#everyone hates textbooks but i LOVE textbooks textbooks are my saving grace

[maple-the-awesome]

Not My Amazing Boyfriend ||

Pairing: tasm!Peter Parker x Reader

Words: 2,632

Overview: One of your goodhearted classmates has brought it to your attention that Peter isn't being a very good boyfriend. Of course, she's got it all wrong and you're not about to stand for someone accusing your boyfriend of going behind your back. Warning: toxic behavior (not from you)

Marvel Masterlist ❤️ Fandom Masterlist

"Peter hasn't been a very good boyfriend lately, has he?"

Your classmate's sudden question makes you raise an eyebrow. You weren't even sure if she was talking to you until glancing up to find her leaned back in her chair, body twisted just enough to gaze at you with a look of pity.

"My friends and I overheard the two of you arguing in the hall yesterday. We didn't want to think much of it, but then we noticed you weren't sitting together at lunch today. Don't tell me you two broke up. You and Parker are, like, the biggest lovebirds at Midtown. If you can't make it, then that means everyone else's relationships are doomed to end, too."

"Oh, no. We didn't break up, it's just..." you stop yourself mid sentence, eyes falling to your open textbook shamefully. It's not like you can honestly tell her she's using an empty lure. You and Peter had gotten into a fight yesterday which set a bitter atmosphere between the two of you, but you wouldn't go as far as to say he's a bad boyfriend; just a normal scatterbrained teenager who can be a bit infuriating at times, that's all.

"What happened then?"

Playing with the eraser on your pencil, you give a shrug, deciding to humor Zosia's questions. While your relationship is ultimately none of her business, her random curiosity towards your life has managed to hook your interest.

"...We were supposed to have a study date the night before, but he was a no-show and didn't answer any of my texts until after I had gone to sleep."

Giving it some thought, you begin to regret the tone you had used with Peter yesterday. Of course, he had apologized profoundly the second he saw you that morning, promising to make it up to you in some way. Despite understanding how truly busy he's been and instead of communicating that sting of hurt you had felt by waiting for him for hours that night, you sighed in annoyance and brushed off his offer to study later. One thing led to another with the conversation then escalating into an avoidable argument.

With this new perspective in mind, you decide to add more to yourself than Zosia," I'm going to talk things out with him later and apologize."

"Why would you apologize? Boyfriends aren't supposed to avoid spending time with their significant others. If I were you, I'd be demanding that he make more time for me, not apologize for being the one who's been abandoned. I refuse to believe Parker's stretched that thin that he can't spend at least a little of his day with you. If that's the case, then he should choose which is more important to him: you or work. You're cool; too cool to deal with Parker's bullshit."

"T...Thanks, but it really isn't that big of a deal. Besides, I could never ask Peter to choose between me and his job. It means too much to him."

Your words are true. While it does get difficult knowing the danger the person you love is put in for 'work' and you hate to see how tired he is at the end of each day, you could never be selfish enough to make him choose between two things that make him happy. Of course, you know by just witnessing Zosia's treatment of her own boyfriends that she could never understand the fact that neither partner's feelings come before the other's.

On cue, the bell rings which acts as your saving grace to exit the situation. Quickly gathering your belongings, you hurry to your next period with a new desire to see Peter in chemistry where you're true to your word about properly talking things over with him. After both apologizing and setting up a new date to study (one Peter swears on Aunt May to attend), the two of you end up walking out of class hand-in-hand once again with smiles upon your faces.

While you wouldn't expect someone who has a new boyfriend nearly every month like Zosia to understand, Peter is an amazing boyfriend who does everything in his power to be there for you even on top of all the craziness in his life. He handpicks flowers on the way to school to give to you, visits with you on your windowsill during low points in crime, and even sends you pictures of cute elderly couples watching ducks at the pond together with promises that that'll be you two one day.

Sure, your relationship isn't perfect. Peter gets stressed balancing loved ones, school, Spiderman, and his terrible job at the Daily Bulge while you get worn out spending each night worrying for his safety, but you've both gotten better at addressing these problems. Peter's learned to take breaks for mental health and you take more time to share your concerns with him instead of letting them boil over in secret.

Unfortunately, as happy as you are in your relationship, there seems to be one person who can't believe it. Only a few days after last speaking with her, you find Zosia leaned against the locker next to yours, yapping about her hatred towards gym class without any notice to your half hearted nods while you internally wonder why she suddenly cares about being your 'friend'. The two of you have known each other since middle school yet rarely has she acknowledged you before unless asking for an extra pencil or help with worksheets.

"Hey, how come Parker walks Gwen to class and not you?"

You raise an eyebrow in response to her comment before noticing Peter and Gwen walking on the far side of the hall together. Giving them only a glance, you return to selecting your books from your locker," because they have the same second period and I don't?"

"So?" She sounds almost offended.

"So it would be inconvenient for him to walk me to my class across the school then go back to his own class. He'd be marked tardy."

"Not if he ran," Zosia rolls her eyes," either way, I don't see why he has to walk with Gwen...He looks pretty comfortable with her, don't you think?"

"Well, they are friends."

"Are you sure that's all?"

You don't say anything, being too busy biting your lip for any words to pass. With your silence, there's a pause in the conversation and a side of you hopes Zosia will lose interest, but you could never be so lucky.

"Anyways, you should totally come sit with my girl friends and I at lunch today. We have an extra spot."

"Oh, um, no thank you. I usually sit-"

"-With Peter? I haven't seen you guys sitting together for the last two days!"

"He said he's been busy with something."

"Sounds like an excuse," Zosia rolls her eyes before placing her hands on your shoulders, leading you through the halls to your next class which you unfortunately share, meaning your likelihood of escaping this conversation is close to zero," come on. It'll be fun. We sit by the window so we get the best sun unlike that shady table you usually sit by- one that's next to a trashcan might I add. Gross."

Of course, you try every excuse imaginable to politely turn down her offer, all of which were thrown right over her shoulder. Even after class, you attempt to hurry ahead of her to the lunchroom in hopes of her losing track of you and forgetting, but alas, the moment you walk away from the lunch lines, Zosia is back at your side, armed with her friends as reinforcement.

Within seconds, her arm links around yours, practically dragging you to their table where she sits you down between her and her best friend, Verona. There, you feel like prey trapped within the claws of a predator as you’re forced to listen to the clique of girls dominate the conversation about topics boring to yourself.

"I'm dying my hair next weekend. I'm even gonna get some highlights."

"Just in time for senior pics."

"I know right!"

"If only I could fix my nose before senior pics."

"Why? What's wrong with it?"

"It's too round. I want a nice slim nose, but my mom says I'll have to wait until I'm eighteen to get it- and she wants me to pay for it myself!" Zosia uses her phone camera as a mirror, touching her nose subconsciously," I'm just gonna ask dad next time I see him. He'll pay for it."

Everyone gives a chorus of agreements and praises while you continue to quietly pick at your food, dreading every second of this slow lunch period. Glancing away from the girls, you search for Peter who you quickly find sitting at your normal table at the edge of the lunchroom. As if sensing your gaze, he looks up to catch your eyes, giving you an apologetic smile which you return.

While you wish to keep his attention as a sort of comfort, it’s divided when Gwen Stacey sits with him in your usual seat, touching his shoulder with her own bright smile. The two quickly get caught up in a conversation, making you frown and return to mercilessly crunching the sad excuse for nachos the school served today.

"Omg, did you guys hear about Mila and Ophelia's break up?! Like, I guess Mila totally hooked up with this red head girl from their English Class that week Ophelia was sick. Christy H. found them making out in the girls bathroom and everything. Ophelia then slept with Christy just in spite of Mila, who ended up making a tiktok about what a slut Ophelia is. Do you follow her?" You grimace when a phone is suddenly shoved in front of your face by Verona, breaking you away from your previously blank thoughts.

"I don't have tiktok..."

"What?! Why not?! Here, give me your phone. We'll set you up-"

"Ophelia isn't the only slut at this school," Zosia breaths out of the vape pen she’s borrowed from one of the other girls, creating a cherry scented cloud across the table.

"What do you mean?"

Zosia merely points, sticking the vape back in her mouth before passing it to its owner," Gwen Stacey such a little slut, don’t you think?"

"E-Excuse me...?" You glance over to the girl in question in surprise. She’s leaning closer to Peter, saying something that makes him clearly happy as he leaps up from his spot with a wide grin, lifting her off the ground in a hug as the two share excited laughter while being oblivious to the judgmental attention they’ve now gained.

"I said Gwen Stacey's a slut. Just look at the way she's swooped in the second you and Parker become distant. It’s as if she’s been waiting for this moment her whole life. Man, and just seeing how fast she’s worked makes me think this isn’t her first time.

“Parker’s no better. He really thinks he can move onto someone else after just a few arguments. What a fuck boy. Can’t say I’m surprised though…I’m so sorry, (Y/n), but you were so much better than him anyways. It’s probably for the best honestly. You know, I have some guys I know that I can introduce you to if you want. Do you want their phone numbers?”

Zosia goes to pull out her phone, however, she freezes her action when you suddenly stand from the table, the force of you pushing your chair back causing a horrid ‘screech’ to feel the cafeteria.

"Can I give you a little bit of advice, Zosia? One friend to another?"

"O-Oh, um, sure, what-?" You barely give her time to ask before you're talking again, your voice only loud enough for the table to hear clearly.

"-How about instead of trying to think of ways to stir up drama in other people’s relationships, you realize that not everyone’s like you. We don’t all keep around ‘boytoys’ that we can just treat like crap and manipulate like puppets nor do we have the audacity to even think about sleeping with people when they’re clearly in a relationship unlike your whore ass who slept with Verona’s boyfriend last week.”

You hear Verona gasp, her eyes turning to Zosia in a glare as whispers erupt among the group, but it doesn’t stop you nor does the pale look on Zosia’s face fade.

"I’m only going to tell you this one more time: Peter’s an amazing boyfriend and he’s never once given me a reason that would warrant me doubting his loyalty to our relationship so I trust that he’d never cheat on me especially with Gwen. She’s his friend and has been long before we started dating. She has every right to hang out with him without being called a slut especially by a jealous bitch like you.

“With that said, if I ever hear you try to drag my boyfriend’s reputation through the mud or call Gwen a slut again, I’ll be giving you a real reason to have plastic surgery!” You jab a finger against Zosia’s chest before turning heel, not even bothering to collect your tray as you leave behind the chaos in the form of Verona shouts and Zosia cries out pathetic excuses.

Without ever looking back, you make a straight shot for where Peter and Gwen are talking, the former noticing you right away. Per usual, he’s quick to smile at your presence, opening his arms to greet you, however, his voice is cut off when your lips press against his. Nevertheless, he wastes no time setting his arms around your hips while yours snake around his neck to pull him closer.

“Yeah, I’ll leave you two to it then. I’ll talk to you later, Peter. Bye (Y/n),” Gwen rolls her eyes playfully, leaving the two of you in peace just in time to pull away.

“Did you really miss me that much?” Peter teases, his eyes dazed with love from the kiss.

You hum contently, resting your head against his chest as you soak up the hug you’ve been dying for all lunch period,“ I always miss you…Those barbies didn’t help.”

“What did you say to them? They don’t look happy,” Peter observes, glancing over to the table where the girls have quickly dispersed as Zosia chases after Verona.

You poorly fight back your smirk with a shake of your head,” doesn’t matter. You seemed happy talking to Gwen earlier. What did she say?”

Peter’s smile brightens if that’s even possible. He gently pushes you away from himself just enough to see your face, his words quiet yet laced with excitement,” I got the job.”

“At Oscorp?”

“Yeah. That’s what Gwen’s been helping me with. I had the interview yesterday and she just told me I got it. I actually got it!"

"That's amazing, babe!” You beam, jumping into his arms again with a squeal of joy. He laughs, spinning you around without either of you caring about the looks you're getting from other students,” it’s the same job as Gwen, right? You'll be able to work on all your science-y stuff and you'll be respected unlike like at the Daily Bugle. Oh! And I heard they offer scholarships and stuff to expand in the company-!"

Peter cuts off your ramble with a quick peck to your lips," and I should have more time on my hands, too. More pay for less work running around like at the Bugle. I could take you out somewhere fancy if you want."

"I like our window dates, though. After all, how many people can say Spiderman brings them the best deli sandwiches in Queens?" You whisper nudging his side which makes him fake a pout.

"Is Spiderman trying to steal my girlfriend?"

"Don't worry. As temping as he is, I'm more than happy with the guy I got," you joke, finally getting to sit down at your table where Peter begins to tell you more about the job all while you hang onto his every word with a smile, lucky to have such an amazing boyfriend who all those barbie girls definitely should be jealous of. 

#andrew garfield #the amazing spider man #spiderman #spiderman x reader #spiderman x y/n #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter+parker #peter+parker+x+reader #peter+parker+x+y/n #andrew+garfield+x+reader

[pallases]

you know i’m Thinking and i’m p sure the main reason i hate(d) physics and ap calc sm is bc i didn’t/don’t have a textbook for either of them

#everyone hates textbooks but i LOVE textbooks textbooks are my saving grace #i taught myself all of geometry w the textbook and just slept through the actual class lmfao #like all your resources are concentrated in one spot w organizations to go along w it #but also i just learn a lot better from a book than from a video #you’ve got examples and the formulas right there #you can look over them as many times as you need rather than go back and replay smth that a person is saying #and reading smth is a lot easier to process for me than speaking is #not to mention w videos you can’t just skip over the details that you don’t need like you have to listen all the way through and then lose #attention bc you stopped listening since you already knew that but now they’re onto a new topic and oh you missed that and now you have to #go back and oh great now you’re back at the part that you already knew etc etc #the ap calc chronicles #the physics chronicles #chemistry was fine learning from videos (since my teacher Did Not teach so i replaced her w the organic chemistry tutor lol) but chemistry #is p simple in general so #personal #going to try to get my hands on some textbook now that i know what the real problem probably was all along #i mean obviously i knew i disliked learning physics through videos but i was always thinking the issue was physics #and not the videos themselves not being the right learning material #i’ve always known i learn better through reading than listening but i think i was undermining just how much

[nxrthmizu]

kill em’ with kindness

fandom | miraculous ladybug 

genre | lila salt, so much salt 

summary | marinette takes the high road to a better life. 

w.c | 8.1k 

author’s note | had this idea for a few days after i wrote victory tastes bitter, which really blew up on ao3 (thanks for all the support <3). always wondered what it would be like if marinette just. played nice. so here she is, being an absolute badass. 

author’s note.2 | okay so since i did not write this in one sitting, i get that the story probably doesn’t flow as properly as it should. will edit if i ever find the will to do it. 

Marinette was done. They wanted her to be a model student? Fine. They wanted her to stop being mean? Fine. They wanted her to be friends with Lila? Fine.

Luckily for Hawkmoth, no akuma plagued the sky of the previous night, or she would rain hell on him. There was no more tolerance left inside her to spare, and she certainly wouldn’t go out of her way to make some for the manipulative pest problem Paris has had for way too long.

She looked up into the mirror, having exchanged her pigtails for a low ponytail, strands curled to frame her face. Bluebell eyes glistened with a fire that burned brighter than hope— Hope that her ‘friends’ would see sense. Hope that Adrien would be there for her. Hope that the good guy would always get the happy ending. No more being patient, no more being passive, no more putting up with things she didn’t have to.

If Lila Rossi wanted a battle, then fine, a battle she would get. Marinette was lowering her white flag, replacing it with a battle emblem that scorched red, redder than blood and redder than the anger her friends would feel when she was finished. No more peace negotiations. Rossi wanted a fight, Rossi wanted a challenge. Who was Marinette to deny her from what she wanted?

They didn’t know what was coming for them.

The power of makeup was truly one that reigned apex among the world. A few touches of her makeup brush was all it took to erase her dark eyes from existence, give her skin a more radiant glow (She promised that she’d take time to give it a natural glow after she was done being nice), and ease a cherry-pink blush onto her cheeks, making her freckles stand out more in contrast. Marinette Dupain-Cheng meant business, and when she meant business—

“Good morning, Marinette! You look great today!” The head of the student council, a sensible, down-to-Earth blonde by the name of Noelle smiled, speeding up slightly to catch the bluenette on the steps of Francois Dupont. “Love the new look.”

Ah yes. The new look— A royal blue blazer, detailed with golden embroidery of cherry blossoms bursting at the sleeves and the collar, accompanied by a classy-looking silk blouse tapered with a soft, black felt. The pleated black skirt (Made from heavy cloth so that it wouldn’t flap about in the wind) was lined with a beautiful scarlet at all the edges to complete the look. Knee-high black socks trailed all the way into the slight heels that Marinette had added flower adornments on, just so she could tap a little of her own touch on it.

“Thank you,” Responded the bluenette with a smile.

“Woah! Someone looks like they got a good night of rest.” Madeline, the president of the Art Club teased, flocking to the other side of the girl. “That mascara looks sharp enough to kill, girl!”

Sharp enough to kill?

Oh, that wouldn’t be necessary, Marinette mused to herself, sending out thanks to those who had complimented her on her way to class. Nothing sharp was going to be required for the liar’s downfall— No, no. That would just be too messy, and she wouldn’t even think of staining her new outfit. Of course, the ensemble was crafted from her own hands, as stated by the classic MDC that graced the inside of her blazer, the collar of her blouse, and one of the pleats of her skirt. Besides… Lila wasn’t worth getting her hands dirty.

She was going to do things the right way.

The kind way.

“Good morning, everyone.” She greeted, walking into the classroom, garnering their attention with her punctuality. Every set of eyes in the room were attracted to her, like iron fillings to magnets. Some of the gazes were malicious, hateful; Some were doubtful, wary; One was pleading, as if spelling out ‘Please keep taking the high road!’— And then there was Chloe, who was entirely uninterested.

Good, Lila was already present.

“I’d just like to take a minute of your time. Won’t be too long, I promise.” She took a deep breath, ignoring the imploring gaze that dug at her side, courtesy of a blonde that sat in the front row (And no, it wasn’t Chloe she was referring to). “I’d just like to say…”

The class watched with bated breath.

“I’m sorry.”

Alya blinked. So did everyone else in the room. Stunned faces greeted Marinette’s apologetic one, including Lila’s— She didn’t even have to fake her reaction. What on Earth was Marinette trying to pull off? What kind of stunt was this?

“I realise that I’ve not really been the best version of me lately,” She admitted sorrowfully. I haven’t been the best version of me because I was being boycotted and isolated, “It wasn’t fair to put you all through this,” It wasn’t fair that you idiots had to lose all your reputations because of the words of one liar, “And people got hurt as a consequence,” Me. I was the one who got hurt. “I realise that things haven’t been all smooth-sailing in our class lately, so I’d like to apologise to everyone.” I’d like to apologise for not being able to save you from a liar who only sees her own personal gain.

A practiced breath escaped Marinette’s throat as she waited for her cue— The school bell— And set her bag on the teacher’s desk. Good, everything was unfolding right on time. Not quite far away, there was a distinct clack-clack-clack of someone’s heels— An auburn teacher, perhaps? Marinette reached into her backpack and drew out a package she had meticulously wrapped in brown paper and tied in golden ribbon. Sitting passively on top of the package was a small note, decorated in hand-drawn flowers and a hummingbird in the corner.

“Here,” Marinette strode up the steps of the class, stopping right in front of her former seat— Now Lila’s— Internally taking pleasure in the first time she’d seen the Italian’s true expression. “For you, as a token of my apology. I understand if you don’t want to forgive me,” Marinette swallowed painfully, biting her lip, as if she was trying not to cry, “But I just want to make things right.”

Lila blinked.

What the hell was happening?

The silence was broken by a quiet sob, one that did not originate from Marinette. Instead, Mlle. Caline Bustier stood in the doorway of the class, clutching her books and notes for the day’s lesson, wiping away a tear that dropped from her eye. “Oh, Marinette,” The teacher sobbed, “I’m so proud of you.”

“That’s so sweet of you, Marinette.” Rose sniffed, wiping away a few tears of her own that had started dripping during the bluenette’s speech. Juleka patted her girlfriend’s back, trying to calm the emotional blonde before she cried out a tsunami on top of her textbooks, giving Marinette a thumbs up to show her approval.

Alya beamed, seemingly proud of her former best friend, who had (In her opinion) finally started to see sense. “I’m so proud of you, girl!”

(Adrien was too shocked to form any words.)

“Could you… Open it?” Marinette asked hopefully, ignoring the teacher for the favour of the liar who ruined her life. “I… Just want to know if you like it.”

The Italian could do nothing more than grit her teeth when Alya urged her to open it. What kind of trick was Mari-Brat up to? Never mind— She’d just spin it into something stupid and the class would take to it like starved animals. With no other choice, she tore apart the brown paper, discarding the golden ribbon on her desk. The class gasped, oohs and aahs echoing all around as the package unfolded to reveal a pretty, beige-coloured cardigan, hand-stitched with murals of foxes, jumping livelily among berry bushes.

Stitched into the inside of the cardigan in pastel blue were the words ‘Lila Rossi’, done in an exquisite cursive that could no doubt only come from Marinette’s hand.

“I made it for you myself,” Marinette sniffed humbly. “I know you’re a really great model and you’ve probably seen clothes that are much better than this one, but I poured all my feelings into it. I spent every night of last week working on it, and—” She hiccuped rather loudly, instantly covering her mouth with her hand in embarrassment. “I just hope you like it.”

“I…” Lila was at a loss for words. She had an itinerary full of the lies and stories she would spin that day (“Marinette texted me mean things last night,” she would weep tearfully to Alya, sniffing and wiping away tears on Alya’s shirt sleeve, “I just want to be friends but she just keeps… Attacking me!”) but no matter. A smirk danced along the Italian’s lips. “Did you design this yourself?” 

Judging by the smirk that Marinette could practically hear in the other girl’s tone, the liar already had a trick up her sleeve. If Marinette had to guess... 

Something along the lines of she stole this design from [random designer], who just coincidentally had the time to be Lila’s friend. Or maybe the friend of Lila’s grandmother. Whichever didn’t matter much, because Marinette was prepared. 

Marinette crossed the room in mere seconds, returning back to Lila’s seat with a sketchbook that she’d pulled from her bag. “Here!” She chirped, flipping open the page with an exercised movement, not even having to shuffle through the pages to find the correct sketch. “I brought the original sketch, just in case you wanted to see it so you could get a professional to redo it for you.” 

Lila opened and closed her mouth like a gaping fish out of water. Beside her, Alya’s eyes sparkled, envy still glowing in her eyes at the sight of the intricate foxes, coloured in hazel, gold, and orange threads. 

“Thank you, Marinette.” Lila gritted through her teeth, basically seething at the thought of having to thank the girl in front of her, who was smiling like an innocent sunshine child. 

The bluenette then turned her attention to her homeroom teacher. “Sorry for interrupting and taking up class time, Mlle. Bustier.” 

“It’s not a problem, Marinette,” Mlle. Bustier wiped at her eyes, slightly embarrassed now that the whole class was watching her cry at the sight of her ‘model student’ correcting her wrongs. “E— Excuse me.” She mumbled, clearing her throat. “Let’s pick off from where we stopped yesterday. Open your textbooks to page 63, please.” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

The rest of the day went along smoothly. Marinette sat at the back of class, as usual, sighing in boredom as class was derailed off course, whisked off by another one of Lila’s tall tales. Honestly, they were already weeks off schedule— How the hell were they expected to sit for the final exam, at this rate? 

She huffed quietly to herself, watching Bustier trying (and failing) to act like she wasn’t interested in Lila’s story. The woman— An actual adult— Fell for Lila’s usual tricks like a fool, taking in every single word in drunken thirst. Did Mlle. Bustier really have nothing better to do than get absorbed in a teenage girl’s wild fantasies (in a way it was like that). At that thought, Marinette sat up straighter in her chair, an idea going off like a lightbulb above her brain. 

Was it...? 

After further thought, Marinette settled back into her chair, humming thoughtfully as she drummed her fingers against her table quietly. Yes... Yes, perhaps. 

Perhaps it was possible. 

The rest of the lesson passed in wasted time as the class took a major detour to go on a warped journey through Lila’s lies, and before Bustier knew it, the lunch bell had rung. Students chattered animatedly as everyone got up, Mlle. Bustier’s announcement of ‘please go home and study this chapter by yourselves, everyone’ was pathetically drowned out by the rest of the noise. 

Marinette collected her things quickly, needing her exit from the classroom to go off without a hitch, exactly the way she planned it. “I’ve got to go back to my parents’ bakery for lunch,” She said shyly, shrinking into herself as her classmates turned to look at her. “I... Was thinking of bringing some macarons back later. Before I go, though... Lila, is there anything you’re allergic to?” 

“What?” The girl being asked snapped back as a reply, the words leaving her mouth too fast for her to register. Before she knew it, the whole class was staring at her, mouths agape. “I... I mean.” Clearing her throat, the liar plastered on a sweet smile. “What was it, Marinette?” 

“I wanted to bring some macarons back for everyone.” Shyly, the bluenette repeated her plans. “And... Since I’ve been in class with everyone else here for a while, I know their allergies, but not yours. Is there anything you’re allergic to that could be in baked goods?” 

The Italian cursed under her breath— Mari-Brat really wasn’t letting up. The bluenette had made sure to cover any ground that the Italian could use and turn back against her. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m not allergic to anything.” 

Brightening visibly, Marinette nodded, shooting the Italian a smile. “I know things between us aren’t going to get better immediately, but I promise to do my best in fixing things! See you guys after lunch.” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Lila was getting really, really fed up. For the whole morning, she wasn’t able to come up with any reason to blame Marinette. If things kept going at the rate that they were, the class would be fully convinced that the bluenette was a changed woman, and that couldn’t happen. There was, in the end, a downside to having such a gullible bunch of classmates— Sure, they swayed easily to her side, but that meant that they swayed back to Marinette’s just as easily. 

Hissing under her breath, Lila looked up to catch Alya and Nino’s concerned looks. 

No. 

She was Lila Rossi. She was resourceful. She had Gabriel Agreste behind her back. She was powerful. She was not going to let Mari-Brat halt her plans in their tracks ever again. 

“I’m going to go use the bathroom real quick,” She said, excusing herself from the lunch table. Perfect! Now all she had to do was come back in tears, saying that Marinette confronted and mocked her in the bathroom, and the class would be all hers, once again. 

Little did she know that Dupain-Cheng was one teensy step ahead. 

As soon as Lila rounded the corner of the cafeteria, Marinette appeared, having just had a lovely chat with Rose (And Juleka, although it was Rose who did most of the talking). The two were at the front steps of Francois Dupont, having a lovely couple moment that Marinette hated to interrupt— But she needed to have at least a word with them. 

“Rose, Juleka!” Marinette greeted, box of macarons held carefully in her arms, as if it were a box of important jewelry instead of just a box of pastries. “Oh— Rose, is that a new watch? I’ve never seen you wear it before!” 

“Yep, it is!” Rose beamed, delighted that someone (Besides Juleka) had finally noticed it. “Isn’t it pretty?” Indeed it was. The watch in question was a pretty, intricate-looking thing done in rose-gold metal, with a pastel pink leather strap holding it down. The background of the watch face was a white background with a thin film of rose-gold metal, cut to resemble a wall of precious rose vines. 

“It is!” Agreeing wholeheartedly, Marinette offered her classmate a smile. “Oh by the way, what time is it?” 

