as her fingers delicately trace the collar of his kimono, following it down his chest to the cord holding his obi. She makes a delighted ‘ah’ sound when the knot springs easily free and his kimono gapes open. He lets her push the garment off his shoulders and pulls his arms free to capture her before she can start on his nagajuban. Instead he pulls her down to lay on the futon next to him.

He’s spent many hours considering this, whether to be above or below her. Below, he fears, will make her feel exposed, but if he leans above she may feel trapped. Eventually, he decided, beside is the happiest medium. His overthinking is rewarded by her head resting on his arm and her lips against his neck.

Ginnojo returns the favour immediately, burying his nose in her hair while his lips explore the soft skin where her jaw meets her ear. She smells of lotus flowers and sandalwood hair oil, and the faintest hint of salt from the sweat of the day that crazes him with thoughts of the sea. He moans against her ear, crushing her close to him while his free hand roams down the curve of her back, finding the ties of her hakama.

“May I --?” He asks, even as his eager fingers begin tugging at the knot.

“Please.” She gasps into his neck. The ties fall open and there is a sudden flurry of hands as they both tug her kimono free of the loosening trousers.

At last they are both down to a single layer of clothing. Ginnojo presses more kisses down her throat, across her breastbone, drags his lips across her clavicle, pushing her nagajuban open with his mouth until he can taste the shallow dip where it meets her shoulder. Futaba’s hands still, and he casts his eyes up to her in concern.

Her eyes are closed, her lips are parted, and her breath comes in soft gasps. Her face is a picture of need, and Ginnojo is frozen with the sudden wave of wanting that crashes over him like a tsunami. Futaba’s eyelashes flutter open again.

“Ginnojo.” She eases onto her back and tugs him up to her face. “Ginnojo.”

“Are you all right?” He is suddenly afraid that he’s pushed her too quickly, but she slides her hand inside his nagajuban, splaying her fingers over his heart. He feels it hammering against his breastbone.

“I’m fine,” she reassures him. “I just -- please. Don’t stop.”

“I don’t want to hurry you.” Oji’s admonition echoes in his memory.

She gives him a breathtaking smile, like the petals of a lotus opening at dawn. Her small fingers find the knot in his datejime and she raises her eyebrows at him in question. He nods, his throat suddenly dry, and she pulls it open, baring his chest. Her eyes widen as she takes him in; the weight of her gaze reminds him of the many scars his clothing hides. Scars do not appear to be on her mind though.

“I always wondered,” she murmurs, “How far down your scales went.”

His own eyes widen. That she might find him as attractive an Ayakashi as she does as a man has never occurred to him. He examines the thought, and discovers it refreshes him like cool water on a warm day.

“You will have many opportunities to find out,” he promises. “But for today,” he lowers his head to nose at the hollow of her throat, “I think we have enough new territory to discover.”

Futaba’s head tilts back and her back arches, hair snaking across the futon, and Ginnojo takes the invitation to slide her nagajuban off her shoulders. He watches her breasts fall free, small and round and flushed, with a dusky bud of gathered flesh that seems perfectly made to draw into his mouth, so he does, and feels her rapturous gasp in the pit of his stomach. It draws his attention to his own need; he realises he is erect, and has been for some time. It catches in his nagajuban and he makes a noise of frustration around the nipple in his mouth. Futaba seems to understand the problem.

“Still too many clothes?” The question is breathy, but there is nothing tentative about the way she yanks his final layer off of him. “Sit up, please.” He pushes upright, worried again, but she follows him quickly. “I want to see you.”

Ginnojo sits back on his heels and rests his hands on his thighs, resisting the urge to clasp them over his groin. He can feel the flush of desire and embarrassment spreading down his chest. Futaba kneels before him, placing her hands over his, and leans in to kiss him again.

“I just want to look at you, Ginnojo.” Her lips press against his mouth, then his nose, then his forehead. “I want to engrave you in my memory, this first time I get to see all of you.” She pushes back and he sees her eyes drop to his erection. It twitches upright, aware of being the centre of attention. Ginnojo bites his lip and casts his gaze up to the ceiling, about to die of lust or embarrassment, he’s not sure which.

Warm fingers stroke his length, and a groan escapes him before he can stifle it. Futaba is running her fingertips up and down him. “It’s so warm, and velvety.” Her voice is thick with desire, and he can see the damp glisten on her inner thighs. She flicks her eyes up at him through her eyelashes.

“Futaba -- “ He swallows thickly, not sure he’s still capable of organised thought. “Futaba, please, I need --” Words fail him, but he surges up on his knees and takes her by the shoulders, crushing her against his mouth as her soft belly presses against his throbbing length. Her shocked little gasp melts into a happy moan as her hands slide around his ribs and down his spine.

At last they break for air, and Ginnojo is uncomfortably aware he has been rutting arrhythmically against her stomach. She isn’t bothered though, running her fingers through the damp streaks he’s leaving with an expression of wonderment. She licks a fingertip.

“Oh. I wasn’t expecting it to taste salty.” She runs the rest of her fingertips across his lips, and his own scent on her hits him like a storm at sea, thunder crashing in his head as he pushes her back down to the futon and dives down her body to the salty apex of her. Oji has warned him of this, of the need to prepare her to receive him, and he fears he’ll lose control of himself if he lets her torment him any further.

She cries out as he noses into the soft hair, parting her lips to taste the salty musk between them. His tongue laps out, searching, searching, and the shivering of her thighs around him tells him he’s found the centre of her. He sucks it in, the stigma protected by the calyx of her hips, and brings his fingers to brush against the petals of her sex, seeking the dew of his lotus flower. Here, there is no flowery scent, just the salt of her pulling his fingers inside her like the moon calling the tide. She arches above him, moaning his name as his callused fingers explore her slick warmth. Her hands land in his hair and he readies himself to pull back, but she clutches him tight against her. “More -- oh please, Ginno-- don’t stop!”

Encouraged thus, he crooks his fingers inside her, delving for the spot Oji had described, that firm locus behind her slippery velvet walls. When he finds it, she tenses, her clutching hands and shaking thighs trapping him within her as her sex clenches around him. Her moans spiral up into a crescendo of wordless cries.

Finally, she relaxes, boneless. Ginnojo gently withdraws his hand, pressing a final kiss to her centre before pushing himself up her body to look into her face. Her head lolls towards him on the bedspread of her hair and she gives him a languid smile. “Oh, Ginnojo. That was so beautiful.”

Shaking with relief and his own need, Ginnojo kisses her damp forehead. “No, Futaba. You are the beautiful one.” His slightly sticky fingers trace around the underside of her breast, enjoying the delicate skin. “I only bring forth what is already there.”

She’s already so flushed he’s surprised she’s able to blush at his words. In lieu of answer, she pulls him down for a languorous kiss, mouth loose and open, inviting his tongue to slip into her mouth. He presses the length of his body against her, clinging to her hair and waist, his arousal rock hard against her thigh. “Please,” he whispers. “Please, may I --?” His hips rut against her helplessly. “Let me love you.”

She nods silently, smiling, her eyes still dark and hazy. He moves over her, carefully positioning himself, and almost forgets what his goal was as the head of him drags through her wet petals. His heartfelt groan is echoed in the scrape of her fingernails against his biceps. With agonising slowness, he presses into her, feeling her give way inch by searing inch. At last he meets resistance, and remembers the last of Oji’s advice. “This part --” He gasps with the strain of holding steady. “This last part will hurt, for just a moment.”

Her smile has become unfocused as her attention turns inwards to his intrusion, but she drags herself back to meet his eyes. “I know, Ginnojo. It’s all right.”

He presses his face into her neck, mouthing comfort as his hips drive forwards with no input from his brain. He hears the hiss of her breath between her teeth as he breeches that final barrier to pin her to the futon. Her arms lock around him, preventing him from pulling back, so he trails kisses up her neck and across her face, tracing her lips with his tongue until she opens to him and sucks him in. As their kisses become deeper, her hips cant towards him, urging him to move at last.

Ginnojo rocks against her, easing back and thrusting forwards again and again. One of her heels lodges in the small of his back, pulling him deeper. Unnecessarily, some small spectacting part of his brain supplies. He doesn’t think he could stop now if his life depended on it. He is drowning in her, pulled deep within her with the force of an undertow, and he can tell she feels it too as she clenches tighter around him. He finds himself biting into her shoulder and tugging her hair, and she looses that crescendoing siren’s call again. He can feel the tension rising in his gut as she shakes under him, and pure animal instinct plunges him into her faster and faster until the lightning strikes and the heat pours out of him like waves crashing on the shore.

“Nnngggh --!” He’s heard himself make that noise before, his spectacting brain mentions, but that time he was the one being stabbed. He slumps onto her, completely unable to support his own weight, and she sighs blissfully under him.

It’s several minutes before he can gather himself to move again, and it’s only enough to roll to one side, careful not to trap her arm. Futaba follows, draping herself across his shoulder and chest, her hair spreading across him like seaweed and legs tangling with his. They lie there in silence, watching the last of the sun’s rays creep across the curtain.

Futaba mumbles into his neck, and he tilts his head to look down at her.

“Pardon?” His voice feels raw and rusty.

She shifts to free her mouth and tries again. “It’s like the calm after a storm,” she whispers.

Ginnojo smiles into her hair. “May we have many more storms like this one.”

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

The next day, a courier delivered a package to Oji at Raccord: two lotus flowers, blooming in a glass bowl of water. Aoi never did figure out why Oji laughed so hard, or why, when Futaba came in after school that day, she flushed so red at the sight of them.

#ayakashi romance reborn #ayakashi rr #ayakashi romance reborn fanfic #ayakashi ginnojo #smut #writing #rating: carolina reaper

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junetuesday · 6 years

Text

If It Means A Lot To You

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Word count: 1412

Prompt: If It Means a Lot to You by A Day To Remember

Warnings: sadness and a couple of swear words

A/N: this is my (late, whoops) contribution to @starksparker‘s writing challenge! love you girl, hope you like it.