Rose peered at the watchface, returning the answer with an equally-bright smile. “11.47.” 

“Thank you.” Marinette thanked, continuing her way through the school until she reached the cafeteria. Just before she fell into line of sight, though, she hid behind a wall, peering over the corner until she spotted the table she was looking for. 

Perfect— Lila just walked away. Marinette thanked the gods for all the luck that she was having— Okay, maybe she thanked one god in particular more than the others. Gently, she patted the secret pocket that was sewn into the lining of her blazer— Tikki, who had magic powers, managed to create a miniature ‘room’ inside the secret pocket, with the pocket itself acting as a portal of sorts to the room. After a few seconds, she felt the pocket tap back, managing a small smile of gratitude for her kwami’s constant love and support. 

“Hey, Alya, Nino.” Marinette greeted shyly, box of macarons propped up against her hip. “Where’s... Lila?” She hesitated slightly with her question, acting as if it was a little out-of-place to ask about the Italian girl. 

“She went to the bathroom.” Nino provided, mouth still full of unchewed food. This gifted him with a smack from his girlfriend (“Don’t talk with your mouth full!” she scolded,). 

“Oh, I see.” I definitely see. I know what she’s going to try and pull later— I have to time this properly. Timing is everything. 

Marinette continued to make small talk with the two, whom she had not talked to for a very long time. Much to her surprise, they were very warm and accepting, quite unlike the people who slung slurs and accused her baselessly a few days ago. One morning made all the difference to people who believed anything, she supposed. 

All of a sudden, something in her chest buzzed, as if it were a fire alarm, vibrating in warning— She had to go. “It was nice talking to you guys again.” She admitted, having briefly dipped into a pool of what their friendship used to be like. “But I have to go. I promised Kagami I’d meet her for a few minutes before lunch ended.”

Alya’s eyebrows jumped up comically in surprise. “I didn’t know you still talked to her. I thought you two were… Love rivals.”

“So what if we were love rivals?” Marinette shrugged with a simple smile. “Adrien is… As much as it’s odd to admit, he’s just a boy. Neither of us let him get in between us. He’s just a boy, and it’d be stupid for us to not get along just because we like the same boy. It doesn’t bother Kagami that we used to like the same boy, so why should I let it bother me? Besides,” Marinette tilted her head slightly. “It’d be stupid to give up a great friendship just because of a boy.”

With her last words still hanging in the air, Marinette turned tail and left, walking faster than usual. She had little time left— As she neared the wall that would shield her from the view of the cafeteria, she sped up her footsteps, practically half-sprinting just so she could get out of sight before Lila Rossi returned, looking like someone just killed a puppy in front of her very eyes.

“Oh my god, what’s wrong?” Alya jumped to her feet instantly, reaching out to comfort her best friend, who was moments away from having tears stream down her cheeks.

“I… I thought she’d changed.” Lila sniffled, biting her lip to appear as if she was desperately trying not to cry.

Alya frowned. “Who?”

“Marinette.” Lila stated as if it were obvious, faltering for a moment— Why had Alya bothered to ask? Shouldn’t it come pretty obvious? The liar dismissed the thoughts and continued in her performance. “She threatened me in the bathroom. She… She confronted me and mocked me, saying… Saying that all of you… All of you are idiots for believing that she’s changed. She… She said everything was an act to turn you all against me.”

Nino’s jaw dropped so far that it touched the floor. “Uh… Dudette, are you sure it was Marinette?”

“Yes!” Lila spun to look at him so fast that it was a wonder she didn’t break her neck. “Are… Are you doubting me? Oh my god, it’s working. She’s turning you guys against me. I just want to have friends, I don’t get why she hates me so—”

“You’re… Absolutely sure it was Marinette? You saw her face?” Alya repeated her boyfriend’s words, emphasising each and everyone of them as she looked Lila in the eyes.

“Alya, not you too.” Lila sniffled, tears basically dropping out of her eyes like big, fat droplets of salt water. “It was her— I saw her blazer, it had MDC stitched onto it.”

An uncomfortable silence settled in between the girl and her boyfriend, neither quite knowing what to say. “Oh. I… I see.” Alya said at last, turning back to her food. “Well… Lunch is almost over. Let’s… Let’s get back to class.”

“Marinette just threatened me in the bathroom!” Lila puffed up, clearly upset now. “She mocked me! She called you guys stupid for believing her act!”

“Dudette.” Nino shattered the ice-cold silence at their lunch table, swallowing heavily. “Marinette was with us the whole time you were in the bathroom.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

The tension inside the room was so thick that Adrien could cut it with his bare hands. God, what had happened? The day had started off so well— Marinette agreed to be friends with Lila, god bless the girl— But as it turned out, one hurdle folded over only to be towered over by a taller one. 

“Alya—” Lila began tearfully, her pitiful look attracting the sympathy of those who still didn’t know what was going on. 

“You claimed that Marinette threatened you in the bathroom.” Alya interrupted. “While she was with us the whole time in the cafeteria.” 

Faltering, the Italian struggled to find a way to squeeze herself out of the tight spot. “M— Maybe it was someone else.” Reluctantly, she backed out one trap into another one. 

“You said that you were sure! You said that she was wearing a blazer with MDC stitched on it. Marinette was wearing that blazer during lunch!” The reporter shot back, Nino at her side, trying to extinguish the conflicted fire blazing inside Alya’s heart. 

The seeds of doubt had been sewn, and Lila was going to have a tough time weeding them out. “I... I’m sorry!” She burst out into tears, sobbing pitifully in front of the class, most of which were already in attendance. “My lying disease is acting up again. I... I can’t help it. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone!” 

“Uh... Is this a bad time to ask if anyone wants macarons?” Marinette cleared her throat awkwardly, standing at the front of the room. Her royal blue blazer had been shed, and it now hung over her arm, properly folded into half. Earlier, she had asked Rose for the time to make sure that she had a witness in case Lila tried to pull another act— But as it seemed, the Italian was determined to dig her own grave and all the work had been done. 

The students of Mlle. Bustier’s class shared looks. 

“I’ll... I’ll have one.” Mylene cleared her throat, hoping that it would diffuse the situation. 

“Me too.” Kim followed, not missing the way Marinette flinched slightly at his words. Most of the words he had said to her of late had not been nice at all— But he justified that with the fact that she was being a bully to Lila, like Chloe had been to Marinette herself. 

“Great!” Marinette cleared her throat awkwardly, slapping on a strained smile. She passed the box to the front row, where Sabrina and Chloe were, gesturing for them to pass the box along until everyone got their fill. 

Internally, Lila seethed, anger burning like a wildfire that tore down every lush sign of life in her path. The girl had never felt that livid in her entire life— Who did Dupain-Cheng think she was, having a change of heart out of nowhere, pretending to play along with those oh-so-innocent eyes of hers? 

“I... I think I know why my disease acted up again,” Lila sniffled, loud enough to gather attention again. Unsure glances passed around like an object that no one wanted, carried from hand to hand forcefully as no one wanted to hold onto it for too long. “It... It must’ve been because of... Of the cardigan that Marinette made me! You must’ve known that...” The Italian squinted at the cardigan on her desk, “... Cotton triggers my lying disease!” 

The bluenette, still passing around macarons, stopped in her tracks. Inside her mind, Marinette was shaking her head, an amused smile on her cheeks. She had to give Lila credit for that one— She would’ve never anticipated that lie from her nemesis. “That’s terrible!” She sucked in a breath, putting on a dismayed look. “I’m really sorry, Lila! I know it seems like I did this on purpose, but I promise I didn’t! To make it up to you, I’ll make you another one.” 

Is she serious right now? Lila scoffed mentally. How long does she plan to keep this going? No matter— She’ll eventually drain herself out and I won’t even have to meddle in this matter. 

Marinette sniffled, collecting the cardigan pitifully from Lila’s desk. “But to prevent future incidents, Lila, I just want you to know that this isn’t made of cotton... It’s made from the highest-quality of star silk, which is incredibly difficult to produce and is rather expensive. It’s such a pity... I thought that only the best of materials would be deserving to be used to make an apology present... I guess you can’t wear it. I’ll just make another copy of the cardigan with some normal-range silk.” Sighing, the bluenette pretended to mull in sadness for a few seconds before an idea struck her. “Alya! You aren’t allergic to star silk, right?” 

The flow of conversation redirected suddenly, with the reporter snapping to attention and nodding eagerly as she realised what was about to happen. 

“Then... Since I’ve spent so long on this, I don’t want it to go to waste... Why don’t you have it, instead?” Offered Marinette with a sweet, shy smile on her face. 

Lila, still caught up in shock by the reveal of the material— Was then slammed with a wall of flaming anger as Alya squealed, coddling the soft, fluffy material that made the cardigan the exquisite product it was. 

“Marinette’s right,” Adrien chipped in with his own two cents, “Father can rarely get his hands on that material— It costs a fortune, and if hand-made... It takes forever.” 

“Oh, I wove the silk by myself,” Marinette added shyly after Adrien’s contribution, “So I apologise if it’s not up to the quality of industry-level star silk.” 

The reporter gushed, still cooing and running her hands over the gorgeous threads of fabric that made up the cloud-like base of the cardigan, eyes sparkling and the details of the embroidery. 

Marinette smiled, returning to her seat without a fuss. The rest of the class continued to pass the pastries around, the perfect description of ‘ignorance is bliss’ as they pretended as if they couldn’t see the way Lila was shaking in anger. Alya, on the other hand, could see nothing but the garment in her hands, her ‘best friend’ having become invisible for the time being. 

Just as well that it turned out this way, Marinette hummed, twirling her pen in hand, Let that be my departing gift to Rena Rouge. 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Tomorrow arrived like clockwork, never late and always on time. The crowd of students clamouring by the front of Francois Dupont hushed to silence as they parted for two dark-haired women, both of which were giving off waves of confidence. Simple conversation flowed between the two, who were perfect examples of elegance and grace, their traditional-inspired attire complementing the royal-like aura they had. 

“This dress is really lovely, Marinette,” Kagami smiled gently, admiring the way the fabric flowed around her. The designer had gifted her friend with a maroon-coloured hanfu-inspired dress, complete with hand-sewn embroidery of a golden dragon curled around Kagami’s waist and neck. The dress was completed with a pleated skirt that went all the way to the heels. At first, the fencer was reluctant about the skirt due to the limited maneuverability, but then Marinette revealed that the skirt was very simple to take off as it was just tied around the waist. 

“You look gorgeous in it. It suits you.” Marinette replied, dressed in a similar looking dress. Her hanfu-inspired dress was light pink in colour, with silver threads depicting cranes flying about freely. The pleated skirt was grey in colour, lined with a soft circle of white. 

Kagami blushed slightly. “Thank you.” Briefly, the Japanese girl wondered why on Earth Marinette would go and embroider a dragon onto her dress— Was it purely a coincidence, or...? 

“I’m really glad you decided to transfer here,” Marinette smiled softly, her dark blue bangs framing her face as the rest of it was gathered into a braid that Kagami had helped weave. “It’s going to be nice! I’ll get to see you a lot more often.” 

“We’re in different classes, though.” Frowning, Kagami wondered if she should request a change of homeroom. 

“For now.” The designer winked playfully. “Oh, I have to get to class. See you during lunch?” 

Without waiting for a reply, the blue-eyed girl moved away gracefully, leaving Kagami in confusion. 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Good morning,” Marinette greeted gracefully, sweeping into the classroom with her bag over her shoulder and a package in her hands. This package was clearly not as exquisitely-wrapped as the one from the day before, as it was just brown paper and some rough string. 

Alya brightened at the sight of her friend, shrinking away slightly whenever Lila tried to say anything. Sure, the reporter did shake off the initial reaction and respond to whatever her ‘best friend’ said, but the damage had been done. 

“Here’s your new cardigan. It’s made from the same material as your shirt,” Marinette smiled warmly, placing the package on Lila’s table. “It’s a little different from the one I brought yesterday, but I still poured in all my emotions when I made it, so I hope you’ll accept it.” 

Through a gritted smile, the Italian thanked the designer, clenching her fists under the table. That was the second time in two days she had to thank Mari-brat! She swore that if she had to do it again a third time, she was going to slap someone. 

“Oh, Marinette!” Alya called out excitedly, wearing the cardigan that was originally supposed to be Lila’s. “This cardigan is so soft! It’s really amazing to wear! As expected of you, girl!” 

The bluenette stared back at the reporter, wavering for a bit. She had a feeling that Alya wanted something from her... 

“So... I was wondering...” The reporter’s expression turned sheepish, with Marinette’s internal thought-train going ah, there it comes— “Could you remove this and put my name instead?” Alya picked up the corner of the cardigan, pointing to the inside of the garment, where ‘Lila Rossi’ was embroidered on. 

“Ah...” Marinette didn’t even have to fake her nervousness. We already agreed on this, She told herself, No more doing free stuff for people. No more. “Sorry, Alya. My parents need a lot of help in the bakery recently,.. You know how it is! Family always comes first. I’ve already taken out a lot of time to make the cardigan for Lila... And I promised Kagami I’d go out with her this weekend. I’m afraid I don’t have time...” 

There was no missing the way Alya’s face fell instantly. “Couldn’t you put off Kagami for me? Aren’t we best friends?” 

“I thought Lila was your best friend,” Feigning an expression of innocence, Marinette tilted her head slightly. “You shouldn’t go around saying things like that, Alya. You might hurt Lila’s feelings. Besides, a promise is a promise. I wouldn’t want to hurt Kagami’s feelings either. Not to mention— I gave you that cardigan for free. That was two weeks’ worth of hard work. I’m afraid I don’t have the ability to take time out to alter it for free either. If you really want to get it done, you could ask an external tailor to do it for you. I know a few who can do really good embroidery.” 

Alya faltered. “But... We used to be best friends...” 

Snorting mentally, Marinette continued to hold her calm composure. “Like I said, you really shouldn’t say that, Alya. Lila might get upset and we don’t want to hurt her feelings— Right, Adrien?” 

The blonde jumped when the conversation turned to him out of nowhere. All of a sudden, every eye in the classroom was fixed on him. “R— Right, of course.” He said, forcing out each word. 

Satisfied, Marinette nodded, still wearing her ever-so-kind smile. “Exactly.” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Hey, why don’t we all go out and have a picnic outside during lunch?” Alya suggested loudly, jumping up as soon as the lunch bell rang. “Marinette, you can come along too!” Something inside the reporter’s chest was stirring, and with the events of the past few days, Alya felt like she just had to quench that unsettling feeling— And the first step to that was to mend things with Marinette, even though it was the bluenette’s fault for always having been biased to Lila. Alya smiled, proud of herself. She would be the bigger person, she would forgive Marinette, she would integrate the designer back into the class again. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Marinette replied just as quickly, “We don’t know what Lila might be allergic to— She could easily trigger a reaction if we go out, especially since it’s spring.” 

A collective choir of groans rounded the class. 

“Well, I’m going to go back to the hotel to have a first-class meal,” Chloe turned her nose up at her classmates. “... Dupain-Cheng, would you like to come?” 

Shock painted the faces of the whole classroom. Did Chloe just... Ask Marinette something... Politely? 

“I’d love to take that offer, Chloe.” Responded the bluenette, graceful and flawless as ever. “Perhaps tomorrow?” 

“Suit yourself. They’re serving lobster today.” Chloe huffed. “If you’re really that busy, then fine. We can discuss...” The Mayor’s daughter trailed off as she blushed. 

The bluenette giggled knowingly. “You’d like to commission a dress from me, right?” 

“... No.” 

“...” 

“... Maybe.” 

“Alright.” Marinette nodded. “Then maybe it’ll be more convenient if I head over to the hotel after school. I’ll need to take your measurements and we can discuss the prices after.” 

“Whatever.” Chloe waved her away haughtily, a poor effort to cover up her embarrassment. “Sabrina. Let’s go.” 

“Chloe?” Alya guffawed. “Why are you commissioning something from Marinette?” 

Rolling her eyes as if Alya had just asked the stupidest question ever, Chloe answered plainly. “Because she’s one of the up-and-rising designers in the industry? Have you seen what Dupain-Cheng is wearing today? Celebrities are already fighting for spots in her commission list. Even my mother and Gabriel Agreste acknowledge her talent. I’m not dumb, Cesaire. I can recognise a future fashion queen when I see one.” 

Wow, Marinette breathed, looking at the stunned faces around the room, Chloe sure knows how to create an impression. 

“W— Well.” Stuttered the reporter after Chloe made her big exit. “Then... What about going to the bakery for lunch?” 

“Didn’t Lila say she saw a rat in the bakery the last time she visited it?” Marinette pointed out. “The health officer checked the surveillance and the claim was dismissed, of course, because my parents make sure the bakery is as hygienic as possible— But I’m sure Lila is traumatised from that incident. I wouldn’t want to force her to come along to the bakery— And we wouldn’t want to leave her out either, right?” 

This elicited another round of groans. 

Oh, I am enjoying myself way too much, Marinette chuckled mentally. 

“Then— Then...” Alya struggled visibly before she was put out of her misery. 

“It’s fine, Alya.” The designer reassured her. “I wouldn’t want to bother Lila. I’m sure she’s still upset at me. You guys go ahead. I have to go back to the bakery to help my parents out. See you guys after!” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Slam! 

Lila fumed, hand still pressed on her locker door. What. The. Hell. Was Mari-brat trying to do? She didn’t miss the way some of her classmates sent her unsatisfactory looks after that pre-lunch stunt that Marinette had pulled. 

And what was the thing about high-and-mighty Chloe commissioning from Marinette? 

Sure, Lila would admit that the cardigan that the designer made was indeed gorgeous, and the fabric was smooth and velvety, a quality unlike any of the clothing that Lila had ever had the privilege to touch— But surely a lowly brat like Dupain-Cheng couldn’t be that popular... Right? 

Dammit, hissed the Italian girl, Maybe I should’ve tried being friends with Mari-brat instead of Cesaire. 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Is that... Marinette and Kagami?” Nino gaped, prompting Alya to turn around. It was true— Walking up the steps of Francois Dupont together were the two blue-haired girls, a gentle smile dancing on Kagami’s lips as Marinette talked animatedly, her hands waving around quickly to further elaborate her point. 

Students lounging around the entrance for lunch couldn’t tear their eyes off the two and their matching dresses. Sure, the two girls had walked into school the same way that morning— But now that the afternoon sun was high up in the sky, the golden and silver embroidery was glinting luminously, revealing the true caliber of Marinette’s craft. 

“But... They’re rivals.” Stuttered Alya. She just couldn’t understand... Weren’t they supposed to hate each other? 

“They both like Adrien but they can still get along,” Nino remarked thoughtfully, taking a bite from his sandwich. “So Marinette wasn’t lying about going to meet Kagami yesterday.” 

Alya was silent. 

“Alya? What’s wrong?” Worried, Nino put a hand around his girlfriend’s shoulder, care and concern shining through his honest eyes. 

“If... If Marinette doesn’t get jealous or biased over someone who also likes Adrien...” Alya started quietly, eyes still fixed on the two girls, “Then why was she so against Lila?” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Mlle. Bustier?” The teacher looked up at the voice of her favourite student. Fondly, she smiled. Marinette had finally seen the light and changed her ways, becoming the helpful, generous, kind Marinette that served as a great example for her peers. “May I make an announcement before class ends?” 

“Of course, dear.” Mlle. Bustier gave permission instantly— Marinette was taking up the reins of leadership again! The teacher couldn’t help but do a happy dance internally. 

“I have an announcement to make, so if everyone could listen, I’d be really thankful.” Marinette started, her clear blue eyes meeting those of her classmates. 

She took a deep breath. This is it. I’ve done what I needed to do, now it’s time to finish the job. 

“These past two days... Have been great,” Marinette started wistfully. “I really missed hanging around everyone, just like we did before,” Before you all turned your backs on me and stabbed me when I wasn’t looking, “But I can’t deny— And neither can you— That the things that have happened... They had a really deep impact. And I’ve realised that I can’t just ignore that damage that has been done.” The damage that has been done to me. “So, for the better of everyone— I’ve decided that I... Will transfer classes.” 

It was as if an explosion had gone off in Mlle. Bustier’s classroom. 

“Girl! You can’t do that!” Alya exclaimed in dismay, “We can fix things! Everything has been going well these few days, haven’t they?” 

“Dudette! Honestly, we forgive you.” Nino sighed, “Things just aren’t the same if you’re not here anymore.” 

Adrien didn’t say a word, but the imploring gaze he wore said enough. Please don’t leave me here alone. We promised we’d fight together, right? As long as both of us know... 

Marinette held her hand up to silence them, and the classroom, just as swiftly, became the deadly silence that followed post-disaster. “I understand. But once again, this is for the better,” — Of my mental health, “I’ve talked to Mlle. Mendeliev, and she’s agreed to take me in. I believe that once the changes have taken place, we can all grow more freely without restrictions.” 

In the corner, Mlle. Bustier was tearing up and dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve. 

“Mlle. Bustier,” Marinette turned to her teacher, no malice in her eyes. “I’ll be under Mlle. Mendeliev’s care now.” 

“Marinette...” The teacher sobbed quietly, with Chloe shooting her a look of disgust from the front row. 

“It’s not going to be easy for any of us,” Marinette turned back to the class, “But with time, I’m sure we will all prosper. Especially since you will now be under the care of our one and only Lila Rossi.” 

Adrien looked like someone had just killed a puppy in front of him. 

“Since I am the current class president, I thought I’d pass on the duties onto the most capable person in our class.” Marinette explained warmly, never moving her gaze away from the bewildered Lila. “Lila has the most connections in our class out of all of us, and she’s met so many CEOs and entrepreneurs that she must know a lot about organising and planning. I’m sure you can do it, Lila, but...” She paused. “You can handle it, right?” 

“Y— Yeah. Of course.” Lila stuttered. 

“You promised the class that you’d get BTS to perform for the year-end fundraiser since you were supposed to be in an arranged marriage with their youngest member, Jungkook.” Marinette continued, God I am enjoying myself too much honestly, but I ain’t going to stop now, “And you said you could convince your godfather, Bruce Wayne, to allow the class to go to Wayne Enterprises for this year’s class trip.” 

“She said she could convince Tony Hawk to give me an internship, too!” Alix chipped in. 

“And that she’d bring me along the next time Prince Ali asks for her help for a charity cause!” Rose smiled. 

“She said she’d introduce me to the CEO of Graham Films!” Nino’s eyes shone at the idea. 

The class continued to talk all over one another until Marinette silenced them once more. “Now, now. Let’s not overwhelm Lila. We wouldn’t want her to be overworked or to feel like the expectations are set too high, right?” 

The class agreed, nodding along. 

Marinette made eye contact with Lila, offering her a sweet smile as she did so. Lila, on the other hand, had no taste for such politeness. Instead, she straight-out glared at the former class president. 

This is your problem now. 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Marinette! I was hoping to catch you before you went home,” Alya panted, having been able to find the bluenette in the locker room before the designer slipped out of her reach. “You... You’re really serious about leaving?” 

“Yeah.” Smiled Marinette, organising her textbooks into her bag, dusting down her skirt. Noticing Alya’s crestfallen expression, she took the initiative to continue the conversation. “Is there anything else, Alya?” 

“Did you... Did you really hate Lila because she liked Adrien, too?” The reporter asked somewhat timidly. 

Marinette giggled. Normally, when the girl giggled, you could hear a gentle tinkling of wind chimes— But at that moment, Alya heard the freezing winds on Mount Everest instead. “Don’t be silly, Alya. All this over a boy? Besides, I’m over him.” 

“Then...” Alya swallowed difficulty. “Lila... Really was lying this whole time?” 

The gaze that swept across the reporter was stone cold, and it made Alya feel as if she was dangling over a valley of jagged rocks. “What do you think, Alya?” Even so, the bluenette maintained a sweet smile. 

“She was. She was lying the whole time.” Alya suddenly felt as if she had a shortness of air. “This whole time—” 

“Oh, good for you. You finally learned how to see further than one feet in front of you.” Marinette hummed. “I’m proud of you, really. But I’m afraid that I don’t have the time to listen to you slowly come to conclusions after I’ve tried making you see sense for the past half a year. I tried to stop you from ruining your futures, but I guess determination was always one of your good traits.” 

Alya slipped to the floor, having lost the feeling in her legs. She placed one hand against the lockers for support as she shook, weakly looking up at the girl who she was once so proud to call her ‘best friend’. 

“Marinette?” Kagami’s voice rang through the room, indicating that the girl was waiting at the doorway. “You said you were heading to Bourgeois’s hotel after school— Would you like a ride?” 

“That’d be nice, Kagami. A moment.” The designer looked down at her friend and smiled, albeit a little sadly this time— And then she lowered her voice. 

“Determination was always one of your good traits.” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Marinette,” Adrien perked up at the sight of the bluenette leaving the school doors— Side by side with Kagami, who looked ready to draw a sword and start a duel then and there. 

“This’ll just take a minute, ‘Gami.” Marinette reassured, gently patting her friend’s arm. “Why don’t you get in the car first? It looks like it’s going to rain.” 

Reluctantly, Kagami nodded. “Alright.” Warily, the fencer stepped down the stairs and into the car— But even as she sat in the vehicle, she watched over her fellow bluenette like a hawk, ready to jump out and challenge the blonde if the situation called for it. 

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, not quite knowing what to say. Luckily for him, the designer decided to start the conversation. 

“I just wanted to say thank you.” Marinette smiled softly. A few months ago, when she looked at Adrien, she would see the kind, generous, pure-hearted boy with the finest golden hair and the brightest green eyes. Now? All she saw was a spineless, sheltered, passive child that was afraid of confrontations. 

“For what?” Adrien looked at Marinette, and no longer did he see the cute, pigtail-adorning girl that would blush fiercely everytime he tried to talk to her. Instead, he saw a beautiful, young woman, a rock that had pulled through all the odds to become a vibrant, iridescent diamond. 

Marinette was glowing with confidence, her presence diffusing into the air around her and triggering eyes to look up every time she walked by. There was something about the way she held herself that just made the woman demand awe and respect from those that crossed her path. The old ‘Clumsinette’ had been shed like an old snake skin to reveal a treasure, a better version of the bluenette that had always been waiting for her time to come. 

Bluebell eyes met green ones just as rain began to patter down onto the streets of Paris. Marinette glanced up slightly, not at all bothered as she smoothly retrieved an umbrella from her bag, holding it out for the blonde to take. A flush of deja vu burst through Adrien’s veins and through his skin as he took it with a mumbled thanks, eyes blown wide as Marinette let loose her hair from her ponytail, pulling her blazer over her head to avoid getting her head wet. 

Adrien could only gape as Marinette uttered familiar words back to him, a knowing smile dancing across her lips as she ran off into the rain as if an invisible weight had been lifted off her shoulders. The bluenette looked lighter, brighter, ready to take flight and soar towards the success that her crops of hard work had finally started to bear. Before the blonde model knew it, Marinette Dupain-Cheng had slipped out of his grip, already spreading her multi-coloured wings to land among the stars. 

“Thank you for telling me to take the high road.”  

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

this was both satisfying and tiring to write... 

#ml salt #ml saltfic #saltfic #lila salt #marinette dupain-cheng #adrien salt #miraculous ladybug #alya salt #[ris writes]—✧

[jonnnysuh]

How To Write Good // Vernon

A/N: It all started with watching Vernon’s English tutor series and now we’re here omg. This is my first series so please give it some love <3 kind of unedited so lmk if there’s any mistakes! PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

PAIRING: Vernon x You

GENRE: enemies to ???, fluff, student!vernon, tutor!vernon

WARNINGS: swearing

WORD COUNT: 2.7K

SUMMARY: There’s the crisp air of campus, the rush of something new, and a four year degree ahead of you. Your college experience doesn’t go off as smoothly as you’d hoped when you fall asleep on course selection day and are stuck with left over electives. Struggling to get through your creative writing class, you have no idea how you’re going to get through this semester. Fate steps in when the stranger you fought in the library might just be your only chance at passing. This is all just part of the college experience… right?

Orange leaves began surrounding the burnt red brick pathway, and the small green hills of the campus quad.  Fall was fast approaching, without much warning.  The bright summer sky, now often clouds of gray. The wind brushed past you, causing your hair to fly up. Your legs brushed together quickly as you tried to make your way through campus to get to your Writing in the Arts class. You swore to yourself that you wouldn't sleep through course selection but sometimes sleep was an actual priority to you...and it so happened to be on that day.  Not your first choice, but definitely miles ahead of  Economic History on the list of leftover electives.

You flipped over your wrist to take a look at the time on your brown pleather watch. 8:12.

Professor Hampton was an older woman, who always kept her sandy brown hair in a slick tight low bun. She had enforced a rule that the doors to the lecture hall would shut 15 minutes past the hour. If you didn’t make it then you’d have to get notes from a classmate. Maybe it’d be fine if you had a friend in the class that was actually punctual, but you had often sat alone in the same spot in the far left corner of the class room.  Time was definitely never on your side as you reckoned you only had 3 minutes left until your trip downtown was rendered useless. 

You swung the thick metal door open, and began pumping your legs forward, not stopping until you reached the top of the stairs. To your luck, the lecture hall was on the exact end of the hallway. As you took longer strides, your gray backpack bounced behind you. Finally arriving at the end of the long hallway, you came face to face with Professor Hampton, who had a scowl so thick you’d think it was drawn on with a felt tip permanent marker. Without an ounce of forgiveness, that old lady secured the door shut, eyes keen on your betrayed face just a few centimetres from hers.

With the little pride you still had, you contained the urge  to bang on the door repeatedly and say "OPEN UP."

If you hadn't had time to get ready that day, or missed your bus, dammit this would've been the boiling point that would've driven you to  kick the wall. Your saving grace was that there was a cute guy typing away on his laptop in this hallway and you'd be damned if you were about to look a fool.

It was that moment, you knew that if you were going to pass this class without sacrificing a wink of sleep, you were going to have to make a friend that was good at writing notes. And quick.

—

The next day, you navigated your way through the twists and turns of the library, never having had been there a day in your life. You swear you’d gone in a circle at this point. You promised your best friend, Taylor that you’d secure a spot for your impromptu study date. Although you both had good intentions, you knew it was more than likely going to become a gossip session that involved sometimes looking at class material.

Among the rows and rows of occupied tables, you finally found an empty table, situated next to the window that overlooked the architecture and art buildings. You settled in the chair, slipping your laptop out of your tote bag , and typing mindlessly to look busy while you waited for your friend. With a look around the room, you wondered if people actually studied at the library or if they were just faking it like you.

You were so immersed in your game of Tetris you almost didn’t hear the voice that said , “Hey, I think you’re at the wrong table.”

You paused your game and surveyed the empty wooden table you were sitting at.  You blinked slowly at the brown haired man.  “I was here first.”

“That might be true but I booked it out for the hour.” The stranger stood with a slight slouch, sporting a backwards snapback and a deep green hoodie. He didn't look like the type to hang out around the library- but then again, neither did you. You swear you had seen him before, but you couldn't place where.

Did I go to high school with him?  you thought.

What if he was ugly and had a glow up and that’s why I don’t recognize him?

You took a closer look at him.

Nah. I don’t think he’s ever been ugly in his life.

“Look. My name's right here." He leaned forward, showing you his screen.

[TABLE 9] 3:00pm - Vernon C.

You pushed the phone away, unimpressed. "But you showed up late."

"It was only 6 minutes." Vernon scoffed, as if his tardiness would automatically forfeit him from his table.

"Well, have you ever heard of finder's keepers?"

Vernon nodded, his voice pointed. "But have you ever heard of fair and square?"

You tried your best to conceal the fact that you were somewhat amused by his elementary-level comeback.

"Could you look into your great, big heart to share?” You pouted tauntingly.

"Oh, yeah, because you need a table to play Tetris." He responded sarcastically but it was as if he had crept into your mind. You dreaded the idea of being on your feet trying to find another place for your game.

Your best friend rolled in between you two innocently, confused at the interaction at hand. It was like a kid walking in on their mom and dad fighting for the first time… except dad is a Tetris-hating stranger you just met 3 minutes ago.

“Sorry I’m late, Y/N.”  Taylor interjected, trying her best to mend the atmosphere with a grin.  Vernon's posture went notably straight as he exhaled, returning a sweet close-lipped smile. You couldn't help but notice the way he looked at your friend- you squinted at the shadow of the difference between this Vernon and the one that basically told you to fuck off only moments prior.

Without a doubt, you knew he was suffering from the "Taylor Effect".

Taylor was your textbook girl next door; equipped with a warm demeanour, and a confidence that was endearing rather than cocky.  You could tell that Vernon was trying his best not to stare so obviously, but he was failing miserably.

Because everyone gravitated towards her, many found it odd that she chose to keep you as company. Sometimes you thought she stuck around only because your personalities were so starkly different and would emphasize how great she was, but time and time again she proved she was notable on her own accord.

"Did I interrupt something?"

You and the man shared a look.

Vernon had a feeling that if he let you speak first, that you might ruin his chances with Taylor, and there was absolutely NO shot that he was going to tell her what had just happened. You were quick to take advantage of the situation.

“Vernon just wanted to take the tab-“

He shook his head, "No, no, no I was just leaving."

You raised your eyebrow, smugly.

“I'll see you later,” He bid.  Your eyes widened as he went closer to you, clasping his hand around yours and pulling you forwards into an almost embrace. He dapped you up. Vernon dapped you up. What? Did he think you were bros now?

Ya, right. You thought. This is my first and last time in this library. You will never see me or my Tetris again.

And with that, he swung his backpack over his shoulder  coolly and headed down the long carpeted aisle in the other direction.

Only a few moments later did he return to go through the north exit. “Wrong way.” He mumbled, charting past both of you.

—

“So you don’t know anyone in that class?” Taylor said in disbelief as you two sat at the table you had only marginally won.

“No, I missed the first two weeks so by the time I actually went to class  they already had their groups.”  you responded, blowing air out of your mouth in frustration.

School had only just begun and Taylor had swept up a bunch of friends, including you, in just this one semester.

You, on the other hand, were awkward, but not in the forgivable way. You never knew the right thing to say, and your sarcasm drew a fine line between a joke and the truth. You felt like you always had to bite your tongue to hold a decent conversation with someone. In turn, this scared a lot of people away, and resulted in a small but good group of friends that understood you.

For some reason though, you did well with confrontation. That was the only time you could force yourself to not care about what someone else thought about you. Other than that, your communication skills were almost useless.

“So go up to those kids and say hi.” Taylor responded.

You knew your best friend was being well meaning, but sometimes she felt like she oversimplified your problems because she saw it through her own lens. Of course it would be easy for Taylor to do so, but for you it would be a different story. Your stomach turned at even the mere thought of introducing yourself to the group of strangers that always sat all the way in the front of the lecture hall.

“I’ll just figure it out. I don't know how to just talk to people."

“What about that guy that I just saw you with? What was that about?”

You cleared your throat, fixing your attention to your laptop screen. Getting work done suddenly seemed more interesting.

“No, no, no look at me.” Taylor dragged your laptop away.

You begrudgingly looked at your friend. “What about him?”

“Who was that? He was kind of cute.” She cupped her cheek with her hand and sat closer, clearly interested. It was rare to see you with anyone other than your usual friend group so Taylor was invested in your endeavours outside of it.

You knew that if you told Taylor about your weird argument with a stranger, that she’d explain that you were unfriendly, that you needed to be nicer, etc. etc. You didn’t need a lecture today.

“Just some dude who finished using the table.”

Taylor chuckled, “What kind of guy says bye like that to a person he just met?”

Her guess was as good as yours.

—

ONE WEEK LATER

Determination is setting 25 morning alarms, pre-picking your clothes and opting for an on-the-go breakfast in order to just make it on time for class. You took your final strides towards the class slowly, knowing you finally had time on your side. Would it be crazy to call waking up at 6am a victory? Doesn’t matter, you were just so happy, you could answer Professor Hampton’s questions… that is, if you listened.

At the bottom of the lecture hall, sat the aforementioned groups, while the top were lonesome stragglers looking at their phones in an effort to look less lonely. You knew they were probably just reviewing their settings; turning their wifi on and off.

Professor Hampton cleared her throat into the microphone at the front of the class, prompting you to pick up the pace to your regular spot at the far left corner.

No way.

Your speed slowed down again, as you craned your head to get a better look at a brown-haired boy sitting by himself.

Despite the numerous empty seats to choose from, your caffeine rush assisted you in making the possibly dumb decision of sitting exactly right next to him. He seemed unbothered, though as he didn’t look up to question it.

Professor Hampton played her slides, while you pulled out your laptop out of your tote bag.

“Hey.” You whispered.

The man’s light brown eyes flickered towards you.

“You’re in this class?” Vernon whisper-exclaimed.

It registered in your brain that this might’ve been a mistake.

You nodded.

Vernon kept his focus on the front of the class, his pencil swivelled  away on his lined paper. You had never seen anyone actually take real-life notes before. You scanned his paper, pleasantly surprised at the organization.

“Why did you dap me up last week?”

“I honestly don’t know what I was doing.” He admitted.

Boys do dumb things around pretty girls. You'd seen it happen so many times with Taylor.

“She’s cute isn’t she?”

“Who?” Vernon was quick to play dumb, but he clearly knew. 

You were fascinated by how he was writing and listening to you at the same time.

“Taylor—my friend.”

Vernon squinted his eyes, either to think or because he couldn’t see the projection clearly. It made you wonder why he sat in the back of the class if that was the case.

“Yeah, she is.”

Bingo.

You silently relished in your impromptu decision to sit next to a stranger.

“What would you say if I got you a date with her?”

Vernon put his pencil down. “You strike me as the kind of person who wouldn’t do that out of the kindness of your heart.”

You snorted. “You’re right.”

Vernon let out a deep sigh, pushing his hoodie sleeve up his arms. He relaxed back in his seat and stared at you as he waited for your proposal.

“What is it?” His deep voice was littered with impatience but it was clear he was at least curious.

You weren’t  prepared to gain his full attention. Your mind went several ways as you collected your thoughts to be as concise as possible.

“I’m struggling in this class, okay? I can’t always make it on time, and creative writing? Not really something I’m interested in.”

“Then why’d you take the class?”

“Why does anyone do anything here? For the credit.” You responded as if the answer was obvious.

Vernon’s raised eyebrows was enough to tell you that he was actually passionate about this subject— which was perfect for you if you wanted to pass the class.

“How do I come into this, though?” His patience running thin from your incredibly interesting backstory.

“If you tutor me up until midterms and I pass, I’ll get you a date with Taylor.”

He shook his head “What if you fail?”

“Then you can take that as a reflection of your teaching skills,” Vernon rolled his eyes. Okay maybe that was a bad joke. “but on the plus side you’ve gained a new friendddddd.”

Professor Hampton gave you two a dirty look on her way back from shutting the lecture hall’s door. Vernon picked up his pencil to look busy and you tapped on your trackpad to turn the screen on.

“And what if I say no?” Vernon said between his teeth, catching the professor glare right at him with her scowl turned up to one hundred.

“Then I’ll shit talk about you to Taylor so you never have a chance.” You threatened. Your mom always urged you to use your brain, and boy, were you using it.

“You want me to teach you how to be creative?”

You shrugged. “I mean, how hard can it be?”

Vernon looked down at his notes contemplating his choices. He was silent for so long that you actually started typing notes.

“Y/N” Vernon whispered. You seemed to be fully immersed in the lesson now. Your eyes absorbing the information... Maybe writing was kind of fascinating.

“Y/N” He tried again, snapping you out of a trance.

“My bad.” you apologized. “I didn’t know the interesting part of the story was called the climax like ew—”

“I can only tutor you on Thursdays between 6 and 8 in the library. Bring your laptop and be prepared to learn.”

You knew you didn’t have class at those hours, so it should’ve been fine, but you also dreaded staying after school longer than you had to.

“What about 4-6?” You pleaded.

Vernon looked offended at your counter offer. “No. 6-8”

“4:30…?” You tried once again.

Vernon snorted at your no-quit attitude. “You wanna pass or not?”

You stuck out your hand defeatedly and Vernon shook on it before either of you could change your mind. Vernon was your new tutor.

Maybe Taylor was right. All you had to do was go up to someone and say “hi.”

And blackmail them. And use your friend as bait.

Making friends was easy.

#omg I’m scared??? but excited #vernon chwe #vernon #vernon seventeen #seventeen #svt #kpop fanfic #seventeen fanfic #kpop #seventeen imagine #tutor!vernon #student!vernon #kpop writing #seventeen oneshot #svt fluff #enemies to ?? #kpop fluff #vernon fanfic #vernon scenarios #vernon fluff #vernon imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fluff #seventeen x you #seventeen x reader #seventeen x y/n #vernon fanfics #vernon x you #vernon x reader #svt scenarios

[translations-by-aiimee]

Mistakenly Saving the Villain - Chapter 2

Original Title: 论救错反派的下场

Genres: Drama, Romance, Xianxia, Yaoi

TW for this chapter: Brief description of suicide

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter 2 - Problem-Solving by Elimination

Scholar-Tyrant Song sat in the examination room, his mind blank.

The types of questions at the Banquet of Beauties were more terrifying than Goldbach’s conjecture. At least he would not panic if being questioned by his professor on Goldbach's conjecture.

The Langgan Terrace of the Golden Pheonix Manor was extremely luxurious and beautiful. There are countless cultivators and beautiful women flying in the depths of the clouds. Every guest was more beautiful than the last, and carefree laughter and obscene words were thrown around.

Song Qingshi silently recited his lectures on the human body structure, physiological hygiene, mouse breeding and other courses twice in his heart, finally recovering the calmness of a high-ranking medical student. Thinking about the lab mice he had bred for three years dying off, the scene in front of him no longer meant much.

There are two kinds of divine fires in the original person's body. The first was the Red Lotus Fire used for refining his alchemy, and the other was the Underworld Ghost Fire used for killing people.

Song Qingshi's expression became one that could repel others from thousands of miles away. He released the Underworld Ghost Fire from the palms of his hands, causing the flames to continuously jump at his fingertips and change into different shapes.

Fen Shen and He Ti ancestors are the treasures of all the cultivation sects. They did not usually involve themselves with the mortal world. The Nascent Soul cultivators are all big shots walking carefree in the immortal world. Not to mention the danger of the cutivating path; no one could guarantee that they wouldn't need to ask a doctor for help. Neither righteous cultivators or demonic cultivators were not willing to offend the Medicine Master Xianzun easily, let alone mock his perverse character.

When the cultivators saw the Underworld Ghost Fire, they knew that he was in a bad mood and kept their distance.

Song Qingshi was able to keep a clear area around him. He cut off the cultivators who approached him to make friendships. Then he released the powerful spiritual thoughts of a Nascent Soul cultivator and quickly took in all the beauties at the banquet. He looked carefully and tried to find the protagonist in the crowd.

However, Yang Yuhuan was thicker, and Zhao Feiyan was slender. Everyone had different standards of beauty. Song Qingshi was of the kind of person that was not very reliable. His eyes were quickly dazzled, only able to think that all of them were beautiful during the dinner. Even the maid who poured the water was graceful and beautiful. She was more beautiful than the stars on TV. He couldn't tell who was better looking.

But this stubborn scholar will never admit defeat!

Song Qingshi tried to use the process of elimination to solve the problem. First, he determined that the protagonist was a man, excluded all the maidens during the banquet. Then he needed to make a list of key observations, verifying claims, making careful assumptions, and removing the beauties that did not meet the standards one by one.

The twin brothers brought by the Sect Master of the Blood Demon Sect were extremely beautiful. Jade-like skin, fragrant, and passionately devoted, just like two identical lotus flowers on one stalk.

There can't be two protagonists, cross it out.

The young man brought by the immortal master Longhu Sect is also super cute. He is so childish and adorable, holding his immortal master in his arms and acting like a baby. The immortal master loved him very much, doted on him, and he even hand-fed this junior immortal his food during the banquet. He kept calling him "baby".

The protagonist is supposed to suffer a miserable fate. Cross it out.

The foreign monk from Beizhou used a mysterious iron chain to lead along a handsome man covered in wounds. He stumbled and followed the foreign monk obediently. But underneath, his body revealed a rebellious aura, like being an eagle with his wings tied but still wanting to break free and fly away.

The protagonist is a beauty, so he wouldn't be so heartless, cross him out.

. . .

Into the depth of the night, the whistful music of the Banquet of Beauties had long been replaced by debauchery. Many people took the beauties away from the tables, and the scene became more and more unbearable.

Song Qingshi did not want to peep into other people's private affairs, for fear of seeing something provocative and getting an eye stye. He kept his thoughts away from extra events and kept it focused during the dinner. Then he heard the foreign monk show off the man he had brought with him to the young master of the Hidden Moon Sect: "He was even a famous general in the human world. After he was defeated and captured, he was sold to me. He's an arrogant person, who resists even under the threat of death. He is very exciting to play with."

The Young Master of the Hidden Moon Sect introduced a soft and coquettish young man, and smiled: "A proud person has the taste of being proud, but there is also the taste of being well-behaved. Let's switch and try it out?"

The foreign monk hesitated. The Young Master of the Hidden Moon Sect cast a wink at the slave.

The charming young man immediately snuggled up on the monk’s chest and begged coquettishly: "I truly like majestic bodies of strong masters, please love this slave well."

Fan Seng was ignited by the tender words of this young man, and he readily threw the chain in his hand to the Young Master of the Hidden Moon Sect, and took the young man to the side hall. The Young Master dragged the chain fiercely, and forced the gray-faced man toward the secluded part of the garden.

There were many scenes like this during the dinner, and no one had pity for these tragic beauties.

. . .

Song Qingshi had already learned from the memory of the original body that the spiritual energy of the human world was thin. The lifespan of mortals was short, and the spiritual roots were occasionally weak. Just having a base foundation was like reaching the heavens. Some kind-hearted cultivators will accept mortals as disciples and give them the opportunity to ascend to immortals. Ten thousand years ago, there was a mortal named Mo Yuan who was extremely talented. He just relied on swordsmanship to become a Nascent Soul cultivator. His techniques rivaled the Fen Shen ancestors, and was thus called the Sword Sovereign.

However, the road to immortality was to fight for one's life with the heavens. It had difficult steps and repeated failure was common. Killing someone for their treasures occured from time to time. It was difficult to restrain their behavior with morality.

Weakness is the original sin. Mortals were like ants.

Even if it was the Sword Master Mo Yuan who took care of him, he could only lay down the rules among the elites of the immortal world. He ensured that the mortals who successfully built a foundation base were treated as cultivators and no longer playthings and slaves. But demonic sects and cultivators never cared about the rules. Not even just the mortal cultivators, the immortal monks also suffered in their hands. Their evil deeds were too numerous to count.

Golden Phoenix Manor was regarded as a famous sect in the immortal world, and all the cultivation furnaces in the Manor are of made and purchased in the mortal world.

So even if Song Qingshi couldn't tolerate what happened here, he couldn't interfere. He was slightly grateful that the identity that the system arranged for him was not a mortal, otherwise he would never survive two chapters, let alone save the protagonist.

Fortunately, it was just a virtual world. . .

Novels were all evil works; textbooks were the righteous materials in the world! The professor was correct in confiscating the novels of all the girls in class! If he had the opportunity to become a professor, he will not allow students to read novels! Help them to avoid their Three Views being poisoned!

Song Qingshi sighed silently.

Suddenly, a curse came from the garden. It was the Young Master of Hidden Moon Sect who dragged the stubborn man's corpse and returned with a disappointed face. The man's shirt was torn open, revealing his bruised body. His body was riddled with scars. He had taken a stolen silver chopstick, pierced his throat deeply and killed himself.

The silver chopsticks were very blunt, and it would be extremely difficult to kill yourself with one of them. You couldn't stab yourself with one without exhausting all your energy, which shows his determination.

Seeing this, everyone in the banquet joked. They laughed that the Young Master couldn't even take care of a mortal.

Hearing the disturbance, the monk left the charming young man and hurried back out of the side hall. He saw that the person he had brought was dead. His brows furrowed and his face was full of anger. The young master of the Hidden Moon Sect was even more angry than him. He turned the dead man over, revealing his back covered with lashes, and questioned the monk: "Why didn't you mark this little slave of yours with an Acacia Seal? How could you let him die?"

The foreign monk was stunned by his question: "What is the Acacia Seal? Some new thing from the Central continent?"

Seeing his ignorance, the cultivators couldn't help but mumble that Beizhou must really be a barren land considering that they didn't even know that an Acacia Seal is a well-known thing in the world. The monk was lost during this whole conversation and the Young Master was discouraged. He pulled the monk, hating iron for not making seal, explained the beauty of the Acacia Seal: "The Acacia Seal is a method created by Huanxi Xianzun. The owner can print it on the back of the furnace, and the body and soul of the furnace transfer into the hands of the owner. No orders are needed and it cannot die without permission."

Song Qingshi had found important information. He swiftly concentrated on this discussion and listened carefully.

Hidden Moon Sect's Young Master took out a red bead from his space bag. An idea sparked in his mind. He turned the bead in his hand. The charming young man who was standing next to the monk immediately knelt down and started to bark.

The monk waved his hand, disgusted and said: "It's so obedient, even if you try something new once in a while. If I raise them like this, I would get tired after playing with it for a few days."

"There are a lot of usages in it. You would know if you had used them yourself. This Young Master isn't going to list them all for you." The Young Master withdrew from spiritual mind he had put into the bead, and the young man crouching on the ground stood up. He was used to being humiliated in front of a crowd and blushed. After a while, he faded from his shame and stood behind his master with his head down.

Seeing that the monk still didn’t understand, the young master of the Hidden Moon Sect still educates patiently: “The most important thing is that unless you let the cultivation furnace die, the cultivation furnace will never die against your will. If you brand this little slave with the Acacia Seal, wouldn't it be more fun to make him unable to kill himself and then slowly break down his pride?"

The foreign monk had an epiphany. He nodded and agreed.

The young master of the Hidden Moon Sect erased the spiritual mind of the cultivation furnace's bead in his hand. He threw it to the monk, and said graciously: "Since the young master killed your beauty, I will will compensate you for it. You can take it and study the beauty of the Acacia Seal. Once you start, you won't be able to start."

The monk was overjoyed, and even boasted: "The Central continent people are really bold, this Black Vulture has made you a friend!"

The charming young man's face instantly turned pale. He looked at the original master desperately, looking like he had something to say, as if he wanted to beg, but in the end he didn't say anything, and went with the monk in tears.

The jewels were corrupted and it was like broken jade.

This extravagant feast had finally reached its climax.

The disciples of Golden Phoenix Manor concealed the radiance of the luminous beads above the temple, and let the darkness envelop the entire Langgan Terrace.

The guests raised their heads in amazement. They saw fireworks from several spells across the darkness, blooming in the air into a radiant golden phoenix, dancing lightly, announcing that the performances of the feast were about to begin. Jin FeiRen raised his wine glass and invited guests to share in the festivities again.

Song Qingshi marveled at the beauty of the Phoenix Dance, and admired it for a long while. Then he discovered that a young man in white clothes appeared next to Jin FeiRen. The young man had very clean and beautiful features, like green bamboo in the mountains, a bright moon in the sky. A layer of cold frost covered in his low eyebrows, his hair falling like a waterfall around his face. It was tied back with a ribbon. There were no other notable features on his whole body, but he still easily retained everyone's lingering gazes.

The tall and handsome owner was smiling and gently scratching the young man's palm with his fingers, praising his treasure in a gentle and soft voice, trying to get him to smile.

The young man turned his head away, despite the teasing. He didn't even want to spare him a glance.

Jin FeiRen twisted his head forcefully, and forced his hands behind his back with only one hand. He held him close in an embrace and kissed his forehead and the bridge of his nose carefully. Then he bit his lips hard, as if to he wanted to swallow him whole. The teenager struggled with pain, Jin FeiRen smiled and released him, leaning close to the youth's ear, and asked softly: "Do you want to learn the rules again?"

The young man froze for a moment. He stopped struggling, and sat obediently into Jin FeiRen's arms.

Was this the protagonist?

Song Qingshi secretly watched for a long time. He finally suppressed his social anxiety, ready to speak, and then LingBao Xianzun who had a good relationship with Jin FeiRen walked over and asked with a smile: "This is the new treasure of the Manor Lord? Is he pure? Does he have a good Yin constitution, a single spirit root of the water system? How about giving him to me to taste tonight?

Jin FeiRen glanced at the embarrassed and angry expression of the youth in his arms, gave him a squeeze, and refused with a smile: "Although he is just a toy, he suits my heart and it would be inconvenient to give him to you. Later, I will give my friends some top-quality products, all of them newly branded with excellent physiques and very clean."

LingBao Xianzun carefully looked at him. "Is your furnace still a virgin?"

Jin FeiRen said: "I don't want to treat him like an ordinary furnace."

Song Qingshi had already heard more obscene words tonight than he had in his lifetime. He understood everything that should be understood or even things that shouldn't be understood. He also understood clearly what a furnace was.

He watched as Jin FeiRen was pouring wine for the young man during the banquet, and he was a little unsure whether this was the protagonist. Although the white-clothed boy seemed to be more attractive than the other beauties present, the system had explained that the protagonist needs to be rescued from his miserable fate. Now Jin FeiRen was quite fond of the boy, and every beauty in the Banquet of Beauties was many times worse off than him. . .

Song Qingshi was anxious pondering these questions. . .

At this time, the phoenix finished its dance in the air, and fell into the crowd with a stream of light.

The light faded away, and a huge golden, carved bird appeared on the Langgan Terrace. On this bird frame was a beauty beautiful enough to destroy a city.

The gold fetters inlaid with jewels encircled his pure white ankles, and were tied to both sides of the bird frame with long thin golden chains. His upper body was caged with almost transparent thin fabric, and he could vaguely see the magnificent scenery decorated with gold jewels and jade underneath. On his lower body was a long dress in the shape of phoenix tail feathers made of gold and red feathers. His hair was adorned with pearls resembling mermaid's tears, the enchanting Acacia Seal on his back hidden by his long hair, flowing in the breeze. It was as beautiful as a phoenix with rich colors, the human peony in the world.

He held a jade flute in his hand, his thin lips slightly open, his beauty almost unnatural. The dark golden phoenix eyes seemed to be smiling but held no emotion, and he greeted the audience. Song Qingshi sat up straight. He recognized that this was the beauty in red that he had seen by the river bank.

When the red beauty glanced over at Song Qingshi, his eyes stayed for a while, then slid over as if he didn't recognize him.