Sat cross-legged on your bed with your laptop in front of you, you waited for Skype to connect your video call. You pulled the crewneck of your sweatshirt up over your nose and mouth, closing your eyes and letting the familiar scents fill your senses. The sweatshirt smelt of his cologne and the detergent he used, you’d just showered with his bodywash, and the combination was almost enough to let you believe he was really there. Almost.

“Hey, darling.”

The audio connected first, the sound of Tom’s voice preceding his appearance on your screen by a few seconds. He was fresh out of the shower, too, his hair damp and curling across his forehead. You could see a towel thrown onto the bed behind where he sat at the desk in his hotel room. Pulling the sweatshirt away from your face, you returned his bright smile with a tired one of your own, your eyes scanning over his face.

“You alright?”

You bit your lip, nodding slowly. You clearly were not alright - you hadn’t said a single word since the call connected- but you didn’t want to get into it. He’d been away well over a month now, and over the last few days it had started to get to you. Lately, you felt like all you did was go to work, come home to an empty house, sleep, and repeat - it was draining, to say the least. All you wanted was to wake up to him, warm and comforting beside you, legs tucked in behind yours and face buried in your neck, and stay like that for at least 3-5 business days, thank you very much.

Tom sighed, his smile fading from his lips, and you felt your throat start to tighten. You swallowed, determined not to get upset, and propped your elbow up on your knee to rest your chin on your palm.

“Yeah, fine. How was your day?”

You were obviously lying, it was all over your face and your posture, and you could tell from his face he was analysing the image of you on his screen, weighing up whether to let it slide or press you. You watched him take a deep breath in, nodding as he exhaled before telling you about his day.

Glancing up at him every so often, you focused your attention on your keyboard as he talked. You traced your finger around the edge of the keys, his voice pushed to the background as thoughts raced through your mind . You knew it was hard for him too, and you didn’t want to blame him - he was working, and he loved his job and it was all he’d ever wanted, and who were you to try to take that away from him? To ask him to put you first? You couldn’t help it though, it just felt like you weren’t complete when he wasn’t there. But, it wasn’t like he wanted to leave you behind, he just -

“Sweetheart?”

You were so caught up in your internal monologue that it was only when you tilted your head to absentmindedly inspect a section of your space bar that felt different to the rest, shiny and worn by your thumb hitting the same spot over the years, that you realised Tom was trying to get your attention. You hummed, not looking up from the keys.

“Please talk to me.” His voice was soft, pleading.

You looked up, but the screen was blurred, and it took you a moment to realise it was because tears had welled in your eyes. Your bottom lip started to tremble as you spoke.

“I just…,” your voice was muffled by your fingers, curled up in front of your lips, your nails digging into your palm. You closed your eyes, taking a deep, shaky breath. “Wait.”

Sitting up straight on the bed, your fingers flicked across the trackpad as you came out of the full screen video so you could type a message instead. You knew if you tried to talk you wouldn’t be able to, the words would catch in your throat and all that you’d manage would be half sentences and I-don’t-know’s cut off by sobs.

Sorry it’s just easier to type

You watched Tom shift in his seat, clicking on your message and nodding - you’d talked like this before, whenever you had too many words flying around your brain and too many emotions to be able to get them to come out of your mouth the way you wanted them to. He couldn’t type as fast as you, though, and he was better at expressing himself verbally anyway, so he would just respond out loud.

“S’okay, go on.”

I just miss you

“I mi-”

It’s like I’m just existing when you’re not here

Tom’s shoulders slumped as he sighed instead of finishing his sentence, letting you finish.

I had another shit day at my shit job that im shit at and I just

He chewed at his lip - he wanted to tell you you’re not shit at your job, but he knew that wasn’t the point, so he kept quiet.

I wish you were here

I know its so so selfish of me and you can t and i hate that im even saying this like i would never ask you to give anything up for me

You sniffed, blinking away tears as they trickled down your cheeks. Your eyes were fixed on your keyboard, your fingers dancing across the keys. More and more typos were creeping in as you typed faster - apostrophes and capitals and syntax were not at the forefront of your mind.

I just want you to come home

You paused, looking up at Tom. The light of his laptop was reflected in his eyes, dark in the low light as they flicked across the screen taking in your words.

“I know. I’ll be home soon though, just a couple more days.”

You nodded, closing your eyes and running your fingers lightly over the keys as you considered your next words.

For how long

Youre here and then youre gone again

And i need you

I need you to be here and you’re not and i just

I need more

You bit your lip, sobs rising in your throat as you paused again. In the absence of your fingers tapping away at the keys, it was silent as Tom read and processed and tried to come up with something to say.

“I’m sorry -”

You nodded again slowly, swallowing hard as you typed. Hesitating, you closed your eyes as you hit enter.

I think I need more than you can give me

“- I, what?”

You forced yourself to open your eyes, to look at him. His face matched his tone, confusion plain across his features as he fumbled for words.

“What? No, just -”

You were crying properly now, but you didn’t bother to wipe away your tears, you just let them fall, collecting in a puddle on your laptop. This wasn’t what you meant to happen - you never thought you’d be having this conversation, let alone over Skype. But it was like once you started typing, the words were on the screen before you even thought of them, and once you saw them there in black in white you knew they were true.

“-just wait, okay, I’ll be home soon and, and I can-, we can-, I love you -”

“I know,” you sighed.

You stared at each other on your screens - you were both just so tired. Tired of the distance and tired of feeling like you were missing parts of yourselves.

“I’ll come home tomorrow, okay,” his voice was rushed, desperate. “We can make this work, it’ll-it’ll be okay.”

You sighed again - you were starting to feel like all either of you ever did was sigh.

“We’ll be okay,” Tom whispered, as much for his own benefit as yours. He wasn’t sure if you heard him, you were just staring blankly at your screen - but then you nodded. Small at first, then more pronounced as you tried to convince yourself that his words were true. You swallowed, tugging the sleeves of your sweatshirt down over your hands and wiping them across your cheeks.

Tom sniffed, swallowing hard before he tried again.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you smiled sadly, your eyes locking onto his on the screen. Even though you didn’t say it, you both knew it was there; the three letter word that compromises the integrity of the others - but.

@bi-writes , @softspideys , @buckyparkerish , @thwippeter , @upsidedownparker , @cutiehollands , @loserparker , @madmadmilk , @hollandlovely @spiderboytotherescue , @hollandpumpkin @dtftomholland@moonkissedtom @cabbagebag @iknowisoundcrazy , @spiderman-n , @luvnyuh , @notimeforthemessenger @thwip-it-real-good @positiveparker @ap93mcu@popculture-parker @rainbow-marvel

#kavys10kwc #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fic #tom holland oneshot #tom holland angst

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mythicaldemigoddess-of-deltarune · 5 years

Photo

I wanted to do a drawing

of Sans’s secret twin sister San in AFAC style,

I even decided to give her a new color of clothes to make her well let’s say stand out from Sans, when she is dressed in the same color clothes as Sans, the only thing that is different is that she is female and the fact she always wears black tights

and like I said in the description over at Deviantart

San’s own Empathy

can be strong just like Sans’s own Apathy

this makes the two polar opposites of each other

plus I like the idea of San having the power of making herself or others either it be human or monster or pet or plant invisible

plus when I was posting this drawing over at Deviantart,

it had just hit me on that very day…..

that the outfit makes San look like a bee lol

and I decided that San is a double trait,

one side is Justice and the other side is Patience

San knows that Chara is being used as a scapegoat and they aren’t the real threat to the underground…

but San knows that Sans wouldn’t listen and he’s set in his mindset that Chara was always the evil one

but that isn’t true,

San knows that the reason Chara becomes all Geno-Chara is because of the corruption when the true anomaly convinces Frisk to kill,

it was never Chara who did this and San’s knows this

and as I said before,

San knows that Chara is just being used

and she knows that Frisk is being used as a scapegoat too

besides the whole having the ability to use invisibility

I like the idea that San can make others forget her, like before she moves to the capital

so she will no longer switch places with Sans,

so he could take a nap without Papyrus knowing.

one of the reasons why San left Snowdin

was because of Sans, being tired of trying to reason with someone who can’t see that Chara ain’t the real enemy and they are just being used as a scapegoat

can be emotionally draining,

I think the spell she could of used

could be called Amnesia Blizzard

like it appears as snow

but really it’s magic

if magically programed right

it will make one or more forget a certain subject or person.

San had programed it to make everyone including San and Papyrus forget her, well if Papyrus found out there were two of Sans and finds out he has a sister….

and well figuratively speaking

if San did exist in the AFAC AU

then she would still use such a magic

Amnesia Blizzard,

but could of used it when she was a child on Sans, Papyrus and Gaster to have them forget her while she ran away from home and lived maybe in the ruins,

but finding out about the riverperson

San uses the Amnesia Blizzard on them too

San knows that

depending on the programing of the magic spell

(which some monsters hardly use and they only use the shield or attack or healing forms of magic.)

the Amnesia Blizzard has it’s limits on how long it will last

which is why San would have to sneak into Sans and Papyrus’s rooms respectively and cast it and since Gaster has been in the dimension between time and space, the spell was able to last way longer because where Gaster was before, the spell was frozen.

but with Gaster being return,

San will have to cast the Amnesia Blizzard spell on him just as many times as she has done to Papyrus, Sans and Hermann

(remember this is all figuratively if she were in the AFAC, but I believe in any timeline and au, she would still use such magic such as amnesia blizzard, invisibility and any other magic she has learned)

I’m thinking of her being able to use Familiar Magic,

like being able to summon a Familiar and cast transformation spells.

and if I had to pick what kind of Familiar San would be bonded to

it would be a Magical Beast, not to be confused with how some monsters are anthropomorphic, a Magical Beast would be a type of magical animal that has been around much longer than monsters and humans and were the first magical beings that dominated the planet before monsters and humans came along.

San’s Familiar Magical Beast, is a Cat

well it takes the form of a normal house cat

but it’s true form is very big, like bigger than a lion or bear

so about half the size of a full grown elder dragon

I want to draw San’s Magical Beast Familiar XD

and transformation spells can be tricky on the first try

and it could of taken San 10 years to master it, well that is the idea I want to go with how long it took her to master such magic.

and even if some think it a double trait isn’t canon to Undertale

(or even Deltarune)

but in Nintendo Switch, it shows in the fight with Mad Mew Mew

(I like to call them Madmewy)

the soul is red on one side

and on the other it is a light blue or cyan color

which makes it a double trait, so Nintendo Switch has made Double Traits Possible and it’s just Fanon anymore.

but being a Double Trait could be a very rare thing to have

and I still believe that Kris’s true trait is Patience

this is because when they go to the dark world

their hair and skin become a type of blue color

(the hair might appear black but it’s really a dark blue)

this is because Kris, the real them is shining through even though they are being controlled by the Red Soul.

I know a lot of fans believe that the Red Soul is Determination

but I don’t believe that at all, I mean I use to but I believe that this Determination is really the Human’s Blood not the Soul

the Red Soul’s true name is Ambition

and when a human has both the flowing blood of determination and the soul of ambition inside of them, they work perfectly together and

are very powerful and are able to use the power of Reset

in theory maybe the other Humans with different Soul Trait

could his or her or their special powers

and once again Kris’s Soul Trait can not be the Red Soul

if it were, then Kris would of appeared Red in the dark world

not blue, them appearing as a blue color shows that the true soul inside them that is theirs is reflecting out

I believe that Susie’s soul trait is Perseverance

this is because she still appears purple when she goes to the dark world but I guess depending on the shad of purple if it matches the soul the color could be light or dark

if the monster is already one of the two.

plus if I had to pick who to trust more Flowey or Ralsei

I’m going to have to go with Flowey, even if Ralsei might seem sweet and kind......I know they are hiding something....and it ain’t no way that he’s the true Prince of The Dark with all those Delta Runes around his home.....he looks like a Angel and talks like a Angel,

but he’s a Demon Lord in disguise!

you know like those RPG where the Hero has to face a Demon Lord...

and if it’s okay to say, if Toriel’s OTP is Rose & Greg

I can’t help but think Sans’s twin sister San’s OTP

would be Eclipsa & Globgor

Globgor is AWESOME,

and for me those two are the perfect One True Pairing

and I believe that if I had a counterpart in SVTFOE

they would be a Mewman/Monster, this is because I had figured out the similarities that the mewmans and monsters have to those in real life from the history of how America was formed.

so my great-great-grandmother was a full Cherokee

so if I lived in the fictional world of SVTFOE

my great-great-grandmother in that world would be a Monster

Star’s own Great-Great-Grandma Shy

(Full Name Celena Butterfly, also called Celena The Shy)

was clearly a hybrid between a Mewman and Monster

I did a drawing of Celena, Garnet, Baby Meteora, Steven and Lancer

over at Deviantart, the drawing has writing on it

it says “We Are Made of Love”

the reason why I added Lancer into it, is because of my new theory which is that Lancer’s mother was a Lightener either Human or Monster type Lightener.

Meteora is more than the two of Eclipsa and Globgor

she is her father’s fury and her mother’s patience

she is a fusion of love between a monster and mewman

and fusions ain’t gonna follow human, mewman or monsters rules

cause they are made of love

not the Level of violence love, but Love.

anyway I really think the Black & Yellow outfit works for San

and they really do look like a bee wearing it XD

the next time I draw San in such a outfit, I think I will change the socks.

I can’t wait to see the episode of SVTFOE where we will finally see “Marco Jr.” but even if Marco’s little sibling is suppose to be a boy we can’t just rule out the possibility of them being either a boy or girl

I’m thinking up drawing up a new Fem-Agender Flag

Fem-Agender

(which is with those who were born female but feel agender too)

are half binary & half non-binary, the same can be said for those who were born male but feel between their birth gender

and being agender too.

I mean in most timelines and au

Chara, Frisk and Kris are either Male, Female or Agender

so why not Fem-Agender and Male-Agender too?

plus I still believe that a Chara who is born male in each timeline

and goes by the male pronouns, would hate humanity because of the name they were given.....cause once again Chara is a REAL NAME and isn’t from the word Character.

the only name that is truly a name that is shared between a boy and girl

would be Kris, well Sam too and any other unisex names

the name Chara is a Girl’s name

and it doesn’t come from the word Character,

but it appears some have mistaken it to be so.

and I know some know the truth about the name Chara

by the way when I say that the Submit as well as Asks are closed

I mean it is closed to everyone, I can still submit some stuff but only if I open up the submit once again and well I guess there are still other ways to submit but I like this better.

so after posting this up,

I’m going to have the submit back to being closed.

I decided to make a Ask Kris, and even have them be Fem-Agender

and well in other timelines

they could be Female or Male or Male-Agender or Agender.

but yeah the asks are closed.

anyway see ya later and stay safe everyone.

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rosinapowrie-blog · 5 years

Text

The Teacher Dichotomy: the problem with hero teachers.

“The only thing I know for sure is that I know nothing at all, for sure” – Socrates

Learning isn't just about passing exams. Since starting a career in teaching four years ago, I have struggled to remember this myself, let alone show pupils what they could be missing out on. In response, I set up a school society mimicking TEDx Talks, giving kids the chance to listen to in interesting lecture at lunchtime with no hidden agenda: simply to try to show them that academia goes beyond mark schemes and box ticks. This was my opening address entitled 'The Teacher Dichotomy: the problem with hero teachers.'

_______________________________________________________________________In my first fortnight of teaching at a prestigious new school, once we got over that slightly awkward unsure phase of ‘nu teacher who dis,’ a student asked me where I’d been to university and what I’d studied...

‘St Andrews, in Scotland... where Prince William went’ (I added after only a minuscule pause which I have become accustomed to when speaking of the tiny town on the East Fife coast). ‘I read English Literature, but did loads of modules in Philosophy, Classics, Art History... it was good.’ ‘Wow’ the student replied, ‘that’s like really good isn’t it? You must be... like... really clever..!’ And then the student said the 10 words that have shocked me the most in my haggering career as an educator... ‘So why did you end up as a teacher then?’ Now I am not so naive as to think that this is simply one view held by one teenager in that particular moment... What this delightful girl had uttered was probably the ultimate Freudian slip of today’s youth... you lot just don’t see the value in education for its own sake... you think that school is just something you have to get through, preferably do well at, then you can start living your best life. But this must be challenged: if we know and accept that gaining knowledge is a vital crevasse to conquer whilst mountaineering the Range of Success, why do we see it merely as a means to an end? Why can we not enjoy the ride, live in the moment, and value our opportunity to learn new stuff? Why is it that, still in 2018, when teaching is known to be one of the most draining and stringently trained professions, requiring the skill and discipline of an artist, athlete and jail warden simultaneously all before 9am 5 days a week, do our very target audience view our profession as a sort of embarrassing accident that losers happen to fall into? Perhaps you are already outraged by my cynicism. I am aware I am currently preaching to the converted - you guys have chosen to spend your lunch time in this room pursuing knowledge and discussion. But I vehemently believe that this modern apathy to education is due largely to the portrayal of teachers in the media and popular culture. I don’t solely mean the ludicrous click bait that floods your newsfeeds every day (I’m thinking headlines such as ‘boy of 1 wins Nobel peace prize for finding cure to cancer despite failing all GCSEs - who needs em anyway’ or even just the multitude of distracting cat videos you’d much rather be watching), I mean those subliminal messages in books, TV and film that have been drip fed to my generation and yours in our formative years. I’m talking about The Teacher Dichotomy: heroes vs villains. By this, I mean that teachers are firmly type cast into two roles: the sickening sycophant who inspires their flock with their unconventional quirks and flagrant disregard for any sort of teaching standard... that one who really gets down to da youf’s level. Or, worse, the maniacal villain who struts around with a cape and cane doling out detentions and appearing entirely inhumane. The inability to portray teachers as warm blooded mammals with the same instincts, desires and fears as the rest of the world has not only devalued the joy of education, it actually undermines the incredible passion and hard work that goes into just the average, unmemorable bog standard Mr or Mrs Bloggs’ daily job as a teacher. On demand, could anyone name an example of just a regular teacher that a) exists in a book/film etc and b) fulfils meaningful purpose in the plot purely in his or her role as educator and not for any other reason? Three examples analysed... Firstly, our heroes: I’ll start with that that ever hilarious, ever chaotic excuse for a school teacher portrayed by loveable comedian Jack Whitehall in popular BBC3 series ‘Bad Education.’ Alfie Wickers, the History NQT at Abbey Grove School, prefers to befriend students rather than enable them responsibly to achieve their potential. His typical pedagogy includes such escapades as practical re-enactments of battles, or ‘Class Wars’, where any Ofsted inspector would literally have a fit at the flagrant violation for safeguarding an 'ealf and safety. Yet Mr Wickers is respected by Form K – they even like him and learn from him – but do we see any assessment, formative or summative? Do we see him planning or marking? Do we see him tracking progress and planning interventions? While it may be a TV show, and art does not need to imitate life, the point is that Mr Wickers is seen as a fun, likeable teacher. If he did anything that he was actually supposed to, he would be seen as boring. And what sort of message is that sending a young audience – that the people who dedicate their lives to ensuring their progress in a conventional way are not heroes. Only those who offer them fun and entertainment, and no actual learning, are.

At the other end of the positive spectrum, there are those sorts of hero teachers who move students emotionally, yet still wouldn’t actually pass an observation. The epitome is John Keating – the maverick English master portrayed by Robin Williams in the classic ‘80s film, ‘Dead Poets Society.’ Keating encourages his vulnerable student, Anderson, to come out of his shell by joining the eponymous banned extracurricular club. Here, he forges friendships with unlikely characters and experiences true life and love by looking at poetry differently and forgetting the pressures and requirements of school. Professor Keating is eventually called out for his disregard for school standards and duly sacked, leaving the boys chanting a heart-wrenching chorus of Whitman’s ‘O Captain, my Captain’ whilst standing on desks. It’s the ultimate bildungsroman: the boys have come of age, and Keating helped them get there. Yet again, his inspiring nature is not at all borne of his skill in traditional education methods, but rather the fact that he ignores them completely. Yet another example of the hero teacher, shaming regular teachers into the background of mediocrity.