Song Qingshi looked at the young man in white clothes on the left, who looked like a bright moon, and the beauty in red clothes on the right, who looked like peony in his prime. He was panicking; he couldn't tell who was more beautiful and more like the main character!

The exam questions of the system teacher were too difficult. . .　

Is Scholar-Tyrant Song going to fail his course?

#mistakenly saving the villain #chinese novel #chinese bl #english translation #song qingshi #mistakenly saving the villain translation

[oureuphoria]

Worst of You - JJK 06

You meet him under horrible circumstances but everything feels perfect when you’re with him. Too bad you have a bitch of a best friend, anxiety and an inability to learn from your mistakes which cripples your chances to be with the man of your literal dreams. He, however, is a police officer with years worth of built-up turmoil and an inability to make attachments. Or “I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong.” “Cool, I’ll let everyone know you’re moving in then.”

Genre: fluff, angst, comedy

Pairing: officer!jungkook X  collegestudent!reader

Word count: 2,295

Note: Shit’s starting to get WiLd. 

| 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 |

Unfortunately for you, the second you walked into your dorm room you were graced by the presence of a wild Jimin in his natural habitat, your couch. “Ooo, you’re back late? Were you on a date?” You ignored him and proceeding to take off your shoes, fighting the tempting urge to throw one at him. “Yes actually, I was.” You saw Alex slowly emerge from her room wearing nothing but his shirt and held back the desire to roll your eyes, it wasn’t long ago that she had been complaining about how much she hated Jimin and yet there she was. “Oh shit with who?” Jimin eagerly asked, he clearly didn’t believe someone like you could land a date and while he was right, you couldn’t let him know that.

“Your mom.” You usually were the bigger person, although with Jimin you couldn’t resist and frankly you didn’t care to try. Ever since high school your personalities had constantly clashed. He was one of the loud, rambunctious kids and you hated those kids with a passion, the type that would insult teachers for entertainment and pick on kids who couldn’t fight back. You considered it water under the bridge but your hatred for each other never really subsided. You speed-walked to your room before he could formulate a reply and you could hear Alex scoffing at your childishness but you didn’t care. And it felt liberating to not give a shit about what Alex thought. 

Meanwhile, Jungkook was at a bar trying to pry his newly discovered feelings for you away with a symbolic crowbar others referred to as alcohol. He had work the next day so while getting piss drunk was tempting, he needed to resist. He just wished that he would be able to resist you half as well as he could resist whiskey but you were all the more intoxicating and infinitely more addictive. You were kind, pure and entirely undamaged by the harsh realities of life. Jungkook hadn’t felt so carefree in a while and he didn’t want to get attached to the feeling either. “I’m sure you didn’t screw up that bad.” “She confessed to me, I kissed her and then I basically kicked her out of my car.” “What the fuck, Jeon? That’s bad, even for you.” He elbowed Mel gently at the statement but he understood where she was coming from, when it came to love Jungkook was no smarter than a brick.  “Well, she kissed me on the cheek before she left so I don’t think she was upset about it.” Mel gave Jungkook’s evidently empty head a sharp flick which had Jungkook rushing to soothe it. “What the fuck was that for?” “You basically just gave her a confirmation that you liked her back.” Jungkook simply shook his head and walked away. Denial was his safest option but his self control was deteriorating at a rate faster than he could manage. He just wished you’d give him the distance to truly get over you.

You woke up far too early for a Wednesday, your classes didn’t start until 11 and there was really no reason for you to be up anytime before 9 but Alex’s sobbing wasn’t subtle and if you weren’t sure she didn’t care, you would’ve thought she was trying to wake you up. 

You knocked lightly before poking your head in and true to your prior speculations, Alex was crying. “Hey, what’s wrong?” You sat next to her on the edge of her bed and allowed her to cry into your shoulder. You may have lost all your trust, respect and love for her but you still cared enough to stay. Either that or you were too scared to break things off. “Jimin and I broke up.” You tried not to chuckle. Her pain was in no way amusing to you (okay, maybe a little) but her unhealthy, on-again off-again relationship was mildly amusing to you. “I know you don’t want to hear this but I think this is better for you. I just hope you’re done for good this time.” She nodded in agreement but you knew she wasn’t going to listen.

Jungkook wasn’t very good at asking girls out, primarily because he never really had to. He hasn’t been on an actual date since he was with his last serious girlfriend 5 years ago and he only ever hooked up with girls while half-drunk since then. Therefore, Jungkook had no idea what he was doing standing outside of your dorm building at 6pm. He didn’t even ask if you were free. He pressed the buzzer for your dorm number and wasn’t really surprised when your roommate responded instead. “Hello, Y/N did you forget your key card again?” “Hi, I’m Jungkook. Y/N’s friend.” Alex frowned in confusion as she raked her memories for the familiar name. She tried to think of any rational reason as to why a man would be here for you. He must be that Jungkook. She let him in and waited for him to knock on the door. “Y/N isn’t here right now but she will be soon, she went out to grab some groceries. You’re welcome to wait for her inside?” Jungkook took her offer and sat tentatively on the couch, after all he didn’t want to impose. 

Alex was still an emotional train wreck from her break-up (which you weren’t allowed to know the details about) and opted to quietly sniffle on the other end of the couch. Jungkook tried to ignore it but he thought that if he were to establish a relationship with you, he should get along with your roommate. “Uhh, are you okay?” She nodded unconvincingly and every ounce of Jungkook’s being begged him to give up, but human decency suggested that the socially accepted protocol would be to ask again. “Are you sure?” And suddenly, like a dam that unexpectedly bursted, her sniffling turned to sobbing and she was crying on Jungkook’s shoulder. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. Whatever it is I’m sure it’ll work out.” Textbook advice that was in no way helpful, but it was all he could think of without knowing what she was even crying about. 

Alex looked up to face him through her heavy eyelashes. It might’ve been the heartbreak talking but he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen and all she could think about was kissing his gorgeous lips. She should’ve thought about you, she should’ve thought about him, she should’ve thought in general but she didn’t and just as she lunged forward, Jungkook had pushed her away and you had made your presence noticeable.

“Seriously Alex?” She was startled when she saw you standing at the door and she could feel the guilt settle in when she saw the tears in your eyes. “Y/N, I’m so s-.” “Save it.” You rolled your eyes before blinking the tears away and aggressively dropping the grocery bags onto your kitchen island. You tried to wipe away whatever was left of your tears before you turned around, you didn’t want her to think you were weak. “I didn’t-” Jungkook started, but you were quick to interrupt him. “Shut up Jungkook, it’s not you I’m mad at.”  While your tone was venomous, Jungkook was just grateful you weren’t mad at him although in that moment, he would’ve rather been anywhere else but in the middle of your catfight. 

“I get your upset but come on, look at him, you can’t seriously think you’re his type?” That was the exact moment you would’ve burst into tears if it wasn’t for Jungkook watching on the sidelines. You were going to keep your resolve together even if it were to kill you. “It doesn’t matter, good friends don’t kiss boys their friends like, Alex! It’s common sense.” “And what do you know about being a good friend?”

Pin-drop silence followed that question and the tension in the room had skyrocketed. You didn’t know what to say and neither did she. You could tell she felt guilty but Alex was never good at admitting her mistakes. “You’re right, what do I know?” You walked to your room and closed the door but the little sprint before you entered warned Jungkook that you were crying. He contemplated following you but he was worried you wanted space. Ultimately, the awkward silence Jungkook had to endure was more than enough motivation to power through his worries and knock on your door. 

“Give me a second.” Jungkook could hear the pain in your voice, the hiccup in your breath and the subtle sounds of excessive amounts of tissues being pulled. When you eventually opened the door, your face was tear-free and you wore an artificial smile on your face. You made room for him to come in and while he entered you muttered an apology. “I’m sorry you had to see that.” You didn’t want him to think you were pathetic or emotional so you kept the facade, you had been pushing aside your feelings for years, you could handle a few more minutes. “Just for the record, I didn’t want to kiss her.” You giggled at his attempt to lighten the mood, maybe it was too soon to laugh but something about it felt bitter.

“I know, honestly we fight like this all the time - it’s not a big deal.” That was a lie and Jungkook could tell which was why he pulled you in for a comforting hug where he whispered, “it’s okay to cry, Y/N, I can tell you want to.” You cried and with every passing second you cried harder. You knew that things would never be the same, they were never going to after that godforsaken party that you never should’ve gone to but it still felt nice. It felt nice to have a shoulder to cry on, someone to turn to that at least seemed like they cared.

Time passed before you stopped crying and you honestly didn’t know how much although the slight ache after pulling away from the hug was an indicator that it had been a while. “Oh no! I’m sorry I got your shirt wet.” You grabbed another excessive set of tissues to try and dry it, genuine guilt on your face. “It’s fine, Y/N. I never liked this shirt anyway.” You smiled and Jungkook’s heart softened at the way your eyes smiled with you. You needed a distraction and like a 13-year-old, all he could think of was to ask you out to a movie. 

“Can we watch the new Bad Boys movie? I heard Vanessa Hudgens is in it and I can’t wait to make high school musical jokes.” Jungkook chuckled at your joke until he realised you weren’t kidding. “Bad Boys, Y/N seriously? You’re making me watch a cop movie?” “It’s either that or Frozen 2. Your choice.” He sighed and shook his head jokingly before approaching the kiosk to buy the tickets. You wanted to repay him for paying for dinner so you had sneakily paid while Jungkook was reaching for his wallet. Despite the fact that the tickets cost a fraction of the price he paid at the restaurant, Jungkook was still upset and gave you an extensive lecture on why you should never do that again. 

“Hey, isn’t funny how you and Will Smith are both cops that drive expensive Porsches?” “You know, the movie was actually based on my life.” You gave him a skeptical look to which he shrugged. Jungkook would never tell you but he hated every second of it and found himself enjoying your reactions more than the actual film. He knew he was in trouble, knee-deep in it actually, but looking at you so happy made him realise he didn’t mind. 

The walk to the car was short and by the time you got there, you had already exhausted all of the jokes you could possibly think of about the movie. “Jungkook?” He hummed to let you know that he was listening while he started the engine, this time he knew what was coming and he had already prepared an answer. “I never really got an answer to my question form last week and I just…” You completely lost your train of thought and Jungkook smiled at how nervous you were. He thought he had already made it very clear but Jungkook was infamously bad at expressing his emotions so he didn’t mind voicing it. “Yes, Y/N, I like you too.” You tried to hide your relief and bit back the smile that was growing on your lips. You simply cleared your throat and mustered out a quiet, “cool.” 

The second you arrived at your dorm, you unbuckled your seatbelt and tried to rush out of the car before things would escalate but Jungkook pulled the door shut. “Not even a thanks?” You pouted and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I’m sorry, thank you.” You tried to leave again but his hand didn’t budge. You turned to face him and his face had inched a lot closer, your lips almost touching. He was leaning closer and you were subconsciously leaning in too but the second you had realised, you pulled back abruptly before your lips could touch and hit your head on the car roof. “Ouch…” You rubbed your head and Jungkook chuckled as he returned to his original position.

“Y/N, if you don’t want to kiss me you can just say so, I don’t mind.” You could feel the panic settling in. You wanted to kiss him, really, really, badly but you were afraid that your lack of experience would ruin everything. “I do want to kiss you! It’s just…I’m not very good at it.” You very quietly mumbled that last part but Jungkook still heard and squeezed your face in one of his hands. “Baby, it’s not a big deal, you’ll get better with practice I promise.” You couldn’t reply with your cheeks squished together. “Can we try that again?” “No injuries this time?” You groaned and covered your face with your hands from embarrassment but Jungkook was quick to apologise and pull your hands away. 

Once his lips were on yours, you’d forgotten about everything else. He did most of the work but you’d like to think that you contributed a little. Eventually, it just felt natural and you didn’t really want to stop. Unfortunately, you needed oxygen and when you pulled away breathless, Jungkook chuckled. “We need to work on your stamina. Wanna try again?” You giggled at his lame attempt at tricking you but you kissed him again nonetheless, this time more prepared. You could feel Jungkook lean back and his hand on your cheek subtly dragged you with him. When your hand fell onto his upper thigh for balance, Jungkook knew he’d need to stop, worried he might scare you with his oncoming boner. 

“You should go up now, it’s getting late.” You pouted, upset at the fact that you couldn’t kiss him for longer. “Are you sure? I think I need more practice.” You kissed him again but he kept it short, giving you a few more pecks before pinching your cheek. “I’ll see you again soon and then I promise you infinite kisses, okay?” You nodded and waved him whispering a small goodnight as you left the care. There was no way to deny that Jungkook had feelings for you, but in that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

The second you got into your room, you fell face-first onto the bed, grabbed the nearest pillow and squealed like a teenage girl. When you had eventually stopped, you got ready for bed in an attempt to push Jungkook to the back of your mind. If you were going to get any semblance of sleep, you’d need to do it now before the feeling of his lips consumed you entirely. 

#jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #bts #bts fic #bts reactions #bts scenarios #bts imagines

[theleagueof13]

I Don’t Really... Like Agatha? Sorry. This will be explained, I promise. I do like her, just in a different way.

This is going to be super controversial, I know it. 

Surprisingly, this started in Book 1. 

My first thought when I was introduced to Agatha was: I would not be friends with her. 

Like, okay, you’re goth and edgy and ugly and different. That’s cool. But, 

Let Sophie Go. 

Clearly, Sophie wants to become a princess and have a fairytale. That’s all she’s ever dreamed of, it’s in the first chapter. And Agatha wants a normal life in Gavaldon, which is understandable. 

So, she tries to “save” Sophie from being taken by the School Master. But the way I see it, Agatha is clinging on to Sophie because she’s the only friend that she’ll ever have, and if she leaves, Agatha will have nothing. Agatha even SAYS that Sophie is the only one who makes her feel accepted. 

This turns out to be a theme for the rest of the plot: Agatha wants her old life back with her friend. She even achieves that at the end, kind of. I don’t have a problem with that, you know? However, it’s not like Sophie was the darling of Gavaldon and her popularity transfers to Agatha in their friendship. Radley points out that Sophie is hanging out with a witch, so Agatha still has the same reputation. 

So, Agatha just plans on living the rest of her life as an outcast? Sophie makes her FEEL normal. She’s not actually normal in Gavaldon terms. In fact, she’d probably be scapegoated for a famine or wildfire or kidnapping the children, and then sentenced to death by The Elders. 

When she gets to SGE, she wants to return home... for WHAT? Sure, the students at School for Good tease you (and this time, you don’t have Sophie to back you up), and the teachers don’t have much faith in you.  I know what it feels like to be alone and doubted by everyone. Still though, this is a magical school, and Agatha can learn magic. Literally who would turn that down? Granted, Ever Girl classes are about beauty and grace, two things Agatha would fail in, but she is so smart.  If she focused on magic and spells and put her mind to it, she could easily become powerful. Just talk to Dovey, talk to August Sader, ask them about improving your skills beyond posture or smiling (also this could’ve been an amazing opportunity for Agatha to have scenes with her so-called mentors, but no, she speaks two words to them, they wink at her knowingly and when they die, we’re supposed to cry? Bullshit.) 

 Agatha has shown that she’s badass already. Why not become more powerful and prove the Ever Girls wrong? Instead, she wants Sophie to kiss Tedros so they can resume their friendship in Gavaldon. 

By the way, neither girl LIKES their school. That’s why Sophie was convinced to go to the School Master. She was like, damn, if we can’t switch schools and I can’t go to the Snow Ball, what’s the point? Fine, I’ll settle for Agatha. 

I don’t know, I think Agatha was selfish in holding back Sophie. Just let her flirt with Tedros, what’s so hard about that? Oh, you feel inadequate because you’ve lost Sophie’s attention? Grow a backbone (yes, I know that’s the point of the book). 

 Anyways, if you only saw through Sophie in the beginning, you would have known that the faster Sophie chases after her fairytale, the faster she’ll fail and put it to rest (after a world-ending tantrum, but it would’ve cut the page count in half. So I don’t need to read this much boy drama). 

The Glow Up

Everyone raves about this damn scene. Agatha becomes confident, yay! Inspiring to young girls everywhere. That’s established. Let’s move on. 

SGE is about subverting expectations, appearances vs reality, friends vs love. We know that. Except Agatha is just... 

When Agatha became “pretty”, and then realized her inner beauty shines past her looks, I thought she would KNOCK BITCHES DOWN. I was rooting for her. I thought she’d finally put Sophie in her place. 

This was destroyed when Agatha became like the Ever Girls she hated for the first part of the book. She develops a crush on Tedros, which was the defining feature of the Ever Girls: liking boys. Nothing wrong with that, it was just out of place. I understand that Tedros might have caught feelings after Agatha saves his life, that’s a trope we’re familiar with and it makes sense. 

What doesn't, is that Agatha reciprocates? She’s been grossed out by boys the whole book, what makes Tedros different? Literally what switch flipped in her brain. That she’s worthy of love? Girl, if you're “confident” now and suddenly dating a boy that you never genuinely got to know... Also, was Tagatha even considered a relationship? They don’t hang out until TLEA. I feel like Agatha was just excited to have a guy like her for once. They call each other “true love” based on what? We BEEN KNEW Tedros is dumb (okay, you picked her in all the challenges, that’s not real proof), and Agatha, do you even know his last name? 

^ if anyone’s watched the Witcher, Yennefer is very similar to Agatha and she gains her physical beauty after she’s finished with her training as a mage. Also, Yennefer is dating a hot guy with authority WHILE she’s still ugly. Love that for her. (This situation is different because Yennefer is morally grey, maybe evil, but I like this arc better than Agatha’s).

Lesbian Agatha? Simp Agatha?  What’s going on??

This started when I noticed on Goodreads that some people genuinely thought Agatha was lesbian. (Me being me, this went over my head).  

Like, okay I get it, Agatha MIGHT be a simp for Sophie. I do kinda get it. 

Throughout the book, Agatha repeatedly is there for Sophie even when Sophie treats her like shit (I don’t have to explain each example, right? We been knew.)

What stands out to me most was when 1. she literally turned into a cockroach and stayed up all night for weeks to help Sophie study 2. cheated and guided her in the Trial By Tale  (risking her life several times in the process). 

That wasn’t because she had a Good heart (though it contributed). It was because Agatha wanted to protect Sophie. 

The only reason I didn’t include all the times Agatha helped Sophie make Tedros fall in love with her was because she thought that Sophie’s kiss would send them back home, so that was theoretically for her own benefit (although we know that Sophie was just using Agatha). 

Also, I distinctly remember Sophie having a Regina George moment with Agatha where she was like “why are you so obsessed with me?!”. Because Agatha was being all “😔👉🏻👈🏻 we’re friends” and Sophie was like GET YOUR OWN LIFE YOU’RE RUINING MINE!!! 

Nitpicky Shit

This is irrelevant, when you come for me don’t mention this part because I’m not all that pressed. 

Agatha comes off as Not Like Other Girls. She says that everyone at School for Good are stupid/shallow RIGHT OFF THE BAT. Obviously Beatrix didn’t make a good impression, but come on. 

She hates that all the girls are obsessed with boys and looks. Just because you’re not interested doesn’t mean others can’t be. It came up several times and I was so irritated. Not to mention that Sophie was basically a carbon copy of Beatrix except that she’s nice to her. 

This is extremely SJW of me but I had to say it. Sophie is a typical bratty blonde. Agatha is said to be hideous, then finds out she was beautiful all along. I felt like this would’ve been better if Agatha had Real unconventional features. 

She’s tall, skinny and pale with big eyes. That is a textbook runway model and fits Eurocentric beauty standards. It’s not like making Agatha fat, short, and dark-skinned with acne is going to enhance the book, although it would be so, so nice.  

Might be editing this later on! I don’t know!

Disclaimer: Agatha’s still a good character, I still like reading about her. 

#The School for Good and Evil

[kingswriting]

30 Day Writing Challenge - Day 3.

Day 3: Find a one sentence prompt from tumblr or pinterest and write a piece about it. Length doesn’t matter. [ For this one, the prompt was the first line! ]

He was heading back to the one place he hoped he’d never have to see again. 

He hadn’t seen the Edgemont Lane house in years. Seven years, to be precise. Neither had Beau. He could see it in her eyes that she wasn’t happy to be back. Gideon had already taken a step forward, but Beau couldn’t. It was as if her boots were frozen to the ice. 

“Hey. It’ll be okay,” Gideon said, reaching a hand out to her. 

Beau looked upon him with giant, pleading blue eyes. Blue eyes that had gotten her out of trouble so many times in this exact house. “I feel like… if  we walk in, she’s going to be right there,” she said quietly. “Like, I know in my head that she won’t be, but….” 

Her voice trailed off weakly, and Gideon sighed. He turned back to her, taking both of her smaller hands in his. “She can’t be,” he said. He couldn’t tell if he was trying to reassure her or if he was trying to reassure himself. “We’re going in and out, that’s it. We don’t even need to be in there for more than a few minutes.” 

“Right, right,” Beau nodded, and Gideon could feel her shaking. Her plump cheeks were bright pink and wind-whipped. This was the one thing that Gideon couldn’t protect her from. “...Can you go first, G?” 

“Yeah,” Gideon nodded, dropping her gloved hands. He wasn’t sure that he was ready to walk in himself. He raked his fingers through his disheveled bubblegum pink locks and walked up the porch steps. They groaned under his weight, just like they had when he was a kid. His mom had never been good at upkeep of the house - much as she loved to laud herself as an exemplary mother, she wasn’t much of a textbook housewife. 

Beau at his tail, Gideon pushed open the door. 

The house felt lived in. It hadn’t felt like this when he lived here. It felt warm and cozy, despite the cold North Dakota air seeping in through the cracks. The electricity had been off for a while, and no one had lived here in months. He knew that reasonably. Even his mom’s husband had disappeared somewhere after she died. Gideon didn’t know where, but he didn’t really want to know either. 

“Still a mess,” Beau snorted, shoving her hands into the pockets of her puffy coat. “It’ll take us ages to find anything in here.” 

So much for in and out in a few minutes. Gideon sighed. “Yep.” He glanced back at Beau. “Should we… go up to our old room? For old time’s sake?”

“Sure.” Beau led Gideon up the stairs, and he couldn’t help but notice that the pictures that lined the walls had been replaced. Gone were the cheerful pictures of little Beau and little Gideon on Santa’s lap in the Ridgepoint Mall. None of the weirdly forced pictures of the two of them in some photo studio. The only pictures the walls knew now were pictures of Kimmy and Sara-Beth. The new kids. 

Kimmy and Sara-Beth couldn’t have been more different than Gideon and Beau. Beau was a big baby, with rolls upon rolls that their mom loved to squeeze. She had cheeks for days, which she never really grew out of. Children being fat stopped being endearing after the age of 3, apparently. Their mom never really left Beau alone about her weight. Kimmy and Sara-Beth were twigs of girls; they couldn’t be more than about thirteen. Their toothy grins and shocks of red hair repeated themselves as Gideon made his way up the stairs. 

Beau reached the top before Gideon, and she stood at the door of their bedroom. It was already open. “I don’t know why I thought….” Her voice trailed off, thick with tears. 

Their room had been transformed into Kimmy and Sara-Beth’s room. The mural that Gideon and Beau had painted together was painted over. Little handprints dotted the walls. He supposed that his mom had allowed the new girls the same artistic freedom Gideon and Beau had gotten. “They’re way worse artists than us,” Gideon said in an attempt to lighten the mood. 

But Beau only tensed up under his words. “She erased us really easily. It’s like… we didn’t exist anymore,” she said quietly. “Our stuff probably isn’t even here anymore. Maybe she really did throw it out onto the street.” 

Gideon shuddered. “Think she still has that folder? The pink one?” 

“If she did, I’ll bet Jeremy has it now,” Beau said. “Should we take a look in her room?” 

Gideon hated the idea of going into her room. She and Jeremy were much of the impression that kids were only to be in their room in the case of emergencies. But if they were to get any of their things back, this was the only way to do it. “Yeah… I guess we should.” 

Their mother’s room was across the hallway from theirs. Gideon still felt as if he were committing a crime when he turned the doorknob. 

Her scent clung to the air, and Gideon felt as if he might pass out. He shut the door behind Beau a little too loudly, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Beau clamp a hand across her mouth. Neither of them spoke for at least a minute. Gideon tried to find the words, but they wouldn’t come out. 

“Her folder was in the closet,” Beau finally muttered, crossing the room, past the California King sized bed, and opened the door to their mom’s closet. 

Beau had changed a lot in the last few years. Teenagehood had been hard on her, mainly thanks to their mom. But as a now 21 year old, she was blossoming. She was starting to come out of her shell, something that neither Gideon nor Beau thought she would ever do. The fatphobia that had been instilled in her for as long as she could remember was starting to melt away, and Gideon could see it. If there was anyone in the world who deserved to love herself just the way she was, it was Beau. 

Gideon followed Beau, and sure enough, the pink, plastic folder sat atop the shelf in the closet. The Important Stuff Folder, their mom would say. Maybe it wasn’t the safest thing to do, to keep all of everyone’s important documents in one folder, but it was Gideon and Beau’s saving grace for the moment. 

Beau leafed through it. “Most of it belongs to Kimmy and Sara-Beth. Did you know Kimmy’s middle name is Cheryl? Ew,” Beau said, wrinkling her nose. “And Sara-Beth’s middle name is Opal. Sara-Beth Opal Montgomery. She has way too many names. Do you think they know their birth certificates are still here?” 

“I’m sure they have other copies,” Gideon murmured. But his mind wasn’t on Kimmy and Sara-Beth. It was preoccupied with dreading the second that his own birth certificate would appear before him. His heart pounded dully against his ribcage, and he knew the moment Beau’s fingers stilled on the pages that she had found it. 

“I mean, do you really want this? Like, surely it doesn’t do you any good anymore, right?” Beau asked. 

The name stared back at Gideon, as if daring him to do something about it. “I just don’t want her to have it anymore,” he said. But he couldn’t bring himself to pull it from Beau’s hands. “I know she can’t really do anything with it anymore, but….” 

“I get it.” Beau pulled it from the folder, as well as a second one - her own, presumably - and tucked them into her jacket. “It feels kinda nice to know that there’s nothing she can hold over our heads anymore.” 

“Also that she’s too dead to hold anything over our heads anymore,” Gideon grinned, and Beau laughed. She wrapped her arms around her brother’s thin torso, head coming to rest on his chest. He planted a kiss atop her blonde head. “We’re gonna be okay, you know.” 

“Yeah, we are,” Beau said. It sounded like she believed it, too. 

#mywriting #my writing #w. #30dwc

[ofheroesandvillains]

Do Better - Tony Stark

Dad!Tony, daughter!reader

Words: 4.6k

Warnings: Angst, mentions of illness and death

Request: (SPOILER) Tony has a daughter but she thinks he doesn’t like her because shes a product of a one night stand? Tony forgets about her dance recital and attends Peters decatholon, and shes heartbroken and she cries and tells him its fine because hes made his choice? And she ends missing school for two weeks and Tony finds out and assumes she was doing drugs and such but she was at the hospital with her mother who doesnt have much time left? Something real angsty? 

Hey everyone! Back into this whole writing business. My next fic will be a Steve/anti-hero reader if anyone is interested, but I wanted to say thank you to @queenofkings121​ for requesting this. I tried to include everything so I hope you like it!

(gif not mine!)

Her mother was a dancer. Beautiful and graceful, with an elegance that seemed so effortless it left the audience in awe. It was the music that had first piqued her interest, upbeat and optimistic, haunting and bittersweet…it could captivate an audience, hold them prisoner and force them to feel the plethora of emotions communicated in each and every note.  

Watching her mother on stage, drifting about like a feather in the wind, had inspired her to do the same. There was no one she loved more than her mother and dancing had long ago become her way of expressing herself, of showing her audience how to feel, so that they might one day understand how she herself felt.

She may have been a teenager, but she already knew that dancing would be her life. Her mother had never been more proud of her than the day she won her first competition, and their close bond was only strengthened each weekend they would spend rehearsing in her mother’s studio, laughing and learning together.

They hadn’t been to the studio in two years now, and it had already been four months since she had moved in with her father. Not that anyone knew he was her father – he didn’t want to share that information with the world.

He claimed it was for her safety, she thought it was because of his shame.

He had a good life now, it had its ups and downs where saving the world was involved, but he had friends, fame and fortune and even a wonderful woman who loved him. He didn’t need her there to stain the new reputation he’d forged for himself.

Tony Stark was no longer the reckless playboy the world used to know.

It was a life he had left in the past.

And she was just a reminder of who he no longer wished to be.

She expected the disbelief at first. A paternity test confirmed Tony’s doubts, and while he was obviously more concerned with Pepper’s reaction to the information, she didn’t take it to heart. She was just a stranger to him, just as he was to her. It forced an awkwardness between them that she had never experienced before. Everything was always so much easier with her mother – she knew exactly what to do, exactly what to say.

Tony wasn’t around much, and when he was, he had other priorities to deal with. That’s not to say that he neglected her. No, no, whatever she needed he would provide without second thought. Unfortunately, he didn’t quite realise that what she wanted most was a father.  

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The rift between them had formed early. He didn’t understand  – couldn’t understand – and she didn’t try to make him.

“What the hell is this?”

She hadn’t been paying enough attention, pulling her textbooks out of her schoolbag in the living area so that she could study. Tony’s eyes were glued to it the moment it fell to the floor, disbelief and disappointment battled it out across his features and she hated seeing either of them.

He’d been mad, of course he’d been mad. She would have been too if their roles were reversed. The small, unmarked, zip-lock bag was impossible to miss as it sat on the dark floor, or at least the handful of little white pills were.

Those horrified dark eyes had drilled a hole into her face, but she wasn’t looking at him, she was still too shocked to even blink. Tony snatched the bag out of her hands the moment she scooped it from the floor, and only then did she feel her own panic.

“No, wait, I need that! Please, just— I can explain! Stop, don’t!”

He flushed them down the toilet despite her frantic protests. He was livid, outraged even…but so was she. He hadn’t asked, just assumed. She needed them, she really did.

“What the hell!”

He ignored her outrage.

“Where did you get those?”

He was surprisingly calm, but she could see his rage bubbling beneath the surface. It made its appearance real quick when she refused to answer.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She was grounded after that, of course she was. With an escort to and from school, eyes on her no matter where she went, it was almost impossible to not feel the constant presence of his disappointment and distrust. Midtown was a good school, not as comfortable or familiar as her old school, where the kids didn’t compete to be the next Tony Stark, but it was nice enough.

She knew why he’d sent her there. Just another pair of eyes he could have on her during school hours. Peter Parker.

It wasn’t that she disliked Peter, but it was significantly harder to see him as a friend when he was so eager to impress her father. He’d do anything that Tony asked of him, and she could see the strong bond they shared. It was easier in the early days, but the longer she knew them, the more she realised that Peter had a better relationship with her own father than she did. It was difficult to not feel jealous of that, but she tried her best.

She understood why Tony cared about him so much. He was a good kid, special, smart, a superhero, someone Tony had much more in common with. It didn’t matter that she was essentially half of her father, that they shared more than just blood. It wasn’t enough. She doubted it ever would be.  

Peter was like a puppy though. Always wide-eyed and stuttering when he saw her. Half of the time she wondered if some of the awe he sent Tony’s way was transferred onto her for no good reason. Did he think Tony loved her? Did he envy her as much as she envied him? Did he think they shared a healthy relationship, that he was the best father anyone could’ve ever dreamed of? He wasn’t, not to her. But he was to Peter, so maybe he just assumed she had it even better than he did because of her surname.

Despite the hurt look he’d always adopt when she ghosted him, she went out of her way to avoid Peter and any of the negative feelings his presence would inadvertently give rise to. 

Two weeks passed and it didn’t get much easier. Tony wasn’t kidding about constant supervision, and even though he always seemed to forget small ‘irrelevant’ details, this was apparently serious enough to gain his full attention. Or maybe he just told F.R.I.D.A.Y to remember for him. That was more likely.

He’d taken it upon himself to avoid her lately. He was still hurt and disappointed, that much she knew for certain, so she stayed out of his way as much as possible.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She volunteered at the hospital. At least that’s what she told Tony all those months ago. It was a little further out, away from Manhattan, but he never questioned her. He probably threw that bit of information under the ‘irrelevant’ pile.  

“Hi, sweetheart.”

Even laying there in a hospital bed, she still looked beautiful. Her smile still lit up the room, banishing the dark shadows that had settled under her eyes.

“Hey, mom.”

They spoke, as they always did, about anything and everything that came to mind. But the uncomfortable silence that stretched the moment Tony was mentioned did not go unnoticed.

“What is it, kiddo? Talk to me.”

She did.

“You remember when you first told me about him? And,” she sighed, “and I was so excited.”  

Her mother chuckled.

“Of course. You were seven, and you always said that one day you’d build a plane with your own two hands – just like he would – and fly over to meet him.”

They both smiled at the memory, one full of admiration and the other full of disappointment.  

“What is it?” Her mother whispered, her smile slipping away. A thumb brushed over her knuckles, light, but supportive nonetheless.

“I wish I never met him, mom. I wish…I—”

The tears came out of nowhere, and she scolded herself for them. Here she was, crying like a baby, as if Tony was some monster that personally tormented her. He was a good man, they both knew it, but she’d heard a quote somewhere about meeting your heroes. How they always let you down, or something like that.

She didn’t mean the words, they both knew that. She just wanted her dad to love her as much as she loved him.

It was unrealistic to think that all would be well, that the fantasy her seven-year-old mind had conjured about a happy family, with two loving parents who had found each other after years apart, could be a reality. Now she was old enough to know the truth. Her father and mother weren’t in love, Cinderella hadn’t found her Prince and lost him for a short while before their happily ever after.

She was the product of a rowdy weekend, the type that Tony Stark was infamous for. Her mother meant nothing to him, she meant nothing to him.

“—I wish things were different.”

Then she was wrapped up in comforting arms, the same arms that held her close on cold nights when the power cut out, the same arms that guided her in her first dance, the same arms that were growing weaker with each day, and the ones she’d miss more than anything.

“Oh, sweetheart…so do I.”

They talked for a while after that, her mother encouraging her to take a chance with Tony, to try. And she promised she would. A few days had passed and Tony was back from a business trip. She found him in his work shop, as usual.

“Da—” she cleared her throat uncomfortably “—Tony?”

He looked surprised to see her, and though she didn’t notice it, concern flickered through his eyes when he noticed how nervous she looked. He knew he’d been a little rough on her lately, but it was for good reason. He didn’t know what she got up to in her free time, and obviously he should have been paying more attention. He wasn’t the best example of a normal childhood, but he drew the line at drugs.

“Hey, what’s up?”

She took a step into the room, hesitated, and then continued forward. It was rare for him to give anyone his full attention when he was working on a project, but in his mind, she would always be an exception. Even if he didn’t know how to express that to her.

“I, uh, I was wondering…and you can say no if you want, I know it’s not really your thing—”

“Kid? Breathe.” He smiled, amused, and despite everything she felt and thought, it had the same effect on her that her mother’s always had.

“I have a recital coming up in a few weeks, my first one for Midtown – there’s tickets on the fridge – I was wondering if you’d like to come watch? You don’t have to…”

She shifted nervously, gaze glued to anything but him.

She missed the way his eyes softened.

“I’ll be there.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She couldn’t explain the intense nervousness that flooded her whenever she thought about the recital. Well, she could, but she didn’t understand why she couldn’t just get over it. Ever since she was a child, she’d tried her hardest in school, as if her father was secretly watching her the whole time and she wanted to make him proud.  

That obviously wasn’t the case, but now she had the chance to do so. Dancing was in her blood, it was the half of her that she knew best, and the half that he knew least. She wanted him to see that half. She wanted him to know who she was, and who her mother had been.  

The school had been bustling with activity. If the students weren’t talking about the dance recital, they were talking about the scholastic decathlon happening on the same day. The group of students – including Peter, much to her relief – had left the day before and were expected to do well.

As the school day came to an end, her nerves had hit her full force.

Proud parents and family members had steadily flowed into the room and found their seats, and with each passing moment the nerves faded. So did her hope.

It was a strange feeling, the anticipation of watching each person walk through the door only to realise that they weren’t him. Her mother was always one of the first in, sitting as close to the front row as possible with an encouraging thumbs up and a beaming smile.

The movements were automatic, ingrained in her mind and replicated flawlessly. Her brain was too busy wondering where he was, her eyes too busy searching the crowd to see if she had perhaps missed him coming in. But no, by the time the music had been replaced by applause it was clear to her – Tony hadn’t come.

At first she tried to push the disappointment and hurt away when she got home that day. Tony was a busy man, and she couldn’t expect him to remember every detail of her life. He probably had a meeting, or maybe he was off saving the world…she couldn’t jump to conclusions and assume he’d just forgotten about her altogether.

But she quickly learned that was exactly the case.

Walking into school the next morning was unlike anything she’d seen before. The team had won in D.C. and the students flocked around them like they were celebrities. With her head down, she made her way to her locker, brows furrowing every time she heard a particular name mentioned.

“I heard he was there to see that Paul Barker kid…”

“Peter Parker.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

“Who was?”

“Tony Stark!”

“Shut up! No way…”

“There, look!”

And sure enough, flashing across all of the monitors in the school was a proud Tony Stark standing beside an excitable Peter Parker. Mr Stark’s protege, that’s what the kids called him – the Stark Internship had really paid off.

The hurt came in waves, every time she’d try to rationalise, she’d come to the same conclusion.  

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“So, how’d it go?”

Her mother was excited when she saw her. She’d always be her number one fan.

“It was good, my teacher said I have a lot of potential.”

“Oh, sweetie. I always knew you were special.”

That soft, watery smile was on her mother’s face again, the same smile she always wore when she watched her dance. She couldn’t help but smile back, giving a grateful squeeze to the hand she’d been holding since she arrived at the hospital.

“And your father? What did he think?”

It took every ounce of strength she had to maintain her smile; she didn’t have the heart to ruin her mother’s mood.

“Yeah, um…I–I think he really enjoyed it.”

Another squeeze of the hand, another smile, and more words of praise.

Her mother’s happiness would always be worth the guilt.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“What the hell do you mean you don’t know where she is?!”

“Tony, honey—”

“No!”

The room grew silent. Tony rarely raised his voice at his friends, and he never raised his voice at Pepper. Happy had nothing to tell him, he was at as much of a loss as Tony was. His job was to ensure the safety of the youngest Stark. They had been friends for so long that Happy knew exactly how big of an ask that was.

Tony Stark loved the kid, he really did.

It had only been a few months, but there was nothing Tony wouldn’t do for her – Happy knew that. Despite not knowing how to even begin being a father, Tony was trying.

The disappointment Happy felt in himself was monumental. Between babysitting Parker and protecting Pepper, his hands were often full, but that was no excuse in his eyes. He’d failed his friend. Tony trusted him to keep an eye on her and Happy had trusted his men to do just that in his stead.

Tony Stark’s only child had been missing for two days, and he’d only found out after he’d gotten back from an impromptu meeting in Boston.

“We don’t know how she managed to slip past our guys, Tony—”

“And no one could pick up a damn phone and tell me this?”

Panic, he was familiar with, fear too. But there was something different, something unexplainable and primal when a parent felt that their child was in danger. That was a fear he didn’t know how to deal with. Did she slip past? Or was she taken? Was she hurt? Was she even still Ali–?

No, no, she...she couldn’t be…

“Damn it!”

A mug was swiped off the counter, colliding with the fridge and landing in pieces. Tony scoffed, dark, unblinking eyes following the trails of coffee as they slithered down the surface and almost mockingly seeped into the envelope pinned there with a magnet.

No one dared to move as he slowly made his way over to the fridge. The envelope glared right back at him, the printed label hitting him like a punch to the gut.

He plucked the envelope from its place, paying no mind to the coffee coating his fingers nor the puddle he was standing in. His shoulders slumped.

MIDTOWN 2019 DANCE RECITAL

NOVEMBER 2nd 2019

TWO (2) TICKETS

“Damn it…”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The day after her recital was spent at the hospital. The nurses pitied her too much to ever send her home, knowing that she was losing her mother, and not knowing that her father was very much in the picture. The hurt from the previous day still simmered under the surface, but being there with her mother often reminded her of what was really important in life.

But things wouldn’t get easier that day.

The doctor was a good man, kindhearted and supportive, he did all he could to help them. But it hadn’t been enough. The mind was a funny thing – she’d known for months that her mother didn’t have long left, yet irrational hope still remained when he walked through those doors. Hope that he’d have good news, that somehow, some miracle would allow her to keep the one person in the world that mattered to her most.  

The news was never good, and time was running out.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

There was a knock at the door the next day. Nobody usually visited other than the doctor and the nurses.

“Oh…”

“Weren’t expecting me?”

Tony smiled at how surprised she looked, but it was quick to dim when he took a good look at her. Her face was thinner, and she looked so very tired. But the smile she shot back was just as warm as he remembered.

When his daughter arrived on his doorstep she’d told him that her mother was gone. After noting the despair it brought her to speak of the woman who had raised her, Tony decided he’d never bring it up again. At the time, he assumed that ‘gone’ meant her mother had passed, and though he’d told himself he would check, one disaster after another drew his attention instead.

I should have been there for her, he thought. There were a lot of things he should have done. It was just another thing to add to the long list of things he had to make up for.

His eyes darted to his daughter, curled up on a small couch and finally asleep after hours of convincing. The fear that had settled in his heart the day before finally abated, and he allowed himself to breathe again.

“How...how did you find me?”

Tony sighed, making his way over to sit on the edge of her bed. He offered her a sad smile.

“My kid went missing, had to start somewhere.” He huffed a laugh, rubbing at his chest unconsciously. “Damn near gave me a heart attack.”

She frowned and reached over to give his free hand a sympathetic squeeze. “I’m sorry, Tony…I tried to get her to go home—”

“No, don’t apologise, it’s not your fault.” He waved away her concerns. “This one’s on me.”

He wondered if he could ever get this parenting thing right. But she didn’t let him stew in his self-depreciation.

“You know she thinks the world of you, right?”

His uncertain gaze met her own and he couldn’t see anything but sincerity. She smiled.

“She’d ask so many questions about you…she wanted to meet you more than anything.”

Tony looked over to the couch. She was a good kid, one he never knew he’d even wanted, one he hardly deserved.

“I feel like I’m constantly letting her down, y’know?” His jaw clenched, a tell-tale sign that he was trying to keep his emotions in check.

“Then stop.”

His brow furrowed. “Stop what?”

“Stop letting her down.”

He almost scoffed at how simple she made it seem. If he knew how to do that, he wouldn’t have been in this situation.

“You can start by going to a recital…” She suggested, humming in amusement when he grimaced.

“She, uh, she told you about that, huh?” He rubbed the back of his neck. 

The regret he’d felt the moment he’d seen those tickets on the fridge was indescribable. He’d been in D.C. despite telling her he would be there for her. The last time Peter went on a school trip he nearly got himself killed, and Tony’s worries wouldn’t allow that to happen again. He was ashamed to admit that the recital completely slipped his mind.

“No.” She chucked. “She’s just as bad a liar as you are.”

They shared laugh.

“Listen, I uh, I’m going to work on transferring you over to the Tower.” He held up a hand when she tried to protest. “No, no way. It’s the least I could do,” he frowned, “I just wish I’d known sooner.”

All of the times that you left the Tower to ‘volunteer’ at the hospital suddenly made a lot more sense to him.

“Please don’t blame her, I told her not to tell you.”

She gave his hand another squeeze when his eyes dropped to the ground, knowing that he was beating himself up about it for no good reason. It was a bad habit he had yet to kick.

“But thank you, Tony. Medicine, well, it’s not cheap…” She sighed. “I had to sell the old studio, and she knew exactly what that meant. I tried to hide it from her, but she’s a smart kid.”

She shot him a pointed look, as if to say ‘that one’s also on you’. He nodded with a grin, and she was glad to see the pride in it.

“Then she started coming back with medication.” Tony’s eyes shot over to her in realisation, but her own eyes were closed as she shook her head. “I never knew where she got them from, but thank you for putting an end to that.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When she finally woke up, it was to her mother’s laugh. She frowned in confusion, and thought she was seeing things when she noticed Tony sitting at her mother’s bedside. They were chatting like old friends, with a familiarity she didn’t expect them to have. She didn’t quite understand that they’d always be bound together. Even if they had nothing else in common, they still had her.

“Mom? Dad?”

The conversation came to an abrupt halt the moment they realised she was awake.

Tony felt his heart race. Dad. No one had ever called him that before, not even her. He knew she’d almost done it before, cutting herself off before she could. What he didn’t know was what stopped her every time. Was he so disappointing as a father figure that she refused to associate the word with him? Or did it just feel wrong to call a stranger dad? If he ever asked, she’d tell him the truth – that she feared he thought the exact same things of her.

They were both stupid.

But for now he could just enjoy the fact that she was too sleepy to even realise the slip.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Her mother offered her usual warm smile.

Before she could ask the obvious question, a nurse bustled into the room. She must have missed something important, because they were discussing how to go about moving her mother out of the hospital. From what she gathered, Tony knew that her time was coming to an end and he wanted her as comfortable as possible when that time came.

She wanted to be grateful, but it was all just a reminder that she’d soon be alone in the world.

Her parents decided that she’d be riding with Tony on the way back to the Tower. To say that it was awkward would be an understatement. Her hurt still lingered, and he was feeling too many emotions altogether. Either way, he knew he’d hurt her, her mother had told him as much, and he’d be damned if he didn’t fix it.

“I didn’t know…”

Tony’s voice cut through the silence like a knife.

“She didn’t want you to.” Her words were gentle, like softening a blow, he thought.

“Did you?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

She hesitated for a moment before reluctantly shaking her head.

His heart ached at the thought of her not trusting him, not believing in him. And for a moment, a painful, torturous moment, he saw himself in her shoes. Young, with the world at her feet, and a father too damn selfish to see that she didn’t need the money, or the material, or the media…she needed him.

“I don’t know, I guess…I just, I figured you wouldn’t care.” Her lower lip wobbled, and she turned to watch the world go by outside the window.

“What?” He was stunned, hardly able to believe that she thought so little of him – that he’d given her no reason to think any more of him.

“We’re– we’re strangers. You’ve already chosen your family…” the tears finally spilled over, and Tony felt his own eyes prickling at the sight, no matter how hard she tried to hide it from him. “With Pepper and, and Peter…you know them better, and–”

His hands were quick to grasp her shoulders and turn her to face him, effectively bringing her ramble to an end.

“Hey, stop. Look at me.” She did, wide and glassy eyes nearly breaking his heart all over again. “There’s no choice. Not for me. It’s you, always…okay?”

She sniffled lightly, swiping at her eyes with a sleeve. He didn’t waver, there was nothing but resolution in his voice and the hope that fluttered in her chest nearly brought on a fresh wave of tears.

“Okay.”

“C’mere.” He gently tugged her forward into tight hug. “I know you might not believe me when I say this – I’ll work on that – but you…you’re my daughter, and I love ya, kid.”

Her shoulders shook and he couldn’t tell if it was a laugh or more tears, but he hardly cared when he heard her reply.

“I love you too, dad.”

There was plenty for him to do, problems that wouldn’t go away and situations that he could do nothing to protect her against. But step by step, he’d make her proud. He promised it to her mother, and he promised it to himself. Now he just had to prove it to her.

Please let me know if you see any mistakes...it’s late :)

Part 2

#tony stark #tony stark x reader #tony stark daughter #marvel #ironman

[demigodsanswer]

Hazel Levesque: Into the Prophecy-verse pt. 1

Time for the prologue to an AU I’ve wanted to write for a long time and need to finally get out of my brain. Hazel is a little OOC in this, but that’s because it’s an AU where she grows up in the modern world, not the 1920s. 

Description:

Rome was a three-thousand year old empire, with two capitals - Old Rome in Italy and New Rome in America. New Rome was the powerhouse of the gods and their hero’s.

The children of the Olympian gods lived amongst mortals, the most powerful of them joining the Legion, and some even earning fame status when major prophecies thrusted one or a few of them into the spot light. 

Hazel Levesque is an unclaimed, unimportant demigod, unsuitable for the esteemed legion. And she’s about to find herself at the middle of a major prophecy. 

~*~*~*~

Alright let’s do this one last time

“My name is Jason Grace. I’m the son of Jupiter and for ten years, I’ve the one and only child of the Big Three. I’m pretty sure you know the rest: I saved a bunch of people, fell in love, saved the city, and then I saved the city again and again and again. I also did this [cut to Jason getting hit in the head with a brick]. We don’t talk about that. Look, I’m a comic book, I’m a cereal, did a Christmas album, have an excellent theme song, and a so-so popsicle. I mean, I’ve looked worse. But after everything, I still love being the hero. I mean, who wouldn’t? So no matter how many hits I take, I always find a way to come back, because the only thing standing between this city and oblivion is me. There’s only one child of the Big Three. And you’re looking at him.” 

Hazel was listening to her music too loud to hear Chiron calling her. She had her first day at some prep school for demigods, meaning she was leaving Chiron’s half-way house for unclaimed and untamable demigods. 

New Rome was overflowing with demigods who either hadn’t been claimed or had been rejected from the Legion. Lupa had deemed her and her friend Leo “too insubordinate” for the Legion. He set the wolf on fire (an accident) and she had told the wolf to eat shit (not an accident.) Demigods who didn’t fit in the Legion and couldn’t live at their home with their mortal parents (like Hazel, who’s mom had been deem “unsuitable”) or didn’t have mortal parents (like Leo) lived in one of the half-way houses. There was hundreds of them around the country, all named “Chiron’s Half-Way House,” but only the New Rome branch was actually graced by the old Greek Centaur. 

He did his best to train or rehabilitate problem kids, getting them ready for either the legion or the real world. He was the one who had insisted every demigod apply to some fancy, over-priced prep school. And Hazel was the only one of them dumb enough to be smart enough to get in.  

 “Do I have to go?” She asked Chiron, as he adjusted the collar of her uniform (which she already hated.) 

“This is a step in the right direction for you Hazel.” 

She tugged on one of her curls, pulling it straight in front of her eyes before letting it bounce back into place. Chiron led her out to the car. Leo was waiting out on the front porch. 

“Don’t forget us little people while you’re off becoming some famous hero or some shit, Levesque.” He said, smiling. 

Hazel pulled him into a hug. “Who could forget you?” 

“I’ll bust you out as soon as I can,” he whispered. 

Hazel sat, clearly angry, in the back of Chiron’s car. He couldn’t drive, being a centaur and all, so Argus, the thousand-eyed half-way house driver was behind the wheel, and Chiron lectured her about all of her opportunities. 

“I don’t care,” Hazel protested. “I don’t want to go, I’m only here because I drew some pictures.” Her scholarship was art-based, that was true. She was a good artist. Not a really notable demigod skill, though. Still, someone had to mosaic all of Jason Grace’s accomplishments. They were only one year away from some world-ending prophecy that the tabloids still had yet to leak. So it was only a matter of time before Golden Boy Supreme (as Leo had nicknamed him) added another line on his resume. And if Hazel was lucky, which she rarely was, she’d be there to sculpt the whole thing in marble. 

“You passed the entrance exam just like everyone else,” Chiron told her. “This is your opportunity, Hazel. Do you want to end up like --” 

He cut himself off, but she knew how that sentence ended. Like her mother. Her mom wasn’t perfect, but she wasn’t bad. She was actually pretty cool. The courts were just picky about who was allowed to raise demigod children. Even mega-Hero Grace grew up with a foster mom - Sally Jackson, poster mom for good demigod parenting. Literally, her picture was on the side of buses. She had her own book. She had been on The View with the nine muses. 

Her mom wasn’t Sally Jackson, for sure, but she always made sure Hazel had food, and she taught her how to draw. The court’s problem was her mom’s inability to hold down a job. The only thing she managed consistently was selling her own homemade jewelry. It was all bullshit though. If Hazel wasn’t a demigod, they never would have separated them. 

“Whatever,” Hazel said as they pulled up to the school. She grabbed her backpack and suitcase, and preyed to whatever god her father was that she would be kicked out by the end of the day. 

“Tie your shoes!” Chiron yelled after her. She ignored him. 

Hazel walked into a whirlwind. The school was huge. Most people were in their uniforms, although a few wore ancient Roman style armor over theirs. Some carried stacks of books, and other had spears and swords. Half her day was academic - Latin, literature, history, science, and math. The other half was training - weaponry, climbing, survival skills, and pegasus riding. At least they had Pegasi here. She had been trained well enough at the half way house, but there were unfortunately lacking in magic horses. Well, besides Chiron’s lower half, which Hazel wasn’t too keen on riding. 

“You’re shoe’s untied,” a stranger said, passing Hazel. 

“Yeah, I know it’s a choice.” 

The sneakers probably weren’t uniform, but she didn’t earn the label “insubordinate” for nothing. 

She found her locker, wide and tall enough for armor, weapons, and other demigod provisions, and shoved her suitcase in it. She figured she would move into her dorm later on. 

Someone opened the locker next to hers. “Oh this is so embarrassing,” Hazel said to her locker neighbor, “we are wearing the same jacket.” She laughed awkwardly, but the girl just rolled her eyes before walking away. 

Off to a good start, Hazel though before grabbing her backpack and moving on to her first class. 

Each class seemed to come with its own thousand pound textbook. And the long, winding hallways made it impossible to stop at her locker in between classes. By fifth period - history - she had four new text books and figured she was about to get one more. 

She walked in late. She hoped the darkness of the room helped cover her late arrival, but she cast a shadow in front of the projector. 

“Ah Miss. Levesque,” her history teacher, some old guy named Mr. Quintus, paused the movie, “you’re late.” 

She shrugged, “Maybe y’all are just early.” 

A girl with black spiky hair and dark eye make up let out a stifled chuckle. Quitus and Hazel looked at her. “Sorry, it was just so quiet.” 

“Please take your seat, Miss, Levesque.” He started playing the movie again. Some history documentary. The Romans loved those. This one had some young narrator, who would have been handsome if it wasn’t for the scar down his face. With his blond hair and blue eyes, Hazel could have mistaken him for Jason Grace, if Jason were twenty-five, not fifteen. 

“The Titan Saturn, lord of Time, was overthrown by Jupiter and his other brothers and sisters, and his remains cast away.” 

Hazel was just staring to tune the whole thing out when Quintus paused the video again. “Can anyone tell me the Greek name for the Titan Saturn?” The girl next to Hazel raised her hand. “Yes, Miss. Grace?” 

“Kronos,” she offered. 