And now the other end of the spectrum – the villains. Who better to analyse than Rowling’s malevolent Professor Umbridge, who swans into Hogwarts in The Order of the Phoenix with the sole aim of making monumental, ‘Ministry approved’ changes to the school curriculum and generally shaking the status quo. Fans of the series, let’s forget the reasons behind our negative view of Umbridge’s changes for now (the government’s refusal to believe that Voldemort has returned, etc) and read this simply as a teacher trying to raise standards by reviewing current practice and attempting to embed systemic change. We see this when she addresses the school for the first time: ‘some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited." This sounds rather like a forward-thinking teacher, school leader or governor wanting to make improvements, yet she is completely slated and seen as evil. For example, what are her actual crimes: conducting lesson observations of fellow staff? Holding staff accountable for their performance and the progress of pupils, and removing them from post if they are not up to scratch? Ensuring that the curriculum is standardized? Essentially, all things that normal teachers do in normal schools to meet the teachers’ standards and provide robust education systems. However, she is utterly vilified for doing so: so much so that Rowling chooses to portray her as committing the ultimate teacher-sin – failing to safeguard students and actually physically assaulting them in her detentions. This is a choice the author has made: to show traditional schooling and education standards as petty compared to the great, heroic things that the rest of the Hogwarts teachers inspire the heard with. The irony is that Umbridge is certainly the only member of staff who would even pass a PGCE, let alone be promoted to senior leadership, in real life. Yet again, we see the dichotomy in action, reinforcing that subliminal message that traditional education is nasty, negative and pointless.

The glass ceiling must be broken and education needs to be esteemed once more. The conditioning we’ve been subjected to through popular culture has not helped, but now we have been enlightened to our ignorance. The great irony is that if we enjoy the ride, stop seeing education as a means to end, but rather an end in itself, then you will get further in life if you have become a fully rounded person with a broad cultural capital. Take umbrage with Umbridge: value your current opportunities and enjoy learning your subjects even if you never need to use that information again.

#teaching #englishteaching #cultural capital #tedxtalks #heroteachers #doloresumbridge #johnkeating #deadpoetssociety #bad education #socrates #knowledge #teachingandlearning #pedagogy #academia

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bughead-is-riverdale · 7 years

Text

Riverdale Imagine: The Playbook (Jason x Reader)

Requested by @pottersnitch : Could you please write something about Jason Blossom? Like he and the reader are dating and then she finds out about the playbook and have a huge fight but make up because of Cheryl.

A/N: I had to type this up on my phone so there may be some spelling errors and I couldn't put anything in bold/italics so I'll edit it on my computer and add it to my masterlist when I get home from holiday.

Approx. 2200 words

As you rolled over in bed, the nausea you had been experiencing throughout the day threatened to resurface. You groaned and clutched at your empty stomach, it churned as if it was filled with a nest of slimy eels. You were drenched in sweat from fever, you knew that your bedroom was cold because it was the middle of winter and you could see the cloud of your breath escaping from your chapped lips as you exhaled, but the sickness-bug had trapped you in a permanent humidity. At some point during the day, you had even opened your bedroom window, and frost was beginning to creep onto the window sill. Hearing a gentle knock on your door, you forced yourself into a sitting-position, resting on a mountain of cushions.

"Come in" you called weakly.

"How's the patient?" you heard your favourite voice tease. You felt a smile spread across your face as a familiar red-haired boy peered around your door, his brown eyes regarding you with concern, making your heart flutter involuntarily. The few months that you and Jason had been together had felt like a dream. You had been pining after him for the majority of your high-school life, and you still couldn't quite believe that he was yours. As he almost glided into your room and cautiously sat down on the edge of your bed, a lock of his silky hair fell onto his forehead and you couldn't help but think that he was beautiful. He didn't have Archie's muscular frame, or Reggie's charming smile, but somehow he was much more attractive than any of the other boys at school. He looked delicate, like a porcelain doll with his pale complexion and angular features, and his muscle was lean and wiry, clinging to his lanky frame. He was just as strong as any other boy on the football team though, he would always carry you around at any opportunity, gathering you up like a princess in his arms. You watched in fascination as his long white fingers danced over the skin of your arm, the sensation of his touch sending what felt like an electric current through your body. You wondered if you would ever get used to this, or would his touch always make your heart lurch. Suddenly, his concerned expression turned into one of disapproval as his attention was caught by the open window, he frowned.

"Y/N! No wonder you're ill, it's like Narnia in here!" Jason groaned, hastily closing your window.

"No JJ!" you wined, "I'm too hot!" He sighed and opened the window again, but only slightly.

"I brought you some ginger tea" he said proudly, pulling an enormous flask from his school bag, smiling like a child who had received a gold star. "It's supposed to help with nausea." You groaned internally. Your mum had practically been force-feeding you ginger tea for two days and you weren't sure how much more you could take. You smiled graciously at Jason though, it's the though that counts after all, you could always pour it down the sink later.

"Thanks babe, that's so sweet of you" you enthused. "Also, could I possibly borrow your English book so I can catch up on today's notes?" He quickly dug through his bag and handed you the typical dark-green notebook that everyone used for English, before checking the time and muttering something about extra football practice. He leant towards you and kissed you sweetly on the cheek, his long lashes brushed your temple and his warm breath on your skin made your cheeks blush pink. He smelled like pine-wood and maple syrup and you wondered if you would ever stop loving this boy, you thought it was unlikely.

Later that evening, after you had subtly got rid of the abundance of ginger tea and successfully kept down some plain pasta, you unwillingly sat down at your desk and opened Jason's English book. Except, it wasn't his English book. The inside cover was entitled 'The Playbook' and the names of all the boy on the football team were written in block capitals, including Jason's. Assuming that it was a notebook that the team used to keep track of points scored during games, or fitness progress, you turned a few of the pages curiously. As you scanned a couple of pages however, a cold feeling began to spread through your body, it was as of the temperature in the room had suddenly plummeted. The boys weren't keeping track of their football progress at all, they were recording their sexual 'conquests'. Your heart began to thump forcefully in your chest as you flipped through the pages with shaking hands, anxious to discover if Jason's 'conquests' had also been recorded, and if you were among them. As you turned the next page, the paper slipping through your frozen fingers, you wanted to throw up at what you saw. 'JASON BLOSSOM' was written across the top of the page in typical untidy boyish scrawl, that wasn't what horrified you though. Under the names of Jason's ex-girlfriends and hook-ups read:

Y/N Y/L/N - 8/10 points for appearance, 10 points for being a virgin (extra 10 points when you take her virginity), but lose 5 points for feelings

You could have sworn that you felt your heart crack. The boy you had been in love with for years was only dating you so he could record you in some stupid playbook, so he could compete with his friends. Had he been planning to just dump you once he had taken your virginity? To collect his points and move onto the next girl? Your eyes stung with tears and you gritted your teeth in anger, you would not cry over this, you promised yourself. Instead, you took careful photos of each page in 'The Playbook' and texted them to both your best-friends, Betty Cooper and Veronica Lodge, with a quick explanation as to what you had discovered.

BC: What the fuck is this? Xx

VL: Chuck is going down if he ever thought he could 'score' me in some fucking book!! Xx

A cold smile spread across your features as you were suddenly hit with how to expose the football team and break up with Jason at exactly the same time.

Y/N: Alright girls, we're going to put on a little show xx

"I can't believe how many times I've been recorded in this stupid book" Veronica seethed, her perfectly manicured nails digging into the book's dark-green cover. "Half of these have just been made up, I never made out with Reggie at the Christmas party."

"It's irrelevant whether it's true or not, Ronnie" Betty cautioned, "the book just shouldn't exist."

"As for Jason" Veronica continued in an alarmingly threatening voice, "I'm going to rip his balls out from under him with -"

"Talk of the devil" you muttered, watching your soon-to-be ex-boyfriend saunter down the hall with at least half of the football team. Perfect. His chocolate-brown eyes lit up when he saw you and he jogged over to where you were standing by the lockers, his red hair ruffled slightly. Normally, the sight of him made your heart warm, but right now all you wanted to do was punch his beautiful face.

"Hey babe, are you feeling better?" Jason asked sweetly, his head cocking to one side like an adorable puppy, a strand of his ginger hair fell over his eyes. You resisted the urge to push it out of his face, clenching your hands by your sides and staring at him coldly instead.

"Yes, last night I began to feel a lot better" you began, he frowned slightly at the monotonous tone you were using. "But then I read this." Veronica handed you 'The Playbook' and you waved it accusingly in Jason's face. You watched as his expression faltered, his cheeks drained of colour and his eyes widened. "I suppose you know what this is?"

"Y/N, I can explain -" he stammered.

"Actually" you interrupted, "I think the book is pretty self-explanatory don't you think?"

You were beginning to attract people's attention now. Teenagers who were previously engrossed in their phones, or engaged in conversation, were suddenly drawn into the confrontation by the lockers.

"Hey Josie!" You called out to the lead singer of 'The Pussycats', "did you know that Reggie won a whole ten points for kissing you at a party? You're quite a catch, huh? And Val" you continued, turning to the curly-haired girl, "Archie got five points for cheating on you with Cheryl. Didn't you know that? Because it's all recorded in this book." You smiled sweetly at Archie, who was standing just behind Jason, he appeared to be turning a slight green colour and he flashed a guilty look at Val before she stalked down the corridor.

"For anyone who wants to read 'The Playbook'" Betty chimed in, "I've published a copy in the Blue and Gold, there is a stack of papers in every classroom." There was a moment of silence, and then the room exploded. Students ran towards the closest classroom in order to snatch up a copy of the football team's crime. Jason didn't move though, he was still staring at you with the same pained expression.

"Y/N, please can we talk about this?" he begged, clearly sensing the unforgiving anger that was radiating off you in waves.

"There is nothing to talk about" you hissed, trying to hide the hurt in your voice.