“Very good,” Quintus restarted the film. Hazel thought about leaning over and asking her if she was related to Jason, but figured she probably got that all the time. 

A week later, Quintus stopped Hazel on her way out the door. “Miss. Levesque?” 

She walked over to his desk. “What’s up?” 

Quintus showed her the score from their history quiz the day before. A red 0/100 was written across the scantron. 

“A zero?” Hazel tried to look genuinely upset. “A few more of those and you’ll probably have to kick me out of here, huh?”

“If a person wearing a blind fold took a true or false quiz at random, what score would they get?” 

“Fifty percent?” 

Quintus changed her 0 to a 100. “That’s right.” He stood and faced the bored to start erasing that day’s lecture notes. “Are you familiar with the story of Icarus, Miss. Levesque?” 

“Uh yeah, he was escaping the Labyrinth with his father with a pair of bronze wings. But he flew too close to the sun, the wax melted, and he fell into the ocean. it’s about pride, right?” 

“Correct,” he said, turning to face her, “but you left out a crucial element. Yes, Icarus was instructed by his father not to fly too high. But he was also told not too fly too low, as the sea mist could also weaken the wax.”

“Why are you telling me this?” She asked. 

“You’re trying to quit, and I won’t let you. You must remember not to let yourself fly too low, it’s just as dangerous. I’m assigning you a personal essay. Not about history, but about yourself and the kind of person who you want to be.” 

Hazel had spent an hour at her desk, trying to write anything for Quintus or for her literature essay, but her ADHD was going off the rails. She wished Leo would make good on his promise to bust her out of there. 

But she decided not to wait for Leo. 

She hadn’t seen her mom in a while. She grabbed her hoodie before making her way down the fire escape. 

#will i finally complete a fic #most experts say no #hazel levesque #jason grace #leo valdez #sally jackson #chiron #hazel levesque into the prophecy verse #thalia grace

[keeroo92]

Welcome To The First Order

Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone! My discord server did an exchange, here is what I came up with. This is in the Star Wars universe, not DMC. Warnings for smut, questionable consent, restraints, and light dom/sub themes. Kylo Ren/OC but can also be Reader.

Word count - 5,401

__________

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…

On a remote planet in the outer rim, a massive volcano spewed ash miles overhead, gradually dispersing to coat the landscape in a fine gray powder. The acrid tang of sulphur permeated the air and rough, black rock clearly marked more recent activity. 

To the volcano’s east, a lush forest grew from the nutrient-rich soil, filled with migrant species looking for a home. The greenery extended as far as the eye could see, proving that even the most destructive forces could build a paradise. 

But Kylo Ren wasn’t here to sightsee. In fact, he abhorred the scene entirely. Volcanic planets were among his most hated. They always stank, and under his heavy black cloak there was no escaping the ambient heat.

With a final, regretful glance back at his treasured command shuttle and its lovely air-conditioned cabin, the black-clad warrior sighed and turned to his task. Why couldn’t the damned Force disturbance have been on a polar planet?

Whatever. He’d find the source quickly and leave; the cause wouldn’t stay hidden long now that he was physically here. Maybe a quick stop at a balmier planet on the way back.

The newly instated Supreme Leader closed his eyes and slowed his breathing, focusing his energy on the undercurrent pulsing through the universe. He pictured it like a spiderweb, thin filaments connecting every atom in existence. A twitch here and there in the web was normal. Birth, death, conflict and unity all sent waves radiating through the network. 

Yet a dark knot swirled in this sector, a shadowy stain he recognized like an echo of his own heart. It called to him through the galactic void, drawing him in like prey.

But Kylo Ren was no one’s prey. 

His eyes shot open as he pinpointed the origin. It wasn’t far, maybe three kilometers east or so. A short walk, then he’d clean up whatever mess was causing the itch in his mind and leave this hellscape behind.

  __________

The disturbance first appeared three weeks ago, a tiny speck in the fabric of reality that barely drew his attention. He ignored it, more focused on his new duties as the Supreme Leader, and on removing any officers who refused to accept the news. It was an annoyance, nothing more. 

Yet as the days passed it grew stronger, until he found his attention wavering to prod at it during mundane meetings. The business of running the First Order was as much work as he’d expected, but he hadn’t expected it to be so tedious. 

Indeed, some tasks he found so boring he missed his old position. 

Eventually, his boredom became too powerful to ignore and he found himself launching his command shuttle, slipping away from his duties to investigate the strange disturbance in person. None would dare complain, now that he was Supreme Leader. If they did, they wouldn’t live to regret it.

  __________

Less than a kilometer remained between him and his target. He closed his eyes to focus once more, homing in even further on the strange signature. With it so near, he had to be careful not to draw its attention or reveal his presence. The mental masks he wore only did so much, after all. Speaking of masks, he should probably don his helmet. Undoubtedly the damn thing would be stiflingly hot. Damn volcanic planets.

Luckily, there was plenty of wildlife to hide his Force signature. Snoke taught him well, better than the fool Jedi ever did. Not that it saved him, in the end. He should’ve known better than to stand in the way of progress. 

There. A human, young and fierce. Female, with an ocean of Force energy running through her. 

She’s been touched by the Force… This had better not turn out like Jakku.

  __________

The girl bit her lip as she caught a glimpse of the dark energy approaching. True, Ren hid himself well, but she was prepared for that. Any creature within a kilometer of her camp had a Force trip-wire to alert her to any gifted intruders. A wise choice, judging by the power in the signature she detected. She knew her task wouldn’t be easy, but could she really hope to best one with such strength?

There is no emotion. There is peace.

The words of the Jedi soothed her mind, a bit. It helped keep her calm and focused, holding back the fear she’d so long denied. Emotions wouldn’t help her; they never did. 

No, they tended to do the opposite. Frequently.

This isn’t helping. Gotta do something, gotta move.

Thick fabric rustled as she circled her chosen ambush site, one of many decisions she struggled not to second guess. The small area offered little in the way of natural protection, though the trees circling the clearing gave her some much-needed shade to sit in and meditate. A small tent sat under one such tree, a campfire and firewood just outside. She hadn’t brought much, but a few bags of supplies were neatly arranged on a large boulder. Her miniscule ship waited for her return on the other side of the ridge. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be left empty tomorrow.

  __________

The closer he came, the more she felt him. The energy he radiated turned her stomach; a seething, roiling mass of anger and pain, guilt and despair. Sparks of light tried to break through the darkness, but they were like stars in a night sky. Drowned by the endless void surrounding them.

I wonder what my energy feels like?

Maybe she’d ask him, right before the killing blow.

At last, he came within meters of her small camp. Shadows cast by the trees and greenery helped him blend in, but a flash of motion and his dark energy marked his location like a distress beacon. Few animals remained, the air still as if the Force itself held its breath.

Her fingers itched to draw her saber and attack, but she knew better. A Jedi never strikes first. Defend, but do not attack. Even if you know your foe.

She knew of Kylo Ren. The son of legends, fallen from grace to rise in the shadow of the First Order. Once, he’d inspired hope. Now he inspired terror. Her master knew him many years ago, before his fall. One of three survivors of Ren’s desecration of the Jedi temple, Voe was the one who found her in the lower levels of Coruscant, stealing to survive and performing simple mind-tricks if she were caught. She still didn’t fully agree with her teachings, but her belly didn’t ache with hunger and she no longer slept in a gutter. It was enough, and maybe another few years would help her believe. Today her faith in the Force was a lake of still waters, but one day it would harden into a tower of crystal, never to be shaken or disrupted by the capricious winds of doubt.

At least, that’s what Master Voe told her.

The Force screamed and brought her back to the moment as a terrible red light buzzed to life. It was almost time. 

  __________

The clueless girl still hadn’t noticed him. She was young; her worn-out Padawan robes gave that away. Hazel eyes and a mess of shoulder-length brown hair framed a face dominated by her overly-large nose, a jagged scar running from her left cheekbone to her scalp. An ordinary looking girl, all in all. 

He hid mere inches away, shrouded by a small bird’s life force. From this distance, it would be a simple task to execute her and be done with it. 

But a corpse couldn’t tell him what she was doing here, or if she was causing the disturbance, not to mention how long it’d been since he got to fight. Perhaps a good duel would help relieve some of his boredom.

So, instead of executing her on the spot, he drew his saber and activated the blade, stepping out from the shadows with a casual stride.

“Hello, little Jedi,” he said.

Her eyes went wide, darting to his glowing blade and back to his masked face. Yet her Force-energy didn’t ring with alarm, much to his shock. She’d been expecting him.

“Kylo Ren… You’re not as tall as I expected,” she replied.

Not as tall?! He was six foot three, how tall did she expect him to be? 

“That one I haven’t heard before. Tell me your name.”

Her arms crossed, a defiant glare entering her eyes. “No.”

He chucked, spinning his blade in a leisurely circle as he stepped closer. “An odd name, No. Your parents must have been interesting.”

Her energy twitched, a spike of irritation flowing through the Force. Excellent, she clearly didn’t have full control of her emotions. He could use that.

“That’s not what I meant…”

“Well, I have to call you something.”

Another spike, this was too easy. Hopefully she was more skilled with her saber, or this would be over far too quickly. 

“The dead have no need for names,” she replied. So, she meant to kill him. 

Fool.

“You lack the skill to defeat me, No.”

She smirked and drew her saber, gripping the hilt in a textbook defense hold. Third form, if he wasn’t mistaken.

“Let’s find out, or are you too much of a coward? Maybe they should call you Kylo Ran.”

Enough talk, then.

The rage that boiled in his heart, tucked away under the surface until it was needed, rose like the tide. Kylo released his hold on it and allowed it to flood his senses, empowering him with the Dark Side. It always sent a thrill up his spine to feel the heat and unending fury it held, and today was no different.

Black robes fluttered as he lunged forward to strike at the girl. Her saber barely rose in time to block his furious blow, the green blade buzzing to life inches from her body to hold his at bay.

“Tell me why you’re here and I’ll let you keep breathing,” he growled. As if to mock him, the girl took a massive breath and pushed, breaking their stalemate as she jumped back.

He didn’t give her the time to recover. A series of Force-empowered blows rained down upon her, his saber an unstoppable conduit for his wrath. 

  __________

Golden sparks flew from where red met green. The girl gritted her teeth and summoned a tether of Force energy to coil around her adversary’s ankle, but he nimbly stepped away. Damn, she’d have to do better than that.

“Pathetic, you’ll have to do better than that,” growled his distorted voice, as if he were in her mind. 

There is no emotion.

Hazel eyes flashed as she ducked under his glowing red blade, dodging a death blow by mere centimeters and dashing back out of his range. Strands of her hair sizzled as he cut the air. She needed to be faster; he was right, she didn’t have the skill to beat him. Not in a straight fight, at least. Time to play dirty.

There is only peace.

A wave of rock-hard energy rocketed from his leather covered palm, charged with power and ill intent. She hastily matched it with one of her own, the Force clashing in a battle of will. As the invisible blasts struggled for dominance, she swiped her saber at Kylo’s arm, smirking when a thin line of pale skin revealed itself under his robes. A minuscule drop of blood leaked out a beat later.

“Who’s pathetic now?”

A low growl rumbled through his helmet and she capitalized on his rage, slashing at his head with a mighty Force-empowered strike. The glowing green blade hummed and sliced through the metal of his helmet, but he pirouetted away before she could reach his flesh. She leaped skyward for another hit, but he was too fast. A pulse of energy knocked her out of the air to land ungracefully on the grassy ground. 

“You have some skill, girl, I’ll admit that,” Ren murmured. 

The young Jedi scrambled to her feet as the dark visage she battled tugged the now distorted metal away from his face, revealing the features of her target. Black hair, handsome features. Eyes that burned with unrestrained power.

Voe told her what he looked like before, so she’d been prepared. 

Yet to see such a young face beneath the mask that inspired terror across the galaxy still threw her off. He couldn’t be much older than she was, and already he ran the most powerful political group in existence. 

“Imagine how powerful you’d be if you left behind the foolishness of the Jedi.”

Voe warned her of this, too. That he might tempt her or try to darken her light. No lie was too much when one studied the dark. 

“The foolishness of the Jedi? Bold words for one with the blood of Skywalker in his veins,” she sneered back. 

His face twisted, the intensity of his fury electrifying the air. It was so powerful, it set the hair on her arms on end, and she suddenly understood why this man was so widely feared. Was she about to die? Maybe mentioning his family was unwise…

The Force shifted, a current of energy building in her foe’s core. Only one thing required that much energy that she knew of.

Force lightning.

An icy chill crawled up her spine. Voe covered the technique only in passing, deeming it too early in her training to explore such a finicky ability. Mistakes could cost a young padawan her life. Wiser to train her in simpler things first, no matter how much she begged.

Adrenaline coursed through her veins, her eyes focused entirely on Ren’s hands even as fear threatened to still her heart. Sparks danced between his gloved fingers, a gathering storm meant to annihilate her. 

There is no death, there is the Force.

The words held little comfort. Becoming one with the Force was not her goal today.

Focus!

She released a deep breath and planted her feet, her toes curling into the soil through the thin soles of her shoes. A firm stance was key. Her body and mind needed to be in perfect unison if she were going to survive.  

A howl of fury rattled through the Supreme Leader’s lips as the first arc of lightning crackled toward her. The young Jedi raised her saber to catch it and screamed back, finding strength in voicing her defiance. 

Her shoulders trembled with the strain of containing such a huge amount of energy in her saber. She couldn’t hold it back much longer, soon it would overload the kyber crystal and find its way to her body. If only Ren would pause, then she could discharge it safely! 

But he knew it just as well as she did, and made his move. With one hand still channeling Force-energy into a sizzling arc of lightning, he surged forward to knock her saber from her hands. A gasp split her lips and he smirked, cutting off the energy flow just before it struck her body. 

She had failed.

Again. 

  __________

The side vent of his saber hummed angrily at her hammering pulse, the main shaft crossing over her shoulder. One wrong move, and he would decapitate her. She was at his mercy.

“Quite the troublemaker, aren’t you? It’s almost a waste to kill you.”

Her eyes revealed her fear in all its glory as he considered her. Poor little Jedi, defenseless without her Master. So afraid, mere lightning was enough to still her tongue. It almost made him laugh. 

“Just do it, then! What are you waiting for?”

I spoke too soon… the only way to still her tongue is to cut it out.

He chuckled, twisting his wrist to slide the crimson blade across her collarbone. A mark of her failure, though she needn’t endure it long. “But you haven’t answered my questions yet.”

Their eyes locked and he brutishly barged past her meager mental defenses. Her mind was like a kaleidoscope, disorganized and chaotic, flooding him with useless information as her consciousness desperately tried to hide. As if there was any escape. 

He saw her doubt, her curiosity and will to survive. The flame of anger that burned in her heart, the efforts she went to just to keep it concealed. He felt the hunger that once gnawed at her belly, the cool night air that kept her awake in the alleys of her home city. The sting of a firm hand when she was caught stealing, the sneer of the merchant that delivered it. The rage that fueled her instinctual first use of Jedi mind tricks, the shock when the merchant simply walked away. 

The robed figure that approached her soon after, offering a different life.

Voe…?

Kylo blinked and the memories faded away. He’d assumed her master was Skywalker; who else could it be? He’d forgotten Voe was even alive. A mistake he would not repeat. 

The girl’s master taught her well, but he would break through the meaningless drivel. Like the volcano that cast a shadow over the valley, he held the power to destroy all that stood before him, making room for something better to fill the void. It was not his fate to be loved, but to be feared and obeyed. This girl would be no different.

He would destroy her, and then build her into something better.

Both his black clad hands grasped her skull, his saber sheathed as he grimaced and delved deeper into her mind. Tears dripped from her wide hazel eyes but he didn’t care. Like a bantha in a china shop, he destroyed any defenses that barred his way.

You will show me.

More irrelevant memories. A lecherously smiling face, an aching dread as flesh met flesh. The sting of alcohol burning its way to her stomach, the tingle more familiar by the day. With a scolding tap of his index finger he brushed the useless recollections aside. 

Show me why you are here.

There - at last. Something useful.

Her hands were clenched in her lap, the calm voice of Master Voe ringing through the small tent. Two bedrolls lied nearby, a fire pit with a pot hanging over it just outside. 

“You know what will happen to you if you fail, padawan. Control your emotions, and do not allow the traitor to gain the upper hand.”

Her hands relaxed, the angle changing as she bowed her head to her Master. “I will not fail you.”

Voe must mean him. She’d been sent to take him down, it seemed. How insulting. Voe didn’t honestly think he’d fall to a padawan, did she?

Kylo drew back, releasing the girl from his cruel grip to fall to her knees and vomit. She looked so small and weak, a pawn sent as a sacrificial lamb by her pathetic Master. Voe had always been a fool, but this was a new level of stupidity.

He chuckled, smirking down at the girl wiping away her tears until she met his eyes. Brave, considering what he’d just done. 

The girl glared at him and spat, lobbing a wad of vomit-tainted saliva to land on his boot. “Fuck you.”

Two words, and the laughter died on his lips. Brave, yes. But also incredibly foolish.

His hands went back to her skull, tangling in her hair and giving it a sharp tug. Her entire body shifted with the force of his pull, landing her on all fours at his feet. Where she belonged.

“You aren’t very smart, are you, girl?”

“Heh, I’ve been called worse,” she responded with an exhausted but rebellious smirk. Another yank on her hair, harder than before. 

The girl bit her lip, whimpering in what he was beginning to suspect wasn’t pain. She might be the strangest padawan he’d ever seen.

“You aren’t cut from the cloth of the Jedi.”

The fact that she’d been taken on as a padawan showed how desperate the Jedi were. They were dying out, one by one. How many were left, now? Where were they hiding? He had to know, had to eradicate them properly.

“At least I didn’t murder anyone. Better fit than you were.”

The Force twitched, a flicker of pride seeping through her weakened and desecrated mind. As if she were somehow his superior. Honestly, did she even try to restrain her emotions?

He tugged her hair again, forcing her face up to look at him. The expression on her face sent a pulse of fire through his blood. That wasn’t pride he sensed; it was desperation. Her will to survive in action searching for a way to earn her next breath.

Kylo chuckled, tightening his hold on the brown strands. First a fight, now this. Perhaps volcanic planets weren’t so bad?

“You like that, don’t you? You would’ve been a terrible Jedi, No. Why stay loyal to a group that doesn’t suit you?”

The girl huffed, but she didn’t deny it. From what he’d seen in her memories, she was no stranger to darkness. What if it twisted her, just as it did to him? What if he didn’t need to kill her?

“No one else wanted my loyalty,” she murmured. “No one else wanted me.”

Oh, it was almost too easy. The thought of what he could do to her flooded his senses with heady lust, his cock twitching against his thigh. A good fight always got him excited; something about the knowledge he could’ve died but instead, proved himself strong enough to win…

Kylo Ren licked his lips. “And if someone did?”

Her lips curled into a dismissive smile, glimmers of sad amusement coming to life in her eyes. “Are you saying you want me? Here I thought you dark-siders just took what you wanted.”

The girl was born for the Dark Side. If anything, he’d have to watch his back for the blade she’d someday stick in his spine. For now, though…

Thick cables of Force energy took hold of the girl’s head and arms, freeing his hands. He knew she could break free if she wanted; her own ability to command the Force at will proved it. 

Yet she simply let the tendrils do their work. She had to be exhausted, after his annihilation of her mind, but all he sensed from her thoughts was a hint of fear, perhaps a bit of curiosity. The girl wasn’t even breathing quickly, her oddly calm eyes daring him to do something. As if she wanted this.

“You want me to take what I want, is that it?”

She didn’t reply. Aggravating, he asked her a question.

“Fine. Have it your way, No.”

He couldn’t deny the thrill it gave him to see her eyes widen as he drew his lightsaber once more. With a twitch of his fingers, the cords holding her in place tightened and shifted, forcing her body to arch.

“Hold still,” he ordered, bringing the crimson blade to her hips. The fabric of her padawan robes fell away seconds later, revealing her skin to his hungry gaze.

Pink folds glistened like grass in the morning, supple flesh begging to be devoured. The girl whimpered as he drew closer, tracing his leather-clad fingers across her most sensitive spots. It’d been far too long since he indulged himself.

“So that’s what you want? The same thing as everyone else?” she sneered.

The quiver in her voice contrasted her words, but she still shouldn’t dare to speak them aloud. Oh, he couldn’t wait to break this stubborn little padawan.

He plunged a wad of Force-energy deep into her throat as he cut away the rest of her clothing. A finer display, he hadn’t seen in years; every inch of flesh he revealed brought more blood to his aching length.

“I didn’t give you permission to speak, youngling.”

Only the sound of choking responded. Through the Force, he felt her struggling airway and mounting panic. It only added to the growing heat of his need.

“Much better. Those who listen well will be rewarded.”

He narrowed his eyes and gestured, adding more invisible tendrils. These, however, held a different purpose. They slithered up from the ground, climbing her arms and legs to reach her tempting core and burrow deep within. The thick ball occupying her mouth and esophagus pulled back, allowing her to breathe almost normally. At the very least, he’d now hear her moans.

And the girl didn’t let him down, whimpering as his Force-energy explored her wet heat. Soft as velvet and dewy with arousal, her body betrayed her. No longer could she hide or pretend she didn’t want this as badly as he did.

But she probably thought him to be a gentle lover. Imbecile.

Kylo made quick work of drawing himself out, indulging in a few rapid strokes to ease his need. The threads probing and holding her body vanished, leaving her to cough as her ability to breathe was fully restored. Watching her go limp, the sound of her hacking gasps and the curve of her ass waiting for his attentions summoned the first bead of fluid from his tip.

Waste not, want not.

“Do you want more, little Jedi?” he rumbled, striding into her line of sight so she could watch him toy with his length. Pulses of lust radiated from her mind, too powerful to restrain. “Come have a taste, then.”

The girl’s hooded hazel eyes watched him carefully, suspicion tainting the urges vying for control. Enough delay; he’d just have to teach her.

A single, thick rope of energy wrapped around her slim neck and dragged her to him, angling her throat and forcing her jaw open to envelop his length. Kylo groaned, the feel of her mouth a tantalizing precursor to satisfaction. So warm and wet…

He tangled his hands in her hair, releasing the tendril to take over. A snap of his hips drew a lewd moan from his lips and a quiet whine from hers.

“Ah, come now, No. You like the taste, don’t you? I can tell,” he growled.

Indeed, her mind was racing, projecting a craving for more. At his words, she hummed and pressed her tongue to his shaft, closing her eyes and savoring his flavor. Truly, the Force was a wonderful thing.

But as Supreme Leader, he couldn’t grant her what she wanted so easily. She had to earn it.

Kylo tugged her face against his hips, rolling into her throat over and over as she gagged on his girth. Saliva dribbled from the corner of her lips and shimmered on his cock. She looked quite appealing this way, her body bare and glowing in midday sunlight, wrapped around him and at his mercy.

He smirked and coils of power pulled her off the ground, spreading her arms and legs like a starfish. To her credit, the girls only moaned and slid her tongue across his slit, seemingly not caring one way or the other. She learned fast.

The dark warrior withdrew and hummed, releasing her skull to pat her head like a treasured pet. Glassy eyes and swollen lips glistened. “A promising start.”

A gesture of his fingers spun her around; another, and her wetness ground upon his length. Two sets of lips moaned. It was time to break the little Jedi.

“You’re mine, little Jedi,” he said roughly. Two leather-clad hands gripped her hips and spread her ass open. He spat on her back entrance and smirked as he brought a tendril to prod its way inside, simultaneously burying his length deep in her cunt.

Divine. Her walls greeted him in a tight embrace like an old friend. Panting gasps spilled from her lips as he began to move, humming as her body refused to let him go.

“All mine. You serve a new Master now,” he said. “Tell me, girl. Say it!”

He snapped back inside, slapping his flesh against hers. The cord of energy in her ass pulsed in time with his motions, rubbing against his head deep within. Curses rang forth, but she denied him what he demanded. Not for long.

The wet slap of his motions didn’t pause as his Force-tendrils released her arms, moving to tease at her chest. Flicking and rolling, kneading and squeezing, leaving bruises across her curves as a reminder of her new position.

“Say it! Who is your Master?”

“Ah-! No!”

Ren quickened his pace and dragged one gloved hand lower, inching closer to her clit. A promise, of sorts. Obedience would be rewarded. Rebellion brought nothing but pain. “Say it.”

Her hands dug into the gritty ground, clenching just as they had in her memory. “No!”

He pinched her tiny bundle of nerves, brutishly tight. Her body flinched away, a yelp of pain rewarding his abuse. Force-energy whipped across her spine and stomach, leaving angry red lines in their wake. Again and again, he thrust against her drenched core. Creamy fluid dotted his trousers, as if he needed more proof of her lust.

“You’re a filthy little whore, aren’t you? Jedi slut!”

With her so distracted, it was simple to enter her mind yet again. Her skin was on fire, electric pulses singing across her nerves as she was filled beyond what she’d ever experienced before. The girl was drowning in arousal, teetering on the edge of surrender. Stubborn fool.

He opened his own mind, just enough to let images of his plans for her through. He’d have her in chains, naked and at his disposal at all times. If she obeyed, perhaps he’d allow her to cum. A collar would do wonders for her neck. Someday, she might earn a place by his throne, ready to please him or his more competent generals. He might even have her pleasure him while he met with them.

He was going to destroy her, of that there was no doubt. All she had to decide was if she would become something better in the wreckage of her former life.

“Who is your Master?”

“Fu- fuck!” she cried, her voice close to breaking. “K- Kylo Ren! Kylo Ren is my Master!”

Kylo smirked and took hold of her shoulder, pulling out just long enough to get her on her back. He lifted her legs to rest on his shoulders, granting him an angle too perfect to waste. With each roll of his hips, he dragged moans from her lips and sweat from her pleasure-furrowed brow. Her eyes were hazy, but coherent enough to meet his.

His hands flew to her throat and squeezed, stealing the air from her lungs as he fucked her. The fire in his belly would soon erupt, engulfing him in bliss. Even without the Force, he knew she was close too.

“Cum for your Master, girl!”

The black-clad man rubbed one last thread of Force-energy against her swollen clit, his hands tightening on her neck and his hips slamming into hers. The velveteen walls caressing his cock fluttered, an obscene moan pushing its way from her mouth as she arced against him. Her signature flared white-hot and shoved him over the edge.

Heat crashed from his tip, spilling his seed deep within. Kylo gasped, his hips stuttering as his mouth fell open in overwhelming perfection. Her body milked every last drop from his, clenching and releasing in turns long after he was spent.

At last, the girl fell still, save for her heaving chest. He gave her neck one last squeeze; a reminder before he pulled away.

She didn’t move as he fixed his pants. Fluid spilled from her core onto the dirt and red lines crossed over her stomach, bruises forming on her limbs and throat. Broken. Ready to be rebuilt.

But first…

“Tell me your name, girl.”

She sighed and struggled to sit up. Her clothes were beyond repair, scraps of cloth littering the clearing around them but she gathered what she could anyway. “What does it matter?”

He chuckled. “I suppose it doesn’t. Tell me anyway.”

She looked away, covering what she could with little success. It was better this way, in his opinion. Padawan robes were hideous, and he did so enjoy gazing at the marks he left behind.

“It’s Coriandra,” she said. “Like the spice.”

A smirk twisted his lips. A far better name than No. “Welcome to the First Order, Coriandra.”