"Please, I'm sorry -"

"I don't want your meaningless apologies. All I ever was to you was some casual hook-up, a method in which to win a game with your friends" you were almost shouting now.

"That's not true! I didn't write you into that book!" he answered back, his voice rising too.

"No, but you told them about us! You let them turn me into a fucking points-system!"

"I'm sorry, I'll make this up to you. How do I make this better between us? I'll do anything." his voice had dropped to a whisper.

"You can't do anything except leave me alone. Don't ever speak to me again." The tears you had been holding back spilled from your eyes as you watched Jason's lip quiver, he was shaking his head. Before he had the chance to say anything else, you turned and ran down the corridor, Veronica and Betty following close behind.

The air was filled with exited chatter, and the scent of sweat and perfume was overwhelming. Music blared, colourful lights flashed, and people huddled in groups, gossiping and dancing. The Blossoms' annual end-of-school party was always one of the most anticipated events in Riverdale, you couldn't quite believe that you had received an invitation after what had happened between you an Jason six months ago. As your anger about 'The Playbook' situation had faded, you couldn't help but feel slightly hollow inside, like something was missing. Despite the fact that several guys had asked you out since the break-up, you didn't feel as though you could accept. As much as you hated to admit it, you were still hung up on Jason. Although Betty understood - she had been in love with Archie for years before Jughead came along and swept her off her feet - Veronica was much less forgiving, encouraging you to 'play the field, assuring you that Jason had probably hooked up with multiple girls since. Although, you hadn't seen any evidence of it.

"Y/N! Oh my God you came!" You spun around, wobbling slightly on your heels, and widened your eyes at the sight of Cheryl Blossom beaming at you. You had spoken to Cheryl a few times when you had been dating Jason, but definitely not since. You narrowed your eyes slightly in suspicion as Cheryl brought you in for a tight hug.

"Uh, hi Cheryl. Nice party" you mumbled, still in shock.

"Of course!" she chimed, then her voice dropped to a whisper. "I really need to talk to you, come with me." Before you could object, she was dragging you upstairs. "JJ is still really messed up about your break-up, he won't even come down for the party!" She pouted, clearly disapproving of her brother's stubbornness.

"I seriously doubt that" you muttered.

"You two ended things really badly and he didn't get the chance to properly apologise" she scolded, making you feel as though everything was your fault. "Besides, you have been ignoring his calls." You scowled at her, you had every right to ignore him. You were so busy glaring at Cheryl that you didn't notice where she was taking you. She pushed you gently into one of the numerous rooms that Thornhill consisted of and closed the door behind you with a click. You realised that she had led, or rather trapped, you into Jason's room. Although you had never been there, you recognised the posters of his favourite football team on the walls. As you turned around, your heart began to flutter and your cheeks reddened at the sight of Jason, standing awkwardly next to his bed, fidgeting with his bedcovers. He didn't look surprised to see you, only nervous.

"Hi" he whispered softly.

"Hi" you breathed.

TAGLIST: @kelly27crickett @cjhorseback @rory-is-in-ravenclaw @littlefearsdoodles @happyyjensen @dr-tardis-who

#riverdale imagine #jason x reader #jason blossom x reader #riverdale fanfiction #jason blossom

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snbazanina · 7 years

Note

Azanina (later alternative ending) (The demon Azazel went of somewhere) 2years later Charioce dies because of the lifeforce draining magic the process on his body was slower Azazel comes back to the capital to find Nina because he found a way to restore her voice(something like went off to find sirens (they could be demonic creatures in hiding taught him how to restore a voice) and returns it via a kiss plus help her move forward from Chris's death

Mod Neko here with liquid feelings leaking out of her looking holes. Send help.

This one technically isn’t Azanina but there’s a kiss and Nina feels regret so...it counts? Enjoy!!

Word had travelled quickly that the king of man had died.

It seemed that the crystal used to power dromos didn’t stopafter taking his eyesight and in the end, it took his life.

Surprisingly the first thing that had crossed Azazel’s mindwasn’t that the demons could finally be free once and for all. In fact, thatwas his second thought.

‘What of Nina?’

It was almost absurd that he was more concerned about thehalf dragon girl that didn’t care for him than he was for his race that he hadalmost lost his life countless times trying to save. And yet, it constantly satat the back of his mind, nagging him until he was sure that he would go insane.

“That’s not something that I can answer.”

Azazel had come across Jeanne D’Arc while he was visitingMugaro’s grave and hesitantly asked if she knew what had become of Nina afterCharioce’s passing.

“It’snot like you to care so much about someone other than your lord, Azazel.”

The demon just sighed. “I still owe her my life. And I don’tlike owing favours.”

Jeanne snorted softly, but didn’t say anymore. Azazel mayhave fallen more than once, but his pride still remained intact even aftereverything that had happened. His pride didn’t show outwardly as much anymore,but it was definitely still there. “The last I heard, she was living insolitude on the outskirts of Anatae. I imagine that living within the capitalitself would be difficult, considering she’s still considered a fugitive and Idoubt that being mute would be able to clear anything up-“

“What?”

The ex-saint blinked a few times, surprised that Azazel knewso little of what had become of the girl that he appeared to care for so much.Then again, he couldn’t be blamed given his position in hell. “Ah, that’sright. You left with your lord after the battle against Bahamut. Nina activatedDromos to spare Charioce’s life and lost her voice as consequence.” She couldsee that Azazel was clearly upset. At least it was clear to her. He still looked as stoic as ever,but she had learnt to read the subtle signs that Azazel gave off. He was like abook at times. “Your sages won’t be able to fix something like that, if that’swhat you’re thinking. The damage was done by holy magic. Demons can’t fix itand the gods aren’t in a position to put that much of their already dwindlingpower into a single girl.” Azazel turned on his heel, ready to leave, beforeJeanne spoke up again, “why don’t you ask the Sirens? They would know how torestore a lost voice, would they not?”

The demon didn’t reply, just unfurled his midnight blackwings and shot into the air leaving behind only soft plumes behind as evidenceof his presence. Jeanne sighed, and glanced toward the gravestone of her child.“Even now…he hasn’t changed at all, has he?” Maybe he hadn’t changed, or maybehe had in ways so drastic that she couldn’t help but accept this version ofAzazel as his true self. He was impossible to understand sometimes.

Usually it was dangerous to be within earshot of a siren.Demons, humans and gods alike had fallen to their temptation countless times,but surprisingly not Azazel. In fact, he had been a regular visitor to hell’soceans once. They all knew him by name, and he by most of theirs.

“Restorea lost voice? I wonder how~” Mhira was certainly a creature to behold, even byAzazel’s standards. Her blue hair always seemed to fall perfectly over hershoulders despite being saturated most of the time (it looked even morebeautiful beneath the water, but Azazel wasn’t foolish enough to dive in for abetter look), and amber eyes shone mysteriously beneath the pale moonlight.Between that and he bared chest, many had questioned how the hell Azazel hadn’tfallen to he looks yet. She certainly enjoyed trying to seduce him close enoughto the water’s edge enough times.

“I’mnot here to play your games, Mhira. I know for a fact that you have enoughvoices down there to supply the whole of Mistarcia with a second voice.”

The siren just smiled and rested her chin upon entwinedfingers. “You’re certainly right, Lord Azazel~ But where do you suppose thosevoices came from?”

She did have a point. They all came from the victims theymanaged to drag into the water. Azazel himself had requested the voices of themen that had been tempted into a siren’s grip to mess with a grieving family.It provided some quality entertainment, actually.

“Noteven the gods can create something out of nothing, Lord Azazel. It’s simply nothow things work, I thought you would know that.”

“Ifthere’s nothing you can do then I’ll not waste my time-“

“If youcare so much for this person, why not give her your voice?” Azazel had been midstride when Mhira’s words stopped him dead in his tracks. He didn’t even needto ask how she knew what he needed a now non-existent voice for before sheanswered the unspoken question. “One’s voice tells all, Lord Azazel.”

“Tellme how.”

The days after Bahamut’s defeat had grown quiet andlonesome. Nina didn’t usually mind silence as she was content to talk toherself or any small animals she happened across that wouldn’t flee at thesight of her. Nowadays that was impossible with absence of her voice. She hadno regrets in what she had done for Chris’ sake. He had done wrong, and hadcaused so much despair to a race that probably didn’t deserve it. He had neversaid it publicly, but he had once told her his regrets and burdens on the lastnight they had spent together. There was little he could do for the demons,though, as much of the human populous still despised the demons and now theirmain source of labour was gone, they were already up in arms about himabolishing slavery and having the demons paid in compensation, the last thingAnatae needed was a rebellion because their king now expressed sympathy for thehellspawns. Especially after he had imprisoned so many for doing the same. Ninaat least understood that, and it was all she needed. Yet she couldn’t help feelsorrow, especially after her beloved’s passing. She had no one left in theworld. She couldn’t find the heart to return to her village and she hadbetrayed her friends by keeping her love for Chris—no, Charioce XVII, their enemy, from them. She was sure that theywanted to simply forget her existence altogether. And she couldn’t blame themif they did. It still hurt, though. Especially when she thought of Azazel, andall that he had suffered.

Which was why she had thought that she had beenhallucinating when she caught sight of a winged figure close to the shack thatshe now called her home. She just stared for a while, unsure if her mind wasjust desperate to see Azazel once more or if he was actually there.

Her question was answered when she dared to venture outsideto check.

The saint’s words had been correct, after all.

Nina stood just outside a lone cabin atop a hill overlookingthe royal capital. She didn’t make any signs of moving anytime soon, so Azazeldecided to approach instead. Hs brisk movements must have made her nervousbecause he could see her small frame tense when he drew close enough.

“I’mnot here to kill you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

No answer, just a sorrowful stare. Azazel would have beenirritated if his entire purpose of being here hadn’t involved her lack of avoice.

Why was he here?

The question repeated itself over and over in Nina’s mind asif she would come up with an answer if she asked herself enough.

“I’mnot here to force you into some elaborate plan, either.”

That didn’t answer her question.

Azazel slowly approached her, and she had to push down herinstincts telling her to run and hide in her small cabin. It wasn’t as if shedidn’t want to see Azazel again. She did. It was what she had wanted most sinceChris’ passing, as stupid as that sounded even to her. And though she no longerpossessed any romantic feelings towards the demon, she still considered him agood friend and someone that she could trust no matter what. She just didn’tknow if he felt the same about her anymore.

“Despite…everything,”

Oh boy…

“I wantyou to have your voice back.”

What? Was thateven possible? She supposed that he was ademon, the ruler of hell’s second in command at that, so the extent of his powerwas totally unknown to her…but wasn’t there that rule of equivalent exchange?That something can’t be created out of nothing? Had he stolen someone else’s voice?

She was briefly pulled away from her thoughts when shenoticed how close Azazel had suddenly become. Was he…blushing?

“Forgivethe intrusion.” Azazel softly took her chin between his fingers and quicklypressed his lips to hers, pulling away after a few short moments.

Nina could only stare at him in pure confusion, before shetook notice of the tightening in her throat. It didn’t hurt, and it didn’thinder her breathing, but it did feel mildly uncomfortable for a few seconds.The sensation faded and she felt something returning to her.

“Aza…zel?”Her eyes widened in realisation and she looked up and the demon who justwatched her…not saying anything. “Your…yourvoice.” She spoke quietly, her voice raspy from being absent for so long.Azazel didn’t – couldn’t – answer, and just turned to leave, but was stoppedwhen the dragon girl’s fingers wrapped around the fabric of his shirt, stoppinghim from leaving. “Azazel...I’m sorry. For everything.”

Azazel turns to meet her gaze, and he can only offer areassuring look. It was almost like without his voice he was much moreexpressive. Had she just not noticed it before? Of course she wouldn’t havenoticed any not blaringly obvious emotions that he gave off. She had been moreinterested in her romantic interests than anything else. Remembering it onlymade her feel terrible again.

“Uhm…ifyou can...I want to tell Jeanne that I’m sorry. Can…can you tell her that-“ shecut herself off, remembering why she had her voice back again. “I-I mean…”

The demon gently removed her grip on his clothes and gave asmall nod.

“And ifyou have the time, I want to see you again. Please?” Was she being toodemanding now?

Another nod from Azazel.

She decided against running her mouth more and let him go,watching him as he took flight and disappeared behind the clouds. Tears welledin her eyes, and teeth found her lip to keep them back. She didn’t deserveforgiveness. She didn’t deserve anything, especially from Azazel of all people.She couldn’t understand why he would return her voice to her at the cost of hisown after all the she had done, but she felt as if something other than hervoice had returned to her, and she let the tears spill free.

#shingeki no bahamut #azanina #Azazel #Nina Drango #Jeanne D'Arc #fanwork #starsandthunderstorms

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eirabach · 7 years

Text

Heathens [3/14]

Summary: After the events of Renegades, Emma finds herself the reluctant monarch of a struggling Kingdom, her only advisors a mish mash of those who’ve betrayed her in the past, and her only comfort one very uncomfortable pirate.

Believing her long lost parents could still be alive, Emma and Killian set out to find them and reunite them with both their daughter and their throne.

Easy.

Right?

Thank you so much to everyone who’s commented so far, I hope you continue to enjoy! All my thanks and love as ever to @phiralovesloki and @katie-dub for their beta work and general amazingness, and to @seastarved for her incredible artwork! So much talent in thi fandom... thi fandom...

Rated: E. Warnings for violence and corporal/capital punishment later on too.

Other Pairings: Snowing

Chapter wordcount: 5.4k

Catch up on tumblr: Prologue One

AO3

Chapter Two: Needle in the Bed

She doesn’t bother to wait for her maidservants the next morning, marching off down the hallway to the antechamber they’ve been using as a council chamber with her hair loose around her shoulders and a face fierce as thunder.

“We need to talk,” she announces, slamming the door behind her with such force that Killian sways precariously on the chair he’s clearly spent the night in, blinking blearily up at her from under a cocoon of leather that has been hastily pressed into service as a blanket.

“Good morning to you, too, love.”

She rolls her eyes at his bitter tone, shoving his feet off the table as she pulls out a chair of her own, dropping into it heavily and glaring at him.

“I hate this.”

“How specific.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Do I?” Killian sighs, stretching so that his coat falls to the floor, and she catches the tell-tale glint of his hook. He rarely wears it to sleep now, not in the comfort of their own bed, and it speaks a little as to how comfortable his own rest has been. “Because honestly, Swan, I’m not sure what’s been going on around here lately.”

“That makes two of us,” Emma sighs, and takes his hook in her hand, squeezing until the cool metal grows warm in her palm and Killian’s drawn face softens into a smile. “I want out.”

The smile drops, the colour draining from Killian’s face as he leans back with such sudden force that only her death grip on his hook prevents him bolting across the room.

“I see.”

“No!” She shakes her head, bringing her other hand up to settle at his cheek. “No, Killian, not like that. Not us. This place. This life. We’re not made for it.”

“I think you’ll find you are, love,” Killian says gently, though his colour has yet to return. “I certainly was not, it’s true, but you were born for this.”

“Maybe. But I wasn’t raised for it, I didn’t live it. I don’t - I don’t even want it.”

“What are you planning to do?” Killian laughs. “Run away?”

Emma looks down at the floor, afraid to see his face when she hears his sharp intake of breath.

“Darling, no. That’s not you.”

She scuffs her foot along the floor, wrinkling her nose in distaste at the amount of dust and grime she dislodges.

“Isn’t it? I’ve spent half my life running away; I’m good at it. You’re good at it too. We could,” she risks a glance up, “try it together?”

Killian lifts an eyebrow, but she can see that he’s not entirely opposed to the idea by the way his fingers twitch as though reaching for a sword he now rarely carries.

“And your people?” he asks. “What happens to them?”

Emma smiles, small and secretive.

“Well, about that. I’ve had an idea.”

“No,” Blue snaps, slapping her palms on the tabletop. “No, I forbid it.”

“It’s far, far too dangerous, your Highness,” pleads Pinocchio.

“Not to mention ill-fated,” sniffs Prince James, who has taken the council seat furthest from where Emma sits with her back straight and head high. Killian stands at her shoulder having once again re-donned his old pirate coat and looking like some leather-bound knight, scowling at the other man. “If your parents were still alive, surely they would have returned to their kingdom by now - to you.”

“Regina didn’t kill them,” Emma says, her voice steady despite the jab she feels in her heart at James’ words. “She had no reason to lie.”

“She had every reason to lie!” bellows Blue. “That is what she does, Emma!”

“And whose word do I have for that? Yours?” Emma scoffs. “If there’s any chance - ”

“Where are you planning to look?” asks Granny, looking totally at home in the chair Killian has given up for her, her wizened hands folded neatly on the table. “Do you have a starting place in mind?”

“Well,” Emma pauses, the stares of the council members lying heavy on her as she considers Granny’s words. “Not really.”

Blue drops her head into her hands. “So you intend to leave your kingdom unprotected while you wander the woods looking for people who may or may not exist.”

“That’s the long and the short of it,” Pinocchio says, horrified. “Emma, you can’t.”

“That’s your future queen you’re talking to, mate,” snarls Killian, his hand steady on Emma’s shoulder. “So I’d watch your tone.”

“And I wouldn’t be leaving it undefended,” Emma adds. “I’d be leaving it with you. Lets face it, I’m not the princess you were promised. There’s not going to be weeping in the streets.”

“And anyway,” Kilian adds. “I may have a few contacts that could help.”

“Oh you do, do you?” spits Blue. “I should have known. Well, have your misbegotten little adventure, pirate, if it pleases you, but I’d thank you not to drag her Highness - ”

“Wait, hold on,” Emma snaps, holding her hand up. “You don’t speak for me, Blue. I make my own choices - and this is my choice. Killian and I - ”

“Say nothing more,” says Blue, her face fixed in displeasure. “The choice is yours, as you say, Emma, but take care. The consequences will lie on all our heads.”

“I know that.”

Blue rises without waiting to be dismissed, far more regal than Emma could ever hope to be as she stares them down.

“I rather doubt that,” she says. “But I hope so.”

“Yeah,” Emma half breathes, the words not loud enough to be caught even by Killian’s ear. “Me too.”

They don’t speak as they watch the furious rustle of Blue’s skirts as she marches off down the corridor, Pinocchio tripping along helplessly in her wake, the only sound being the quiet murmur of Prince James and Granny’s private conversation back at the abandoned council table. They still don’t speak as Granny pushes her way past them, briskly patting her hands as if ridding them of something unpleasant before calling after Prince James with a cheerful “I can teach you if you like, boy!” and a meaningful wink in Emma’s direction.

Killian breaks the silence between them with a snort.

“I imagine he needs more lessons than Granny could ever hope to provide.”

“In what, exactly? Or don't I want to know?”

“Archery, I believe. Not likely to be baking, is it?”

Emma smiles, small and a little sly. “I think you’re rather underestimating Granny, don’t you?”

Killian’s eyes go wide and then he wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Well, there’s an image I could have lived without.”

“I didn’t mean - ” Emma rolls her eyes. “Does your mind ever leave the gutter?”

“Very rarely,” Killian concedes, and drops his gaze to the floor. “Listen, Emma, about last night…”

“It’s nothing,” Emma mutters, swallowing hard against her increased heart rate. “Let’s not - let’s not talk about it right now, okay?”

“Right now, or ever?”

Emma bites her lip. The silence between them is awkward and hurts her in ways she’d long forgotten it was possible to be hurt, and she knows, logically, that Killian would never hurt her - would never do such a thing on purpose. But there’s a little bit of her, raw and vulnerable, that’s terrified that perhaps after all she’s just a lost little girl who found love and a kingdom, but won't get to keep either of them in the end.

(Won't get to keep them, and she'll have no one to blame but herself.)

“Right now,” she lies. “We have bigger fish to fry.”

Killian’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but his hand still reaches for hers - warm and solid and comforting - and it’s almost enough.

“Interesting choice of words, love.”