#fanfiction #fanfic #star wars #kylo ren #kylo ren/reader #kylo ren/oc #spicy #My writing #happy valentine's day 2020

[shenanigumi]

Alley, do you have a short (lies; plz do it as long and long-winded as you want to) guide on how to survive university?

Apparently this has been in my inbox for a solid couple months and I never realized—I must have checked it at some point to make the notification go away and then spaced out that I even saw anything—so I’m sorry I couldn’t offer any emergency help! But let’s see what I can do in preparation for the next semester, if nothing else.

…Also, hello, I do in fact still live!

I should warn you that what wisdom I can offer is very sparse and probably not universally helpful; there are several practical areas in which I can’t offer any advice (e.g. dorm life, since I lived with my mom). I wasn’t a straight-As student and never actually learned how to study. I… legitimately don’t know how I lived through university. It was kind of like a long, terrible nightmare. I’ve also been doing my best to forget it ever happened, but here’s a list of bits and pieces I still remember, in no particular order.

FIND SOMETHING YOU’RE PASSIONATE ABOUT. This is extremely important, especially if you’re like me and it’s impossible for you to do anything without adequate motivation. Find a reason to be passionate, either because you love something or because you hate it. If you have to write a generic response to some poem and your choices are between a poem you don’t care about and a poem you hate, choose the one you hate and explain why. If you have to write an essay on a topic you already know about but have done to death or a topic you don’t know about but are interested in researching, choose the one you’re interested in. Look for and hold onto the things that inspire emotion, good or bad, and use that energy to propel you forward.

The smaller the class, the better. I know this isn’t available for everyone, but seminar beats lecture any day. In general, the fewer students there are, the more personalized learning can be, and therefore the most fun.

Communicate with your teachers. Let them know if you’re going to be absent, or send them an email if it’s unplanned. Include your name, which class you’re in, and specific questions. Teachers have so much on their plates. Be civil, even if you don’t like them.

Please… please don’t be on your phone in class. It’s distracting and disrespectful and generally just not something that should be done in a classroom context, except on breaks. If you have to be on your phone, walk out and take a break.

Instead of being on your phone, take lots of notes. This doesn’t just mean on the material you’re being taught, although that’s helpful too—your brain remembers stuff you write down better than stuff you don’t. It just means that teachers can take your phone away or ban laptops, but they can’t take your notebook and pen. Take refuge in stories or doodles or just writing down your thoughts, but invent a secret code if you write about your classmates. Save it as a record of your university experience, good or bad.

Music is a saving grace. Listen to music constantly, or rather, as often as you both want to and can. Listen to music while you walk from class to class (but watch where you’re going). Listen to music during breaks. Listen to music while you study or do homework, but make sure it doesn’t have words in any language you know or it’ll just distract you.

Reward yourself. Make sure you make time for doing things you actually want to do, because you need to be able to recharge in order to keep up with everything that’s being asked of you. Keep an accessible hobby or interest handy so you can relax into that.

Remember your resources. Advisors are extremely helpful in charting a course for you and helping you keep track of what you’ve done and what still needs doing. Counselors can also be incredibly useful if you’re feeling overwhelmed, and many schools offer their services for free.

Rent your textbooks. Or sell them back, or something. Buy as little as possible. Textbooks are often insanely overpriced and you’re never going to look at most of them again. When possible, rent instead of buy. My town has a bookstore with consistently lower prices than campus bookstores, so check out your options.

If you can feel your sanity beginning to fragment, SCALE IT BACK. Do not bite off more than you can chew for the sake of graduating within a set timeframe. Plans can always be readjusted, but it’s very hard to recover mental health beyond a certain point. I pushed it too far and had to take a leave of absence for a semester in my fourth year, and I’m still feeling the repercussions.

#personal #trying to get back into this again! #we'll see what comes of this #but i'm at least medicated now #so that should help

[jjkfire]

me: bro don’t do it. don’t start another fic that you won’t finish. ok but imagine e2l jungkook

(don’t click if u hate unfinished fics)

jungkook // enemies to lovers // 3k words

With the rain pouring down outside, you hum delightedly as you bite into your juicy chicken sandwich that you had lathered in honey mustard. Sure, it wasn’t particularly healthy, but you could care less about that, especially when it’s 9 pm and you had just gotten off work. Not to mention the fact that you’re completely drenched seeing as you had forgotten to look at the weather app, again. At this point, you could care less. To be quite honest, you’ve become numb to everything. You guess that’s just what being another cog in the capitalist machine does to you.

It’s been over a year since you moved to the big city for a job. At the start you were a bright-eyed college graduate, ready to take on the world. Now, you’re just a shell of a human being, and one of the only things that can bring you joy is the very chicken sandwich you’re feasting on.

You like this place at this time of the night. It’s not as busy, just the soft chatter of some of the customers or rather the collective munching of all the other people who just got off work, feeling and looking exactly like you. The standing bar by the window is where all the tired, beaten down employees find solace with earphones plugged in and glazed over eyes looking out into the streets ahead. That’s your routine and just like any other night, you’re doing the same. Slowly chewing, as your mind drifts off somewhere, the music playing in your ears barely registering.

Tap.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You see a semblance of a figure standing in front of you on the other side of the window pane, but you’ve encountered enough oddballs in all your trips to this store that you’ve learnt to ignore anyone that stands in front of the window. Most times, it’s some crazy guy, going on some rant, expecting you to care. Your eyes only refocus when the person next to you taps you on the shoulder and directs your attention to the man waving wildly in front of you. You squint, trying to make out the person’s face through the rain, but by then the person has moved on, disappeared. You only shrug at the person who tapped your shoulder, turning your attention back to your sandwich instead.

“Y/N?”

It’s soft, but you think you hear someone calling your name over the music.

“Y/N!”

You pull out your earphones, head whipping around just to make sure you weren’t going crazy and oh god, when your eyes meet his, you sure hope this is just a fever dream.

“Christ, it’s like you’re on a different planet. I’ve never had to work so hard to get someone’s attention before,” The boy in front of you says as he wipes his rain-soaked face with a paper napkin.

“Jungkook?” You mumble, confused, staring at him with your mouth hanging half opened. What was he doing here and more importantly what was he doing here talking to you?

“Yes, sweetheart,” He smiles. “Keep looking at me like that and I might get the wrong idea,” He smirks.

God, he hasn’t changed at all.

“How is it possible that every time I see you, your ego is just 5 times the size it was before?” You question. “How do you manage to find space to keep it in that tiny brain of yours?”

“Easy,” He grins. “I store it in a bigger organ,” He directs your attention simply with his eyes, looking down towards his nether region.

You swear you almost throw up in your mouth. You simply shake your head at him, placing your earphones back in your ears before you turn towards what mattered the most. Your chicken sandwich.

“Oh come on,” Jungkook chuckles, yanking your earphones out. You absolutely hated it when people do that. “That’s no way to treat an old friend. Why the cold shoulder?”

“In what universe were we ever friends?” You ask. “Acquaintances maybe, but never friends.”

“Ah, that hurt,” He groans, clutching his chest. “You mean you don’t consider all the times I chased you around school with worms in my hands, quality time with a friend?”

“No,” You answer, with a curt smile. “And just in case you’re wondering, activities such as yanking my hair, putting tadpoles in my water and double knotting my shoelaces together under the table are also other events I don’t consider quality time with a friend.”

“Shame,” The boy pouts. “I really thought we were the best of friends.”

You roll your eyes at him, though a hint of a smile shows.

Jungkook, truly and genuinely is nothing more than an acquaintance… even if, both your parents wish otherwise. See, the two of you attended the same primary school and that’s how your mother had met his. After yet another torturous day at school with Jungkook attempting to put a live frog in your bag, you had ran up to your mother in tears. She assured you that she was going to have a stern talk with this Jungkook boy. She stepped up, ready to give the boy a piece of her mind when Jungkook’s mother stormed right up, ready to fight. It was hostile at first but soon enough the mothers were laughing together. Wait. This wasn’t what you wanted. After a lengthy chat, one that basically had both you and Jungkook ready to take a nap right on the bench the two of you had been sitting on, you heard your mother making plans to have tea with his mother one day. Hold on. You definitely didn’t want that. Yet, it happened. Jungkook never got reprimanded for trying to put a live frog in your bag and as your mother became friends with his mother, and later, best friends, Jungkook would soon earn a pass to play whatever heinous prank he wanted on you. Oh, but that meant so did you and so began the war between you and Jungkook.

Though you’ll agree that you weren’t quite as creative as Jungkook when it came to coming up with disgusting pranks, you could hurt him in different ways. See, Jungkook wasn’t the most studious kid and he was abysmal at math. You’ve seen him try to hide his report card many times, yet somehow or the rather, courtesy of you, it would end up straight in his mother’s hands. Oh, you still remember the way he would look at you. If looks could kill, you would’ve been dead and buried 50 times over. In any case, whatever amount of nagging Jungkook got wasn’t your problem. If he wanted it to stop, he should spend less time collecting tadpoles and more time studying.

Your war with Jungkook continued on until you were 12. By then, you had many battle scars. You’ve had gum stuck in your hair, had your shoes dipped in sewage water, your textbook put up onto the ceiling fan, among many other seemingly ‘harmless’ pranks that your mother would shrug off. If you had to go on living like this, there’s no telling what you would do to the boy. Luckily, as the year came to a close, and all the students got their results from the national test, you receive the best news you’ve ever heard. You had almost leaped with joy when Jungkook’s mother told you which school was bound for, it was the one just a few streets away, while you, you had gotten into a private school in the neighbouring district considering that you had passed the test with flying colours.

So began the ceasefire between you and Jungkook, or so you thought.

Granted, life was better now that you didn’t see Jungkook every day but that didn’t mean he was out of your life forever. Perhaps, you thought now that you and Jungkook were at different schools, your mothers wouldn’t be close considering they didn’t get to catchup every time they picked the both of you up from school. Oh, how wrong you were. Not only did your mothers stay friends, but soon enough, your fathers became golfing buddies too. Great. Just wonderful.

The worst part about having your fathers become golfing buddies was the fact that they would have these huge get togethers with all the other golfers and their families. They were quarterly events and though the adults had great fun with their booze and chit-chat, it was almost always awkward for the kids. All the kids would be lumped together in multiple ‘kids tables’ and everyone would just sit and stare at each other, trying to make small talk. Though you hated it, the food was almost always amazing and even if you had to be seated next to Jungkook, you didn’t mind because that meant his brother was never too far away.

You’ve had a crush on his brother, Junghoon, for as long as you can remember. Sure, he was four years older but he was everything Jungkook wasn’t. He was nice, sweet and best of all, he never tried putting tadpoles into your drink, or sticking gum in your hair. In fact, you think he’s the only one that listens to you and tells Jungkook off for misbehaving. He was an angel, your saving grace, the boy you would forever be in love with. Jungkook tells you that you’re wasting your time, that his brother has been dating the same girl since he was 11 and he was 17 now. Just because there’s a goalkeeper in front of a goal, doesn’t mean you couldn’t score, you would remind him.

So, that’s how those quarterly dinners went. You dreamily conversing with his older brother while Jungkook made his moves on all the girls in the room. That is, until Junghoon started bringing his girlfriend to the events. Now, you had to sit there and watch them act all lovey-dovey while you were stuck next to Jungkook. Wonderful. Of course, it was of no help that puberty seemed to hit Jungkook like a train. He went from looking lanky and shabby to… hot. As much as you hated the boy, you couldn’t deny that he was plain attractive. If anything, the girls at the dinners, constantly trying to talk and flirt with him was a glaring reminder of how good looking he’d become. It wasn’t like you were staring but he had a well-built chest, solid thighs and of course his face that bordered between cute and straight up sultry depending on how he styled his hair. Towards the later years, he started leaning away from his favourite bowl cut, which meant it started getting harder to pretend that you most definitely thought he was handsome and if he wasn’t the Jungkook that you knew, you’d be like any one of the other girls trying to strike up a conversation with him.

Despite it all, you still looked forward to the dinners because of the delicious food, and perhaps also because you and Jungkook would sneak towards the table at the back where the bottles of wine and hard liquor were placed, often stealing a sip or two when no one was looking. As the years went by, the two of you got bolder, both pouring yourselves a generous serving of whiskey and of course pouring in some coke after that to make it seem like you were good little kids, sipping on soda. Though from afar, it may seem like you and Jungkook were friends, you were adamant that the two of you were nothing more than acquaintances. It wasn’t very easy to convince people because he often posted up pictures of the two of you. He usually looked great in them meanwhile he usually caught you while you’re placing your spoon into your mouth, or while you’re in the midst of sneezing. It was deliberate of course and you had expected nothing less from Jeon Jungkook.

Though Jungkook and you didn’t share the same circle of friends, most of your classmates knew him. With a face like that, of course they did. Of course, the fact that he was exceptional at sports didn’t help. He’d gotten close to some of your friends when he would meet them at sports meets. All the schools in the same district would often duke it out before moving on to the next level, and the next until they reached the state level and finally, nationals. Jungkook got as far as the state level when it came to swimming. Honestly, he had the talent to go all the way, but he was always too busy trying to chat up girls instead of trying to best his own record. In fact, you think he only decided to be a swimmer because he could post pictures of himself in that itty-bitty swimming costume and get all the girls to swoon. Also, yes, you’ve been forced to attend his swim meets, usually at the request of his mother and god, it was torture trying to pretend like you weren’t staring at the boy half the time. You just had to admit that you loved the fact that he had that V-line. God, what you’d give if you could just run your finger along— no, never mind, thoughts like that weren’t meant to be wasted on boys like him.

Many times, you’ve had girls in your school come up to ask you if you could perhaps introduce him to them. You would often say no, but that you could give them the next best thing and that is his number. Can’t you at least only give my number to the hot ones? Jungkook would ask you when he saw you at the quarterly dinners. You would tell him that each time you gave out his number was only revenge for each tadpole he had put into your water bottle back in primary school. God, you’re so petty, he would groan. He promised he’d get his revenge on you too.

As high school rolled on to college, Jungkook had learnt that mentioning your name to his mother gave him the all good sign to go hang out until whatever time he wanted. If my mum calls, just tell her I’m with you, he would say. Truth is, the two of you really would be together, except on the opposite end of the same club. So, you’d oblige when he would ask you to pose for a picture together. In fact, you needed to send one to your mother too because you had told her the same lie, that you’d be hanging out with Jungkook for the night. The two of you usually staged the photo, walking to a nearby restaurant, to sit down and snap a picture before heading to the club.

Back at the club, the two of you were truly acquaintances at best. A rare smile, an even rarer few shared sentences and that was it. Of course, barring the times Jungkook would send his friends your way for a neat little prank. You had caught on pretty quick though. Anytime, a boy would approach you, your go to sentence would be, if Jungkook sent you then sure, I’d give you my number but only if we split whatever it is he’s giving you. So that’s how you ended up with a few extra ten dollar bills by the end of the month. Even so, it started getting annoying, so of course, you had gone up to tell Jungkook that you’ve had enough. At that he only scoffed before telling you that each time he sent a boy your way was only revenge for all the times you had given out his number. He promised that unlike you he only sent the good-looking boys your way… because it looked like you could use a good lay. Oh, you wanted to strangle him right there and then.

After that, you got smart. You told any of the boys that came your way that you were willing to pay double of whatever Jungkook was paying if they would kick him in the balls for you. Turns out boys aren’t quite loyal and after being assaulted a few too many times, Jungkook learns to stop sending boys your way. You thought that would be the end of it, that you would be able to enjoy your nights in peace but You should’ve known better. Jungkook was hard to miss at the club. He was loud, obnoxious, and god, did he look good in a button down. If anyone looked closely, they would’ve mistaken you for any other girl, almost drooling as you watched him sip from his whiskey glass, seated on the couch with his legs spread out. He would wink in your direction, as if inviting you take a seat. Fuck, what you’d give to do just that. To grind down on him and put your hands on his broad chests that you— no, wait, thoughts like these really shouldn’t be wasted on boys like Jungkook. Of course, your mind would never really listen, so you would find one of his friends instead, giving Jungkook a full view of what could have been if he wasn’t such a dickhead.

Ignoring Jungkook was a tough task, really, and honestly if he tried anything more than harmless flirting with you, you think you would end up under him in less than a second. Which of course, is bad news. You truly had no self-control when it came to handsome men, but to be fair… look at him. Would any sane person say no? However, fortunately for you, you would get your one and only true, clean break from Jungkook. University. The two of you had gone to universities on opposite coasts and so, the two of you hadn’t seen each other in three good years. You had spent your breaks volunteering and travelling and it seemed so did Jungkook. Whenever the two of you went back home, one of you would have already left. Of course, you still knew what he was up to. It seemed like he was getting even more attention in university. It shouldn’t surprise you. Being on a university campus meant everyone was your age and equally as horny, so of course he was having fun. To be fair, so were you. In any case, you think whatever lingering attraction or rather lust you felt for the boy, had long died away. Yes, that is what you thought… until of course you find Jungkook standing in front of you after four long years of not seeing him and against all laws of nature, it seems like puberty had hit him a second time. That or your dry spell was just really starting to get to you. You reasoned that you would be okay, that this would be the one and only time you and him would run into each other in a city so big, but no, you would run into him time and time again. Then he would convince you to do something so stupid, that you believe the only explanation to you saying yes was that you were possessed. That’s the only way to think about it… because why else would one say yes to sharing a studio apartment with the devil incarnate, Jeon Jungkook himself?

click for some more secret sauce (aka my collection of unfinished fics bc i have no self control)

[matshoemels]

beginner’s guide to Turkey NT, a.k.a. the kebabs as snaccs

disclaimer: what you’re about to see here right now may cause intense feelings in your nether regions and makes you wanna question your commitment to the other national teams!

OLDIES BUT HOTTIES (Those that are around since 2016 or so)

Mert Günok, Goalkeeper. The most lowkey dude ever. (Basaksehir SK, 30) 

why the hell this man doesn’t have any decent photos or any sort of instagram account istg imma rage. just take my word for it he’s a hottie.

Harun Tekin, Goalkeeper. The penalty king. (Fenerbahçe SK, 29)

Not getting called up recently, which is honestly the biggest crime I’ve ever witnessed in my 25 year long life but sirrrrrrrrrrrr congrats on your face and body and overall existence. not only he’s a dad but he’s also a daddy u kno what I mean??? me gusta mucho

Also do yourselves a favor and watch his penalty saves on youtube, you’re all welcome.

Serdar Aziz, Defender. The Ginger Ale (Fenerbahçe SK, 28)

He’s injured these days so he can’t grace us with his sexiness and overall hotness, but he’ll be back shortly to end mbappe’s career himself for the second leg.

İsmail Köybaşı, Defender. Cameras hate him. (Fenerbahçe SK, 29)

honestly the least photogenic person I’ve ever seen in my entire life. he’s so bad at football these days that not even his own club wants him, but we should call him up for the NT just to stare at him sometimes. A total snack, I rate him 100000/10.

Nuri Şahin, Midfielder. Everyone’s favorite Turco-German. (Werder Bremen, 30)

Retired but I’m trying to raise 300 million euros to bribe him so that he would come back from his retirement, so far I raised only like 8 euros so it’s not going great. *cue guitar* I miss you, bitch. I ain’t gonna stop missing you, bitch.

Hakan Çalhanoğlu, Midfielder. Asshole but in a hot way. (AC Milan, 25)

His whole thing with his wife and his time in leverkusen are so problematic im not even gonna touch that. but what I’m gonna touch given the opportunity is those daaaaaaamn abs. jeez dude how can you be so textbook keko but also this hot at the same time?? I demand answers.

Oğuzhan Özyakup, Midfielder. The Not-So Flying Dutchguy (Beşiktaş JK, 26)

to be honest, not my thing, but Eda @youmeafterthegame likes him very much and he’s her personal emotional support keko with one working braincell that happens to be emo all the time, so he’s included. also, the camera hates him just as much as it hates Ismail.

THE NEXTGEN - We will die for them, we will kill for them.

Berke Özer, Goalkeeper. The Golden Boy. (Fenerbahçe, 19)

My favorite son whom I love with all my heart. A BABY, but also a straight-up hottie cause he got my genes. He loves everyone so much and everyone loves him back, like a puppy dog but once he hits puberty, everyone will be in a grave danger. Also he has the best bromance with his transfer boyfriend (2nd pic) that would overshadow all your crappy ships.

+ he kinda looks like kepa idk we just feel like it.

Enes Ünal, Forward. Hipster child of the Kebab NT. (Real Valladolid, 22)

Too much Harry Styles vibes, love him for that. He has a girlfriend who also plays football (and I think she’s waaaay more successful than him? who even knows) and they’re adorable. A child that grew up right in front of our eyes, and then said “fuck this, imma go play at man city and then play in every single team in la liga for a year and nothing more”. he once demolished atletico madrid in 5 minutes and that was very sexy of him, congrats my son. (sorry Eda)

Kenan Karaman, Forward. “Where have you beeeen all my life?”. (Fortuna Düsseldorf, 25)

ngl I had no idea he existed until like a week ago or something but woooowwwwww....... sir you’re a fine dude with an even finer face. congrats on your overall being. 

Mehmet Zeki Çelik, Defender. My new husband once he gets old enough. (Lille, 22)

mmm excuse me sir but you don’t get to do that??? you don’t get to look like that while you’re living in france and not in turkey?? I’m sorry but this is the law imma ask you to come back here immediately and not to leave my sight not even for 1 (one) second thank u in advance.

Dorukhan Toköz, Defender. The guy that ended Paul Pogba’s career prematurely. (Beşiktaş JK, 23)

does he play in a horrible, horrible team? yes. did I hate him with a great passion during the season out of my duty to my own club? yes I did. but now it’s time to come together and when I say it’s time to come together, I really mean coming together if u know what I mean.......... congrats boy, you’ve made into the “trees I’d like to climb on” list.

that wraps things up I guess thank u for reading but more thank you to me for sitting down my ass and creating this masterpiece. you’re welcome tumblr, you owe me a big time! 

#turkey nt #türkiye milli takım #hakan calhanoglu #enes unal #mert gunok #harun tekin #nuri sahin #ismail koybasi #serdar aziz #zeki çelik #kenan karaman #berke özer #barış alıcı #dorukhan toköz #oguzhan ozyakup #fenerbahçe #beşiktaş #fortuna dusseldorf #ac milan #real valladolid #werder bremen #lille osc #başakşehir

[apparitionism]

Helicobacter 15

I have very little idea who even sees what I post anymore, given Tumblr and its unparseable algorithms. Once again, in the interest of possibly appearing in search results, I’m going to eschew links to the other fourteen (!) parts of this story here in this post... but they exist and can be found! This piece mostly boils down to callbacks, so the previous parts are indeed important, in an inside-joke sense. Anyhow, with housekeeping out of the way, where were we? Previously on Helicobacter, Myka was happy, Helena was too, and I myself couldn’t be bothered to stitch some dialogue exchanges into a full scene. Did a little better this time, but it’s still sort of Frankenstein’s-monster-ish.

Helicobacter 15

Helena knew that what she beheld wasn’t real. She knew it, because this was a plan, because everything thus far seemed to be going to plan. But when she entered the hospital room and saw Myka in that bed—that hospital bed, which was so very much not the bed they had so recently shared—all of what she knew left her mind: the “you’re up!” text she’d just received in the parking garage where she and Steve and Liam had been waiting for their cue, the fact that Steve and Liam were indeed right behind her, the crush of people in the room itself. The full complement... Abigail, extravagantly “blood”-soaked; Rick and Varsha, exuding white-coated competence; Jeannie, wearing a stricken expression that proved she either was an extremely good actor or did not enjoy having to see her daughter this way any more than Helena did; and, finally, Jane Lattimer, with whom Helena had interacted in only the most functional of ways but who had maintained a commanding, severe aspect at all times. She now looked a bit like Helena herself most likely had, in that original, first hospital immediacy, her face a mix of “something is happening to which I do not have full access” and “how can I persuade my actual day to resume.”

These things left Helena’s mind, and what remained was Myka, in a hospital bed.

“It was you all along,” Myka said, and her voice was sweet, not weak. “It really was you.”

Helena had been working on a dramatic statement in the “yes, it was I!” genre in response to whatever she encountered, here in this little hospital-room playhouse. But “I’m sorry” she said instead. An inadequate apology for everything from the original sin of the textbook through to Myka’s having to lie here in a hospital bed again.

Myka said, “I’m not.” She smiled. “But we really need to stop meeting like this.”

Enough of Helena’s wits returned for her to observe, “Abigail seems to have got the worst of it this time.”

“Impressive, right?” Abigail said. “When she gets sick, she gets sick. Overachiever.”

Now Helena did try to “act”: “You told her,” she said to Rick, who nodded. “So you know everything?” Helena asked Myka.

“I hope so,” said Myka. “I want to.”

“I want you not to be sick again,” Helena said, and that was no act.

“I can see that. Come here. If I am going to be sick again, it’s where you belong.” Myka looked up at Rick. “Now I’m the one who’s sorry. I did think it was you. Before. That it was supposed to be.” Rick said a soft “me too,” and Helena saw that Myka’s words, and his, were indeed about before: before Helena. Months ago, she would have found such an acknowledgement exclusionary and enraging. Now it raised further gratitude in her. She found she could not quite remember how it felt to hate Rick.

She did remember, however, how it felt to go to Myka’s bedside and take her hand. “I didn’t think I’d be allowed to do this,” she said.

“Technically,” Myka said, now with a glance at Jane Lattimer, “you’re not. But isn’t there an initiative about to be rolled out? That might make it okay?”

Everyone else was now conspicuously silent. Helena was not at all sorry to have missed whatever histrionics had preceded her entrance, but poor Liam was likely to regret finding so little to work with, improvisationally.

“Initiative?” Jane asked, with an edge, and Helena began to worry.

“Sunshine?” Myka asked back.

Jane frowned, and Helena, her worry intensifying, said, “I don’t want to cause trouble. But at the same time, I’d be happier if I didn’t have to skulk in someone else’s emails. Even if he was kind about it. Thank you, Rick.” She meant it.

“You’re welcome,” Rick said, and he seemed to mean it as well. “Happier’s a good goal. For you and for Myka. I think we all agree on that.”

“We certainly do,” Jeannie said.

Her words made Helena remember that, given the situation, she wouldn’t know who this was. “Have we met?” she asked.

In lieu of a real answer, Jeannie ruminated, “Myka told me about you, the first time this happened. Of course she told me after the fact. About all of it. ‘Hi, Mom, hope bridge club was fun, and by the way, cancer.’ And even then she seemed more concerned about having decorated you with so much of her AB-positive... that was a little confusing, in terms of priorities, but the most confusing part is why nobody insisted on calling her next of kin!”

“Mom,” Myka said. “First, I wasn’t dying. And second, storyline, okay?”

“Fine,” Jeannie said. “Am I allowed to sigh and say words about destiny?”

“Like I could stop you,” Myka said.

Helena tried to walk a middle way with, “I wish the circumstances were better, but I’m pleased to meet you.”

“We’ll see if it’s likewise,” said Jeannie, with a bit of her familiar twinkle.

“I’ll try to make it so. If Myka will let me, now that she knows that my feelings belong to me, not Rick. And now that she knows that her feelings are for me, not Rick. That is, if she still has those feelings, given the revelation that they may be for me, not Rick.” Well, that had been a terrible improvisation. Helena wished some language-use fail-safe mechanism could have cut her off after the first “me, not Rick.”