“Mermaids,” she says, perched on the end of their bed watching him rummage through a trunk of clothes, all of which he tosses over his shoulder with ever more bitter mutterings about ‘Bloody princelings’ and ‘looking like a tosser’. “Are you serious?”

“Deadly, I’m afraid,” he says, emerging from the trunk with a familiar red silk vest on the point of his hook and a glint in his eye. “Still my colour?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

He closes the lid of the trunk heavily.

“What would you like me to say?” he asks, rubbing the back of his hand over his eyes. “Yes, I’m serious. Mermaids can travel incredible distances - even between realms - so if anyone has an idea of where to start looking for your parents, it’s bound to be them.”

“And you think they’ll help?”

“Ah,” Killian sits down on the truck lid and looks up at her from under a raised brow. “Now that I can make no promises about.”

“Pirate?” Emma asks wryly, and he lifts his hook in acknowledgement.

“Pirate. At the very least they may be able to tell us where to find an old… acquaintance of mine. A fairy of sorts. She owes me a favour and has a habit of knowing more than she ought.”

“You think a fairy will help? Blue doesn’t trust you.” The words seem to fall out of her mouth, almost tripping over one another as she clamours to stuff them back from whence they came. “Shit, I didn’t - ” She pauses, shrugs. “Didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

“Just going to dwell on it in silence?” Killian says, his expression unchanged. “You needn’t worry about me, darling. I’m more observant than you think, and with a thicker hide.”

“So it doesn’t bother you?”

“I think we’ve already had this conversation, Swan, and it ended poorly,” he sighs, his brows dropping into a scowl. “But as it stands, no. It does not. The only opinion that matters to me is, and has always been, yours.”

Emma smiles, the constant unsteady lurching of her heart finally soothed slightly as she leans forward to take his hand and hook in her own. “Not Blue?”

“No,” he says softly, craning his face towards her so that she can drop a kiss to the tip of his nose.

“Nor mermaids?”

“Never,” he breathes as her lips brush his. “Only you.”

Emma hums, comforted, as he pulls away with a soft smile and bright eyes.

“But,” he says. “There is another woman I'll need in order to track down our informants.”

“Oh, is there? And who's that?”

“Why, the Jolly Roger of course.”

“You're kidding. How the hell are you going to find her?”

“That part’s taken care of; all I had to do was send a message out to an old friend of mine and my property is being returned.”

“Wait, you knew where she was all this time?”

“I wasn't certain, but I had some idea, aye. I don't spend my every waking moment hovering around the kitchens or irritating Blue you know.”

“You didn't tell me,” she mumbles.

He lifts an eyebrow.

“I didn't think you'd care to know.”

She winces, inclining her head in agreement as she picks at the threads of the bed sheets.

“I'm sorry,” she says. “It's just - I've never had anything to lose before this. I don't want you to think you can't tell me stuff because you're worried I'll freak out.”

“Never again,” Killian says, dropping a quick kiss to the tip of her nose before standing, the red silk vest held out to her on the point of his hook. “Now, how about a touch of gentle piracy, hmm? We’ll start slowly. Fancy a pillage?”

She snatches the vest from him, rising to meet his grin with one of her own.

“I thought you'd never ask.”

“Are you absolutely certain about this?”

Blue’s narrow eyes flick from the tall masts of the Jolly Roger to where Emma stands beside her, armed with a cutlass and a fierce expression, her own gaze fixed on the activity on deck. Killian marches between his men, barking orders she can barely understand, the epitome of the pirate captain that she first knew.

(It fills her with some feeling she can’t quite identify - part nostalgia and part some sinking sort of fear that she daren’t examine too closely.)

“Can you even swim?”

“I'm sailing, not paddling, Blue,” Emma snipes, pushing her hair behind her ears as the sharp nip of an easterly wind catches at the ends. “I'll be fine.”

“Because Killian is with you? He certainly looks right at home,” Blue shakes her head, every inch the disapproving foster mother she hasn't been for a decade or more. “I wish you'd listen to me.”

“Done enough of that,” Emma says shortly. “Unless you want to discuss the running of the kingdom in my absence for the what - fiftieth time? Otherwise, a simple ‘good luck’ will do.”

“I wish you every success, Emma,” the fairy says. “I truly do.”

“I'm sure that will sustain us grandly on our voyage,” Killian says as he drops from the gangplank to join them on the docks. “Who needs fresh water and a following wind with a fairy godmother on your side?”

“Her side,” snips Blue. “Not yours.”

“I was rather under the impression they were the same thing, Lady Blue,” Killian says, politeness itself as he bows to the fairy. Emma purses her lips tightly to avoid a snigger escaping as he offers Blue his most winning smile.

Blue’s face twitches before she steps back with a cool, “Let us hope so, Captain. For all our sakes.”

Killian doesn't bother to answer her, instead turning to Emma and nodding at the trunk at her feet.

“Ready, love? The wind’s changing and the tide won't wait.”

Emma takes a deep breath, concentrating on the feel of the trunk’s rope handles against her sweaty palms, and glances back one final time at the castle that rises from the dockside.

Blue hovers at the edge of her vision, a half blurred half forgotten thing already as Emma steps forward and allows Killian to escort her up the gangplank.

“As I'll ever be.”

The bustling activity stops as soon as Killian’s boot hits the deck, every man pausing in his duties as a short man with black hair and even blacker teeth bellows a “Captain on deck!”

Emma’s spent years amongst the less salubrious denziens of the Enchanted Forest - has been one herself if you were to ask the opinion of those who’d found themselves the unfortunate victims of her excellent pickpocketing skills - but even she balks slightly at the motley crew that Killian has chosen for the Jolly Roger.

They’re an ugly bunch, with skin cracked like old leather, and scars that wind, rope-like, around their twisted limbs. They shift to keep their balance on deck, their faces turned to Killian even as their eyes seem to wander, their dry lips parting as their stares land on Emma.

“Listen up, you filthy lot,” barks Killian, his hand on the hilt of his cutlass and his hook prominently displayed as he steps forward. “The lady here is our guest and our financier on this little trip, so we’ll be treating her nicely, savvy?”

A little hum runs through the crowd, and Emma fights the urge to wrap her coat tighter round herself instead choosing to step forward to stand at Killian’s side, her chin held high as she stares down a man with biceps like barrels and a leer that makes her skin crawl.

“Real nice,” he says, his lip curling to reveal a gaping hole where his teeth should be. “Not a problem, Captain.”

Killian says nothing, but Emma can feel the way he tenses next to her, the implicit threat making his fingers twitch against his sword.

“Lower the flag,” he half hisses, half demands. “We sail for Misthaven now.”

The muttering grows louder, the men seeming to sway closer, a great, dark wall of feral humanity barely restrained by Killian’s fierce glare.

“They said he’d gone soft,” says one, just loud enough for Killian to hear.

There’s a flash of steel, a sudden parting of the sea of men, and the unfortunate soul finds himself held two feet from the ground, unable to struggle free thanks to the point of his Captain’s hook at his throat.

“Something to say, lad?” Killian asks, his voice almost sweet as he turns the hook to rest squarely against the man’s jugular. “Care to repeat it, hmm?”

“No, Sir,” the man stammers, his face turning purple as Killian twists his fist tighter in the man’s collar. “Nothing, Sir.”

“Consider yourself lucky,” Killian spits, “that I don’t care to sully my deck with your innards before we’ve even left port.” He drops the man, who scrambles backwards to rejoin the crew, his hands at his neck.

“We sail,” Killian snarls, “for Misthaven. Now lower that bloody flag!”

“Captain?” the short man squeaks, and Killian turns to him with ill-concealed fury.

“Do you mistake an order for a request, Mr Wilkins? Would you also like a reminder of what happens to disobedient men on my ship?”

“No, Sir,” the man - Wilkins - says, staggering backwards slightly before tugging at the boot of a scrawny man who hangs, ape-like, from the rigging. “You heard the Captain! Lower the flag.”

Killian doesn’t need to ask a third time. The crimson flag that flutters ominously from the mainmast is swiftly brought down, to be replaced by the cream and gold of Misthaven’s - of Emma’s - standard. Killian glances across to her as she watches the wind catch at it and send it flying, his face softening infinitesimally when she offers him a small smile.

“All right, love?”

“I will be,” she says softly, keeping an eye on the closest men for fear they’ll overhear her. “Where’d you find this lot?”

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Killian says, his jaw twitching. “Most of my original crew made themselves scarce as soon as they realised I wasn’t about to return. I had to pad out the remnants with whatever Wilkins could dredge out of the nearest rum barrel.”

“Captain?” Wilkins hovers at his elbow again, bouncing nervously from one foot to the other, “We’re ready.”

Killian mounts the steps to the helm in three strides, taking hold of the ship’s wheel and grinning as the wind catches his hair.

“All right, boys, I presume you know what to do? Weigh anchor! Make sail!”

Emma spins on the spot as the Jolly Roger begins to heave to life beneath her, dashing forward to the guardrail as the hull begins to pull away from the dockside.

“Good luck!” calls Granny, who’s frantically waving a kitchen cloth and occasionally dabbing at her eyes. “We believe in you!”

“I’ll bring them home!” Emma shouts over the rushing of water and the creak of the wood. “I will! I promise!”

Blue says nothing. Only watches, silent and still, until the Jolly Roger reaches the open sea, and she can watch no more.

The seas are calm enough to begin with, the gentle creak of the Jolly Roger’s boards soothing any apprehension Emma might be feeling - at least, any regarding the ocean’s whims. The crew, on the other hand, she’s far from sure about.

They scurry about at the behest of Mr Wilkins, their faces mainly turned to their tasks, but every now and then she catches a beady eye, a knowing sort of smirk, and her hands clench involuntarily. She’s known plenty of men like this over the years - known, and fought, and beaten - but here she’s in their territory, her knees ever so slightly unsteady as the ship picks up speed, her heart skipping a beat as the mainsail catches the wind and they lurch over the crest of a wave.

No, the crew she does not care for. But then, there’s Killian.

Killian is beautiful here, she realises, his face flushed from the biting wind, his eyes bright and his body held firm and solid against the onslaught of the rolling swell.