“I have them,” Myka said, with admirable simplicity. To Jane, she said, “So could we?”

“Could you what?” Jane asked. She still wore a frown, but was that was from “when will my day resume” annoyance, or because Myka was on an extremely wrong track?

“Hold hands, now that we know who feels what for whom. Could we just do this, and not worry about our jobs? Given the sunshine, I really think we—”

“But Myka,” Jane said, her expression changing from severe to gently serious, “that isn’t how it’s intended to work. It’s intended, once we announce, to flush people out: ultimately, to be an even greater deterrent. To show that we can find problems and dispatch them. One of you would still have to go—the only thing the initiative does is provide for some negotiating and grace period. A softer landing, with associated publicity. For example, Helena’s firm could finish the library, but she’d be barred from city work after that. Or you could wrap up your projects, and then you’d exit with some sort of severance package.”

Myka’s small smile had vanished, and her hold on Helena’s hand had become progressively tighter through Jane’s explanation. “What? No... no, no, no! Blameless adorable girls!”

“What?” Jane said.

Myka turned to Helena and said, in a voice as tense as her grip, “I didn’t know.”

Helena said a quiet, “That’s your just deserts for reading things you shouldn’t. Draft memos... marked-up city planning textbooks...”

“I thought it was going to be perfect,” Myka said. Her eyes dampened, and she blinked fast.

“It is perfect, as far as the initiative goes,” Jane told her, “but it doesn’t get you the outcome you seem to want.”

Myka hates how red... they really could not move to Maine and refuse to fish for lobsters, so Helena was going to have to come up with something else, and she was going to have to do it quickly. “But not the outcome you want, either,” she said to Jane, buying time.

“How do you mean?” Jane asked.

“Do you want me to be barred from city work?”

“Of course not. I wish I could say there were plenty of firms in the sea that can bring work in on time and on budget, but.”

Helena continued, slowly, “And you can’t possibly want to send Myka off into the sunset with a severance package, because she’s exceptional at her job.” An even more salient through struck her: “And because you most likely won’t be allowed to replace her, will you? Given budgetary concerns.”

“That’s most likely correct,” Jane said.

And now Helena had to throw that last reasonable save-us-all possibility out the window as well. Not on impulse, but as an imperative: because it was no longer a reasonable possibility. She said, “I would swear to fall out of love with her, but I don’t believe I can do that. And you would have your suspicions, wouldn’t you? Regardless of what either of us swore.”

“‘Suspicions’ is far too mild a word for what I would have, if you tried to sell me that story,” Jane said. “That story.”

It was a clear request: sell me the right story. What was the right story? The current circumstance was once a different circumstance, Helena reminded herself, and then she began to remind Jane of it: “Let’s consider a hypothetical situation. What would have happened if she and I had been together before I bid on the neighborhood?”

Jane said, promptly, “You would never have been allowed within ten miles of that bid.”

“But remember, the process began before the current mayor took office. And Myka wasn’t involved, not initially. Under the previous administration, that was the functional equivalent of being ten miles apart, wouldn’t you say? Under the previous administration, our integrity would have been the stuff of legend. Perhaps even epic poetry, composed in Greek.” She glanced at Myka, who was not at all ready to smile. I will never, ever let this face be red again. Maine, lobsters, red. Everything connected. Fix it.

Jane said, “I have my doubts about the poetry, but in a general sense, yes.”

“And neither Myka nor I could have known that after my unfortunate incident with her now-former coworker, you would assign her to the project. Could we? She certainly didn’t volunteer for it.”

“No...” Now Jane Lattimer had a tilt to her head and a glint to her eye that suggested she was beginning to see Helena’s point: blameless adorable girls...

Myka was still blinking, and she was breathing hard through her nose: she wasn’t there yet.

“The timeline,” Helena said. “The timeline. You assign Myka to the project, having no idea that she and I are together in some way; we don’t say anything about it, because why would we have done, under the previous regime? A short time later, the new mayor takes office; new rules go into effect. Myka and I are now stuck: what can we do? If we reveal ourselves, either she loses her job, or my firm is dropped from consideration. We don’t want either of those outcomes, so for a brief while, we bide our time. Perhaps we’re trying to figure out a plan.” She looked at Myka again, and now Myka blinked again, but slow, an I trust you blink, an I still don’t quite see but I trust you movement of lids and lashes.

Helena, encouraged, continued, “We fail to figure out a plan before Myka falls ill, and we have our day in hospital. She conveys to you the basic facts of what happened—that she did fall ill, that I was there with her—because she could hardly conceal those facts. And you, following the guidelines, remove her from the project and install Abigail instead. We breathe something of a sigh of relief, but we also find ourselves consigned to secrecy. We’re trapped. We remain trapped, all this time... but, notably, I don’t attempt to influence any of Myka’s work, and she exerts no influence to benefit me. That is objectively the case.”

“The mayor wouldn’t bother to follow that story,” Jane said. “She’s busy; it’s lengthy. And I’m not persuaded it’s true.”

“It could have been true. Just as this story of emails and a relapse could have been true,” Helena told her—but having done so, she realized that she had fully confessed to the fictional nature of the current situation. Monumental error?

Apparently not; Jane’s posture relaxed, and she said, “So Myka’s all right?”

Myka squeezed Helena’s hand. “I’m all right,” she said, and Helena was so relieved to hear her sound like herself again that she sat down next to her on the bed, heedless, now, of all appearances, even of making it clear that she had indeed been with Myka, lately, in a better bed than this one. She noted that she was on the correct side of this bed. They had been in better beds, but at least she was in this one correctly.

“All right then,” Jane said. “Several things could have been true. What actually is true?”

The words “First there was a fountain” made their way out of Myka’s mouth before Helena managed to interrupt, “I don’t believe anyone’s life will be improved if we try to explain. Speaking of stories no one would bother to follow.” Myka’s theory regarding public shaming was all very well, but now they needed to offer something that made sense.

“All right then, “ Jane said. “We’ll save the truth for a less instrumental time. But what would you like me to sell to the mayor?”

Helena said, “Sell her this: a city employee and a contractor have a personal relationship that predates the current administration, but that relationship has never been allowed to influence their work. I think that says a great deal about how this mayor has managed to bring integrity back to governance, don’t you?” Jane began to nod, if still with bit of skepticism, so Helena went on, “If the mayor is indeed concerned about having nothing to disclose, then here is something that may be disclosed. If everything looks too perfect, here is a story in which everyone’s behavior, while not perfect, is undamaging to the work at hand. In fact the work at hand is being done rather well, and our conduct has been, all things considered, very nearly exemplary.”

No one else in the room had said anything for quite some time—poor Liam, Helena thought again. Everyone’s eyes were on Jane, who said, “It’s a shame you weren’t secretly married. I’d have a better case for having this new initiative somehow grandfather you in, given your ‘exemplary’ conduct.” Helena heard the quote marks.

“Hm,” Rick said. “How about if they were engaged?”

Jane tilted her head one way, then the other. “It couldn’t hurt.”

Rick turned to Myka and Helena and shrugged as if to say “well then.”

“There are several people who work at this hospital who would attest to that as fact,” Helena said.

Myka smiled up at Helena. “Plus it would help explain why you dropped everything to be here today—I mean, here, today, when I’m having this relapse—regardless of appearances.”

Jane said, “And I suppose it would explain why, here today, you were both unable to hide the ‘real’ situation from me. Given what a terrible actor Helena is.” She said this last with a “go ahead, challenge me” air.

“Terrible,” Helena agreed, not rising to the bait, if indeed it was bait. “Jane, I believe you’re the hero in this scenario, are you not? You offer the mayor an easy way to show a tinge of relatively harmless imperfection, and you keep all your personnel in place. No other department head could possibly have the opportunity—and ability!—to thread such a needle.”

“Don’t push,” Jane warned.

“I can’t help but push,” Helena said, because it was true. “Look at her.” She herself looked at Myka... and was struck by the fact of her. No more impulses; only imperatives.

“It’s fortunate you’ve given up asking me to believe that this romance is purely epistolary,” Jane said. “We do still have one problem, however, speaking of looking: going forward, there’s that pesky appearance of a conflict of interest. I’m not sure how I can talk the mayor down from that.”

Varsha said, “I have an idea. You see, I’m using this wallpaper”—she gestured at Rick—“to help my career.”

“Who are you again?” Jane asked.

“I am Doctor Varsha Parekh, but that is unfortunately neither here nor there in the present circumstance. The point is that the wallpaper is fine with it. He would most likely not be fine with it, however, if I hadn’t told him. If for example I told someone else and that news made its way back to him.”

“Full disclosure!” Liam said, with a florid melodrama that the current circumstance certainly didn’t warrant... then again, Helena did see that it was likely to be one of his only lines, so of course he would want to make the most of it.

His making the most of it startled Jane. “Who are you?” she asked.

“I thought,” Liam began, just as extravagantly—then Steve elbowed him and he calmed down—“well, I thought I might get to play a doctor too, but instead I’m ‘Assistant’s Boyfriend.’ Which is fine.” He elbowed Steve.

Jeannie sighed. “I’m still just ‘Mom.’”

Myka burst out with, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

“I know you did,” Jeannie told her, “and it’s fine, just as Liam said, but—”

“No, Mom,” Myka said, “I’m talking about disclosure. If I warn them, no one can say I didn’t warn them.”

Abigail mused, “It is a conflict of interest. Say it loud and proud, over and over, and eventually nobody’ll think twice about it; they’ll bake it into every single good word you might say about her. And every single bad word you might say about anybody else.”

“You will have to say it over and over,” Jane told Myka, “or everyone will think you’re joking.”

“I will be so happy to say it over and over,” Myka said. Her hand, still gripping Helena’s, was warm.

Jane said, “You’ve always been above reproach... are you ready to take that reputational hit?”

At that, Myka did lose a bit of her shine. Helena looked at Abigail, who shrugged and said, “She’s the one who keeps saying she’s tougher than she looks.”

“Think of it as a metaphorical pie in the face,” Helena suggested to Myka.

“I guess you did pre-apologize,” Myka said. “First thing when you walked in here.”

“And I felt I really did have to throw it. Well, to set you up for it to be thrown, I suppose. Unfortunately I don’t think anyone will bother hiding it in a bouquet.”

“Helena, I had no idea you were this strange,” Jane remarked.

“I’m not the one who—never mind. Yes, I am this strange. Now. I occasion the throwing of metaphorical pies. I personify the lessons of a koan that inexplicably involves a lobster. And everywhere I go, I find myself there under false false pretenses.”

“Not everywhere,” Myka said. “But speaking of false false pretenses, and why she goes places, I should make clear that regardless of when anything did or didn’t happen, I did all the pursuing, I swear. If she’s been trying to get me to wield influence on her behalf, she’s doing a terrible job. Gave me no incentive at all.” Myka accompanied this with an irresistible nestle against Helena’s side... a reminder that Myka herself had provided near-constant incentive for Helena to give up and give in. As she was now once again doing.

“Maybe she’s spectacular at reverse psychology,” Abigail said.

“Whose side are you on?” Myka demanded.

With a glance at Jane, Abigail said, “Good governance. I’m on the side of good governance.” She glanced down at the “gore” that decorated her. “I’m also on the side of clean clothes.”

Steve said, “She is not spectacular at reverse psychology. She’s not even very good at straightforward psychology.”

Helena sat there and took it, because really, what were her options? Her martyrdom was mitigated by the fact that she was still sitting next to Myka, holding her hand. With a modicum of hope.

Jane said, “Honestly, psychology aside, I wish you’d just come to me in the first place. My heart isn’t made of stone.” She shook her head in an exasperated chide.

In response to which, Helena had no choice but to muse, “How ironic it would be if someone had, prior to all this, suggested doing precisely that.”

Myka un-nestled herself and poked Helena in the side. “How even more ironic it would be if, after all this, someone else were to decide she’d changed her mind about wanting to be with someone.”

“I am having a sign made that says ‘point taken.’”

“Good investment.” Myka then re-nestled herself, as if it were a relief to have that settled.

And with that, Helena capitulated. Entirely: no part of her soul was divided. She would sell the firm to Steve if she had to; she would move to Maine; she would confront lobsters or any other monster from her childhood, from her subconscious, or from reality. She would maintain.

Jane said, “I need to make one more very important point, one that each and every one of you needs to take to heart: You’re all terrible actors—“

“Now, wait,” Jeannie said, and Liam added, “You should have seen me as Biff Loman three seasons ago at the Civic Theater.”

Jane rolled her eyes. “But since you’re willing to put on this ridiculous show to ‘help’ them, can I count on you to maintain the equally ridiculous position that they’ve been involved for as long as they have to have been, for this story to be plausible? A year? More?”

Helena, suddenly giddy at the idea of victory within their grasp, said, “We have known each other for more than a year and have been madly in love for twice that long. Wait, was that backwards?”

“Liar,” Myka accused. “Three times that long.”

Rick offered, “I am pretty sure Myka cheated on me with her.”

Myka raised a threatening hand to him. “Hey. Actually too soon on that.”

“Sorry,” he said.

Helena remembered how it felt to resent him. She glared.

“Very sorry,” he amended.

“Some secret engagement that you were trying to tell me some fake story about,” Steve said, contemplatively.

Helena recognized the phrasing. “You did say that. At the time.”

“I was all set to believe it then... so now I do.” His breathing was steady. Helena reflected that if she did have to sell the firm to him, everyone there would most likely breathe far more steadily, far more of the time.

“Wonderful,” said Jane. “And when I say ‘wonderful,’ I mean that if I hear one whisper of trouble about this, everyone in this room over whom I have any authority whatsoever is fired, removed, or otherwise penalized. Do I make myself clear?” She received decisive nods from everyone, even those over whom she technically had no power at all. “All right. Here is the ‘real’ story: you’ve been engaged since before the current administration came into office. I had no knowledge of this engagement. As far as I knew, you met on the day of Myka’s hospital stay—during which, I’m gathering, Helena represented herself as Myka’s fiancée.”

“I did,” Helena said.

“That representation of the situation was, if anyone asks from this point forward, true,” Jane told her.

Helena said, “It felt true.”

“It did,” Myka agreed.

“True enough,” Rick harrumphed.

Helena remembered yet more resentment.

Jane went on, “And I removed Myka from the project with absolutely no knowledge of this previously existing relationship. And the two of you spent a great deal of time fearing for your lives and livelihoods.”

“Also true,” Helena affirmed.

“Very,” Myka intensified.

“Because you didn’t know how magnanimous I would be in attempting to work out this grandfathering situation,” Jane concluded.

“I bet I suspected,” Myka said, with a bit of a wily smile, and she knew Jane better than Helena did, so she would know if that was all right, but Helena still had to resist a strong urge to shush her and tell her not to tempt fate.

Fortunately, Jane seemed not to take it amiss. “I haven’t survived as many administrations as I have by being unwilling or unable to do what’s necessary to get to my preferred outcome. You’re not wrong about the politics of the situation, Helena. I think this will let the mayor send a particular signal... I think it could, strangely, work. And work well.”

“So many of Myka’s ideas seem to,” Helena said. “Work strangely, I mean. And well. Although rarely as she intends.”

Jeannie said, “You probably wouldn’t be surprised to hear that that’s been true since she was five and decided that she wanted a pet. Her father wouldn’t get her a dog, so she used Pop-Tarts to train a raccoon to sit at the backyard picnic table with her.”

“And against its better judgment, it agreed to continue to pose as her fiancée,” Helena said, and she felt Myka’s body move. Laughter, accompanied by a mumble of “should’ve tried Pop-Tarts with you.”

Abigail asked, with enthusiasm, “Did it bite her and give her rabies? Ooh, Rick, is that why you decided to become a doctor? Seeing your little best friend foaming at the mouth?”

“Seeing Myka foaming at the mouth would’ve made me want to become an exorcist, not a doctor. Also, I thought Myka did have a dog.”

“Can you not tell dogs and raccoons apart?” Varsha asked, giving him a look. “That is so sad.”

“You are a fine one,” Helena told her.

“I know which one you are. If my grandma were standing here with a bowl of her famous lapsi, she would without doubt refuse to serve it to you. She’d train a raccoon with it instead.” She really was very matter-of-fact about it. Helena believed her.

Jeannie continued her story: “That well-fed raccoon spread the news about the Pop-Tarts far and wide. Myka’s father took the trash out one day and met up with eleven of them, sitting in a line, waiting for Myka and snacks. Reasonably politely, but still. He screamed—he’s never liked raccoons—but they were unfazed.”

“And?” Helena asked. Myka was still laughing against her, harder now, saying “Eleven, eleven...”

“And the next day, he brought home a dog to deal with our raccoon problem.”

Now Myka picked up the tale. “She was a Corgi mix named George Eliot—although I was five, so I thought that was all one word, ‘Georgeliot’—and I adored her. So did the raccoons, and vice versa. My dad felt so betrayed.”

“I begin to see why he spends so much of his time sitting in a boat,” Helena said.

“Also he thinks raccoons can’t swim,” Myka told her.

“Can they?”

Myka, solemnly: “Like little furry crocodiles.”

Helena did think she had gone all in, mere moments ago. Now, however, a small, final bit of her heart or her soul or whatever might have intended to hold out some possibility of defiant resistance dusted its hands, picked up its lunch bucket, and walked off the job. She sighed. “I suppose they’ll feel right at home in the fountain, then.”

“They’ll keep it lobster-free for you,” Myka assured her.

“Considerate,” Helena said. She closed her eyes and, for one breath, paid no heed to those surrounding them; she let herself revel in the physicality of leaning against inadequate pillows, atop an industrial-grade bedsheet. With Myka. Not the day’s inevitable outcome by any means.

Then Jane said, “I am now exiting this inside-joke snowglobe and going back to City Hall, where I expect Myka and Abigail to join me shortly. And I’d appreciate it if Myka and Helena would both be so kind as to continue behaving in your exemplary nonpersonal fashion until I’ve had a chance to talk to the mayor.”

“Should I be there?” Myka asked. “I really think I could explain—”

Jane interrupted, beating Helena to it by a nanosecond, “You should not be there. You should be at least half a world away.”

At this, Myka gasped, dropped Helena’s hand, and sat up extremely straight. She said to the room, “Half a world away! If everybody here isn’t thinking exactly what I’m thinking, I’m going to be so disappointed.”

Helena said, “I, on the other hand, will be relieved. Because I fear for our collective sanity if we’ve all started thinking like you.”

“I’m with you, Helena,” Rick said, and Helena felt her umbrage subside again.

Varsha said, “I’m inclined to agree, but for reasons of family and history, I’ll vote ‘present’ instead.” She directed an appraising gaze at Myka and asked, “Unless you’re thinking about rabies? It’s caused by a lyssavirus, not very interestingly shaped, but extremely—”

“Not rabies,” said Myka. Varsha deflated, and Myka said, “I promise to think about rabies some other time.” Varsha didn’t smile, not exactly, but Helena for one was amused to find that there was a facial expression easily legible as “pleased to have at this moment begun mentally assembling a PowerPoint presentation on the topic of lyssaviruses.”

“Clean clothes?” Abigail tried, to which Myka shook her head. Abigail glanced at Jane again. “But I still care about good governance.”

Liam declared, “I’m a dime a dozen, and so are you!”

Both Steve and Myka said, “What?”

“It’s from Salesman. I was thinking about that season at the Civic.”

Steve said, “I was thinking about what kinds of design projects we could bid on that might involve greenhouses.”

Jane said, “Hm.” Then she said, “Well.” Then she pointed at him and said, “You didn’t hear it from me, but there’s a public/private partnership being set up to fund a senior-housing complex. I heard the word ‘greenhouse’ mentioned as something to consider, in terms of providing resident activities. Then again I also heard ‘horseshoe pit’ and ‘pickleball court,’ so they may go sporty instead.”

“When we bid,” Helena began, but at Jane’s ahem hurriedly corrected to, “rather, if we bid, Steve will wax lyrical on the virtues of gardening and persuade them otherwise. Won’t you?”

“The virtues of gardening, but the virtues of gardeners in particular,” he responded.

Liam put an arm around his shoulders. “Aw. You’re not a dime a dozen.”

“Neither are you,” Steve said, with an answering embrace. Helena found them charming.

Myka, charmed or not, was undeterred. “What is wrong with you people? Half a world away!”

“Well,” Jeannie said, “my first thought was probably too stereotypical a ‘Mom’ line, given that it was ‘honeymoon,’ so—”

“Ding ding ding!” Myka shouted. “We have a winner!”

“Your thought was ‘honeymoon’?” Helena asked, and Myka nodded in dramatic fashion. “I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, but I don’t believe we can go on a honeymoon.”

“Why not?”

She had to be joking. The guileless eyes had to be an act. Helena didn’t know what the purpose of this act in particular was, but she played along and said, “Those generally follow weddings.”

Still guileless: “And?”

“And—Jane, don’t listen to this part—as far as I know, we are not in fact even engaged to be married.” Something had turned slightly strange in the room; Helena looked to Steve, but he gave her very little in response, not a smile or a shrug, just a gaze. Abigail did the same. Helena began to worry again. “These things do tend to proceed in a customary sequence,” she said, as a last aren’t-we-on-the-same-page stab.

“Okay, then, let’s get our raccoons in a row.” Myka turned her still-upright torso toward Helena and took her hand again. “First step: will you marry me?”

TBC

#bering and wells #Warehouse 13 #fanfic #Helicobacter #part 15 #AU week #I am curious to see if this part shows up in searches or tags #because there seems to be no rhyme or reason to what does or doesn't anymore #this vestige of bering-and-wells land should be allowed to persist #even if tumblr is trying to pretend we don't/shouldn't exist #I thought that particular tactic vis-à-vis bering and wells was the bailiwick of a TV show #that sent the father of science fiction to Heteroville Wisconsin #for no reason whatsoever

[thunder-birb]

The 5 times Tamaki accidentally confessed to Mirio and the one time he didn’t have to.

Mini Series Part I

1.

The first time it happened was when we were in third grade and had finally fallen into a routine of after school homework/hangout sessions. At first my okaasan was worried sick at the prospect of her anxious son (me) hanging out with a classmate, much more ‘that blonde kid with the eyes’ again. Yet, I was insistent and even more so was the ‘blonde boy’ who charmed his way into my sister’s good graces and my father’s much more phlegmatic demeanor. How Mirio managed to make any and every person he came across laugh so hard their cheeks hurt will always be a puzzle to me, but in this particular case I was grateful.

“You think your mom will ever warm up to me?” Mirio thoughtfully asked as we laid out our textbooks, brightly colored pens (thanks to Mirio’s plea for more color to keep himself focused on his notes...not that it really worked), and papers.

“She likes you! She just---worries about me too much” I quickly dismissed his doubt, since it was unlike Mirio to overthink about something and honestly, I was nervous enough between the two of us for him to suddenly start.

“Hmm--- I guess you’re right. I just can’t help wondering how my mom would think of me now if my parents didn’t get a divorce. And since she’s the closest mother figure I know of, I have this weird feeling that insists she has to like me, too” Mirio flat out replied without any harbinger of hesitation that I froze in the spot unable to grasp how easy it was for him to be so vulnerable in front of someone anyone. Meanwhile, I couldn’t even introduce myself in front of my class without stammering on every single syllable I was trying to say.

I scrambled my brain for something to say that wasn’t a lame I’m sorry or of course she’d love you fake-ness, because Mirio didn’t deserve some half ass reply. He deserved the honest to All Might truth and I could at least to do this much for him.

“I think she’d be--” I wasn’t able to finish this heartfelt monologue I went over and over in my head to reassure Mirio how he was the nicest kid ever for even acknowledging and befriending a loser like me because suddenly Mirio was screaming my name and his body was slowly disappearing into the floor. “MIRIO!” I yelled back trying to grab a hold of his flailing arms as his lower half vanished, white shirt flew up to the ceiling and for the first time in my life I felt like I’d actually pass out from fear.

“TAMAKI!!” Mirio cried even louder and somehow managed to hold onto me. I immediately pulled him up and somehow in the midst of his panic, Mirio deactivated his quirk. We crashed on the floor hard with Mirio’s arms wrapped tightly around my waist and a loud thud echoed throughout Mirio’s living room, reassuring me that Mirio wasn’t going anywhere he shouldn’t.

I huffed out loud, trying to bring some needed oxygen in my lungs and held onto Mirio’s arms for dear life. It was then I heard muffled cries and realized Mirio was in tears. I quickly sat up and encircled Mirio with my arms just like he would when those older kids would keep pestering me about my quirk. Nothing felt safer than a warm hug and Mirio, bright as the sun always gave the best ones. So naturally it was my turn to return the favor and give him at least a dose of the comfort he usually shared with me.

“Mirio it’s okay. Everything is going to be alright. I’m here” I patted his head like my mom would when I started to cry and suddenly a snotty chuckle filled the tense room. I loosened my hug a bit and looked at Mirio. He was wiping the tears away and started to laugh even harder when I stared at him. Confused, but relieved Mirio was okay, I started catching the laughing bug especially with a laugh as boisterous as Mirio’s and the crazy tension from the accident just drifted away.

“Tamaki sounded just like All Might that I couldn’t stop laughing!” he explained much later to his dad after he came back from work. Meanwhile Mirio’s dad held onto him so tight afraid he’ll lose Mirio again by some freak accident.

Then, he did the same to my parents as he walked them to the gate. He reanimated the story of how I saved him full with descriptions that were unlike me in any setting, but Mirio was so happy and my stomach felt like it was twisting itself into tiny knots of flutters. I just wanted to make him stop, but when I looked up, my mom was beaming at Mirio and I guess I could live with this knotty feeling for a while longer.

My dad walked to the car, while my mom crouched down to pat Mirio’s head and told him to be more careful next time. Then, she waved me over as she walked to the passenger’s seat. Absolutely glowing, Mirio ran to me and hugged me again.

“TAMAKI, did you see that? Your mom doesn’t hate me!” He yell-whispered in my ear, which was frightening and supposedly impossible, but apparently nothing was with Mirio. I smiled back and felt that same warmth and relief to have my friend back, in one piece and next to me.

“I told you she likes you! Everyone does, Mirio. You’re--you’re the best person I know and-- And people would be stupid not to like you” I rambled feeling stupid and out of control, but the words kept spilling out before I could stop myself.

“Really? Even you?” Mirio asked letting me go and then gently pulled my face so close to his I almost wanted to have his quirk and let the ground swallow me instead. Oh. My. God. My throat dried up and I desperately tried not to think about how red my cheeks were getting or how blue Mirio’s eyes get when he was excited about something.

“Um--er---Mi---mirio, you’re my friend. Of course-- I--- I *cough* like you” I stuttered to get the words out and felt the heat on my face spread to my chest. This was so embarrassing why does this always happen to me?!

“YABAI! I’m so glad! You aren’t just my hero-- literally, but my bestest friend and I’m just happy you like me, too” Mirio declared hugging me so tight I forgot how strong he really was. I felt foolish for the way my stomach was fluttering with his words and sunny embrace, but then it was all I could think about on the whole ride home and the rest of the damn week.

He likes me too.

Part 2 of 5

Hey guys! This is my first attempt at writing a soft fic for our fav soft boys that I love so much💕 Hope you enjoy ^^

#miritama #Mirio togata #tamaki amajiki #mirio x tamaki #BNHA #MHA #soft fic #for our fav soft boys