Not that he isn't always a sight to behold, he's never failed to make her breath catch in her thrust and her blood sing, but there's something about the wildness of the open ocean that makes him seem almost ethereal, as though he is made to be as much a part of wave and wind as the Jolly Roger herself.

He's a man in his element again, a fact that delights and hurts her in almost equal measure. She's never felt at home anywhere, not in the way Killian feels at home in the ocean. She's never walked any floor on dry land with the confidence he strides over the shifting deck of his ship.

She doesn't begrudge him it, or at least she doesn't mean to.

She just wishes it didn't frighten her so much.

Emma is not an experienced sailor - her past visits to the Jolly Roger have always been brief, anchored affairs - so it doesn't take long after the wind begins to pick up and the clouds begin to scud darkly across the sky before her confidence starts fading, her steps becoming gradually more unsteady under the snide glares of the crew.

Eventually she slips, losing her footing on the drizzle slick deck, her chilled fingers scrabbling for purchase against the wood.

“Oh, so that's the way you like it is it, lass?”

Emma glares up through her damp hair into the sneering face of the man from earlier. His arms are folded across his chest as though to emphasise his brutish size, the tip of his boot within touching distance of her fingers.

“Need a hand?” he coos.

“Is this you helping me up?” she spits.

“Not likely,” he says, tilting his head meaningfully for a better angle down her shirt. “I like the view.”

“Second watch!” cries Mr Wilkins. “Second watch to stations!”

There's a flutter of activity as the men change shifts, the large man offering Emma a last, vicious smile as he lumbers away, and then there's a warm hand at her elbow and Killian is pulling her into his arms.

“Alright there, love?” he asks lowly, hiding his concern from the rest of the crew.

“Yeah,” she mutters. “Just dandy. Did I ever tell you I don't like boats?”

“Blasphemy,” he says cheerfully, tucking her into his side as she shivers. “And I told you love, she's a ship.”

“Fine, whatever. Does the ship have somewhere dry and warm? Preferably with a bed,” she wrinkles her nose as the large man passes by again, “and a lock.”

“You know she does,” Killian murmurs. His smile is warm against her hair, and she struggles against the rising wave of frustration his happiness brings. “Shall we make ourselves scarce, love?”

“Yes, please,” she grumbles, sparing a last cutting glance for her tormentor and turning on her heel for the hatch. “We need to talk.”

“Sounds like I’m in for a pleasant little chat then,” Killian sighs, lifting the hatch before following her down into the bowels of the ship. “If you’re planning on yelling at me, can you at least wait until I’ve locked the door? A man has a reputation to protect, after all.”

The captain’s quarters are much as she remembers them, lit only by the flickering of oil lamps and the occasional flash of moonlight as the ship rises on the crest of a wave. The bunk is missing the silken sheets she remembers, but it’s still as narrow and as tempting as ever, especially when Killian makes his way past her, kicking a safe closed as he does so, and perches himself on the edge of it, the pirate melting away as he looks up at her through his lashes.

“Have at it then, love,” he says wryly. “Just us, now.”

“I don’t know why you always think I’m going to yell at you,” she sighs, running the flat of her palm over a wrinkled map that’s held flat on the desk only by the half dozen ink bottles and blades that frame it. “We’re a team, remember?”

“Aye,” he agrees. “But you’re an intelligent lass, Swan. I’m waiting for you to figure me out.”

Blue’s face rears up in her mind’s eye for a moment, her pursed lips and her scowl and her constant dire warnings, but then Emma shakes her head sharply and the image disappears.

“You’re not half as mysterious as you’d like to think,” she says, smiling as she comes to sit next to him, the mattress tilting under their combined weight.

“Men are simple creatures,” Killian agrees, his hand sliding over the cloth of her breeches and coming to settle at the crease of her hip. She bats it away, laughing when he pouts in dismay and pulling his hand back to brush a kiss against his knuckles.

“You can say that again. Wilkins would have been better leaving them in the rum barrel where he found them.”

Killian groans, dropping back to rest on his elbows as he stares up at the deck above.

“I know. I’m not delighted by them myself, but we need a crew and this truly is the best Wilkins could come up with on short notice. On my honour, I never thought I’d miss Smee.”

Emma blinks, and the room changes. Suddenly she’s standing in the doorway again watching as the Evil Queen’s knights gut and plunder their way through Killian’s crew, through Killian’s home.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and Killian looks up, his brow furrowed.

“Why?”

Because you lost your crew. Because it’s my fault. Because I stuck my nose where it didn’t belong and never, ever learned to listen. Because I love you. Because I won’t tell you that. Because I can’t. Because. Because. Because.

Because I don't think you'll choose me, in the end.

She realises in a sudden flood of shame that she's about to cry.

“I just am,” she sniffs, hot tears threatening to escape that she swiftly scrubs away. “Ugh. I’m so sorry. I just - poor Smee. We never did get justice for him.”

“Now that’s quite enough of that,” Killian sits up, tugging her into his side and running his fingers over the length of her braid. “Smee was a thief, a liar, and a terrible barber. I miss him, right enough, but his life was a dangerous one and he knew well enough he’d finish it by either blade or noose. There’s many as would say he’s had his justice.” His eyes flash dark for a moment, something unreadable in the twist of his mouth before he softens it into the smile she knows he reserves just for her. “You must know, Emma. It was my revenge that led Regina to this ship, not you.”

“If you say so,” she sighs, shuffling down until she can rest her head on his shoulder. “I wonder where she is now.”

“Regina?” Killian asks as he runs his hand over the ridges of Emma’s spine. “Licking her wounds somewhere, I’ve no doubt.”

“Do you think she’ll come back?” Emma turns her face up to his, her brow furrowed. “Now would be the perfect time - ”

“You sound like Blue,” Killian scolds gently. “Have a little faith in yourself, Swan.”

“That’s easier said than done.”

“Well.” He rolls slightly so that she’s pressed between his body and the thin cot mattress, his smile soft. “I suppose I’ll just have to have enough faith for the both of us.”

When he kisses her, he tastes like the ocean, the salt on his lips rough against her own as his tongue slips out to seek entrance. She lets him press her into the bed, appreciating the feel of him through the thin layer of her breeches rather than her typical voluminous skirts and letting her legs fall open until he’s settled in the cradle of her thighs, even though her knee ends up jammed rather awkwardly against the wooden wall.

“I’d forgotten how awkward this bed is,” she mutters, her complaint ending on an ill-disguised moan as Killian turns his attentions to the skin beneath her ear.

“Only a bad workman blames his tools, Swan,” Killian says, his eyes flashing dark as he pulls back to tug at her shirt. “And I seem to recall making you scream in this very bed before.”

“I didn’t scream,” Emma huffs as her shirt falls away under the point of the hook.

“Oh, but you did, love,” Killian says, tutting lightly as he runs the hook under the edge of her corset, his eyes fixed on hers. “I do so enjoy the pleasure of a beautiful woman. It’s a matter of pride, y’see, to an old pirate like me.”

She reaches up, grinning, to pluck at one of the few white hairs at his temple.

“You said it. How old are you anyway, three hundred?”

“Near enough,” he smirks, before turning his attentions to the clasp of her breeches. “Never heard you complain about my… experience before.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

He has to shuffle back awkwardly in the small space in order to free her from her trousers, his head tilted against the slope of the ceiling, and there’s something about the image of him like this - awkward and a little ridiculous as it might be - that fills her with a warmth that makes her heart ache.

“You love me for it,” he says, lifting her stocking clad foot over his shoulder and wriggling his eyebrows outrageously before slipping forward to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to her core.

And she does. She really, really does.

Her dreams are more peaceful when she’s in Killian’s arms, the rhythm of his breathing enough to soothe her fevered imaginings, but they still come. The voice is quieter, Saviour only a whisper on the wind, as she flies a thousand feet above the ocean like some ridiculous seabird until mighty ships are merely tiny specks below her. She laughs, looking about for Killian, but she’s alone up here with only the scudding clouds and the constant whisper for company, so she dives down, down, down determined to find him aboard one of the ships below, sea spray blinding her as she chases after the stern of a swiftly moving vessel. She opens her mouth to shout when she sees the Jolly Roger painted boldly across her nameplate, but a wave catches her, filling her lungs with water until she’s spluttering, falling, and Killian sails faster, and further, and -

She wakes with a start to the swaying of the lanterns, rolling unsteadily from the safety of Killian’s arms as the ship pitches beneath them and sends her staggering to her feet. It’s bitterly cold out of the warmth of their bed, and the ship creaks woefully around her as she stumbles to the desk, searching for something thicker than the thin cotton of Killian’s shirt to keep her warm.

There’s a sea chest against the wall beside the ladder, unlocked, and even though a part of her balks at the invasion of privacy, Killian’s soft snores from the other side of the cabin and the goosebumps on her skin conspire to push any such concerns to the back of her mind. Even so, she winces slightly as it creaks open, but Killian doesn’t stir, not even as she begins to rummage through the varied and occasionally bizarre contents. There are bronze coins as big as her palm, and small glass ornaments wrapped in bright paper. There are clothes she doesn’t recognise at all - a blue serge coat with golden epaulets, a yellowed waistcoat with tarnished buttons - and others she knows well. Almost at the very bottom she finds a woman’s dress as red as blood, made of a material softer than any she’s ever seen outside of the palace, and she places it to one side as reverently as she dare, her heart in her mouth at the thought of what Killian may say if he woke now.

Beneath the dress, tucked neatly at the side of the chest like the most unassuming of forgotten belongings, is a black velvet bag.

It throbs, a menacing red glow emanating with every pulse, as Emma reaches with trembling fingers to tug at the laces.

She pulls too hard, the bag slipping from her sweat slicked hands and sending its contents scattering over the base of the chest. A heart, darkened but still throbbing, landing wet and heavy on the boards and with it, a knife. A terrible, familiar, curved blade, skitters to rest in front of her and by the dark red gleam of the Evil Queen’s heart, she reads the name ‘Rumplestiltskin.’

#cs ff #cs fic #csbb #captain swan #cs crew #clare vs writers block #clare vs heathens

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